A/N: Okay, sorry about the screwy-ness about the last chapter's posting. Things seem to be back to normal, but that doesn't mean I won't mess it up without the technicality excuse... Thank you so much for all the inspiring words! My shift at work today was different than I thought, which is why I'm getting to post this early. Chapter 7 will be up tomorrow and then that's the last chapter that is finished, so I've got some work to do...

Chapter 6: A First Kind-Of Date

"I have plenty of those, you know."

Izzie clutched her pillow close to her chest, "I like mine." The inside of his car was dark, which made it impossible to read her expression. He didn't like having to guess what she was feeling just by the tone of her voice; he found it hard enough to do even when he was able to look at her.

"So…" When she didn't readily offer an explanation to his silent question, he decided he'd just ask her straight out, he'd never been a subtle man anyway. "Why am I driving you to my place and not yours?"

"Because you said you would."

"Izzie…" Her name just slipped out his mouth. He'd said it so many times – to himself, to others in reference to her, but never to her.

The sound of her name coming from his lips captivated her. She'd always been Stevens to him. Except for insisting he adhere the prefix Dr., she'd never given much thought to what he called her, but now all she could think about was how much she wanted to hear him say her name again. She reached up and turned on the interior lights.

"Say that again."

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Izzie?" She stared intensely at his lips as they formed the sounds of her name. She'd never given a thought to whether or not she liked her name, she just hadn't cared to think about it like that. Izzie wasn't a name, it was her. But hearing his voice pronounce 'Izzie,' convinced her that there was no better name in the world. She turned off the light.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Izzie dismissed the question without a thought. "Meredith and Derek, and I quote, 'need some alone time,' so I got the boot. They're loud though, so I wouldn't have been able to sleep at home even if I had been allowed."

"But why me?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Izzie confessed truthfully, even if it was only part of the truth.

It wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for, but he wasn't going to be picky about how he got to spend time with her. He pulled up to the front of the hotel to let her off before going to park.

"You live in a hotel?"

"I thought you knew." Mark was beginning to have second thoughts about taking the young intern home with him.

"You've been in Seattle for months!"

"Yeah, so?"

"Months! Why aren't you renting an apartment?"

"Too small."

"Then lease a house!"

"I don't have time to go house hunting."

"There are some things in life that are important enough to make time for."

"I don't know how long I'm going to be in town."

"What?"

"The move to Seattle was never meant to be permanent. I came here to get Addison and take her back home to New York."

"You're leaving?" Her voice had grown quiet.

"Not right now. Not yet. Can we not talk about this now?"

"Yeah, sure." She paused a few seconds, "You can't leave!" Her outburst surprised even herself. She wasn't sure where from within her the sentiment had come, except the feeling reminded her of that afternoon when she'd demanded that he 'be around.'

"We'll talk about this later." His voice was firm and it was clear he wasn't asking.

His feet were stretched out before him and he was lazily flipping though TV stations when she came out of the bathroom.

"Mark?" Fearing that even the weakest pressure would cause the straining remnants of his self-control to fail, he had to fight the urge to turn and look at her.

But she walked over to stand in front of the couch, placing herself between him and the television. "Mark?" He tried to look around her at whatever program was airing, anywhere but directly at her.

"Mark," she repeated. "Where are the blankets? Do you have any?" The question drew his focus away from managing his line of vision.

"What? Are you cold?" He looked up to meet her eyes, concern etched over his face as he momentarily forgot the fact that she was sporting a thin tank top and girlish boxers, which revealed more of her legs than he'd seen in a while. "I could turn down the AC." But then I'd probably pass out from the heat, he thought as the air in the room suddenly seemed to be thicker and heavier than it had been just a moment before.

"No, I'm fine. I meant blankets for the couch." This didn't clear things up for him.

"Why does the couch need blankets?"

"For me to sleep in."

"You're not sleeping on the couch," he said simply.

"Well, you're not sleeping on the couch. This is your place and I'm intruding."

"You are NOT intruding. And no, I'm not sleeping on the couch either."

