Occasions: We Give Thanks 2/2
Title: Occasions: We Give Thanks 2/2
Author: KelNY7
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mark/Lexie
Disclaimer: I do not own Mark, Lexie, or Grey's Anatomy
My apologies for not getting this posted until now...I'm a day late and a dollar short to the party :( Hopefully you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and were able to spend time with family and friends yesterday.
Wednesday
Mark leaves the hospital at a run, he’s late and she’s going to be pissed. His last surgery ran over and when she waved goodbye from the gallery above, he’d nodded his head, letting her know that he’d be home. But then the patient blew an artery and without a cardio attending on staff, he and Callie had to make due with their two hands. Luckily, they got the bleed under control and were able to close, but a simple ninety minute surgery turned into a three hour bloodbath of defibrillation and cardiac massage. In the end, he’s two hours late leaving the hospital and he’s got to get home to help Lexie. She’s nervous, and he’s certain it’s without merit. But telling her that she’ll be just fine and that her meal will be a hit isn’t going to convince her. So he needs to get home quickly so he can help her bake four pumpkin pies. He smiles as he recalls their conversation about the excessive number of pies. Lexie, ever the gracious hostess, worries that two pies won’t be enough, that three pies might look like she’s rationing slice sizes, and that four pies looks like they are all pigs. In the end, he managed to talk her into four pies by promising that if they had extras, he’d bring them home and eat them straight out of the pie pan.
He crosses the street with an alert eye on traffic, something he’s noticed himself and all the other doctor’s doing since O’Malley’s unfortunate accident. Once he’s entering their apartment building, he chances a look at his blackberry and finds he has three missed calls, all from Lexie. There’s no voicemail because she has an aversion to leaving a message unless the subject of her call is of major importance. “I just don’t like leaving messages, I tend to ramble,” she’d said in defense of her actions.
The elevator to the fifth floor is slower than he remembers it ever being, stopping at every floor to allow husbands and wives return home to their families. He realizes that he’s exactly like them. It’s shocking, even though he knows he’s in a committed relationship and has been for quite some time; that he’s a part of a fraternity like this. That he is considered a boyfriend, and a good boyfriend at that, is something of a miracle. When he finally arrives at the door, he shoves the key in the lock and runs in the house, expecting to see Lexie sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in hand and four pies cooling on a rack in the kitchen. Instead he finds the kitchen a mess and his Lexie nearly in tears. “Baby, what happened here?” he asks, rushing into the kitchen after dropping his jacket and bag.
Lexie, covered head to toe in flour, pumpkin, and cinnamon, rushes into his arms, heedless of the mess she’s getting all over his clean clothes. “I can’t make a damn pie!” she laments, unable to catch her breath over the sobs wracking her body.
“Of course you can,” he reassures. “You make pecan pies all the time.”
“Because that’s my mother’s recipe. I don’t know my mother’s pumpkin pie recipe, so I used the one on the pumpkin can. But it doesn’t taste right, so I must be missing an ingredient or something.”
She shakes her head, clearly disgusted with her inability, and lays her head back against Mark’s shoulder.
“Here, Lex,” he directs. “Let’s look at this recipe and see what’s going on.”
He finds a fork and takes a bite straight from the center of an already ruined pie. Mark wills himself to not have the obvious reaction of a quick frown and spitting out the uneaten pie. Instead, he chews and swallows the entire bite before grabbing one of the empty cans of pumpkin and reading the recipe word for word, hoping for some insight about the problem. When he spots it, he’s shocked she didn’t pick up on it immediately. “Lexie, how many times have we said that we hate cloves?”
“I know, but the recipe called for it, so I thought I should include them,” she says.
“Let’s try one without the cloves, okay? Did you buy enough ingredients for us to bake a few extra pies, just in case?” he asks, hedging his bet.
“I bought enough to make eight pies,” Lexie admits.
“Come here,” Mark says, opening his arms again and wrapping them tightly around her shoulders.
“Everything is going to be alright, okay? We’re going to fix this. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“It’s not your fault. You had surgery, that’s how it goes. I just wish I had paid attention when my mother made the pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.”
