A/N: I felt the last chapter needed a little resolution and I hope this is it. I was a little impulsive about this, so it's unbeta-d and all my fault!

Chapter 4—Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes

Meredith sighed decisively. It was time. It was enough. She'd been ignoring and slighting her sister for a year now; for nine months, she'd been allowing her issues over her family to taint her relationship with Mark; now she'd gotten to the point where he told her he was in remission and she'd hardly noticed; when all he'd done was ask her about her day and she froze him out, and imagined all sorts of consequences, and nearly slept with Nurse Sleazebag in a rest room stall at Joe's! It was enough! She'd promised Mark when she'd persuaded him to give them a chance that she would try, even if they were, as he'd reminded her the previous morning, "both messed up beyond reason." But she wasn't trying; she wasn't trying and it was time that she did.

In a few weeks she would be a 3rd year resident and Lexie would be a 2nd year, assuming she passed her intern test. They were professionals; surgeons; and she was supposed to be a grown-up. A grown-up surgeon couldn't go around the hospital sticking her tongue out at her little sister. It was . . . inappropriate; and it was time she changed. And Cristina was right . . . and seriously, she'd even fallen out with Cristina now! . . . Mark had to have reasons why he didn't want to talk about his family. Up until now she had only been thinking about herself. And, yes, it would help her if they could talk. But only if he was ready. Maybe if she left it alone for a while, didn't insist, he would talk to her. But what mattered now wasn't the past. What mattered was the present, the present and her future with Mark and it was about time that she changed.

Opening her eyes, she squinted a little at the early morning light flooding in through the windows. The sky was flecked with pink and orange and, from what she could make out, more or less cloudless. It had to be around 6 am, she thought, but that was okay because she had the day off. Thank God!

She felt oddly optimistic. Sometimes getting wasted and screwing up—almost screwing up; she had to hang on to the almost for peace of mind—and crying your eyes out did that to a person. And she felt good. She didn't even feel all that hung-over. And she felt good about her life. She was going to be honest with Mark about Jason; she was going be a grown-up; and she was going to make good on her promise and really, seriously try.

It was only when she sat up that she realized she was no longer on the floor where she'd fallen asleep with Mark, but on his huge, comfortable couch, surrounded by pillows and covered with a soft, dark blue cashmere throw. She still had all her clothes on, but her boots had been removed and she melted a little when she grasped that Mark must have moved her to the couch and covered her with the blanket.

She heard noises from the kitchen; the French doors to the deck opening and closing and then the whirring of the coffee grinder. Familiar morning sounds. And she disentangled herself from the expanse of cashmere and stood up, only a little unsteadily, and padded into the kitchen, her socked feet slipping a little on the polished wooden floor.

Mark had paused half way through making the coffee and was standing, braced against the counter, with his eyes closed. He felt awful—which was stupidly fucked up and ironic considering it was the second morning of his remission, and entirely his own damn fault. But he still felt awful. His head hurt like a bitch; not just a headache, but actual pain, like an ice pick being driven through his temples. His eyes were so dry and sore, he could hardly open them. And despite the fact he'd spent half the night bent over the toilet puking up the best part of 300 dollars worth of champagne, his stomach was still churning and he still felt horribly sick. Clearly, immunotherapy and Dom Pérignon really didn't mix. He was starting the not-drinking thing back up today; and even when . . . if . . . the immunotherapy finally ended, he was never touching Dom Pérignon or any other fucking champagne ever again.

He was desperately tired. He'd just called in sick to work - which disturbed him, because it wasn't something he did; he'd even worked through most of his cancer treatment - because he was truly fucked-up and no patient deserved to be subjected to him today. He had slept a little—on the floor of his living room and then, even less comfortably, the bathroom—but it had been more a nauseated stupor than real sleep; and throughout the night he'd had dreams, which he could only half remember, that had kept waking him up in something like a panic. And the the feeling of this remained with him, along with a vague sense of depression that he couldn't shake.

He inhaled. That was enough. Introspection was never his thing and it was making him even more depressed. He stretched and dragged his fingers though his hair and turned his attention back to making coffee . . . and God did he need coffee right now.

"You want any help with that?"

