Title: Unfaithful
Author: Danielle
Rating: Mature readers only
Pairings: Mark/Cristina, Meredith/Derek, Meredith/Mark, with mention of Cristina/Burke, Alex/Izzie, and Addison/Derek
Premise: There is nothing worse than a husband that keeps you at arms length. Unable to take the distance anymore Meredith seeks comfort from another man. What was meant to be a one night stand turns into something much bigger and changes the lives of the people she cares about the most.
ChapterOne
This was it, Dr. Richard Webber's last hurrah. He was going out with a bang, Mark Sloan thought as he stood in the corner, his long, supple fingers curved around the stem of a full champagne flute. The hospital had gone all out, renting one of the Fairmont's lavish banquet halls and hiring a rather good live band. Of course, being the cheap bastards that they were, Webber's retirement party was also doubling as the annual New Year's Eve bash.
He hadn't wanted to come, these functions really held no appeal for anymore, but his wife had given him no choice. Of course, she had managed to escape the night's festivities by volunteering her services to Doctors Without Borders. While he was pretending to celebrate Webber's many years in the medical community Cristina was 'generously' reconstructing some kid's heart in India. If it had been any other doctor but her he would have commended them for being so charitable. Nothing with Cristina was free though, and he knew the truth of her generosity. She was one upping Preston Burke.
Marrying Cristina Yang hadn't been something he had planned on, but too much tequila and too many lonely nights had led them to an impromptu exchanging of vows during a Las Vegas medical convention. At first they planned on annulling it; until they returned home and found that during their two week absence Alex Karev had proposed to Izzie Stevens, and Meredith had actually set a date for her wedding to Derek. Cristina had begged, begged, him to continue the charade a while longer; just to save face amongst her peers. The charade had grown comfortable though, and after five years neither of them seen the point in ending it.
"Surgery," a quiet voice he knew all to well interrupted him. Smiling faintly, Mark turned to his left and found a rather sullen Meredith Grey Shepherd standing there with a glass of champagne in each hand. She alternatively sipped from each one, her face a mask of misery.
"Surgery," Mark repeated, thinking he should know what she meant, but not quite grasping the direction she was going.
"That is where my husband is," Meredith muttered, lifting one of her champagne flutes to her lips. He watched, one brow arched up, as she downed almost all of the gold colored liquid. "You're suppose to follow it up with where your wife is."
"Ah. Alright, well Cristina is in surgery as well." Mark spoke slowly, measuring his words carefully. While Meredith and Cristina weren't as close as they once had been, they still considered each other best friends. He didn't need tales of his bitterness getting back.
"Country. Organization. Award." Meredith downed the rest of her champagne and dropped the flute into a nearby potted palm. He knew better than to ask her why she chose to discard her empty glass in such a manner rather than giving it to a passing waiter.
"India. Doctors Without Boards. Harper Avery, again." Mark recited back, taking a cue from her and tipping the contents of his glass down his throat. The bubbly liquid tickled it's way to his stomach, settling in a nice warm pool.
"Again?" Meredith shook her head, her shoulder length dark blonde hair whispering against her bare shoulders. "Let me guess, Burke is going for it again?"
"You know my wife so well," Mark snickered. He caught the arm of a passing waiter. "Two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila."
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Meredith giggled. Her body swayed slightly on the impossibly high red heels that were at odds with the casual flats she usually wore. "If so, you have my full permission."
"Things going that badly are they?" Mark smiled, offering a quiet thank you to the waiter as an unopened bottle of tequila and two clear shot glasses were handed to him. He glanced around for an empty table and found one close to the 'In Case Of Fire' stairwell. "This way," he murmured leading her to the small, round table.
"Derek is pulling away from me." Meredith blurted out, dropping unceremoniously into one of the high backed chairs. She wiggled around, arranging the short, pleated skirt of her black dress. Her trembling fingers reached for the bottle, working the top off. Making a pained face, she took a long sip before handing it back to him.
