and Calypso did happen to test positive for the flu, something Mark wasn't eager about.

The day had started off horrifically, to begin with.

Calypso cried a lot, and then once Mark finally calmed her down, Daisy started crying a lot, and then Calypso started crying again. It was a never-ending cycle of tears and groans and aches and pains, a cycle that Mark couldn't quite keep under control.

The pediatrician he had taken the girls to was way too snarky, something that didn't rub well with Mark's own personality.

The small practice was tucked in the corner of Seattle. It seemed like a relatively cozy children's medical group.

But Mark hadn't realized how much he disliked being around sick children until he was sat in the waiting room. Mark could tolerate the girls' whining and coughing and sneezing, but being in a room full of other random kids whining and coughing and sneezing truly was an all time low.

There had even been a little boy in the waiting room, adorned in a puffy winter coat as he coughed right on Mark, and the man felt the urge to douse his clothing in copious amounts of sanitizer.

Calling it an unpleasant visit was far too generous.

But the girls were able to be seen by the doctor, an order of various over-the-counter prescriptions and lots of sleep was given.

By the time Mark had gotten the girls situated with Naomi and given the nanny orders on how exactly to care for the sick girls, it was time for his shift at the hospital.

He was exhausted as a result of having gotten no sleep. Maybe that's why his bluntness came through more aggressively than usual when he got to the hospital.

"Blaire Peterson." One of the interns presented, babbling as the small group of doctors entered their patient's room. "28-years-old, admitted three days ago for-"

Mark couldn't help but drone out the rest, looking down at the patient's chart to ensure there weren't any allergies.

Listening to patient presentation was crucial, Mark knew that. It's not that he was trying to ignore his colleagues, but he seriously couldn't find it in himself to pay attention.

A z-plasty was Mark's job on the patient's case. He knew that. He knew that he was going to explain to Miss Peterson that after Dr. Bailey performed the nephrectomy, Mark would do a z-plasty on the surgical incision to ensure her scar would be perfectly healed in time for bikini season—Miss Peterson's most blatant concern about her surgery.

He knew what he was supposed to say. But he found himself going off script just a little bit.

Mark was incredibly good about keeping his opinions on patients to himself, it was a skill every doctor had to master.

But he couldn't help but stare at his patient. Her ears were huge, unlike anything the man had ever seen before.

It was distracting, and Blaire could definitely tell that Mark was staring.

"Dr. Sloan." Bailey warned, clearing her throat to spark a reaction from the man.

"Right, yes. Miss Peterson." Mark nodded, giving his patient a warm smile as he snapped out of it. "Hi. I'm Dr. Sloan, I'll be performing your otoplasty. I'll make a small incision along your pinna to cut back the outer ear, and I'll-"

"That is not the surgery you are performing." Bailey was quick to snap, in bewilderment that Mark would say something so blatantly stupid.

"Z-plasty." Mark corrected, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, I'll be performing your z-plasty."

Blaire felt a tiny bit confused, but she put on a smile nonetheless. "And...my scar, it won't be too ugly, right?"

"You'll hardly even notice it's there by the time it's healed. Dr. Sloan is phenomenal at what he does." Bailey reassured her patient with a warm smile, waiting for Mark to chip in with some cocky remark.

Mark just couldn't pull his eyes away, though.

"Are you sure you don't want an otoplasty?"

"Dr. Sloan."

"We could do it right ear."

Mark hadn't even realized he had said anything wrong until he took notice of the death glare Bailey was currently burning into him. "Here! Here, we could do it right here, at the hospital. Sorry, I...I meant to say..."

"You're dismissed." Bailey snapped, looking incredibly angry.

Mark wanted to argue that technically Bailey wasn't his superior so technically, the woman couldn't dismiss him.

But the tiny woman scared him far more than he would ever willingly admit, and he thought it would be best to oblige and exit the room.

Unfortunately for Mark, Bailey was right on his heels as she let the interns finish up with the rounds, momentarily exiting to give Mark the scolding of his life. He sort of felt like a little kid in the principal's office, and he didn't like it.

"What the hell is the matter with you?!"

"I don't know." Mark groaned. "I didn't get any sleep last night. I'm deprived, and frustrated, and-"

"Then get yourself to an on-call room." Bailey snapped. "Go to sleep, and don't wake up until you remember how to treat people with basic decency."

Mark sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Go." Bailey pointed down the hall. "You're in time-out."

Mark raised his eyebrows, fairly certain that was ethically wrong on all levels. "Excuse me?"

"Surgical time-out." Bailey elaborated, her eyebrows still knit together through her sternness. "Avery can cover your z-plasty. Goodbye."

Mark frowned, not wanting to say anything else. He was too tired to even form the words to say anything else, and he found himself beginning to sulk down the hallway.

Mark usually hated sleeping in the on-call rooms. The mattresses were like cement, and nobody could ever get a good sleep on those things.

But the very idea of even getting to sleep made the rock-hard mattresses seem like a dream, and Mark was so ready for bed as he walked.

But a stupid stupid tack popped that glorious idea.

"Mark." Derek called out as Mark walked past the radiology room.

"No."

"It's important."

Mark stopped in his tracks, trying his best to hold in a groan as he appeared in the doorway. "What?"

Derek nodded to the chair beside him, making it clear that he wanted Mark to sit and look at the scans that he had pulled up.

