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SUPERIOR COURT OF NEW YORK 
COUNTY OF MANHATTEN 

No. 44890
Petition for Dissolution of Marriage

　　　In re the Marriage of: 

　　　James Shepherd, Petitioner
　　　and Mark Sloan, Respondent.

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I. 　BASIS

SEATTLE WAS A LOT RAINIER THAN SHE EXPECTED.

She did hear things about the city that always wept, the glimmering beauty of Washington state (despite the fact that it had been Olympia that would wear the armor and defend its land.) The fact hadn't escaped her as she watched late night TV, listening to the various weather forecasts in her little apartment, her eyes drooping from endless days of work, she watched as Shannon O'Donnell moved about the screen with little infographics floating around the area. Those nights had been plagued by a man sleeping peacefully in the bed beside her, covers wrapped around himself and arms gripping his pillows as if they were keeping him from drifting too far into his dreams (too far from her). Those nights had only been plagued with the idea of flying across the country spontaneously, starting anew in a city where she was a nobody. But no. She stayed in New York, his hand on her hip, as they watched the pristine smiles on Derek and Addison's lips, hot gossip passing around their little group.

Then everything had fallen apart, people slept together, and Jamie ended up in California. She loved it there. The weather and the freedom it had. New love and a new life she could finally breathe by herself. However, she seemed to find herself standing under the Seattle rain. Her back ached due to the two hour delay at the airport and the small seats. Her face briefly pinched as she shifted. She glanced past the end of the umbrella to watch the sky darken– it must know her reasoning for being there. Why she was there, standing before the hospital she'd been invited to, hopefully, multiple times, was not out of pleasure. Jamie thought that Seattle was a rather miserable place and the outcome of her sudden trip had miserable intentions.

Standing before Seattle Grace, Jamie pondered what she would walk into. She had heard from Richard Webber a handful of times about coming and working under his people. She'd never responded because she'd been happy to work under Charlotte King and have her family (at least those she considered family) close by. However, she did find Richard at a mixer– one for upcoming fellows who were hoping to have new outreaches in the medical community. Jamie spoke to multiple people at great lengths, smiling and offering her card, some conversations ended up being longer than others. One attending from Hopkins was particularly excited to speak to her. His eyes wandered from her lips to her breasts, which she noticed immediately. Jamie sat uncomfortably as his word grew more sensual and his thumb traced the skin of her upper arm. Doctor Fetters was nothing more than a bachelor who was smug and egotistical, and a creep. If there was one thing that she was grateful for in the mess of New York, was that she could flash a ring and assert she was happily married and she was sure her spouse wouldn't be all too happy with this conversation. Fetters gave her a shaky smile and pale complexion before rushing off.

Seattle Grace loomed like a large monster out of a children's story. Something so elegant and meant to convey healing, had stories of lives that were trapped within the walls. Begging for someone to listen to their cries of self pity and wallow. The anxiety that coursed through her veins made her mutter a curse. She felt as though she was shaking, nervously adjusting her buttons and ignoring her watch that was ticking closer to the allotted time she scheduled for this trip. Try to move, make it to the very important meeting that would allow them both the freedom of the prison they placed themselves in years prior. Yet she stood, unmoving and just trying to wind herself up to see him for the first time in two years.

She had gone through this once before. The gaining of courage to say the words that usually hurt people deep within their soul, but left her feeling empty. Jamie had previously pressed her hands against her eyes as she cried, explaining how they couldn't possibly be meant to be if they were so apart. He didn't seem entirely too happy himself but she had been left to herself to mull over the situation, it was as if she had signed the time of death on the relationship. As she stood before the hospital, she felt oddly reminiscent of waiting for him to get home, to the way she spoke so lowly and barely met his eyes. That argument had been so angry, so full of hatred that she found herself in her mother's home instead of the security of their own. She'd spoken to Archer Montgomery who seemed to hold the guilt of the family, extending his apologies for his sister's actions but it never went anywhere. She'd left the papers at home then moved.

Her hand tightened around the strap of the bag, unsure if she was really ready to face him down one last time before he flicked his wrist and signed his name. Jamie was sure it was the rage that fueled her, making her take large strides into the sterile white of the hospital. The glass that scaled the walls, revealed her to the world and allowed anyone inside to witness her small breakdown, it had the smell hospitals usually did. The kind that made her briefly cough into the crook of her elbow and hope to embrace it soon. Jamie could see Richard Webber's face now; another Shepherd in his midst that could be shaped and molded at his will. She hoped that she could escape the walls before anyone she knew really got a chance to speak to her.

"Okay," She muttered softly as she glanced down at the small paper in her hand, rubbing her forehead with the other. "Fourth floor."

Her footsteps felt heavy as she strode to the elevator. Entering before it could be closed and was confined into a small area with what appeared to be staff. The attendings spoke quickly, rapidly, while people (who she assumed) of lower rank tried to follow onto their every word. She spotted one blonde recused into the corner, a Hello Kitty bandaid over her forehead that made Jamie's eyebrow raise a fraction. She looked as if she were in her own world. Completely detached from the area she was in. Jamie felt vaguely relatable as she weaved her way through the small crowd and came to a rest next to her.

"Excuse me?" Jamie softly asked, taking a step back when the woman jolted and blinked at her, looking so caught off guard that Jamie felt as though she had brought her back to life. The older woman blinked several times as the blonde placed her hand on her chest and took a few breaths as Jamie pressed her lips together. "Uh, I'm sorry. I'm just looking for Doctor Sloan's office?"