Mark doesn't respond, he doesn't know how. He felt as though he was in another time, in another place listening to yet another one of Derek's wives tell him that his best friend was pulling away from them. Mentally, he berated the other man. Did he never learn? Apparently not, if wife number two was making the same complaints as wife number one. One good thing, he hadn't asked Mark to substitute for him. He had learned that lesson, and learned it well.
"I've tried to say something, but he brushes me off. He says he is working." Meredith slammed back the shot Mark offered to her. She held the empty glass out for more. "That's all he does, though. Work, work, work."
"He's a surgeon," Mark said weakly. It was the world's lamest excuse. Derek was a surgeon. Meredith was surgeon. Cristina was a surgeon. They were all surgeons. It wasn't an excuse, it was a fact.
"You are correct. He's a surgeon before he is anything. A surgeon who saves lives." Meredith sighed, crossing her arms and balancing them on the table. She leaned forward, giving him an ample view of her small, round breasts. "I don't think that's why he works though. I think he works so much because he's mad at me."
Mark downed two shots before asking "Why would he be mad at you?" It was a question he was better off not asking, but since when had Mark Sloan ever done something that was for his own good? Never.
"I told him I didn't want kids," Meredith said simply. She tapped her fingers against the edge of the shot glass, indicating her need for more tequila. "I thought I might, when we first got together. But then we had that miscarriage and I wasn't sad. I was relieved. If I really wanted kids, I wouldn't be relieved, would I?"
"I don't know," Mark admitted. He wasn't the one to ask about kids. He didn't particularly care for them and couldn't really see himself as a father. Luckily Cristina wasn't the maternal sort and was happy to 'mother' the rather depressed looking bird they had had for a year but never named. "Could be the timing was wrong, and that was why you were relieved."
"Or," Meredith lifted a finger, "it could be I'm not meant to be a mother." She leaned further onto the table, her breasts practically falling out of the low cut neckline of her dress. "Seriously, Mark can you see me with a kid? Do I look like a soccer mom to you?"
No, Meredith was the furthest thing from a soccer mom that Mark had seen. She drank too much, cursed like a sailor when riled, and looked horrified when asked to bake. Maybe she was right and she wasn't the mothering sort at all. No, that wasn't right either. Meredith was kind, she put most people ahead of herself, and she had this way about her that calmed most people down. Those were all important mothering skills. "You'd make a great mom, Meredith."
"Oh no. Not you too. You and I, we're dirty mistresses, ore we were and that means you have to be on my side." Meredith waggled her finger in his face, the tip of it touching his nose. She giggled when she realized where her finger was and made a point of pressing the tip of his nose as though it were a button.
"Stop it," Mark muttered, grabbing her wrist. His fingers curved around the slender bones with plenty of room to spare. His first thoughts weren't of letting go, or that he might hurt her. No, to his shame, he was entranced with how soft her skin was; like velvet. The pad of his thumb rubbed across the thin flesh, a smirk forming on his full, sensual lips when he felt her pulse pounding.
In the back ground he was aware of the count down beginning. Ten. Nine. Eight. He should let her go, forget how soft the skin on her wrist was or how the sight of her breasts spilling out of her dress reminded him that it had been almost three months since he had last had sex. Seven. Six. Five. He had to remember that she was his best friends wife, and not some unknown woman he could fantasize about while whacking off a hard on in the shower. She was his wife's best friend. Four. Three. Two. He had to…he had to taste her. Just this once he had to know if her mouth was as delicious as it looked. One.
He leaned across the table, his silver blue eyes searching her face. The same curious desire glimmered there was as well. He brushed his lips across her's tentatively, wondering if he should take it further. God, he wanted to take it further. He didn't dare though. Not with her. She was Meredith, for crying out loud. Derek's Meredith.
"Happy New Year," he choked out, pulling back before he acted on his desires. He barely gave her a second look as he stumbled away, his heart pounding and his mind warring between what was right and what he wanted.
What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Fiona Apple (If We Kissed)