Here is chapter 2. A very special thanks to Andrea, couldn't do it w/o you! And thanks to all who have read and reviewed my story!!

ABC and Shonda own Grey's. Unfortunately.

Chapter Two: Flowery and Pink

She hated doing laundry. She had put off washing her clothes for over a week and knew she couldn't neglect the dirty job any longer when her clothes started to spill out and over her clothes hamper, creating pools of t-shirts, panties, and socks all over the floor of her bedroom. She knew she could pull a Christina and just go out and buy new panties when she ran out of clean ones, but she didn't like the idea of wearing the brand new and scratchy undergarments until they had been softened with "April Petals," her favorite fabric softener. And knowing she would just have to wash her new panties anyway would just entirely defeat the purpose of her avoiding her laundry duties.

And so she had spent the last five hours of her first day off in a month doing the much hated washing of clothes. She had just finished washing, drying, and folding four loads of laundry and putting them in her basket when she spotted a black shape lying on the floor, next to the corner of the washing machine, stopping her short. Immobilized with an overwhelming feeling of chagrin, she bent down to pick up the fleece, and held it gingerly in her hands.

Her mind immediately revisited the night where she had rather embarrassingly broken down in front of the renowned plastic surgeon known for his talent with a scalpel as well as his good looks and arrogance. She cringed at the memory of exposing her wounds so blatantly in front of him. She had cried, openly and unabashedly, on his shoulder over the fact that George had married and not she. Granted, she didn't really like Callie Torres O'Malley and she felt that George could do much, much better—like find someone with stellar hygienic skills as well as modesty when in the buff. And she had tried to accept his relationship with Callie ( like really, really tried . . . and hard.) But, he loved Callie and she was, unfortunately, a huge part of his life now. And just when she thought she was beginning to accept it, he had made the announcement.

She had been shocked and horrified when George had announced his elopement with Torres, but, honestly, she was more shocked and more horrified at her anger and resentment towards her best friend and his new bride. So she ran away from the happy couple and the designated congratulations, into the freezing cold, seeking solace from the toxic mixture of feelings running rampant in her heart and mind. She needed time to be alone and to try to find a way stop herself from spontaneous combustion.

And then he showed becoming the oxygen to the ever growing flames of emotion. When some semblance of rationality had finally washed over her, she had bristled with awareness. It didn't escape her notice that both of her hands had tightly gripped the lapels of his coat, or that both of his arms had circled her body holding her against him and that her head was fitted in the crook of his shoulder with her wet tears grazing the skin of his neck. Her mortification had hit her like a ton of bricks.

Tearing herself out of his arms, she stood up wrapped in a fleece that smelled of masculinity and dirty socks, and avoided looking him in the eye. With as much dignity as she could muster, she had walked quickly away and didn't even turn around with a glance to look at the man left behind.

With frustration, she yanked open the lid of the washer and threw in the offensive garment. She added detergent and grabbing her fabric softener, she poured more than double of "April Petals" into her Downy ball. Closing the lid, and selecting the spin cycle, she smiled. She had finally gotten rid of the stench of Mark Sloane.

The Next Day

"O'Malley, you're with Burke, Yang and Grey you're with me at the clinic and will work in shifts between myself and Dr. Montgomery . . ." Bailey paused to look down at her file, leaving Izzie biting her lower lip. "Karev, you are with Torres, and Stevens—

She held her breath, preparing her mind for a day filled with nerves and inward humiliation. It had been exactly one day since she had seen Mark Sloane and she was dreading the encounter that she knew was bound to happen. Her pride was still stung over the knowledge that he saw her at one of her lowest lows and she wondered how she would ever be able to look him in the eye again. No, she decided, she would never let him know her discomfiture. She had made up her mind right then and there that if she was assigned to Sloane she would be the picture of calm, grace, and dexterity. She would act as if nothing had happened, as if that it had been some other Isobel Stevens he had held crying in his arms.

--You are with Shepard."

Oh, thank you, God! Izzie closed her eyes in silent relief that she wouldn't have to play the grand charade and took the chart handed to her.

"All of you, go where you're supposed to go. Yang and Grey, follow me." Izzie watched Bailey march off with Christina and Meredith in tow and was left standing with Alex at her side, watching as well.

"I wonder why Montgomery needs the both of them."

Izzie turned to look at Alex, curiosity in her eyes. "Well, Bailey did say that they both are going to split time between her and the clinic. So, I'm sure that's the reason why. . ."

"No, I worked with her yesterday and split time between Montgomery and the Clinic with no problems." Alex drew his brows together. "I bet she's got a huge case. That's gotta be the reason she needs both of them!"

Izzie watched him in silence, perplexed by his agitation. "What do you care, Karev? You hate the 'vagina squad'…you want to be a big time plastic surgeon, remember?" When he wouldn't make eye contact, it dawned on her. "Oh, my god! I can't believe it . . . you like working in obstetrics! Woah. Hell must have surely frozen over."

He turned to her, annoyed. "Whatever . . ."

"I always did think you looked cute in pink."

Alex sent her a glare and marched off. Izzie watched him not bothering to hide her laughter. She couldn't help but smile when she thought of how much Alex Karev had changed since they all had started.

But then again, they had all changed.

