It's been a long while, but this is the next update. Thank you to all who have followed this story. It's been quite a season! I hope to be able to keep up with it. This chapter follows directly after "Here Comes the Flood."

Chapter 2

Mark Sloan drank down his shot of whiskey in one gulp and with a wide smile said, "Gettysburg Address—go."

Lexie Grey's brows furrowed as she chuckled. She adjusted her weight in the barstool. "What makes you think I know the Gettysburg Address?"

More forcefully and cocky, he said, "Go."

She rolled her eyes, but said with pride, "Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation…Are you going to make me do this all night?"

He forced back the naughty image her turn of phrase caused and he smiled slowly. "C'mon, this is like a fun drinking game!"

"Fun," she scoffed. "What do I get out of this?"

"You can drive me home, intern," he said jokingly, fueled by the noise and laughter in the bar.

"What a treat," she said sarcastically. Neither noticed how free and bright they looked. "What about you?"

His straightened his back. "What about me?"

Her thumb circling the rim of her glass, she said, "You've got to have some freakish talent, too. What is it?"

Leaning in close, he looked dead straight into her eyes and said in that deep, raspy, classic Mark Sloan seduction voice, "I am the master of giving women mind-blowing orgasms." Her mouth opened slightly and she was taken aback. He shifted back in his stool away from her. "Relax, Grey. I don't hit on pathetic interns in love with other pathetic interns."

She relaxed, her shoulders slumping and she laughed. "Someday, I'm going to make you stop calling me pathetic."

He looked down at his empty glass. He needed a refill badly. "Someday, intern, is not today. I'll let you know when you stop being pathetic."

She raised an eyebrow and took another sip of her drink. "I can't wait for the memo."

They sat quietly for a few minutes before he left. He studied her features—the way her hand held her cup, the loose strand of hair brushing her cheek, the sadness and determination in her eyes. She was one hell of a woman.

……………………………

"Hello," Alex said, then went into the house. He had to believe he could look Izzie in the eyes and tell her hello, that he could have a fresh start, that she could give him another chance. His patient had luck on his side, maybe even fate. Why couldn't he?

Going into the kitchen, he set his bag down on a chair and washed his hands. He flipped the light switch on and went to the refrigerator. He took out several ingredients and put them on the counter.

"What are you doing?" Izzie asked as she walked into the room.

"You're always baking for everyone else," he said, his back to her as he cracked eggs into a bowl. "I thought I'd make you some muffins."

She shook her head in disbelief. "At 1:00 at night?"

He shrugged. "I'm not tired. No one's sleeping. Why not?"

Refusing to smile, she walked over to the counter. "You're doing it wrong."

Giving her a sideways glance, he smirked. "How do you screw up muffins?"

A smile started to break across her face. "By doing what you're doing. Here, let me help you." She took the bowl from his and started whisking the eggs. "Could you get me the milk?"

"I should have known you would be a control freak over your muffins, too," he grumbled lovingly.

"I'm the control freak?" she said, now a full smile brightening her face.

"Just stir the eggs, Stevens."

They stood in silence as they prepared the ingredients. Finally, she looked over at the serious, handsome man next to her. "I never told anyone about that night, not even Meredith."

He kept staring at his hands, not looking up at her as he said, "I know."

There was pleading in her voice when she said, "Then why have you given me such crap?"

His voice was a near whisper as he said, "It takes me a while to figure things out."

Pouring the mix into the pan to put in the oven, she said, "Don't take so long next time."

He watched her as she moved about the kitchen. "I'll try."

……………………………..

Cristina woke with a start. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the bed and cursed. This was the third time this week that a dream had woken her up.

She kept seeing him.

Owen Hunt. McArmy. McBadass. Her own personal McDreamy, which she never thought she wanted. But the way he had saved her—picked her up, stitched her wound—the way he kissed her, those images weren't going away. Every night, she dreamed about his strong hand on the back of her head, his passionate mouth against hers. She hadn't met a man so full of life since…She had never met a man quite like Hunt.

But he was gone. He wasn't coming back. She needed to stop dreaming about him. Looking at the phone, she made herself smile. She picked it up and dialed the number she knew by heart. "Hey, Mer," she said, "what's new with the Ellis Files?"

She talked herself into forgetting with the only victim being Derrick Shepherd's sleep pattern.

TBC