Here it is, the epilogue of The Good Samaritan! I really hope you like it! I know it's taken awhile for me to write it, but that's because I've been busy and I didn't know what I wanted to do with it. I hope that you find it was worth the wait and that you enjoy it! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story about two characters that I have come to love. I truly believe that Mark and Izzie would be fantastic together and would be give so much to one another. Thanks again for all of the kind words of encouragement!!!

This is dedicated to Team McStizzie! Thanks for inspiring me again…all of you!

(This has not been beta'd. So please forgive all mistakes and of course Izzie and Mark belong to Shonda and ABC!)

Epilogue

He lay on his side, taking in the vision before him. Her golden hair was splayed over one of his pillows, trickling down over the side of her face with the soft morning sun washing her in an ethereal light, creating an enchanting picture. He watched as her silent puffs of breath would lift a blonde strand over her lips only to fall, the ends tickling her sensitive flesh. Her nose would twitch, yet she stayed deep in her slumber undisturbed.

She was a very heavy sleeper and if one happened to wake her before she was ready, one would need to run and take cover from the wrath of Izzie Stevens in the morning. His little ray of sunshine was unbelievably grouchy in the mornings, that is, until she had her first taste of her morning coffee. So, in the mornings, he would rise ten minutes before her, get the coffee going, and pour her a steaming cup of Joe and offer her a kiss.

It was a good way to start the day.

His eyes traveled to the alarm clock knowing that the alarm would go off soon. Softly rolling out of the bed, he got up, stretched his well rested muscles, and softly walked across the dimly lit room, only to muffle a curse caused by him stumping his toe against Izzie's overnight bag. Nudging it out of the way with his injured foot, he hobbled into the kitchen, to begin their morning ritual.

They had been dating exclusively for over ten months. It was one of the longest, no, correction, it was the longest relationship he'd ever been in. And he was happy, uncontrollably happy. So happy, that he was sure his picture was plastered under the word "happy" in the dictionary.

He was in love with a woman that was like no other.

As he reached for the coffee, he couldn't believe how lucky he was to have the woman that was currently asleep in his bed in love with him. She was a contradiction of so many things, so unique, and just so perfect…perfect for him. She was bossy, strong-willed, hard-headed, and constantly kept him on his toes. While she could be a hard ass, she could also be the epitome of all things soft and good, flowery and pink. She was unbelievably feminine with a touch of tom boy in her. She was competitive yet gracious. She was also very opinionated and stuck by her beliefs.

There'd been many times where their clash of opinions had led to heated arguments. They would yell at one another and doors would slam. Yet she would never let a night pass without her telling him that she loved him, even if she was still angry at him.

It was after their first major fight, a month into their relationship, that he knew he would not be able to live without her. They had gotten into a fight over something stupid and pointless, but their tempers flared and words were slung. She left his home in a huff, claiming she didn't want to see or talk to him for the rest of the night. Yet fifteen minutes later his phone rang, and he answered it hearing her voice. He'll never forget the words she said to him, "Even though I think you're dead wrong and I'm pissed as hell, I love you, you jackass," and she hung up on him.

He knew then that she was the one.

He heard the beeping of the alarm and her moans of protest echo from his bedroom. He chuckled and grabbed her favorite mug from the cabinet. It was oversized, pink, and painted with purple and blue daisies. It stuck out like a sore thumb against his classic white dishes. He'd complained when she'd brought it over from Meredith's, but she'd simply stuck her tongue out at him, and told him that if wanted to have "fun sleepovers" with her then he'd have to deal with the pink mug with purple and white daisies.

He'd stopped complaining because Izzie was most definitely fun when they had their "sleepovers."

He turned towards the sound of shuffling feet and smiled at his girlfriend. She was wearing his New York Giants long sleeved shirt (which she fondly referred to as her favorite "shack shirt") and her white bunny slippers. He loved looking at her in the mornings, with her bed hair that he felt was undeniably sexy, face bare of makeup, and seeing her in one of his t-shirts.

