The bustling ER at Seattle Grace Hospital was a hive of activity, a chorus of beeping machines, muffled voices, and the rapid shuffle of nurses and doctors. Mark Sloan, a seasoned trauma surgeon, stood against the nurse’s station with a steady smirk, yet his eyes betrayed a restlessness, a hunger for something more than his usual fleeting flings. His career had always come first, the promise of success and conquest fueling his every move. But when the doors of the ER flew open, a sharp commotion cut through the usual hum.

"30-year-old female, car accident, multiple fractures, head trauma, possible internal bleeding. Pulse weak, but steady!" The voice of the paramedic was urgent, but calm. They were trained for this, after all.

Mark’s head snapped up at the mention of “female” and “head trauma.” His eyes found the gurney as it came into view, and everything around him seemed to freeze. There, amidst the chaos of flashing lights and hurried footsteps, was a face he hadn’t seen in years.

Your face.

The world slowed to a disorienting crawl as recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. You. Her. The one he never took the chance on - the one person who, for reasons he still couldn’t fully explain, had always lingered in his heart, just out of reach.

He stood frozen for a moment longer than he should have, his chest tightening. Your eyes were closed, your face pale and bruised, but it was you. The same woman he'd walked away from in the name of his career, his fear of commitment, his love for women that never went past a few weeks. But this? This felt different. Seeing you here, in this moment, shattered all the walls he had carefully constructed.

Without thinking, he was in motion, his feet carrying him forward through the chaos of the ER like a man possessed.

"Get her to Trauma One, now!" His voice was sharper than usual, a force of nature that left no room for argument.

A nurse tried to intervene, her eyes wide with hesitation. “Dr. Sloan, she’s not...”

“She’s mine,” Mark cut her off.