Suddenly the woman's face grew incredibly tired. "Mark Sloan?" She asked in a shallow drone.

If Jamie hadn't known Mark for most of their lives, she would've assumed that this woman had been married to him. She tilted her head and cleared her throat. "He's a plastic surgeon here–"

"Yeah, I know him– everyone knows him." The blonde sighed heavily, glancing towards the doors that opened with a ding and quickly ushered herself and Jamie out of the elevator. The woman released a sigh of relief that made the older of the two feel as though she'd missed something. "I can lead you to his secretary. I'm not exactly sure where he is but it'll be a good start."

She followed the woman (who left shortly after getting paged) to the area designated for the burn unit. Her eyes shifted to the office, she saw that it appeared empty, dark, he definitely wasn't inside at the moment. She took large steps towards the secretary, pocketing the slip of paper and giving a very thin smile to the older and tired woman. The secretary, Clara, didn't even glance up at her as she leaned against the desk. Clara continued to quickly type on the keyboard, shaking her head as she seemed to read something that did not bode well with her.

"Can I help you?" Clara asked flatly.

Jamie smiled thinly, nodding. "Yes, I need to speak to Doctor Sloan."

"He's not in."

"I see that but I–"

"You can come back another day." Clara broke through, turning towards the phone to pick it up. "I can leave him a message and you'll be able to schedule a time to have this discussion with him. Name?"

"James Shepherd-Sloan."

Clara suddenly stopped short. Her hand froze and she suddenly sat the phone down and stared up at the woman with some sort of glint in her eyes. Pity? Possibly. Jamie wasn't a stranger to that look in a woman's eyes when it came to Mark's hobbies. She watched as Clara seemed to try to process the information that her name alone held.

Jamie crossed her arms and made her way towards the office. "You can tell Mark his wife is waiting in his office." She glanced back with a smile. "Retribution has arrived."

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II. RELIEF REQUESTED

Word about Mark Sloan being married spread through the hospital like wildfire.

Women shook and men rolled their eyes, they'd all expected him to be a sleazeball but they were all discussing the person he'd devoted himself to. Rumors flew faster than a bullet; she was a model from upstate New York who was done with his infidelity, another was that she had committed multiple federal crimes and she finally arrived to offer penance, another– which was the most popular amongst the Seattle Grace staff– was that James was a man who was done. He had been left in the slums of New York City, forced to contemplate the fact his husband (not legally binding) was not in love with him and slept with his sister-in-law. Women were shocked and, briefly, disgusted by the revelation. The men were suddenly second guessing every interaction they had with the charming man. Mark could talk anyone out of their pants. It appeared that someone had fallen for Mark Sloan's tricks and they'd fallen hard.

At least, that's the reality Jamie had succumbed to three years later.

"You're so damn dramatic."

She glanced back when the door closed, looking at the taller man as he clenched his jaw. He seemed to pause under her gaze. His every muscle stilled as she narrowed her gaze, turning it upon her hands as he released a breath. There was a shuffle of fabric. Jamie realized, once he rounded the desk (that was, like his image, pristine and tidy), that he had shedded his lab coat and was now adorned in navy blue scrubs. She tilted her head at the difference between the maroon he'd so outwardly enjoyed now replaced with something that made his eyes so striking.

Mark interrupted this as something else. "Don't give me that look. Retribution? What are you, Jesus?" His voice was terribly incredulous and Jamie couldn't help the scoff that she released, causing Mark to roll his eyes. "Could've just called and asked to go to the bar across the street. Instead, you storm in all...stormy. People are already talking. "

"You blocked my number. Three years ago." Jamie stated flatly, her face remaining stoic as Mark rubbed his chin awkwardly. "I sent you the same thing three years ago, then your lawyer said the papers got lost, so I sent you another last year. Then you lost them again. So, I thought I'd be kind, and bring these to you myself."

The papers made a rather loud slap against the wood. He looked caught off guard, his lips pressed together as he tugged on the edge of the paper, his expression was something that Jamie could recognize from that night. She'd never been able to place it. As many times as she replayed that night in her head; crying, holding his hand, him leaving without a word, Derek calling, him coming back– she was never sure what it was behind his eyes. There'd been that emotionless glimmer to him that always set her off. Made a ball of fire ignite within her gut and left her calling out into the void.

He drew in a deep breath before nodding. "Well, that's very...kind of you." He gave a placid smile that rattled her bones. "I'll be sure to get this all done within the next week or so–"

"I need it tonight." Jamie casually crossed her leg, picking a piece of lint off her jeans. She could feel the sudden tension as his chair creaked. "I'm not staying in Seattle that long, so I'll need–"

"Fucking..."

Mark suddenly stood and Jamie thought he was going to ask her to leave. She watched him stalk from the desk toward the window that looked over the hallway. She frowned, briefly, upon seeing a rather large group of people in light blue scrubs congregating outside his office. She knew better than anyone that hospitals loved to gossip, they really thrived off of it. In the midst of people dying and suffering, it was a bit of humanity amongst the emotionless chatter doctors regularly participated in. These doctors however looked completely and utterly entranced with the scene before them. One was discussing something rapidly with the other, a curly haired woman with a bored glare on the window, and– it was the blonde from earlier. She looked suspicious. Her eyes were narrowed and lips pulled down. Jamie met her eyes before Mark closed the blinds.

