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Mark Sloan didn’t like waiting.
He was good at a lot of things—thinking on his feet, keeping steady hands under pressure, making impossible cases look easy—but waiting? Waiting made his skin itch.
Especially tonight.
Twelve hours into a forty-eight-hour on-call shift, and he still hadn’t managed to carve out more than a few minutes to even think about leaving the hospital, let alone call Derek.
But Derek had gone home sick.
Derek—who powered through migraines, skipped meals, ignored exhaustion like it was a personal insult—had left early.
That alone had been enough to put Mark on edge.
The vomiting had sealed it.
“Since this morning,” Meredith had told him in passing, not even looking up from her chart. “Couldn’t keep anything down. Addison sent him home.”
Mark had stopped mid-step. “Addison?”
That had earned him a look.
“Yes, Mark. Addison. You know—OB, babies, hormones—ringing any bells?”
He’d brushed it off at the time.
Food poisoning, maybe. A stomach bug. Something simple.
Something normal.
But as the hours dragged on, unease settled deeper in his chest.
Because Derek didn’t get sick like that.
And Derek definitely didn’t let Addison make calls about his health unless—
Mark scrubbed a hand down his face.
Unless it was something he didn’t want to admit yet.
By the time midnight rolled around, he’d had enough.
He handed off his patient, ignored the raised eyebrow from a nurse, and grabbed his jacket.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered, already halfway out the door.
—
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
Mark pushed the door open, stepping inside with a frown already forming.
“Derek?”
No answer.
He shut the door behind him, scanning the dimly lit space.
Shoes by the couch. A glass of water on the table. A blanket half-pulled off the back of the sofa like someone had been there and left in a hurry.
“Derek?”
“Bedroom.”
The voice was faint.
Tired.
Mark’s chest tightened instantly.
He moved without thinking, crossing the apartment in seconds and pushing the bedroom door open.
Derek was propped up against the headboard, pale in a way that made something cold settle in Mark’s gut. His hair was a mess, his eyes heavy-lidded, a damp cloth draped over the back of his neck.
He looked—
Small.
Not physically.
But something about him felt… quieter. Worn down.
“Hey,” Mark said, softer now, stepping inside. “You look like hell.”
Derek huffed weakly. “Good to see you too.”
Mark didn’t smile.
He moved closer, reaching out without hesitation, pressing the back of his hand to Derek’s forehead.
Warm.
Not feverish, but not right either.
“How bad?” he asked.
Derek shrugged slightly. “Better than this morning.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I’m not trying to reassure you.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Mark pulled his hand back, studying him more carefully now.
There were signs.
Little things he’d brushed off over the past couple of weeks.
Derek being more tired than usual. Eating less. Then suddenly eating more. That weird sensitivity to smells he’d joked about just days ago.
And now this.
Vomiting.
Addison being involved.
Mark went still.
Really still.
Derek noticed immediately.
“…Mark?”
Mark didn’t answer.
He was staring.
Not at Derek—through him, like pieces were rearranging themselves in his head at lightning speed.
Derek shifted, unease creeping in. “Okay, that’s—don’t do that. You’re doing that thing where you go silent and it’s freaking me out.”
Still nothing.
“…Mark.”
Finally, Mark blinked.
Looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And Derek felt his breath hitch.
Because there it was.
Realization.
“…you need to say it,” Derek said quietly. “Because if I have to guess what you’re thinking right now, I might actually throw up again.”
Mark swallowed.
Hard.
“…you’re—”
He stopped.
Tried again.
“You’re pregnant.”
It wasn’t a question.
Derek’s lips pressed together.
Then, slowly—
He nodded.
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. Stretching too long.
Mark didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, frozen in place like his body hadn’t caught up to his mind.
And Derek—
Derek’s heart started to pound.
“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You need to say something now.”
Nothing.
“Mark.”
Still nothing.
Derek’s chest tightened. “If this is where you panic, I swear to God—”
Mark moved.
Fast.
One second he was across the room, the next he was right there—hands on Derek’s face, pulling him in, kissing him like the world had narrowed down to this one moment.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t careful.
It was everything.
Relief. Shock. Joy. Fear. All of it tangled together in the way his hands gripped Derek like he might disappear.
Derek gasped against his mouth, startled, but didn’t pull away.
Didn’t want to.
Because Mark was there.
Mark was there.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
Derek’s eyes were glassy.
Mark’s weren’t much better.
“You—” Mark laughed breathlessly, shaking his head like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re pregnant.”
Derek let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
“With my—our—” Mark gestured vaguely, like words had failed him entirely.
Derek nodded again, a small, almost disbelieving smile breaking through. “Yeah. That.”
Mark stared at him for another second.
Then pulled him into a tight, almost crushing hug.
Derek melted into it instantly, arms wrapping around him, face pressing into his shoulder as the reality of it all settled in.
“I thought something was wrong,” Mark murmured into his hair. “I thought—you were sick and I wasn’t here and I—”
“I am sick,” Derek muttered weakly. “Just… not the kind you were thinking.”
Mark huffed out a quiet laugh, pulling back just enough to look at him again.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I just found out,” Derek said. “Addison ran tests. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”
Mark nodded, absorbing that.
Then leaned in, pressing his forehead against Derek’s.
“We made a life,” he whispered.
Derek’s breath caught.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “We did.”
For a moment, everything else faded.
The hospital. The chaos. The exhaustion.
It was just them.
And this.
Mark kissed him again—slower this time, deeper, his hands gentler but no less certain.
Derek’s fingers curled into his shirt, holding him there, grounding himself in the warmth of him.
There was something different in the way Mark touched him now.
Reverent.
Like he understood exactly what Derek was carrying—not just physically, but emotionally, everything that came with it.
“I can’t believe this,” Mark murmured against his lips.
“Believe it,” Derek breathed.
Mark smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along Derek’s cheek.
“I want to stay,” he admitted quietly.
Derek’s expression softened.
“I know.”
“I really want to stay.”
“I know.”
And then—
A shrill sound cut through the moment.
Mark froze.
No.
No, no, no—
He pulled back just enough to glance at his pager.
And there it was.
9-1-1.
Immediate.
Of course.
Of course.
Mark groaned under his breath, pressing his forehead briefly against Derek’s shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Derek let out a soft huff of amusement despite everything.
“Someone needs you.”
“I need to be here.”
Derek pulled back, cupping his face gently.
“And you will be,” he said. “But right now? Someone’s on a table, and they need you to save them.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“I just got you.”
Derek smiled softly. “You’re not losing me.”
A beat.
“We’re starting a life,” he added quietly.
Mark’s eyes flickered.
Then steadied.
“…yeah.”
“And you’re the reason a lot of other people get to keep theirs.”
Mark exhaled slowly.
Frustration still there—but something steadier underneath it now.
Something bigger.
He leaned in, pressing one more lingering kiss to Derek’s lips.
“We have time,” Derek whispered against him.
Mark nodded.
“We have everything,” he murmured back.
Then, reluctantly, he pulled away.
But not before resting his hand briefly against Derek’s stomach—hesitant, almost disbelieving.
Derek covered it with his own.
A quiet moment.
A promise.
Then Mark stepped back.
“Get some rest,” he said.
“You too,” Derek shot back.
Mark smirked faintly. “Not likely.”
Derek smiled.
And just like that—
Mark was gone.
The door closed behind him.
But the warmth lingered.
And for the first time all day—
Derek didn’t feel sick.
Just…
Hopeful.