This is for Pooh – good luck with everything tomorrow, my friend. I know it's going to turn out fine. Seriously. I'll be thinking about you :)
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Izzie glanced at the clock on the dashboard of her car, sighing when she saw that it was already almost midnight. She looked over at Cristina, who was staring out the window of the passenger seat. "I can't believe how long that surgery took," she remarked, commenting on the procedure that Dr. Bailey had assigned them to mere moments before they were originally supposed to be finished with their shift. "I've never seen so much blood in my life."
"Yeah," Cristina said wistfully, turning to look out the windshield as Izzie pulled into the driveway of the house. "It was awesome."
Izzie laughed as she shut off the ignition, and the two women climbed out of the car, walking up the front steps and letting themselves into the house. They strode into the foyer, but halted in shock when their eyes landed on Meredith, who was seated in the living room.
She sat silently on the couch, surrounded by an abundance of vases that were scattered around the room. Each vase held a unique bouquet of flowers, filling the otherwise drab room with color and a sweet floral scent. When she saw them walk in, she glared at them with irritation.
"Jesus Christ, Mer," Cristina muttered, her mouth falling open in disgust. "It looks like a florist vomited all over your living room."
"I'm aware of that," she stated dryly, her eyes turning to look fiercely at Izzie.
Izzie's eyes went wide at Meredith's annoyed stare, and she instinctively took a step backward. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. "I didn't do this."
Meredith rolled her eyes, standing to her feet and walking quickly across the room. "They're for you," she told her wryly.
Izzie faltered, surprised by the announcement. "For me?" she whispered disbelievingly. She slowly walked toward the nearest vase, picking it up and inhaling the pleasant scent of the pale pink roses. "All of these are for me?" she asked again, her eyes sweeping across the room excitedly.
Meredith nodded, pointing to the card that was pinned to the top of a bouquet of orchids on the coffee table. "See for yourself."
Izzie walked over to the table, noticing that her name was, in fact, scrawled on the outside of the tiny white envelope. With a smile on her face, she carefully tore open the envelope, pulling out a little card.
You said you wanted flowers.
I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got one of each…
See, I can do romance.
Her smile widened as she placed the card back in the envelope and she turned around to face her friends. They stared at her, their foreheads furrowed as they waited for her response. "Well, who're they from?" Meredith asked impatiently when she didn't immediately explain.
Izzie stared at her blankly, unsure what to say. A part of her was bursting with desire to tell her friends that they were from Mark, to share the details of their encounters over the last few days. Well, maybe not all the details, but perhaps a carefully censored, PG-13 version. She knew, though, that she would likely be met with their weird, judgey scowls. After all, these were the newfound man-haters who, just the day before, had tried to convince her to become a lesbian with them.
With a shrug of her shoulders, she tossed the card carelessly onto the coffee table and walked back over to stand beside them. "I have no idea," she told them innocently.
A groan of frustration left Meredith's mouth, and she put her hands on her hips. "Izzie! Stop with the lying! Is it George? Are you having an affair with George?" she asked her.
"No, Meredith, for the last time! I'm not having an affair with George!" She folded her arms angrily across her chest as she stared defiantly at her friends, daring them to challenge her further.
"Well then who're they from, Izzie? There's no way that you don't know," Cristina stated.
Izzie pursed her lips, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. "Hank! They're from Hank," she told them, silently cursing herself for sounding overenthusiastic. "You remember him. We were dating when we started our internship."
"Hank?" Meredith asked disbelievingly, cocking an eyebrow. "They're from the hockey player?"
"Yeah," Izzie confirmed, boldly meeting their dubious faces.
"You still talk to him?" Cristina questioned suspiciously.
Izzie nodded, sending up a silent prayer that she didn't look as guilty as she felt. "Yeah, do you have a problem with that?" she asked, resting her hands against her hips.
An amused smile spread over Cristina's face as she watched Izzie's attempt to act intimidating. "Nope, no problem," she said, laughing as she held up her hands in mock-surrender. "I'm going upstairs to bed," she said. "I feel like I'm trapped in a fucking botanical garden right now," she grumbled, turning to leave the living room.
When Cristina was out of site, Meredith turned back to Izzie, her hands on her hips as she stared at her skeptically. "You know that we don't believe you, right?" she asked.
Izzie shrugged, looking at the floor momentarily before bravely meeting her eyes. "Well, I don't care what you believe."
Meredith sighed. "Look Izzie, if you're having an affair with George, you need to put a stop to it. Trust me, I know about these things. Sleeping with a married man will never turn out well in the end."
Izzie nodded her head, suddenly feeling a twinge of sympathy for her friend. "I know that, Meredith," she said quietly. "But I swear to you, I'm not sleeping with George." At least not anymore.
