Summary: When he stopped to think about it, Mark supposed he had always been searching for that other half of himself: in sex, in surgery, in a million other different pursuits… But he never thought he'd actually find it. Not until he met her, that is. M/L.

Rating: Rated T for some swearing, as well as sexual themes and content. Nothing too explicit, but I'm just warning you.

Inspiration: Half of Something Elseby The Airborne Toxic Event (As always, I highly suggest listening to the song, either before you read or while you read.)

Author's Note: Look out, fluffiness ahead! Mark POV all the way. Please read and enjoy. :)

. . .

On the night that we met, you told me you wanted

Something more from me.

And it was all that I could do.

. . .

I'm about to walk into the ICU to check on my patient when her voice stops me. But instead of walking away and giving her the privacy she no doubt believes she has, I loiter by the door, listening in. I stand by the crash cart, pretending to look over a chart while she comforts our adulterous, mute patient.

"It happens," she's saying. "People make mistakes. They sleep with the wrong person and they hide it…" I feel myself look to the floor in guilt, as if she were speaking directly to me and knew all about the fiasco that was Addison. "But if you ask me," she adds a second later, "it's the part that comes after that matters." Her voice is brighter this time, and somehow I know she's smiling even though I can't see her face. "The part where you make it right… And I think you're off to a good start," she finishes. She stands with our patient in silence for a moment before busying herself by checking his vitals.

I stand outside and try to quiet a frustrated sigh. I know I wasn't listening in because of how much this man's situation mirrored by own not so long ago. And I know I wasn't listening in because I'm a concerned doctor. No, I was listening in because Little Grey here just poured her honest little heart out to this old man she barely knows. I listened in because, years ago, I wanted someone to tell me how to fix everything. I wanted someone to say those same things to me. I still want someone to.

And this is as close as I'll get.

. . .

I remember your face, like a child's…

The way that you blushed, and…

The way that you smiled.

. . .

She's playing with the straws in her drink at a stool by the bar when I walk up. I signal to Joe for a scotch and sit down next to her. I don't know why I'm doing this. She looks up immediately when I sit down, trying to conceal her shock. Too late to get up now.

"How'd it go?" She asks as soon as I get my drink. "I—I know," she continues, as if she knew what I was about to say. "I'm pathetic. And George doesn't know I exist and I missed my surgery and blah, blah, blah. Could you please just tell me how it went with Mr. Padmore?" She finishes in a rush.

"We didn't get to do the surgery," I tell her quietly. "Mr. Padmore's been shipped off to another hospital… And will be out of pain by this time tomorrow. " She smiles, and I take a sip of my drink. I cross my arms on the bar, unable to quell my curiosity of her. "Photographic memory, huh?"

"Yeah." Her response is half a sigh. I wonder how many times she's been asked to show it off. It probably gets boring after a while.

But I can't help myself.

"Periodic table," I instruct. "Go."

She stares back at me for a few seconds before taking a deep breath. "Hydrogen," she beings, "Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen—" She looks upward to think for a split second before, "—Fluorine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium, Aluminum." She's laughing now, and I can't help but smile back and try to keep up with her count by mouthing the words. "Silicon, Phosphorus, Sulfur—" She breaks off, grinning and giggling. "I can keep going," she offers with a wide smile.

I sit back slightly on my barstool and take another sip of my drink. I try and fail to hold back a grin just as enthusiastic as hers. A second later, I give up altogether as I tilt my head towards her. "So keep going."

She grins back momentarily before looking away, as if embarrassed. But a second later, her bright eyes are trained on me again and she's reciting element after element. "Chlorine, Argon, Potassium, Calcium, Scandium…"

She's smiling through her words, and I'm smiling back, and I wonder, suddenly, how I got here. I had no intention—well, almostno intention—of sleeping with her when I sat down. I knew she'd want to know how the surgery went, and after she blew me off to help O'Malley, it would have been nice to rub the hypothetical situation in her face for just a moment. But I told her how it went—how he got transferred—minutes ago. And I'm still sitting here. I'm smiling. I'm laughing.With her.

How in the world did this happen?

. . .

But now it's all that I can do.

And I wake up feeling new.

There's so much more I never knew.

. . .

It was like being a virgin for a second time. I don't know how, I don't know why, but that was the first feeling that came to mind afterwards. When I woke up, things were…different. Things were clearer; things made sense. Things I never thought mattered suddenly mattered.I can feel the steady flow of guilty thoughts traversing through my mind, of course, but I can brush those thoughts away for the moment. It will be harder to stay cool when I eventually run into Derek, no doubt, but I think I can keep him at bay.

If it means seeing her again, that is.

I half-smile at the thought of her. I stare at the clock on the bedside table. 6 AM. Not too early, not too late. I roll over, fully prepared to find her still soundly asleep, or maybe awake and waiting for me. But I find neither.

Instead, there's a folded piece of paper resting on what would have been her pillow. I stare at it, realizing that she even made her half of the bed before she left. Slightly confused, I delicately reach out to take the paper. I flip it open, surprised to find an almost professional message, quickly scrawled, on the hotel's stationary. It isn't addressed to anyone, and I wonder if that's because she was unsure what to call me.

I had to go in for rounds. Sorry. Didn't want to wake you.

–Little Grey

I stare at the note for a full minute, trying to discover a secret code or an unwritten meaning. There's nothing. I fold the paper back up, throw off the covers, and get to my feet. On my way to the bathroom, I crush the impersonal note in my hand and toss it in the trash. I take a long, hot shower, and I'm in the OR an hour and a half later.

Life is back to normal.

. . .

So I think… Of all the years spent alone.

It's like you're searching for something to make you feel whole.

Like you're half of something else.

. . .

I slam the hotel room's door angrily behind me. It shakes on its hinges for a moment before settling.

"Pathetic," I mutter to myself, rubbing a hand over my face roughly as my conversation from just minutes ago floats back into my mind again.

So are you from around here?She'd asked.

She had had a nice voice. It was warm, inquisitive, flirtatious; all in all, it matched her well. I remember looking over when she spoke; I hadn't realized there was anyone else at the bar. And what I saw left me speechless for a moment. She had pretty, long blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back, and when she smiled I could see two rows of perfectly straight and white teeth. I looked her up and down momentarily while I searched for something to say. She had lengthy legs, her bare calves and thighs as on-display as her rather large pair of breasts, all of which were only partly covered by a dark cocktail dress…

She was the kind of women other men fantasized about being with, and yet here she sat, right next to next to me. She ordered a drink, smiled, laughed. We made small talk, discussed polite, generalized facts about each other. She said she was a model, and I remember not doubting it for a second and even grinning in anticipation. She certainly had the body, and from what I could tell, it hadn't had any extra enhancements. How many women does a man come across these days that look this good and who haven't been under the knife once or twice? It was shaping up to be an unforgettable night, I was sure of it. When she leaned forward and boldly squeezed my leg under the bar, I knewit would be unforgettable. All that was needed to seal the deal were a few thinly veiled suggestions, a hundred or so paces to the elevator, a quick ride to the eighth floor, and then the swift swipe of a key card—and we'd be in business.

Yet somehow we didn't get that far.

Actually, I… I have work tomorrow.

