Disclaimer: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.
Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.
Author's Note: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.
Author's Warning: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it is Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)
Families
Chapter 17
Mark strode purposefully to the parking lot. He was so goddamned sick and tired of everyone assuming he was going to hurt Meredith. He wasn't the hapless bum who'd abandoned her when she was a child or the hysterical thug who had just smacked her in front of a roomful of witnesses. He also wasn't the crybaby who jerked her around for months over a one-night stand he eventually admitted was his own fault or the ex-boyfriend who'd lied to her about being married because he was pretending the marriage hadn't happened and then jerked her around with an on-again, off-again relationship. He was the only man in her life who'd been honest with her all along, and their relationship worked because of it--they didn't jerk each other around because neither one of them demanded what the other didn't want to give. Even so, he was the one Yang threatened to castrate with a rusty spoon; he was the one Addison harangued (after a few snarky comments about Derek's discards) about not hurting Meredith the way he'd hurt her back in New York; and he was the one who got the speeches and the lectures and the dirty looks from almost everyone else in Meredith's personal and professional life. Who the hell did they all think they were, starting with that snotty little intern, to think he was someone they should keep away from Meredith?!
By the time Mark changed into his civvies and got out to the parking lot, he was considerably calmer. Since when had he ever cared about what others thought of him? The hell with them. He and Meredith knew what they were doing. He shook his head at his own foolishness and set out on the short drive to Meredith's house.
Now that he finally had a destination in mind, he was free to shift his focus from finding Meredith to actually thinking about what he could do for her--and he realized that he really didn't know what the point of his visit was. She'd gotten in touch with her friends because she wanted their support, not his. He was no good at this comfort stuff. He remembered the last time Meredith had cried. They'd wound up sitting in her living room with nothing to say to each other until Meredith asked him for pity sex. No wonder she hadn't answered his calls or his pages.
As he continued driving, he tried to take some satisfaction in the fact that he'd run off Thatcher, but something Richard had said kept coming back to him: " Your responsibility is to support whatever decision she makes." A thousand objections to Meredith ever having anything to do with her father rushed immediately to mind, but he couldn't deny the truth behind Richard's observation. The thought that Meredith might continue to subject herself to abusive behavior from Thatcher both sickened and enraged him, and he wanted to deny even the possibility that it could happen, but his own experience had sadly taught him otherwise. He realized he'd have to confess what he'd done and hope--for both their sakes--that she agreed that he had done the right thing.
Mark kept the car headed toward Meredith's, but wondered whether he was doing the right thing. Common courtesy dictated that he should respect the possibility that Meredith had refused to answer his call because she wanted him to stay away, but he couldn't. Well, he could, but he didn't want to--not entirely. Although he dreaded both the possibility of a rerun of the night she broke up with Derek and the potential fallout from his confession, simply turning around and spending the rest of the night wondering how she was doing would be worse. He and his conscience finally settled on a compromise; he'd ask Meredith if she wanted him to stick around, and then accept her decision.
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA
Mark parked carefully, wondering whether he should bother, given that he might be coming back in a few minutes anyway. As he came up the walkway, he heard voices through the living room window and stopped to watch. He saw Alex walk in with a handful of limes and set up three shots of tequila with lime slices while Meredith and Izzie were sitting on the couch with almost identical fake smiles pasted on. As soon as he finished, they all took turns pouring salt on their hands and then bolted down their shots. Then Meredith and Izzie waited for Alex to pour again, their smiles undisturbed by their drinks.
Mark was so proud of Meredith in that moment. She hadn't fallen apart; she hadn't let the bastard get to her. He hoped she'd want him to stay.
"Are you guys expecting anybody?" asked Meredith when she heard the doorbell ring.
Izzie's face immediately grew remorseful. "Oh, I'm sorry, Meredith. I forgot to tell you. Cristina called to say Dr. Sloan was on his way over. She said you weren't answering your cell."