His hand rubbed at his temple as if he was trying to wean off a very insistent headache. "These interns are like–" He waved a frustrated hand around as he paced back to his desk. "I can't sign these by tonight."

Jamie narrowed her eyes. "Why the hell not?"

"I have surgeries lined up all day. You would've known that if you asked Clara."

"Yes, because Clara was just eager to give me your schedule." Jamie pressed her fingers against her eyes, shaking her head as she took a deep breath. "You always argue over the most pointless things when there's other things to worry about!"

He'd done it in New York quite a bit. To take off the concentration from himself or whatever was really wrong, he'd conjure up something that was unrelated to what was being discussed and would force Jamie to be the bad guy that brought it back. He could talk someone's ear off, especially if it was to save his own ass. Jamie used to regard it fondly but now, with the weight of the necklace she wore and the ring on her finger, she hated everything about his voice. It was low as if he wanted to appear condescending but it was a secret. Only he was aware of what his true intentions were and Jamie felt as though she was some dog whisperer. She'd been presented with a case and now she must tell the owners that their dog was just a big asshole and they'd have to suffer through it.

That's what she'd offer any future women in his life as a warning.

"I think they count." Mark muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the desk. "It doesn't change the fact that I can't sign any papers except insurance forms for my patients tonight. I don't understand why you think you can just barge in here and demand things–"

"After what you did to me, I'm allowed to do what I damn well please." Jamie snapped back, popping her knuckles. She shook her head with a scoff. "I've given you three years, Mark. It won't hurt you too bad to flick your wrist and put your name on those lines."

Mark sighed, "Jamie–"

"I need it tonight." Jamie cursed herself internally that she came across a little too desperate. She could see it in the way his face briefly screwed up. She sounded like she was begging him. She might as well get on her knees and kiss his polished shoes now. "Tonight."

Mark looked annoyed now, shaking his head. "Are you deaf or just ignoring me? I said, I can't do it tonight."

"And I'm saying that you have to."

"It's like talking to a damn wall." Mark muttered to himself but Jamie was able to hear. She loudly scoffed, her whole jolted with the sound. He glared at her, holding out a finger that made her feel like a child in the principal's office. "Don't look at me like that–"

"I can't control looks–"

"--We have jobs now." Mark suddenly spoke over her, voice strong as he sat down with a grunt. "We're grown ups now, James. Which means we're not going to fight over stupid shit."

"I'm trying to get you to sign!"

"Would it really be the end of the world if we just...stayed married?"

Jamie was quite...well, she didn't know what the fuck that was.

Stay married? Was he an idiot? Had he forgotten that they'd cut all communication with each other over the three years they'd been separated? He had blocked her number the same night that he laid deep within her friend's sheets– Jamie didn't blame him. Especially for the things that she said after everything. After he walked through the door, looked at her, then recused himself in that room, then she spoke– and she spoke and she spoke. Jamie spoke about how much she hated him. How much time she wasted. And how everything that happened, especially that night, was all due to his inability to commit.

She had, objectively, played her own part in the mighty downfall of their marriage.

You're a fucking coward!

Jamie had watched on the sidelines as Mark went from someone she'd do anything for, be anyone for, defend until her last dying breath. She'd watched as he became someone she was so tired of. Someone she worried would leave her in the past.

You're a fucking coward and I–! I...I would've never done this to you.

His smiles were forced, eyes sad as they gazed on her. And what had she done? She pressed on. She held onto his hand. She didn't speak up when it faltered, when he would step away. He had pulled away. Not her. Jamie was sure.

...I would've never done this to you...

Now, it was apparent that something had been askew in her judgment. Stay married. Stay married to me and we can keep happy until the end of time. Stay married? Had she woken up in some fucked up parallel universe where she was the only one who had lived through those years? The good and the bad? Was Mark just blind? He had to have something wrong with him. At least, that's what Jamie believed as he seemed to plead his case– "Why you should stay married to me. Presentation by: Mark Sloan (your soon to be ex-husband)." Jamie wanted to reach over and force his hand. Force him to release her from the constant questioning of herself. Why the fuck did he do this?

Open the fucking door, Mark! Open the door and tell me it was worth it!

Why did he always do this to her? Why did she remain the person left in the dust? Someone who had to be collected in a dustpan and clumped together, like a hopeful child presenting their clay project. Mark remained perfect. Untouched by the time.

You owe me that.

"Fucking what?"

Mark stopped mid-sentence. Whatever case he was trying to make for himself was suddenly forgotten in the rattle of Jamie's bones. He leaned so casually back in his chair that, if the blinds were still open, it wouldn't appear that he just asked her to give a part of herself away again. He probably asked about the weather, or even a patient who'd been distasteful. He had not just asked to remain in this constant state of penance, the line between heaven and hell so blurred, she couldn't breathe. No, his body language gave the illusion that he'd just asked her if she wanted lunch.

"Fucking stay married?" She suddenly felt like she couldn't control her rapid thoughts. She released a hollow laugh, pressing her hands against her eyes and shaking her head. "Of all the half witted...dumbass suggestions you've made, this ranks up there, Mark."

"Would it be the end of the world?"

"For me? Yes!"

Jamie could see the very brief falter in Mark's expression. The fall of the corner of his lip and the way his hand attached to his chin, fingers brushing against his beard. There were lines to be drawn. Lines that should've been etched into their very souls years ago. She might as well pull a scalpel from her bag now, carve them into her skin like he'd carved his words and promises under an altar, in a bedroom, and the confines of their own home.

