Undisclosed Desires in Your Heart
Mark Sloan is the kind of guy who seizes a chance when he sees it. He has a lot of options tonight, and he deliberately settles on a classy middle-aged blonde that does not remind him of anyone. She does not blush at his innuendo, and he likes that. He appreciates her sophisticated poise, immaculate manners, and thank god, her witty small talk doesn't touch on anything medical for a change.
That was one good idea to spend Saturday night away from it all, and his mood has already lifted by a hundred percent thanks to simply letting the gentle rhythm of the music seep into his body, enjoying the company of gorgeous women, no inebriation required at all. And when his conquest of choice finally leans in and suggests the next step, he takes great care to continue charming her as best as he can. His smile comes easily, and he has always been good at escorting a lady home.
How good it feels to spend his evening with his favorite pastime again, and here he is, successful as ever with a ripe beauty who will melt to his touch shortly. They even continue their charming banter on the way to her charming condo. Impressive really, and for some reason, he notices how confident her furniture and decoration come across, and he feels inexplicably triumphant that this woman chose to bring him into this home.
Yet at this very moment, he is not ready to explore what this might mean, because now is the time to plunge into a routine well-known from times past. He knows how to please here, and he is generous with his caresses, and he effortlessly shuts out all memories of his former numerous partners. It helps that her scent is heady and her skin is hot. And even though she touches him back with more knowledge and less adventuresomeness, than, she is fine, really, and he feels pleased when she acknowledges his genius by saying so. That's something he does well alright. And they go on for a while on that welcome piece of pleasantry, but they both know they are probably not going to keep talking and laughing for hours.
So, they share a laugh at the impossible timing when his cell phone rings. It seldom does nowadays. The hospital would use the pager. Callie would just come over. Derek would schedule a meeting in advance. Lexie did call him sometimes. He frowns. No way. The phone rings again, and he finally excuses himself away to answer it, retreating to the dimly lit hall.
"Mark. This is Samantha," the phone issues a nervous laugh, "and I bet you did not expect me to call you in a million years."
Right on. He is too astonished for words.
"Alright, listen, Sloane has been talking about you for days now, much more than you did about her I bet." She pauses.
He blinks once, twice. His eyes linger on the family photos in front of him involuntarily, not quite as fond of all the catalogue beams of husbands and daughters anymore. That damn pain, he needs to squash that feeling fast, it hurts that she left him, too, without a word, not caring about her promise, taking his only chance at a family with her. Squash that fast, because now she was complaining to her mom, and mom is out to stick it to him. His eyes close. This is not something he does well.
"How is she", he asks awkwardly, "is she still set on giving the baby up?"
"Of course she is", Samantha bristles derisively, "it's what I told her from the beginning. She needs to finish school, and she deserves a fresh start just as the boy she's been with does. They are still kids themselves. Anyways, I'm still baffled at what you suggested to her. I can't believe it. You of all people! Please tell me that you do understand why giving it away is in her best interest."
Is it? It feels much less strange to be quite sure that Sloane bolted because he cannot be trusted with second chances.
She sighs at his obvious dumbness, and relents, "Listen. I would never have come to you. But Sloane did. And you took care of her. Well you pushed her far too far of course, but anyway, you helped her out when she asked you to, so, if you'd like to, you know, stay in touch, here is our address and home number if you want it."
"Sure I do", he pushes past his dry tongue, and scribbles down that particular trophy on a colourful piece of paper that his well-organized host had surely never dreamed of providing for any such end on her precious drawer in the hall.
"You're very generous," he offers when she is finished dictating. "I don't think I deserve it."
"Don't get me started", she says with a bitter laugh, "you know we're rather daring you to stay in touch and someday listen to all the pent-up anger from ages ago."
"This sounds better", he quips.
"Just keep talking to her, this time", she finishes. "Mark, make this right."
And with that, she is gone. He tries to visualize her face for the umpteenth time since Sloane arrived at Seattle Grace, but he still cannot pin it down. He just can't remember the woman who chose to have his baby, for some reason he cannot even begin to guess, and that flat out scares him. Samantha, just another fling, the flap of a butterfly leading to earthquakes. This fling thing he used to do feels far away now, like a dream you cannot remember properly upon waking. Except for the fact, he recalls, that he just did it again, and with that thought the ease in the game evaporates.