Meredith frowned. She didn't remember ignoring her cell phone, but then realized why she hadn't heard it. She'd thrown everything into her locker in her initial rush to leave the hospital; her cell phone and pager were still attached to her scrubs.
"Should I let him in?" asked Alex, prepared to follow Meredith's lead.
Meredith hesitated; inviting Mark in now was a decision that could go either way. He'd been absolutely perfect that night she broke up with Derek, giving her backup when she needed it, and just . . . being there, giving her both space and comfort. On the other hand, family was a volatile topic with Mark, and she was in no mood for another fight.
"Mer?" asked Izzie as the doorbell rang again.
She hadn't thought about calling him, but now that he was at the door, she realized how much she wanted him to be there. Izzie and Alex and the others would stand by her; that she knew. But Mark . . . Mark could provide both reassurance and distraction in ways that they couldn't. There was a peace to being in his arms that she badly craved--as long as he respected the fact that she was making tonight a fight-free zone. "Let him in," she said, nodding. "Tell him that we're drinking to crappy families. If he wants to join us, fine. If not, tell him I'll see him at work tomorrow."
Alex opened the door only wide enough to deliver the message with an addendum. "Dude, Meredith really doesn't need to be hassled right now. She says you can come in only if you want to join us in drinking tequila and toasting crappy families."
Mark shuddered at the prospect of drinking tequila, but he was willing to go along with it for tonight. If he had to. "No scotch?"
Alex shrugged. Meredith had asked him and Izzie to join her in tequila shots, and he'd be damned before he tried to convince Meredith to make things easier on Mark. "Join us in what we're doing now, or she'll see you at work tomorrow. Her words."
Mark nodded curtly, and Alex stepped aside to let Mark through.
Mark perched himself on the arm of the sofa while Meredith silently cut another slice of lime and poured a shot for him. Alex resumed his original seat, and he and Izzie idly glanced at their surroundings while they waited for Meredith to finish. The atmosphere of the room was . . . edgy, and Mark wondered how much of that was due to his presence. "To crappy families," he said gamely and then grimaced as the raw spirits raced down his throat.
Izzie let out a disapproving "Dr. Sloan!" while Alex gave him a warning glance. If Meredith wanted them all to drink tequila, then they were ALL going to drink tequila without complaint.
Mark hadn't been trying to lodge a protest against the tequila, however silent; the grimace had been involuntary. He hated even the extra añejo (aged) tequilas Meredith had once forced him to try; the blanco piss she was currently drinking wasn't fit for human consumption. He stole a look down at Meredith's face. Her smile had changed ever so slightly; she was enjoying his discomfort. He decided to take the opportunity to lighten the atmosphere.
"I agreed to drink this stuff, Stevens," he growled. "I didn't agree to like it."
Alex and Izzie looked at Meredith and then at Mark, wondering what their next move should be.
"Don't worry, guys," said Meredith in an affectionately scolding tone. She knew what Mark was up to and was grateful for the distraction. "Dr. Sloan can't help it that at heart he's a delicate New Yorker who can't handle a real drink."
"A real drink!" retorted Mark mock-scornfully, throwing a wink at Izzie and Alex to ensure they wouldn't interrupt his shtick. "Grey, you're drinking Mexican moonshine that doubles as paint thinner." He pointedly looked at Alex and Izzie before returning his gaze to Meredith. "When you're ready to drink like grown-ups, let me know, and I'll make some suggestions.
"A sissy. That's what you are--a sissy," Meredith declared, pretending to push Mark off the arm of the sofa. "Go get your scotch, you wimp."
Mark laughed. "Whatever makes you happy, Meredith," he said with a twinkle in his eye before leisurely sauntering off to the kitchen for his favorite Laphroaig. Halfway there, he turned around. "How about letting your friends off the hook? Let 'em pick their own poison for the evening."
