Fic - We'll Work Our Way Back to the Start (Lexie, Mark/Lexie, Alex/Lexie) pg, 1/1
Title: We'll Work Our Way Back to the Start
Summary: Two weeks later and now, the aftermath. Some things can't help but to resist change.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 1,950 words. Post 6x22. Written for slybrunette over at the Grey's Drabble-a-thon. This is the product of muscle relaxers, too much wine and too little sleep. Hope it doesn't disappoint you too much. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Con-crit is both welcome and appreciated.
He finds her in the basement, feet curled up underneath her, and she shifts when she sees him, tries to get comfortable on the utterly uncomfortable gurney and lets out a slow breath. Lexie had felt him before she saw him. Recognized the soft pad in his footsteps, the hard gait of his walk and this was always the case, really -- recognizing when he was near without even trying because these are things you learn about people when they are etched into every part of your life.
These are things you don't forget, either.
Mark pauses a few feet away from her, a coffee cup in each of his hands. There is an emotion that flickers across his face -- apprehension, maybe, and Lexie knows him well enough to know he's having an internal debate with himself about what he should and should not say throughout the course of their pending conversation. She squares her shoulders in preparation. Finally, he catches her eye, lips twitching into a half smirk as he raises the coffee cup in his right hand in lieu of an explanation and puts one foot in front of the other and closes the distance between them.
This is two weeks later. Two weeks since the shootings. Two weeks since they buried Reed and Percy, since everything about their lives went downside up. Still, every day, it is a struggle to find her footing each morning.
It is two weeks later and this is the first time they've been along together since he drove her to Seattle Presbyterian to see Alex, since he held her hand and let her fall apart in his arms and promised her everything was going to be okay when he had absolutely no reason to.
"I've been looking for you," he says softly and she takes the coffee he offers with a soft thanks.
Her shift was over two, maybe three hours ago, but there were charts and rounds and lately she has found herself loosing time. Hours and minutes, days even -- time spent in the OR or at Joe's or taking care of Alex. She goes and goes and keeps going because it is easier than staying still long enough to think or feel or grieve. It is easier than closing her eyes at night and reliving the nightmare of this reality.
Lexie has these processes, guidelines she uses to deal with certain things that threaten her carefully structured life, and this is one of them.
With her free hand she pushes her books and charts towards herself to make room for him. The bed shifts under the addition of his weight and there are memories that flood back to her on their own accord. She wills them away, feels the bitter twinge of the ache that starts in her belly and spreads north. She swallows around it.
"George and I used to come down here," she explains softly after a moment and there is another memory now, a different sort of ache, and her throat goes dry.
Mark nods in understanding, as if he actually gets it, and she thinks maybe he does. They've both lost things along the way -- people, parts of themselves, each other. It was Derek too, she muses. Decades of friendship and family and a hell of a lot of mileage that was threatened. There is guilt that will forever be soaked into her bones (she unplugs people, remember?) and it's selfish, she knows, because she is not the only one affected by this. She lives and breathes the aftermath day in and day out, but there are times when she is alone with her thoughts and the blood-stained memories when she forgets that she is not the only one suffering.
"Are you okay?" He asks, and she turns towards him and out of her thoughts, resting a cheek on top of her knees. She sighs and tries to smile, but it is too much effort and gets lost somewhere along the way.
There is a minute, or two, maybe that passes between them before either says a thing and her skin starts to itch. He's watching her and she is overly aware and her fingers tighten around the coffee cup as she sighs.
"Why are you here, Mark?" She asks because she is too exhausted to toe the line between them today.
She doesn't sleep anymore. There are fits and spurts, but most nights she wakes with a start after an hour or two (sometimes even less) with the sight of the barrel of a gun staring her down burned into her memory and Alex's blood etched into her skin. She doesn't sleep, but she still smiles and goes to work in this once sacred place and tires to be the bright and shiny person she supposes she once was.
"I'm worried about you," Mark says quietly. "You spend all this time taking care of Karev," he stops and pauses as she glances at him sharply. "Who is taking care of you?"
Closing her eyes, she exhales. "I can take care of myself," she says, too quiet to completely mean it and she can't handle him like this -- gentle and caring because already her fingers are itching for his, for warmth and contact, and it is too much. It is always too much with him.