"Work," I seethe, snatching a case file from the table and making my way to the couch. I grab a beer on my way there, opening it and slamming it on the coffee table. I glare at the mess when the amber liquid sloshes out of the lip of the bottle. A second later, I'm grabbing it and downing half of it in one pull, furious at myself for backing off when it was clear she didn't want me to anything of the sort.

Had to go in for rounds. Sorry. Didn't want to wake you.

I squeeze my eyes closed, setting down the bottle and lifting a hand to my eyes. I'm even more furious now, but it's for a completely different—though, admittedly, not unrelated—reason. I wish I had something stronger to drink and drown out the memories with, but the minibar's empty and I can't risk going back down to hotel bar again. Not after making a complete ass out of myself just seconds prior to bedding a bona fide model.

"Model," I mutter, snapping open the case file. "She was a fucking model."

My eyes scan the first page quickly. It's full of the usual, but with my mind being pulled in a thousand different directions, I know I need a refresher on even the most recent of cases:

Patient: Greg Nauton

Injuries: Severe (varying from second-to-third degree) burns on chest, arms, and hands. Head contusion. Possible internal damage and/or bleeding.

Attending: Dr. Mark Sloan, Chief of Plastic Surgery M.D., F.A.C.S

Consulting doctors: Dr. Derek Shepherd, Chief of Neurosurgery, M.D., F.A.C.S. Dr. Owen Hunt, Chief of Trauma Surgery, M.D., F.A.C.S.

Intern(s): Dr. Lexie Grey, M.D.

God, she's everywhere, I think, slamming the file shut again before looking any further. I lean back against the couch, angry, annoyed, and wishing I were drunker than I currently am. She won't leave me alone. She's at my work, she's been at my hotel, she's constantly in my head… I run my hands through my hair, my fingers digging into my scalp as if that would help erase the somehow ever-present thoughts and memories of her.

But when I close my eyes for the briefest second, I can see her smiling and laughing.

Get out of my head.

It's her fault all of this is happening, I realize. She's the reason I turned down that model just minutes ago. I can't even remember the woman's name and what she looks like is already slipping from my mind…in favor of her. I press my hands more firmly against my head. She's the reason I can't stay focused on anything, not even surgery. She's the reason I'm on edge just walking into the hospital. She's the reason I can't even get laid when there are models literally throwing themselves at me… And shejust happens to be the one person that's not supposed to be on my mind. The one person who can'tbe on my mind.

Little Grey.

Get out of my head,I think again. You aren't supposed to be here.

I close my eyes and watch her smile smugly in my imagination.

Why won't she leave me alone? Why can't I just enjoy myself? For one night?

. . .

Like you're half of something else,

Just a fraction of yourself.

. . .

She finished my sentences, I remember, as I lie wide awake in the darkness of my empty hotel room hours later. I still can't get to sleep, but I remember…

That night, she finished my sentences. She knew what I was thinking; at times, she seemed to even be able to read my mind. I'd never met someone who could do that before. With Derek, it was always old jokes and things we had said a hundred times in each other's presence that made us spout out identical sayings. I'd had known Derek for years, though. Decades. But her—I barely even knowher.

It had surprised me at first—annoyed me, even—but as the hours went by, I found myself saying certain things just as an excuse to hear her say the same. To see her smile when we would finish each other's sentences or hear her laugh when one of us called out 'jinx!'

. . .

Looking back, I suppose I should have realized what was happening right away. Anyone would have. It was so obvious…

But I'd never experienced something like this before, so how could I have known what was happening?

Plus, it was just a one-night stand. By definition, it meant nothing.

It hadto mean nothing.

. . .

Don't take it so hard; we did what we could.

There were no easy answers to be understood.

. . .

"Hey."

I close my eyes. I could recognize her voice anywhere.

"I… I'm sorry I ran out, um, that morning."

I open my eyes, immediately knowing what morning she's referencing. "What?" I ask, shocked that she'd talk about what happened between us here.

"After…" She pauses, and when I look to my right in annoyance at her stalling, I see her standing there. Right beside me. Close enough to touch. I fight back the urge, just as I've fought back every other urge when it comes to her. Or tried to, at least. "After I showed up, and we…" She clears her throat, looking away for a moment as a blush spreads over her cheeks. I force myself not to smile at her embarrassment. It's adorable. "I had rounds," she finishes after a moment. "Sorry."

"So you said in your note," I reply, trying to stay neutral.

It's silent for a second, and I can feel her staring at me. I keep my eyes trained on the board in front of me.

"I—I'm sorry," she begins, obviously confused, "but I thought that was the polite thing to do."

I look over, meeting her gaze and raising my eyebrows. "Polite?" I repeat. It was a one-night stand, who said you needed to be polite?

"Well—yeah. I mean, I didn't really think you really wanted me around."

I frown at this, genuinely confused. Of course the general expectation for situation like these would be that I wouldn't want her around… But after that night? Is she kidding? "Why would you think I didn't want you around?"

"Well, I—I mean… Mar—Dr. Sloan," she corrects immediately. She glances around, and finds we're still alone. Even so, she lowers her voice. "It—it was a one-night stand." From the way her eyes dart to and from my face, though, she doesn't seem so sure of her words anymore. "R—Right?" She questions nervously. "I mean, that's what it was. I—I showed up, and—"

"—and you stripped and we screwed," I finish for her. I stare at her, for some reason wanting to challenge her until she cracks. I narrow my gaze, zeroing in on her. "You wanted it to be more than that?"

"What?" Her eyes are wide and scandalized. I try not to take offense at the implication. She isright, after all. It was a one-night stand. "N—No, of course not. I—I didn't want that." Something in my expression makes her pause. "Unless…" She takes a nervous breath. "D—Did you…" I watch the inner muscles of her throat move as she swallows. "Did you want it to be something more than that?"

I close my eyes, forcing a polite smile to my face. "Easy, Grey. You were right the first time. It was a one-night stand. Let's all just move past it, shall we?"

"No, right, sure," she replies quickly, clearly relieved. "That's—that's what I was trying to say. Let's just forget it."

"Sure thing."

"It's just…" She bites her lip, and I struggle not to sigh aloud. Can't she just leave it alone?"You took me off your service last week, I…" She takes a breath, gathering her courage. "That wasn't because of… what happened between us, right?"

I stare at her, tilting my head to the side. "Are you implying that I'm unable to separate my personal life from my professional, Dr. Grey?"

"What? Of—Of course not!" She backpedals quickly and I almost smile at her discomfort. "I—I was just confused, is all."

"That much is obvious," I observe dryly. "Look," I snap. "I needed other interns, okay? You aren't the only one in your class."

"No, I know—"

I can't take this anymore. "Good-bye, Grey," I cut it, walking around her and heading down the surgical hallway. When I reach the first corner, I can't resist looking back. She's staring at me.

There's a miniscule moment when our eyes meet, just a few quick, fleeting seconds. But in those seconds, I'm transported back to that first night with her. The hurt and confusion that resides in her eyes now is not so unlike that which I saw in those same eyes only a few nights ago.

Come on, am I really so bad?

But I blink and the connection breaks. She looks down and quickly busies herself with a chart in her hand. I sigh loudly, knowing she can't hear me from this far away, and close my eyes while rubbing the back of my neck tiredly. The decision's already made,I tell myself. It was made the second you looked back to check on her. Just get it over with already.

