97. {c} [ga/pp] (mark/teddy) and everything you love will burn up in the light - 3; !bigbang
and everything you love will burn up in the light; mark/teddy (mark, teddy, logan); nc-17; 7,913 words;
au; part 3
tt's funny, really how in a moment of desperation one seems to lose themselves it's ironic mostly how in a moment of tragedy one can often forget who they are it's pathetic actually how one can deny themselves of ever wanting to move forward the progression of when teddy goes through the stages of grief when she loses someone she never really knew mattered at all
a/n: this picks up from episode 7.18 song beneath the song
content: art provided by hookedupforfun, fanmix provided by literary_critic, beta provided by alygator
Every morning she feels the bed stir when he wakes up, peel his warm arms from her body, and leave her with an emptiness that aches within her throughout the day unless she can pull him away from busy hallways and random emergencies. She sends him to her house for whatever she might need, telling him to get her clothes and toiletries, simply muttering a "please, I can't go back there now" and he gives in with one look at her face. She's still afraid to admit that she needs him, but they carry on their lives like they live in his one bedroom apartment.
He smiles at her, lets her pick girly movies to watch over ESPN without saying a word, lets his fingertips linger over hers, and the part that kills her a little is that he shows her so much love that she can't show him back. She hasn't initiated sex since she started staying with him, doesn't know how to do anything but exist around him because she's trying to learn how to exist with him. After two weeks of work, food, television, sleep, repeat mixed with rare conversations, the routine is forming.
("If you don't want me here, I can go," she says randomly as she flips through the channels.
"Why would you even say that? I want you here," he replies. She can see him drop his Sports Illustrated into his lap out of the corner of her and she stops switching the channels. She feels like she should give up the remote as she realizes her shit is strewn about his apartment stationed somewhere between his things and Sofia's. "It's nice having you here. I don't feel lonely now that you're hanging around."
"You felt lonely before?" She questions. The television scrolls game stats at the bottom and she realizes she stopped on some sports station that he hasn't really watched since he dragged her to his apartment.
"The sex was good, don't get me wrong, I was just exhausted and didn't feel like we could really coexist. I didn't know how to approach you, I still don't, but I'm not as afraid to try anymore," he answers. She sees him smile a little, can feel his body heat as her leg touches his where they sit on the couch, and she realizes that she hasn't really tried to touch him beyond appendages brushing while they sit on the couch and bodies touching while lying in bed. "I know what I want and I'm just trying to let you get your footing until you can figure out what you want."
She doesn't pry, just leaves it on ESPN in case he wants to watch and mutters that she's going to bed.)
She can feel his eyes on her when she performs meticulous tasks and it drives her crazy but reassures her at the same time. She thinks about Henry less, only on occasion when she considers going back to her house alone, and realizes that whatever would have come out of that relationship she wouldn't have been taken care of. When she watches Sofia she starts think that Henry died so that she could live and it makes her appreciate his sacrifice; she wants to treasure Mark's daughter, but thinks it isn't her place.
She starts to forget about the life she could have had if Henry hadn't died and starts to think about the life she could have with Mark. She never says anything, just lets him go on about his business not really giving a fuck. Except she knows he does, just never tells her because he's still learning too.
(She breaks down into tears and hides herself away in an on call room, she doesn't know how, but someone sends Mark after her. She wonders how they knew, wonders who it was that seems to know to send him when she breaks out in tears. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, fingers sliding through her hair in an attempt to keep the strands of hair from sticking to her cheeks
"Shh, I've got you," he whispers in her ear. She can feel his palm smooth over her back as he makes soothing circles and she isn't sure they've been at this point, the point that she feels actual hatred for life and he has to hold her while she cries. He breathes into her ear again and it makes her falter a little, her knees pulled up between them. He asks softly, "what the hell happened?"
"I don't know," she says, lightly shaking her head and breathing in deep, "I just couldn't take it anymore. Everything's getting to me today."
"What is it?" He tries again.
"It's you, it's my patients, the residents," she breathes, "it's Henry. It's the whole damn day. Normally if I feel empty, I can just pull you aside to feel your arms around me and I feel better, but today, I'm just so sure that you aren't getting out of me what you want."
"Well, that isn't true," he replies; he pulls back a little, searches her face, pushes her hair out of her eyes, "I could use a little more you, to be honest."
"You have a baby, Mark."
"So," he mutters with a grin, "that means I can't have a girlfriend?")
She falls asleep at night with his arm draped over her waist and she thinks she participates in his version of coexisting; she eats dinner with Callie and Arizona when they eat as a family and holds Sofia like the rest of them, offers gentle smiles when everyone's watching, but feels more exhausted at the end of the day because of it. Sometimes he slides his hand into her shirt, lets his fingers reminesce on her skin like that's where they belong. She kind of likes the contact, reminds her that she isn't alone.
She kisses him but when he tries to push her shirt up her torso she chickens out. It isn't that she doesn't know his intentions, it's that it makes her a little nervous to know that when they have sex he's looking her in the eye. She didn't want it to be about making love and staking claim, she wanted it to be about objectives and distractions.
("You won't let me touch you," he observes.
He's been kissing her, with tongue, and she's been kissing him back, but now that his hand is lingering at her waist and making its way up her torso she's began trying to keep his hands busy.
"What? No, that isn't true," she disagrees. She arches an eyebrow in the darkness as his thumb sweeps over her hip and she thinks that he might be right. They haven't had sex in three weeks and the hassle is starting to be the way she fends him off - she doesn't really want to anymore. She swallows, "I just, are you ready for it to be about love?"
"It was never about anything else," he answers honestly.
She lets him make love to her; she isn't sure anymore she doesn't make love to him in return.)
What it turns into is the way they seem to domesticate, make their lives entwine without ever saying so. Rather than going along with it, she pretends it isn't like that, acknowledges her house key on her key ring disposed somewhere in the back of her unused keys that she never takes off of the keychain. The key to his apartment lingers in the front, chalked up to wear and tear because it's the most used. She just ignores the way the metal crunches in the lock as the shininess chips away.
Her body arches into his touch more and she aches when he's away like a part of her is missing because he isn't by her side. It sounds cliche and sickening, but she can't really function anymore without him to guide her. She's still an empty shell, forgetting to say much but at least she's quit running.
She's adopted values that were never really hers.
("Shit," she mutters.
She doesn't mean to curse, doesn't mean for her chest to feel so goddamn tight, but she's sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine in front of her that she knows she really shouldn't drink. When he finally walks in, her head is in her hands and she's feeling an inability to breathe, to relax, to really focus on anything but the way her head feels heavier. He half smiles at her, bags under his eyes from his extended hours at the hospital like he's the only person who can do sutures.
"Uh oh," he grumbles, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she answers, tiredly. She pushes the warm glass of wine in his direction and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. His fingers pinch the stem of the glass as he purses his lips, silently questioning her what for. She explains, "celebrating. Congratulations."
"What are we celebrating?"
He twists his jaw and she takes a moment to appreciate his muscles under his gray t-shirt now that it's warm enough outside that he doesn't wear a jacket.
"I'm pregnant. Yay," she feigns.
He doesn't allow himself to be happy, just drinks the glass of wine for the both of them.)
She thinks that somewhere beneath the silver lining is the point in all of this. She notices things more like when the clock changes to 8pm on certain nights of the week and he switches the channel to USA, that he only shaves on Fridays unless she makes some comment about his facial hair rubbing her raw, and that he only uses his left hand when he puts his fingers between her legs. It takes her 2 weeks to figure out that he shaves his face on Fridays so he can rub Sofia's cheek against his without hurting her.
They're all very meaningless, she knows, but they're a part of a routine she's finally feeling part of.
("Are you serious about us?"
It takes another 3 weeks after he finds out she's pregnant to ask her that; it takes her about 3 seconds to think about her answer. The hesitance doesn't go unnoticed, but he tightens his lips and keeps his opinions to himself.
"Yes," she says.
The space between them isn't like it used to be. His fingers automatically settle on her thigh and her hand seeks his, but must of their conversations are wordless. She thinks he doesn't notice the way she looks at him and how she can feel herself smiling more often - she doesn't understand why he would ask her a question like that.
"Do you even want this baby?" He doesn't look at her and for a moment she thinks he doesn't have the balls to.
"Yes," she repeats. Her fingers find his cheek as she tries to get him to look at her; she wonders if he even cares to. She sees him swallow before he shifts a tear-filled gaze to her and she realizes that he's actually scared she'd say no. "I don't think I can be a good wife or a good mother. I think I'm too fucked up to feel happiness, too fucked up to feel responsible for someone else, but I'm starting to think that if I can just keep living and breathing then I can do anything."
