1. falling

The house is still at midnight, by one we'll be a wreck
Alcohol and bandages will soon follow this mess
Sleeping's overrated, we lie awake and cry
If this is love then kill me now and save me from my life

- "Alcohol and Bandages," jamison parker.

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

She was doing what she always did on Friday nights (on almost every night, for that matter), stopping at Joe's after work. The bartender started pouring a shot of tequila without a word the moment she slid onto the barstool.

"Thanks, Joe," she said gratefully, downing the shot.

He nodded, shooting her a small look of understanding as he wiped down the bar.

"Hey there, lusty intern," a familiar voice breathed into her ear, and she whipped her head around to find herself facing none other than McSteamy himself, looking just as she remembered him with a light scruffy beard and piercing eyes.

"Mark!" She didn't even try to cover up her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting a drink. I've just been on a plane for eight hours and I need a scotch," he said, directing the last part of the sentence to Joe.

"Are you – why?" She felt her heartbeat increase slightly and couldn't help praying that he was there again to take Addison back home with him and leave Derek here for her. God, she really was a horrible person.

"Richard offered me a job. I'm replacing Rastogi as head of the plastic surgery department."

"Seriously?" she stared at him. She said the first thing that popped into her head. "Is the Chief giving a position to every person Derek knows from New York?"

He laughed. "Looks that way, doesn't it?"

"Why would you want to work here? Everybody hates you. And I thought Addison was finished with you."

He calmly sipped his scotch. "Seattle Grace is – thanks to my two former best friends – one of the top hospitals in the country. Webber wanted to improve the plastics department, and he knew he needed the best. When someone offers you an obscene amount of money, you don't say no." His voice softened slightly. "And when you have the chance to fix some things you screwed up, you don't turn that down either."

Meredith wondered if he was talking about Derek or Addison. She decided to just shrug. "It's your funeral."

He gave her a knowing grin. "Maybe. Can I buy you another drink?"

And even though she knew it was dumb, and ironic on so many levels, she found herself saying yes.

- - - -

"We shouldn't do this," Mark gasped as they stumbled, mouths devouring each other, into Meredith's bedroom.

"Who fucking cares?" she asked, pulling his shirt over his head hungrily. God, what WAS it with surgeons and their perfect bodies? In her inebriated state, she could almost pretend he was Derek.

Mark lifted her onto the bed, kissing her neck as he fumbled with the button on her jeans. "Are you – sure?" he asked, pulling back to look at her for a moment.

She looked into his eyes – so full of lust but also of loss. She wondered if she looked the same way. "I'm sure," she said, tugging him closer again.

He kissed her again, hard. She couldn't help thinking that he might be pretending she was Addison, the same way she was pretending he was Derek.

He read her thoughts once again. "We don't need them," he muttered harshly against her skin. "We don't need them."

Both of them knew that wasn't true.