𝙓𝙇𝙑.
PERFECT STRANGERS

──────

NEW YORK

I LIKED MOMENTS of peace.

They were hard to come by in New York, but when they happened, I savoured them.

Lying in between sheets and listening to the city outside. Of course, it was never silent, not in the city that never sleeps— but sometimes, when the world was locked tight outside, the curtains were drawn and the subway cars were in irregular patterns, it was nice to pretend. It also helped when I had a day that didn't demand to be addressed. 

Even better: one of the rare times that Mark and I woke up together.

The comforter shifted and a kiss was pressed against my shoulder blade, my eyelids fluttering at the sensation. A sound escaped my lips: a breath that echoed the exhaustion that never seemed to leave my bones. 

There was a brief moment where the world seemed to suspend, everything stopped turning. I could feel the air on my bare skin and the passing of time as it caressed my mind. It was quiet. I could hear my heart in its chest and the light breath that passed through my nose. 

I could feel Mark as he lingered against my skin, his fingers come up to gently trace my spine.

"Good morning," I said, my voice barely a breath.

My eyelids fluttered opened. 

My chin was buried in my pillow, chest pressed into the mattress. Mark was watching me, propped up on his elbows and just watching. Watching as I lifted my head tiredly, giving him a gentle smile. There was something about moments that felt so fleeting and fragile— he leant over, his lips against my arm.

"It is now that you're awake," I couldn't stop the light scoff that fell through my lips at the cliche. I shook my head, pressing my face back into my pillow. I missed the smile that played on his face. "What? Was that not a good line?"

I chuckled, but it came out muffled and haphazard. When I raised my head again, he had his eyebrows raised and a look of bemusement on his face. I rolled my eyes, tilting my head to the side and repressing the urge to ruffle his hair. His voice was a low rasp, still heavy with sleep. His voice was barely audible, but I could feel it. 

Every syllable, every chuckle, every breath. I felt his smile against my skin, the movement swamped my body with warmth, with an undeniable feeling of comfort and sound. I watched as his lips upturned and his eyes sparkled, challenging me to answer.

"It was..." I turned my body to the side, facing him completely and propping my head up. His face was close to mine, eyes wandering over the way my lip twitched fondly. I feigned a disappointed sigh, shaking my head again. "Not your best."

A slight pout. "Really? I was pretty proud of that one."

I hummed lightly but in reality, my head was spinning from the look of such an expression on his face. "Yeah, I think you might be losing your charm."

"Never," he denied and then he kissed my cheek. "I don't think that's possible."

Secretly, I agreed with him. There was something so magnetic about him. Just a touch and my head spun. My hand appeared from beneath the covers and I pressed my palm into his cheek, smiling as he leant into it almost without realising. 

He was just lying there, with nothing but a sheet covering his bottom half and a tousled hairstyle that had me feeling a certain something. The sight of it was enough to make my heart stop, but even so I just let out a breathy laugh.

"I'm not sure," I teased, "I might need convincing."

It was weird to just lay here. It was a whole different universe compared to every other day. Early morning showers, leaving for shifts before Mark had even opened his eyes or fully realised that I was even there. I'd been juggling three different shifts, two at ManWest and the third at Manhattan Gen, all which we keeping me on my toes. 

Mark had seemed delighted to see me this morning— he hummed against my skin, feigning a thoughtful expression as he thought of what he could say to charm me.

"Okay," He said, taking the hand from the side of his face and holding it by his lips. I smiled at the air from his nose tickled my skin, but fought to keep a very strict, expectant leer in my eyes. "Let me just consult my rolodex of pick up lines— they're a bit rusty."

Outside, we were good at acting like strangers.

We'd had so much practice at it in front of everyone before; but now, it was easier than breathing. Whenever I'd pass Mark in the corridor, I'd keep going. Whenever I'd see him in the stairwell, I'd just keep going. Whenever we'd work on the same patient, there'd barely be a falter in the professional conversation. 

