For A Reason {Mark Sloan} - COMPLETED -

fifty::::

[  dead wrong ]

"After work tonight? Yeah, I'd love to," I smiled, even though I knew Ben couldn't see it, "I miss you too, but I'll see you tonight okay?" 

It'd had been almost two months since my date with Ben and we had been seeing each other a lot lately. I really liked him and I enjoyed spending time with him.

I walked through the front doors of the hospital with my phone still glued to my ear. 

"Dixon. Dixon!" 

"Okay, okay, I got to go. I'll see you tonight, bye." I hung up the phone.

"I need an extra set of hands in the ER today, you're on my service," Owen motioned to me.

"Oh, well, I-"

"Dixon, I have no time for this.I need you there now," Owen seemed upset, I started to get worry.

"Alright, let me get my scrubs on," I started to head to the resident's room.

"No, I said now," Owen said, heading back to the ER.

"Owen!" I yelled after him, following close behind him, "What the hell is going on?"

He stopped and looked to me, "Sloan is in surgery in OR 3. I need you to tell him, then get the hell back up here."

"Owen? What the hell is happening?" I started to freak out a bit.

"It's Torres, she's our next incoming trauma."

◦◦

"Mark," I said, stepping into the OR.

He looked up and his eyes met mine, "Dr.Dixon."

"Are you almost done here?" I asked him, my voice shaking.

"Uh, I'll be good in two seconds. What's up?" He asked.

He was in a surprisingly good mood. I felt awful that I was about to ruin it, I probably already was, just standing there.

"I'll wait," I nodded.

"I rocked this mandibular repair. You wouldn't have known this guy's jaw was broken in five places. I'm some kind of artist! Not Picasso, then his jaw would be on his forehead. But like Chagall, Michelangelo," He laughed, "I'm Michelangelo. There done. What do you got?"

◦◦

"Mark! Mark!" I yelled after him, as he ran out to the bay.

"What the hell happened?!" He asked, looking around at the crowd of doctors waiting.

"Car versus truck, that's all we know," Owen said.

"And her injuries? The baby?" He began to panic.

"We don't know yet," Derek said.

"Why the-Why the hell don't we know?! Someone get me a trauma gown!"

"Mark," Webber frowned, "You need to sit this one out."

"Sit this one out!? I'm not sitting this out. That's Callie! That's my kid!" He nearly shouted at Webber.

"Which is why you can't," Webber said, "I'm sorry, you can't be a doctor on this one."

"Screw you!" Mark shouted this time.

"Sloan," Owen tried to calm him down.

"Screw all of you!" He shouted again, putting his trauma gown on.

"Look at me, look at me Sloan," Webber placed a hand on his arm, as Mark struggled to figure out the gown, "Maybe I don't understand how you two have it, what you have, but what I do understand is that she's your family. Callie Torres and that baby are your family, and the best way you can help them is to step back and let the rest of us do what you rationally can't do: save their lives. Okay?"