Mark turned, a little startled, to see a cutely disheveled Meredith standing in the kitchen doorway.

He smiled weakly. "I think I need help with just about everything right now," he said. He'd intended this to be playful, self-deprecating; but somehow it came out as serious, pleading almost and he could see that Meredith was as taken aback as he was.

She walked over to him and stroked his arm. "Are you okay?" she asked gently. "You sound . . . you look—"

"I'm hung-over, Mer," he said. He didn't want to deal with whatever it was that was assaulting him. "That's all." He squeezed her shoulder, lingering for a moment to take her in, and then turned back to the coffee maker. "Are you okay?" he asked her. He didn't really want to deal with that now either, but she'd arrived last night hours late and upset and, knowing he'd been less than useless then, he felt obligated to try now.

Meredith bit her lip and then gave a small, determined smile. "I wasn't okay," she said. "But I think I am now." She paused. "I'm sorry I didn't show up. I had . . . something to tell—"

"Damn it!" The coffee grinder had slipped out of Mark's hand and ground coffee was now all over the counter.

Meredith gave a nervous laugh, pleased enough to have an opportunity to buy some time. "I wouldn't have thought that would be so difficult for a renowned plastic surgeon," she teased him. "Especially one who makes coffee using the same grinder at least twice every day."

Mark nodded dryly. "I'm very hung-over." Well, that and that his attention had wandered back to the feelings left over from his dreams. "I'm sorry. What were we talking about?" He rubbed a tired hand over his face and yawned.

"Here." She gently pushed him aside, swept the spilled coffee into her hands and deposited it back into the grinder. This accomplished, she started to make the coffee. "You should sit down," she said.

"Not going to argue with you, Mer," Mark said and lowered himself slowly onto one of the kitchen stools.

"I woke up on the couch," she said as she poured water into the coffee maker. "That was sweet of you . . . to move me up there. You didn't even wake me."

"You looked uncomfortable on the floor. And I thought I owed you one after passing out on you when you wanted to talk to me." He grinned lopsidedly. "I was an ass, Meredith. I know I keep saying that and I know it's not enough. But," he shrugged. "I was an ass and I'm sorry."

Meredith swallowed. "I'm sorry too," she said. "I . . . I . . . " I almost cheated on you last night, was what she needed and wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out yet. Instead, she launched into the resolutions she'd made when she woke up. "I've been unreasonable . . . to you, and to Lexie, but mostly to you . . . and I'm going to stop. It's time. I'm going to be a 3rd year; Lexie's going to be a resident; we're not little girls; we're surgeons and grown-ups and . . . it's time. And you don't have to talk to me about anything you don't want to. You and I are too important. The present . . . the future . . . everything." She searched his face for confirmation.

Mark nodded uncertainly. "I talked to your . . . Lexie yesterday," he said. "We were working on a kid with 2nd degree burns and I asked her some stuff. . . it seemed like a good time . . . and she mentioned Thatcher." He paused. "I told you in my voicemail." He hadn't meant it to, but his voice had a hurt quality to it as he said this. Everything he said this morning seemed to reveal some emotion that he had no control over.

"I know," Meredith said softly. "I heard it. I'm sorry. I was—"

"She said he was 'fine,'" Mark interrupted. He'd started on this conversation now and he might as well get it over with.

Meredith quirked an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "It seemed like she meant it the same way you do. If it's any consolation, I didn't get the impression you missed much there, Mer. If it was bad growing up with Ellis Grey, I'm guessing Thatcher wouldn't have improved it any."

But Meredith wasn't listening anymore; she was just smiling. "You're talking to me about my family," she said wonderingly.

"Well, yeah," he conceded, happy that he'd pleased her. "But it's just this one time." He succeeded in making this sound like a joke, but he hoped she got that he meant it. "You just said I didn't have to do it anymore and, believe me, I'm holding you to that."

They had moved out onto the deck and were drinking coffee in companionable silence, watching the lake splash against the shore.

