Fic - An Attempt at Reconciliation (Lexie, Mark/Lexie) pg, 1/1
Title: An Attempt at Reconciliation
Summary: She's not sure of her placement here anymore. Lexie isn't quite sure what she wants her placement to be yet, not now with so many things still not reconciled between them.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 1,546 words. Post ep for 7x11. A conversation I need these two to have on the show, but we will more than likely never see. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
Lexie rubs her shoulder with her left hand, flexes her right - in, out, in, out - before letting it fall in her lap soundlessly. She's exhausted - body, bones and mind all aching from it - and she recounts the events of the day in the back of her mind, from beginning to end, and tries to reconcile with herself how it was six months ago that they buried Reed and Percy, since her world and everyone else's around her was turned completely upside down.
It feels like just last week.
It's the job and she gets that. Understands that days like these are par for the course. That the aftermath is a constant reminder, a force to be reckoned with, and she needs to learn how to deal with it in stride, how to compartmentalize it like she does with everything other aspect of her life. Lexie always took things personally though, felt things too deep, took things too far, and she nearly twelve hours later she is still having trouble wrapping her head around how somebody could walk into a classroom full of kids and open fire. How they could change the course of hundreds of lives with just the mere flick of a finger and without so much of an afterthought.
It's the job and Lexie understands, knows the circumstances need to mean absolutely nothing in order for her to do her job and do it well, and an hour into the crisis Lexie had come to her senses. Hung up with the blood bank and went to the pit, got her act together and went about saving a life or two or however many needed her. She had her hand inside Shelley's chest - a blonde girl with spunk who had coded right in the middle of telling Lexie her favorite dirty joke in an attempt to soothe a friend in the next gurney over - when she had an inappropriately timed epiphany. She thought of Mark and that morning, the night before, the past year without him, and realized that whatever she had felt for him in the beginning, whatever she had tried to forget by falling into Alex, never fully went away.
Was never going to fully go away.
It's why she is here now. Why she is sitting on his bed, ESPN on low instead of the news because Lexie doesn't need a recap of the day's events - it's burned into the back of her mind, present every time she closes her eyes. It's why she watches him out of the corner of her eye as he changes from work clothes to jeans and a sweater, smile appreciative as it spreads across her mouth, thankful for his presence.
She looks down and away when he catches her because she feels like she's intruding on some insanely personal moment. Because she still thinks of her and Mark as two separate entities instead of the people they once were, those sorts of people who shared anything and everything at any moment, in any time.
"You want to get something to eat?" Mark asks quietly as he passes her, fingers floating across her shoulders with ease and gentleness. Lexie leans into his touch and shrugs softly in response.
Outside of his room Callie's stuff is strewn over the couch and on the floor, clothes here and there, reminders of the brunette embedded into every inch of the apartment. Lexie starts to pick them up, place them into tiny, neat little piles, but stops midway through folding the first shirt. She's not sure of her placement here anymore. It's different when it is the two of them in her room and in what she considers her home than now in his apartment, on his territory. Lexie isn't quite sure what she wants her placement to be yet, not now with so many things still not reconciled between them.
Mark is pulling out pots and pans and placing them off to the side. Grabs two beers from the fridge, twists off both caps, and pushes one towards her, the glass sliding against granite easily. She's perched on the stool across from him, watching as he glides through the kitchen, eyes the subtle line of his shoulders, the graying hair at his temples and beyond. He looks older than he used to, older than she ever remembers him looking before. It bothers her in a way she can't quite explain.
Lexie sips her beer, fingers picking at the already peeling label. The we should really talk, Mark slips out before she can stop it. Falls past her lips while the bottle is halfway to her mouth. When he looks up from the chicken he's dicing into perfect, uniform strips she gulps down about a third of what's left in the bottle.
He pauses for a just a moment before nodding. "Okay."
"I love you," is what she starts with, bottle tight between her fingers, laugher light as it falls out of her mouth.
Mark grins. "So you said."
"And I'm assuming you still love me."
"Never stopped."
"Which is all great and everything. It's really great, actually," she smiles and sips her beer, watches as he continues slicing the chicken and placing it into the pan next to him. "But we still have the same problems we had before, Mark. They haven't gone away."
He stops again, cheek between his teeth for a moment or two before he continues on slicing the chicken finely, placing it to the side, once piece than another, than another. There is onion to his left and when he finishes with the chicken he reaches for it, fingers grasping tightly as he peels away the skin. She rolls her eyes and finishes her beer, sets the empty bottle to the side. His shoulders tense and release periodically, eyes on his skillful hands instead of her and they used to do this - cook dinner together on their rare nights off, drink and talk about anything but work. She smiles at the memories.
