𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍-𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Finally.

Your favourite time of day.

You headed toward the on-call room just as Mark rounded the corner from another hallway, falling into step beside you like he always did at this exact hour.

“Dr. Sloan,” you greeted, unable to hide the way your smile grew just seeing him.

“Dr. Grey,” he returned, his lips curling into the smirk that could short-circuit you faster than a code blue.

This was the part of the day you lived for—the few stolen minutes where the world shrank to just the two of you. No alarms, no pagers, no stress. Just Mark, and the way he made you forget you were exhausted and overworked.

“After you, Dr. Grey.” He swung the door open, gesturing inside with mock formality.

“Thank you, Dr. Sloan.”

You stepped in first, already pulling off your scrub top the moment the door clicked shut. Mark locked it behind him, laughing breathlessly as he crossed the room and scooped you up. Your legs hooked around his waist like muscle memory, and he gently dropped you onto the narrow bed.

It was perfect—

until it wasn’t.

Because the next sound wasn’t a laugh or a groan—it was a scream.

A painful, sharp, horrified scream.

Marks hands flew to your hips as he lifted you off him like you’d suddenly caught fire. He doubled over, clutching himself as his face went from pale to violently red.

You scrambled, falling off the bed and landing on the floor, clutching the thin sheet around your body.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!”

“No,” he gasped immediately.

“It— it bent— in the middle— I— I think I broke it.”

“Get Torres.”

“Uh—”

“Go!”

You didn’t need another order.

You pulled your clothes back on in record time and sprinted out of the on-call room, ignoring the wide-eyed nurses and interns who definitely heard everything.

You didn’t see him for a while after that—unsurprising, considering he was busy getting treated for… the incident. Callie had warned you, firmly, that Mark did not want to see you yet.

You ignored that.

When she finally gave you his room number, you went anyway.

Slipping inside quietly, you shut the door behind you.

Mark didn’t need to turn his head to know who it was—just sighed, defeated.

“Little Grey,” he muttered, voice muffled by the pillow. “Go away. Please.”