"I have to leave. There's something wrong with my daughter", he tells the blonde in a voice that sounds strained even to his own ears.
She looks at him sympathetically, maybe mistaking his state of familial affairs as some parallel to hers, "I hope nothing too serious." The idea of hurt children clearly bothers her.
There's another reckless action he regrets right there, can he ever stop? And he puts an effort into shrugging the tension away reassuringly, "sure, please don't worry. I just have to go earlier than I like."
He would hate to be remembered by a note of sadness, so he approaches her for a first-class goodbye kiss and makes sure she remembers it. More likely, though, he almost admits to himself while still kissing her, there's something wrong with him. He's thankful for the fact that she doesn't know that he gets dumped by woman after woman, just for offering them his commitment, and he surely will not give her the chance to find that out for herself.
He's just not the kind of man that anyone ever commits to.
And then he refocuses on the kiss, and nearly succeeds in returning to his old form.
II
What is wrong with it today? Everyone's out to grate on his nerves. First, his empty stomach reminded him yet again that there still was no more cereal (or anything else one might consider for breakfast) in his stupid bachelor apartment, then his stupid intern ruined his dearly deserved cappuccino (afterward not even trying to come up with any remotely interesting idea about his hot surgery de jour), then Derek-turned-boss hassled him with some tedious documentation duty, then his patient almost withdrew consent to the surgery on the basis of some ridiculous article he read in a freaking TV magazine, then Lexie Grey almost ran him over (rushing along thoroughly absorbed in a conversation with Robbins, and of all people, Karev), and now this nurse very, very nearly drops his already redone skin graft, and he yells at her.
And keeps yelling after she has apologized. And what is wrong with the lights in this OR, they give off far too much heat for a professional setting. It doesn't help that somewhere in his head, he registers that he is being watched from the gallery, but he damn well knows better than checking lately. Instead, he for sure knows that he couldn't care less for apologies today.
And then, to make matters worse, the nurse suddenly snaps back viciously, "alright, Dr. Sloan, stop it. Just because you've got your hands full with your love or whatever triangle, that doesn't give you the right to take it out on me."
Gotta give her that, this hit home. And she caught him off guard. Regrettably stunned, he resorts to glaring at her as fiercely as he can.
At least she has the decency to show some embarrassment at her outburst but still finds the nerve to add, if somewhat apologetically, "oh, of course you didn't notice me. I was handling paperwork right behind the counter you chose for your row with that girl you impregnated. No wonder Dr. Grey is crying all over the place."
He cannot believe his ears, and he compensates by consciously studying her face behind the surgical mask for the first time. Oh, damn that day. Of course he had to cross Sarah, one of the few nurses who did not partake in the boycott because she really liked their fling for what it was worth. They have always shared an easy understanding since, on the few cases they have worked together. She is a good one. Damn that day.
The recognition and embarrassment must show on his half-masked face, because she lets him off the hook with a relenting, "please, stop yelling. It doesn't suit you."
He really is sorry, and he feels the stares of their audience in and out of the OR, barely hidden by most, and probably the whole hospital has heard already. Best to demonstrate some good grace and disproof that Mark Sloan could possibly be unhinged by a, by something as ridiculous as a love triangle.
"I'm sorry, Sarah" he apologizes with a pleading smile, "you are right, I overstepped."
He pauses for emphasis, and makes sure to deliver the next part in his banter voice, scrap all that pleading, "not that it matters, but you are also wrong. That girl was my daughter, and Dr. Grey's mood is none of my business. So, please do me the favor and don't spread the rumor that I'm not available to womankind."
Point taken, for now Sarah's grip on the tray tightens in surprise as if she were latching onto it for support, and it is her turn to really look at him closely for the first time. He tries for his best banter smile and even wiggles his eyebrows to go with the pick-up line. And thankfully, after a few seconds of scrutiny she nods and drops the issue and offers him the tray instead.
