Authors Note: Hey I am twitterpatted! I am a long time fan fiction reader, but I never had enough creativity to write my own until now! I am not really sure where this story is going, but I have a vague idea… Anyway, I am very open to critic, ideas, reviews anything! So, I would like to thank you for reading my story and hopefully you like it! And hopefully it doesn't go down the drain!
It had been a long night. There had been many surgeries, many patients, and many deaths. Mark Sloan was plain out tired. He just wanted to go home and sleep. Lexie would not be there because she was still in the hospital, but somehow he was too tired to care. His muscle memory kicked in as he got in his car and drove home, like a zombie. It had been only been a few months ago that Lexie moved in with him and together they had bought a condo not wanting the uncertainty of an hotel room. Hotel rooms were temporary, changeable, fickle, but condos were for the long-term. It had been unsettling at first for Mark, but he wanted this relationship with Lexie to work and therefore sucked it up.
Mark silently scolded Lexie as he drove back to their Condo. This condo was 15 minutes away from the hospital while The Archfield had only been a mere five. He knew he should have said something during the decision making process, but Lexie had fell in love with the place at first sight and he wanted only to make her happy. This was only when he realized he loved her and that he was going soft.
Finally reaching home, he collected his belongings and pulled out his key only to realize that all the lights in his house were already on. Had somebody broken in? What should he do? Maybe Lexie is home.., Mark thought. Cautiously, he opened the door with one fist clenched, ready to pounce. Mark took a silent, weary step towards the living room. He caught the shadow of a tall figure; long and slender and even in shadow had high-society poise. Carefully, he set down his briefcase and keys. The unknown person sat down in a golden armchair; tapping her foot impatiently. Mark, feeling like a secret agent, tip-toed around the living room while making sure to stay out of the thief's sight. Raising his fist, Mark shut his eyes, counted to three, and swung.
He had to force himself to pry his eyes open. And when he did, he had expected to find some masked-stranger. What Mark found was so much worse.
Yes, Mark Sloan had just punched his mother in the face. And somehow, he knew it had been coming for years.
And now I bid you adieu. Until later!
~Twitterpatted
