OR 2 was a cathedral of aesthetic reconstruction, the air smelling of electrocautery and Mark Sloan's expensive cologne. Christopher stood across the table from the man Derek had just decked in the lobby, his surgical loupes catching the fluorescent glare.
They were debriding a facial degloving injury from the ambulance crash. Mark's hands moved with a fluidity that almost rivalled Christopher's, but his focus was currently fractured by the nurses passing by the OR window.
"You're angling the flap two degrees too high, Mark," Christopher drawled, his voice a clinical razor. "Unless you want this patient to look like he's perpetually surprised by his own existence, I suggest you compensate for the tension."
Mark looked up, his smirk barely visible behind his mask. "The kid wonder has opinions on plastics. How charming."
"I have opinions on everything, Dr. Sloan. It's part of the triple-board package," Christopher countered, his hands moving with a speed that made Mark pause. "But here's some pro bono advice: You're a predator in a hospital full of prey. That appetite is going to lead you to something fragile eventually. And when you break it, you won't be able to suture the fallout back together."
Mark's eyes narrowed. "Are we talking about surgery or psychology?"
"In this building? There's no distinction," Christopher said, clamping a bleeder. He thought of Lexie, currently vibrating with anxiety in the intern locker room. He thought of the plane crash. "You like the thrill of the chase, but try looking for substance before the clock runs out. Some hearts don't have spare parts."
"You're a strange man, Wright," Mark murmured, actually adjusting the flap according to Christopher's critique. "You talk like you've already seen the end of the movie."
"I just hate bad scripts," Christopher replied, stepping back from the table. "Close him up, Mark. And try not to flirt with the scrub nurse on the way out. Her husband is a black belt and a litigator."
He walked out of the OR, his pager vibrating. It wasn't a code. It was a text from Jack: "The brownstone is ready for move-in. The bed arrived. Stop mentoring man-whores and come home. - J"
Christopher smirked, a genuine, unscripted expression. He had planted the seed in Mark's mind. He was tinkering with the canon one sarcastic remark at a time.