The Good Ones Go

"Dr. Descarte, you're back so soon," a baritone voice calls from behind the nurse's desk, and she raises her head to flash a smile at the smirking nurse before her. The tattoos peeking from beneath the long sleeve shirt under his scrub top remind her of Adam, and so does being called Dr. Descarte everyday.

"Good evening, Charles," she offers to him as she settles her laptop behind the counter of the station before grabbing the sign-in sheet. There's an hour left before the clinic closes, and she's here to help like she has been everyday since she's started her new job.

"Oh, no smartass comments about the name?" He's surprised she doesn't roll her eyes and insist on being called Chelsea. "Someone must be in a good mood," he raises his eyebrows at her.

"I am. I had a follow-up today with one of my patients, and she's in complete remission," Chelsea states matter-of-factly before signing her name next to a patient's on the waiting list.

"Oh, well maybe you can tell me all about it if you join us for drinks tonight?" he suggests for the 3rd time that week. He's been asking her out since the second day he saw her, even though she always politely declines. Maybe a relationship with a doctor is out of his reach, but he wouldn't mind doing a couple bad things to her at least. Charles rolls his eyes at his own thoughts. She doesn't seem the type to have a one night stand, and if he's honest, he's not either.

"I guess I have a cause to celebrate," she finally caves before turning around and calling the next patient's name. Charles is left with a grin lingering on his face. She's agreed. After two months of pestering she finally agreed, and he's going to soak in every moment of it. He watches as she walks away, and as she guides an elderly man into a room, Charles can't help but feel his skin tingle at the care and gentleness she shows.

Five walk-ins later, Chelsea is strutting out of Room 3 letting out an audible yawn. She looks around to see that the only lingering bodies are Charles' and the receptionist's. A frown falls on her face as she walks over to grab her MacBook from behind the counter. "Where is everyone? I thought we were going out?" Chelsea furrows her brows as she lifts the computer and tucks it into her purse. She's disappointed that the first time she's agreed to go out everyone else bailed.

"Sorry," the bass in his voice makes her body vibrate in the now empty clinic, and she can almost feel herself blush from the sensation. "Turns out everyone else has plans. I guess it's Friday night, and we're the only two without lives," he chuckles as he clocks out on the touch screen behind him before collecting his things. He wants to tell her he'll still take her our, but he doesn't have the courage so he keeps his lips tight as he throws his book bag around his shoulders.

"Well," Chelsea begins nervously, "if you're still up for drinks I don't mind if it's just us." She doesn't want him to get the wrong impression. If she has to admit, she's asking him out, but it's been so long since she's done something like this that she can feel her hands get clammy.

"Really?" Charles' tone rises in surprise as he looks up at her, wide-eyed. "Um, yea, let's do it. Will you give me a moment to change?" he asks gesturing toward the employee entrance where the locker room is. He can feel his stomach grow nervous, and his accent is so thick now that he can hear it himself.

Chelsea nods, leaning against the counter to wait. She watches him walk behind the doors and can't help but to crack a smile. He's eager, and it's slightly comforting to her. She pulls her iPhone out of her coat pocket and checks her email for a couple minutes. It's not long before Charles is back and leading her toward his car. She has yet to buy one. She's only been in LA for three months, and if she's honest she doesn't even know if she wants to drive in this city.

Like a gentleman, Charles opens the door to his Lexus for her, and she settles into her seat until they get to the bar she recommends. The memories of Travis across the counter sitting next to Madie are still fresh in her mind, but the rock music and the Lagunitas on tap keeps her coming back.

"I thought you'd never say yes, you know," he tells her, taking a sip of the beer she recommended to him. "But now I see it's because you have a secret wild side," he chuckles as he takes a look around. He pictured her as a Cosmo drinker in an expensive lounge downtown, but she's surprised him. He should’ve known by her personality that she's not a California gal.

"Yea, I guess I like to keep to myself," she admits with a grin as she sips from her own glass. She leans up against the bar, adjusting her lab coat and purse comfortably on her lap. Her eyes flutter over his body admiring the tattooed arms nestled under a rolled up navy button up.