This is it, Mark, Jamie thought as she held his gaze, watching as he muttered a curse and stared at the stack of papers before him. This is the end of it all. Two words, nine letters. Then we'll be done forever.

"There's benefits, y'know?" He still appeared to be stuck on making her stay. Maybe it was legality sake. Mark had never been entirely eager to face down lawyers. Anyone in a suit and boring enough title was enough to put him asleep. Jamie had witnessed it in real time. The way his face screwed up. It was as if the topic had been painful for him. However Jamie didn't care about simplicity in his life, she just needed to go back and be happy. "We can still file our taxes together–"

"I did our taxes." Jamie depanned, "I've done them since before we got married."

Mark frowned. "When I die, you get my shit–"

Jamie shook her head, heaving a sigh. "I don't want anything you have, Mark."

"That's not what you said before."

Jamie frowned at the implication, leaning forward as Mark sighed. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that we used to be a certain way." Mark gestured between them, a hopeful glint in his eyes that made her chest ache.

Jamie looked down. "People change, Mark."

"Why not–"

"I'm engaged."

She could feel the air still completely. She watched his face fall impassively, a mask that he could take on at will. His eyes suddenly shot to her hand and bear witness to the glittering diamond resting on his finger. She wasn't sure how she wanted to bring it up– in fact, she hadn't wanted to bring it up at all. Jamie really thought she would've been able to walk inside, beg him to sign, then leave him to whatever woman managed to find her way into his bed. The woman would no longer care. She would be set free and be able to forget Mark Sloan and focus on who really counted Va–

"Engaged?" His voice sounded oddly breathless. His chin was low as he continued to bounce his suddenly cloudy eyes from her finger and towards her own eyes. "How the hell–"

"I can't get married again if I'm still married." Jamie cut him off before he could say anything that would make her set off. "It's all sorts of illegal here. No matter what fantasy you've had."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "How the hell are you already engaged? It's been three years, not ten!"

"I didn't cheat on you, if that's what you're asking." Jamie said through clenched teeth.

"I wouldn't exactly be surprised–"

"Oh, fuck off, Mark!" Jamie suddenly stood, a red hot anger filling her body and shooting down her spine. "Don't patronize me– don't act like I lost something when your job and whatever fucking lay you could find nearby was all you cared about."

"So what? You gave up your fantastic job with your mom and any prospect of a future career that actually mattered, to be what? An emotional support dog?"

Jamie hated the way he said it so casually. It might as well have been mushed together with a question about the weather outside. He almost looked satisfied with the way it had landed. A small smirk on his lips, leaned back in his chair, eyes hooded as he seemingly replayed the moment in his head. Jamie wanted nothing more than to reach over and smack the look right off of his face.

"I get it," Mark blazed through, calmly, not catching onto the sudden hatred that whiffed in the air. "'Cause you're scared of failing, you always have."

"You might be pretty, Mark, but you're so fucking ugly inside."

That sparked something.

"Oh, fuck you, James." Mark rolled his eyes, standing to meet her eyes head on. "Don't act like I didn't know you for most of my life. Because I know what you're going to do next and I know what you're going to do once you leave this room."

Jamie's eyebrows shot up, tilting her head almost condensencingly. "Oh, really? Please, enlighten me, Mark. What am I going to do?"

Mark almost looked eager to answer her, placing his hand on his hip while giving her a charming smile that would've knocked Satan himself on his ass. "Same shit you've always done, push it away... and act like this shit doesn't matter. You got shot down by every college possible so what do you do? You give up. Not everyone is as fucking flimsy like you. Me? I fucking graduated college, I got myself a life, I did something with myself instead of sitting miserable and hating myself."

The almighty savior, Mark Sloan. How could she possibly forget to thank him for everything he had done for her? Stayed when she was depressed, when she bent because she's so fucking flimsy, where was he? Right by her side, of course. Because he was just so perfect and the best husband that anyone had ever seen. He was so right! Why get a divorce when she was completely entrapped in his kindness?

"You graduated?" Jamie scoffed, trying to ignore the build up of tears. She suddenly laughed, shaking her head. "While I was, uh, while I was trying to throw you a party, where were you, Mark? Hm?"

Silence.

"Oh, you don't remember? Don't worry, I do." She smiled. "You were fucking some beach blonde bimbo who, by the way, you could've seen her roots from space."

"You want to fight about something from, what, eleven years ago?" Mark waved a hand. "Of course, you'd appear in Seattle, and talk about one mistake–"

"One mistake?" Jamie was almost half tempted to lean forward and laugh right in his face. "One fucking mistake? This. This is why we're not staying married."

"Jamie–"

Mark's attempt to get her to listen was broken by the door opening. The door swung open and then swung shut. Both of their narrowed eyes turned towards the door and Jamie couldn't deny that she was a little surprised at who was standing here.

"Okay, I need an empowering speech or sex. Maybe a bit of both–"

"Dara,"

Jamie watched as the woman tensed. Her eyes widened as they shot from the floor, to Jamie, then to Mark, her lip caught between her teeth. She looked like she was the one caught off guard and not someone who had just interrupted a deeply intimate conversation between two ex-lovers. She also moved her eyes toward Mark who now had sunk lower in his seat, face in his hands. His shoulders were tense and he shook his head all the while muttering something to himself. Jamie couldn't help the amused but bitter smile that appeared on her lips as she turned to the other woman.