"Will you look at me, please?"
Mark puts the knife to the side and does.
"We're still the same people, Mark. We still want different things. I need to know that you understand that I'm not ready for marriage and kids and promises of forever," she breathes and sighs at once, reaching for the bottle out of sheer need to have something to do with her hands. He's looking at her without really looking at her and Mark has always been good at avoiding things that are right in front of him. They both have, really.
It's how they've managed to get this far.
"Okay."
"I need you to realize that right now my career is the most important thing to me."
"I do."
With a raised eyebrow she asks, "You do?"
Mark smiles and picks back up the knife, slices another onion in half, then in quarters, then begins dicing. The chicken is starting to simmer on low, mixing with the garlic and already cut onions and her stomach growls on reflex - she hasn't eaten since this morning.
"Look, Lexie," Mark begins, "I've had quite a bit of time to think about things this past year. I've had quite a bit of time to move on, too. I tried. It didn't work out," he pauses to smile at her softly, left side of his mouth shifting upwards in a half-smirk as he raises his beer to his lips with his left hand. "It's you. There is nobody else. If you aren't ready now, I'll wait."
"And what if I'm never ready?"
It's a possibility now more than ever. This time inside of five years ago, back in Massachusetts when she was a different person with a different life, it never would have been a question. Some people are born to be mothers. Some people are born to be doctors. Once upon a time Lexie had been adamant about how she was born to be both. Now, she's not so sure. Now there is so much distancing herself from the Lexie of today and the Lexie of then that most days she's having trouble finding which way is up. The lines creasing his forehead tell her that he worries about this too.
"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
It's not the answer she wants, not definite enough for her liking. She is about to open her mouth and say something when Callie comes tumbling in the door. She smells like alcohol and Joe's, words falling between the three of them as she rambles on and on about Arizona and Africa. Lexie tries to understand, but fails miserably.
Mid-stream she stops, stumbling a little bit as she leans against the island in the center of the kitchen, placing herself directly between Mark and Lexie.
"Oh, hey, Little Grey," she says, looking confused for a moment before her mouth spreads into a wide, knowing grin. "What smells so good?"
Mark laughs and so does Lexie, the two of them meeting eyes for a moment. He's smiling at her, so softly you could almost miss if you weren’t sure what to look for, his eyes shining. She's smiling too, and for right then, in that moment, she's happy.
It's enough for right now.
Summary: She's not sure of her placement here anymore. Lexie isn't quite sure what she wants her placement to be yet, not now with so many things still not reconciled between them.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 1,546 words. Post ep for 7x11. A conversation I need these two to have on the show, but we will more than likely never see. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
Lexie rubs her shoulder with her left hand, flexes her right - in, out, in, out - before letting it fall in her lap soundlessly. She's exhausted - body, bones and mind all aching from it - and she recounts the events of the day in the back of her mind, from beginning to end, and tries to reconcile with herself how it was six months ago that they buried Reed and Percy, since her world and everyone else's around her was turned completely upside down.
It feels like just last week.
It's the job and she gets that. Understands that days like these are par for the course. That the aftermath is a constant reminder, a force to be reckoned with, and she needs to learn how to deal with it in stride, how to compartmentalize it like she does with everything other aspect of her life. Lexie always took things personally though, felt things too deep, took things too far, and she nearly twelve hours later she is still having trouble wrapping her head around how somebody could walk into a classroom full of kids and open fire. How they could change the course of hundreds of lives with just the mere flick of a finger and without so much of an afterthought.
It's the job and Lexie understands, knows the circumstances need to mean absolutely nothing in order for her to do her job and do it well, and an hour into the crisis Lexie had come to her senses. Hung up with the blood bank and went to the pit, got her act together and went about saving a life or two or however many needed her. She had her hand inside Shelley's chest - a blonde girl with spunk who had coded right in the middle of telling Lexie her favorite dirty joke in an attempt to soothe a friend in the next gurney over - when she had an inappropriately timed epiphany. She thought of Mark and that morning, the night before, the past year without him, and realized that whatever she had felt for him in the beginning, whatever she had tried to forget by falling into Alex, never fully went away.
Was never going to fully go away.
It's why she is here now. Why she is sitting on his bed, ESPN on low instead of the news because Lexie doesn't need a recap of the day's events - it's burned into the back of her mind, present every time she closes her eyes. It's why she watches him out of the corner of her eye as he changes from work clothes to jeans and a sweater, smile appreciative as it spreads across her mouth, thankful for his presence.
She looks down and away when he catches her because she feels like she's intruding on some insanely personal moment. Because she still thinks of her and Mark as two separate entities instead of the people they once were, those sorts of people who shared anything and everything at any moment, in any time.