That was close. Why Dr. Grey is crying, then, he couldn't have explained anyway. None of his business indeed. Well, maybe Karev could not do her as well as she was used to. Would serve her right to bump into some potholes on her speedway away from whatever it was they had.
He flashes another smile at Sarah and nods his head a few times, more to himself than to anyone else to be honest.
Just talk about misinterpretation. He was the greatest fool of all, believing that it was Lexie who encouraged him to step up and be a dad, while she must have been preparing all along to race off with the speed of light at the very moment when he took her advice. Leaving the old fool rooted to the spot, and thrown backwards into the past for good measure.
Anyway, now it's about time to continue with the surgery, and he issues a much more half-hearted apology to the rest of the OR staff, but makes up for it with a line about them deserving to be a part of the best work of a world-class plastic surgeon.
Immersing himself in the challenging task at hand will surely eliminate that annoying feeling that no amount of great work would ever earn that surgeon a chance to have a family in the first place. True, but tedious, if he had kidded himself into not skipping the part of asking her first, it definitely would have come down to the same old rejection. She just did not feel the same way about him. Been there, done that, have a biscuit.
Somehow, he can't shake the feeling that the bad day is far from over.
III
Friday night, he is back to Joe's again.
He heads straight for the bar to order a shot, but after the first hurried sip, he consciously relaxes his stiff shoulders and tense jaw, because it's a Friday night, and those are good for fresh chances. He tenatively tries on his smile to the universe at large and it works, and so he turns towards the room, ready to scan it for friends and, preferably, women.
This pair of pretty forty-somethings at the desk right in front of him return his smirk openly. That's a good start. He is diverted by the movement made by some brunette shrugging out of her coat a few stools away, getting a shy half-smile in return, and when he looks up at the room again, the first thing he sees is Derek sitting with Hunt, Yang and Robbins, all four of them looking positively complacent. Perfect image of successful attendings, settled and easy. He puts some more energy into his smile and feels glad that he took care to dress up for the occasion, so it's not too obvious that he might not really fit in.
When Derek notices him and spontaneously holds up his hand in greeting, it's still a sure thing there's where he is heading first. Because the gods hates him, though, Derek then tries, and of course fails, not to throw a worried look in a direction obviously associated with him. And he understands he should not follow this glance but he can't stop, and inevitably, he zooms in on Lexie.
She's in the corner with the other residents, and she sparkles. She's wearing a bright come-hither top he's never seen on her before, and she's drawing a lot of attention from the guys. He knows the tell-tale signs of an available woman, and as much as it should disgust him, she is on top of the game, taking her sweet time deciding. If she were a stranger, he'd probably join in the hunt, too. For it cannot be denied, she is hot, and he almost lets himself enjoy the familiar rush that always accompanies thoughts like that.
Even though he still thinks the dark hair suited her better. Well duh, she probably changed it in order to stick it to him for good that he has never really known her. And, he sort of hates her for it. Plainly, he hates her for choosing Karev over him, and God knows who else. He specifically hates her deliberate cruelty, and he hates himself for not seeing it coming.
She never needed to be taught, after all. Of all people, he was the chief witness for the fact that she has always had far more spirit for adventure than people credited her with. What a surprise it had been to discover what she liked to do in bed. Better not to go there. It was him who didn't pass the test.
She must have felt his glare on her because she looks up at him, and her smile fades and she is daring him to greet her first. He would, too, if he had recognized her, but see, he was not even looking at her but just glancing in her general direction by accident. He looks away and sets his glass down with a dismissive clank.
He resumes moving over to the summit of cool attendings, where he lays claim to the chair right opposite to Derek's and raises quite a good welcome. To his relief, Derek gets the message when he ignores Derek's inquiring stare, and amicably draws him right into the discussion about a difficult case of Hunt's. Interesting stuff, safe territory, good start for a Friday night.
Regrettably, though, this does not make Lexie disappear at once. His ears still seem to filter her laughter out of the background noise on their own accord. It irritates him that it doesn't sound forced in the slightest, and he strives hard to match that act. It irks him that ignoring her is a task he's not good at. She won't let it go easily. Especially when she keeps touching her hair like that. He is apalled at himself. He is not going to turn to look at her again. Pathetic.