Mark doesn’t say anything, there’s nothing he can say to make her feel better right now. Though he may not be a professional at being a boyfriend, he knows that this breakdown is about more than a botched pie. “I just thought I could learn the pumpkin pie thing someday in the future. I took advantage of being a kid and I didn’t spend time making the pumpkin pie with my mom, so I don’t know anything about how she made it. But Mark, she made the best pumpkin pie. And you and Derek are so fond of Mrs. Shepherd’s pumpkin pie and I just wish I knew my mother’s recipe,” she cries into his shirt.
“Shhh,” Mark says, hoping her sobs will subside as he rubs a firm hand up and down her back.
“Lexie, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Everybody’s mom makes pumpkin pie based on the recipe on the can. It’s just another Thanksgiving tradition, as important as hand traced turkeys,” he says. “Mrs. Shepherd used to read the recipe right off the can and she always left out the cloves. I’m willing to bet that your mother did the same thing. So let’s try that. We can do that together, can’t we?”
Lexie nods, wiping her eyes with a gentle hand and pushing her hands against his arms to stand fully on her own feet. They stand in the kitchen together, combining all the ingredients, save the cloves, and placing the contents into the waiting pie shells. Mark teases her about being a pumpkin covered mess and she reminds him how that turned out at Halloween. Mark muses, privately, that it wasn’t so long ago that he was worried about telling her that he loved her and now they are creating Thanksgiving traditions of their own. “I love you,” he says, right after they slip the first pie in the oven.
“I love you too,” she replies, kissing him as they stand back to admire their hard work baking in the oven.
“We should get out of these clothes. I think I remember how to pre-treat pumpkin stains.”
“Lex, we still have three pies to make. I think we should stick with the status quo on the clothes,” he smirks.
She smiles sheepishly, having forgotten the necessity to make the additional pies. “I’m not sure I can do this,” she admits. “My mother always did Thanksgiving. I’ve never had to do it by myself.”
Mark walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “You are going to be just fine. And you never have to do anything by yourself. You’ll always have me to help you; that’s the definition of being in love.”
“I’m not making mashed potatoes. Do you think Meredith will be pissed?”
“I think Meredith can kiss my ass if she is,” Mark says, kissing Lexie’s temple. “She didn’t have an opinion when you asked her before, so she damn well better not have an opinion tomorrow.”
“It’s her house, so it’s technically her Thanksgiving,” Lexie insists.
“It’s our Thanksgiving, Lex. Just think of it as our Thanksgiving and everything will be perfect.”
She smiles, seemingly accepting his explanation. The oven buzzes and Mark moves to take the finished pie out. This one looks much more edible and Mark lightly dips a spoon in the edge to take out a small bite. Feeding the first taste to Lexie, he sees a bright smile erupt on her face before he takes the final taste. “It tastes just like my mother’s,” she smiles.
“And just like Mrs. Shepherd’s too,” Mark says.
“I love you,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss against his cheek.
“See, I told you it would be fine,” Mark replies.
Later that night, Mark and Lexie curl up on the couch, each holding a glass of red wine. The four pies sit on the cooling rack on the counter and they are watching David Letterman’s monologue. It’s exactly how Mark pictured this evening going, even if it’s taken three hours and a change of clothes to accomplish it.
Thursday, Thanksgiving
The alarm goes off at 8am and Mark leans over top of Lexie to slap an angry hand against the buzzer. He pulls his hand back and wraps it around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his body. “We have to get up,” Lexie mumbles, sleep invading her voice.
“No,” Mark says, clearly more awake than he wants to be in this moment.
“We have to. If we don’t get up now and get over there, we’ll miss the beginning of the parade and then the turkey won’t have enough time to cook. And then we’ll be behind on everything else,” Lexie says, worry creeping into her voice.
“Okay, okay,” Mark relents, lifting his arm and allowing her to slip from beneath the sheets.