A minute later, I've crossed back to the other end of the hall. She practically jumps out of the way when I walk up, but I pretend not to notice. Her eyes follow my every movement, I know, as I erase her name from beside Hunt's on the OR whiteboard and return it to its place beside mine.

"You need experience with severe burns," is how I rationalize it gruffly. I turn to meet her eye, and she nods quickly, meekly, her face is so open, her expression still so shocked and—god, why does she have to wear all her emotions out in the open like that, exposed for everyone to see?

I walk away before anyone can see us together and connect whatever dots are hanging in the air. I leave and physically force myself to keep my eyes trained forward and not look back. I know if I do, I'll end up doing something even more stupid and reckless than just assigning her to one of my surgeries.

. . .

It was all that we could do.

We're the only ones who knew.

Now all I think about is you.

. . .

"Mark..."

She's started saying my name. First, it was quiet sighs like this one—utterances that were barely noticed to the untrained ear. But then it changed. The change might have been gradual, but to me it seemed to happen all at once. One day she's whispering my name, and the next she's shouting it for the whole hospital to hear.

Today seems to be somewhere in between.

"Oh, god," she whispers, eyes closed as she rocks above me. "Oh, please, I… I need—" I know exactly what she needs. And I give it to her without a moment's hesitation. "Mark!" She calls out a second later, her voice full of desperation just as she tumbles over the edge of completion.

She finishes in a flurry, falling on top of me as I hit my release as well. We both lie there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and attempting to come back to reality. But thisis reality.I find myself smiling at the thought, and my hands involuntarily cup her hips more securely, caressing her soft, sweat-sheened skin. When she finds the strength in her to shift her weight off of me and separate our bodies, she falls with a thud to the other side of the mattress we're currently sharing.

Without thinking, I move to wrap an arm around her shoulders. And as if by habit, I pull her close, shut my eyes, and sigh softly. Only one thought crosses my mind: This feels good. A second later, though, I come to my senses. Quickly, I let go of her and put my arm back against the side of my body, separating the two of us, where it belongs. She doesn't say anything, and I try to pretend nothing happened.

The silence hangs between us, awkward and untouched.

Just when I'm about to make up some bullshit excuse to get the hell out of here, she whispers, "You can put your arm back." There's a pause. I don't look at her, but I suspect she's holding her breath or attempting to swallow her fear of what we're becoming, just as I am. "If you want," she adds after a moment.

It's silent again. I find I don't know what to do.

Things used to be simple. We used to meet, either pre-planned or by surprise, in a deserted area of the hospital. On-call rooms were always the most comfortable, but sometimes things got more interesting in empty exam rooms or—on one or two occasions—halted elevator rides.

But things have changed recently. I don't know why and I don't know how. They've just changed. And in the spirit of such change, I find myself resting my arm behind her again. It's just to placate her,I assure myself. Agreeing is easier than putting up a fight.

A few seconds later, she reaches up with her left hand, takes my fingers, and tugs my arm down so it rests just above her shoulders. She lets of go my hand slowly, almost reluctantly. I have to remind myself to breathe.

"I locked the door," I tell her to break the silence. "If you're tired, you can sleep."

She looks up at me, and her fatigue is obvious from the dark bags under her eyes. It's not from the sex, I know that—it hadn't been all that strenuous nor did it last very long—but more from all the hours she's been working. I don't think she's had an entire night off in a week. Not that I'm supposed to know that.

"Are you going to stay?"

Her words catch me off-guard and suddenly I'm trapped, staring at her. I've always stayed, unless I had a patient or surgery, but it never meantanything… I was tired, I slept. She was tired, she slept. We slept together, in every interpretation of the phrase. But the way she's asking it now… Why does she have to ask it like itmeanssomething?

"I… can," I settle on finally, not seeing another way out. "I can stay."

"Okay."

"If you want," I qualify.

She nods, though it doesn't seem to be a confirmation of the statement—it's more of an acknowledgement that she heard me.

"You can sleep now," I inform her. She blinks over at me, and as we stare at each other I get the feeling that time isn't moving as fast as it usually does. Everything seems to have slowed down. After a time, she looks down and our gazes break. I watch her breathe for a moment, just watching, and then suddenly her body is lying flush against mine.

Before I know what happened, where there used to be space between us, there no longer is any. Her head is resting on my naked chest, with her hair fanned out behind her on the bed. Her knees are bent towards me and her fingertips are lingering just above my hip. She's sort of… hugging me.

For some unknown reason, I don't move away. I don't shove her off and I don't get up. No, instead I draw my now-free arm around her until it hangs over her back. My hand rests against her thigh, and in the silence that follows both our movements, I stroke her skin there with the pad of my thumb.

Neither of us speaks for so long that I almost thought she'd fallen asleep. But then she speaks, and her voice is so quiet—almost inaudible—that I have to strain to hear it despite our unbelievably close proximity. How did we get this close?

"I don't know what this is anymore," I hear her whisper against my chest, "but I…" She pauses, and I can feel her swallow against me. "I think I… I like what it's turning into."

I wait a few seconds, but she doesn't say anything else. Finally, after minutes and minutes pass, I can't hold back anymore. "I… like what we're turning into, too," I admit, my voice just as hushed as hers.

Half a second later, I realize I took her hypothetical "it" and turned it into a very real and tangible "us" without a second thought. I'm about to correct myself, and I turn to look her in the eye, but when I see her face, I realize that she's already fallen sound asleep. It's too late. Instead of speaking, I cautiously lean forward, moving slowly in case she wakes, and kiss her forehead softly. When I pull back, I could swear I saw a smile on her face for a second. But when I blink, the smile's gone, and I know it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. It does that a lot these days, especially when it comes to her.

I take a deep, supposedly calming breath as I lie back against the cot again. I close my eyes, but I find sleep is eluding me. I open them again, thinking that maybe watching her sleep will push me in the right direction.

I look down, listening to the two of us breathe while I study her unconscious body. One of her legs is hooked over mine, the other is spread in the opposite direction. Her right arm is lying between us and her left is just barely touching the skin above my hipbone. My eyes travel upward after a few moments. Her head is resting on my chest, with her hair splayed out to the side and falling onto the bed. And her ear, I notice, is positioned directly over my heart.

I wonder how its pounding beat isn't keeping her awake.

. . .

When I wake up, it's eight. I don't remember when or how I fell asleep, just that I was with her then and I'm still with her now. Both our shifts are already over, and, I realize sleepily, she missed her surgery. When my eyes flicker open, I find I'm staring right into hers. Her lips twitch into a small, sheepish when our gazes meet, and I can feel her gently beginning to untangle our entwined legs and arms. She's about to make her getaway, I know—as she should—yet the only thought that crosses my mind is, Stop her.So I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

"Stay."

My order comes out a quite plea; so rushed and so filled with worry and longing I can't believe the word even exited my own mouth. But it worked: her quick moves to escape have halted—her hands have stilled, resting on my chest, and her legs are frozen, hooked around and tangled with mine. She's staring at me now, and the look in her eyes is a perfect visual representation of my tone. I don't know what this is anymore,she had whispered before she fell asleep, but…

"I… I like what we're turning into, too," I manage to say, not knowing where these words are coming from.

