Here is chapter 5! A big, huge THANK YOU to all who have reviewed! You really inspire me to continue writing this story! Another huge 'thank you' goes to my dear friend, Andrea! You know how much you help me!

--SC

Chapter 5: Rap Music and Lucky T-Shirts

The door banged open, Izzie's hands full of plastic bags that were in serious danger of being torn open by the heavy groceries. Her fingers felt numb due to the plastic digging into her hands and she rushed forward to gently dump the bags on the wooden floors of the foyer. Taking a breath of relief, she shook her hands hoping to send the blood back to them and kicked the door shut with her foot.

She caught her reflection in the rectangular mirror over Meredith's antique chest of drawers and groaned at the sight of her bangs plastered against her forehead and her riot of frizzy curls. She hated the rain. Even after living all of her life in the Pacific Northwest, she hated the constant precipitation and the ruination of many fabulous shoes. She loved shoes.

Grabbing a few bags, she headed back to the kitchen to deposit the eggs, milk, vegetables, and meat in their respected spots in the refrigerator. She had spent a good part of her day running errands and taking her turn at grocery shopping for her and her roommates. Well, actually, for her roommate (singular noun . . . not plural, she reminded herself.) George had presently taken residence somewhere else with his lovely bride. Sighing, she turned around to get the rest of her perishable items.

As soon as she had grabbed the last bag, her phone rang shrilly. Trying to balance the plastic bags on her arm once more, she dug into her purse and grabbed her cell phone. "Hello?" She greeted breathlessly into the phone.

"Do you like basketball, Stevens?"

Her eyebrows shot up in confusion as she made her way into the kitchen and plopped the bags on the counter. She perched her hand on her hip in surprise. "Sloane?"

"You never answered my question."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I like basketball and how did you get my number?"

She heard him chuckle over the line. "I have my ways, Stevens. I'm going to get to the point. You and I are going to the Supersonics and Knicks game tonight—

"No, I don't think so!" Her face scrunched up in indignation.

"So, I'll pick you up at 6:15. . . and look nice. Maybe you could wear those tight jeans that hug your ass so nicely? And a bit of cleavage on display is always nice."

"You are such an…" she bit her tongue as she counted to ten. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Don't get all femi-nazi on me. I'll see you at 6:15, sharp." With that he hung up on her, leaving Izzie speechless.

Her eyes slid to her fingers holding a limp, frizzy curl. Inwardly she groaned, knowing her hair was going to be a major bitch to tame. Looking down at her watch, she noticed that the time was 4:30, leaving her with only an hour and forty-five minutes to get ready. She knew that her hair was going to require a large chunk of that time and after putting the last item in the pantry, she left the kitchen and ran up the stairs, silently cursing Mark Sloane and his last minute invitations.

Izzie took her time making her way down the stairs as she heard the insistent knocking and ringing of the doorbell. "Hold your horses! I'm coming!" She wiped away her smile as she opened the front door to find Sloane in his signature black leather jacket and jeans, with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

"It's 6:18, Stevens. I told you to be ready at 6:15 sharp."

Grabbing her purse and black pea coat, she rolled her eyes as she shut and locked the door. "Three minutes will not make that big of a difference, Sloane."

She turned around to find his eyes roaming over her body. "What?"

"You look comfortable." He said accusingly.

"I am comfortable." She shot back. Izzie looked down at her Seattle Supersonics fitted tee, her favorite pair of jeans, and her well-worn Wallabies. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"What happened to you showing cleavage and wearing ass-hugging jeans with four inch stilettos?"

Izzie narrowed her eyes at him. "This is my lucky shirt that I wear whenever I watch a Sonics game! I'm not going to run the risk of them losing just so you can blatantly ogle me."

"Go back up and change. Put on a low cut top. You don't need that shirt because my Knicks are gonna wipe the court with your Sonics."

"Like hell they are!" Her eyes met his in challenge.

"Save it, Stevens, you and I both know how this game will end . . ."

She cocked her eyebrow at his choice of words. "Fifty bucks says we beat you by at least by thirty points."

"You're on."

She smiled at him as she walked down the steps and towards his car. Looking over her shoulder she asked, "How did you know where I lived?"

"Again, Stevens, I have my ways."

"You smiled and flirted with the girl at HR?" She asked knowingly.

"It worked like a charm!" He said as he passed her, walking to the passenger's side of the car. He opened the door for her, causing Izzie to pause in momentary surprise before she entered the luxury vehicle. As she watched him walk around the car to the driver's side, she knew she had to make a few things clear.