"What?"

"I have a king-size bed, Stevens." A slight pang of agony accompanied the use of her last name. "There is plenty of room for us both and I promise to keep my hands to myself," he smirked. "But I am not wearing a cover-all sweat suit for you."

Despite the confidence he conveyed, he held his breath as she mentally weighed her options.

"Oh my God, you sleep in the nude, don't you?" She faked seriousness. He laughed, but inside he felt a nervous excitement building because he knew then that they'd be sharing a bed that night.

"So, what do you think they're doing?" Meredith asked as she pulled one card from the pile before her.

"Ten bucks says he's riding her right now."

"Alex!" Addison slapped the back of his head.

"Owww!"

"Twenty says he makes her sleep on the couch without even offering her the bed," Cristina countered.

"Guys! She's our friend, stop betting on her." Meredith frowned as looked at the card she'd pulled. "Shit."

Derek leaned over. "What'd you get?" Meredith snapped her cards closer to her.

"Not terring," she managed as she crunched a tortilla chip.

"Fifty says he offers her his bed, but she sleeps on the couch anyway." All eyes turned toward Burke.

"I never would have thought of you as a betting man, Preston." Addison gave voice to what everyone was thinking.

The astounded silence was interrupted by Cristina's triumphant cry, "I got a match!" She jumped out of her chair, treating everyone, much to Burke's dismay, to a happy dance.

Meredith leaned towards Derek, "You think they'll be okay, right?"

"Mark wouldn't make her do anything she wasn't ready to," he whispered.

In the background, Cristina slammed her fist to the table and grunted as Alex said, "Go fish."

"That's your side." He pointed to the side of the bed nearest the window.

"Why is that my side?"

"Because I always sleep on this side. Do you want the other side?" He offered.

"No," she said as she climbed into the bed and buried herself beneath the covers. He turned off the lights and followed her in.

He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but he couldn't relax with her so close to him. She was in his fucking bed and yet he couldn't touch her. What kind of sick joke is this?

Next to him she had probably turned over foty-seven times. She just couldn't get comfortable and it had nothing to do with the bed. Not one sound had come from his side for at least ten minutes, so she figured he'd fallen asleep already. After unsuccessfully attempting to talk herself out of what she was about to do, she inched as quietly and slowly as Izzie-ly possible over to him. Studying him for a moment until she was satisfied he really was asleep, she snuggled into his chest.

At the first feel of her body against his, he went completely rigid, his breathing ceased and his heart thumped loudly in his chest. As she settled herself next to him, he relaxed a little, although it wasn't until her breathing steadied that he allowed himself to release the breath he'd been holding.

He hadn't been this nervous around women since the third grade when he'd asked his first crush to be his playground buddy at recess. Why is this different? He had women in his bed before; he'd even had a fair number of women in this bed. Normally such a thought would have elicited a smug smile, but now it made him want to switch rooms so Izzie could sleep in a bed that hadn't been tainted by his exploits.

The rhythm of her chest expanding as she inhaled and contracting as she exhaled gradually calmed his worried mind. Soon the only thing he was picturing was the inside of his eyelids.

He woke before the alarm, which wasn't unusual for him. The irritating beep that came from the clock pissed him off and he preferred to not start the morning off in a bad mood. It's hard enough to be in a good mood at four a.m. So he'd learned to wake up before the offending device was set to blast its harassing call. After years of waking up without the aid of an alarm, he still never trusted himself enough to just not to set it.

He lay beside her, one arm draped over her waist, the other beneath him. Her own hands were folded in loose fists against his chest.

He noted with interest the way the strands of her hair fell across her forehead. Tracing the shell of her ear with his finger he wondered which parent she'd inherited them from. He dropped his hand back over her hips. Everything about her from the curve of her nose to the smooth texture of her skin interested him. He wanted to explore every part of her, learn everything about her.

The sun had begun its ascent and light streamed into the room causing Izzie's eyes to flutter open. Surprise was the first emotion that registered on her face, but it was quickly replaced with something Mark didn't recognize.