He met her half-way with her morning coffee and kissed her on the forehead, receiving a gruff grunt as thanks. He walked back to the counter and sat down grabbing a banana. It was now her turn to take over their morning routine in making breakfast.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked her as he took a bite of his banana.

"Mm hmm. I did," she said as she walked over to his pantry. She turned around and grinned at him impishly. "I got a really good work out last night and I was just worn out, so I slept like a baby."

Mark winked at her. "That's good to hear. You know it's very important to include a good cardiovascular workout into your day."

"Oh, I do…I have an excellent aerobics instructor." She came back to the counter with her ingredients for their breakfast.

"I stumped my toe again on your overnight bag this morning," he said, wincing, as he looked down at his injured appendage.

"I'm sorry. I should have put it in a better place. I'll do that next time."

He watched her as she bent down to grab a mixing bowl and measuring cups. "Well, you know, if you would move in with me, I wouldn't have to worry about breaking any of my bones."

She cast him a look as she set her cooking utensils out on the island. "I told you, Mark. I'm not going to move in with you. I love living with Meredith and Alex—

"But you're hardly ever there. You spend at least five or six nights with me a week," he pointed out casually. They'd had this conversation a few times before. He understood her reasoning, even accepted it, but it didn't change his mind in trying to persuade her.

"Mark, you know I don't believe in living together. I'm an old fashioned kind of gal…"

He snorted at that, knowing that most old fashioned gals wouldn't have participated in their very risqué activities the night before. "But you pretty much live here!"

"No, I don't live here. I shack with you. I'm a shacker," she rolled his eyes at him. "Besides, I'm happy with our arrangement…" She paused as she opened the fridge to grab a carton of eggs and milk. "And did you know that people that cohabitate before marriage have a higher risk for divorce within the first five years?"

He cocked his eyebrow, knowing that by the tone of her voice, she was on a roll. So, he just sat back and enjoyed watching her state her case. She was sexy when she was making a point. Her eyes got a light in them, her eyebrows arched, and there was an energy to her that was just so appealing. He loved seeing her so passionate.

She sat the eggs and milk on the counter, and began to measure off the ingredients for the pancake mixture. "I don't believe in divorce…I know what divorce does to a person, just look at my mother. She's a shell of the woman that she used to be and it sucked having divorced parents. I mean, you know what that was like…your parents got divorced constantly. And look how it hurt you!" She grabbed the milk, measured it, and dumped it in the bowl, did the same with the oil, and then added the eggs. "I just don't ever want to go through that. When I get married…it's going to be for life."

His eyes followed her hand as she grabbed the whisk from the utensils drawer and wrapped it around the handle.

"What in the world…what is on this thing?" she asked in surprise as she pulled out the whisk from the drawer, the handle's smoothness having been disturbed. He watched her as she lifted the utensil to examine it. The look on her face changed from curiosity to shock. "Oh, my God…"

Mark got up and walked around the counter, to stand beside her. "Is something wrong with the whisk?"

She turned to him, her eyes large. "Um…um…"

He took the whisk from her limp grasp and examined it. "Oh, it's just this little thing right here…" He slid the foreign object of off the smooth stainless steel handle and lifted it to examine it in the light.

In between his fingers, he held a sparkling, brilliant cut diamond ring. He heard her gasp and turned to look at her, smiling. She looked at him with hope in her eyes.

"Is that…is that what I think it is?" She asked softly.

He propped his hip against the counter and held the diamond ring up so that it would catch the light. "You know, one of the things that I love about you, is how you stick to your beliefs. I know I've been asking you for the last few months to move in with me, and I know you kept saying 'no.' And at first, I was ok with it, thinking that you'd come around. But, then I really thought about it. I thought about all of your reasons for not moving in with me and I realized, I agree with them…"

He reached for her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, and pulled her closer to him. "I love that your old fashioned and I love that you stuck to your guns, but I still want you to move in with me."

"Mark…" She said softly.