Meredith eyed her companions speculatively. It was true that neither of them drank tequila the way she did; Alex generally preferred beer and Izzie tended to be eclectic in her tastes. From the way they didn't meet her eyes, she was pretty sure that Mark was on target about their wishes. "Go, both of you. Shoo! Go get your drinks. This just means there's more of the good stuff left for me," she declared with a lopsided grin as she grabbed the bottle and took a swig.
Alex looked at Izzie, who hadn't budged from Meredith's side. "Beer?"
Izzie shrugged and nodded yes. She anticipated that it would be a long night, and she'd be useless to Meredith before long if she kept drinking tequila instead of nursing a beer.
By the time the men had returned, Izzie had moved to the far end of couch, allowing Mark enough room to sit next to Meredith. Mark started a conversation about their ferry crash victim, Ava/Jane Doe, by asking about the results of her surgery earlier that day for a cerebral bleed. Alex filled them in on Ava's unsuspected talent for languages but was unable to offer any encouraging news on her hunt to recover her memory.
As the conversation swirled around her, Meredith leaned gratefully onto Mark's arm. It was good to be able to avoid talking. She needed time with her thoughts.
The other three talked shop for a quite while, but after they'd reviewed all their current cases, it was hard to come up with another common interest. The weather and its potential impact on their vacation plans at the upcoming end of their internship came up for some discussion, and then Alex and Mark argued for a short bit about a controversial call by a referee at the last Mariners-Yankees game. Somewhere around 9:30, Izzie raised the issue of dinner.
"We can order take-out. The neighborhood has Chinese, pizza, and Mexican." She turned to Meredith. "How about it, Meredith? Pizza or Mexican?"
Meredith took another swig from the tequila bottle and shook her head. "You order without me. Get Chinese if you feel like it. I'm not hungry tonight."
"I can make something, if you're not in the mood for take-out," Izzie offered. "What are you in the mood for?"
"I'm not hungry," snapped Meredith. Her period of introspection while the others made small talk had led to thoughts of the next time she would see Thatcher. Her mood had turned dark and twisty, and she didn't feel like humoring Izzie's relentless attempts to (s)mother her.
Alex jumped in just as Izzie was opening her mouth again. "Hey, Iz. Let's call Mario's and order a mushroom and extra cheese."
Izzie got the message. They could order Meredith's favorite and hope that she recovered her appetite once the pizza arrived. And if she didn't eat it that night, she could have it for tomorrow's breakfast, assuming she wasn't too hung over.
Izzie brought in a menu from the local pizzeria so that Mark could peruse the available choices. Once they'd made their decisions and phoned in the order, Mark stood up and volunteered to wait on the porch for the delivery. Then, wanting to get his confession over with and thinking he should probably tell Meredith in private, he asked her to join him.
"No." Meredith shrugged. "I'm not eating. Why should I wait for the delivery?"
Mark frowned at Meredith's petulant tone. It would be hard enough to talk to her about what he'd done to Thatcher anyway; he didn't need the reactions of the interns complicating things. "Then how about coming out with me for just five minutes. I want to talk to you about something."
"We can leave, Dr. Sloan," interjected Izzie. "Meredith, do you want us to leave?'
Meredith took a long look at Mark's face and drank again. She recognized the look on his face as one that spelled trouble. She was pretty sure she knew what he wanted to say and she didn't want to hear it. "No, Izzie, you don't have to leave and neither does Alex. You and Alex and Cristina and George are my family--the only family I have left. Whatever Mark wants to say, he can say to all of us." She looked back at Mark and jerked her head toward the door. "The porch is over there."
Izzie was confused by Meredith's sudden mood shift and didn't quite know whether to stay or go. Alex, too, was confused at the switch from Meredith being comfortably snuggled against Mark's side to her sudden irritation with him, but he didn't question it. "I'll wait outside with you," he offered to Mark, holding the front door open.
"Meredith, please," said Mark, his face burning with embarrassment. "It's--it's about Thatcher." He continued in a quieter voice, "It's about your father."
Thunk!