There were only fleeting moment: a brief touch in the busy ER, a small smile as we stood at the back of a full elevator shoulder-to-shoulder. Those were the sort of moments that made my heart throb, but I was never expecting them to appear. I must've been the only staff member who wasn't constantly expecting Mark to flirt with them.

"I don't get it," We'd sat in the cafeteria at lunch. I'd looked at Faith as she stabbed into her salad with a look of disappointment on her face. I'd also raised an eyebrow. She'd sighed and pointed towards Mark, who'd been perusing a vending machine very innocently. "Why isn't he flirting with anyone?"

Poor guy was just trying to buy a protein bar.

"Maybe he is," Isaac was flipping through a medical journal, head bowed as he read some plastic surgery method that was just breaking the confines of medical history. As he turned the page, he didn't even look up at the exasperated look on Faith's face. "Maybe it's that he's just not flirting with you..."

The whole hospital had the same assumption. They assumed that Mark was going to turn up and sleep his way through the staff and probably make a considerable dent on the patient population too. I didn't doubt that he would have in some alternative universe, but now he was coming back to my apartment with a miffed expression on his face and throwing little slips of paper with cell phone numbers in the trash.

Honestly, I found it amusing. I definitely didn't blame any of them.

But strangers, as we were in the outside world, weren't this gentle with one another.

They didn't feel like I felt looking at Mark. My chest was warm, stuffed full of this static feeling that made me want to sink deeper and deeper into the mattress until I was just an imprint under Mark's palm. Faith's irritation and bewilderment translated into the goosebumps that rose as Mark very softly pressed his lips into my palm. 

He closed his eyes for a while as if searching for a pickup line. He looked so handsome, tousled and sleepy— For a moment, I was breathless and it was my turn to just watch.

"Okay, okay," He chuckled at himself and I perked up, readying myself for a full does of the Mark Sloan charm. He let out a long breath and fell into what I could identify as his 'flirty face'. "Are you my appendix? Because I have a gut feeling I should take you out."

There was a very brief pause. I stared at him. He stared back. My eyes searched his face, his soft words racing through my brain. Somewhere in my mind, there was a neurotransmitter that was having a hell of a time trying to transmit some information. 

Mark seemed to find it funny. His electric eyes burned a pathway through me, allowing my mouth to open and close— eventually, I snorted.

"Classy."

It was quite possibly the worst pick up line I'd ever heard. It was even worse that it was medical-themed— I eyed him suspiciously and he enjoyed the way a stupefied smile unfurled on my face. I hid it behind the pillow and sighed. 

Get yourself together Beth, it's lame as shit. 

But maybe it didn't matter that it was the shittiest pickup line known to humanity, what did matter was the guy who was saying it. I grimaced at the fact that Mark could literally say anything to me and I'd probably still like him more than anyone else in the world.

"Thank you, thank you," He murmured, bowing his head gently. Ah, the humble approach. "I'll be here all week."

"Wait— let me think of one...'

 I wondered whether Mark had just googled medical pick up lines. When had he become the sort of dork that needed to know these things? I, on the other hand, wasn't much of a pickup artist. I had an idea— I let out a breath like he had and mimicked his flirting expression to the best of my ability. 

For good measure, I threw in a very sultry glance. "Are you COPD? Because you take my breath away."

His lip quirked. "That was actually pretty good."

"I know right?"

"But what was that... face thing?" 

Mark squinted at me as he asked about my impression of him. I paused, trying to swallow the knowing chuckle that threatened to make an appearance. I looked away, dragging his hand towards me. I avoided his eye as I played with his fingers. 

"Hm? Don't avoid me—"

"I don't know," I said lightly, shrugging as if it was nothing. He didn't seem to believe me. He leant towards me and pressed a light kiss to the top of my jaw— I chuckled, swatting at the back of his head. "Fine— I tried to... y'know do the... the face..."

"The face?" He said, bewildered.

I raised an eyebrow. I'd always been under the impression that Mark was the sort of guy that actively practised the face and the look. It came off expertises and almost perfect every time, something that I'd always figured he'd spent hours practising in the mirror. 