He will hold his own. He will not even think of avoiding the places she may choose to play her little games at, so he better get some practice in shutting her out. So he slowly suffers through half an eternity with the Lexie presence across the room annoying the fuck out of him.
It does help a little, though, that the cases on debate at his table are quite inspiring, and the tough choices involved in them offer a lot of room to disagree. At long last, the engaging company even entices him to forget about her for a few moments.
Until suddenly Derek's worried look is back, and he feels more than sees her closing up to him, on an unwelcome detour on her way out. All muscles tense again, and an embarrassingly sad sigh releases itself at the same time as his head is sinking down. Just why does she keep harassing him? Derek is glaring at him reproachfully, though, and, oh well, it is easier to face her for a few seconds than having to justify himself all over again in front of an unsympathetic audience. So he complies, with his best impersonation of utter indifference.
She looks gorgeous, even with that fight-or-flight look on her face. "I heard about Sloane", she says softly, "and I am sorry for you."
This is enough. "I don't need your pity, blondie," he snaps. That's not what he needs her to be sorry about. I would have needed you to give me a chance, he adds in his head, blood still rushing from the force of the contact. Look at what Callie offered me. It should have been you. That's what you do for love, isn't it? But discussions like this never lead to any good. He wants her gone, and he glares.
"Mark", she starts in a fight voice.
"No," he shuts her up coldly, "just go away, Lexie."
Her huge eyes shimmer wetly, and he sees her hurt and defiance, and of course he knows that she is being frighteningly sincere as ever, but how could he concede her that. Instead, he resents her for insinuating that he controls all the hurt in their fucked-up relationship, when in truth, all the power had always belonged to her.
He hates that she uses tears against him, just like she did in that goddamned elevator. What the fuck is he supposed to do? He is clear on one thing: She dumped him. He is done with being afraid of hurting her. Now, he is only afraid of being hurt some more.
So he looks away. He takes care not to meet anyone's looks.
From the others' guarded "Goodnights", he derives that it is safe to look up again. She is gone, but not quite done messing with him, because now he has the pleasure of meeting her choice for the night, that Mercy West guy from the arm surgery, who obviously witnessed the recent exchange of compliments and somehow feels entitled to slur cockily, "Why, thank you for pushing her away, Dr. Sloan. She's really kind of awesome."
The idiot does seem wasted, but this won't save him tomorrow. "Goodnight," the ass greets the attendings, and off he goes, catching up with Lexie and walking far too close in her personal space.
Why, he is cool with that. To prove it, he shrugs and theatrically complains to the group, "Sorry about that, guys. She keeps stalking me, and now she even brings recruitment." They give some small embarrassed laugh for his sake, and it may suffice to gloss over that inadequate jealous burning, but he knows, and everyone else knows, that the joke is on him, the old fool who fell in love with a girl and couldn't bring her to love him back. He suspects that his smile does not come out quite as cool as he'd liked it to.
He senses Derek's sympathy and is about to brush this off once and for all, when suddenly Derek breaks into a blinding grin instead.
"I'll always choose the Grey girls", Derek announces proudly, looking him straight in the eye, "they're quite some work, but worth every second." Gaining momentum, Derek raises his glass and toasts, "to the Grey girls, their special class of awesome."
And while he is still busy processing this revelation, Hunt, Robbins and Yang are already joining in the toast, smiling and clinking glasses. And because he never chickens out of a challenge, and because he is not pathetic, and because he couldn't care less, he goes along with it, and so he grins and clinks and repeats "very special indeed" in as good-sport a voice as he can muster.
And for some reason he can't quite grasp, he quite likes the thought that being awesome is not on the list of things he cannot forgive her for.
He even feels inexplicably eased all of a sudden.
And then out of nowhere a second strange thought materializes: that she has just offered him a chance. And she took great risk in it. But why would she do that, he wonders and frowns in astonishment.
