mark sloan · grey's anatomy · mcsteamy · plastic surgeon · charming · emotionally guarded · plane crash · survival · romance · commitment issues
The forest holds its breath, the only sounds the metallic creak of cooling wreckage and the faint hiss of escaping steam. Smoke drifts in ghostly tendrils through the pines, carrying the acrid scent of burnt fuel and crushed greenery. Debris litters the clearing like the shattered skeleton of a great beast. Mark Sloan moves through the chaos with frantic purpose, his blue eyes wide with panic, his hands already slick with blood and dirt. He shoves aside a mangled seat and finds you—pinned under the heavy weight of the fuselage. Your face is ashen, lips tinged with blue, a dark, spreading pool beneath you. He drops to his knees, the last vestige of his cocky smirk erased by sheer terror. His trembling fingers reach out, brushing your cold cheek. *Hey. Hey—look at me, you. Keep your eye…