Mark smirks. "I know."
When she opens her eyes he is looking at her. She has to look away. "Alex will be back to work in a few days anyway --"
"And then what?"
Lexie's eyes narrow. "What do you mean and then what?"
There is a sigh that leaves his mouth -- heavy and weighted and it flows over her shoulders as it settles between him. He is tired too. She can see it in the way he looks at her, the way his shoulders slouch more than usual. He looks older too -- gray around the edges, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth and she doesn't remember him looking so old before. It makes her sad and miss him all in the same breath.
"He is never going to love you the way that I love you," Mark says, too quiet, and winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. She would shake her head, protest, but she knew this was coming. She has been preparing for it since the elevator ride up to the ICU at Seattle Presbyterian when Mark had looked at her and she had merely shook her head and said I have to do this, Mark as though it explained everything. "He will never love you the way he loved her, either," he looks at her now, eyes pleading almost. "You have to know that, Lexie."
She does. She is the farthest thing from stupid. Her and Alex were never about happily ever afters and they never would be. She doesn't love him, but there are things you say when you are afraid people might die. There are things you say because you might never get another chance to. She could love Alex someday, she thinks, but that is neither here nor there because he has already made his choice. It stings, that knowledge, that reality, but she will not try and pretend like she didn’t know it all along.
"Don’t do that," she replies as she sits up straight, pushing her legs forward in front of her. They ache with exhaustion and she breathes a soft sigh at the movement before continuing. "Don’t be that guy. Don’t make this about you," she continues, soft and without malice, eyes tired and sad as she looks at him. She wants to explain to Mark why she is with Alex and not with him, opens her mouth to do so, but nothing comes out. It’s not that simple. Nothing has ever been that simple between them. "It’s never been about you, Mark, and I don’t understand why you still don’t get that."
Mark taps his fingers against the cup in his hand and looks up and away and she breathes and sighs, shaking her head. She misses him. Every day she misses him. The leaving was easy - it usually is with most people - but the aftermath of her actions, the time spent apart and the sideways looks and longing, seeing him make attempts to move on, that is what is truly difficult.
There is a memory - her on the bathroom floor, crying so hard she couldn’t breathe as she thought about him moving forward without her by his side and Meredith is there saying that’s what you wanted isn’t it?
Maybe it was.
Maybe at some point that was the plan because Mark just pushed and pushed and asked her for things she wasn’t capable of giving then or now or maybe even ever. Lexie is too young to know what she wants out of life concerning children and a home with the backyard the size of Montana. She loved Mark then and she loves him now, but that is not always the deciding factor. It doesn’t fix everything. Already, at just twenty-five, she has sacrificed too much of herself and maybe it is selfish doing this, but there are things she is just not willing to give up for anyone.
"I told you I wasn’t ready. After George, I told you that I needed time and you just kept pushing and pushing until I gave in," she pauses and twists her neck to get the kink out. "I moved in with you because I didn’t want to lose you and I thought okay, I can do this, but then you started making plans for us to adopt your grandchild and have this family -"
Mark’s head twists towards her in a split second, cutting her off. "Sloan is gone. That’s not even an issue anymore -"
"Sloan is not the point. It was never about Sloan. You want things from me that I cannot and will not give you right now… maybe not ever. I don’t know if I want children. I don’t even know if I really want to stay in Seattle for the rest of my life," she says and her eyes close as she winces at the tone of her voice. She is quiet when she begins again, "All I know is that I want my career. I want to be a great surgeon, Mark. A spectacular, legendary surgeon. You of all people should understand that."
He stays quiet for a long time, coffee cup in his hand, feet dangling over the edge of the gurney. Lexie looks at him and he doesn’t look at her and knots tighten in her stomach.
There are moments, she supposes. Moments that are suppose to make a person realize what they want, what they can’t live without, and prompt them to go after it.
Two weeks ago was one of those moments, she knows that.
Is it so wrong that she chose herself?
"Okay," Mark finally says, so quiet she has to strain to hear it.
Something catches in her throat and when he looks at her, finally, there is the tiniest, saddest smile on his face that it breaks something deep within her. I love you, she thinks, but does not say and instead just reaches for his hand and breathes something akin to relief when he lets her, his fingers intertwining with hers and tightening.