Thirty minutes later, they pull into Meredith’s driveway and park. Mark hops out of the driver’s side carrying their Starbucks coffees and scones. Lexie grabs the pies from the backseat and waits for Mark to unlock the door. Upon entering the house, it’s clear to both of them that Meredith and Derek are still sleeping and there’s not a soul stirring in the house. “I’m going to kick his ass,” Mark hisses, still seething that his warm bed is empty at home.
“Hush,” Lexie scolds him, setting the pies on the kitchen table and well out of the way. “Turn on the TV, I don’t want to miss the beginning of the parade.
Mark moves to the kitchen TV and flips it to the Macy’s parade. Lexie mentioned last night how much she loved watching it as a child and Mark couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the parade on television, he’s always watched it from his apartment window and cursed the day because there was no way he could get takeout at lunch. But things are different now and he’s actually looking forward to the parade because he wants to see the childlike reactions he knows Lexie is going to have. He grabs the first coffee he comes to, taking a large swig before grimacing. “Damn, it’s yours,” he says, passing her the coffee.
“You don’t like the White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha?” she teases.
“You are not funny. It’s too damn early,” Mark responds, moving to get plates for their breakfast.
Lexie’s already pulled the turkey out of the refrigerator and she’s placing it beside the waiting roaster plugged in on the countertop. She’s never cooked a whole turkey before and she’s scared out of her mind, because really, she was never supposed to have this responsibility. In an ideal world, her mother would be preparing this dinner and she would be sitting on the couch wrapped up in Mark, watching the parade. But the ideal world doesn’t exist anymore. And even though she’s more happy than ever in her romantic relationship, she can’t help but long for the days when her mother was always there. Mark wraps a reassuring arm around her middle as she starts to baste the turkey with a mixture of butter, olive oil, and seasoning. “You are going to be the Queen of the Kitchen,” he mumbles against her still damp hair before placing a kiss there.
She smiles, leaning back against his strong, hard body, relishing the feeling of safety and comfort she feels against him. Their romantic moment is interrupted by the sound of feet padding down the back stairs. Mark turns his head to acknowledge the intruder while Lexie continues to prepare the turkey. “What the hell?” Derek asks, his hair disheveled and his eyes dark from sleep.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Mark shrugs as though this is the most normal thing in the world. “Dinner doesn’t get to the table without a cook. So here we are.”
Derek shakes his head, clearly not ready to deal with the idea of Thanksgiving yet, and returns to the steps, leaving Mark and Lexie alone in the kitchen again. Lexie motions to Mark, indicating that she’s ready to put the turkey in the roaster and he helps her arrange the lifting strings and everything perfectly. Lexie turns on the roaster and steps away to admire her work. “Let the games begin,” she smiles.
Three hours later the house is bustling with new guests arriving all the time. Christina and Owen are drowning their sorrows in their alcoholic beverages, he watches the window intently, unsure of how he fits in this scenario. And Christina stares at Lexie and Mark, who are still in the kitchen cooking together and smiling at each other over their individual tasks of either adding marshmallows to the sweet potato casserole or shredding Swiss cheese for the green bean casserole. It’s not that Christina is jealous of what they have; it’s that she just doesn’t understand it. It looks like an unselfish love and she’s not sure how they can accomplish that kind of a relationship while still being cut throat surgeons. It confuses and confounds her.
Callie and Arizona bustle around the living room, setting the table and filling glasses with water and wine in preparation. Alex, who hadn’t originally been happy about attending a holiday celebration, is actually smiling and having a lengthy conversation with Dr. Bailey who is helping herself to a mixed drink from the bar beside the table. Thatcher, true to his promise to Lexie, shows up just before dinner is served, not wanting to cause a scene with Meredith. Lexie darts from behind the kitchen island to wrap him in a warm hug. “Hi dad. I’m so glad you came,” she whispers against his cheek before loosening her grip on his shoulders.
“Hey kid,” Thatcher says with a warm smile and reaches for Mark’s hand, pulling him into a man-hug.
“Good to see you Thatcher,” Mark says, clapping a firm hand on Thatcher’s shoulder.
“How are my two favorite kids?”