"I heard you," she whispers a second later. Her wide, dark eyes are blinking at me from just inches away. "Before, I heard you."

I swallow, quickly realizing I've probably made this into one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. She knew. Still, I can't stop myself from wanting—needing—to understand. It can't get any worse, right? "Why… Why didn't you say something, then?"

"Because I didn't know what to say." Her voice is soft and pained and scared. "I—I didn't know if I was supposed to hear," she continues before I can ask. "People, you know, people say a lot of things when they think they aren't being heard. I… I just…" She takes a slow breath, forcing herself to look me in the eyes. "I just didn't know if you really meant it, is all."

I can't reply, but somehow the look on my face—or in my eyes—is enough of an answer for her.

"Oh," she murmurs a second later.

I nod, even though I don't know what I'm agreeing to. We both admitted that we like wherever it is that this thing between us is headed, sure… But whereisit going? What arewe, anyway?

"Can we…" She swallows, obviously nervous. "Can we just stay here for a little while? I know it's late, but—"

"You don't want to go home?" I interrupt, confused. I expected she would be headed to Meredith's for a warm bed the second she was no longer needed at the hospital. "Your shift's over."

She shakes her head, not bothering to question why or how I know her schedule. "Meredith's…" She sighs. "That's… That's not really home for me."

"Well…" I bite the inside of my cheek, yet force myself to maintain eye contact and try to appear normal. "I'm not saying a hotel is home, either, but…" I hear her breath catch, but still I continue. I have to. There's no stopping now. "Would you like to stay with me?" She blinks at me, and I really hope I haven't rendered her speechless. I can barely speak myself, and two mute and confused idiots are definitely worse than one. "Just—just for a night or so, I mean," I add quickly. "Not—not permanently…"

It's her smile that cuts me off. She doesn't say a word, just smiles. I feel warm just from looking at her.

"I would really like to stay with you," she replies, measuring out her words.

I take a breath, and I can't help but smile back. "Really?" I ask.

She nods, and I stare at her. A couple seconds later, I lean forward. My eyes are trained on hers almost the entire time—until she closes hers—as I bend towards her. Her lips are smooth and moist when they meet mine halfway.

The kiss is short and almost childish in its chastity and uncertainty, but it doesn't seem to faze either of us. We both pull back slowly, opening our eyes as we do so. Our gazes lock as we drift apart, and soon I can feel her bare foot trailing up and down the length of my calf. I reach over, running my fingers over the soft, curved expanse of her jawline and cheek. She closes her eyes at my touch, and I swear I can see her lips tremble for a moment.

. . .

A little under an hour later, after our roaming limbs gradually ceased their explorations of each other, I'm less than surprised to discover that we're lying much closer than we were before. Our naked, now-cooled skins are pressed up against each other at almost every conceivable junction. She lying above me, and my arms are wrapped snugly around her small body.

"Do you want to go?" I ask quietly as we lie tiredly, wrapped up in each other's arms.

I feel her shake her head against my chest. "Let's just stay here a little longer."

I close my eyes, feeling my lips twitch into a smile. I hold back a sigh of relief at her answer. "Okay," I reply.

She shifts her head against my chest. It's a small, slight movement, but it's there. She's pressing her ear against my heart again. The pounding from before is gone now, and I wonder what she's listening for this time.

. . .

When we finally manage to make our way back to my hotel room an hour later, things are no different. She blushes shyly as she undresses, but I pretend not to notice and shed my clothing as well. We start on opposite sides of the bed, but eventually we both migrate to the center. We fall asleep in each other's arms in just a few short minutes. We sleep soundly the entire night, and don't wake till late morning. When I open my eyes to see her brown ones flickering awake in front of me, I realize this is the second time in twenty-four hours that we've awoken to each other's faces and each other's small, almost hidden, smiles. What did I wake up to before this?

I reach out to brush her hair back from her face, and she grabs my wrist. I freeze, wondering if the action was some invasion of privacy. But next thing I know, she's taking my hand in hers and threading out fingers together. I look down, watching as our knuckles line up.

When my eyes return to hers, I can't read her expression. Her eyes are dark and impenetrable and her face displays no emotion. But I remember the easy smile that spread across her face the moment she woke up… And I feel myself smiling, too. As if in response, her face lights up with hope, and before I can say anything, she's pushed herself forward and covered my lips with hers. Her momentum brings most of her body against mine, and I roll onto my back to accommodate her better. She moves to crouch above me, her legs spread out behind us as she kneels over me. I reach up, placing my hands on her hips lightly. She smiles down at me.

"Hi," she says, bending down and flattening her body against mine. She rests her chin on the center of my chest with her hands beneath, and spreads her body out along mine.

"Hey," I reply, running my hands up and down her back.

We stare at each other for a few minutes in silence; neither of us knows what to say. It's a few seconds before I chuckle softly at the expectation written all over her face. She laughs a moment later, burying her head against my chest in embarrassment. When her laughter subsides, I feel her press a kiss to my skin before looking back up.

I smile when she meets my eyes again. I reach out with a free hand, rubbing her cheekbone with my thumb and cupping the back of her neck loosely with my fingers. "Morning," I murmur softly.

A smiles spreads over her face and I can feel her lean into my hand slightly. She reaches down, taking my other hand in hers, and twines our fingers together again. "Morning," she whispers back, squeezing my hand with hers.

"Little Grey spent the night at my hotel," I murmur, stroking her cheeks. A smirk spreads over my face. "How am I ever going to explain this to Derek?"

"Just tell him it was a one-night stand," she smiles, chuckling. I meet her halfway when she leans forward to kiss me. She laughs a second later when I flip her around so she's now the one pinned beneath as I crouch above her. Her small hands are gripping my shoulders, and she's grinning up at me with something more than mischief in her brown eyes. I close my eyes for a second and take stock of the situation.

Yes, things are different. Yes, there is no turning back.

I don't know where this is headed, and I'm sure she doesn't, either, but still… This could be something, right? It could turn into something… Maybe even something… real?

"Hey," I hear her whisper. I open my eyes slowly, still lost in thought. She's beaming up at me, and her hands shift from my shoulders to my neck and face, drawing my lips down to her level. "Stop thinking so hard, will you?" She stretches upwards, covering her lips with mine. "Just enjoy it," I feel her whisper into the kiss.

. . .

Now all I think about is you:

The way that you screamed; the way that you cried.

The way that you'd wipe your eyes

And fall against my side.

The way that you told, told me I was wrong.

And the way that you'd sing when you'd hear a song.

And the way that you answered, when you knew that I was gone.

. . .

. . .

Now, I know that I'm blind…

And that you're all I see.

. . .

"Marry me."

She almost chokes on her food, and I try not to wince. What the hell are you doing?I ask myself. But it's too late to turn back now. The words are already out there.

"Marry me," I find myself saying again, as if repeating it would help. She staring at me, wide-eyed, and I find I'm smiling despite my terror. She has to say yes,I think optimistically. She has to. The girlalwayssays yes."Please," I add after a moment.

"Mark," she whispers. "I—I—" She breaks off, and I hope she isn't about to say no. "I'm not ready to get married." Well, that's notquitea 'no.' "And we've…" She swallows, staring at me. "Mark, we've never even talked about this. Not even remotely. Not—Not even—"

"We're talking about it right now."

