He was better at being an expectant parent than she was.
One night she had arrived at his hotel room to find him slumped over in bed, some sort of beginner's guide to pregnancy under his arm. She'd removed the paperback and set it on the nightstand, only to catch a glimpse at another surprise hanging on the wall. It was a calendar- one that was already marked with her due date as well as the approximate dates that she should visit Addison again for a check-up. She'd sighed in satisfaction at his apparent efforts. It was obvious that he'd purchased his inexpensive items at the Seattle Grace Hospital gift shop (where else?), but they were of endless value to her.
He worried about things that she would have never thought to worry about, which made her want to shoo him away for being so bothersome, but kiss him senseless for being so caring. He watched her every movement surreptitiously, as to hide his actions from other people, but she knew he was there. She knew that when she dealt with unruly patients, he was in the background watching out for her. She knew that when she felt so fatigued or nauseous that she just couldn't go on, he was waiting to provide her a chair. She knew that if she felt depleted at the end of the day, be it physically or emotionally or both, he'd have had ordered pancakes from room service and they'd be sitting there waiting for her arrival.
He was there even when he wasn't there. She'd quickly found out that Mark Sloan's influence was just as intense as his presence. Every time she felt a little sad for herself, she'd think of the way he'd harass her for doing so. When she felt the need to sink into someone's arms, his were the only ones she considered. His cunning grin was a motivator, his tender smile a comfort. Even though their baby wasn't born yet, he was already a father; a real partner. Who would have thought?
Not her... but damn- the realization was a turn on.
The night that she had found him sleeping in bed with his parenting guide, she'd known instantly that she had to have him again. She'd told herself then that the urge was only a response to her desire to reward him for his unexpected efforts. Now she was able to realize that such a line of thinking was way off the mark. She wanted him… for him. Because he was appealing and sexy and totally not the person she'd thought he was. Who knew being wrong could feel so right?
She hadn't woken him that night because he looked so endearing in his sleep. But now, when he was propped up in bed with that damn smirk on his face, he didn't look so peaceable. That excuse wasn't working anymore.
The lights in the room were dimmed, but she could still see the ever-present interest in his eyes.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and throaty. "Coming to bed?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'm tired. Watching the thoughts run through your head is an exhausting business," he joked.
She shot a replica of his trademark smirk back at him in response. "You shouldn't belittle these thoughts."
His breathing hitched as she slowly approached him, unclipping her long, blonde hair in the process.
"No?"
She shook her head and began to remove her socks, his eyes intent on her leisurely movements. When she looked back up at him, their eyes locked, heated brown gaze meeting a blazing blue one. He took her breath away in just a look; she took his away in her next swift movement.
Her shirt came over her head to land on the bed next to him and she grinned impishly. "These thoughts are going to make you very happy."
He reached over to her standing figure and grasped her wrist, giving her a sharp tug in his direction. She landed on him and settled herself onto his warm body, instantaneously reminded of the last time she'd been in that position.
"I thought you said there'd be no sex tonight, Stevens."
She pushed him down onto the bed and began to straddle his muscular, long legs.
"Shut up."
He raised his eyebrows, surprise competing with the desire that had been battling within him to emerge since he'd found her in the bar only minutes before.
"I'm not complaining."
Her hands found the bottom of his soft, cotton shirt and worked it over his head. His fingers deftly unfastened the zipper of her jeans and she awkwardly slid out of them, her breathing emitted as unsteady, heaving gasps.
"Good."
Her smooth hands ran up and down the length of his chest, stroking heated, sensitive skin. His every nerve was alive and begging for more. She hastily slid out of her shirt and his eyes widened in appreciation. She began to unbutton his own jeans and he felt himself burn with sensation… and anticipation.
"In fact, Stevens," he muttered between ravishing kisses and guttural moans, "I'm all yours."
He didn't know it at the time, but truer words had never been spoken.
She lay next to him, satisfaction melting every inch of her body. They fit so well together. Physically, she couldn't ask for more. He was McSteamy; Didn't that say it all?
Even emotionally, he was her equal. They weren't together in a romantic sense, not sharing what she knew would be feigned declarations of love for one another, but they had built a stable partnership between themselves. She thought he knew that she was there for him- or at least hoped he did. She knew that he was there for her; his every action had worked to reinforce that notion.
That's why it was so bewildering the next day when she woke, not met by a warm, masculine body, but rather with cool sheets where he should have been- and the letter he left behind.