"But that doesn't answer the question," he says. His eyes leave hers and she thinks that he's disappointed. The way she looks at it, she can't disappoint him, he's all that she has left. "Do you want this baby?"
"Yes," she insists, "I want this baby, as long as you're here."
And it's the closest she's gotten to 'I love you' but he looks satisfied with her words.)
She isn't domesticated to the point that she cooks dinners, doesn't read books about babies or children, and only cleans when she starts getting grossed out by the filth. She is in no way ready to have a baby, not in her state of mind, and she takes this into serious consideration despite the way she doesn't really talk about. The first child patient that she loses nearly kills her and she knows she has to keep the baby, not that there was ever really any question.
She hears him talk to her stomach sometimes when he thinks she's asleep; she finds it cute so she doesn't have the heart to stop him.
("Should we get married?"
She asks him on a random afternoon that they both happen to not be at the hospital, lounging on his couch in a pair of shorts and a v-neck t-shirt while he has on track pants and that's it, and she finds it extremely difficult to take her eyes off of his bare chest. He lifts his eyes to hers and she sees the corners of his lips tug upward a little as he pushes his hand up her leg before dragging it back down. Of course he has to rub her leg while she's attempting an actual conversation.
"Is that," he swallows, "is that something you'd want to do?"
"I don't know," she shrugs, "I would want to eventually, maybe even soonish, but I don't know what you want."
"I've never been married before," he says playfully; she thinks sometimes he forgets she's been married - sometimes she forgets. He raps his fingers against her ankle, making him smirk at him for just a moment. "But it's something to think about."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," he starts. He shifts on the couch, hovers over as he slides the length of his body over hers, and drops a light kiss against her lips. She feels the moisture from his slightly parted lips linger against hers and she thinks that they're starting to feel natural. He continues, "that I would like to be married to you.")
It isn't that she doesn't want kids, that she hasn't dreamed of having children - it's that sometimes she thinks about her dead husband stowed away in the closet in the guest bedroom at her house, that sometimes she remembers she still can't go home. She thinks a baby can fit into her life somewhere, she just doesn't know where. She still thinks she's at his apartment because it's comfortable, he'll hold her when she needs him in addition to him being easy on the eyes, but that doesn't mean it's meaningless.
He doesn't let it be anymore.
She's a little turned on by the way he puts his foot down, by the way that he forces her to stick around when all she wants to do is run. She feels his fingers press into her arm and she catches herself trying to evade discussions and promises him she'll do better. It takes time, but he's a patient man. Neither one of them bring up the marriage discussion again; she doesn't know what to think.
("We're thinking about getting married," he says casually to Callie and Arizona over dinner about a week after the discussion. The two exchange glances and she can almost read the thoughts going through their heads just by their facial expressions, she isn't surprised. He doesn't catch on, slowly looks up from his food when the room remains silent. He starts chewing hit bite, "what'd I do?"
"Marriage shouldn't be taken lightly," Arizona disapproves.
She squirms in her seat, wondering if she'd said something in the first place only because of the baby or if it was something else. Callie smiles apologetically while also nodding her head in agreement; he's oblivious to the estrogen in the room. She tries not to laugh at his chosen ignorance.
"It isn't like that," he finally says. He's surprising, listens even when he doesn't look like he is, and she smirks a little even though she feels panicked. He swallows his food and pushes his elbows onto the table, leaning forward like it's the only way he'll get his point across. "What? We're adults. If we wanna be married we can be married - we're having a baby, why shouldn't we be married?"
And the room is silent as it absorbs the shocking news when there's only a baby hitting it's 7th week in her womb. Next thing that happens is a shouting match in his apartment when she storms out without touching her food. He waits to ask her what the hell her problem is until the door is slammed behind them like it's less incriminating.
"You. You are my biggest problem right now, telling them about things we've barely even discussed," she growls.
"Well, maybe we should discuss it, don't you think?" He challenges. She doesn't say anything, just watches him bounce on his toes like an impatient little kids and she wonders if he thinks he's won. He smirks and takes a half step towards her. "Come on, Teddy, is the baby the only reason you'd want to marry me, or did you have another reason?"
"Because I don't trust you," she replies angrily, crossing her arms in front of her chest. He stops bouncing, tilts back on his heels, as her words sink in. She doesn't mean it the way that the words fell out of her mouth, but she can't do anything but elaborate from here. "I don't trust love. Marrying you is the only way I know you won't leave."
"You still don't get it, do you? I'm not an idiot. I don't need you to have the baby for me to stay with you. I'm with you because I want to be. I've put up with bullshit for almost six months now and it's been all about you. To be honest, I've been okay with that, the problem now is that you just won't let me love you."
"Don't be such a fucking baby," she says. She feels his hand wrap around her wrist before she can walk away. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her; she almost forgets they were sitting at the dinner table.)
She goes back to her house for the first time in two months. How she did it, she isn't sure - hops into a cab, mostly, and her address falls from her lips. She sees her car in the driveway and wonders if it even starts but she pushes that back to the final thing to do. She feels a surge of guilt wash over her at the realization that she's left Henry alone there for two months.
It's the last thing she grabs before she leaves.
("Uh," he gulps as she walks through door and she thinks she knows exactly what he's thinking, "what is that?"
"This is Henry," she answers.
He pushes himself to his feet and hops back, tripping over the coffee table and barely keeping his balance. He pushes himself upright, swallows, "you can't bring that - him, in here."
"Afraid of a little competition?" She teases. He pushes his thumbs into his hips as she carries it around and puts the urn on the kitchen counter. He makes a face and closes the space between them. "Calm down. He's only here until I can contact his sister."
"I don't have a problem with you having his ashes, I just have a problem with his ashes being on the kitchen counter," he pauses, drags a hand through his hair and she takes the opportunity to slide her palms up his chest until her fingers touch his neck. He smiles a little, and she thinks she can see his muscles untense.)
His ashes are gone in two days when she calls Henry's sister to let her know. She can hear his sibling stifle tears as she sniffs and she thinks it's all too family. When she hangs up the phone is when she realizes that she has tears streaming down her face too. Mark doesn't say anything when he comes out of the shower with wet hair and his jeans on, just wraps his arms around her.
She isn't sure if the moisture on his chest is from the shower or her tears, but he brushes them away with his thumb, lightly kisses her lips like he's taking all of the pain away.
It helps.
epilogue
"Baby, more sleep," she whines. His hand slides beneath her thigh on the side furthest from him and she peels her eyes open at the feel of his fingers pressing into her skin. Her body automatically responds to his, arching into him like she has no control over her own reactions, and she lifts her hand to his shoulder to push him away. She adds, "you never let me sleep."
"Oh, hush," he replies with a laugh. She feels herself being lifted from the mattress as he pulls her on top of him and she can't help the small yet tired laugh that escapes her lips. Her eyes drift to the clock and she narrows her eyes when she sees that it's almost 4am, his hands grazing up her legs to rest on her hips. "My shirt? Again?"
"What? It smells like you," she reasons. She feels his fingertips sneak beneath the hem of the shirt, the pads of his fingers spreading out against her stomach. She tucks her hair behind her ear and grins down at him as she feels his erection against her thigh. "Hmm, already?"
"It's morning," he replies with a shrug, "do you know how hard it is-"
"Yes," she interrupts with a grin, "I really do."
"No," he laughs quietly, "I was going to ask if you know what it's like to sleep next to a beautiful blonde and not be able to touch."
"Oh please," she scoffs, "you get your grabs in. You think I don't feel your dick pressing into my ass while you feel me up at one in the morning?"
"Okay, maybe I do touch a little," he sheepishly admits, "but it's for a good cause."
"A good cause?" She asks with a laugh. His fingers graze her temple as he pushes her hair behind her ear again and she's distinctly aware that his dick is throbbing between her legs with every brief touch. She smirks a little, pushing her hands over his nipples and rubbing his chest just to tease him. "And what good cause is that?"
"Woman, you better stop that," he warns, "or you'll find out what the good cause is sooner than you think."
"Is that a promise?"
He smirks and she feels his index finger glide down the side of her face, piercing blue eyes looking up at her. Her knees tighten at his waist as she leans down, her hair sweeping to one side and creating curtain that tickles the side of his face, and she presses her lips to her jaw line. She thinks she can hear him release an erogenous breath into her ear and she smiles against his skin as his erection digs into the back of her thigh where his fingers were.
"I'm serious," he adds, quirking his eyebrow like he's begging her to challenge him.
"Yes, I can feel how serious you are," she observes. Slowly, she pushes her lips into his thinking that she's probably teased him enough, and she slides her hands down his chest. He kisses her with more ferver, the kind of kisses that imply he's ready to push himself into her, and she feels his tongue circle hers. She disentangles her lips long enough to mutter, "now."