Mark let out the most devastated sigh he could possibly muster as he walked over, something that Derek chose to ignore.

"I have a tumor."

Mark was at a loss for words. "A...a tumor? Oh my god, are you gonna be okay? You're gonna die, aren't you? And then I'm gonna be alone and so is Meredith and-"

"Not me." Derek frowned, looking at the black and white scans enlarged on the screen in front of him. "My patient has a tumor, I have a tumor to get rid of."

"Oh." Mark let out a deep breath. "You couldn't have phrased that better?"

"It's pressed right in the frontal lobe." Derek ignored Mark, pointing to the large mass of cancerous cells on the scan. "But I can't get to it without going directly through the forehead and peeling back the epithelial. I guess I'm just asking if you're willing to sew a face back on for me when I'm done."

"That's all you needed?" Mark questioned, Derek nodding. "Yeah, sure. I'm quite good at sewing faces back on."

"That's sort of why I asked." Derek spoke in a tone that made Mark feel stupid, looking down at his notepad. "Thank you."

Mark was silent for a moment before speaking up. "So...you're done with me now? You really don't need anything else?"

"What did you think I needed?"

"I don't know." Mark shrugged. "I sort of thought you wanted to talk. Vent some feelings out. I was excited."

"I'm good." Derek shook his head, not even so much as looking over at Mark.

It was evident Derek just wanted Mark to leave so that he could continue with his work, something that slightly wounded Mark. He wanted to feel helpful.

Silence ensued the pair again, Mark not making a move to leave the radiology room.

"Do you mind if, uh...if I vent to you for a little bit?"

"I would prefer you didn't." Derek spoke as he began to write something down.

"I'm...I'm really tired." Mark began anyway, Derek sighing loudly as he put his pen down and looked over at Mark. "I mean physically, yes. But...emotionally, too. And mentally. I'm so tired, I don't know what to do with myself anymore. I need a break."

"This sounds like a conversation you should be having with a therapist."

"I don't need a therapist." Mark swatted Derek's suggestion away. "I just need advice. I need a solution."

"And I'm supposed to provide that how?"

"You're smart, right? And I value your opinion. I mean...you're cocky and arrogant and unhealthily stubborn, but I can look past all that and value your opinion to a degree."

"I'm blushing."

"What do I do?" Mark sighed out.

"About what?"

"I...I don't know."

"Well then how am I supposed to help if you don't even know?" Derek let out a short laugh, returning back to the notepad in front of him.

Mark frowned, letting the long silence plague him again as his thoughts ran rampant. "How did you know?"

"What are you talking about, Mark." Derek sighed at Mark's vagueness, his annoyance coming through.

"With Zola, I mean. How...how did you know that you wanted to adopt her?"

Derek looked up, placing his pen on the table. "Is that what this is about?"

"I need help."

"You need a lot more than help." Derek mumbled, something that Mark frowned at.

"Hey. Come on."

"I'm not even sure I'm qualified to answer your question. My wife kidnapped Zola at first, so technically-"

"Derek."

Derek let out a sigh, thinking for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know. You just kind of...know."

"What do you mean?"

A small hint of a smile played on Derek's lips as he slowly shook his head. "You're not ready."

"I can be ready." Mark defended himself. "I can be so ready."

He wanted to be ready. He just wasn't sure if he was.

"But you're not." Derek shrugged. "That's okay if you're not ready, it takes time. Or...even if you never get there, that's fine too. Tons of people don't foster-to-adopt, you're doing a good thing just fostering in general. The girls have had a good run, but maybe it's time."

"What do you mean?"

"You look horrible, Mark." Derek commented, Mark scoffing and ready to defend his appearance when Derek spoke again. "You just look tired, and drained. You look like you're about to break. Would it really be the worst thing to call social services and have them take the girls back?"

"I would look like an awful person." Mark groaned. "And...Daisy and Calypso don't deserve that. They'd be...angry, and sad, and..."

Mark wasn't quite sure how the girls would react. Daisy might love the idea, actually; she had never seemed to like Mark.

But still...Calypso would be upset. She wouldn't ever understand, and she wouldn't ever forgive the man for letting them go. Mark wasn't even really sure it was mentally healthy for two young girls to change home placements and environments every few months.

But Mark was tired. And as selfish as it sounded, he missed the old days when the only person he was responsible for was himself. He missed his old apartment too. His quiet, peaceful, cat-free apartment. He cared for the girls, but he missed his old life before they ever came in.

"You need a break." Derek frowned. "I know it's awful, and they'll be upset, but...you can't kill yourself trying to make them happy. You can't be any help to them if you're not even helping yourself."

Mark let out a pained groan as he closed his eyes. "I don't know what to do."

"You will." Derek reassured, scooping up his pen and paper as he began to exit the room. "I'll update my patient on what we talked about. It'll all work out, Mark. Just, uh...focus on sewing Mr. Wilson's face back on. That'll be fun."

That would be fun, but Mark couldn't focus on much of anything.

The exhaustion coursing through Mark's body was still very much present, and he swore he could've fallen asleep right where he was sitting in the radiology room had it not been for the intrusive thoughts keeping him awake.

Mark was conflicted, and he felt guilty.

But he was in desperate need of a break, and he hated the fact that he was seriously contemplating Derek's advice.