I could picture it: teenage Mark, swoon-worthy and a heartthrob-threat to the girls of his home town, revolving on his feet and perfecting each mini lift to his brow, the intent and delivery in his words and eyes. But now, adult Mark was just blinking at me, not sure what it was that I was implying.

"Babe," I hugged our hands to my chest. "You have this... game face that you do. When you have that on... you mean business... Don't tell me you don't notice it." When Mark didn't respond, I continued. "I mean... it works, right? Why else would I be here... next to you... butt ass naked?" I chuckled, resting my chin on his wrist.

"Huh," He said slowly, looking as though he'd finally caught on. I just looked up at him, eyes round and innocent. "So that was your best impression of me?"

There was this rumour of a grin on his face that told me he knew exactly what it was that I talking about.

Of course, I thought to myself while tempted to roll my eyes, I'm dating a narcissist.

"I've never been a theatre kid," I shrugged. "Despite how many people that tell me I'm overdramatic."

Mark was quiet for a few moments. I relaxed into a very comfortable swell of silence. I could hear the passing of taxi cabs outside, the wheeze of cars and the chirp of automated crossings. Ever so often, the whole apartment would rattle with the subway trains as they passed under. Despite all of the disruption the world was intent on forcing onto us, we just held each other and flirted with the idea of going back to sleep. 

My eyelids felt heavy— I had plenty of time today. I'd taken the morning off so I could prep for one of my first big assists on a surgery scheduled later. It was with Faith and she'd drawn the short straw of who had to do morning rounds.

I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be still.

"I think..." I felt his words against my collar bone. We'd drawn closer together and I'd wrapped my arms around his neck. "I think you don't know what you have a game face too. It's not just me who means business..."

 I lifted my head back to raise an eyebrow at him. His eyes were closed and he looked as though he was attempting to go back to sleep. As far as I knew, I didn't have a game face. I usually only flirted mercilessly when I was drunk. Drunk did not equal premeditated calculation. 

"Don't give me that look—" He knew what I was feeling without even seeing my face. "I'm here aren't I? What was it... butt ass naked?"

"Go on," I said quietly, intrigued more than anything. He chuckled. "No really— I tried to do yours... do mine."

Another break of quiet. Mark's eyes met mine and we just stared at each other. Out of everything, his eyes had always been my favourite feature of his. They were just so crystalline, so clear, like a stretch of blue in a stormy sky. 

They gazed at me, bright and very slightly shaded by amusement. I squinted at him, cocking my head to the side in a challenge. A breathy sigh, an infliction in the way he pursed his lips— he was considering it.

"Okay," he said eventually. Absently, my hands played with the hair on the nape of his neck. His voice was soft and thoughtful. Then he grinned. "Well first— I need a glass of wine in my hand—"

"Oh fuck you," I laughed, my face burning with the audacity of him.

"No, it's okay," He said evenly, a teasing look deep in his eyes, "I happen to find alcoholism very attractive—"

"Keep digging yourself deeper," I warned.

"Yes ma'am," He just held up a hand in surrender and his voice went soft. "You do this thing... drop your chin and just look up through your eyelashes all innocently— but then you have this little smile..." He tried to mimic it and I had to press my lips together to stop myself from laughing. "But your eyes... they're like... dirty... like you're thinking about some really nasty stuff—" A smile played onto my lips. "And you're always... determined... it makes me think that you've gotten everything you've ever wanted and that you're not going to take no for an answer. It's... sexy."

My gaze jumped between his eyes. It was clear that he'd never been a theatre kid either— Mark looked as though he was about to have a stroke. But it was cute, he'd just rolled out some deep analysis on my flirtation skills and I'd just pulled a constipated face. A breathy laugh fell through my lips as I kissed his cheek.

"I forgot the voice that you do," He continued, barely hazed from the hilarity that gleamed in my eye. "It goes all deep and sultry and soft and...."

