A/N: Thx everybody for reviewing and I'm thrilled you're all enjoying the story so far. It's always great when the readers are as excited about something as the one writing it. So thank you and I hope you'll like future scenes just as much. As already mentioned, there's going to be a sequel, a second part or episode, if you will. For now, however, enjoy scene 10 and your weekend. Next update due on monday or tuesday.

Seattle Grace Hospital

Basement,

Late Evening

"So, this is where you're hiding out," Mark finally broke the silence, his voice not nearly as strong or confident as he wanted it to be.

He had limped in a few moments ago and Derek had briefly glanced up from his laptop before realizing just who had found him down here and ignoring him subsequently. Closing the door behind him, Mark had hobbled a little further into the room and sat down on a table by the wall, leaning his crutches next to it against the wall. It wasn't too long ago they had been in the same place: him seeking out his former best friend and wanting to talk and Derek ignoring him and play with his damned notebook. Fine, he sighed inwardly. He had gotten Derek's attention that time as well.

"So, this is where you're hiding out," he set out. A storage room for abandoned furniture. "Very metaphorical," he stated with a mockingly theatric intonation.

Derek didn't move, much less acknowledge his presence in any way.

Mark stared at his feet for a while.

"I wanted to scrub in," he reported truthfully, "But Webber wouldn't let me. He sent me to get a cast around my leg and some stitches for my head. Can you believe that?"

Still no reaction from Derek.

"So when I come back upstairs again after letting some damn intern practice sutures on me, the son of a bitch has the gallery closed off and his nazi watchdog guarding the OR."

Come on, Derek. The image of Bailey threatening him with physical violence had to be good enough ammunition. But nothing came from the other side of the room but the click-clack of Derek's fingers on the keypad.

"And either nobody knows anything or they all just refuse to tell me. So I thought who better to ask but Derek." He paused for a second before continuing, slowly and stressing each of his remarks. "Her husband of eleven years. Her best friend. Her one true love," he overemphasized the last one. "He would know."

Derek kept deadpanning but Mark noticed the sudden silence. No more fingers rushing over keys, no more click-clacking from across the room.

"He would know or at least he would do everything in his power to find out how his wife is doing and nobody, not even Bailey would be able to stop him." Easing himself off the table and trying to stand without putting too much weight on his injured leg, Mark lifted his chin up and took a deep breath. "Because he would care no matter what and not hide out in some basement pretending not to." Rather unsteady he took one and then another step forward. "Just because his sad little ego couldn't get over the fact that she had been on her way home with somebody else while he was in the hospital, blissfully unaware and burying himself in work." One last step. "Just like so many times before."

He had thought he was prepared but when Derek jumped to his feet and came flying at him, Mark had barely enough time to hold his breath before Derek sent them both sailing backwards and crashing to the floor.

He had expected him to yell. To call him names or at least utter some hate-filled, violent sounds. But Derek raged silently, the sound of his fists connecting with Mark's face and body the only thing audible in the little room.

Until he let go of him. As suddenly and quickly as he had started, Derek stopped. And withdrew.

Suppressing a whole series of curse words, Mark slowly sat up, groaning in pain. If the accident hadn't cracked his rib, Derek certainly had. He tasted blood and spat.

"Did I ever mention you hit like a girl?" he tried to much but winced at more pain shooting through his jaw.

Derek wasn't looking at him, walking back to where he had sat before and picking up his laptop.

"So, you're feeling better yet or do we need to go another round?" Mark asked, feeling for the stitches on his head. He had refused to let them put a cast on his leg but the sutures had actually been a good idea. I might need someone to do them over.

Seeing that Derek was back to his silent routine Mark ground his teeth in frustration. Cautiously he got to his feet. "You know, maybe I should give you some of the glorious details about Addison and me," he sighed, "Where we did it, when we did it, how often." He watched out for any warning sign but so far Derek didn't even seem to tense at his words. Stubborn son of a bitch! "Or maybe I should tell you how she felt underneath me?"

He held his breath but Derek continued checking on his laptop, not paying the slightest bit of attention to him. Mark reconsidered. Maybe a change of tactics was in order.

"You couldn't care less, huh?" He nodded, scratching his temple before limping over towards Derek who had turned his back on him. "Okay then," he muttered just as Derek put the notebook down and straightened up. "Plan B, I guess." And without further ado he reached for Derek's shoulder and landed his own fist in his former best friend's face when he turned around.

This time Derek did curse but it wasn't really clear what exact words he used. He didn't say anything more either, just held his face and backed off a little more.

"The way I see it you got two options," Mark explained, rubbing his knuckles. At this point his entire body was in pain. "Either you beat the crap out of me or I beat the crap out of you."

"Why would I be interested in either one?" Derek finally spoke.

"Because either way you can vent some of that anger and stop being an ass pretending not to care."

Although glaring at him with unconcealed hatred, Derek seemed to ponder this. "And what's in it for you?" he asked then. "What do you get out of it?"

"I have some anger to vent myself," he stated curtly.