Dara Hiromi had, on all accounts, been a pain in Jamie's ass since day one. There were multiple factors to this. She'd been Mark's intern all those years ago and had witnessed them fall hard, making comments, and cheering them on while Mark seemed to beg Jamie to save him from her constant chatter. She wasn't sure at what point Mark and Dara had become... well, Mark and Dara but they were a pair. They were something that Jamie had watched with a careful eye back then. They both seemed to have such strong personalities that one would assume clash against one another but they got along so well. If she were one of those staff members outside, she would've placed her bets on Dara being an angry wife.

They got along more than she and Mark had in a long time.

"You look well," Jamie continued in the silence, "Did your marriage work out."

The sudden frown on the woman's face was enough of an answer. "Uh, no–"

"Don't worry, mine didn't either."

Jamie turned back to Mark to find him already staring at her. The absolute disdain made her chest ache before she accepted that this is how it'd always end. A highschool crush, young adult dream, secret romance, marriage, and now a fucking nightmare. She should've guessed that Mark wouldn't ever recuperate the same love she had from him. She should've guessed the outcome when she suggested divorce three years ago. The way his face turned to that emotionless mask as she poured her heart out. He was emotionally stunted, unable to feel the same intensity that she did. That wasn't Jamie's fault, no matter how hard he pressed, it'd always be on his own shoulders.

She could hear the ruffle of Dara's fabric over her shoulder, their stare off had resulted in an uncomfortable silence that left the neurosurgeon behind her the odd man out. "Should I just, uh–"

"Please." Mark pleaded through his clenched teeth, his eyes breaking the endless contact to send Dara a slightly desperate look.

Oh, how quickly the roles could switch.

"No." Jamie suddenly straightened, taking a handful of her jacket and ripping it from the back of the chair she sat. She didn't take her eyes off Mark who now had a clenched jaw and narrowed gaze. "You've got until tonight, Mark. Then I want your signature and to never see you again."

"I'm not signing." Mark repeated for what appeared the hundredth time in fifteen minutes.

Jamie scoffed, rubbing her forehead while she spoke. "You're so pathetic! Why would I want to continue being married when there's no lo–"

"I already told you."

"For benefits?" She countered, incredulously. "That's fucking stupid. I don't want to have your name with mine anymore. I want to be able to breathe without–"

Mark huffed. "Then change your damn name back."

"I don't want to be married to you, Mark!" Jamie finally yelled, closing her eyes to try and calm her racing mind. If the blinds had been opened, she was sure the staff outside would be forced to scramble and report back to anyone else that was curious about her. Mark, however, glared at her with silence. A silence that was filled with tension, so thick and twisted that it couldn't be disarmed with a knife. "I told you three years ago. I'm not give the speech again when you're just gonna fuck someone afterwards again."

A not so subtle glance towards Dara who shifted once more.

Mark's eyes bounced between her own as he slowly sat back down. "You're miserable." He shot back.

"Yeah? And you're alone." Jamie shot back just as bitterly, turning on her heel. She ignored Dara who was looking between them with horrified eyes. "I'm coming back tonight and those better be signed or we'll get someone else involved."

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III. RESPONSE

Meredith wasn't sure what reality she was living in but Mark Sloan having a wife, one that she had hand delivered into chaos, was not one she expected to be in.

She had watched that man burn through the woman faster than a match lit dynamite. She had almost fallen for the charms herself; the way his lips shaped perfectly to his words, eyes hooded as he offered some dirty innuendo that shook her bones but still left her with the remains of being seen. The way Mark Sloan would tuck someone's hair behind their ear, leaning so close that his breath fanned across hot skin. Meredith supposed that he had to charm someone previously to know exactly what to do. Something that would catch the attention of a pretty eyed woman, dazed and filled with awe.

She just never would've guessed that it would be Mark getting a divorce. She never thought she'd ever even hear his name spoken with marriage in the same sentence. (Unless it was about how he had broken up a marriage for being, and his words, "the Dirty Mistress".)

"Do you think he's ugly?"

Meredith dragged her eyes to George who nervously looked upon the office with wide eyes. The blonde was half tempted to tell him that there wasn't a war about to break out. However she didn't know the extent of this woman's wrath– hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"You think Mark Sloan would date someone who was ugly?" Cristina chipped in, sounding rather bored. Her gaze snapped to George with stupidity lacing her browns. "The man kept asking a woman if she needed a rhinoplasty when she was in for breast augmentation last week."

George frowned, tilting his head like an innocent child– or a puppy. Yeah, that's what he resembled. "What does that have to do with his partner being ugly?" He asked slowly.

"Plastic surgeons want perfection, George." Izzie spoke up, bitterness lacing her tone as she crossed her arms over her chest. "They can't waste their time on ugly people– or heartbroken people. They just can't waste their time on anyone but themselves."

The three shared a glance, Meredith's lingering longer on Cristina. The blonde really wasn't interested in asking the other if something had happened between her and Sloan, or her and Alex. She just wanted this day to end so she could relax, drink some tequila, and ask herself how a man like Mark Sloan got a wife.

"Okay, we can't deal with your Karev problems right now." Cristina waved her hand in the air, shaking her head.

"But we have time for Sloan's secret husband or whatever?" Izzie asked incredulously, gesturing towards the blinded office.

"Yes."

"Pretty much."

"Sorry, Iz..."