She gives me a sad smile. "You're not talking," she corrects softly. "You're asking. Well, ordering, actually."

"Would you feel better about it if I got down on one knee?"

I see what's left of her color drain from her already-pale face, and she seems to almost sway in her seat. "You have a ring?" She manages to whisper.

"No," I reply slowly, confused at her response as I watch her visibly relax. What does it matter if I have a ring or not? "No, I don't have a ring."

"Why not?" She whispers after a tense, silent moment.

I attempt a smile. "Because I hadn't quite planned that far ahead," I admit. She looks down at her plate, and when she doesn't immediately look back up, I get to my feet and make my way over to her side of the table.

"Look, Lex, this came out of nowhere for me, too." I watch as she closes her eyes before staring up at me. "I—I was just eating dinner here with you, like we always do, and suddenly—it just came over me." I stare at her, unable to look away or back down even though I know I'm making her uncomfortable. "I needyou," I finish in a whisper.

She smiles half-heartedly, reaching up to touch my stomach lightly. "Well, we could've skipped dinner and went to bed instead," she suggests.

"That's not the kind of need I was talking about."

She looks down, as if embarrassed to be joking. "I know," she whispers.

The conversation pauses, and I take a moment to take a deep breath. "Are you saying no?" I ask finally.

"I…" She stares up at me, and from the look on her face you would've thought I just told her she had three months to live. "Mark," she whispers, still holding my gaze with her pained one, "it's only been sixmonths."

"Who cares how long it's been?" I reply. "I've known how I felt about you since the beginning. I've been in love with you…" I trail off, shaking my head as I try to clear my head. "Lex," I continue a moment later, looking at her, "I've been in love with you forever. That isn't going to change anytime soon."

"I know it's not going to change," she whispers. "And it—it's not going to change for me, either."

"So?" I ask, wondering what's holding her back.

"So," she replies seriously, "do you have any idea how fast this is?"

I open my mouth to reply, but quickly shut it. I don't have an answer, but she answers for me, anyway.

"Most couple go through years of being together before they even start to contemplatemarriage," she explains. "And…" She bites her lip, hard. "Mark, I—I'm barely twenty-five."

I direct my answer towards her latter statement. "I know that."

She closes her eyes briefly, taking a patient breath. "Can't you understand that this is a little soon?" She asks quietly. "Can't you see that this shouldn't be happening between us—not now, not for years?" I wait for her to add Not ever, but she's fallen silent. Her eyes are boring into mine, frightened and begging me to understand.

"Sure," I reply, although I'm not grasping the logic behind what she's saying at all. Even I can hear the subdued nature of my response. I watch her eyes grow wider with worry as she comes to terms with the fact that I can't understand her side of things at all.

"Are you going to leave?" She whispers, trying to put on a brave face.

I close my eyes, reaching up and running a hand over my face and through my hair. I debate saying yes, maybe just to scare her into saying yes, but I know I can't lie—not about this.

"No," I reply after a moment. I can hear her sigh in relief.

"Thank—"

"I'm going into work," I interrupt, stepping away. I don't wait to see her reaction, but I'm sure she's crushed. To her credit, she doesn't try to stop me. She doesn't point out that I don't have any patients to visit nor surgeries to compete. She knows that I need to leave, and she lets me go. She knows I can't be here right now.

But she calls my name as I'm putting my coat on. She's supporting herself with a hand on the wall when I turn around. She looks so small, standing there alone as she clutches the doorframe.

"Will you be back?" She calls softly.

"I'll always be back, Lex." My voice is just as quiet as hers, and in the silent chaos of our apartment, I begin to understand the meaning of being able to hear a pin drop.

She nods in response, knowing there's nothing more she'll be able to get out of me. She stare stares at me, and I find I can't look away so long as she's locked onto me with those scared, terrified eyes. "I love you," she whispers quietly.

I nod. "I know that."

"If you're staying the night at the hospital…" She trails off, looking away before training her eyes on mine again. "Will you text me or leave a message? Just so I know where you are?"

"Sure."

"And if—if you want to come home…" She smiles sadly, shrugging helplessly. "Well, you're always welcome here. You know that."

"I do."

"Okay." She nods. I think she's starting to tell that I can't stand here answering her questions any longer. Not after she shot mine down. "I'll—I'll let you go then."

"Thank you."

I turn and leave without another word. I don't slam the door, but I don't lock it, either. I close it quietly, standing outside in the deserted hallway and wondering what to do. While I'm thinking, I hear a strangled sound coming from the other side of the door. It takes me a few seconds, but when the sound is repeated a moment later, I'm certain it's a sob. I freeze at this realization, immediately wanting to turn back and comfort her, to assure her that everything will be okay… Until I realize that I'm the victim here. Sheturned me down. She shouldn't get my pity or my help. She doesn't deserve it.

So I turn and walk away.

. . .

I don't go to the hospital. I don't go to a bar. I don't meet anyone.

I just walk through the streets, still wet and fresh from the last rain, and I think. It takes me a few hours, but eventually, I realize that she was right. It wastoo early. We haven'tbeen dating very long. But she's been in my head and in my heart for months and months, it almost seems as if she's been there forever. But she hasn't been.

And I didn't take her feelings into account when I asked. Sure, she's been on my mind forever—but how long have I been on hers? Love, caring, longing, lust… They're not exactly two-way streets. I've been wrapped up in her so long… But how long as she been wrapped up in me? She loves me, I know that, but loving someone and committing to that person for the rest of your life are two very different things.

And she's right—we have never oncetalked about getting married. We've never joked about it, we've never alluded to it. It's never come up. No one has ever mistaken us for a married couple or asked us when we're having children. We've never had to have those awkward, serious, life-altering conversations. It's just never come upbetween us. And tonight—I have no idea what came over me, but it suddenly came up. One second we were enjoying dinner like we always do on nights off, and the next—I was wondering what it would be like to do this every day for the rest of my life. Three seconds later, I was uttering two words that no doubt wrecked our relationship forever.

Marry me.

I close my eyes as the words cut through me like a rusty knife. Why am I so stupid?I ask myself, angrily kicking broken pieces of glass out of my way.Why can't I just hold my tongue?While I'm berating myself, I remember that I identified myself as the victim when I left. Me. I stop in the middle of the street I'm currently crossing, and I realize:

This is all my fault.

She had nothing to do with what happened. I asked, I waited for an answer, and when I didn't get what I wanted to hear, I left like an spoiled child denied their favorite toy.

And she cried when I left.

I reach up, running a hand over my face and rubbing my eyes tiredly. Why am I sofuckingstupid?I heard her crying and I didn't do a thing. I knew she was upset, I knew I left her alone to deal with the possible disintegration of our entire relationship, and I heard her crying. I heard her crying and I walked away. I left her alone.

What kind of a person does that?

This is all my fault,I realize again. And I have to take responsibility of my actions. I have to make things right, even if she's intent on ending us because of what I've done. I wouldn't blame her for doing so.

Without wasting a second, I turn around somewhere in the middle of mile six and head straight home.

. . .