Meredith had so far avoided . . . chickened-out-of . . . telling Mark about Jason and a little part of her . . . the part that always avoided . . . wanted to keep it that way. But that didn't fit with her new mood this morning; and it didn't fit with how she wanted them to be. In some ways it was difficult now to know whether it was Mark or Cristina who was her best friend—which meant that she'd screwed up with both her best friends in one day— and she couldn't lie to him. If she did, she would take something away from them, make them less. And yes, she might hurt him; she knew that. But she would hurt him worse if she kept it a secret, because he'd find out or she'd subtly change towards him and now that she'd resolved to try, really try, she had to try to do the right thing over this, as hard as that was for her.

"Mark."

"Hmmm." He was staring out at the lake.

"Last night . . . I went to Joe's."

"Yeah?" He laughed slightly and turned to her. "Is that unusual?"

"No," she said. "You have to listen to me—"

"I do, huh?" He smiled at her. The coffee and the fresh air and just being with her were all helping his hangover and his mood. He felt loved again; he felt sure of her and he wanted to relax with her and play. Her day off couldn't have come at a better time. And although he still felt bad about blowing off work, it was okay because he got to spend time with Meredith and they needed this. Maybe they'd get to make love after all; maybe a long, slow fuck . . .the sort of fucking you did with someone you loved with all your heart . . . and then a nap and then—

"Seriously, you have to listen to me."

"Okay," he said, focusing. "I'm all yours. You got me." He turned to her with an exaggerated expectant look and was shocked when he saw how agitated she was.

"You okay?" he asked.

Meredith swallowed. "I went to Joe's . . . with Cristina . . . and then she left," she said. "She left and I stayed and I talked to a guy, a nurse from the ER and . . . " she paused and swallowed again and then continued in a rush, "I thought about sleeping with him. I thought about sleeping with him and I almost did; I almost . . . we almost . . . he and I . . . almost had sex . . . in the ladies' room." She searched his face for a response. He was still looking at her, but she couldn't read his expression, except that he slightly raised one eyebrow. "It was nasty," she said. "It . . . he was nasty and I couldn't and I'm so sorry." She ran out of steam.

"You done?" Mark said.

Meredith nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks for telling me. That's . . . that means something." He took a sip of coffee and then grinned at her astonished expression. "Something wrong, Mer?" he asked.

"You don't mind?" she squeaked.

Mark considered. He did, in fact, mind. It hurt. But she hadn't gone through with it; and she'd told him. It counted for a lot that she told him. Especially after Addison and . . . ah, he didn't want to go over that. He and Addison were done; and Karev was his resident and kind of his friend. He understood. He was probably one of the few people that would. And, no, it didn't feel good to be on the receiving end. But he got it. Sometimes you just had to do something to forget about all the crap you were feeling. That's all he'd ever been doing when he'd cheated on Addison and he got it. Screwing someone . . . almost screwing someone in a bar . . . didn't necessarily mean anything. It had never meant anything to him and, for his sake as much as for Meredith's, he was open to believing the same was true for her.

"You didn't do anything," he shrugged. "And you told me." He grinned again. "At least it wasn't O'Malley," he growled. "Now that would've pissed me off."

"Okay," Meredith gulped, her eyes huge and not quite daring to believe what he was saying. "That's . . . okay. That's good. Thank you."

He laughed. "So . . . now do you love me?"

"Yes," she said.

Mark smirked at her. "You want to fuck me instead? Seeing as you didn't get any last night?"

"Yes," Meredith said, but added, "Why are you being so nice?"

"I'm a nice guy, Mer," he said, determined to keep it light. He could deal with it all as long as they didn't discuss it.

"You're not," she teased him, her confidence gradually coming back. "You're Mark Sloan."

He clutched his heart playfully. "And after I forgave you," he said. "Okay, I'm not nice." He shrugged again. "Maybe it's just because I love you."

Meredith grew very quiet and then whispered, "I love you too. Seriously. And I'm sorry."

She got up from her chair, walked over to him and sat down on his lap. Perhaps she'd thought about kissing him, she didn't know, but once she felt him, felt his warmth, she was too overwhelmed to do anything.

"We're okay?" she asked tentatively.

He nodded and reached up his hand and stroked her face. "We're okay," he confirmed, as Meredith breathed a sigh of absolute relief, certain now that she had done the right thing.

Title song: Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes, Beck

Change your heart
It will astound you
I need your lovin'
Like the sunshine