Alright, my dear and wonderfully patient readers, here is chapter 9! Goodness, I can't believe that this story has gone to 9 chapters…its mind boggling. I apologize for not updating recently. I am currently in my senior year of college and am student teaching and have projects galore which are all very time consuming. Believe me, if I didn't have to graduate, I would much rather succumb to the fantasy world that is McStizzie. Again, I apologize for the lack of updates.

So, in this chapter, something very important happens, something that is much needed for one of the characters. It will now lead us into a new direction. So, without further ado….

Enjoy the story!

None of the characters belong to me, only Shonda and ABC. Oh, except for Ms. Marty Jensen.

Author's note: So, if you haven't noticed by now, my chapters tend to skip in regards to time. So this takes place about 2 to three weeks after Chapter 8. Izzie and Mark have been hanging out regularly and have been enjoying one another's company, and becoming close friends. So, that should catch you up.

This chapter has not been beta'd. All mistakes are mine. So sorry. And reviews are love!

Chapter 9: The Reconstruction Era

"Let's take a look at the new you, Ms. Jensen."

Mark Sloane turned the full length mirror towards the direction of the woman with bandages wrapped all over her body, leaning against two nurses for support. Marty Jensen had undergone a body lift, a major reconstructive surgery that involved a breast lift and implants, tummy tuck, as well as a thigh and buttock lift.

The woman taking in her reflection had lost a substantial amount of weight, one hundred and thirty-seven pounds to be exact, thanks to her hard work and dedication to creating a new life for herself. It was something Mark had found remarkable and very admirable.

She'd told him in one of their many consults that she had hidden behind her weight, using it as a blanket to shield her from the hurt others would willingly and unwillingly afflict to her heart. With broken green eyes, she had looked at him and told him that she had been the greatest coward in all of her thirty-one years of life and was tired of hiding behind a shield that was literally killing her instead of protecting her and that she was ready to finally start living.

He felt himself identifying with his patient. He understood her using her body as a shield against other's intentions, hell, he'd done it himself. The weapons they used were different, but they both held similar tactics with the same goal: to keep others out and make sure their hearts are left intact.

If someone got too close to the danger zone that was his heart, he'd instantly react. He'd find a woman, beautiful and attractive, ready and willing to take part in his war games, and he'd do the defensive maneuver, quick and fast, almost blinding the opponent threatening to invade and take his heart, but he would sideswipe them in the middle of their offensive attack, leaving them stunned.

It was what had happened with Addison. She had somehow penetrated the defenses of his heart and had left him open, vulnerable, and almost defenseless. He had almost let his whole guard down thinking that she actually wanted him and had loved him.

But he'd known he'd only fooled himself in regards to Addison's feelings towards him. It all became perfectly and painfully clear when he came home one evening to find Addison on the floor of his bathroom, her knuckles white from clutching a picture of Derek, huddled into a ball, eyes swollen from the tears.

He'd led himself to believe in a dream that would never come true and it was a bitter cruelty he'd inflicted on himself. So he went on the defensive end and using all of the strategical planning that would make a four star general proud, he formulated a plan that worked brilliantly and swiftly, leaving as little causality behind as possible.

The causalities may have been few in number, but the price paid was a rather steep one. He'd lost his best friend when he gave into his heart's unspoken dream of loving Addison freely and fully, and he'd lost the only woman he thought he'd ever loved.

He tried to rectify his wrongs and his ill advised plans of war in grand gestures. He'd made the transcontinental trips to Seattle for a rendezvous' in the sheets when she'd call him broken. He thought she'd needed him, that she'd been lost without him. And she had needed him…she'd needed his body to dull the pain by blinding her senses with movements of his body. And to him, that need of his body had given him hope. It had made him believe that she would also come to need his love as well.

And rather naively, he'd made the trip to Seattle once more, but this time, in the form of a grand gesture. This time, his hands held a metaphorical olive branch and a Treaty of Second Chances. He would make things right between him and Addison and he'd earn his broken brother's trust back. He would return his life back to a relative normal . . . a life that he knew well and understood.

But his plans of reconciliation hadn't quite gone as planned. His Treaty of Second Chances had been proven useless because Addison was done with him and was moving on with her life rather nicely, with a man who seemed to have less baggage and darkness.

And she was happy. She still thought he was up to his old tricks as was made blatantly obvious by her remarks in the elevator the night of the crash, which proved to him that while she may be finished with him, it would take quite awhile for her to trust him again and to see him as anything less than a whore.

And then it hit him, an epiphany of sorts, maybe a light bulb moment. It had all become abundantly clear to him that he, Mark Sloane, was tired of it all. He was tired of the constant fighting, of the carnage he created with his emotional battles, and he was tired of always losing in the end because he was too afraid to fully risk his heart. That's why he had fallen for Addison in the first place. She was unattainable and taken, and safe to love from afar…and it was love, an unhealthy love that ended up damaging him, but it was a love that he had needed. Because now, right at this moment, he had finally gotten to the point in his life where he was ready to take down the impenetrable wall around his heart. He was ready to risk it all.

He felt a warm hand reach for his, and turned his eyes to meet Marty Jensen's.

"Thank you, Dr. Sloane . . ." Her voice was thick with emotion, as tears fell freely down her cheeks.

He felt a smile spread over his face as his hand tightened on hers. "You did it, Marty."

Marty's laugh rang through the room. "I did, didn't I? I did it."