She's curled up on the couch when I come back in. She didn't lock the front door, and I try not to dwell on the fact that she potentially put her life at risk just so I could walk back in like nothing happened if I wanted to come home. I stare at her for a few minutes from the entryway, noting the small pile of tissues scattered near the trashcan; her aim probably got worse as the night went on. I don't know how long she's been asleep without me, or how long she cried while I was gone. I just know I don't want it to happen again. I have to fix this and I have to do it now. Even if she leaves. Especially if she leaves.

"Lex," I whisper, tapping her arm lightly. "Lexie."

She wakes slowly, staring up at me. She's confused at first, but then I see the memories rush back across her face, and a weak smile takes shape on her face. "You're back," she whispers as she gets to her feet. I nod, taking a step back and giving her space.

"Lexie," I begin. "Look, I want you to know—"

"Can we not have this conversation, please?" She interrupts in a quiet, defeated voice. "Tonight has just been…" She sighs. "You're home, okay?" She forces a smile. "That's all that really matters. As for the rest… Can we just forget it happened, please?"

"But…" I take a breath, hoping I'm not pushing her away forever. "We can't, Lex. We can't just brush this under the rug. It's too important."

"If you're going to propose again," she threatens, "I—"

"I'm not proposing," I cut in quickly. She looks visibly surprised as she stares at me. "I'm apologizing," I tell her softly. When she doesn't reply, I continue on anyway. "I was being honest before—I really don't know what came over me. It was just a whim, I guess, I asked you on a whim, is all and…" I take a breath, calming down at looking her in the eye. "And I'm sorry, Lexie. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that, especially not when we've never even talked about our future together. I… Look, I know I screwed up here. I realize that. But Lex, I just… I honestly don't know what I'd do without you." I stare into her dark brown eyes, pleading with mine. "Again," I whisper, "I'm not proposing. I'm just asking you… Please… Please don't leave me."

She stares back at me, confusion written all over her face. "Leave?" She asks after a few seconds. I hear surprise in her tone, but I can't understand it. "Why would I leave?"

I frown. Isn't it obvious?I think. "Well, because—"

"Mark," she interrupts, a relieved smile gracing her lips and momentarily brightening her features, "Mark, I thought youwere going to leave!" I stare at her, dumbfounded. Me? Leave?

"What?" I manage hoarsely.

"You—you walked out," she explains, "and I never heard from you. You—you said you'd call but you never…" She breaks off, sucking in a breath. In a second, she's jumping forward and hugging me. "Thank you for coming back," she whispers, holding me tight. "Thank you so much."

"Of… Of course," I stammer, not knowing what to say as I hesitantly wrap my arms around her as well. I'm still trying to make sense of all the turns our situation has taken when I hear her quiet voice speak, muffled and barely audible, into my shoulder.

"I thought you were gone forever," she murmurs. Her voice is a heartbroken whisper. I glance in her direction, but her head is turned away from me. I look away again, wondering if I'm even supposed to have heard her. As the minutes pass and she doesn't speak again, I know those words weren't meant for me to hear.

But I hold her tighter nonetheless.

. . .

And, yeah, I know it's not clever…

But I just want you with me.

. . .

"Mark. Mark. Mark, wake up!"

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter groggily. I open my eyes to find Lexie staring right back at me. I blink, but the over-the-top excitement doesn't leave her face. "What is it?" I mutter, attempting to sit up. I feel like I only fell asleep five minutes ago.

She bites her lip, but I know it's only a precursor to an outburst of emotion. And it doesn't stop a smile from spreading over her face anyway. "You're never going to believe what I just did," she whispers excitedly.

"Well…" I gesture tiredly for her to continue. "By all means, try to persuade me."

"I just had my first solo surgery."

My eyes snap open. "You what?" I ask, sitting up quickly and feeling all the sleep drain instantaneously from my body.

"Yes!" She shouts, spinning in a quick and imperfect pirouette. "I just operated on someone! By myself, Mark. Myself! I did it all, the Chief didn't say one word and—" She breaks off, covering her mouth with a hand as if to hide her enthusiasm. "It was amazing, Mark," she whispers a moment later when she drops her hand. "I mean, really—amazing." She takes a breath, grinning. "And I—I—I get it now! The high, the thrill, the endorphins—everything.I get it." She sighs, still grinning. "God, I've never felt so—so on top of the world. I—I can't believe it. I really can't. I mean, god, Mark, I was the surgeon in the OR. It wasn't an attending, it wasn't the Chief, it was me."

I grin, getting to my feet. "That's fantastic, Lex," I reply, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She smiles, tilting her head towards mine and glancing to me out of the corner of her eye as I pull away. I pause, standing before her for a moment, but when she doesn't move to initiate things, I head to the door.

My hand's on the knob when she whispers quietly, "There's something else."

I turn around, watching as she pivots with a small smile on her face. She walks forward until we're face-to-face, and then reaches up to kiss me lovingly. "Thanks," I say when she pulls back.

"No," she smiles. "That wasn't it." She takes a breath, still smiling, and looks me in the eyes. "I've decided." I stare at her, waiting. On your subspecialty?I want to ask. She's never mentioned what field she wants to go in, and suddenly I find that I'm intensely curious. This decision will determine her entire future, and I find I don't have the slightest inkling of where she's headed. I start to open my mouth to speak, but something about her excitement makes me hold my tongue to see what she has to say before I pose my question. Let her do the unveiling. A second later, though, she's looking less sure as she wrings her hands and walks away from me. She paces back and forth across the small room as she speaks.

"What I realized as I was in surgery," she begins, "is that you weren't there."

"I know," I mutter. Since the second she told me, I've mentally killed myself a thousand times for not being present in that OR. It was one of the most important moments of her career… And what was I doing? I was sleeping. "I'm sosorry, Lexie. I—"

She waves a hand, cutting me off impatiently. "No, I'm not blaming you. That wasn't your fault; it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I had no time to send a nurse for my boyfriend." She pauses, smiling in my direction. "Anyway," she continues seriously a moment later, "what I was saying was, just before I made my first cut, I looked for you. And when I realized you weren't with me—you weren't in the OR or even in the gallery—I panicked for a moment. You weren't by my side and I—I so desperately wanted you to be there. I was terrified and I—I wanted to be able to look for you and just seethat you knew everything would be okay. And I—I wanted to share that moment with you, Mark. I wanted you to see me become a realsurgeon." She swallows, and I see the nerves return. "W—When you asked," she whispers, "I said it was too early. I said I needed time. Well," she smiles sheepishly, "I got my time, didn't I?" I stare at her, trying to swallow. It's been almost three months since she turned me down. We've barely spoken of the incident—or the topic—since. "And it—it's not too early anymore." She pauses, and fear enters her eyes for a moment. "I just… I hope it's not too late, either."

I'm holding my breath at her words, unable to speak.

"Mark, today made me realize that I can't take it if we're apart. You—you were just a hundred feet away—but still, it was too far. Now, I—I know we're together. I know we haven't broken up, but I… I also know things aren't as good as they used to be." She smiles nervously. "And I want things to be good. I needthings to be good between us because—what if something goes wrong? What if we break up and then we're—done forever?" She takes a shallow breath, and I know I have an opportunity to speak here, but somehow I can't grasp it. "I—I already work with you," she whispers, continuing despite my lack of contribution. "I already live with you, I'm already with you… But like I said, I want you by side. I want you to always be with me, for—for the rest of my life." She pauses, and I can't remember the last time I took a breath. "I want to be your wife," she whispers. She smiles, small and nervous. "Does the offer still stand?"

