A/N: Yeah...I know but they could be so interesting together.
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Funkytown
– Lipps Inc.
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"Dr. Sloan! Yoohoo! Dr. Sloan!" Sydney Heron yells over the light buzz of ambient rock music in her favorite downtown shoe store. He turns and to her surprise is momentarily interested.
Mark strides forward to the woman who apparently he should know, and who admittedly looks familiar for some reason. "Hello..." he drags on hoping she'll fill in the blanks for him.
"Dr. Heron, Sydney Heron. Like the bird." She grins and shifts, her wild curls bouncing off her shoulders.
"Right." Nope, he's got nothing. This woman, is evidently one of his coworkers, who doesn't hate him. All of which tells Mark one thing- he hasn't slept with her yet, or attempted too, or she hasn't heard about the nurses strike or...well the list goes on and on but he definitely hasn't slept with her...yet.
"I dated your friend. Derek Shepherd."
Mark curls his nose in repulsion. No, Derek did not date this woman. Not that she's bad to look at he assesses looking down her tight jeans, not bad at all. "Oh yeah. Finally came to your senses I see." He smirks. Derek is with Meredith which means this Sydney chick is up for grabs. And his new leaf needs to reach out and get snagged on something. He's done.
"What do you think about white?" She changes topics suddenly.
"What?" Mark questions, lost in her large eyes. This one is crazy. He watches her bend over to grab the box at her feet and then he remembers. Sydney Heron. The fifth year resident. Oh, how he remembers. That was a good joke. One of his best, if he does say so himself.
"I'm trying to pick. White or blue...or red or purple. I need new shoes and I spent my whole day asking people what they like best but no one was able to help me. I thought for sure Stevens would have an opinion."
"Oh," Mark chuckles, "I like red."
I bet, Sydney screams internally having heard all about his trysts with Addison Montgomery and frankly she does not see what is so special about that woman. Sure, she's hot and moderately nice but she's nothing to write home about. Plus she's kind of a bitch sometimes and no one deserves that. Being friendly is key to a fun and stable work environment. "You think it matters that they will clash?"
"Clash?" Mark's head begins screeching I Fought The Law and he's straight back to not paying attention.
"With my scrubs silly-billy." Sydney nods vigorously, fingering the seams on the white tennis shoes again. The red are awfully tempting.
Silly-billy, what the fuck?, "No. Spice it up. Life needs spice. White is boring. Like vanilla." He hates vanilla, God how he hates vanilla.
"I'm more of a chocolate girl myself." Sydney admits with a wink and hands the white shoes back to the sales person standing next to him before pointing to the red on display. "What brings you here?"
"Shoes." Mark replies instantly.
"R-right." Sydney fumbles and reaches across her eyes to grab a loose tendril but Mark's hand beats her there, pushing the unruly strand behind her ear. "Oh, thank you."
Mark grins, women don't usually thank him for stupid things like that. "You're welcome." He shakes his head, out of his element and enjoying it far too much, "Sydney how do you feel about grabbing some coffee?"
"I'd love too. I just need to get my shoes first."
"Let me." Mark pats his back pocket looking for his wallet.
"No." Sydney smiles, "I'll buy my own shoes."
"You sure? I don't mind."
"Save your money for our anniversary. I expect big things." She walks away before he can reply, his mouth hanging a little wider than it should.
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"I just think that practicing medicine shouldn't be about big shows of authority and outlandish surgeries. It's about the patient and patient care for me." Sydney adds another packet of sugar to her black coffee, bringing the pink paper on the table to a staggering count of eight.
"Yeah, right." He used to think the very same thing. Now he doesn't care.
"I could've been Chief Resident." Sydney sighs, "If Miranda Bailey wouldn't have opened the clinic but it's better this way, I think, I can focus more on what's important." Her hands fidget with the cardboard sleeve on her cup that hasn't been necessary for over thirty minutes. She doesn't think she's ever held someone's attention for so long. "What's plastics like?"
"What's your specialty?" Mark asks at the same time, coming around, warming to the idea of hospital talk with someone who doesn't despise him and who doesn't think that his day job is a cover for being Seattle's biggest whore.
"General."
"Pretty boring." They answer at the same time and laugh softly. "You seem like a general to me."
"And you seem like a plastic surgeon." She retorts.
"Yeah, well, I've been doing this a long time." His pager comes to life next to his empty cup and scone crumbs on the table. "Damn." He curses accidentally. He certainly didn't think he'd be the enjoying conversation this much.
"Duty calls." Sydney rings out louder than necessary grabbing the glance of almost everyone in the crowded coffee house.
"It's nothing." He assures her, taking them both by surprise. He's harder up for friends than he thought. Damn the new leaf. Damn Callie and her new found lover.
"Take it." Sydney nods and watches him grab his delicious leather coat off the back of the chair. She can't say there isn't something that excites her about Mark Sloan. Plus he's not bad to look at. And she's not above looking. Not one bit.
"Well, this was fun." Mark states hesitantly, "Sydney, can you maybe-"
"Don't worry Dr. Sloan," Sydney smiles weakly, "I won't tell anyone you were hanging out with me."
Her face fades and Mark sees for just an instant that the overbearingly cheerful routine is merely a clever rouse for someone who could possibly be as miserable as he is. Or perhaps she just understands her place in the hospital hierarchy as the girl no one wants to be seen with. Whichever it is has him leaning in and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. "I was going to say can you maybe meet me after I'm done for dinner and drinks? If you aren't busy or on call."
"I'll consult my schedule." She grins, relieved and flustered.
"Sounds good." He walks out the door tugging on his zipper, the promise of a good meal and maybe more lingering behind, fighting with her purse to cough up the keys already as a silent agreement between the two of them is reached.
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