"Okay," he says again and Lexie is quiet as she stares at their hands.
Summary: Two weeks later and now, the aftermath. Some things can't help but to resist change.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 1,950 words. Post 6x22. Written for slybrunette over at the Grey's Drabble-a-thon. This is the product of muscle relaxers, too much wine and too little sleep. Hope it doesn't disappoint you too much. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Con-crit is both welcome and appreciated.
He finds her in the basement, feet curled up underneath her, and she shifts when she sees him, tries to get comfortable on the utterly uncomfortable gurney and lets out a slow breath. Lexie had felt him before she saw him. Recognized the soft pad in his footsteps, the hard gait of his walk and this was always the case, really -- recognizing when he was near without even trying because these are things you learn about people when they are etched into every part of your life.
These are things you don't forget, either.
Mark pauses a few feet away from her, a coffee cup in each of his hands. There is an emotion that flickers across his face -- apprehension, maybe, and Lexie knows him well enough to know he's having an internal debate with himself about what he should and should not say throughout the course of their pending conversation. She squares her shoulders in preparation. Finally, he catches her eye, lips twitching into a half smirk as he raises the coffee cup in his right hand in lieu of an explanation and puts one foot in front of the other and closes the distance between them.
This is two weeks later. Two weeks since the shootings. Two weeks since they buried Reed and Percy, since everything about their lives went downside up. Still, every day, it is a struggle to find her footing each morning.
It is two weeks later and this is the first time they've been along together since he drove her to Seattle Presbyterian to see Alex, since he held her hand and let her fall apart in his arms and promised her everything was going to be okay when he had absolutely no reason to.
"I've been looking for you," he says softly and she takes the coffee he offers with a soft thanks.
Her shift was over two, maybe three hours ago, but there were charts and rounds and lately she has found herself loosing time. Hours and minutes, days even -- time spent in the OR or at Joe's or taking care of Alex. She goes and goes and keeps going because it is easier than staying still long enough to think or feel or grieve. It is easier than closing her eyes at night and reliving the nightmare of this reality.
Lexie has these processes, guidelines she uses to deal with certain things that threaten her carefully structured life, and this is one of them.
With her free hand she pushes her books and charts towards herself to make room for him. The bed shifts under the addition of his weight and there are memories that flood back to her on their own accord. She wills them away, feels the bitter twinge of the ache that starts in her belly and spreads north. She swallows around it.
"George and I used to come down here," she explains softly after a moment and there is another memory now, a different sort of ache, and her throat goes dry.
Mark nods in understanding, as if he actually gets it, and she thinks maybe he does. They've both lost things along the way -- people, parts of themselves, each other. It was Derek too, she muses. Decades of friendship and family and a hell of a lot of mileage that was threatened. There is guilt that will forever be soaked into her bones (she unplugs people, remember?) and it's selfish, she knows, because she is not the only one affected by this. She lives and breathes the aftermath day in and day out, but there are times when she is alone with her thoughts and the blood-stained memories when she forgets that she is not the only one suffering.
"Are you okay?" He asks, and she turns towards him and out of her thoughts, resting a cheek on top of her knees. She sighs and tries to smile, but it is too much effort and gets lost somewhere along the way.
There is a minute, or two, maybe that passes between them before either says a thing and her skin starts to itch. He's watching her and she is overly aware and her fingers tighten around the coffee cup as she sighs.
"Why are you here, Mark?" She asks because she is too exhausted to toe the line between them today.
She doesn't sleep anymore. There are fits and spurts, but most nights she wakes with a start after an hour or two (sometimes even less) with the sight of the barrel of a gun staring her down burned into her memory and Alex's blood etched into her skin. She doesn't sleep, but she still smiles and goes to work in this once sacred place and tires to be the bright and shiny person she supposes she once was.
"I'm worried about you," Mark says quietly. "You spend all this time taking care of Karev," he stops and pauses as she glances at him sharply. "Who is taking care of you?"
Closing her eyes, she exhales. "I can take care of myself," she says, too quiet to completely mean it and she can't handle him like this -- gentle and caring because already her fingers are itching for his, for warmth and contact, and it is too much. It is always too much with him.
Mark smirks. "I know."