Her fingers slip beneath his boxer-briefs and wrap around his cock, pulling it from the clothing as he yanks at her panties. Somehow, they're off and he's meticulously placing them on the nightstand as she guides him into her center. He groans as her lips slightly part, her cheek rubbing against his 5 c'clock shadow because she's trying not to move until she adjusts to his girth. She rolls her hips, his lips covering hers and his tongue colliding with hers as his fingers dig into her hip bones.
She feels his hips press into hers as he thrusts and she can't help the moan that falls from her mouth; he seems to swallow the noise coming from her as she rolls her hips, knowing she's close. It never takes long for her to climax when he wakes her up at the crack ass of dawn, and she's near that point already. Usually words of foreplay are exchanged more than foreplay actually takes place, and his fingers push up her shirt so they can brush across the lumps of her breasts.
She moans quietly and arches into his touch, feeling the heat rise into her stomach. She releases a breath as he covers her mouth with his hand and he grins in response; she can feel him throbbing inside of her. Her body aches as her muscles tense and he groans at the contact, at the way she feels around him, and it reminds her to suck on his earlobe to make him come faster, harder.
And the way he breathes in her ear makes her orgasm again, like she has no control over the affects he has on her.
"Fuck, baby," he breathes out with a laugh. His fingers slide up her spine as he holds her against him and her legs are starting to ache. She grins and slides her lips along his skin, moisture trailing along his jawbone.
"You just did that," she jests. She briefly slides her nose along his before she drops a chaste kiss against his lips. He laughs quietly again, his fingers mapping circles along her back like he's sketching out a treasure quest. He yawns and she pokes him lightly in the ribs, "you tired?"
"Yes," he smirks, "you wear me out, woman."
"That's my full time job," she replies.
She rolls off of him, trapping his arm beneath her; her fingertips sweep across his slick torso as his palm presses into her back.
"Really? I thought you were a surgeon," he counters with a teasing smile. She smack him in the stomach, causing him to laugh and hug his torso. His laughter dies down and he turns his head to face her. He adds, "and a mother and the best fiancee a guy could ask for."
"Oh, please, you're such a suck up," she says, rolling her eyes. He pushes his hand into her hair, his fingertips toying with the way her roots sit on her head, and she tries not to get distracted by the way he's trying to distract her. "I'm not that easy."
"No one said you were easy," he reasons, nuzzles his nose against hers, "Maybe I just love you, did you think of that?"
"What? Why would I think of that?" She replies sarcastically, her nose scrunching with her question. She laughs playfully and she becomes aware that the diamond from her engagement ring is digging into his ribcage, the gold of the band catching a glint from the moon peeking in the blinds; she leans heavily against him, her leg sliding between his. "Okay, maybe, that could be why you say such nice things."
"It is why I say such things," he says with a smile. He pushes his lips into hers, soft and lingering as his eyes drift closed. His tongue touches hers only briefly as he twists her hair around his fingers, and she feels his hand slide into hers. "It isn't fair for you to tease me like that."
"Oh, fine, you big baby," she says with a laugh; she stops laughing when she sees that his eyes still haven't opened and she sqeezes his hand, "you wake me up for sex and then just go back to sleep - how mean."
"Sleep with me," he says. He rolls towards her.
"Come on, honey, you know I can't go back to sleep once I'm up," she responds. She slides her arm through his, tapping his ribs in an attempt to get him to open his eyes. He slowly peels one eye open and she watches a slightly smirk tug at the corners of his lips before his eyelid slams back shut. "You could stay up with me rather than being a lazy ass and just laying in bed."
"Not just laying, sleeping," he clarifies.
She laughs quietly, lightly pressing her lips against his, and slips out from beneath the sheets. She glances at the clock to see that it's almost 5am now as she gets dressed in some clothes that will keep her from freezing to death. She rolls down the sleeves of his button up dress shirt and wraps her arms around herself as she glances over her shoulder at him lying in the middle of the bed.
She pulls the bedroom door shut behind her and starts her morning routine. First, she peeks into Logan's room through the crack in the door to see him sound asleep in his bed, face down with his arm hanging over the edge. She moves a little further down the hallway and peeks into Sofia's room, bare and pitch black because she's at Callie and Arizona's but she should be in there later that night. She grabs the rail as she descends the stairs, flipping on the lights closest to the kitchen so there's a light glow at the bottom of the stairs and the living room.
She flips the switch on the coffee maker and keeps moving around the kitchen, putting loose dishes into the sink and pulling out clean mugs from the cabinet as the pot starts to fill. He tiredly pads into the kitchen, track pants on but still shirtless like all he wants to do is tease her; he offers her a smile and drags his hand through his hair, nails scratching at the back of his head. She smiles back at him as he comes up behind her, pinning her between the island and himself.
"What's the matter?" She pries.
His hands start on her ass and push around to her torso.
"Nothing," he mumbles as he plants a kiss into the crevice of her neck, "the best part about being in bed left and I couldn't help but follow."
She briefly wonders what his morning routine is, if he checks in on Logan and Sofia before he comes down the stairs like he's accustomed to their lives together.
"You're such a stalker," she replies with a smirk. She hears a small laugh escape from the bellows of her throat when she feels his teeth on her skin like he's grinning. She feels the heat of his body as he pulls her shirt up in her back a little bit to feel her skin against his stomach. "Following me everywhere like I need you to watch me."
"You don't need me to watch you," he says, reaching around her for a mug, "I like watching you. There's a huge difference."
She turns to look at him just in time to see a smug grin behind the lip of the mug.
"When are you going to think about marrying me, finally, by the way?" She challenges.
"I think about marrying you all of the time," he says. He blows at the steam rising off of his coffee and the liquid rattles in the mug, and she smiles as she starts the same task with her coffee. She purses her lips momentarily to urge him to continue explaining himself before she takes a sip. He lightly taps her hip before he takes a drink, adding, "but then I forget that we aren't actually married because it already feels like we are. You know they call you my wife at work?"
"BUt we aren't married," she reminds him.
"Quit reminding me," he sighs, exaggerated breath lingering behind. She quirks an eyebrow at him as he takes a drink and hisses at the heat burning his mouth. She tries not to smirk in return like he deserves some kind of reprimand. "Yeah, yeah, woman, but I'll marry you. Just say when."
"When," she simply states. She shrugs and takes another sip of her coffee before she sneaks out to the back porch, pulling her legs up into the chair with her.
"Wait a second," he interrupts, poking his head out into the screened in back porch, "you can't just drop a bomb like that and leave."
"Like you haven't seen it coming for 4 years," she retorts with a smirk, "you should feel a little prepared."
"We've been engaged for 4 years, I just quit thinking it was going to happen any time soon," he admits. He steps outside even though he doesn't have a shirt on and it's cold this early in the morning; sitting on the back porch and drinking her coffee is usually something she does by herself every morning. She watches him swallow and cuddle the cup of coffee a little closer to his body. "I forget sometimes that you aren't my wife because of this life we have together."
"So you're already my husband - what's the problem with adding a priest and legalizing it?"
"But why now?" He asks, shivering a little.
"Why are you questioning the when? I thought it was what you wanted. Or is living in sin better than being married to me?" She teases. She pushes herself upright, feeling bad at the fact that he keeps shivering, and pushes a hand into his stomach before she loops her finger into the waistband of his pants. She pulls him in the direction of the house and closes the door behind them, setting her mug down on the counter as she pushes him to the arm of the couch. "I don't know what makes me say now. Maybe it's that we have more of a marriage than most people I know. Maybe it's that I'm tired of feeling like I'm not yours anymore when I have to take the ring off to do a surgery. Maybe it's because I'm happy, we're happy, and there's no reason that we shouldn't be married anymore."
"Well, if you don't know, how am I supposed to know?" He asks playfully. She steps between his legs, her arms sliding around his neck, and she tilts her head slightly. She feels the steam from his mug seep into her pores as his fingertips brush against her hip; his eyes linger on hers, a slight smile across his lips. "You aren't going to distract me with sex."
"Oh, please, I don't do that," she refutes, shaking her head as her eyes narrow at him; he looks at her pointedly and she relents. She corrects, "anymore. Okay, sometimes I do but I've never heard you complain."
"Maybe you just weren't listening," he replies evenly.
"I just got sex, why would I want it again?"
"Maybe because you just told me you want me to legally become your husband and you find me irresistible," he answers suggestively.
She chuckles a little. "I think the important thing here is that you are my husband, I just want there to be rings and a priest and Sofia to be a flower girl and Logan to be a ring bearer and you and me, traditionally saying 'I do'."
