It had been three days since Mark was admitted to Seattle Grace. The injuries, like Derek had said, were only superficial. They were painful, and it made Mark look like a walking Frankenstein, but he was okay. He had been released 24 hours after he had been admitted and was now staying in a hotel a couple of blocks away from the hospital, wishing he was closer to Addison and Meredith, two women who were both simultaneously blurring the lines between friendship and something more, and both women who he wouldn't mind taking into one of the on-call rooms at Seattle Grace during his shift.
He wrapped a towel loosely around his waist and started to clear off the hotel bathroom mirror with the back of his hand. The reflection returning his stare was not the playboy he had once known, and it was starting to make him uncomfortable. The bruise circling his eye had swollen to twice its normal size and there were two cuts on his chest that were stitched together; at some point in the fight Derek must have given so many blows that Mark's skin split.
Running a skilled finger over the black thread, he let the haze from the shower curl up and around his figure until a knock interrupted his meticulous inspection.
Letting out a low sigh, he took one last look in the mirror before opening the door and padding out into the room.
"You," he said once the room door was open, not entirely believing that she was here, in his hotel room, "I thought you'd be at the hospital, or," he gulped back jealousy, "with Derek."
"I was. I'm not."
"Oh."
He held the door open for her.
"I don't really know why I'm here," she mumbled, following him as he walked away from the door.
At this point, he was just grateful that one of them had found her way to him, despite the slightly disconcerting fact that she looked overwhelmed, lost, and more than a little confused.
He'd take what he could get.
"Want dinner? I can order room service if you want-"
"I'm okay."
Her eyes swept over the picture-perfect painting hanging over the bed and the mini-fridge in the corner.
"I'm just going to go-"he motioned to the bathroom, "change."
She frowned, as if just noticing that he was only wearing a towel.
"O-okay," she managed to stammer out in spite of her nervousness. Not two hours earlier, Derek had invited her over to his trailer in the middle of nowhere-the exact opposite of their brownstone back in New York, and she had turned him down. Addison Montgomery had rejected her husband in order to gawk awkwardly at a nearly-naked Mark Sloane in a hotel that was probably costing a regular apartments' rent for a month.
The alcohol behind the mini-fridge that had caught her eye was calling her name. She imagined the little neat bottles of assorted liquor resting a few feet away from her, and seconds after imagining them, she was already screwing off the top of the champagne and tipping it back for a long swallow. Pulling herself to her feet, she set the container down on the cabinet nearest to her, letting her eyes flutter shut with exhaustion and unbelievable relief. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a drink.
"Starting without me?"
Jumping at his voice, her hand brushed the top of the bottle, sending it hurdling towards the floor. He smirked and she frowned. The liquid melted into the cream-colored carpet.
"I don't even know why I'm here."
"I do. You, like most women, find it impossible to resist me."
"Do you always have to be so egotistical?" she snapped. It was his turn to frown.
"Don't scowl at me," she continued, "you'll rip your stitches."
"How else am I supposed to express my mood?"
"Write a book. I'm sure it will be extremely insightful and beneficial to young women across the country."
He took a few steps towards her and she gulped back a flood of familiar, unidentifiable emotion. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the obvious tension between them.
"I'm sure it will be extremely insightful and beneficial to you."
He was a foot away and leaning in, and she couldn't help leaning in, too, and closing her eyes.
--
Meredith was not entirely sure where she was.
It was somewhere in downtown Seattle, with hotels, restaurants, and a hell of a lot of traffic. She couldn't really remember why she'd left the house in the first place, only that she had started thinking about everything that had happened in the last week and somehow, an hour later, she'd ended up here, with the space needle on the horizon and her house far behind her. Her credit card was calling from the brown purse nestled in the front seat, and she smiled slyly at the thought of an entire afternoon of shopping. She had never enjoyed the thought of watching her money slip away from her in the past, but for some reason, today seemed like a good day to treat herself; she was, after all, gathering the courage to confront two of the most important men in her life. Didn't she deserve a little pre-confrontational pampering?
If she was truly honest with herself, then she would admit that she still had no idea which one to choose. She was hoping that Addison would just pick which one she wanted and then she could pick up the sloppy seconds. But that would be unethical, and would most likely gather unwanted attention from the Seattle Grace gossip mill. Earlier that morning she had tried a different approach- imagining her life ten, twenty, thirty years from now, trying to see the man she would wake up to in her made-up world. It would have worked, too, if only she had been able to make out the facial features on her perfect man. Sometimes she wished she had more of an imagination.
Spotting a road-side J-Crew next to a Starbucks, she pulled into the nearest parking garage. For a few hours, she decided, she would forget about her two beautiful soul-mates (yes, they were both her soul-mates, she was sure) and only think of three-quarter length sleeves and coffee. Smiling to herself, she breathed through the glass doors of her favorite store, and went straight for the rack holding an eggplant-purple shirt that would go perfectly with her favorite pair of low-rise jeans.
She frowned half an hour later, glancing through the dressing-room mirror at the shirt that had been so perfect on the rack, and wasn't so perfect on. Brushing away an uncomfortable thought, she turned sideways and put one hand in front of her stomach and another on her back, just to make sure.
Maybe, just maybe, imperfect was what she needed. Maybe she was looking so hard to find the perfect shirt for her, and so worried about picking the wrong one, that she was ignoring the most important detail.
If she wasn't perfect, than why was she searching for the perfect shirt? What she really needed, what she was trying so hard to push out of her psyche, was that it wasn't about what was the better shirt, it was about what she was the most comfortable with, what she wouldn't mind wearing day after day after day.
What she needed was imperfection, and maybe, just maybe, the imperfect guy was waiting next to her ratty, old, imperfect Dartmouth shirt, ready to start their imperfect life.
AN: So what's it been….6 monthsLonger? Yeah. So this story has kind of been on hiatus. And I've forgotten about it. I'm sorry, but yeah. I really didn't know where I was going with it and needed a little break. But now I'm back! So hopefully I'll finish it this time. As you can hopefully tell, this story is going to be wrapped up fairly soon. I just have to get in all the Hannah stuff and work out all the drama that I've created. Sorry it's so choppy, still trying to get into the writing groove... Hope you enjoy!!