"What voice?" I asked innocently, despite the fact that my voice dropped a couple of octaves.

Mark didn't miss it. I watched as his body seemed to tense on its own accord. He seemed to find it very hard to swallow. I just cracked a mischievous smile. It was fun to watch. Instead of saying anything, he just pressed a soft kiss against my neck and pressed his forehead there. I continued to play with his hair, humming to myself.

"You're hot." The words were muffled by my body.

"Thanks," I said, my heart fluttering at the assertion, "You're hot too."

"No I mean it," He punctuated his words with another kiss, "You're looking hot today— will you let me take your temperature?"

For a moment, I thought that he was serious. 

I thought that he was suddenly at work and I was a patient that he was telling had a sudden illness. He must have noticed my pause as his head lifted to look at me. There was mischief in his eyes and he seemed to brace at my reaction. 

Realisation filled me— another one of his pick up lines.

"Yeah," I breathed, scrunching my nose. "That one was shit."

"I thought it was good."

"No," I said. He pouted again, reminding me of a toddler who had just been denied cookies. "How about..." My voice dropped. "Hey, hottie, ICU in my dreams..."

"Blood is red, cyanosis is blue..." Instead of an answer, I just got a very light retirement of some medical terms. His grin was dirty as I took my hands off of the top of his head. "I get tachycardia when I think of you."

I snorted audibly. "Wow, just wow."

"Told you," Another kiss on my jaw. "I've still got it."

His eye contact was anything but discrete; his eyes blazed through every inch of me, face inches from mine as he hovered in front of me. For a moment, I was almost distracted by the ripple of the muscles on his torso. I wondered idly how many core workouts he'd done just to be able to lie like this. I knew that Mark religiously went to the gym—well that was unless work got in the way—and I'd come along with him once (although I hadn't really achieved anything and had just sat on a machine and enjoyed the view). 

I wasn't indifferent to exercise (nor was I indifferent to watching Mark jogging around both shirtless and sweaty) but I knew that I'd never be able to do such strenuous exercises as part of my daily routine. That, in all, just translated to me requiring help when it came to open jars of pickles and needing Mark to do the heavy lifting when we received the grocery order.

"It's nice just to lie here," I murmured as he continued his leisurely musing against my skin; he hummed lightly, his exhales tickling my tender neck. "Just to stop for a moment, listen to the city... relax. It's New York... sometimes I forget that... sometimes it's nice to forget that..."

"Toto, we're not in Connecticut anymore," I smiled at the reference. "It's actually weird to be able to... laze around in bed instead of having to go to work. When I woke up... I almost thought you were like some divine hallucination..." I rolled my eyes. He was laying it on thick this morning. In fact, this was possibly the most smooth-talking he'd done in a while. He spoke with his lips on my carotid artery. "Waking up in an empty bed isn't as much fun as this."

His words implanted a very small seed of guilt within me. It wasn't major but it was there. I tensed very slightly but Mark didn't seem to notice. The guilty conscience worked itself into all of my muscles, causing my breath to catch very lightly and weight to appear on my chest. 

That guilt whispered to me, told me how my long hours and triple, sometimes quadruple shifts were unfair to my relationship. It had, regrettably, got to the point where I didn't think twice about leaving Mark alone in bed. I didn't hesitate on the threshold and reminisce about how nice it was just to get back into bed. My surgical career had turned me into a workaholic.

That wasn't to say that Mark wasn't busy either. 

In fact, sometimes he'd wake up before me, or we'd even be passing ships in the night, just exchanging tired nods in the hospital reception as one left and the other entered. He was juggling his research project, something that he'd promised was groundbreaking and would redefine plastic surgery, and all of his normal surgeries and patients. 

In fact, we were both exhausted, both suspended in the need to stop and the need to go— it was a lonely no-mans land between stress and dismissal but I was lucky to have someone beside me.

"Sometimes I forget that the world is so quiet," I spoke quietly, gazing up at the ceiling of my apartment. "I spend all my time surrounded by loud and angry and... screaming— it's... it's a breath of fresh air to just be able to avoid that." I paused, frowning slightly. "I don't like noisy things really."

"If I remember rightly, you didn't have an issue with noise last night," He was smirking with that stupid ego of his, causing me to pause, staring at him. My eyebrow rose and my face flushed. He was using that face at me and my whole body wanted to squirm. "In fact, you were very adamant on making a lot of it—a lot of loud, loud noises. The types of noises that make people complain."

A split second of last night flickered through my head. There had been a lot of heavy breathing, a lot of dishevelled movements and loud, loud noises. I squeezed my eyes shut, a hazy smile filling my face. Mark's hand dipped down my body as if to remind me— but I shot him a very exasperated glance. He looked very pleased with himself.

I mustered all of the flirty assessment that Mark had done on me and smiled at him, long, sultry and dirty. "I can't exactly take all of the credit on that one... can I?"

"Hm," He played off the fact that his face flushed and opted for a shrug. "I'm sure your neighbours love us."

"If they complain maybe you can charm them, Mr Ladies Man," My words made him roll his eyes. "You can hit them with another one of your pick up lines... I'm sure they'll forgive you." Then I remembered how Faith had been so disheartened that Mark hadn't even glanced at her. "Y'know... you're breaking some hearts at ManWest... they're going to start competing for your attention if you're not careful."

Mark cocked an eyebrow. 

"Let them. I'm preoccupied." Preoccupied. Way to make me feel like a toilet stall. I shook my head and just as he grinned. "What? Is that jealousy I sense? If I knew you'd get jealous maybe I'd start keeping those phone numbers—" 

He went to press a kiss on my cheek but I dipped out of the way, scrunching my nose.

"Asshole."

"Yeah?" He said, his eyes gleaming. "Well it's your lucky day Montgomery, this asshole happens to be all yours."

His words made my heart skip a beat.

"Shame," I said, drawing my lips into a pout, "You see there's this surgeon at work that I really want to ask out—"

Mark cut me off with a kiss. Feeling the exhaustion and sleepiness leave my bones, I fought to deepen it, letting him roll me over and press me back into the mattress. He was the only weight on top of me that I actively welcomed, gone was the pressure of stress and the outside world. 

The kiss broke to allow a gasp to tumble through my lips and Mark placing open-mouthed kisses on my torso and neck— I arched into him, the covers twisting around us. When he was content with a couple of hickies on my chest, I just mused over how he'd labelled me as jealous and yet had done everything in his power to stop me from finishing that sentence. I very slowly dragged myself and the dead weight on top of me upwards, propping up in bed.

"On second thought," I began, pretending to think about it, "I might take you up on that."

"It was the pickup lines wasn't it," He said, without missing a beat. I paused. "Don't deny it."

The look on his face was the sort of shit they hung in the Louvre. There he was, hovering over me like some sort of Adonis from an Italian Renaissance painting. He smelt familiar and welcome and like the sort of relief that you'd get from a busy day. I tossed a very careless glance over at my alarm clock and the pager beside it. It had been nice to not be disturbed by it, it'd been a breath of fresh air. 

With a mischievous thought in my head, I pressed my hand into his chest, causing him to wobble backgrounds and fall back into his place beside me.

"If you were a concentration gradient..." I licked my lips. My voice was barely audible, low and very, very suggestive. "I'd go down on you."

I hit him with the full show, meaning business all the way. I inched towards him and he looked caught off-guard, not expecting for me to charm him into speechlessness. I got to my knees and loomed over, him a wicked smile playing on my lips. 

His eyebrows rose considerably and his head snapped to look at me. I noticed how the tops of his ears went red. It seemed as though he wasn't all almighty as he wanted to appear— I smirked and that seemed to help him collect his thoughts.

"That one," A breathless chuckle fell past his lips. "I like that one."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Thought you might, nerd."