. . .

I'm only half of something else.

. . .

There's a knock on my door. I look over, staring at it. Who's at my door at ten at night?When the knock sounds again, impatient this time, I turn off the TV and get to my feet. It's probably Derek, coming to remind me—again—that I have to wear a tux tomorrow. For some reason, he always thinks I'll forget what day it is and leave for work instead of the church.

The annoyed look I had planned on my face drops away when I see who's really at the door. "Hey," she says quietly, a small smile on her face.

"Hey," I reply, feeling a smile spread across my face. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I…" She shrugs helplessly. "I missed you."

I grin, holding open the door. She closes her eyes in relief for a moment before walking inside. "You know, it's just one night apart, Lex," I say as I close the door. "It isn't so hard, if you think about all the others we'll spend together."

"Says you," she replies, already flopping down on the bed. "You aren't rooming with Meredith." She scrunches her face in distaste. "The woman is like a hibernating bear."

I smile, lying down beside her with a chuckle. "I think Derek mentioned something about her snoring."

"Snoring," Lexie mutters, offended. "It isn't snoring. It's so much worse. So much louder. It's like—"

But her comparison is cut off by a loud ringing. I sigh impatiently, getting to my feet and grabbing my phone from the desk on the other side of the room.

"Mark!"

Speak of the Devil,I think with an in voluntary smile. "Hello, Meredith," I reply.

"Oh, good," she says in relief. "You're awake. I was worried you'd be asleep."

"What are you calling for?" I ask.

I can almost feel the one-sided tension through the phone. "Come on, Mer," I coax after a moment. "Just tell me what it is."

"It's Lexie," she blurts out after a second. I furrow my eyebrows, turning around to look at the woman in question. She catches my confused gaze, mouthing, what? as she sneaks in under my covers.

"What about her?" I ask carefully.

"I… Oh, god," she groans. I hear a shuffling noise, and when she speaks again, it sounds far away. A moment later, I realize she's covered the receiver with her hand. When I hear a male voice, I take note of the fact that Derek's there as well. "What am I supposed to tell him?" I can hear her hiss to my best friend. "He's going to be devastated."

"Well," I can hear Derek reply, "if you let me talk to him—"

"You'll do no better than me," Meredith cuts in. "She's gone,Derek! It makes no difference if it's me or you who breaks the news that he won't be getting married tomorrow!"

"Yes, but I know him better, so—"

"Meredith," I cut in loudly, trying to contain my amusement. Lexie's still staring at me, confused, but I motion to her that I'll explain in a second. I hear more shuffling, and a second later, Meredith's back.

"Mark, I'm sosorry—"

"Oh, calm down," I reply a chuckle. "She's right here."

"She's what?"

"I said she's right here, with me."

I can practically see my soon-to-be sister-in-law's face twist in anger on the other side of the phone. "Could you pass the phone to your fiancée, please?" She asks, her voice dangling on the edge of being polite.

I oblige, handing it to Lexie with a smile. Their conversation is short—less than two minutes—and she doesn't hand the phone back when she's done speaking. She hangs it up and lies back against the pillows beside me.

"So what'd she say?" I ask.

"She said I could stay the night." Lexie smiles. "But she's very unhappy that I ran out and as punishment, she's coming for me at seven."

I cringe. "Seven?"

She looks over at me, narrowing her eyes. "What, when were you planning on getting up?"

I shrug. "Twenty minutes prior to the service?"

She slaps my arm. "Mark!"

"That was a joke," I grin, grabbing her hand before she can hit me again. "I'll be there on time," I promise, kissing the back of her hand. "I'll be wearing the right clothes." I kiss her again. "And I'll be first in line."

She smiles, leaning forward to kiss me. "Good," she whispers when she pulls back. "So," she says. "What were you doing before I got here?" She pulls the covers close, mussing up the previously perfectly made bed. "It didn't seem like you were asleep."

I nod towards the far wall, where a flat-screen is sitting, placed within an open wardrobe. "Watching TV."

"What were you watching?"

"Nothing in particular. Just flipping through the channels."

She smiles, leaning against me. "Okay. Let's see what's on, then."

. . .

A couple hours later, when all that's left on TV is infomercials, she hits the mute button. I look over, wondering if she's on the verge of falling asleep, but I find her eyes wide and awake.

"Mark?" She whispers. I stare at her, surprised to find an almost scared look on her face.

"What is it?" I ask softly, shifting so I can look her in the eyes more easily. As I stare at her, my mind runs through hundreds of horrible scenarios—I'm not ready for this.—I can't do this after all.—Did you really think that just because I became a surgeon, I'd want to marry you?—but what ends up coming out of her mouth is far from expected. And almost just as scary.

"Do you want a baby?" She whispers, her eyes never leaving mine.

I swallow, trying to get my mouth to work. Why is she springing this on menow? Tonight?"You're pregnant?" I manage after a few seconds.

She shakes her head. "No," she whispers. Her eyes stay locked with mine. "I just... We haven't really talked about it. I... I wasn't sure if you had plans. I didn't know if we—if we're supposed to be just us or if... Are we supposed to be a family, too?"

I pause, mulling it over. "I don't think we're supposed to be anything," I reply after a moment. "But I think we can be whatever we want."

She nods, taking a breath. "Well... Do you?" I find her stare is so intense that I'm actually unable to look away while her eyes are trained on mine. "Do you want to… be a family?"

"Now?" I ask, feeling that heart-pounding anxiety creep up again.

"Not now," she replies. "But in the next year or so..." She gives me a small smile, and I know now that this is something she's been thinking about for a long time. This is something she wants. Yet why did she wait until now to tell me? "What do you think?"

"I think a baby sounds like a great idea," I reply, watching relief spread over her features. "But," I qualify gently, "can we at least wait few years? Just to get settled in our marriage, and so you can get your career on track?"

She nods seriously before leaning forward to kiss me. "Thank you," she whispers just before her lips touch mine. I murmur, "Of course," in reply as she pulls away. With a smile on her face, she settles in closer. I bend forward, grabbing the bed's duvet and pulling it closer before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"How many do you want?" I ask softly a few minutes later. She looks over at me, and she's silent for a moment, as if calculating which is the best answer to say aloud. Which answer will be the best received. "Just tell me the truth," I tell her quietly.

"Maybe three," she replies promptly.

"Three," I repeat. I glance over to her after a moment. "That's… a lot of kids."

She nods. "Is that too many?"

"No."

"So, you…" She eyes me nervously, biting her lip in worry. "You think we can do it?"

I smile, pulling her close and kissing her in assurance. "I think we can do anything, Lex."

. . .

I'm only half of something else.

. . .

"Mark…" She draws out my name, confused, as she turns to look at me. "What are we doing here?"

I smile, take her hand, and lead her to the elevators. I don't reply, and we ride upstairs in silence. The doors open on the eighth floor, and I lead the way down the hallway. I pull a key card from my pocket and use it to unlock the door. I hold the door open for her, and she steps inside. She stops walking almost at once—the second she recognizes the room.