When she opens her eyes he is looking at her. She has to look away. "Alex will be back to work in a few days anyway --"
"And then what?"
Lexie's eyes narrow. "What do you mean and then what?"
There is a sigh that leaves his mouth -- heavy and weighted and it flows over her shoulders as it settles between him. He is tired too. She can see it in the way he looks at her, the way his shoulders slouch more than usual. He looks older too -- gray around the edges, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth and she doesn't remember him looking so old before. It makes her sad and miss him all in the same breath.
"He is never going to love you the way that I love you," Mark says, too quiet, and winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. She would shake her head, protest, but she knew this was coming. She has been preparing for it since the elevator ride up to the ICU at Seattle Presbyterian when Mark had looked at her and she had merely shook her head and said I have to do this, Mark as though it explained everything. "He will never love you the way he loved her, either," he looks at her now, eyes pleading almost. "You have to know that, Lexie."
She does. She is the farthest thing from stupid. Her and Alex were never about happily ever afters and they never would be. She doesn't love him, but there are things you say when you are afraid people might die. There are things you say because you might never get another chance to. She could love Alex someday, she thinks, but that is neither here nor there because he has already made his choice. It stings, that knowledge, that reality, but she will not try and pretend like she didn’t know it all along.
"Don’t do that," she replies as she sits up straight, pushing her legs forward in front of her. They ache with exhaustion and she breathes a soft sigh at the movement before continuing. "Don’t be that guy. Don’t make this about you," she continues, soft and without malice, eyes tired and sad as she looks at him. She wants to explain to Mark why she is with Alex and not with him, opens her mouth to do so, but nothing comes out. It’s not that simple. Nothing has ever been that simple between them. "It’s never been about you, Mark, and I don’t understand why you still don’t get that."
Mark taps his fingers against the cup in his hand and looks up and away and she breathes and sighs, shaking her head. She misses him. Every day she misses him. The leaving was easy - it usually is with most people - but the aftermath of her actions, the time spent apart and the sideways looks and longing, seeing him make attempts to move on, that is what is truly difficult.
There is a memory - her on the bathroom floor, crying so hard she couldn’t breathe as she thought about him moving forward without her by his side and Meredith is there saying that’s what you wanted isn’t it?
Maybe it was.
Maybe at some point that was the plan because Mark just pushed and pushed and asked her for things she wasn’t capable of giving then or now or maybe even ever. Lexie is too young to know what she wants out of life concerning children and a home with the backyard the size of Montana. She loved Mark then and she loves him now, but that is not always the deciding factor. It doesn’t fix everything. Already, at just twenty-five, she has sacrificed too much of herself and maybe it is selfish doing this, but there are things she is just not willing to give up for anyone.
"I told you I wasn’t ready. After George, I told you that I needed time and you just kept pushing and pushing until I gave in," she pauses and twists her neck to get the kink out. "I moved in with you because I didn’t want to lose you and I thought okay, I can do this, but then you started making plans for us to adopt your grandchild and have this family -"
Mark’s head twists towards her in a split second, cutting her off. "Sloan is gone. That’s not even an issue anymore -"
"Sloan is not the point. It was never about Sloan. You want things from me that I cannot and will not give you right now… maybe not ever. I don’t know if I want children. I don’t even know if I really want to stay in Seattle for the rest of my life," she says and her eyes close as she winces at the tone of her voice. She is quiet when she begins again, "All I know is that I want my career. I want to be a great surgeon, Mark. A spectacular, legendary surgeon. You of all people should understand that."
He stays quiet for a long time, coffee cup in his hand, feet dangling over the edge of the gurney. Lexie looks at him and he doesn’t look at her and knots tighten in her stomach.
There are moments, she supposes. Moments that are suppose to make a person realize what they want, what they can’t live without, and prompt them to go after it.
Two weeks ago was one of those moments, she knows that.
Is it so wrong that she chose herself?
"Okay," Mark finally says, so quiet she has to strain to hear it.
Something catches in her throat and when he looks at her, finally, there is the tiniest, saddest smile on his face that it breaks something deep within her. I love you, she thinks, but does not say and instead just reaches for his hand and breathes something akin to relief when he lets her, his fingers intertwining with hers and tightening.
"Okay," he says again and Lexie is quiet as she stares at their hands.