“We’re good Dad. I’m so nervous about dinner though,” Lexie admits.
“You are your mother’s daughter, you’re doing perfectly,” Thatcher reassures her.
“That’s what I’ve been saying all week,” Mark agrees, sliding an arm comfortably around Lexie’s waist.
“It never worked on Susan either,” Thatcher muses.
Lexie feels the air catch in her lungs and she’s momentarily frozen in a moment. She’s always wanted to be just like her mother. She wants to be the perfect wife, mother, and lover. And it almost hurts her heart to hear her father compare her to her mother. It’s the best compliment he could ever offer her and she’s not quite sure how to respond. “Thank you Dad,” she breathes, leaving Mark’s embrace briefly to hug her father again.
“Hey Thatcher,” Meredith says, returning from the living room to the kitchen.
“Meredith. How are you feeling?” Thatcher asks, releasing Lexie.
“I’m well,” Meredith smiles, pulling her lips into a tight line. “Make yourself at home. Although, I guess this is your home. So…whatever.”
Meredith clearly isn’t as comfortable with having Thatcher Grey in her house as she’d led Lexie to believe. Lexie sends Meredith a quick glance of reassurance. Derek swoops into the kitchen before Meredith can open her mouth to form some sort of response to her supposed father. “Thatcher, so nice of you to join us,” Derek says, extending his hand.
Thatcher shakes Derek’s hand with a formality not present in his greeting with Mark, “Thank you for the invitation,” he responds, nodding his head.
“Dinner is ready,” Lexie says, hoping to return the environment in the kitchen to one of happiness and joy rather than one of tension and discomfort.
The table is clearly set at an advantage to Meredith with her being at the head of the table. Lexie flanks her right side, with Mark sitting next to her and then Thatcher. On Meredith’s other side is Derek, followed by Christina and Owen, then Alex. Callie, as is her usual nature, made quick conversation with Thatcher and demands to sit next to him with Arizona on her other side. At the end of the table, Bailey takes the final open seat next to Alex, saying “You need a date tonight, Karev. And I’m better than most, don’t you agree?”
They begin passing dishes of food from one end of the table to another, filling their plates with helpings of sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese, stuffing, sautéed spinach, cranberry sauce, and the all important turkey. When the turkey reaches Mark, he first serves Lexie’s plate and then his own. Lexie smiles and cocks her head to the side, looking for some sort of reason for the intimate gesture. “The cook should never serve herself. Especially when she’s gone far above and beyond the call of duty,” he explains, leaning in to kiss her gently.
The table starts to eat in silence, most of them concentrating on what they should be thankful for and the things they aren’t thankful for. It’s been a trying year at Seattle Grace and there are three notable missing faces at this table. One is gone forever and the other two have recently lost their minds. But no one speaks of Izzie or the Chief, instead preferring to remember better days when the two would have been welcomed to the table. But the sting of missing George seems to be too much for some at the table. Meredith looks longingly at the seat Lexie occupies and it becomes clear to Lexie that George once sat here for Thanksgiving. She swallows the bite of food she’s been chewing, leaning over to Meredith, “You should have said something; maybe we should have left an open place?”
“What good would that do?” Meredith reasons. “That’s not what he would have wanted.”
Lexie squeezes Meredith’s waiting hand and nods, knowing that she’s right. “We should toast,” Meredith says to the table. “First to our family, those with us and those not with us, and second to our brilliant cook, my sister. Happy Thanksgiving!”
The table raises their wine glasses in a small salute and Lexie giggles at the attention, unable to keep the childlike happiness from her face. Mark presses a chaste kiss against her neck and nuzzles his nose to her ear before whispering, “I told you so,” against her soft skin.
Mark also isn’t oblivious to the fact that the relationships around the table look rather bleak, save himself and Lexie. Most of the other couples and guests avoid in depth conversation and intimate gestures, preferring to leave their personal lives outside the door of the fraternity house Mark has grown to love over the last few months. Instead they sit, exploring conversations with other friends, trying to drown their troubles in food and wine. