A/N: Forgot to warn you all in advance--this is what I call a switch-POV story, meaning you'll be reading from a different character's point of view every chapter. It's more of a challenge to write than third-person/omniscient narrator stories, which is the style most fics are written in, but I like writing in first person POV because I get to explore the characters better.

I'm not a fan of OC fics myself (and I don't have much experience in writing them), but I had to create some co-workers for Mark to interact with.A necessary evil, but I tried to keep it to a minimum, so the other co-worker I'm bringing in is someone you may recognize from the two "Code Black" episodes. (wink wink)

I like to visualize scenes in my head, so I wanted a definite look for my male OC. Personally, I imagine him being played by cute-as-a-button Breckin Meyer. :) He's the right mix of adorable, endearing, and insecure, like a more upbeat George O'Malley.

By the way, the title song for this chapter was performed by Stone Temple Pilots, in case you were wondering.

Chapter 2: Trippin' On a Hole in a Paper Heart (Mark's POV)

"It's over, man," I sighed. "Not gonna happen. It's been two weeks, and she hasn't called. I should move on."

Nate clapped me on the back. "That's the spirit! What say we go out tonight and pick up some chicks, Marky Boy?"

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my good friend and fellow plastic surgeon, Nathaniel Burnham. Party boy extraordinaire. People keep mistaking us for brothers, but I don't really see the resemblance (as his personality shows, he's obviously blond), although he does remind me a lot of what I used to be like. A lot of the time I wish I could be that way again and just drown my sorrows in tequila and women, but I've been totally out of it since Addison left. Nowadays, I pass the time by working out, since exercise supposedly releases endorphins and makes you happy. I have yet to see the effects of those goddamned endorphins.

Yet for all the cheer he brought into a room, Nate could not bring me out of the state of lethargy I'd sunken into. Nobody could. "I guess we could go clubbing."

"Oh, don't listen to him, Mark." Enter Hannah Davies, our hospital's head paramedic (she flew in from Seattle) and Nate's polar opposite. Little Hannah, whose dark brown hair is always, always in a bun without a single strand out of place, is irritatingly perfect and so awfully nice that she reminds me of Derek to an almost painful degree. Only Derek wasn't nearly as anal-retentive. Or high-strung. "You could take up a new hobby, like fishing or horseback riding. It's a more productive way to spend your time," she added, narrowing her eyes at Nate before leaving. "And who knows, you might meet someone nice."

"Sounds good," I replied, although I gave Nate a "you know I'm lying" look once she had her back turned. My attention focused on the cellphone in my hand.

"You're welcome to join us, Hannah," Nate called out.

Despite it all, despite losing my best friend and the woman I loved, despite the fact that yeah, I end up alone anyway, I still think it was worth that one night with her, and the short time we spent together after Derek left. It's worth the hope that maybe, just maybe, for one night I was the only thing that mattered to her.

"Earth to Mark," came Nate, breaking my stupor.

I sighed. "She never called."

"You are a sad, sad man, Sloan."

"I know."

A nurse entered through the door on my left. "Dr. Sloan, the patient is ready to see you now."

I strode to the consultation area and sat down behind my desk, blinking drearily at the information sheet on it. "Nice to see you, Miss...Hayes, is it?"

"Yeah," she giggled, "but you can call me Claire." She started blushing incessantly. Nate keeps poking fun at the fact that I make female patients blush every time I walk into the room, but things like that don't really matter all that much to me, especially not right now when Addison is weighing heavily on my mind.

"Uh-huh. So what would you like to have done, Claire?"

She grinned just a little too brightly. She's the kind of girl Addison used to make fun of -- your typical airhead, miniskirt, tank top and all. "I just had my 18th birthday yesterday, and I want a boob job. It's, like, a gift from my parents."

"Well, belated happy birthday, but...your parents are giving you breast enhancement surgery for your 18th birthday?" What the hell kind of parents does this girl have?

"Actually, they just gave me money, but it's what I'm using to pay for the surgery."

She has almost the same hair color as Addison, I notice. "Your parents are okay with this?"

"I'm, like, 18, Dr. Sloan. I don't need their permission."

"Right," I said, raising my eyebrows. "And you're getting the surgery because...?"

"Well, I was with my boyfriend Jake at his house one time, and he was all, 'You'd totally be hotter if you got bigger boobs.' And I was like, 'Really?' And he was like, 'Yeah!' And I looked down and thought, yeah, I totally would! So I looked for the best surgeon in New York, and my friend Jen said 'Dr. Sloan is amazing and really hot,' so I now I'm, like, here." I zone out and my gaze travels to the open doorway, where I see what looks like Addison from the back pass by. Great, now I'm hallucinating?

"Doctor?"

I blinked, re-shifting my focus to the girl in front of me. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Uh, my boyfriend said I'd look nicer with bigger boobs."

I got up from my desk and knelt in front of her, looking her right in the eye. "Claire," I began, "I'm not sure you really want to do that."

Her eyes widened. "But why?"

"Because you're a human being, not a Barbie doll. If your boyfriend really does love you, it wouldn't matter to him what you look like." Even if Addison got into a car accident and her face became horribly disfigured, she would still be beautiful to me.

"This procedure is no joke," I continued. "By doing this, you're subjecting yourself to accidents and leakages. Scars and bruising will occur right afterward." I leaned in and whispered, "And trust me, it's not going to look good when you turn 80. It's a big sacrifice you're making for your boyfriend. What has he done for you?" Because I lost my best friend for you, Addison.

Claire took a while to think, and then she just shrugged. I got up and walked back to my desk.

"Look, I'm not going to say no if you still want the surgery, but I'm seriously advising that you rethink this. And if you really want this, make sure you're doing it for you, not your boyfriend."

She smiled and stood up from her chair. "Uh, I'm gonna head home and talk it over with Mom and Dad. Thanks for the advice, Doc. I'll be back if I ever change my mind."

"Sure thing." I smiled back and watched her leave. So instead of making money off this kid, I let her go because I feel sorry for her. The sacrifices I make for my own conscience.

Heh, and Webber calls me a jackass.

-o-

"Thank God my shift is finally over. Now I can go home and stare at the ceiling until I fall asleep, hooray."

"You fag," Nate said. "I thought we were partying tonight!"

Before I could answer him, someone leaning against the reception desk catches my eye. Again with the Addison hallucinations. This one's particularly real-looking though. Especially when she turns around and sees me, and...wait!

"Wait! Addison, wait up!" Crap, she's walking away. So she's not a hallucination. At least I won't have to go blow another thousand dollars on my shrink.

She stops and whirls around, glaring at Nate. "I thought I told you not to..."

"I didn't say anything!" Nate exclaims. "He saw you!"

I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. "You knew about this, Burnham? You knew about it and you DIDN'T TELL ME?"

"She told me not to!"

"Well, how long has she been here?"

"Since yesterday. Hey, don't blame me, you guys. I'm outta here, you two go deal with your issues or whatever on your own time." And with that, he left.

I looked around, then at her. God, even when she's frowning, she's beautiful. "So where's your fantastic little husband?"

"Seattle. And he's not my husband anymore."

Ugh, stop it, Mark. Divorces are expensive and difficult, and you sure as hell shouldn't jump for joy in front of her. "I, uh...I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's like death by car accident---painful but quick." She shrugged nonchalantly, but she couldn't shake off the sad look in her eyes. "I got sick of him fucking Meredith in his head all the damn time. Of course, I need a job and I can't work with my ex-husband in Seattle, so I came back here."

"Okay." I folded my arms and leaned back against the wall. "Now, you've been avoiding me because...?"

"I'm still a little shaken by this whole thing."

"You and I both." I moved closer and slowly ran a hand down her wine red hair. She looked away.

"I can't handle any of this right now, Mark. Divorce isn't easy."

"Then let me help you through it," I offered. Yeah, I'm more desperate than I'd like to be. "I don't like not having you around. I miss you."

"I just need some time alone to sort out my life, okay? And I think you should move on too." She turned on her heel and stormed through the exit doors without another word.

Yep, there she goes again. I guess I'm going to have to get used to seeing only the back of her head. Shit.

"Dr. Sloan?" a nurse called out from the reception desk.

"Yes, David?"

He held out a cellphone. "Dr. Sheperd---er, Montgomery, left this behind."

I took the cellphone, thanked him, and headed to my car, willing myself not to touch it throughout the drive home. As hard as I try, though, I'm still part-jackass as Webber or Derek will tell anyone (though they'd probably omit the prefix), so I pick it up and scroll through the phonebook. Derek's name is still there. Damn. I check her voice mail to see who's been in touch with lately. Is she seeing anyone?

"You have 50 messages and 0 new messages." Ooh, someone's popular. "Message 1."

"Addison? It's Mark. Are you in Seattle yet? Are you okay? I know you don't want to hear from me, but I just want to know if you're okay. Call me."

Hey, that was my first voice mail since she left! "Message 2."

"Hey, me again. How's Derek? If he's being an asshole, you just let me know so I can beat the shit out of him. Come back to New York. Call me."

So she didn't delete it? Interesting. "Message 3."

"Mark here. Again. Please call me, Addison, I miss you."

Hasn't she been keeping voice messages from anybody else? "Message 4."

"I don't care if you delete this too, I'll leave messages every day until you call me back."

My heartbeat's quickening now. I forward through the messages, hearing only my own voice on each one. "Message 53."

"Hey, Addison. I should probably stop wasting money on a daily basis, so this is my last voice mail. Forget what I said in Seattle, I hope things work out between you and Derek. You both deserve the --"

I shut off the phone. So she's been saving all of my messages? She was probably too lazy to delete them. But still.

What am I supposed to do with this kind of information? Maybe I was actually more to her than a booty call? Whatever it is, it sure isn't helping me in my efforts to forget about her. Stupid, stupid false hope.

My own cellphone rings. It's Nate. "Sloan, we are partying tonight and I am not taking no for an answer!"