All three of the others answered separately and Meredith couldn't help the wince of pity she gave to the dejected woman. She was obviously going through something but none of them really had the attention span to devote their whole time to it. Izzie just rolled her eyes and turned back to the office with a glare. Meredith just knew that she was silently cursing whatever drama was brewing in there.

"Also, James is a she," Meredith added, catching George and Cristina looking to her, "she is a woman."

"How do you know?" Izzie asked, frowning slightly.

"I kinda... led her to his office."

"Oh God." Cristina sighed heavily, pressing her hand against her eyes as she shook it. She suddenly appeared very tired. "You're always getting involved in this drama. First McDreamy, then McWife, and now...McWife 2."

Meredith couldn't bring it in herself to disagree. She did always find herself in the middle of some marriage or drama that captivated the hospital as a whole. Derek and Addison. Derek. Derek and Mark. Now, Mark and James.

"No one names their daughter James." Alex suddenly joined them, glancing briefly in Izzie's direction as he came to a stop. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were almost hopeful as he looked towards the office. "Moms find dude names for chicks unethical. Plus, if he's into dudes, it means I've still got a chance at plastics."

"Sloan has some class." Cristina shot back before anyone else could think of a slightly disgusted response. She leaned forward to get in Alex's face. "Have you given him any part of yourself yet."

Alex glared at her, pushing her face away with disgust. "Shut the fuck up, freak." He muttered, gripping the railing in front of them, he followed their gazes back towards the office. "Rumors say that it's Shepherd's brother in there. Any insider details, Grey?"

Meredith flushed. Her eyes snapped to Alex in an instance. She was half tempted to ask him to repeat, hopeful that she misheard but knowing well that she hadn't. Shepherd sibling? Derek had spoken at great lengths about his sisters, even shown her a few photos of them. Liz, Kathleen, Nancy, and Amelia. Derek had very strong opinions about them and went one some rants ever so often when he received calls about or from them. She had never heard anything about James. He had four sisters, who he had grown up with, and was so concerned to take care of. But who the hell was James Shepherd? Surely, it was just another rumor amongst the people to add to the scandal of Mark being married, right?

She was unable to respond to Alex in any capacity. Not just because she was shocked into silence but the office door swung open and hell on heels stomped out with an agend.

"Fuck," Alex breathed.

Fuck. Meredith thought as she suddenly picked apart the woman's entire being. Derek. She needed to see Derek somewhere within the woman and she needed to figure out why the hell he would've kept a sister from her. What was so interesting about this seemingly desperate woman that Derek wouldn't even mention her, having no obviously possessed photos of her out in the open? Maybe she was unbearable– no, no. Meredith had had a short conversation with her but she didn't seem like the boring type. She looked nice but...so incredibly sad.

Maybe she wasn't a sister of his at all!

The pinch between her brow was similar to Derek's whenever he was amused. Her dark blue eyes were like that of the ocean when a fisherman set sail into the night. But her face was not all that similar, she didn't look like Derek compared to Amelia. Meredith couldn't help doubt her instincts–

"James!"

The group's eyes watched as Derek stormed down the corridor, eyes wide and coat flapping behind him as he ran. James made no movement to stop but Meredith had to pause. She watched as he reached her, his hand going out and catching her arm and– fuck, her gut was right.

"I've always had a thing for chick's with dude names."

Meredith was the first to send an ill natured curse in Alex's direction.

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Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. Oh the fucking shitty ass God.

"You didn't even call."

Jamie held her head in her hands as she sat across from her very unhappy brother.

She wasn't sure in what part of divorcing one's husband came the scolding brother, but she was now being exposed to it. Jamie was so used to Derek's anger, it didn't surprise her that his first words to her in years had been that she shouldn't have come. It made her laugh a little. He was there warning her from ever coming and she was so obviously regretful of any advancement she'd made over the three years for herself.

"I didn't think you'd still be here." She responded flatly.

It was the truth. Her mother had told her all about how Addison followed Derek to Seattle, trying to fix their marriage. She had, initially, felt bad that Derek was being subjected to Addison Montgomery doing damage control. Jamie had witnessed it a handful of times in New York when Derek and Addison's marriage was truly failing. Dinners at expensive restaurants, little jokes over dinner, smiles that didn't reach her eyes. She had claimed that Addison was desperate, that she didn't know what to do with her life without Derek. But she wasn't so sure anymore. The thought of Addison lurking in the same area as Mark was enough for Jamie to realize that Addison had discovered a way to live without Derek.

(And she was completely unaware that Derek and Addison had just had a discussion about finally ending their marriage.)

Jamie had watched Derek detach himself from various issues over their entire lives, she would've assumed he ran at the sight of Addison alone. However, here he was, coexisting with the red head and his ex-best friend who had broken both of their hearts.

"Well, here I am." Derek gestured to himself.

Jamie nodded slowly. "Here you are."

She wasn't sure what Derek wanted but it probably had something to do with getting on a one way ticket back to LA and never coming back. That was the guess she was going to place her bets on. She wasn't exactly eager to hear the whole "Jamie, you're a burden to everyone around you, please leave" speech again that had shattered her soul (and self esteem) the first time. She was already knocked down a few pegs due to what Mark had said in his fit of anger, she definitely didn't need whatever it was that Derek was about to offer.

"Did ma send you?" Derek squinted in suspicion. Jamie narrowed her gaze in confusion which made her brother sigh. "Because of the stuff with Meredith and Addison?"