"This is not a date, by the way." She told him as soon as he sat down in the driver's seat.

He looked at her in disbelief. "Of course it's not. This is me taking the only person whose company I can stand in Seattle for at least five minutes to a basketball game. I'm not going to turn down courtside seats given to me by the team's general manager for giving his fiancé 'the best breasts' he'd ever seen." He smirked at her. "No, worries . . . this is not a date, Stevens."

Izzie sat back in the plush leather, satisfied with his answer. "Did he really say that you gave his fiancé "the best breasts he'd ever seen'?" She asked somewhat disgusted.

Mark grinned, as he pulled out onto the street. "What can I say? I've got the eye for perfect breasts."

Izzie snorted. "Just shut up and drive so we don't miss the Sonics kick the Knicks' ass!"

"You're delusional."

"Just tell me that when I'm fifty bucks richer." She said confidently as she laid her head against the head rest and smiled.

She sat quietly the in the sleek and very expensive Mercedes Benz for a few moments, as Mark merged onto the interstate. Her eyes cut over to him as her fingers drummed a rhythm against her denim clad thighs, not bothering to wipe the smug grin off her face. She heard him let out a resigned sigh as he turned to her, looking expectantly.

"Go, ahead . . . let it out. I know you're dying to."

" 'Dying to' what, Dr. Sloane?" She asked enjoying herself.

He glanced at her in annoyance. "Brag. Go ahead and brag."

Izzie pumped her fists in the air and did a small victory dance as much as her seatbelt would allow. "We won! We won! Woo, woo, we won!" She turned to look at the man who'd taken her to watch the desecration of the New York Knicks by her Seattle Supersonics (not by thirty points, but by fifty-seven, a fact that she would gladly rub in his face!)

Mark was silent and trying very hard to ignore the sudden appearance of a foam-rubber hand being waved in his face.

Izzie laughed in delight. "Oh, Sloane, you are the worst loser . . . almost as bad as Christina." She turned to him and put out a flat palm expectantly. "You know what you have to do now, don't you?"

He cut his eyes to her in annoyance, as he reached back into his pocket for his wallet, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. Taking out the fifty-dollars as required by their wager, he put the money, non-too-gently, in her hand. He cringed as he said, "I am embarrassed to say I'm from New York."

She snorted in mirth. "Well, you live in Seattle now, so you should, of course, root for a winning team…like the Seattle Supersonics."

"Never."

"Then you'll be resigned to a life of defeat forever!" Izzie tapped her finger thoughtfully against her chin. "You're not a Giants fan, too are you? Because I believe my Seahawks crushed the Giants' dreams of making it to the Super Bowl. "

Mark let out a loud groan as he turned on the windshield wipers due to the light rain that had started falling. "God, you would be a major sports fan wouldn't you?"

"I am." She said rather proudly. "I love the Seahawks, the Sonics, the Mariners, and only because Seattle doesn't have a hockey team, the Rangers."

Mark turned to her in surprise. "You like the New York Rangers? Holy…am I in an alternate universe?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "No, you're not. It just so happens that my ex-boyfriend plays for the Rangers and since we're still friends . . . I cheer for him."

She chuckled as Mark's eyes grew large and turned to her in excitement. "Your ex-boyfriend plays for the Rangers? Who is he?"

"Hank Lucas." She waited expectantly for the reaction that she knew would come.

"Your…your ex-boyfriend is…Hank Lucas!? You dated the star forward of the Rangers and also the league's leader in scoring?"

"I take it you're a fan of Hank's?" She asked laughingly.

"Well, just…a little." He turned to her with a serious look on his face. "I'm secure enough in my masculinity to say that I have a slight man crush on him."

Izzie laughed openly at that. She had been pleasantly surprised at the evening she had shared with Mark. She had gone to the game with him, not really sure what to expect of the evening except for the usual banter that often bordered the line of sexual harassment and rudeness. Not that it bothered her a bit, because she would retaliate with a cutting line or two in hopes of deflating his huge, male ego. It had become a contest between them, a battle of wills of sorts, with one trying to outdo the other. And she enjoyed it . . .not that she would ever admit it aloud to him. She would never give him the satisfaction, but she held a slight suspicion that he felt the same.

She watched as his long fingers manipulated the click-wheel of his black ipod, trying to find some suitable music for the ride. Inwardly, she was more than a little bit baffled at the 'relationship' she shared with the plastic surgeon. It seemed that over the last few weeks, the two were thrown into one another's path and forced to deal with the dark baggage that accompanied the both of them.