"I do want to be with you. I do love you. I do promise to take care of you the best way I know how. I do not see myself being without you. How does that work?"
"Just add a priest," she smirks. She lets go of him, leans back, but he catches her by the wrist, her right one where her watch usually is. She tilts her head in question and he just motions her towards him; she lightly presses her lips to his like he requests. "Now go get your son up and get him ready for school."
"Yes, ma'am."
It's halfway passed 5am and she's supposed to be at the hospital by 7, but she isn't entirely sure that she can be. She has to take a shower and she's becoming more pressed for time than she initially thought, but she's glad they've finally figured things out - figured out that she has more of a marriage with him than she'd ever had with Henry, not that she thinks of him often anymore beyond naming her son Logan Henry Sloan, Mark's idea. She thinks things in their life make more sense now that they have unpacked the last box the night before since moving into the house a year and a half ago and she's beginning to wonder how the one box had been holding her back.
It wasn't even remotely important, just had some old memorabilia from their college days that don't really mean anything anymore.
She smacks his ass as he moves off of the arm of the couch, and she grins when he playfully narrows his eyes at her before he hands her his cup of coffee to climb the stairs. The diamond from her engagement ring catches in the light out of the corner of her eye and her lips turn upward as her gaze shifts from him reaching the top of the stairs to eying her ring. She takes his mug into the kitchen and makes sure everything that she needs is together before she runs upstairs to take a shower.
"Hey, buddy," she says to Logan, distracted by his presence. He tiredly walks in, rubbing his eyes like he's up far too soon, and he climbs into a chair. Mark places a bowl in front of him, light on the cereal and light on the milk, and pushes the spoon into his bowl before getting his own cereal. He briefly presses his lips to her cheek as he passes by her in the kitchen, grabbing his coffee before he sits at the table. "Mommy and daddy finally decided to get married."
"When?" Logan asks. He's quiet, still tired, but crunching his food.
"Soon," she answers, "real soon."
She reaches over and drags her hand through his blonde hair, messed up from his pillow and the way he turns all night, before she smiles slightly at him. She eyes the man who will soon be her husband and he smiles widely between bites, before turning his gaze back to their son. Sometimes, she still can't believe that their son is 4 years-old, blonde hair and blue eyes with his father's mannerisms.
"I have to go shower," she interrupts the silence. She leans down and lightly presses her lips to her son's cheek as he continues chewing like he isn't phased by it. She smiles a little at how he's his own person, but knows that he'll hug her extra tight before she leaves for work. Mark leans up to press his lips into hers, swallowing his food before their lips can meet. Her fingers linger on his cheek and she smiles softly as she quietly adds, "come see me."
He nods in affirmation and as she climbs the stairs she hears Logan ask Mark why she's so excited they're finally getting married since they're practically married already; Mark just tells him it's because he gets to wear a ring and everyone will know he belongs to someone.
While she's almost through with her shower, Mark comes in with a smirk on his face at the sight of her completely naked, and she can only imagine what he's thinking. Probably something along the lines of getting to have her naked the next time or how he wants a quickie in an on call room before lunch or during lunch, most likely even after lunch too. She doesn't have it in her to say she'd object because she isn't much of a liar these days.
"I'm almost done," she informs him over the water.
"Okay," he acknowledges, pushing his clothes over his hips. She watches them drop to the floor and he pulls the shower door open to step in. She feels his fingers drag along her waist and she peels her eyes back open to look at him. "Are you hogging all of the water?"
"Feels like you need to take a cold shower anyway," she comments playfully.
"You're probably right," he agrees with a laugh.
He pushes his lips against hers before she can step out and close the door behind her. She reaches for a towel as he steps under the water and she wraps herself in it, tucking the corner in just before Logan comes in. She lightly shakes her head as the little boy steps up on the stool by her sink to brush his teeth, a responsibility that he's recently taken to on his own rather than being reminded constantly.
"You boys have taken over my life," she comments.
"That was the idea," she hears Mark say over the shower.
She just laughs quietly and goes into the bedroom to find a pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and her boots with the heels in the back to wear to the hospital. She waits until Logan exits the bathroom and closes the bedroom door behind him, telling her he'll be downstairs watching cartoons, before she starts getting dressed. She thinks her fiancee rushes with his shower just to watch her get dressed when he comes into the room as she's clasping her bra.
"Missed the show?" He asks.
"Oh, yes, just ended - another showing tonight," she teases. She smirks as he gets his own clothes and she catches that it's almost 6:30am on the digital clock below the television, and her eyes widen in response as she rushes to get dressed. She's already been up for 2 hours and she's losing track of time; some days it's because she's just dragging ass, today it's happiness that leaves her behind. She releases an exaggerated breath which gets his attention. She pulls her shirt on over her head, straightening the torso of it. "I'm going to be late. I gotta go now."
"I'll be there at 8," he reminds her.
She puts her boots on, pulls her hair out of the collar of her shirt, and stands up to kiss him before she leaves. She goes down the stairs, sees Logan falling back to sleep on the couch watching some cartoon and can't help but smile. She listens for Mark at the top of the stairs, buttoning his pants and descending them with his shirt in hand.
"Mommy's leaving, buddy," Mark finally says at the bottom of the stairs. He pulls his sweater on over his head and offers her a lopsided smile as he tugs it down his torso. She lightly shakes her head as Logan runs over and she gives him a tight hug before she leaves. Mark puts his hand on her elbow as she stands back up and Logan goes back to his seat on the coach. He smiles slightly, "I love you."
"Love you, too," she replies automatically, like a habit, and he kisses her. He closes the door behind her and she wonders what the boys do when she leaves just like every other morning she leaves first.
When she gets to work, she catches the elevator with Arizona like she does almost every morning. Arizona, clad in her blue scrubs, smirks at her later arrival and she can only guess what her friend is thinking. Finally, she looks at Arizona's all-knowing and leans back against the elevator wall and lightly shakes her head.
"It isn't what you think," she tells Arizona.
"Right," Arizona acknowledges.
"I'm serious," she insists, "okay, we did, but that's not why I'm late. We're getting married."
"Yeah, you've said that before," Arizona teases. And she has, almost five years ago before Logan was born. Also again two years ago before everything flared up again, all of the hesitation and the moving into the house happened and they just never picked a date. She adds, "so forgive me if I don't seem too thrilled."
"Seriously. I want it - today, tomorrow, next week - soon; I feel like it needs to happen and I want it to be real. I have the marriage, I just want the wedding," she clarifies; she can see Arizona's mouth beginning to open in shock at the sincerity, "We never talk about the when and now we are. I just can't think of any reasons for us not to get married anymore."
"And you had reasons before?"
"Don't look at me like I'm stupid. I mean, I know it sounds stupid because now that I don't have the reasons I think they were stupid, but there just isn't reason not to anymore," she explains with a shrug. She refuses to elaborate, refuses to explain her reasons because she had the hardest time explaining them to Mark, but when she told him he had just said okay and didn't force the topic anymore. She understands how he never pressed the wedding issue, but she'd always quietly hope that he would. The elevator dings on the floor of the attending's lounge and she glances at her best friend to offer her a smile. "Sofia still going to stay with us this weekend?"
"Yep, it's your weekend," Arizona nods, half waves as the elevator doors close shut.
(By the time lunch comes, Mark is pressing himself against her while she's going over some charts that she's handing off to some interns and she can feel exactly what he wants. His dark blue scrubs seem to disappear somewhere around hers and she doesn't know where his end and hers begin. She smirks a little as she gets rid of her last chart, turning slightly to face him as she glances at him over her shoulder.
"You better get that thing out of my ass," she tells him quietly with a smirk.
"It's not even hard," he replies, playfully narrowing his eyes. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into his direction, her shoulder touching his chest. He grins and leans towards her a little. He adds quietly, "but it can be."
"I'm sure it can be," she replies.)
Sofia and Logan both pass out before the movie is over, Logan curled up in the chair and Sofia sprawled out on the loveseat, and it isn't even halfway over.
"Baby, will you stop?" She asks him with a slight laugh, pulling her hand from him so he quits twising the gold engagement ring around her finger. She's sometimes amazed that he still pays any attention to it after all these years, makes her wonder how much time he spends actively thinking about it. "I'm going to lose it and we'd both hate that. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he answers, "just can't wait to be married to you."
"Is that what you've been thinking about?"
"That, and how I don't know what I'd do without you," he admits. His fingers tap the back of the couch as he leans towards her, rubbing his nose against her temple, and it makes a chill skate up her spine. His lips lightly press against her jaw and she realizes that she doesn't know what she'd do without him either. She didn't think she'd ever know what it would feel like to love someone with her whole heart and them love her the same way.
