Turn My Grief To Grace

"you're buying me a new dress"

 Thankyou to natkat28 for the amazing ideas x

Enjoy! (Not going to lie, I'm super proud of this one. It was a lot of fun.)

Amelia Shepherd and Charlotte King 

Just imagine this whole thing in an Alabama accent!

Charlotte's POV

I don't have friends in this place. I have acquaintances. I have a handful of people I'll eat my lunch with, with minimal small talk involved (unless I find myself next to Violet, in which case I have to turn my ears off or the woman'll make 'em bleed). I don't do well with people who run their mouths, which is why I have surprised myself in befriending Amelia Shepherd. Now I know what y'all are thinkin'- I'm a junkie, she's a junkie, but no. In another life, I wouldn't like the girl. She talks. Incessantly, but for some reason it doesn't grate on me the way Violet's droll does. That doesn't mean she doesn't irritate the livin' day light out of me... oh that she does very well. 

One of my earlier encounters with Amelia was when she was young and new- a baby in my eyes, and the baby of the practice. She had this energy about her, undoubtedly fuelled by somethin' illegal, but it was refreshing to have that kinda spark at work. We'd yet to become friends. Contrary to popular belief, we didn't hit it off right away. The refreshing nature of Amelia quickly became a lot to deal with. She needed taming. I remember being suddenly concerned about the woman though, after my colleague laid into her about 'filtering' what thoughts she spoke aloud. I quickly felt awful for trying to tame the Shepherd, when I realised how much my colleague's words wrecked her self confidence.

"You okay?" I called out to Amelia, who had locked herself in the ladies, one of the stalls, and was refusing to come out for anyone, even Addison. So of course I was roped in to kick her butt. I leaned against the sinks, arms folded. I didn't really wanna put my hands on anything. I knew Amelia knew I was there. Even if she didn't hear me speak over the blubbering, she'd have heard my obnoxiously loud heels (just how I like em'- people should hear me coming). The only reply I got from Amelia was a continuation of her snotting. 

"Look, Violet's the one who needs to filter." I tried to let Amelia know I was at least on her side. "She spews therapy talk like she's not billin' by the hour."

"Go away Charlotte." Amelia eventually pulled herself together enough to be defiant. No doubt the tears had somethin' to do with her pride being wounded. She didn't want anyone, but especially not the Chief Of Staff, seeing her in state when she'd been playing 'bubbly' and 'light' for a good few weeks. 

"I'm not going nowhere till you come out an' talk to me. Tell why you're so upset." I don't take no nonsense. As a slightly younger, feistier woman, somewhat recently sober, I didn't have the soothing southern voice I do now. My attempts at comforting were blocked by harsh Alabama tones. I don't think it bothered Amelia too much. It seemed like she needed a strong voice. Amelia had enough emotion in that ladies room to last the two of us a while. 

"I'm not upset." She choked out and I tutted at her pathetic attempts at lyin' to me. It's funny, the more aggravated I get, the more southern I go, yet Amelia's New York accent stayed pretty buried at the time. 

"That's crap." I scowl to myself. "You're a loud crier and I can hear you down the hall. You know, I've got work to do Amelia, so you better get your butt out here an' start talkin'!"

My chastising definitely halted the crying, but I was no closer to being face to face with the neurosurgeon. 

I tapped my shoes against the tiles, I threatened her, "Don't make me climb under the stall", but sniffing had been replaced by stubborn silence and I didn't have the time or patience to wait until her pride was healed and ready to be seen in public.