He had surprised her with his acts of comfort when she had felt abandoned and alone to fight the dark emotions of her heart. He had gathered her in his strong arms and let her fight the demons within, fully expecting nothing in return. It was an act of kindness most definitely unexpected from Mark Sloane that had shocked her, and she suspected himself as well.

But what had surprised her even more, despite the sarcasm her lips often spewed his way, was the fierce protectiveness she had developed for him. It had come upon her suddenly and she had never questioned it, just acted. And her action had many reactions: hot tempers, harsh words, fallen tears, and a bond that had been forged between the two of them.

And for the life of her, she couldn't exactly define or label the bond they shared. The only surety she felt was that it was new, uncertain, and very, very fragile. She also couldn't shake the notion that somehow, and for some unknown reason, it was a life-line that they had both grasped onto.

She wouldn't question it, whatever 'it' was, but decided to accept it and let it run its course. Only time would tell.

Suddenly the bass reverberated loudly over the speakers, breaking the short silence.

This is why I'm Hot, This is why I'm Hot
This is why, this is why, this is why I'm Hot
This is why I'm hot, This is why I'm Hot
This is why, this is why, this is why I'm Hot

She turned to him, shock written all over her face, to find him rapping along with the lyrics. "Oh, my God! You listen to . . . rap music!?"

He turned to her with a grin, still mouthing the words to the chorus. "What? This is my theme song! You seemed shocked, Stevens."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I would have never pegged you as the type that listens to rap."

His voice grew louder as he turned and pointed at her, directly rapping the lyrics to her. "I'm hot cause I'm fly, you ain't cause you not…This is why, this is why, this is why I'm hot…"

"Oh, you think you are so 'fly' because you know the words to the M.I.M.S. single . . ."

"I'm very 'fly'. . . and you know it!"

"Please! You are not 'fly.' You just think—

Izzie stopped mid-sentence as she watched a SUV hydroplane over the slick roads of the interstate and flip into the air before finally landing on its hood. "Holy shit! Mark! Did you see that?" She asked in panic.

"Yes, I did! Get out your cell phone and report it!" His eyes started looking in the rearview and side mirrors, as he crossed lanes to pull over.

Izzie dialed 911 and waited for the emergency operator to pick up. "I would like to report a vehicular accident, single car, on I-90 west bound at the 4th Avenue exit. A SUV hydroplaned and flipped in the air, landing on its hood. We've just now pulled up behind the car, and are unsure of how many occupants." She watched Mark as he twisted behind his seat to grab his doctor's bag. "My . . . my friend and I are both doctors. We'll be able to provide some on scene treatment."

Mark got out of the car, doctor's bag in tow, and ran up to the door of the wrecked vehicle. Izzie followed him, her cell phone still pressed against her ear and stood a few feet away.

He looked into the window and turned back to her. "I only see one person! A female, I'd say late twenties, early thirties. She appears to be unconscious."

Izzie relayed the information to the operator as she watched Mark yank open the door, and began working on getting the woman out of the car. It felt like forever to Izzie before he finally managed to get the woman out of the vehicle. Cradling her gently, he took the woman over to his car, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the wrecked automobile.

"I have my wool coat in the back seat, go get if for me, will you?" Mark kneeled down and set the woman carefully on the ground, not fully resting her whole body on the wet pavement. Izzie rushed back to him with the garment and laid it under her body. "It looks as if she has some head trauma, maybe a few cracked ribs, with a chance of some internal bleeding.

"My . . . my . . ." The woman began to speak in soft whispers.

"Mark! She's talking . . . she's becoming conscious." Izzie knelt down on the other side of her.

Mark took off his leather jacket and covered the woman's body for warmth. "I'm Dr. Sloane and this is Dr. Stevens. Ma'am, you were in a car accident. Try to stay calm, the paramedics are on there way."

Izzie saw the woman's eyes go to Mark and lifted her hand to his arm. She struggled taking breaths, seeming determined to be heard. "My . . . baby . . . where's . . . my . . . baby?" The woman slipped into unconsciousness as Mark's eyes met hers in alarm.

"There's a baby?" She asked quietly. Her eyes meet his in worry, finding the emotion mirrored in his own.

"I . . . I didn't see one." Mark got up and started retracing his steps. "Stay with her! I'm going to go look for her baby!"

Izzie watched his retreating form before returning her attention to the woman. Reaching into the doctor bag, she grabbed the stethoscope and began taking her vitals. "Don't worry, ma'am. Dr. Sloane will find your baby," she said confidently. "I know he will."

Yes, yes...I know. It's a bit of a cliff hanger. Maybe if you leave a review, you will spur me onto write Chapter 6!?!