"Well, Dr. Descarte," Charles starts, noticing the frown that immediately befalls her face. "I'm glad you agreed. You wouldn't agree to a drink with the rest of the crew, but you said yes to a date. Who woulda thunk it?" he teases watching her disapproving expression linger. His eyes are peering at her through his lashes as his lips form a seal on the glass. He doesn't know where this daringness is coming from, but he's hoping he won't regret it tomorrow.

"You know I don’t like it when you call me that," she tells him, quickly gulping down most of her glass and trying to smother the small burp that follows.

"Does it have anything to do with that tan line on your finger?" he pries with a raised brow and a smirk on his lips. Even with a frown on her face she looks delicious. The beer must be strong to have him thinking these thoughts so soon. His gentlemanliness seems to have gotten stuck at the door because she's just as intoxicating as the liquor to him.

Chelsea's eyes glance over at Charles in panic before she looks back down at her empty glass. The tan line on her finger is so faint, but he noticed it. The thought makes her self-conscious because what else has he noticed about her?

"Sorry," Charles announces, clearing his throat when he recognizes her reaction as discomfort. "I didn't mean to cross any lines," he tells her as leans over in attempt to meet her eyes. He's sincere. The last thing he wants to do is make this feel awkward. He likes her. He really likes her.

Chelsea glances up without picking up her head, and she lets out a sigh before she offers him a sad smile. "I'm going through a divorce," she admits as she fights her voice from cracking. There's no way around this - she has to be honest, but it's killing her. Adam has yet to return those papers so she knows she'll have to get in touch with him soon, but the idea has her stomach churning.

"Chelsea, I…" he doesn't know what to say as he looks at the woman before him. He didn't expect this. He blew his chance with that big mouth of his. He hasn't been able to get her out of his head for months, and now he fucking blew it.

"It's fine, Charlie. I left Baltimore behind for a reason," she tells him as she nervously pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Baltimore?" he's surprised. He knows she's not from LA, but that's across the country. Thank God, she's not upset with him. A wave of relief seems to flood his body as he takes a sip of warming beer.

"Yea," she smiles with pride as she looks up into his blue eyes. "I was at John Hopkins before I came here," she watches his jaw slack a little in shock at her words, and she feels slightly embarrassed as if she's bragging.

"And you left? Must have been some kind of idiot to lose you then almost run you out of the damn country," he chuckles as he leans back in his seat. She doesn't seem to hold the topic against him, and he’s feeling more comfortable because he knows her eyes are lingering on parts she’d blush if she had to name aloud. Plus the beer. Don't forget the beer. He's got very few inhibitions right now.

Chelsea manages to crack a smile, but it's mostly at the bartender who slides another full cold glass her way. Charlie's sweet. Another cold one and she thinks she might go home with him because her eyes are wandering, and she can't seem to stop them. It's been a while since she's felt this good.

"Okay, Chelsea," he emphasizes her name, "but don't feel weird about it. We're all running from something."

Chelsea thinks his words are a little eerie, but he's right. She picks up her glass and takes a sip. She doesn't want to talk about Adam, and she sure as hell doesn't want to contemplate the meaning of life right now.

"How do you like LA so far?" he asks her as he clears his throat. “I know Cedars-Sinai is no John Hopkins, but I hope we're at least meeting your standards,” he tells her as he draws near to finishing his first beer. God, he's a fucking lightweight now.

She grins in response, "It's great. I was surprised when they called me for an interview to be honest.” Her fingers find their way up to the ends of her hair, curling around it nervously.

“Come on. You're the most dedicated doctor running through those halls,” he tells her with a grin. She works too hard. She's always at the clinic, even though she has no obligations to it.

“Yea, it's because I'm running,” she says, averting her gaze again. The distractions at work are a saving grace. Otherwise she'd be out of her mind by now.

“And LA?” He asks again, trying to avoid the topic that he can see gets under her skin.

Chelsea shrugs at his question. “I haven't been out exploring too much to be honest. I'm not so crazy about the city life," she admits. She's too old for it anyway.