"This is…" She shakes her head, looking back at me. "It isn't," she whispers.

I grin, shutting the door to the Archfield's hallway behind us. "Back to where we started," I smile.

"What…"

I smile at her speechlessness, watching as she walks slowly through the room, taking it all in.

"It's the same room," I offer, slowly following behind her.

I watch from near the doorway as a smile spreads over her face as she looks around. "No way."

"It is," I reply. "I checked."

"I can't believe this," she murmurs, running her hand along the edge of the bedspread.

"Yeah, well, I didn't believe it when you showed up, naked, either, Lex— but this is just a room."

She throws a glare my way, muttering, "Shut up." But a second later, she's smiling, staring around the room again at all the vases of flowers and hundreds of scattered petals the staff supplied. "How long are we here for?" She asks quietly.

"A night," I smile.

She turns around, her eyes wide with surprise. "A night?" She repeats flatly.

"What?" I smirk, walking up to her. My hands find her waist and lower back as I draw her close. "You didn't think we were going to spend our entire honeymoon here,did you?" I frown. "A whole two weeks stuck in Seattle when we can go anywhere we want?"

He stares, eyes wide. "The Chief gave us two weeks?"

I shrug. "He likes me."

"He does not," she grins, pressing her lips against mine.

. . .

"What does the rest of this honeymoon entail?" She asks in a whisper as she backs me towards the bed a few minutes later. When my bare legs hit the mattress, I sink down into it without a second thought. I wrap my arms around the small of her back to hold her in front of me. She smiles down at me as my fingers stroke her soft, bare skin.

"I was thinking we'd go on a trip," I murmur, pushing her shirt up and kissing her stomach delicately.

She shivers slightly why my mouth ghosts around a ticklish spot. "Where?"

I place one last kiss just below her navel before dropping my hands and grinning up at her. "If I tell you, it would spoil the surprise."

"Ah," she smiles, placing her hands on my shoulders. I shift further back on the bedspread as she moves to kneel above me on the sheets. "I guess I'll have to get it out of you somehow," she whispers, disposing of her shirt and tossing it to a far corner of the room. I feel my eyes dilate as she bends back over me, letting her lips hover above mine.

"Somehow," I echo, letting my hands drift from her bare back to bottom. I leave my hands there, pulling her closer. "Any ideas so far?"

"What can I guess?" She whispers as she kisses along my jawline.

I shrug, trying not to react as her lips travel down my neck, tasting the sensitive skin there. "Countries," I reply. "Cities, towns…" I try to suppress a groan as she sucks hard at a spot just beneath my earlobe. "The like," I finish when she pulls back.

She smiles, and I can't help but grinning back. "Okay, I'll go with countries."

I nod, moving further back towards the head of the bed and taking her with me. "Shoot."

"France."

"Nope," I reply automatically.

"Spain," she suggests as I switch our positions.

"No," I answer as she settles against the sheets.

"Italy," she guesses, looking up at me.

"I really hope you didn't want to go to Europe," I mutter, bending down to kiss her. "Because I hate to break it to you, baby…"

"Okay, it's nowhere in Europe. Hm…" She pauses, biting her lip as she thinks. I take the opportunity to kiss a winding path along the exposed skin of her chest. "Oh!" She exclaims excitedly. "Is it somewhere tropical?"

"Possibly," I murmur between kisses.

"Have I been there?"

I pause my re-exploration of her body to look up at her, frowning. "How should I know?"

She smiles, biting her lip, and reaches down to run a hand through my hair. Her fingers caress the back of my neck. "You're my husband now," she explains. "You're supposed to know everything about me."

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don't know your travel history." I frown, thinking. "Among other things…"

She grins. "There's no history." She bends down, kissing me quick. "As for the rest, you'll discover it as we go, so please don't worry."

"Well…" I smile. "Good, then. And at least we're not going somewhere you've been before," I add.

She smirks. "You mean, at least we're not going to Tacoma?"

I roll my eyes, and she laughs a second later.

"Okay, okay," she says. "We've determined that it's somewhere tropical."

"You determined that," I reply, setting my sights on her body again.

She waves a hand impatiently. "Whatever." She sighs after a moment, and I feel her hand burrow in my hair again. I raise my eyes to hers, reluctantly parting my lips from her body.

"Yes?" I ask with raised eyebrows.

"Give me a hint," she demands.

"I'm not giving you any hints, Little Grey."

She pouts. "Not even an itty-bitty one?"

I shake my head. "Keep guessing."

"Fine," she mutters. "Is it part of the US?"

"You mean is it Hawaii?" I smirk, running my hands down her bare thighs. "No."

She smiles back. "I knew there was a secret international honeymoon plan when you told me to get a passport."

"Yeah, well… It was going to be kind of hard to hide the intent unless you wanted me to get you a forged one."

"Is it somewhere in the Caribbean?"

I try to hold back a grin. "Possibly."

She smiles enthusiastically, bending down to kiss me. "Where, specifically, in the Caribbean?"

"You really have to know everything, don't you?" I smirk. She rolls her eyes. A second later, I reply, "I was thinking Turks and Caicos."

She bites her lip momentarily before laughing. "Sorry, but I… I don't really know anything about Turks and…"

"Caicos," I finish for he when she trails off. I stare at her for a moment before getting up. I cross the room, pick up my pants, grab my phone out of one of the pockets, and toss it to her.

"What am I doing with this?" She asks, catching it.

"Look it up," I reply, lying down beside her as she reclines against the pillows. "C-a-i-c-o-s."

She nods, typing the words into Google and searching for images. "Oh, wow," she murmurs a second later, crossing her legs beneath her and sitting up straight as she stares at the screen. "It's… God, it's beautiful, Mark."

"I thought so," I reply, leaning forward to rub her back gently.

After a few quiet seconds, she turns her head, finding my eyes with her. Her hand reaches back, touching and stilling mine. "We're going here?" She holds up my phone, showing me a picture of a white-sand beach and clear-blue water. There's a couple holding hands as they leave footprints in the pristine sand. "Here?"

I smile, bending forward to kiss her. "We are."

"I didn't know places like this actually existed," she whispers, flicking through picture after picture. I smile, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"I'm happy to be enlightening you."

She looks back to catch my eye. A second later, the phone goes flying as she spins around to face me. I think about protesting the damaging of my personal electronics for a second, but by the time I hear my cell fall with a loud thunkon the floor, her body's pressed against mine and I can't quite find it in myself to care if the thing's merely scratched or altogether broken.

She's here, we're married, and nothing else really seems to matter all that much.

. . .

I'm only half of something else,

Just a fraction of myself.

. . .

"It's great, isn't it? When you feel so strongly for someone, and it's… It's notjustabout the sex, it is… It's true."

—Mark Sloan, 5x14

. . .

Author's Note: So, I would like to be able to say I only spent a couple hours writing this… But that would be a lie. Over all the songfics I've written, I think I put the most effort into this one. I wanted it to be perfect, and I hope that it finally is. :)

Anyway…fluffiness… I don't do that much. How did it come across? Was it in-character or too far out there? I'm especially curious to see what you guys thought of my portrayal of Mark in this: did he seem realistic and genuine, or was he just ridiculous and way too sappy?

Please leave me a review and tell me what you think! I love getting feedback from all of you! :)