"You want to get something to eat?" Mark asks quietly as he passes her, fingers floating across her shoulders with ease and gentleness. Lexie leans into his touch and shrugs softly in response.
Outside of his room Callie's stuff is strewn over the couch and on the floor, clothes here and there, reminders of the brunette embedded into every inch of the apartment. Lexie starts to pick them up, place them into tiny, neat little piles, but stops midway through folding the first shirt. She's not sure of her placement here anymore. It's different when it is the two of them in her room and in what she considers her home than now in his apartment, on his territory. Lexie isn't quite sure what she wants her placement to be yet, not now with so many things still not reconciled between them.
Mark is pulling out pots and pans and placing them off to the side. Grabs two beers from the fridge, twists off both caps, and pushes one towards her, the glass sliding against granite easily. She's perched on the stool across from him, watching as he glides through the kitchen, eyes the subtle line of his shoulders, the graying hair at his temples and beyond. He looks older than he used to, older than she ever remembers him looking before. It bothers her in a way she can't quite explain.
Lexie sips her beer, fingers picking at the already peeling label. The we should really talk, Mark slips out before she can stop it. Falls past her lips while the bottle is halfway to her mouth. When he looks up from the chicken he's dicing into perfect, uniform strips she gulps down about a third of what's left in the bottle.
He pauses for a just a moment before nodding. "Okay."
"I love you," is what she starts with, bottle tight between her fingers, laugher light as it falls out of her mouth.
Mark grins. "So you said."
"And I'm assuming you still love me."
"Never stopped."
"Which is all great and everything. It's really great, actually," she smiles and sips her beer, watches as he continues slicing the chicken and placing it into the pan next to him. "But we still have the same problems we had before, Mark. They haven't gone away."
He stops again, cheek between his teeth for a moment or two before he continues on slicing the chicken finely, placing it to the side, once piece than another, than another. There is onion to his left and when he finishes with the chicken he reaches for it, fingers grasping tightly as he peels away the skin. She rolls her eyes and finishes her beer, sets the empty bottle to the side. His shoulders tense and release periodically, eyes on his skillful hands instead of her and they used to do this - cook dinner together on their rare nights off, drink and talk about anything but work. She smiles at the memories.
"Will you look at me, please?"
Mark puts the knife to the side and does.
"We're still the same people, Mark. We still want different things. I need to know that you understand that I'm not ready for marriage and kids and promises of forever," she breathes and sighs at once, reaching for the bottle out of sheer need to have something to do with her hands. He's looking at her without really looking at her and Mark has always been good at avoiding things that are right in front of him. They both have, really.
It's how they've managed to get this far.
"Okay."
"I need you to realize that right now my career is the most important thing to me."
"I do."
With a raised eyebrow she asks, "You do?"
Mark smiles and picks back up the knife, slices another onion in half, then in quarters, then begins dicing. The chicken is starting to simmer on low, mixing with the garlic and already cut onions and her stomach growls on reflex - she hasn't eaten since this morning.
"Look, Lexie," Mark begins, "I've had quite a bit of time to think about things this past year. I've had quite a bit of time to move on, too. I tried. It didn't work out," he pauses to smile at her softly, left side of his mouth shifting upwards in a half-smirk as he raises his beer to his lips with his left hand. "It's you. There is nobody else. If you aren't ready now, I'll wait."
"And what if I'm never ready?"
It's a possibility now more than ever. This time inside of five years ago, back in Massachusetts when she was a different person with a different life, it never would have been a question. Some people are born to be mothers. Some people are born to be doctors. Once upon a time Lexie had been adamant about how she was born to be both. Now, she's not so sure. Now there is so much distancing herself from the Lexie of today and the Lexie of then that most days she's having trouble finding which way is up. The lines creasing his forehead tell her that he worries about this too.
"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
It's not the answer she wants, not definite enough for her liking. She is about to open her mouth and say something when Callie comes tumbling in the door. She smells like alcohol and Joe's, words falling between the three of them as she rambles on and on about Arizona and Africa. Lexie tries to understand, but fails miserably.
Mid-stream she stops, stumbling a little bit as she leans against the island in the center of the kitchen, placing herself directly between Mark and Lexie.
"Oh, hey, Little Grey," she says, looking confused for a moment before her mouth spreads into a wide, knowing grin. "What smells so good?"
Mark laughs and so does Lexie, the two of them meeting eyes for a moment. He's smiling at her, so softly you could almost miss if you weren’t sure what to look for, his eyes shining. She's smiling too, and for right then, in that moment, she's happy.
It's enough for right now.