"Who the hell is Meredith?" Jamie asked, incredulously. Derek couldn't muster up an explanation, evident in the way his face screwed up as if he'd made a great mistake on his part. She raised her eyebrows and her lips parted to release a terribly tired sigh. "Please don't tell me you've added another poor woman into the mix."

Derek waved an impassive hand, closing his eyes. "I'm not about to discuss this with you." He muttered.

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you never do." Her phone suddenly vibrated within her pocket. She fished it out with a nervous bite of her lip, seeing the last person she wanted to talk to right now had sent her a frantic text.

Why is Cooper saying you went to Seattle?

Fucking Cooper. Jamie silently cursed the pediatrician under her breath. Shaking her head as she tried to think of a response.

"Look, you need to go back to wherever you're staying now." Derek continued when his half-sister made no apparent move to continue the conversation. "Because I've got myself a life here and Mark to deal with. I can't deal with whatever drama you're bringing too–"

"Did you stop to think that maybe this wasn't about you, Derek?" Jamie snapped, leaning over the table to glare at him openly. Her chin dipped to press against her chest and she witnessed the brief shock that darkened his eyes. "I served Mark divorce papers. That's all I came for. I don't give a shit what woman you're screwing or if you're screwing anyone at all."

Derek remained silent for a woman, cogs in his brain seemed to turn and tick before he stood from the seat he was on and glared down at her. "Be out of here by tonight." He said through clenched teeth.

Don't worry, Jamie watched him stomp away, I will be.

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IV. RULE OF LAW

Mark had never been particularly fond of laws.

Of course, he'd witnessed Jamie's brief adventure into true crime television shows that were so boring he was half tempted to rip his skin right off his face. (Although there was something so unnerving about having a passionate fight with his wife and then her watching how someone got caught for murdering their spouse...) He had heard about probable cause and all the shit about holding someone for twenty-four hours before they'd be released back into the world, fully able to commit any crimes they wanted before they were caught again. He'd watched all that with drooping eyes and thin lips. Barely able to get himself to focus on whatever half baked excuse the cops would come up with on why they didn't catch the killer four victims prior. (No, that man was not charming, they were just idiots.)

Mark had never really witnessed anything involving divorces.

There were those cases, ones he'd gotten with some disdain in his chest, where newly divorced wives would saunter in with hopeful eyes and a beaming smile. They were finally doing something for themselves, outside of what their husbands wanted and so desperately needed for themselves. Mark had watched as they passionately spoke about how constraining marriage was for them. How much they had begun to dread going home, seeing their husband, even breathing his same air. It was cases like that, one that made him linger on the memory of a certain wife of his own. Had she felt that same disdain? Dread of finishing the day to arrive home and see him in her home, eating her food, breathing her air?

Mark never thought he was a bad husband. (Of course, don't ask him where or who he was with on the night of March 5th 2005.) He cooked and he cleaned when he needed to, he listened to her when she was sad. He'd heard husbands who had done less but, maybe, he had heard husbands who did more. But who can honestly look back at the good, or what was the assumed good, and list all the things they'd done right compared to the wrong? It was like asking a doctor if there was anything else he could've done for a patient who had signed a DNR ten years prior; they were dead before they even arrived at the hospital. There was nothing more he could've done, Jamie had already called time of death before he had walked through their home's front door.

He supposed, since it wasn't against the law (or at least, to his knowledge), he hated Jamie more than she could hate herself.

There was a list of things that Mark hated but Jamie had to rank somewhere in there. He hated the way she moved gracefully between rooms, as if she was moving with the air around her and manipulating it for her own gain. He hated the way she could so explicitly show every emotion she was feeling but hide behind the mask she wore. He hated the way that he couldn't even blame her for leaving.

He especially fucking hated when she said he never loved her.

Mark had figured, in the mess of their marriage, of all of their marriage, Jamie had known just how much he loved her. It was one of the only things he had been so sure of while they navigated the chaos of their lives together. One of the definite pieces of Mark's life had been that, at the end of the day, he could turn over in bed and find her beside him and he could love her. He had loved her wholly and completely, with no end.

Well, an end that had started to near when the tiny seeds of doubt were blown up to arguments not devoted to logic or reason. He had never helped the situation. Never really expressed how much he had loved her or how fucking tired– actually, he had. He had told her how tired he was, how he thought she was insane, how she was delusional to look into every simple interaction. It hadn't helped but what the hell was he meant to do? Take it like a man and just wave a hand as if it was just a fly zapping around. At what point had she looked back at all that and decided that the way to fix it– the only way was for them to get a divorce?

She had cried and cried.

She cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. She said that she felt like whatever love they had before, whatever commitment they kept themselves to, was no longer there. There was something awry in the way they were acting. Before he could even ask what had happened to lead her to this, why the hell were they standing a table apart, she had said the magic words.

I want a divorce.

That was a blow to his ego. It was God's huge ass middle finger in his face. While Jamie explained through her tears that it was all a mess and shook under his gaze, he was thinking about how he had wasted years of his life. She had stopped at some point, staring at him with so much pity it made him look towards the table. He offered no reassurance or any type of anger. He clutched his car keys in his hand, shaking his head as he stormed from the dining room and out the door.

An hour later he was found by Derek with Addison. Everything only went to shit from there.