Meredith pursed her lips, her face still suspicious, but she gave Izzie a small nod. "Okay," she relented warily. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night," Izzie said, watching as Meredith climbed up the stairs to the second floor. When she was gone, Izzie turned back to the room, her eyes drinking in every vase of flowers while her smile grew. This was certainly something that she would never have expected from Mark Sloan. She had always viewed him as romantically challenged, but she now admitted to herself that she was obviously mistaken.
With a wistful sigh, she flipped off the light in the living room and turned around to head upstairs. She got ready for bed quickly, sighing with contentment when her body landed against the cool sheets. Feeling thoroughly exhausted, she let her eyes flutter shut as she curled onto her side, eager to fall into a deep sleep.
Her mind, however, didn't cooperate as it raced with thoughts of Mark, and she soon found herself tossing and turning. Initially, she was merely picturing the flowers that were sitting in the living room, but that soon led to her thoughts of him pressing her against the door of the on call room, of his hands finding their way beneath her skirt in the bathroom of Joe's, and of course, of their erotic night together in his hotel room.
She groaned when she felt the familiar ache between her legs, and she closed her knees tightly, trying to suppress her desire. She couldn't let this happen; she couldn't let her mind become consumed with Mark Sloan. No matter how many romantic gestures he made, it was all being done to lure her back to his bed. He was a manwhore, after all.
She turned over once again, her eyes cracking open just enough to see that it was already two in the morning. With a sigh, she sat up, throwing her legs over the edge of her bed. There was only one way to solve this problem, and there was no time like the present.
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He groaned when he heard an incessant knocking on the door of his hotel room. Lazily, he picked up a pillow, bringing it up to cover his face in the hope that it would muffle the obnoxious noise. It didn't help, though, particularly because the knocking only grew louder with each passing second.
He gritted his teeth in annoyance as he threw the sheets from his body, standing up off the bed. He grabbed a robe from the bathroom to cover his nudity before walking to the door, his irritation only growing with each knock.
The second he swung the door open, she stormed into his room, not waiting for an invitation. "I got your flowers," Izzie told him impatiently. "You've got to stop doing things like that."
He lifted an eyebrow as he shut the door behind her. "You're welcome," he said sarcastically, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.
She ignored him, staring at him fixedly as she continued with her rant. "You can't keep doing these thoughtful things, Mark, because you're getting into my head. You're getting into my head, and now I can't get you out. I feel like your smothering me, and I can't do anything without thinking about you. I'm not the kind of girl who can have casual sex and not get attached. It's dangerous, and can't risk you breaking my heart because…well, because I know you will."
He watched her silently, trying to ignore the anxious ache that had grown stronger in the pit of his stomach with each passing word. With a quiet sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. "If that's the way you want it, fine," he complied, his expression carefully blank.
Izzie's mouth fell open slightly, and she couldn't help but feel a little upset that he had given in so easily. "Oh…well, okay then…good," she mumbled, trying to mask her disappointment. This is what you wanted, Izzie, she reminded herself. She stood awkwardly for a moment, fidgeting with her fingers as silence engulfed the room. Finally she sighed. "Well, goodnight then," she said, beginning to walk forward toward the door.
She'd only taken two steps when his arm shot out, and she inhaled sharply as he grabbed her around the waist when she tried to pass him, pulling her toward his body. Their eyes met through the darkness, and Izzie became breathless when she recognized the lustful expression.
He didn't dare move, exerting every ounce of self-control that he had as he watched her intently. If she truly didn't want this, he was prepared to let her go. It would be torturous, of course, but it was her decision in the end.
Izzie swallowed hard as her eyes fell to his lips, and she couldn't help but feel annoyed as that pesky burning sensation between her legs returned with a vengeance. She wanted to say no to him, to tell him to let her go. Her mind was screaming at her to turn around and flee the scene, yet her body refused to budge. If anything, she seemed to squirm a bit so that she could mold her curves to better fit with his.
Her resolve suddenly flying out the window, she leaned upward and crushed her lips against his. The kiss was nearly bruising with intensity, and the instant their mouths touched, Izzie felt a rush of adrenaline, like an addict experiencing her first high of the day. A moan of ecstasy bubbled from her throat, and she threw her weight against him, propelling him into the door behind them.
Izzie gasped as his lips kissed their way down to the bottom of her neck, sucking the sensitive skin lightly. "This is not how I expected this to go," she mumbled breathlessly, her knees suddenly weakening as his hand rose up beneath her shirt, tracing the line of her spine.
Sensing her unsteadiness, his other arm wrapped around her, hoisting her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. "Well, life doesn't always go according to plan," he muttered in response as he began walking toward the bed.
No kidding.