"Really? I was sure you'd have gone up to Hollywood," he gives her a smirk, not trying to hide the fact that he's checking her out. The beer is strong. How the fuck has she made it through two and staying composed?

"Oh, and what makes you say that?" she leans towards him as she snickers at his words.

"You look like you're meant for it," he compliments, and she can't help but let out a hearty laugh. "I'm serious. You're always made up and dressed up. You look like you belong," he tells her. "Although you could use a tan," he can't help but tease.

"Oh look who's talking. You look like you hitched a ride on a train from Seattle," she teases back. His skin is as pale as hers, and he has no excuse.

“I could be from Seattle if you're into that,” he tells her reaching for his glass of water now. He's terrible at flirting, but the beer is loosening him up, and suddenly he doesn't care if he seems silly or even if he makes sense.

Chelsea chuckles as she reaches to pull her vibrating iPhone from her purse. ‘You're not bailing on me are you?’ the text from Colson reads, and she smiles at his dramatics. He must be wondering what she's doing because she told him she'd be staying late. She texts him that she's on her way before looking back up at the grinning man in front of her.

“Sorry, Charlie, but I've gotta go,” she tells him as she reaches into her bag to grab a twenty for her beers.

He watches her pull the money out and doesn't protest. It's their first date. They can split the check. “Okay. If you let me run to the bathroom I’ll drive you?” He offers her the ride, and she gives him a nod before letting him know she'll be waiting outside.

Chelsea lets the bar door swing shut before she lets out a breath. She reaches into her bag once more and brings a cigarette to her lips. The familiar taste of burning tobacco hits her tongue, and she sighs in relief as the warm June breeze glides over her bare arms mixing with the smoke of the Marlboro from her breath. She's not alone for long, and as the bar door opens again she looks to her side to spot Charles with a raised brow.

“An oncologist smoking? The irony. You do belong in LA,” he smirks at her as he pulls his keys from his pocket.

Chelsea’s heels click against the pavement as she follows him to his car. “I don't know about that. I don't think I'm a big city girl," she sounds weary as she takes another drag. He's right. They're poison, but they alleviate the stress.

"Give it some time, and it'll surprise you," he tells her as he holds the door open for her.

Chelsea throws away what's left of her cigarette and gives him a dazzling smile as she sits herself down. She pulls her seatbelt 'til it's snug against her chest, and Charles wastes no time zooming off to follow her directions.

Chelsea feels a little uncomfortable as they drive through the expensive neighborhood. She can feel Charles slowing down as he takes in the scenery before him. When she directs him to her driveway, he pulls in hesitantly as if to ask her if she's sure she lives there.

"Wow what do they pay you guys out there on the East coast?" He asks as he stares at the house before him. It's much more lavish than he imagined it. When she took him to that edgy bar, he thought she'd have a little studio apartment in the city struggling to make ends meet, but now he realizes she really is out of his league.

"Less than they pay me here," she jokes, undoing her seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride," she adds as her hand reaches for the door.

"No problem," the smile on his face is soft as he speaks. "Let's do this again some time. I had fun," he suggests, hoping she won't say no. His hands are sweating against the leather cover of his steering wheel, and he wants to lean over and kiss her on the cheek, but she's half way out the door, and he's sure she's not into it.

"Me too," she agrees. "Goodnight, Charlie," she says before completely stepping out of the car. She doesn't fail to notice the flutter of the curtains in the windows, and there is a tickle in her belly at the thought that Colson is watching another man drop her off.

Chelsea jingles her keys in the door, but before she can turn the knob it opens to reveal her slightly disheveled ex before the threshold. She knows he looks over her shoulder as she walks inside, but she avoids the question that's on his mind. "Sorry Cole, I went out with a coworker," she kicks her heels off, listening to him shut the door behind her.

Colson clears his throat, and she's wondering what he's thinking as he follows her to the bathroom.

"It's okay," he tells her, but she knows it's not the truth. "I'm glad to hear you're trying to have some fun," he admits, and she can tell that part is sincere. He adjusts the cufflinks in his white long sleeve button up as he says, "I was kind of worried when you said not to pick you up."