When he arrived back home, it had been darker, more isolated. Jamie was sitting, sunk deep within the cushions of their– his couch. She cradled a glass of liquor in her hands, a scene so terribly depressing that he felt as though he was intruding. He stopped short when her eyes dragged from the TV to him, overflowing with tears, he almost felt guilty. Almost. She looked devastated. If he thought she had a permanent look of despair before, the look on her face then had been utter devastation. It was as if he was the leading cause of death and she had just been diagnosed with him. A terminal illness that would leave her dead, gone, and buried before anyone could even call time of death.

Was it nice? Her voice had been hollow, deserted was the emotions that had fueled her earlier. Did she feel amazing?

He had never responded to that.

Seattle was his opportunity for a fresh start. Kinda. He had told Callie Torres nights prior that he doubted there'd be much of a difference, and she had agreed. A place he was ready to make his own, fuck all to everyone else, was now becoming a little too crowded for him. Sitting on his couch, half a bottle of scotch downed, his next glass clutched in his hand, as he stared at the taunting book that was sitting next to the papers that aws going to seal his fate.

He sighed, leaning forward to clutch the album, flipping the first page and grimacing at how painfully naive they looked in the photo. Jamie, trapped in a white gown that had taken just as long to get out of to get in, was smiling so big that her eyes were barely visible. He looked like an idiot. But they looked happy, they looked– Mark suddenly looked away, feeling more relatable to those pathetic husbands on TV that were reminiscent of their failed marriages, regretful of how it had ended. But hell that had been a whole quarter of his life he was about to say goodbye to. Sisters sending glares, hands clasping onto one another– he ignored the known on his hotel door as he took a mouthful of his scotch.

They looked so–

"Dara sent me."

Mark didn't glance over when Callie spoke, just flipping the page with a dent between his brows, pressing his lips together as if he was trying to recall a distant memory. The woman seemed to wait for him to offer a response but he only took another drink and continued to stare at the page.

Callie sighed as she walked further into the room, letting the door click softly as it locked. She stood beside the table as Mark continued to ignore her. "She said you would ignore me knocking so she gave me the key card. Dara couldn't come because Yue's down with the flu." She attempted to pass some casual conversation but it was obvious that Mark wasn't going to regard it in any capacity. "People are talking, y'know? Everyone's got something to say. From James is a man to you actually left her to raise, like, three kids–"

"I bought her this dress." Mark interrupted.

He shifted slightly to allow Callie to see the paeg. Okay, he'd admit that he was a little drunk and was being incredibly vulnerable with a woman he barely knew. But, in some way, he thought that he was his life. He gave women, some he'd never see again, a vulnerable piece of himself. Scattered but never really the whole picture.

(Callie however was noting how happy Mark looked in the pictures. It wasn't that she thought that man was unhappy, she didn't know him well enough to judge his mental health. She hadn't seen the soon-to-be-ex-wife at the hospital but she'd heard rumors passed all over the halls. She even listened to Dara's encounter as she pressed a cool rag to her daughter's forehead. She was beautiful, Callie would definitely give her that. She had a very toothy smile, eyes scrunched and she leaned deep within Mark's side. What Callie didn't envy was the god awful dress she wore. An apparent sign of the 90's.)

"Carolyn was paying for everything because my dad didn't give two shits about what I was doing." He continued when Callie didn't respond. "I felt bad so I told her that I'd pay for any dress Jamie wanted. Didn't care about the price. I think she got the cheapest one."

"It's pretty." Callie offered softly.

Mark's eyes shot up, a heavy frown on his lips as he narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck you talkin' about, it's hideous."

Callie blinked, shaking her head. "It's just... it's a little ugly."

"You don't have to be scared to say it was ugly, she's not here." Mark chuckled, shrugging a little. "Plus, I told her that night–"

"You told her that her dress was ugly, the night of your wedding?" Callie asked him incredulously. She looked a little peeved as Mark frowned, tilting his head as if he was confused. "No wonder she's been avoiding your ass for three years."

Mark shot her a glare, sighing as he fell back into the couch more. He wasn't exactly in a great mood to be scolded at the moment. He was half compelled to tell Callie thanks for coming over but he didn't need any type of babysitter. But he also knew that it was either Callie taking over his empty chair or Dara constantly calling out of worry. Both were terrible options but he knew that there was definitely a better one.

"What did she want?" Callie asked, sitting down in the seat beside him with a heavy sigh.

"What she asked for three years ago. A divorce." Mark said it simply as if this was a normal occurrence. She raised an eyebrow, personally, she found divorce a pretty serious topic. Like every normal person. But the man who was deep within his own wallow didn't seem to want to match his tone with his emotions. "She's engaged and she can't get married without divorcing me which is honestly a fucking laugh. Jamie getting a divorce is like a-a cannibal swearing they won't eat you when you're sleeping."

"That's pleasant." Callie muttered. "Maybe she's changed."

"Changed so much but she still wears the damn ring." Mark suddenly threw the album back onto the coffee table, running a hand through his hair. "Necklace with the ring on it..."

"Look, if she really wants to get a divorce then maybe it's time to just...let go."

Mark sighed heavily. "Well, she wants them signed in..." he glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes and I'm not ready."

Callie frowned, leaning forward. "Ready for what?"

Mark only smiled bitterly in return.

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V. DECREE

TEXT MESSAGE FROM UNKNOWN

Maybe we should talk this out.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. . .

is this too much for the first chapter?
definitely. do i really care? not that much.

thank yew for reading

( rewritten: 3.24.2022 )