A/N: This is a lighthearted piece about what might have transpired after Mark's surgery. I took my inspiration from the hard time Owen gave Izzie after the pig stabbing episode. I like to think that, aside from all this heavy PTSD stuff that's showing up now, Owen has a lighter side that will hopefully get more play.

If you've already read this, I made a little change at the beginning. Just had to add in one more dig.

Disclaimer: These characters, and all of Grey's Anatomy, are the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. I do not own anything.

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"How's it hangin', Dr. Sloan?" Owen stepped deliberately into Mark's hospital room with chart in hand and a slightly perverse smile on his lips.

"Very funny, wise-ass," Mark retorted, "and for the record, anybody who handles Big Sloan should probably call me Mark."

"Fair enough, and since we've become so intimate all of a sudden, you can call me Owen."

"Aw..." Mark grimaced, "That just makes me all mushy inside."

Owen quirked a little smile and moved back into professional mode. "How's the pain?"

"I'm still numb, I guess. Can't feel a thing. This is going to hurt like a mother when the heavy artillery wears off, though, right?"

"So I've been told. We'll take care of it while you're here, and I'll write you up for some painkillers when you're discharged. You'll want to stay ahead of the pain, not wait until it's really bad before taking something."

"You won't have to ask me twice on that one, don't worry."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and Owen continued. "Uh, I hate to take liberties, but mind if I take a look?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out." Mark pulled aside the sheet and rolled his eyes while Owen did a quick examination. "Swelling's down a bit. That's a good sign in this case, even if it's not the desired outcome in general for this particular part of the male anatomy... All in all, I'd say it's a work of art."

"That's what they all tell me."

"Uh," Owen's expression was full of mischief, "I was referring to my handiwork, not your... appendage."

"Ha ha… How long does that catheter have to stay in?"

"Probably a couple of days. Sorry about that. I know it's no picnic. You'll be here for 2-3 days, so you might as well make yourself at home."

"Terrific. How long before I can get back into action?"

"That depends on what you mean by action…" Owen responded with an inquisitive look.

"Do you really need me to spell it out, Owen?" Mark was looking at him like he was the slow kid in a special ed class.

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Well, not to be too hard on you…" Mark groaned at the double entendre, "but 6 weeks of inactivity is standard procedure. I wouldn't try any shortcuts if I were you."

"Six weeks? You've got to be kidding me. Six weeks?"

"And that includes playing Solitaire… Mark. I know it's a boner… I mean bummer… but…"

Mark eyed Owen with his usual sarcastic incredulousness, "Did you spend all afternoon coming up with those little gems, Hunt, or does the junior high humor just come naturally?"

Owen's eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter. "Actually they came to me in the middle of your surgery, but I managed to keep them to myself until now…"

"Get the hell out of here, will you?" A hint of a smile was wavering at the corner of Mark's mouth and he waved his hand dismissively.

"Sorry. Sorry. Don't get too many opportunities like this one. Couldn't ever get away with this with a real patient. It's kind of hard to resist… "

They were interrupted when the door opened and Derek breezed in. "How's the patient?"

"Uh, I think he'll live to fight another day," Owen nodded in Mark's direction.

"Sounds like you and Torres need to have a little talk before you resume your on-call room activities…" Derek suggested.

Owen glanced quickly at Mark, the confused look on his face met by an intense unspoken plea. Owen didn't know exactly who had broken Mark Sloan, but he had been working with Torres immediately prior to Mark's "incident" and he was certain she hadn't been the culprit. Now he was equally certain that Mark didn't want Derek to know who the real culprit had been. This was exactly the kind of hospital gossip he tried desperately to steer clear of, but he had to admit to himself he was curious. These two are like brothers. Why the secrecy?

Mark's retort was smooth, but Owen could tell he was making an effort to have it seem so. "Looks like Big Sloan has to take a big rest in any event, so we'll have plenty of time to…"

"...straighten it out?" Owen offered helpfully.

"Would you shut up with the penis jokes already?" Derek snorted with laughter and Mark was working hard to look wounded, "Geez, this guy is just a laugh a minute. How did we miss that about you, Colonel Hunt?"

Owen gave him a patient look. "It's Major, but thanks for the promotion. I'll take it up with Headquarters."

"Don't mention it."

Owen could see that Derek and Mark wanted to be alone. "I'm taking off," he offered, "I'll check in on you in the morning. Try to sleep on your back or side, and don't get any bright ideas. You don't want to risk a bad outcome here. That would be… unfortunate."

"I'm a doctor, for shit's sake. Don't you think I know that already?"

"And we make the worst patients, Doctor Sloan. I think you know that too." He nodded to them both and headed for the door. "Goodnight."

"This is going to be bad for you, isn't it?" Derek said as the door shut behind Owen. "Not being able to… perform… for a while?"

"Six weeks, according to GI Joe over there. A fucking SIX weeks!"

"A not-fucking six weeks, actually…" Derek commiserated with a half-smile.

"Not you too…" Mark groaned. "Can't a guy get a break around here?"

"Uh… hmmm… I thought a break was the whole problem…" Derek dodged as Mark dislodged his pillow from behind his head and threw it in his direction.

"Go home! Go have wild sex with your hot girlfriend! See if I care!"

Derek retrieved the pillow and held on to it, not daring to hand it back just yet. "Just for the record, we're even now. I think this is the perfect retribution for sleeping with my wife. You're officially absolved."

"Gee, thanks. That makes it all worthwhile, asshole."

Derek sobered and handed the pillow back. "Anything I can get you from home?"

"No, but if you can run by Joe's and bring me back a fifth of something, I think I might survive this hellhole."

"Sorry, not on the menu with those meds you're on. I'll check with Hunt and see if a beer might be ok, though."

"You do that... and send Torres in if you see her. I need some genuine sympathy here, not a bunch of juvenile idiots getting a cheap laugh at my expense." He was speaking with the same mock gravity he often used when being sarcastic, and Derek could tell he was secretly amused, but knew instinctively that he was approaching a boundary and needed to lay off.

"I'll see what I can do." Derek headed out the door.

As it shut, Mark settled back on the pillows with a deep sigh.

It was going to be a very long six weeks.