"So, big plans for tonight?" Derek asked Mark as they strolled back into the hospital, coffee cups in hand.
"Callie signed us up for some couples cooking class," Mark replied. "I'm hoping that a huge trauma that calls desperately for a plastic surgeon comes in before we leave tonight."
Derek chuckled. "Cooking? What's next, ironing your own clothes? Mopping a floor?"
"I know, right?" Mark said. "Me learning how to cook is against the natural order of things. If I was meant to cook, God would have made me look like Mario Batali."
"Better him than Rachael Ray."
Mark laughed. "Talk about a girl who could use some plastic surgery." He heaved a sigh. "I'm ashamed that I actually know who these people are. She has me watching the Food Network. The Food Network. Next we'll be watching cheesy Lifetime movies and she'll have me quilting."
"You could just not go."
At that suggestion, Mark stopped and gave Derek a look. "You're joking, right? I ever want to get laid by that woman again, I do what she says. End of story."
"There's a word for men like you."
"Yeah, yeah pussy whipped, I know. But you haven't had sex with Callie. Dirty, dirty hot sex." Mark's eyes got a faraway look. "She does this thing where she…nevermind."
"That good?"
"It's like discovering steak after a lifetime of hamburger."
"Are you calling her a cow?"
"No."
"So she wants you to actually go on a date, do something other than stay home and have sex."
Mark looked at his friend. "We go out. We go out a lot. Movies, restaurants, bars, concerts. We go out. I'm just not thrilled about her particular choice of an outing this time."
"Your entire relationship is based on sex."
Mark stopped walking and turned to Derek. "If it were just based on sex, then why am I not sleeping with anyone else?"
"Touché, Dr. Sloan."
"It's not just sex, Derek. Sex just happens to be a part-a very, very good, very dirty, very hot part-of it." Mark smirked at him. "You're just jealous because my woman is hotter than yours."
It was Derek's turn to be offended. "I resent that."
"What? She's cute, but she's not Callie."
"Meredith is hot."
"Meredith is built like a 12 year old boy. No hips, no boobs…it's gotta be like screwing a toothpick."
"Are you saying she's less of a woman because she's tiny?"
"I'm saying she's less of a woman because she's dating you. And because she has no boobs."
"She has plenty of boobs, thank you."
"Says the man who has never seen Callie Torres naked." He gave Derek a sly grin. "Trust me…if you had, you'd never look at a woman like Grey again." Mark's pager went off, and he checked it. "Gotta go."
"Have fun at your cooking class, Martha. I want a picture of you in your apron."
"Bite me."
*********************
"Do not speak to me," Callie said, throwing her purse down on the sofa with such force that it bounced off and landed on the floor. "Just…don't speak to me. Don't touch me."
Mark was only partially amused by her anger. The rest of him was deeply concerned. "Callie…I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" The full force of her fiery Latina temper was focused on Mark. "I ask you to please do this one thing for me-one fucking thing!-and you make a mockery of it. Sorry is not going to cut it."
"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "I am sorry that I ruined your evening, okay? I'm sorry that I was a jackass. I'm sorry that I ruined everything we cooked and nearly burned the place down in the process. I'm sorry."
"Me too." Callie stormed off to her bedroom, and returned with a pillow and blanket. "Good night."
Mark sighed. This was not good. He and Callie had been together for four months now, and this was the first night since then that he hadn't slept curled up next to her. He was practically living with her and Yang, he had his own key and half of Callie's closet, his soap and toothbrush and toothpaste were permanent fixtures in Callie's bathroom.
He wanted them to stay that way.
However, he knew now was not the time to apologize any more; Callie was the kind who needed time to cool off. So, he made up the couch and turned on the TV, idly channel surfing.
Keys rattled in the door, and Yang took one look at him lying on the couch and smirked. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Shut up."
"You don't get to tell me to shut up in my own apartment." She hung her coat on the coat tree and proceeded into the kitchen. "Seriously…she never makes you sleep on the couch. What gives?"
"We went to a cooking class tonight."
Cristina nearly snorted soda out of her nose. "Sorry, sorry…but yeah, you cooking? That's pretty funny."
"That's what I said." Mark sighed and continued to channel surf. "Anyway, I managed to ruin the entire thing. She's pissed."
"She'll snap out of it. Callie never stays mad for long." Cristina thought for a moment. "But…wait a second. You do cook. You made breakfast that one day when she had an early surgery."
"I make breakfast, Yang. I don't cook."
"That's how you get back into her panties…make her breakfast in bed."
"I don't need your help to get back into her panties, thank you." Over the top of the couch, he shot her a look. "I can do just fine on my own."
"Right. Says the man who is sleeping alone tonight."
"You sleep alone every night."
"By choice. But, whatever. Do what you want. But I guarantee you that breakfast in bed will get you back into her panties."
Cristina wandered off to bed, and Mark lay back and formed a plan.
*******************
Callie opened her eyes and sighed. She hated waking up alone. She was so used to waking up to Mark's arm tossed around her waist, his legs entwined with hers, that waking up without it was jarring. Sighing, she pulled the covers over her head.
Her bed smelled like Mark. It was oddly comforting, knowing that his scent had permeated every inch of her bed. It meant that he had been here, often, and for long stretches of time. It was just odd to think that even when he wasn't physically in the bed with her, that he was still there.
The door creaked open, and Mark poked his head in. "Cal?"
"What?"
"Can I come in?"
She sighed again, and took the covers off her head. "Yeah."
He walked in bearing a battered tray, carrying a plate of French toast and a cup of coffee.
"What's this?" she asked as he set the tray on her lap.
"Breakfast. And an apology."
She gave him a look and took a bite of the French toast. "Where did you get this?"
"I made it."
"You? Made this? You cooked this?"
"Yep."
"But…"
He laughed. "I don't cook, per se. I can make breakfast. I can make French toast, and bacon, and omelets, and that's about it."
She took another bite. "I feel like an ass now, because this is some seriously good French toast."
"Am I forgiven?" he asked, sitting down next to her on the bed.
She laughed. "I wasn't really all that mad. Or, at least I shouldn't have been. I'm sorry. I knew you didn't want to go to that class, and I made you. You don't make me do things I don't want to."
"No, you do them because you know it makes me happy and I…should have done the same for you." He gave her a look. "Are we even now?"
"Yeah, we're even." She kissed him.
"Good. How about some make-up sex?"