"But not as my girlfriend or as my fiancé, but as my wife. I've decided that I want to be an old-fashioned type of guy." He grabbed her left hand and dropped down to one knee. He looked up at her and saw tears trailing down her cheeks, her smile warm and hopeful. The love evident in her eyes gave him the courage to go on. "Isobel Stevens, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"YES! Oh, my goodness… yes, yes, yes!" She squealed, her voice thick with emotion.

He jumped to his feet and grabbed her, spinning her around in joy. With one word, she had made him the happiest man in the world. He was going to get to have this magnificent, smart, gorgeous intelligent woman as his bride.

He pulled her into a long and slow kiss. "I love you. I'm going to make you so happy, I swear it…"

She met his words with another kiss and he felt all of her emotions transferred through her kiss. "You've already made me the happiest woman in the world!" She resumed kissing him with light pecks, as she exclaimed, "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

He laughed softly, pulling her closer to him. "Do you like the ring? I designed it myself…" He watched her as she lifted her left hand to examine the ring on her finger for the first time and watched as her lips formed an "O". He laughed softly.

He looked down at the ring on her finger that he had created just for her. It was a three and a half carat cushion cut diamond set in a platinum setting, the mounting created with pave set diamonds. It was simple, elegant, yet brilliant and breathtaking. It was simply Izzie and the moment he had seen the engagement ring finished and ready to be worn, he new that it would look beautiful on his intended bride's finger, and he was right.

"You designed it? Mark, this is the most stunning thing I've ever seen," she said softly as she looked down at her engagement ring.

"It's not as stunning as you," he said as he took her hand in his own. "Do you have any idea how happy you've made me?"

She leaned forward and kissed him. "I'm going to keep making you happy till the day I die…"

She broke away from his grasp and looked at him. Noticing the change in her body language, he grew curious as to what thoughts were going through her mind, and knowing Izzie, they were probably unpredictable. "What is it, Izzie? Why are you looking at me like that?"

The look of disbelief changed in her eyes to one of excitement. "I'm going to be Mrs. Mark Sloane . . . Dr. Isobel Sloane!"

A feeling of pride spread through his veins hearing her say her future name. She wasn't going to keep her last name for professional reasons, or hyphenate their names. She was going to take his name, telling the world that she was his wife. He pulled her to him and claimed her mouth with his yet again. She was his. She was going to become his wife, and hopefully, one day, the mother of his children. She was his family, his future.

"Say it again," he said softly against her lips. "Say it."

He felt her body melted against him, as her lips found his. "Izzie Sloane. Dr. Isobel Sloane . . . Mrs. Mark Sloane, your wife. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard . . ." He kissed her once more before loosening his grip on her. "Do you know what I think we need to do?"

"No, what?" She asked him curiously.

Smiling at her slyly, he answered her. "I think we need to go and practice for the wedding night…you know, so we can make sure we have it down."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You mean you don't want my pancakes?"

Pulling her towards the bedroom that they would soon share as husband and wife, he grinned at her. "Baby, we've got our whole life ahead of us for your pancakes."

"But what about work? I've got rounds in an hour!"

He picked her up and flung her on the bed, and crawled on top of her. His fingers found her ticklish spot, behind her upper left leg and he sent her into squirming laughter. He loved to hear her laugh. "I got it all under control. We have the day off…"

She stopped squirming when he started kissing her behind her ear. He knew that was one of her other "spots," but not the ticklish kind.

"We do?" She moaned softly.

"We do . Did you really think I was going to let you work on the day of our engagement?" He asked as his fingers found the edge of her, well, his t-shirt and began inching it up. "You really should learn to trust your future husband." He felt the muscles of her stomach flutter under his touch and he leaned down to leave a trail of kisses on her collar bone. "Maybe we should practice your wifely duties?"

Her bark of laughter resounded in the room as she pushed him off of her and climbed on top of him. "You, future husband, are a dork!" She gave him a passionate kiss, staking her claim on him, setting his senses on fire. Gentling the kiss, she looked at him and smiled, running her hands along his chest and abdomen. "But, you're my dork."

"Yes, dear…" he said, closing his eyes at the feel of her hands on his skin. He was absolutely hers, body, soul, and heart. And it felt so damn good.