Chelsea can hear the nervousness in his voice, and she turns around to give him a smile. "I didn't mean to worry you. A few people have been bugging me to get drinks, and when I finally agreed most of them bailed," she admits to him, but she's really not disappointed by the way the evening turned out.

"So was it a date?" He smirks her way as he watches her throw her lab coat in the hamper for tomorrow's load of laundry. He can tell the idea makes her nervous, and that gives him more confidence. This is why they came to LA - so Chelsea can move on - and he's not going to hold her back.

"It wasn’t supposed to be, it just kind of turned into one," she refuses to look up at his face as she says it. She feels guilty.

"Chels," Colson calls out to her before taking a step to grab her hand.

She has no choice but to look into his eyes because his hand is pushing her face up as he grips her chin. "Stop," his voice is commanding, and she can't believe how her body grows limp under his grasp.

"Stop what?" she asks with furrowed brows.

"The doubting, the guilt. You came here for a new life. Start a new life," he tells her. His tone is so firm, and he knows he's coming on a little strong, but he wants her to stop worrying about everyone else. He's always going to love her. He's always going to miss it, but she can't always put him first. He can feel her swallow against his hand, and he let's go almost too quickly at the feeling he gets in his belly. This is going to take some getting used to.

"Thanks for watching Casie for me. The guest room is ready for you," he tells her awkwardly trying to bury the arousal lingering in his bones. He leans in to kiss her cheek before grabbing his suit jacket and walking out to leave Chelsea stunned. The tingle his lips leave on her cheek is burning into her skin, and she can feel herself release the breath she was keeping in. This is going to take some getting used to.

Chelsea drags her feet up the stairs to check on the little girl. Her hand lingers on the cracked door for a moment before pushing it open.

"Cece?" the soft voice calls out to her, and her eyes instantly land on Casie's. "Daddy says I hafta go sleep," she's trying to convince Chelsea otherwise as she strategically pouts. It's 8 o' clock, school's out for the summer, and Chelsea can understand the little girl's desire to stay up.

Chelsea smiles as she walks in and sits down on the twin bed that she used to sleep in. "You can't wait up for daddy, Cas," she tells the little girl who looks up disappointed, "you have to be up early, you've got a busy day at the day care tomorrow, remember?"

Chelsea watches the little girl's eyes go wide as she says, "we're going to the zoo tomorrow!" She lets out a small laugh at the excitement on the child's voice before pulling her blanket up to her chin.

"Exactly. You need to get a good night's sleep so you can go tomorrow, okay?" Chelsea watches the little girl nod in response, and she leans down to leave a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

She lets out a relieved sigh that Casie didn't put up much of a fight. She'd love to let the girl stay up with her, but she's not in the mood tonight. Chelsea descends the stairs as quick as she can, and she wastes no time heading to the kitchen and opening the ice cold beer she told Cole to leave in the freezer for her. The loud chime of the doorbell resounds through the house, and Chelsea finds herself panicking that it would wake the little girl she so desperately wanted to sleep tonight. Beer in hand she runs to the door and swings it open.

Chelsea looks down at her bare feet and shakes her head in disbelief before looking back up. His brown eyes stare back at her, and he looks so fucking real, but she must be hallucinating.

"Chelsea?" His voice calls out, bringing her back to the moment. She squints her eyes and lets go of the door to reach out to touch him. When her hand lands on the bare skin of his arm she jumps back at the surprise of his warmth.

Travis has his left hand behind his head scratching the back of his neck. He's nervous, and Chelsea is acting strange.

"Travis?" She asks out loud. Last time she saw him, he was the one to walk away. What is he doing here? "What are you doing here?" She hopes she does a better job of filtering her thoughts from that moment, because if she says everything she thinks, then she'll be in a world of trouble. Like the fact that his hair looks good that short, and that his arms look sexy in that tank top. She has to force herself to redirect her attention to his uncertain eyes.

