Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟮𝟯 addison and derek

"Hm," I let out a soft sound of indignation, my eyes following over his shoulder towards the restrooms, that were located in plain sight beside the bar and Linda, the co-ordinator.

I rolled my lips together, tempted to just get up and walk away but then I saw his name badge.

"It makes sense, I wouldn't expect a Derek around this part of town."

I'd almost forgotten the way hilarity looked on his face.

I hadn't seen him since New Year's Eve where we'd watched the fireworks and hidden from the wrath of my sister; I'd fallen asleep on the balcony not long after the fireworks had ended, a little squiffy from the sherry and comforted by a perch on Mark's shoulder.

I'd woken up with my companion long gone into the early hours of New Year's Day, a blanket thrown over me and my mascara smudged from a few tears that had got caught in the emotions of a drunk exchange.

He hadn't changed in the last four months.

He was still a heartthrob, still had those blue eyes that twisted and twirled with a knowing sheen as he nursed his drink.

In true Sloan fashion, he was dressed too clean for this place; while Liam had worn a polo shirt and slacks, Mark wore a white shirt with a loose blazer jacket, his shiny dress shoes that I knew he only brought out for special occasions tapping against the floor along with the music.

He garnered a few glances from the other tables- the redhead that was playing tonsil-tennis paused, probably sensing the ace I'd pulled out of my ass in the form of Mark Sloan, a man who oozed silent charm with his every breath.

"You look well."

I snorted lightly. "You must be mistaking me for someone else."

His lips twitched. "Of course, Addison- Sorry, you look familiar to someone I know."

"I could say the same to you."

I wasn't used to intelligent conversation these days, it wasn't like the guys I met at these events were particularly stimulating.

But Mark was witty, he was on the bat and I was floundered in my responses. I paused something which he seemed to recognise. He tilted his head to the side.

"Do you want me to get you something more to drink?"

"No, I'm all sorted, thanks." I'd given the waiter the look as soon as Mark had sat down in front of me.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. My eyes dropped to my fingers, my virgin, bare nails that were slightly chipped from where I'd almost cut my own finger off with a scalpel.

For a brief moment, Mark seemed awkward too, his tapping grew estranged. After a few breaths on my part and growing tension, he started talking.

"So, tell me about yourself, Addison, what do you do for a living?"

It was bizarre talking about each other like we didn't know one another, but it was also thrilling in a weird way. My lip quirked at his question and I watched as he gave me a look that bloomed warmth in my chest. I decided to have a little bit of fun with this.

"I'm a psychiatrist."

My reply caused him to laugh, an unfiltered response that warranted a smirk on my part.

It was a bit of surgeon humour- surgeons and psychiatrists didn't get along, it was the laws of nature, just like cats and dogs and Montgomery's and Sloan's.

I might have had prior credit for psychiatry, but I would have been seen dead before I'd ever consider going into psychiatry. It was the ultimate betrayal and I would've never heard the end of it.