Meredith slammed the tequila bottle on the coffee table and stood up. "No, Mark. You do NOT get to call him my father. He is NOT my father. He's Thatcher Grey--sperm donor."
Meredith walked over to where Mark was standing and waved her finger at him furiously. "I know what you're going to say, Mark, and I don't want to hear it. I know you loved Susan, and I know Susan wanted me to get along with Thatcher, but I can't. I can't and I won't. Not for you, not for Susan, not for anybody. He hit me. He HIT me! Susan's dead, and he hit me. He--" Here Meredith faltered, and her fiery indignation revealed an underlying bewildered vulnerability. "He wasn't supposed to do that."
All three of their hearts ached at the look of naked pain on Meredith's face, but she didn't allow it to stay there for long. Her face hardened as she took a deep breath and continued firmly. "Mark, I won't let you bully me into making friends with him just because Susan would have wanted me to. So please--please--don't fight with me about this. Please."
Mark simply stood dumbfounded for several seconds, so relieved that he and Meredith agreed about her relationship with Thatcher that he was unable to summon the words he needed to reassure her. Finally, he shook his head slightly and said, "Meredith, I just wanted to tell you that I told him never to talk to you again unless he was willing to apologize. And that I promised to pay him back with interest for hurting you if he ever hit you again."
Meredith's relief at these words was so great that all she could do was lean against Mark limply. Her own conflicted feelings had pulled her furiously in both directions, and the last thing she'd needed was anyone pushing her in either direction. Mark put his arms around her and rubbed her back silently.
Izzie beamed at Mark, who was too focused on Meredith to notice. As far as she was concerned, Mark had just proven himself as Meredith's champion. It was the most romantic thing she'd ever seen, and it made him Meredith's boyfriend in her eyes even if they were too silly to see it for themselves.
Alex's reaction to this news was considerably more complex. He appreciated the effort Mark had made on Meredith's behalf. The guy was still a jackass, but had proven himself to be a jackass with a heart, someone who cared about Meredith beyond what she could do for him sexually. That news was welcome, but the actual threat to Thatcher was another matter. Alex knew how complicated the relationship between fathers and violence could be. He'd spent years telling himself he'd done the right thing by beating up his father. That cold, mean-tempered bastard had it coming--and his father's subsequent disappearance after he got out of the hospital had saved his mother from many more beatings. He knew this. He knew this the way he knew his own name. But to this day, despite everything that had happened, he still missed his father, and he still wished he hadn't done it. He still wished he could have found some other way, and he hoped Meredith wasn't in for the same lifetime of regret he lived with.
When Mark started guiding Meredith toward the couch, Alex realized that they needed some privacy. "C'mon, Iz," Alex said pointedly. Let's wait on the porch for the pizza."
Izzie opened her mouth to protest that Mark had already volunteered to take care of that job, but then realized that Alex had made an excellent suggestion. As Izzie passed by, Mark handed her his wallet and told her that dinner was on him.
After the interns left, Mark and Meredith arranged themselves on the couch so that she was nestled under his arm. After a few minutes of silence, Meredith began talking about that first dinner she'd had alone with Susan--what they'd talked about and how much they'd laughed. Mark listened quietly, occasionally nodding or making some small sound to show he was listening, and when she had finished, started sharing some memories of his own.
Shortly thereafter, Izzie and Alex came back in with pizza and sodas, and they all ate while continuing to reminisce. By midnight, the leftovers had been packed up and were waiting to be put in the fridge as soon as Cristina decided whether she wanted some and Izzie and Alex had gone upstairs for the evening. By 12:30, when Cristina arrived, Mark and Meredith were sitting on the porch swing, quietly enjoying the peace of the early summer night sky.
"Hey," said Cristina, taking off her helmet and sitting on the porch rail, "I'm sleeping on the couch tonight, right?"
Meredith looked at Mark. "You staying?"
"You want me to?"