And this is it, it all falls into place, it sounds insane and he feels sick with amazement, but he just cannot think of any other or any more plausible motive for this. And if he is still in love with her, too, and, WHY, he so very obviously is, it's his turn to take a chance.
That was one good idea to spend Saturday night away from it all, and his mood has already lifted by a hundred percent thanks to simply letting the gentle rhythm of the music seep into his body, enjoying the company of gorgeous women, no inebriation required at all. And when his conquest of choice finally leans in and suggests the next step, he takes great care to continue charming her as best as he can. His smile comes easily, and he has always been good at escorting a lady home.
How good it feels to spend his evening with his favorite pastime again, and here he is, successful as ever with a ripe beauty who will melt to his touch shortly. They even continue their charming banter on the way to her charming condo. Impressive really, and for some reason, he notices how confident her furniture and decoration come across, and he feels inexplicably triumphant that this woman chose to bring him into this home.
Yet at this very moment, he is not ready to explore what this might mean, because now is the time to plunge into a routine well-known from times past. He knows how to please here, and he is generous with his caresses, and he effortlessly shuts out all memories of his former numerous partners. It helps that her scent is heady and her skin is hot. And even though she touches him back with more knowledge and less adventuresomeness, than, she is fine, really, and he feels pleased when she acknowledges his genius by saying so. That's something he does well alright. And they go on for a while on that welcome piece of pleasantry, but they both know they are probably not going to keep talking and laughing for hours.
So, they share a laugh at the impossible timing when his cell phone rings. It seldom does nowadays. The hospital would use the pager. Callie would just come over. Derek would schedule a meeting in advance. Lexie did call him sometimes. He frowns. No way. The phone rings again, and he finally excuses himself away to answer it, retreating to the dimly lit hall.
"Mark. This is Samantha," the phone issues a nervous laugh, "and I bet you did not expect me to call you in a million years."
Right on. He is too astonished for words.
"Alright, listen, Sloane has been talking about you for days now, much more than you did about her I bet." She pauses.
He blinks once, twice. His eyes linger on the family photos in front of him involuntarily, not quite as fond of all the catalogue beams of husbands and daughters anymore. That damn pain, he needs to squash that feeling fast, it hurts that she left him, too, without a word, not caring about her promise, taking his only chance at a family with her. Squash that fast, because now she was complaining to her mom, and mom is out to stick it to him. His eyes close. This is not something he does well.
"How is she", he asks awkwardly, "is she still set on giving the baby up?"
"Of course she is", Samantha bristles derisively, "it's what I told her from the beginning. She needs to finish school, and she deserves a fresh start just as the boy she's been with does. They are still kids themselves. Anyways, I'm still baffled at what you suggested to her. I can't believe it. You of all people! Please tell me that you do understand why giving it away is in her best interest."
Is it? It feels much less strange to be quite sure that Sloane bolted because he cannot be trusted with second chances.
She sighs at his obvious dumbness, and relents, "Listen. I would never have come to you. But Sloane did. And you took care of her. Well you pushed her far too far of course, but anyway, you helped her out when she asked you to, so, if you'd like to, you know, stay in touch, here is our address and home number if you want it."
"Sure I do", he pushes past his dry tongue, and scribbles down that particular trophy on a colourful piece of paper that his well-organized host had surely never dreamed of providing for any such end on her precious drawer in the hall.
"You're very generous," he offers when she is finished dictating. "I don't think I deserve it."
"Don't get me started", she says with a bitter laugh, "you know we're rather daring you to stay in touch and someday listen to all the pent-up anger from ages ago."
"This sounds better", he quips.
"Just keep talking to her, this time", she finishes. "Mark, make this right."
And with that, she is gone. He tries to visualize her face for the umpteenth time since Sloane arrived at Seattle Grace, but he still cannot pin it down. He just can't remember the woman who chose to have his baby, for some reason he cannot even begin to guess, and that flat out scares him. Samantha, just another fling, the flap of a butterfly leading to earthquakes. This fling thing he used to do feels far away now, like a dream you cannot remember properly upon waking. Except for the fact, he recalls, that he just did it again, and with that thought the ease in the game evaporates.