This was comfortable. This was familiar. Mark's eyes on me felt right. I felt seen. I squeezed his arm and pressed my lips to his, enjoying myself for the first time in a while. This was the sort of peace that I needed to mellow me out. I tapped his stomach, realising that despite how good it felt, I couldn't afford to lie around for forever. There was a day to start and a shower to be had and breakfast to be eaten. I stood up from the covers, slightly unsteady and exhausted and equally bare. 

As I turned to walk across the bedroom, he let out a low whistle.

"Damn, you look good walking away from me."

I didn't reply, but just went with the non-verbal approach. I stuck my middle finger up at him, his chuckle followed me as I bent down to take his discarded shirt off of the floor. It was cold, late January in New York had goosebumps running up my arms, I took Mark's long shirt, dragging it over my bare skin and buttoning it up like some girl out of a teen fiction hook up. 

Mark let out a low wolf whistle—causing me to roll my eyes again—and I carefully shrugged on a pair of panties.

"You look good in my shirts," Mark commented idly from the background as I took a moment to run my hand through my matted hair. 

I smiled lightly, taking a hairband and putting my sweaty and catastrophically messy hair back into a sloppy ponytail. I turned around to face Mark, watching him as he laid across the bed comfortably, looking like some sort of Michelangelo statue— the artist, not the mutant ninja turtle.

"So I don't look good in anything else?" I challenged, hands on my hips. The look he shot me was humorous. "I look damn good in anything."

He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm really not going to disagree with you."

I chuckled. "You're too desperate."

Mark must have ignored me, he did that sometimes. I liked to think I caught him out often, causing him to wish he could bury his head under the sand like an ostrich. I walked towards him, grinning wildly, watching as a pout unfolded over his lips. 

The shirt I'd shrugged on was a nice button-up that went to my mid-thigh, with a breast pocket and a nice collar that had me half a mind to channel my inner Tom Cruise and glide across my wooden floors with sunglasses. He was pouting at me, eyes watching me as I loomed over him, delighted with the fact that he'd actually decide to react— I patted his shoulder, reflecting his pout.

"Aw, don't take it too personally—"

But before I could walk away again, he'd suddenly reached out and grabbed me by the waist, dragging me to the bed. My legs lashed out, an abrupt giggle falling past my lips as I felt his warm arms cove around me once again. 

He had a nice, firm grip, one that I couldn't quite escape—he returned to lying on top of me, causing me to puff out my cheeks angrily.

"God, you're so heavy get off me."

I was laughing as he raised his eyebrows, seeming to have more fun than I was.

"You may look good in anything, but I'll tell you where that shirt looks best," he murmured in an undertone, grinning seductively as I stopped squirming. His eyes glittered with mischief. And he trailed a hand down my torso, bunching the t-shirt up in his fist. I stopped struggling, jaw hanging as he pressed a very long kiss onto my collarbone "On the floor..."

At this point, I'd kind of accepted that I wasn't going to get out of bed.

He pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, but this time he was the one to walk away, leaving me slightly breathless and propped up amongst the sheets. I watched his ass as he went—damn, did he look good walking away from me—and bit down on my finger as he looked back at me over his shoulder. His lips twitched. 

There was a brief pause as I let my head fall down onto the mattress, trying to gather myself. But Mark wasn't finished.

"I'm going to go have a shower," His eyes gleamed as I just propped myself up, looking very demurely over at him. "You're welcome to join... y'know... water bills and all that..."

His offer had my cheeks flushed; Mark winked at me, before strolling into the en suite bathroom as though nothing had even happened. Leaving the door ajar, he padded over to the shower, out of sight. With a slight sigh, I collapsed forwards, on my front, onto the mattress, smiling to myself as I heard the shower jets slowly turn on in the next room. 

I let out a breath, one that deflated my whole body, and glanced towards the clock on my bedside table.

I didn't want to leave this bed. I didn't want to leave this cloud of silence and peace. This bed was comfy too— but I had things to do, consultations to do, shifts to juggle. I very slowly undressed, realising that maybe I didn't have to rush myself.

It felt like we had all the time in the world, even though it was only half a day.