Meredith turned to Cristina. "Yeah, you can sleep on the couch," she said, working hard to keep the reluctance out of her voice. She didn't know what kind of trouble had brought Cristina there, and she really didn't feel up to handling another moment of angst--not even Cristina's. But Cristina was her person, and she would not turn her away. "What's up?"
"Meredithwatch. Didn't Izzie tell you? We're doing the whole shivah thing again. You still want sandwiches?"
Meredith relaxed back against Mark and smiled. She didn't need to be coddled the way Izzie had needed it after Denny died, but she was grateful that her family was willing to be there for her if she did. "No thanks. I'm okay."
"Good."
Cristina waited for Meredith--or Mark, for that matter--to cue her in on what need to be done. Finally, Meredith spoke. "You know, I really am okay, Cristina. I don't need to be watched."
Cristina nodded as if she agreed with Meredith completely, and then asked, "So now you're substituting 'okay' for 'fine'?"
"Cristina," said Meredith warningly.
Cristina shrugged. "Don't tell me, tell Izzie. She's the one who set up the schedule."
Meredith quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you take orders from Izzie?"
Cristina raised her eyebrow in return and said, "Since you started substituting "okay" for "fine."
Mark spoke up for the first time. "Schedule?"
"Yeah. You want in?" Cristina eyed the both of them speculatively in the dim light from the living room window. She could barely make out their faces in the backlight, but from their body language she concluded that Meredith was feeling comfortable with Mark. "Talk to Izzie."
Meredith decided to let the argument go. She wasn't going to be able to win it, anyway--and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. "There's pizza on the kitchen table."
Cristina took the hint and started to move toward the house, but stopped to talk to Mark again. "By the way, nice work with Thatcher. I hope you dislocated his shoulder when you took him down."
"Not so much as a bruise, Yang," Mark said gruffly. He really didn't want to talk about it.
"Too bad," said Cristina succinctly. "Good-night."
In the silence, Mark made a mental note to talk to Izzie in the morning--assuming he got up before she left. Barring any complications, he didn't have any surgeries scheduled until early afternoon. He hoped the blond intern had a late day tomorrow, too--she had a full night planned. She'd asked about his favorite muffins and promised to have them waiting for him in the morning even after he'd told her that he didn't need the carbs. She'd also promised to clean the upstairs bathroom "just in case" before turning in, and this decision truly mystified him, since he'd seen the bathroom that evening and it look clean enough not to need a middle-of-the-night scrubbing.
After a few minutes, Meredith asked, "You took down my father?"
Mark shifted his weight so that he was sitting a little straighter; he wanted to be prepared for whatever came next. "No. I just helped him leave the building. Quickly."
Meredith took that in and pondered it. "You kicked him out?" she asked tentatively.
Mark cleared his throat before answering. "You could say that," he admitted.
"Good."
This time, Mark relaxed--and wished that Miranda and Richard had been around to hear Meredith say that. Thinking of them and their attitude toward his relationship with Meredith led him to realize that there had been a change in how the interns saw his relationship with Meredith. Stevens and her muffins, Yang and her mysterious schedule--hell, even Karev had clapped him on the back and wished him good night before heading upstairs. He got it. He'd finally been accepted as part of the "family."
Some distant reflex within his psyche protested that he should be upset about this development, but he wasn't, despite his words to Meredith at Joe's some weeks earlier. For the moment, at least, the inclusion didn't feel claustrophobic, and he was too tired to worry about future developments. He'd handle them when they happened.
There was one thing, though, he had to know. He turned his face into the top of Meredith's head. "Mer?"
Meredith had been idly tracing random patterns on his arm as she slowly drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness. "Hmm?"
"Why was Yang talking about sitting shivah when you're not Jewish?"
Meredith muzzily considered the question and knew she didn't have the energy required to give the answer it deserved. "Tomorrow," she murmured.
"Okay," he agreed easily. After all, it wasn't as if either of them was going anywhere.