"I have to leave. There's something wrong with my daughter", he tells the blonde in a voice that sounds strained even to his own ears.
She looks at him sympathetically, maybe mistaking his state of familial affairs as some parallel to hers, "I hope nothing too serious." The idea of hurt children clearly bothers her.
There's another reckless action he regrets right there, can he ever stop? And he puts an effort into shrugging the tension away reassuringly, "sure, please don't worry. I just have to go earlier than I like."
He would hate to be remembered by a note of sadness, so he approaches her for a first-class goodbye kiss and makes sure she remembers it. More likely, though, he almost admits to himself while still kissing her, there's something wrong with him. He's thankful for the fact that she doesn't know that he gets dumped by woman after woman, just for offering them his commitment, and he surely will not give her the chance to find that out for herself.
He's just not the kind of man that anyone ever commits to.
And then he refocuses on the kiss, and nearly succeeds in returning to his old form.
II
What is wrong with it today? Everyone's out to grate on his nerves. First, his empty stomach reminded him yet again that there still was no more cereal (or anything else one might consider for breakfast) in his stupid bachelor apartment, then his stupid intern ruined his dearly deserved cappuccino (afterward not even trying to come up with any remotely interesting idea about his hot surgery de jour), then Derek-turned-boss hassled him with some tedious documentation duty, then his patient almost withdrew consent to the surgery on the basis of some ridiculous article he read in a freaking TV magazine, then Lexie Grey almost ran him over (rushing along thoroughly absorbed in a conversation with Robbins, and of all people, Karev), and now this nurse very, very nearly drops his already redone skin graft, and he yells at her.
And keeps yelling after she has apologized. And what is wrong with the lights in this OR, they give off far too much heat for a professional setting. It doesn't help that somewhere in his head, he registers that he is being watched from the gallery, but he damn well knows better than checking lately. Instead, he for sure knows that he couldn't care less for apologies today.
And then, to make matters worse, the nurse suddenly snaps back viciously, "alright, Dr. Sloan, stop it. Just because you've got your hands full with your love or whatever triangle, that doesn't give you the right to take it out on me."
Gotta give her that, this hit home. And she caught him off guard. Regrettably stunned, he resorts to glaring at her as fiercely as he can.
At least she has the decency to show some embarrassment at her outburst but still finds the nerve to add, if somewhat apologetically, "oh, of course you didn't notice me. I was handling paperwork right behind the counter you chose for your row with that girl you impregnated. No wonder Dr. Grey is crying all over the place."
He cannot believe his ears, and he compensates by consciously studying her face behind the surgical mask for the first time. Oh, damn that day. Of course he had to cross Sarah, one of the few nurses who did not partake in the boycott because she really liked their fling for what it was worth. They have always shared an easy understanding since, on the few cases they have worked together. She is a good one. Damn that day.
The recognition and embarrassment must show on his half-masked face, because she lets him off the hook with a relenting, "please, stop yelling. It doesn't suit you."
He really is sorry, and he feels the stares of their audience in and out of the OR, barely hidden by most, and probably the whole hospital has heard already. Best to demonstrate some good grace and disproof that Mark Sloan could possibly be unhinged by a, by something as ridiculous as a love triangle.
"I'm sorry, Sarah" he apologizes with a pleading smile, "you are right, I overstepped."
He pauses for emphasis, and makes sure to deliver the next part in his banter voice, scrap all that pleading, "not that it matters, but you are also wrong. That girl was my daughter, and Dr. Grey's mood is none of my business. So, please do me the favor and don't spread the rumor that I'm not available to womankind."
Point taken, for now Sarah's grip on the tray tightens in surprise as if she were latching onto it for support, and it is her turn to really look at him closely for the first time. He tries for his best banter smile and even wiggles his eyebrows to go with the pick-up line. And thankfully, after a few seconds of scrutiny she nods and drops the issue and offers him the tray instead.
That was close. Why Dr. Grey is crying, then, he couldn't have explained anyway. None of his business indeed. Well, maybe Karev could not do her as well as she was used to. Would serve her right to bump into some potholes on her speedway away from whatever it was they had.