"Yes, you did, Marty . . ." He said softly as he looked at both of their reflections in the mirror. He saw two people finally ready to let their guards down and to really start living.

"Dr. Sloane!"

Mark turned to see O'Malley run after him. He'd left Marty Jensen's room, hoping for a moment for himself, to think things over, but it seemed that he wasn't going to get his quiet moment of solitude for awhile. "What is it, O'Malley . . . make it quick. I don't have all day to chit chat," he bit out sarcastically as he kept walking.

He watched as George stopped short and sputtered. He really didn't understand how Stevens was best friends with him or why Torres married him. Callie was somewhat of an aggressive wildcat in bed, and he knew from experience that it took quite a man to fulfill her needs. Taking in the younger man's average stature, he wondered if he'd underestimated the young intern judging from the smile his wife was wearing this morning.

The intern caught up with him. "I wanted to talk to you about Dr. Stevens, sir."

Mark stopped and turned to look at George O'Malley. The intern's nervousness in addressing him changed to a steely resolve and Mark instantly bristled. "What about Dr. Stevens, O'Malley?"

"I've been told that you and Iz—Dr. Stevens have become close these past few weeks..."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that's what I've heard, sir." George said tightly.

"And, why, exactly does it concern you, Dr. O'Malley?" Mark crossed his arms a little annoyed at the intrusion to his personal life as well as being intrigued as to where O'Malley was going with this topic of conversation.

"It concerns me, Dr. Sloane, because Izzie is one of my best friends—

"--Really? It appears to me that you haven't been much a friend to her lately."

George's eyes narrowed and Mark could tell he was trying to control his temper. "It's true that we . . . we haven't exactly seen eye to eye lately—"

"--because of your wife…" Mark found that he had to interject that in there.

George went on, ignoring his last comment. "And despite it all, sir, I love Izzie. She's my family and when you're family you have rough times…but…but you get through it…"

Mark suddenly found that his words had hit remarkably close to home and he had wished that in his case they were true.

". . . and when you're family, sir, you're there for each other, especially when they're hurting. But sometimes…you can't help that person, even though you want to, what they need you can't give them . . ."

"Where is this going, O'Malley? I'm not entirely following you." Mark's interest was piqued and he found himself very curious as to what O'Malley was trying to say.

"Do you know what today is, sir?"

"It's the fifteenth. Why?"

George looked him fully in the eye. "Tomorrow is the sixth month anniversary of Denny Duquett's death, sir."

And suddenly the reason for their little chat started to make sense.

"I take it she didn't tell you?"

"No, she didn't," he said softly.

"She wouldn't . . . things like that, things that hurt her, she keeps to herself. You wouldn't think that Izzie would be the type to close herself off…but she can and I'm afraid she's doing that again." George cleared his throat and met his eyes again. "I just wanted you to know . . ."

"Thank you, for the heads up. I'll try to do what I can for her…" He said softly and judging from the intern's body language, their conversation wasn't yet finished. "Is there anything else, O'Malley?"

Mark watched as George looked down at his shoes as if he was trying to choose his words carefully and waited for him to speak. "She's smiling a lot more lately." He looked up then. "I mean really smiling. For the longest time, she would smile, but, it wouldn't reach her eyes…" George paused and looked at him. "When she smiles, and I mean truly smiles, she gets these little crinkles around her eyes and her eyes are like, like…"

"Like lightening bugs that come out in the summer… her eyes light up like that . . . they twinkle…" Mark dropped off, surprised by his words.

George looked at him quietly, as if trying to assess him, and Mark found that he couldn't quite look him in the eyes. He was reeling over comparing the smile in Izzie's eyes to lightening bugs and twinkles. Just when had he gotten so damn poetic?

"I . . . would have never thought to compare it like that, but, yeah…ahem," George cleared his throat which only slightly embarrassed Mark more. "But now that you described it like that…it's perfect. But it's been good, you know, to see her smiling like that. None of us have been able to do that for her these last few months . . . but you seem to be able to do it."

Mark met his gaze, and tried to ignore the fluttering of hope in his blood. He didn't know how to respond, so he stayed silent, trying to figure out his own surprising reactions brought about from this conversation.

George lifted his head and took a step closer to Mark, looking him squarely in the eye.

"I don't know exactly what's going between you two. I don't know if you're just friends or if you're wanting more from her. But whatever you do, just . . . don't hurt her"

He turned his head sharply to George and met his eyes. There was no judgment for his past sins in the younger man's eyes, only acknowledgement of Mark's present role in Izzie's life. It was strange to see it in her friend's eyes, when he, himself, was unsure as to what exactly was going on between the two.

"I won't."

George O'Malley nodded his acceptance and belief in Mark's promise to protect the feelings of a very fragile, special woman. And for the first time in his life, he believed in his promise, too.

Mark watched the younger man walk away from him and made a decision. Turning to the nurse at the nurse's station he said, "Hey, Becky. You wouldn't happen to have the intern's schedule for tomorrow would you?"

Becky riffled through some papers and smiled as she handed him the papers, "Here it is, sir."

"Thank you." He gave her a smile and looked over the schedule looking for one name in particular. Having found it, he turned to the nurse again. "Becky, would you be a doll and hand me the phone?"

She gave him another grin and he winked at her knowing she would eat up the attention. Dialing his extension number, he waited for his secretary to answer.

"Dr. Sloane's office, this is Sherry speaking. How may I help you?"

"Sherry, its Mark . . . listen, I need you to clear my schedule for tomorrow. Something important has come up."

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