"Hello."

He chuckled at her early morning greeting, but said it back. "Hello."

He shifted in the sheets and pulled away from her. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," he responded without really answering her question. He was gone before she could object and within five minutes of his absence, she'd drifted back off to sleep.

The depression he made when he sat on the bed woke her for the second time that morning.

"That wasn't 'right back,'" she mumbled as she sat up, the blankets falling off her shoulder and pooling around her waist.

"Yeah, well, I hope this makes up for it," he said as he pushed a silver tray into her lap.

"Breakfast in bed?" She asked cheerfully. A goofy grin spread across his face at her excitement. "I didn't know you cooked."

"Well, I do. I'm quite the chef actually."

"Confidence in your own abilities, I'm shocked, Dr. Sloan." Izzie was fully awake now.

"Ha, ha," he mockingly laughed. "It's a necessary skill when you're a bachelor. No housewife to make your meals for you," he joked, leaning against her shoulder. She scowled at the implication. "But I didn't make this."

"What?"

"Room service." He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes, "'Quite the chef,' my ass."

"I am! I'll prove it to you. Have dinner with me tonight."

She rolled a piece of toast around in her mouth, contemplating the invitation. She didn't have any plans, so no excuses, she thought dryly. Why should she refuse? She didn't want to. But why should she accept? She wasn't sure she wanted that either.

"7 work for you?"

"Pick you up from Meredith's at quarter 'til?"

"Sounds good." She blushed slightly at the thought of their date and then quickly chided herself for arbitrarily and independently and quite inaccurately renaming dinner, date.

"So how'd it go?" Meredith asked as she changed into her scrubs the next morning.

"How did what go?" Izzie asked, turning from the mirror in her locker to look at Meredith inquisitively. Meredith looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Realization immediately dawned on Izzie's face. "Oh no, Mere, you didn't. Tell me you didn't. Tell me you have no idea what I'm talking about," Izzie pleaded.

"Now, Iz…"

"You can't be fucking serious!" Izzie slammed her locker shut.

"We just thought you…

"We?! Who is 'we'?" Meredith was mentally beating herself for her big mouth.

"How many people are in on this? Is Mark?" Izzie was headed for the door at what could only be described as a stampede of one.

"No! No, He has no idea." At that, Izzie stopped her purposeful steps and let out a long breath of relief. "Iz, it's not that big a deal."

"Says the playmaker! If you were the pawn, you'd see things way differently." Izzie resumed her march and exited through the door.

Addison walked in a few seconds later, closely followed by Derek. "Wow, you really suck at sneaking," she said to Meredith.

"I could have told you that," Derek laughed.

Meredith crossed her arms and pouted, "It's not funny, guys. She's really mad at me!"

"She'll get over it. Besides there's really no reason for her to be mad at you," Addison pointed out.

"There's a very good reason for her to be mad at me. This is the second time I've betrayed her."

"Give yourself a break, Mere," Derek consoled. "You didn't betray your friend, and she'll realize that in the end."

The day dragged on at a mind-bogglingly slow pace. Between avoiding Meredith and anyone else who she suspected of playing a hand in what she termed 'the humiliating charity case' and thinking about the quasi-date looming before her, she was sure she'd be certifiably insane before she even got a chance to eat lunch.

However, when her shift did finally end, she thought the evening had come too soon. It's not like it means anything. It's not a date. You don't have to dress up. He's not even taking you out. But somehow she didn't believe her own logic. She'd always thought a home-cooked meal was more romantic than any restaurant anyway. She then cursed herself for using the word 'romantic' in conjunction with what was set to happen tonight.

He was early and she was running late when he rang her doorbell.

"Hey," she smiled as she opened the door and let him in to wait. "I'll just be a second."

He watched in amusement as she ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. After snooping around the lower level for a while, he decided the only thing in the house that really interested him was her. He climbed the stairs and followed the sound of running water to the bathroom. Leaning against the door frame, he watched as she applied pink lip gloss and pressed her lips together.