He flashes another smile at Sarah and nods his head a few times, more to himself than to anyone else to be honest.
Just talk about misinterpretation. He was the greatest fool of all, believing that it was Lexie who encouraged him to step up and be a dad, while she must have been preparing all along to race off with the speed of light at the very moment when he took her advice. Leaving the old fool rooted to the spot, and thrown backwards into the past for good measure.
Anyway, now it's about time to continue with the surgery, and he issues a much more half-hearted apology to the rest of the OR staff, but makes up for it with a line about them deserving to be a part of the best work of a world-class plastic surgeon.
Immersing himself in the challenging task at hand will surely eliminate that annoying feeling that no amount of great work would ever earn that surgeon a chance to have a family in the first place. True, but tedious, if he had kidded himself into not skipping the part of asking her first, it definitely would have come down to the same old rejection. She just did not feel the same way about him. Been there, done that, have a biscuit.
Somehow, he can't shake the feeling that the bad day is far from over.
III
Friday night, he is back to Joe's again.
He heads straight for the bar to order a shot, but after the first hurried sip, he consciously relaxes his stiff shoulders and tense jaw, because it's a Friday night, and those are good for fresh chances. He tenatively tries on his smile to the universe at large and it works, and so he turns towards the room, ready to scan it for friends and, preferably, women.
This pair of pretty forty-somethings at the desk right in front of him return his smirk openly. That's a good start. He is diverted by the movement made by some brunette shrugging out of her coat a few stools away, getting a shy half-smile in return, and when he looks up at the room again, the first thing he sees is Derek sitting with Hunt, Yang and Robbins, all four of them looking positively complacent. Perfect image of successful attendings, settled and easy. He puts some more energy into his smile and feels glad that he took care to dress up for the occasion, so it's not too obvious that he might not really fit in.
When Derek notices him and spontaneously holds up his hand in greeting, it's still a sure thing there's where he is heading first. Because the gods hates him, though, Derek then tries, and of course fails, not to throw a worried look in a direction obviously associated with him. And he understands he should not follow this glance but he can't stop, and inevitably, he zooms in on Lexie.
She's in the corner with the other residents, and she sparkles. She's wearing a bright come-hither top he's never seen on her before, and she's drawing a lot of attention from the guys. He knows the tell-tale signs of an available woman, and as much as it should disgust him, she is on top of the game, taking her sweet time deciding. If she were a stranger, he'd probably join in the hunt, too. For it cannot be denied, she is hot, and he almost lets himself enjoy the familiar rush that always accompanies thoughts like that.
Even though he still thinks the dark hair suited her better. Well duh, she probably changed it in order to stick it to him for good that he has never really known her. And, he sort of hates her for it. Plainly, he hates her for choosing Karev over him, and God knows who else. He specifically hates her deliberate cruelty, and he hates himself for not seeing it coming.
She never needed to be taught, after all. Of all people, he was the chief witness for the fact that she has always had far more spirit for adventure than people credited her with. What a surprise it had been to discover what she liked to do in bed. Better not to go there. It was him who didn't pass the test.
She must have felt his glare on her because she looks up at him, and her smile fades and she is daring him to greet her first. He would, too, if he had recognized her, but see, he was not even looking at her but just glancing in her general direction by accident. He looks away and sets his glass down with a dismissive clank.
He resumes moving over to the summit of cool attendings, where he lays claim to the chair right opposite to Derek's and raises quite a good welcome. To his relief, Derek gets the message when he ignores Derek's inquiring stare, and amicably draws him right into the discussion about a difficult case of Hunt's. Interesting stuff, safe territory, good start for a Friday night.
Regrettably, though, this does not make Lexie disappear at once. His ears still seem to filter her laughter out of the background noise on their own accord. It irritates him that it doesn't sound forced in the slightest, and he strives hard to match that act. It irks him that ignoring her is a task he's not good at. She won't let it go easily. Especially when she keeps touching her hair like that. He is apalled at himself. He is not going to turn to look at her again. Pathetic.
He will hold his own. He will not even think of avoiding the places she may choose to play her little games at, so he better get some practice in shutting her out. So he slowly suffers through half an eternity with the Lexie presence across the room annoying the fuck out of him.
It does help a little, though, that the cases on debate at his table are quite inspiring, and the tough choices involved in them offer a lot of room to disagree. At long last, the engaging company even entices him to forget about her for a few moments.
Until suddenly Derek's worried look is back, and he feels more than sees her closing up to him, on an unwelcome detour on her way out. All muscles tense again, and an embarrassingly sad sigh releases itself at the same time as his head is sinking down. Just why does she keep harassing him? Derek is glaring at him reproachfully, though, and, oh well, it is easier to face her for a few seconds than having to justify himself all over again in front of an unsympathetic audience. So he complies, with his best impersonation of utter indifference.
She looks gorgeous, even with that fight-or-flight look on her face. "I heard about Sloane", she says softly, "and I am sorry for you."
This is enough. "I don't need your pity, blondie," he snaps. That's not what he needs her to be sorry about. I would have needed you to give me a chance, he adds in his head, blood still rushing from the force of the contact. Look at what Callie offered me. It should have been you. That's what you do for love, isn't it? But discussions like this never lead to any good. He wants her gone, and he glares.
"Mark", she starts in a fight voice.
"No," he shuts her up coldly, "just go away, Lexie."
Her huge eyes shimmer wetly, and he sees her hurt and defiance, and of course he knows that she is being frighteningly sincere as ever, but how could he concede her that. Instead, he resents her for insinuating that he controls all the hurt in their fucked-up relationship, when in truth, all the power had always belonged to her.
He hates that she uses tears against him, just like she did in that goddamned elevator. What the fuck is he supposed to do? He is clear on one thing: She dumped him. He is done with being afraid of hurting her. Now, he is only afraid of being hurt some more.
So he looks away. He takes care not to meet anyone's looks.
From the others' guarded "Goodnights", he derives that it is safe to look up again. She is gone, but not quite done messing with him, because now he has the pleasure of meeting her choice for the night, that Mercy West guy from the arm surgery, who obviously witnessed the recent exchange of compliments and somehow feels entitled to slur cockily, "Why, thank you for pushing her away, Dr. Sloan. She's really kind of awesome."
The idiot does seem wasted, but this won't save him tomorrow. "Goodnight," the ass greets the attendings, and off he goes, catching up with Lexie and walking far too close in her personal space.
Why, he is cool with that. To prove it, he shrugs and theatrically complains to the group, "Sorry about that, guys. She keeps stalking me, and now she even brings recruitment." They give some small embarrassed laugh for his sake, and it may suffice to gloss over that inadequate jealous burning, but he knows, and everyone else knows, that the joke is on him, the old fool who fell in love with a girl and couldn't bring her to love him back. He suspects that his smile does not come out quite as cool as he'd liked it to.
He senses Derek's sympathy and is about to brush this off once and for all, when suddenly Derek breaks into a blinding grin instead.
"I'll always choose the Grey girls", Derek announces proudly, looking him straight in the eye, "they're quite some work, but worth every second." Gaining momentum, Derek raises his glass and toasts, "to the Grey girls, their special class of awesome."
And while he is still busy processing this revelation, Hunt, Robbins and Yang are already joining in the toast, smiling and clinking glasses. And because he never chickens out of a challenge, and because he is not pathetic, and because he couldn't care less, he goes along with it, and so he grins and clinks and repeats "very special indeed" in as good-sport a voice as he can muster.
And for some reason he can't quite grasp, he quite likes the thought that being awesome is not on the list of things he cannot forgive her for.
He even feels inexplicably eased all of a sudden.
And then out of nowhere a second strange thought materializes: that she has just offered him a chance. And she took great risk in it. But why would she do that, he wonders and frowns in astonishment.
And this is it, it all falls into place, it sounds insane and he feels sick with amazement, but he just cannot think of any other or any more plausible motive for this. And if he is still in love with her, too, and, WHY, he so very obviously is, it's his turn to take a chance.