"Sabrina?" Tommy's hand rested lightly on her shoulder. "Uh, is everything okay? You've been staring at those papers ever since that Jerry guy left. That was 10 minutes ago."

      "Yeah," she answered distanly. "I'm...I'm fine. My mind just wandered for a bit." She laughed at the questioning stare Tommy leveled at her. "Okay, maybe 'wandered' isn't the right word. But I'm back now. I'm okay. Really."

      "Good," Tommy laughed. " 'Cause there are a few things I gotta know..."

      "Fire away."

      "Okay. One, what the hell just happened? Two, does your ex-estranged-whatever relationship he is to you--"

      "Ex-husband," Sabrina supplied, scrawling her signature on the documents. "We are now," her last signature was executed with a tad bit more force than necessary, "legally no longer married."

      "Yeah...right. Uh...Whatever. Anyway, does he know that the only 'relationship' you and I have is a professoinal one; that I'm shadowing you for my residency at GH? And last, but most importantly," he reached over and speared the olives in Sabrina's martini, "did you know I'm fluent in four languages?" A smug, satisfied grin adorned Tommy's chiseled features as he devoured the olives, all the while, he never broke eye contact with Sabrina. "Russian being among them?"

      So, Sabrina chuckled silently, young Dr. Hardy Jr. wishes to flirt, does he? "Okay," she began, "to answer your questions. One, ignore what just happened. What you witnessed, that's me and Jerry. That's just how we roll. Always have." A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as her gaze fell upon the divorce papers. "And we always will," she shrugged. "Two? No, he doesn't. And even if he did, it doesn't matter; refer back to number one. Divorced, separated, even dead, Jerry's always going to think of me as his. Hell, you're a man. You know how this works."

      "True," Tommy laughed, then he added, "but it only really 'works' if the woman buys into it. You're only 'his,' if you want to be. Do you?"

      "Never thought these words would ever pass my lips," Sabrina grinned, polishing off the remainder of her martini, "but you're going a bit too deep for me," she winked. "As for three? Yes, I know. So does Jerry, which made it all the more exciting, our little exchange. The Russian thing, that's easy; it's the devil of details that's hard. But I have faith in Jerry," she laughed. "Knowing him the way I do, he probably knows what you had for breakfast for the past month, not to metion what items you buy when you shop." Tommy stared at her questioningly. "He's compiled a dossier on you. He thinks we're lovers, remember?" she prompted. "He's a spy. I'm his ex. Add those all up, what do you get?" Slowly, she saw the realization begin to dawn for Tommy. "Exactly."

      As Tommy mulled over Sabrina's little revelation, he was unsure of whether to be angry or amused. And while embracing the former would have allowed him to let off a bit of steam, he realized it would have been misplaced; he was more angry with himself than Sabrina. Yet, he could find nothing in the exchange he witnessed earlier that warranted the latter.

      "You and your ex? You're both certifiable!" he announced, shaking his head.

      "You say that like it's a bad thing," she teased. "Personally, I find being 'normal' rather stifling. Relationships should be no exception. Then again, that's just me."

      "So, he really thinks we're lovers, huh?" Tommy leaned in, taking a moment to study her features more closely. She was a beautiful woman. "He thinks I've been making time with his ex?"

      "You heard him. I won't return to his bed 'cause I'm in yours..."

      "Is that an offer, Dr. DeLane?"

      Sabrina regarded the young man through amused eyes. But it was a bittersweet reflection. True, she did enjoy his flirtatious nature, and she had to admit, he'd gained quite a few coolness points for coming clean about his fluency in foreign languages. Still, there was something missing.

      "Thomas, darling?"

      She refrained from cupping his face; no need engage in faux acts of affection, all they did was make the inevitable more painful than it had to be. Instead, she patted his hand, indicating for him to put his wallet away; the drinks were on her. And that was all that would be on her.

      "If I were gonna take you to bed? Trust me, you wouldn't have to ask about it. You'd know it. See you at General on Monday."