"I know you're there," she said matter-of-factly as she raised her eyes to meet his through the reflection of the mirror.

She continued to primp, trying various ways of piling her hair atop her head. Three attempts later, she gave up and just let it fall, framing her face.

"It looks best like that anyway." His sincerity caused her to turn around and face him. "You don't need to do any of this, you know," he said gesturing to all the makeup balanced on the edge of the sink. "There's no one to impress and you look better without all of that crap hiding your face." He paused, allowing his eyes to roam over her body. She blushed furiously under his scrutiny. "Come on, dinner's waiting."

"Wait here." They stood at the threshold of his hotel suit.

"Why?"

"For once can't you just do what you're told?" He teased.

"Hey!" She protested.

"I promise you won't be disappointed. Trust me." His eyes, sparkling blue and gold, so intrigued her that she found herself conceding.

He disappeared through the doorway and, following the sound of hurried steps upon the hardwood floor and the clinking of silverware, he reappeared. "Okay, now close your eyes." Despite her curiosity, she regarded him skeptically. "Trust me, Stevens." He moved behind her and placed his hands over her eyes. After leading her the few paces to the dining table, he whispered softly into her ear, "I'm going to take my hands away, okay?"

"Then can I open my eyes?"

"Mmmhmm." He stopped her from moving forward. "Alright."

"Alright?" His hands fell from her eyes, revealing a jungle of every flower imaginable agreeably arranged around the table. This fantasy world was illuminated by the soft light of thousands of tiny candles, their vanilla scent lulling Izzie's senses into a state of nirvana.

Mark pulled a chair out from the table and guided her into it. He vanished into the kitchen and returned with a plate in hand, which he placed in front of her. With a nervous grin, he sat down across from her, awaiting her reaction.

She just sat there, overwhelmed by the display that she suddenly found herself a part of. "I feel underdressed," she confessed.

"Nah, this isn't formal. I just wanted it to be beautiful for you."

"It is gorgeous. You really did all this yourself?"

"What? You don't think I'm capable?" He pretended to be offended.

"No, it's not that!" She tried to backtrack.

"I'm kidding, Stevens."

She let out an uneasy breath. "It's just a lot. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."

After allowing herself one last long look around, she turned her attention to the plate in front of her. She tried rather unsuccessfully to maneuver the meat out of the lobster shell with the utensils provided. After watching her struggle for a few seconds, he couldn't take it anymore. "It's easier if you use your hands." When his suggestion was met with hesitation, he got up, "Here, let me show you."

He knelt down beside her chair and took her napkin from her lap. "First of all," he said as he tucked the napkin into her shirt, "put this here." Noticing the dubious look she was giving him, he said, "Relax, I don't need an excuse to feel you up."

"I've never done this before."

"Eaten dinner?"

"No," she said as one might say 'duh.' "I grew up in a trailer park. I ate microwavable dinners." As she described the details of her childhood, he extricated the lobster meat and dipped it in the small bowl of melted butter sauce. He held up a piece to her mouth, which she opened unconsciously as she spoke, and he placed it between her lips. The savory taste of the delicate meat delighted her taste buds, but it was the feel of his finger tips still resting on her lips that she found to be most delicious.

After showing her how to crack the lobster shell, he could have returned to his own seat, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled his chair up next to her and continued to feed her.

The messier the meal got, the more comfortable Izzie felt, something Mark hadn't anticipated. By the end, she had the buttery substance all over her face and was laughing loudly at Mark's story about Derek's childhood obsession with hair scrunchies. As their laughter died down, Izzie couldn't help but notice the time.

"Mark, it's getting late." She stood. "I had a really great time and you are 'quite the chef,'" she said, smiling dumbly. "I wish I didn't have to go…"

"Then don't," Mark cut in.

"What?"

"Stay here tonight."

"Mark…"

"Like last night."

"I didn't bring anything with me."

"What do you need? I have a toothbrush you could use, clothes you could sleep in." he was begging, or as close to it as Mark Sloan would ever get. She didn't really need to be convinced anyway.

"Okay," she agreed.