I Wanna Be Yours

"Chapter 5"

The empty shot glass hits the worn-down counter with a clink as Meredith slumps on her bar stool, her muscles loosening, even though she knows she's far from getting hammered.

Maybe she should get hammered.

Derek Shepherd kinda makes her want to get hammered. Because his eyes shine when he clips aneurysms and she has no idea what possessed her to make him touch a patient in the first place. She's Medusa Grey, she can't be soft with any intern, even though he's older than all of them and he knows how to lean against things.

She should find someone to fuck tonight and forget all about him.

Her gaze moves around the booths and the tables, searching for a possible conquest, and then a groan escapes her lips. Of course Mark Sloan has taken his buddy out for a drink.

"Joe, another," she calls out to the bartender, who looks at her more like she's a friend than a customer. Also, the fact that his name sounds almost like the name of her favorite liquor brand helps matters when she won't be able to stand.

"Grey!" The boisterous voice of Mark Sloan rings out even in the crowded bar, and she groans loudly again.

"Make him go away," Meredith mumbles to Joe, who's sporting an amused smirk.

"Hey, Grey, I heard you let my brother clip an aneurysm yesterday," he gloats, walking closer to her then asking Joe for a refill.

"I clipped the aneurysm," she mumbles, drowning her tequila.

"Well, yeah, but he actually closed the clip," he smirks, sleazy as usual.

"Whatever. Joe, tequila!"

"Come on, sit with us," he smiles. "We can do celebratory shots."

Meredith frowns. "You're buying me a drink, Sloan?"

"I'm not!" he exclaims. "I'm sort of taken. But we can celebrate together," he smirks again, but then it turns softer, somehow. "You look lonely over here." This is a Mark Sloan she has rarely seen out of the confines of a patient room.

Wonderful, now he's looking at her like she's a patient.

"I'm trying to get laid," she says crudely, and Mark's eyes light up.

"Derek is single," Mark shrugs. The gossip.

"And he's an intern. Even if he's older than I am, I'm never sleeping with him."

"One drink?" Mark begs, and she rolls her eyes.

"You're buying," she growls, before she stands up and plops herself next to Addison, on the other side of the booth from Derek. "Hola," she nods, slumping on the leather of the booth bench.

"You speak Spanish?" Addison questions, amused.

"Only when I drink tequila," she snickers back, and she can clearly see Derek swallowing thickly the last sip of his drink.

"Scotch for the luckiest intern, tequila for Medusa," Mark grins, coming up with their drinks as if he were a waiter. He puts something fruity and with a straw in front of Addison, then grabs his own tumbler of scotch.

Derek and Mark clink glasses as she stares at the amber liquid in hers, sighing loudly. The lights of the bar and the tequila aren't helping with ignoring how good Derek looks. His red shirt clings perfectly to his body, leaving enough to the imagination; his eyes are sparkling, even if they still look tired; his hair...God, his hair is perfect. She's dying to run her fingers through them and hear him screa...