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The Seattle twilight bled into the vibrant tapestry of neon signs, casting an unfamiliar glow on everything. Blake Beckett clutched a crumpled napkin, the address for the intern mixer scrawled on it in her increasingly sweaty hand. Her stomach churned with excitement and dread. Twelve agonizing hours. That's all that stood between her and her first official shift at Seattle Grace Hospital, the prestigious institution that had haunted her dreams (and nightmares) for months. Breathe, Blake , she silently commanded herself, straightening her shoulders in a futile attempt to stamp out the nervous tremor that ran through them.
A voice, warm and slightly nervous, shattered the tense silence. "Nervous?"
Blake spun around, the cool night air whipping a stray strand of hair across her face. Standing there, looking every bit like a puppy dog with his kind eyes and a mop of unruly dark hair, was George O'Malley. Despite the nervous tremor in his voice, there was a genuine concern in his eyes that calmed the frantic drumbeat of Blake's heart a notch.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he stammered, his cheeks flushing a charming shade of pink.
"No, it's okay," Blake mumbled, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.
He extended a hand. "George O'Malley."
"Blake Beckett." She shook his hand, his grip surprisingly weak for someone who seemed so stocky. "And yeah, a little nervous," she admitted, surprised by the unexpected vulnerability that slipped past.
"Don't be," he assured her, a touch too earnestly, his voice tinged with a hopeful optimism. "You've got this. They'll love you."
His words felt hollow, generic compliments that did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in Blake's gut. She'd built her walls high, meticulously crafted a persona of steely confidence that masked the self-doubt gnawing at her.