But, she does.
au; part 3
tt's funny, really how in a moment of desperation one seems to lose themselves it's ironic mostly how in a moment of tragedy one can often forget who they are it's pathetic actually how one can deny themselves of ever wanting to move forward the progression of when teddy goes through the stages of grief when she loses someone she never really knew mattered at all
a/n: this picks up from episode 7.18 song beneath the song
content: art provided by hookedupforfun, fanmix provided by literary_critic, beta provided by alygator
Every morning she feels the bed stir when he wakes up, peel his warm arms from her body, and leave her with an emptiness that aches within her throughout the day unless she can pull him away from busy hallways and random emergencies. She sends him to her house for whatever she might need, telling him to get her clothes and toiletries, simply muttering a "please, I can't go back there now" and he gives in with one look at her face. She's still afraid to admit that she needs him, but they carry on their lives like they live in his one bedroom apartment.
He smiles at her, lets her pick girly movies to watch over ESPN without saying a word, lets his fingertips linger over hers, and the part that kills her a little is that he shows her so much love that she can't show him back. She hasn't initiated sex since she started staying with him, doesn't know how to do anything but exist around him because she's trying to learn how to exist with him. After two weeks of work, food, television, sleep, repeat mixed with rare conversations, the routine is forming.
("If you don't want me here, I can go," she says randomly as she flips through the channels.
"Why would you even say that? I want you here," he replies. She can see him drop his Sports Illustrated into his lap out of the corner of her and she stops switching the channels. She feels like she should give up the remote as she realizes her shit is strewn about his apartment stationed somewhere between his things and Sofia's. "It's nice having you here. I don't feel lonely now that you're hanging around."
"You felt lonely before?" She questions. The television scrolls game stats at the bottom and she realizes she stopped on some sports station that he hasn't really watched since he dragged her to his apartment.
"The sex was good, don't get me wrong, I was just exhausted and didn't feel like we could really coexist. I didn't know how to approach you, I still don't, but I'm not as afraid to try anymore," he answers. She sees him smile a little, can feel his body heat as her leg touches his where they sit on the couch, and she realizes that she hasn't really tried to touch him beyond appendages brushing while they sit on the couch and bodies touching while lying in bed. "I know what I want and I'm just trying to let you get your footing until you can figure out what you want."
She doesn't pry, just leaves it on ESPN in case he wants to watch and mutters that she's going to bed.)
She can feel his eyes on her when she performs meticulous tasks and it drives her crazy but reassures her at the same time. She thinks about Henry less, only on occasion when she considers going back to her house alone, and realizes that whatever would have come out of that relationship she wouldn't have been taken care of. When she watches Sofia she starts think that Henry died so that she could live and it makes her appreciate his sacrifice; she wants to treasure Mark's daughter, but thinks it isn't her place.
She starts to forget about the life she could have had if Henry hadn't died and starts to think about the life she could have with Mark. She never says anything, just lets him go on about his business not really giving a fuck. Except she knows he does, just never tells her because he's still learning too.
(She breaks down into tears and hides herself away in an on call room, she doesn't know how, but someone sends Mark after her. She wonders how they knew, wonders who it was that seems to know to send him when she breaks out in tears. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, fingers sliding through her hair in an attempt to keep the strands of hair from sticking to her cheeks
"Shh, I've got you," he whispers in her ear. She can feel his palm smooth over her back as he makes soothing circles and she isn't sure they've been at this point, the point that she feels actual hatred for life and he has to hold her while she cries. He breathes into her ear again and it makes her falter a little, her knees pulled up between them. He asks softly, "what the hell happened?"
"I don't know," she says, lightly shaking her head and breathing in deep, "I just couldn't take it anymore. Everything's getting to me today."
"What is it?" He tries again.
"It's you, it's my patients, the residents," she breathes, "it's Henry. It's the whole damn day. Normally if I feel empty, I can just pull you aside to feel your arms around me and I feel better, but today, I'm just so sure that you aren't getting out of me what you want."
"Well, that isn't true," he replies; he pulls back a little, searches her face, pushes her hair out of her eyes, "I could use a little more you, to be honest."
"You have a baby, Mark."
"So," he mutters with a grin, "that means I can't have a girlfriend?")
She falls asleep at night with his arm draped over her waist and she thinks she participates in his version of coexisting; she eats dinner with Callie and Arizona when they eat as a family and holds Sofia like the rest of them, offers gentle smiles when everyone's watching, but feels more exhausted at the end of the day because of it. Sometimes he slides his hand into her shirt, lets his fingers reminesce on her skin like that's where they belong. She kind of likes the contact, reminds her that she isn't alone.
She kisses him but when he tries to push her shirt up her torso she chickens out. It isn't that she doesn't know his intentions, it's that it makes her a little nervous to know that when they have sex he's looking her in the eye. She didn't want it to be about making love and staking claim, she wanted it to be about objectives and distractions.
("You won't let me touch you," he observes.
He's been kissing her, with tongue, and she's been kissing him back, but now that his hand is lingering at her waist and making its way up her torso she's began trying to keep his hands busy.
"What? No, that isn't true," she disagrees. She arches an eyebrow in the darkness as his thumb sweeps over her hip and she thinks that he might be right. They haven't had sex in three weeks and the hassle is starting to be the way she fends him off - she doesn't really want to anymore. She swallows, "I just, are you ready for it to be about love?"
"It was never about anything else," he answers honestly.
She lets him make love to her; she isn't sure anymore she doesn't make love to him in return.)
What it turns into is the way they seem to domesticate, make their lives entwine without ever saying so. Rather than going along with it, she pretends it isn't like that, acknowledges her house key on her key ring disposed somewhere in the back of her unused keys that she never takes off of the keychain. The key to his apartment lingers in the front, chalked up to wear and tear because it's the most used. She just ignores the way the metal crunches in the lock as the shininess chips away.
Her body arches into his touch more and she aches when he's away like a part of her is missing because he isn't by her side. It sounds cliche and sickening, but she can't really function anymore without him to guide her. She's still an empty shell, forgetting to say much but at least she's quit running.
She's adopted values that were never really hers.
("Shit," she mutters.
She doesn't mean to curse, doesn't mean for her chest to feel so goddamn tight, but she's sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine in front of her that she knows she really shouldn't drink. When he finally walks in, her head is in her hands and she's feeling an inability to breathe, to relax, to really focus on anything but the way her head feels heavier. He half smiles at her, bags under his eyes from his extended hours at the hospital like he's the only person who can do sutures.
"Uh oh," he grumbles, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she answers, tiredly. She pushes the warm glass of wine in his direction and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. His fingers pinch the stem of the glass as he purses his lips, silently questioning her what for. She explains, "celebrating. Congratulations."
"What are we celebrating?"
He twists his jaw and she takes a moment to appreciate his muscles under his gray t-shirt now that it's warm enough outside that he doesn't wear a jacket.
"I'm pregnant. Yay," she feigns.
He doesn't allow himself to be happy, just drinks the glass of wine for the both of them.)
She thinks that somewhere beneath the silver lining is the point in all of this. She notices things more like when the clock changes to 8pm on certain nights of the week and he switches the channel to USA, that he only shaves on Fridays unless she makes some comment about his facial hair rubbing her raw, and that he only uses his left hand when he puts his fingers between her legs. It takes her 2 weeks to figure out that he shaves his face on Fridays so he can rub Sofia's cheek against his without hurting her.
They're all very meaningless, she knows, but they're a part of a routine she's finally feeling part of.
("Are you serious about us?"
It takes another 3 weeks after he finds out she's pregnant to ask her that; it takes her about 3 seconds to think about her answer. The hesitance doesn't go unnoticed, but he tightens his lips and keeps his opinions to himself.
"Yes," she says.
The space between them isn't like it used to be. His fingers automatically settle on her thigh and her hand seeks his, but must of their conversations are wordless. She thinks he doesn't notice the way she looks at him and how she can feel herself smiling more often - she doesn't understand why he would ask her a question like that.
"Do you even want this baby?" He doesn't look at her and for a moment she thinks he doesn't have the balls to.
"Yes," she repeats. Her fingers find his cheek as she tries to get him to look at her; she wonders if he even cares to. She sees him swallow before he shifts a tear-filled gaze to her and she realizes that he's actually scared she'd say no. "I don't think I can be a good wife or a good mother. I think I'm too fucked up to feel happiness, too fucked up to feel responsible for someone else, but I'm starting to think that if I can just keep living and breathing then I can do anything."