Later that Evening

She was sitting alone on the bench, again. Her shift had been over for the past ten minutes and she was back in her civilian clothes, dressed warmly, with boots, her heavy coat, and hot pink scarf and gloves covering her hands and neck. And in the past ten minutes, she had been silently debating with herself whether or not to stay and act the mature, responsible adult or to simply go home and form an alternate plan. She looked down at the folded fleece in her lap, staring at as if she were fully expecting the garment to offer her advice on the current predicament she had found herself in. Ok, Stevens, you have really got to snap out of it. Just give him the fleece with a short but polite "thank you." That's all it takes. It's no big deal. Just say: "Thank you, Dr. Sloane for lending me your fleece," and turn around and walk away. No overly long speeches or apologies . . . just a simple sentence. That's all. In fact, maybe you should make him a basket of muffins, no scones…he likes blue berry scones...and then just put the fleece with the baked goods and—

"Oh, God. Please tell me we are not going to have a repeat performance of the other night."

Izzie's head shot up to find a familiar black wool coat covering tan slacks, and judging by the pointed collar peeking out, a light blue button down. She stood up and looked at him, her rehearsed speech and alternative plans quickly flying out of her head. She opened her mouth but shut it again, discovering all speech had left her.

"Cat got your tongue, Stevens?"

She cleared her throat. "Um . . . no. I, just. . . I was waiting for you—

"Oh, you were waiting for me?" A slow grin formed on his lips, one side higher than the other. "Well, why don't we head on over to Joe's and we can—

Her eyes narrowed and suddenly her tongue returned to normal, working order. "In your dreams."

"Well, actually we would be somewhere else in my dreams. Preferably a large, soft, and bouncy—

Izzie promptly cut him off. "You are such a pig."

"Is that the worst you can call me?"

"Actually, I'm thinking of much more descriptive terms to describe the low life you are, but, if I said them aloud I have a feeling I would be stuck doing scut again for the next three months."

Mark leaned in closer to her, his eyes roaming over her suggestively. "I like a woman with a filthy mouth."

Growing more annoyed by the second with her superior, Izzie slammed the fleece against his chest. "I believe that belongs to you."

"Ah, yes, my fleece. I was beginning to think you were keeping it . . . you know, as a memento of me." He held it in his hands examining it. "Tell me, Stevens . . .did you sleep in it, dreaming of me? You know, since I was your knight in shining armor rescuing the damsel from freezing to death."

She looked at him while mentally counting to ten. He really was an ass. She watched as he slowly lifted it to his nose and watched his face turn to disgust.

"Good God, Stevens, what in the hell is that smell?"

"What are you talking about?"

He held it out to her face so she could get a whiff. "That! What is that awful smell all over my fleece?"

Izzie couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "That is the smell of clean. If you would wash your clothes more often, you would be able to recognize the scent."

"I have my clothes dry cleaned and they never smell like this." He brought it back up to his nose for a better sniff. "It. . . smells all flowery and . . .pink!" He looked at her in repulsion. "It smells like you!"

"It's 'April Petals', my fabric softener." She looked at him with a satisfied smirk gracing her lips. "And I think it smells wonderful. Actually, I've been told I smell 'delectable' by members of your sex."

"You're female."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I was wondering what these things on my chest were."

This time, his eyes narrowed at her. "While you may smell 'delectable,' Dr. Stevens, I prefer to smell manly and not all wimpy and . . ." he uttered the last word with revulsion, "botanical."

"So, you agree?"

"Agree with what?"

"That I smell delectable?"

Only a grunt was given as an answer.

Biting her lip to keep a smile from spreading over her face, Izzie bent down to pick up her large tote bag. Standing back up, she looked at him standing there with his hands in his pockets watching her. And suddenly realized that she owed him much more than simply returning a clean fleece to its rightful owner.

Aware of the soft silence that had grown between them, his eyes met hers with a questioning gaze.

"I wasn't only waiting for you so that I could give you the fleece." She watched him as he realized what she was referring too. He became uncomfortable and started to shift his weight. "I . . . I wanted to tell you th—

He cut her off, his gaze not meeting hers. "Don't. You don't have to."

"No. I do. You really helped me and . . ."

"Izzie, please . . . it's not necessary."

She was stunned when she realized that the oh-so-suave and self-assured man before her had become quite distressed and unnerved at her attempts to thank him for what he did for her. The slight blush on the chiseled cheeks could not be hidden by the shadows and Izzie was starting to discover that there was much, much more to Mark Sloane than met the eye. She took a step forward and touched his arm gently with her hand. Surprised by her touch, his eyes flew to hers.

Knowing it was now or never, she spoke. "I never thanked you for what you did that night . . ." Seeing that he was about to open his mouth in protest she rushed on. "I was alone and I was hurting. And you saw that. You didn't have to be . . . there for me, you didn't have to stay. But you did." She stopped and looked at him intensely. "I was in need and you—you gave me what I needed."

Silence passed between them, neither gaze wavering from the other. She reached for his hand and clasped it in her own and watched as his gaze flew to their joined hands. In a soft whisper, she spoke once more.

"Thank you."

Having released the words out into the open, she squeezed his hand before breaking their grasp, her eyes never leaving his gaze. Offering the quiet man a small smile, Izzie turned around and walked away leaving him alone by the bench, covered in the soft glow of the lamp post.