'I can't get you out of my fucking head,' he thinks to himself, but he doesn't say it. "I thought we could talk," he tells her, hoping she'll let him in. Travis watches as Chelsea gulps. Her eyes are scattered, jumping back and forth amongst objects in the background just to avoid his gaze. She's considering it, and he supposes that's all he can ask for. He waits patiently for an answer, even when she brings her bottle to her lips and chugs as much as she can before looking back at him. Travis is surprised that after a deep sigh, Chelsea takes a step back to let him in.

Chelsea can feel the butterflies in her belly, and she's trying to drown them with the beer. Travis is Travis, how could she say no to him? She's just praying that this isn't a mistake, because she doesn't know how long she can handle fighting with him.

Travis clears his throat before he speaks, "the things I said last time…" He trails off because he doesn't even know how to apologize for what he did and how he left. He misses her. God, he fucking misses her.

"Do you want a beer?" Chelsea asks. She knows he needs some liquid courage if they're going to have this conversation. She watches him nod, and leads him to the kitchen where she opens the stainless steel fridge to grab another bottle.

Travis wastes no time taking a gulp before he sets the bottle on the counter and looks back up. "Really, I was out of line. Angry that you chose him, jealous that you relocated your life for him, annoyed that you didn't have the courage to face Adam," Travis sighs pursing his lips as he stares into Chelsea. If they're going to get anywhere, then he has to be honest with her.

Chelsea can almost feel the words he says, because every one of them seem to be like a weight added onto her shoulders. "First of all, I didn't relocate for anyone," she stops to take a sip. "I told you I needed a change. I felt like I was suffocating back home," she makes sure to sound firm. "You left, and I was lost," she admits, "it made me realize I need to stop being so dependent on everyone around me."

"He made you dependent, or did you forget that he's the reason you called me everyday?" Travis snaps back. He hates that she sees their relationship as a dependency, and he knows this is all his fault, but it's easier to blame MGK.

"Whoever Colson was before, that's not who he is anymore," Chelsea defends the man, and Travis rolls his eyes and takes a swig. "I needed to leave, and he offered to help me," she states.

"Oh, and that's not being dependent?" Travis is irritated. Kelly is like a fucking parasite. He didn't mean for this to go this way, but she's not being fair.

"Yes, living in a fucking eight million dollar house in LA is really dependent," Chelsea rolls her eyes at him. She's putting up a front. This is not her house, but she'd never let him know. He doesn't get to judge her if he wants to be in her life. Where did her Travis go?

"And what the fuck was wrong with your house is Baltimore?" Travis shouts, irritated by her attitude. This is not his Chelsea. The city must be getting to her. "What? Adam?" he eggs her on.

"No, not Adam, you," she admits with a serious face, and Travis is at a loss for words. All of this is because of his stupid fucking trip to London. What the fuck was he even thinking? For future reference: running is not the answer.

Chelsea's head snaps over to listen to the noise coming from the front door. She can hear it slam shut, but what is that rustling? The clicking of heels, and then a giggle make Chelsea roll her eyes. He's fucking this whole situation up for her.

There is a moan of "Kells," and then the slurping sound of wet kisses, and Chelsea takes a deep breath. He never told her to expect this. He set up a fucking guest room for her to listen to him fucking all night? Come on, Richard. He's really not helping her case here.

"He's not who he was anymore, huh?" there is a smirk on Travis' face, and she has the strongest fucking urge to smack it off. She doesn't. It hurts.

When he notices her face fall, he's mentally kicking himself. She scuttles around getting her things, and he's panicking because he keeps fucking up his chances. "Chelsea, wait, where are you going?" Travis fights to keep his voice low.

"To give them some privacy," she states curtly as she slips her shoes on.

Travis follows suit, patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys. "Chelsea, wait, you don't even have a car!" he tries to shout after her as she walks up the driveway toward the pavement.

"Goodnight, Travis," is all she tells him as she makes a left turn, sprinting to get out of his sight.

Travis lets out a groan as he kicks at his front tire. "Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn?" he asks out loud as he gets in the car. The ignition turns on with a touch, and Travis lets a sigh pass his lips as he lights up a joint, wondering how the fuck he's going to get himself out of this one.