"But that doesn't answer the question," he says. His eyes leave hers and she thinks that he's disappointed. The way she looks at it, she can't disappoint him, he's all that she has left. "Do you want this baby?"
"Yes," she insists, "I want this baby, as long as you're here."
And it's the closest she's gotten to 'I love you' but he looks satisfied with her words.)
She isn't domesticated to the point that she cooks dinners, doesn't read books about babies or children, and only cleans when she starts getting grossed out by the filth. She is in no way ready to have a baby, not in her state of mind, and she takes this into serious consideration despite the way she doesn't really talk about. The first child patient that she loses nearly kills her and she knows she has to keep the baby, not that there was ever really any question.
She hears him talk to her stomach sometimes when he thinks she's asleep; she finds it cute so she doesn't have the heart to stop him.
("Should we get married?"
She asks him on a random afternoon that they both happen to not be at the hospital, lounging on his couch in a pair of shorts and a v-neck t-shirt while he has on track pants and that's it, and she finds it extremely difficult to take her eyes off of his bare chest. He lifts his eyes to hers and she sees the corners of his lips tug upward a little as he pushes his hand up her leg before dragging it back down. Of course he has to rub her leg while she's attempting an actual conversation.
"Is that," he swallows, "is that something you'd want to do?"
"I don't know," she shrugs, "I would want to eventually, maybe even soonish, but I don't know what you want."
"I've never been married before," he says playfully; she thinks sometimes he forgets she's been married - sometimes she forgets. He raps his fingers against her ankle, making him smirk at him for just a moment. "But it's something to think about."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," he starts. He shifts on the couch, hovers over as he slides the length of his body over hers, and drops a light kiss against her lips. She feels the moisture from his slightly parted lips linger against hers and she thinks that they're starting to feel natural. He continues, "that I would like to be married to you.")
It isn't that she doesn't want kids, that she hasn't dreamed of having children - it's that sometimes she thinks about her dead husband stowed away in the closet in the guest bedroom at her house, that sometimes she remembers she still can't go home. She thinks a baby can fit into her life somewhere, she just doesn't know where. She still thinks she's at his apartment because it's comfortable, he'll hold her when she needs him in addition to him being easy on the eyes, but that doesn't mean it's meaningless.
He doesn't let it be anymore.
She's a little turned on by the way he puts his foot down, by the way that he forces her to stick around when all she wants to do is run. She feels his fingers press into her arm and she catches herself trying to evade discussions and promises him she'll do better. It takes time, but he's a patient man. Neither one of them bring up the marriage discussion again; she doesn't know what to think.
("We're thinking about getting married," he says casually to Callie and Arizona over dinner about a week after the discussion. The two exchange glances and she can almost read the thoughts going through their heads just by their facial expressions, she isn't surprised. He doesn't catch on, slowly looks up from his food when the room remains silent. He starts chewing hit bite, "what'd I do?"
"Marriage shouldn't be taken lightly," Arizona disapproves.
She squirms in her seat, wondering if she'd said something in the first place only because of the baby or if it was something else. Callie smiles apologetically while also nodding her head in agreement; he's oblivious to the estrogen in the room. She tries not to laugh at his chosen ignorance.
"It isn't like that," he finally says. He's surprising, listens even when he doesn't look like he is, and she smirks a little even though she feels panicked. He swallows his food and pushes his elbows onto the table, leaning forward like it's the only way he'll get his point across. "What? We're adults. If we wanna be married we can be married - we're having a baby, why shouldn't we be married?"
And the room is silent as it absorbs the shocking news when there's only a baby hitting it's 7th week in her womb. Next thing that happens is a shouting match in his apartment when she storms out without touching her food. He waits to ask her what the hell her problem is until the door is slammed behind them like it's less incriminating.
"You. You are my biggest problem right now, telling them about things we've barely even discussed," she growls.
"Well, maybe we should discuss it, don't you think?" He challenges. She doesn't say anything, just watches him bounce on his toes like an impatient little kids and she wonders if he thinks he's won. He smirks and takes a half step towards her. "Come on, Teddy, is the baby the only reason you'd want to marry me, or did you have another reason?"
"Because I don't trust you," she replies angrily, crossing her arms in front of her chest. He stops bouncing, tilts back on his heels, as her words sink in. She doesn't mean it the way that the words fell out of her mouth, but she can't do anything but elaborate from here. "I don't trust love. Marrying you is the only way I know you won't leave."
"You still don't get it, do you? I'm not an idiot. I don't need you to have the baby for me to stay with you. I'm with you because I want to be. I've put up with bullshit for almost six months now and it's been all about you. To be honest, I've been okay with that, the problem now is that you just won't let me love you."
"Don't be such a fucking baby," she says. She feels his hand wrap around her wrist before she can walk away. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her; she almost forgets they were sitting at the dinner table.)
She goes back to her house for the first time in two months. How she did it, she isn't sure - hops into a cab, mostly, and her address falls from her lips. She sees her car in the driveway and wonders if it even starts but she pushes that back to the final thing to do. She feels a surge of guilt wash over her at the realization that she's left Henry alone there for two months.
It's the last thing she grabs before she leaves.
("Uh," he gulps as she walks through door and she thinks she knows exactly what he's thinking, "what is that?"
"This is Henry," she answers.
He pushes himself to his feet and hops back, tripping over the coffee table and barely keeping his balance. He pushes himself upright, swallows, "you can't bring that - him, in here."
"Afraid of a little competition?" She teases. He pushes his thumbs into his hips as she carries it around and puts the urn on the kitchen counter. He makes a face and closes the space between them. "Calm down. He's only here until I can contact his sister."
"I don't have a problem with you having his ashes, I just have a problem with his ashes being on the kitchen counter," he pauses, drags a hand through his hair and she takes the opportunity to slide her palms up his chest until her fingers touch his neck. He smiles a little, and she thinks she can see his muscles untense.)
His ashes are gone in two days when she calls Henry's sister to let her know. She can hear his sibling stifle tears as she sniffs and she thinks it's all too family. When she hangs up the phone is when she realizes that she has tears streaming down her face too. Mark doesn't say anything when he comes out of the shower with wet hair and his jeans on, just wraps his arms around her.
She isn't sure if the moisture on his chest is from the shower or her tears, but he brushes them away with his thumb, lightly kisses her lips like he's taking all of the pain away.
It helps.
epilogue
"Baby, more sleep," she whines. His hand slides beneath her thigh on the side furthest from him and she peels her eyes open at the feel of his fingers pressing into her skin. Her body automatically responds to his, arching into him like she has no control over her own reactions, and she lifts her hand to his shoulder to push him away. She adds, "you never let me sleep."
"Oh, hush," he replies with a laugh. She feels herself being lifted from the mattress as he pulls her on top of him and she can't help the small yet tired laugh that escapes her lips. Her eyes drift to the clock and she narrows her eyes when she sees that it's almost 4am, his hands grazing up her legs to rest on her hips. "My shirt? Again?"
"What? It smells like you," she reasons. She feels his fingertips sneak beneath the hem of the shirt, the pads of his fingers spreading out against her stomach. She tucks her hair behind her ear and grins down at him as she feels his erection against her thigh. "Hmm, already?"
"It's morning," he replies with a shrug, "do you know how hard it is-"
"Yes," she interrupts with a grin, "I really do."
"No," he laughs quietly, "I was going to ask if you know what it's like to sleep next to a beautiful blonde and not be able to touch."
"Oh please," she scoffs, "you get your grabs in. You think I don't feel your dick pressing into my ass while you feel me up at one in the morning?"
"Okay, maybe I do touch a little," he sheepishly admits, "but it's for a good cause."
"A good cause?" She asks with a laugh. His fingers graze her temple as he pushes her hair behind her ear again and she's distinctly aware that his dick is throbbing between her legs with every brief touch. She smirks a little, pushing her hands over his nipples and rubbing his chest just to tease him. "And what good cause is that?"
"Woman, you better stop that," he warns, "or you'll find out what the good cause is sooner than you think."
"Is that a promise?"
He smirks and she feels his index finger glide down the side of her face, piercing blue eyes looking up at her. Her knees tighten at his waist as she leans down, her hair sweeping to one side and creating curtain that tickles the side of his face, and she presses her lips to her jaw line. She thinks she can hear him release an erogenous breath into her ear and she smiles against his skin as his erection digs into the back of her thigh where his fingers were.
"I'm serious," he adds, quirking his eyebrow like he's begging her to challenge him.
"Yes, I can feel how serious you are," she observes. Slowly, she pushes her lips into his thinking that she's probably teased him enough, and she slides her hands down his chest. He kisses her with more ferver, the kind of kisses that imply he's ready to push himself into her, and she feels his tongue circle hers. She disentangles her lips long enough to mutter, "now."
Her fingers slip beneath his boxer-briefs and wrap around his cock, pulling it from the clothing as he yanks at her panties. Somehow, they're off and he's meticulously placing them on the nightstand as she guides him into her center. He groans as her lips slightly part, her cheek rubbing against his 5 c'clock shadow because she's trying not to move until she adjusts to his girth. She rolls her hips, his lips covering hers and his tongue colliding with hers as his fingers dig into her hip bones.
She feels his hips press into hers as he thrusts and she can't help the moan that falls from her mouth; he seems to swallow the noise coming from her as she rolls her hips, knowing she's close. It never takes long for her to climax when he wakes her up at the crack ass of dawn, and she's near that point already. Usually words of foreplay are exchanged more than foreplay actually takes place, and his fingers push up her shirt so they can brush across the lumps of her breasts.
She moans quietly and arches into his touch, feeling the heat rise into her stomach. She releases a breath as he covers her mouth with his hand and he grins in response; she can feel him throbbing inside of her. Her body aches as her muscles tense and he groans at the contact, at the way she feels around him, and it reminds her to suck on his earlobe to make him come faster, harder.
And the way he breathes in her ear makes her orgasm again, like she has no control over the affects he has on her.
"Fuck, baby," he breathes out with a laugh. His fingers slide up her spine as he holds her against him and her legs are starting to ache. She grins and slides her lips along his skin, moisture trailing along his jawbone.
"You just did that," she jests. She briefly slides her nose along his before she drops a chaste kiss against his lips. He laughs quietly again, his fingers mapping circles along her back like he's sketching out a treasure quest. He yawns and she pokes him lightly in the ribs, "you tired?"
"Yes," he smirks, "you wear me out, woman."
"That's my full time job," she replies.
She rolls off of him, trapping his arm beneath her; her fingertips sweep across his slick torso as his palm presses into her back.
"Really? I thought you were a surgeon," he counters with a teasing smile. She smack him in the stomach, causing him to laugh and hug his torso. His laughter dies down and he turns his head to face her. He adds, "and a mother and the best fiancee a guy could ask for."
"Oh, please, you're such a suck up," she says, rolling her eyes. He pushes his hand into her hair, his fingertips toying with the way her roots sit on her head, and she tries not to get distracted by the way he's trying to distract her. "I'm not that easy."
"No one said you were easy," he reasons, nuzzles his nose against hers, "Maybe I just love you, did you think of that?"
"What? Why would I think of that?" She replies sarcastically, her nose scrunching with her question. She laughs playfully and she becomes aware that the diamond from her engagement ring is digging into his ribcage, the gold of the band catching a glint from the moon peeking in the blinds; she leans heavily against him, her leg sliding between his. "Okay, maybe, that could be why you say such nice things."
"It is why I say such things," he says with a smile. He pushes his lips into hers, soft and lingering as his eyes drift closed. His tongue touches hers only briefly as he twists her hair around his fingers, and she feels his hand slide into hers. "It isn't fair for you to tease me like that."
"Oh, fine, you big baby," she says with a laugh; she stops laughing when she sees that his eyes still haven't opened and she sqeezes his hand, "you wake me up for sex and then just go back to sleep - how mean."
"Sleep with me," he says. He rolls towards her.
"Come on, honey, you know I can't go back to sleep once I'm up," she responds. She slides her arm through his, tapping his ribs in an attempt to get him to open his eyes. He slowly peels one eye open and she watches a slightly smirk tug at the corners of his lips before his eyelid slams back shut. "You could stay up with me rather than being a lazy ass and just laying in bed."
"Not just laying, sleeping," he clarifies.
She laughs quietly, lightly pressing her lips against his, and slips out from beneath the sheets. She glances at the clock to see that it's almost 5am now as she gets dressed in some clothes that will keep her from freezing to death. She rolls down the sleeves of his button up dress shirt and wraps her arms around herself as she glances over her shoulder at him lying in the middle of the bed.
She pulls the bedroom door shut behind her and starts her morning routine. First, she peeks into Logan's room through the crack in the door to see him sound asleep in his bed, face down with his arm hanging over the edge. She moves a little further down the hallway and peeks into Sofia's room, bare and pitch black because she's at Callie and Arizona's but she should be in there later that night. She grabs the rail as she descends the stairs, flipping on the lights closest to the kitchen so there's a light glow at the bottom of the stairs and the living room.
She flips the switch on the coffee maker and keeps moving around the kitchen, putting loose dishes into the sink and pulling out clean mugs from the cabinet as the pot starts to fill. He tiredly pads into the kitchen, track pants on but still shirtless like all he wants to do is tease her; he offers her a smile and drags his hand through his hair, nails scratching at the back of his head. She smiles back at him as he comes up behind her, pinning her between the island and himself.
"What's the matter?" She pries.
His hands start on her ass and push around to her torso.
"Nothing," he mumbles as he plants a kiss into the crevice of her neck, "the best part about being in bed left and I couldn't help but follow."
She briefly wonders what his morning routine is, if he checks in on Logan and Sofia before he comes down the stairs like he's accustomed to their lives together.
"You're such a stalker," she replies with a smirk. She hears a small laugh escape from the bellows of her throat when she feels his teeth on her skin like he's grinning. She feels the heat of his body as he pulls her shirt up in her back a little bit to feel her skin against his stomach. "Following me everywhere like I need you to watch me."
"You don't need me to watch you," he says, reaching around her for a mug, "I like watching you. There's a huge difference."
She turns to look at him just in time to see a smug grin behind the lip of the mug.
"When are you going to think about marrying me, finally, by the way?" She challenges.
"I think about marrying you all of the time," he says. He blows at the steam rising off of his coffee and the liquid rattles in the mug, and she smiles as she starts the same task with her coffee. She purses her lips momentarily to urge him to continue explaining himself before she takes a sip. He lightly taps her hip before he takes a drink, adding, "but then I forget that we aren't actually married because it already feels like we are. You know they call you my wife at work?"
"BUt we aren't married," she reminds him.
"Quit reminding me," he sighs, exaggerated breath lingering behind. She quirks an eyebrow at him as he takes a drink and hisses at the heat burning his mouth. She tries not to smirk in return like he deserves some kind of reprimand. "Yeah, yeah, woman, but I'll marry you. Just say when."
"When," she simply states. She shrugs and takes another sip of her coffee before she sneaks out to the back porch, pulling her legs up into the chair with her.
"Wait a second," he interrupts, poking his head out into the screened in back porch, "you can't just drop a bomb like that and leave."
"Like you haven't seen it coming for 4 years," she retorts with a smirk, "you should feel a little prepared."
"We've been engaged for 4 years, I just quit thinking it was going to happen any time soon," he admits. He steps outside even though he doesn't have a shirt on and it's cold this early in the morning; sitting on the back porch and drinking her coffee is usually something she does by herself every morning. She watches him swallow and cuddle the cup of coffee a little closer to his body. "I forget sometimes that you aren't my wife because of this life we have together."
"So you're already my husband - what's the problem with adding a priest and legalizing it?"
"But why now?" He asks, shivering a little.
"Why are you questioning the when? I thought it was what you wanted. Or is living in sin better than being married to me?" She teases. She pushes herself upright, feeling bad at the fact that he keeps shivering, and pushes a hand into his stomach before she loops her finger into the waistband of his pants. She pulls him in the direction of the house and closes the door behind them, setting her mug down on the counter as she pushes him to the arm of the couch. "I don't know what makes me say now. Maybe it's that we have more of a marriage than most people I know. Maybe it's that I'm tired of feeling like I'm not yours anymore when I have to take the ring off to do a surgery. Maybe it's because I'm happy, we're happy, and there's no reason that we shouldn't be married anymore."
"Well, if you don't know, how am I supposed to know?" He asks playfully. She steps between his legs, her arms sliding around his neck, and she tilts her head slightly. She feels the steam from his mug seep into her pores as his fingertips brush against her hip; his eyes linger on hers, a slight smile across his lips. "You aren't going to distract me with sex."
"Oh, please, I don't do that," she refutes, shaking her head as her eyes narrow at him; he looks at her pointedly and she relents. She corrects, "anymore. Okay, sometimes I do but I've never heard you complain."
"Maybe you just weren't listening," he replies evenly.
"I just got sex, why would I want it again?"
"Maybe because you just told me you want me to legally become your husband and you find me irresistible," he answers suggestively.
She chuckles a little. "I think the important thing here is that you are my husband, I just want there to be rings and a priest and Sofia to be a flower girl and Logan to be a ring bearer and you and me, traditionally saying 'I do'."
"I do want to be with you. I do love you. I do promise to take care of you the best way I know how. I do not see myself being without you. How does that work?"
"Just add a priest," she smirks. She lets go of him, leans back, but he catches her by the wrist, her right one where her watch usually is. She tilts her head in question and he just motions her towards him; she lightly presses her lips to his like he requests. "Now go get your son up and get him ready for school."
"Yes, ma'am."
It's halfway passed 5am and she's supposed to be at the hospital by 7, but she isn't entirely sure that she can be. She has to take a shower and she's becoming more pressed for time than she initially thought, but she's glad they've finally figured things out - figured out that she has more of a marriage with him than she'd ever had with Henry, not that she thinks of him often anymore beyond naming her son Logan Henry Sloan, Mark's idea. She thinks things in their life make more sense now that they have unpacked the last box the night before since moving into the house a year and a half ago and she's beginning to wonder how the one box had been holding her back.
It wasn't even remotely important, just had some old memorabilia from their college days that don't really mean anything anymore.
She smacks his ass as he moves off of the arm of the couch, and she grins when he playfully narrows his eyes at her before he hands her his cup of coffee to climb the stairs. The diamond from her engagement ring catches in the light out of the corner of her eye and her lips turn upward as her gaze shifts from him reaching the top of the stairs to eying her ring. She takes his mug into the kitchen and makes sure everything that she needs is together before she runs upstairs to take a shower.
"Hey, buddy," she says to Logan, distracted by his presence. He tiredly walks in, rubbing his eyes like he's up far too soon, and he climbs into a chair. Mark places a bowl in front of him, light on the cereal and light on the milk, and pushes the spoon into his bowl before getting his own cereal. He briefly presses his lips to her cheek as he passes by her in the kitchen, grabbing his coffee before he sits at the table. "Mommy and daddy finally decided to get married."
"When?" Logan asks. He's quiet, still tired, but crunching his food.
"Soon," she answers, "real soon."
She reaches over and drags her hand through his blonde hair, messed up from his pillow and the way he turns all night, before she smiles slightly at him. She eyes the man who will soon be her husband and he smiles widely between bites, before turning his gaze back to their son. Sometimes, she still can't believe that their son is 4 years-old, blonde hair and blue eyes with his father's mannerisms.
"I have to go shower," she interrupts the silence. She leans down and lightly presses her lips to her son's cheek as he continues chewing like he isn't phased by it. She smiles a little at how he's his own person, but knows that he'll hug her extra tight before she leaves for work. Mark leans up to press his lips into hers, swallowing his food before their lips can meet. Her fingers linger on his cheek and she smiles softly as she quietly adds, "come see me."
He nods in affirmation and as she climbs the stairs she hears Logan ask Mark why she's so excited they're finally getting married since they're practically married already; Mark just tells him it's because he gets to wear a ring and everyone will know he belongs to someone.
While she's almost through with her shower, Mark comes in with a smirk on his face at the sight of her completely naked, and she can only imagine what he's thinking. Probably something along the lines of getting to have her naked the next time or how he wants a quickie in an on call room before lunch or during lunch, most likely even after lunch too. She doesn't have it in her to say she'd object because she isn't much of a liar these days.
"I'm almost done," she informs him over the water.
"Okay," he acknowledges, pushing his clothes over his hips. She watches them drop to the floor and he pulls the shower door open to step in. She feels his fingers drag along her waist and she peels her eyes back open to look at him. "Are you hogging all of the water?"
"Feels like you need to take a cold shower anyway," she comments playfully.
"You're probably right," he agrees with a laugh.
He pushes his lips against hers before she can step out and close the door behind her. She reaches for a towel as he steps under the water and she wraps herself in it, tucking the corner in just before Logan comes in. She lightly shakes her head as the little boy steps up on the stool by her sink to brush his teeth, a responsibility that he's recently taken to on his own rather than being reminded constantly.
"You boys have taken over my life," she comments.
"That was the idea," she hears Mark say over the shower.
She just laughs quietly and goes into the bedroom to find a pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and her boots with the heels in the back to wear to the hospital. She waits until Logan exits the bathroom and closes the bedroom door behind him, telling her he'll be downstairs watching cartoons, before she starts getting dressed. She thinks her fiancee rushes with his shower just to watch her get dressed when he comes into the room as she's clasping her bra.
"Missed the show?" He asks.
"Oh, yes, just ended - another showing tonight," she teases. She smirks as he gets his own clothes and she catches that it's almost 6:30am on the digital clock below the television, and her eyes widen in response as she rushes to get dressed. She's already been up for 2 hours and she's losing track of time; some days it's because she's just dragging ass, today it's happiness that leaves her behind. She releases an exaggerated breath which gets his attention. She pulls her shirt on over her head, straightening the torso of it. "I'm going to be late. I gotta go now."
"I'll be there at 8," he reminds her.
She puts her boots on, pulls her hair out of the collar of her shirt, and stands up to kiss him before she leaves. She goes down the stairs, sees Logan falling back to sleep on the couch watching some cartoon and can't help but smile. She listens for Mark at the top of the stairs, buttoning his pants and descending them with his shirt in hand.
"Mommy's leaving, buddy," Mark finally says at the bottom of the stairs. He pulls his sweater on over his head and offers her a lopsided smile as he tugs it down his torso. She lightly shakes her head as Logan runs over and she gives him a tight hug before she leaves. Mark puts his hand on her elbow as she stands back up and Logan goes back to his seat on the coach. He smiles slightly, "I love you."
"Love you, too," she replies automatically, like a habit, and he kisses her. He closes the door behind her and she wonders what the boys do when she leaves just like every other morning she leaves first.
When she gets to work, she catches the elevator with Arizona like she does almost every morning. Arizona, clad in her blue scrubs, smirks at her later arrival and she can only guess what her friend is thinking. Finally, she looks at Arizona's all-knowing and leans back against the elevator wall and lightly shakes her head.
"It isn't what you think," she tells Arizona.
"Right," Arizona acknowledges.
"I'm serious," she insists, "okay, we did, but that's not why I'm late. We're getting married."
"Yeah, you've said that before," Arizona teases. And she has, almost five years ago before Logan was born. Also again two years ago before everything flared up again, all of the hesitation and the moving into the house happened and they just never picked a date. She adds, "so forgive me if I don't seem too thrilled."
"Seriously. I want it - today, tomorrow, next week - soon; I feel like it needs to happen and I want it to be real. I have the marriage, I just want the wedding," she clarifies; she can see Arizona's mouth beginning to open in shock at the sincerity, "We never talk about the when and now we are. I just can't think of any reasons for us not to get married anymore."
"And you had reasons before?"
"Don't look at me like I'm stupid. I mean, I know it sounds stupid because now that I don't have the reasons I think they were stupid, but there just isn't reason not to anymore," she explains with a shrug. She refuses to elaborate, refuses to explain her reasons because she had the hardest time explaining them to Mark, but when she told him he had just said okay and didn't force the topic anymore. She understands how he never pressed the wedding issue, but she'd always quietly hope that he would. The elevator dings on the floor of the attending's lounge and she glances at her best friend to offer her a smile. "Sofia still going to stay with us this weekend?"
"Yep, it's your weekend," Arizona nods, half waves as the elevator doors close shut.
(By the time lunch comes, Mark is pressing himself against her while she's going over some charts that she's handing off to some interns and she can feel exactly what he wants. His dark blue scrubs seem to disappear somewhere around hers and she doesn't know where his end and hers begin. She smirks a little as she gets rid of her last chart, turning slightly to face him as she glances at him over her shoulder.
"You better get that thing out of my ass," she tells him quietly with a smirk.
"It's not even hard," he replies, playfully narrowing his eyes. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into his direction, her shoulder touching his chest. He grins and leans towards her a little. He adds quietly, "but it can be."
"I'm sure it can be," she replies.)
Sofia and Logan both pass out before the movie is over, Logan curled up in the chair and Sofia sprawled out on the loveseat, and it isn't even halfway over.
"Baby, will you stop?" She asks him with a slight laugh, pulling her hand from him so he quits twising the gold engagement ring around her finger. She's sometimes amazed that he still pays any attention to it after all these years, makes her wonder how much time he spends actively thinking about it. "I'm going to lose it and we'd both hate that. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he answers, "just can't wait to be married to you."
"Is that what you've been thinking about?"
"That, and how I don't know what I'd do without you," he admits. His fingers tap the back of the couch as he leans towards her, rubbing his nose against her temple, and it makes a chill skate up her spine. His lips lightly press against her jaw and she realizes that she doesn't know what she'd do without him either. She didn't think she'd ever know what it would feel like to love someone with her whole heart and them love her the same way.
But, she does.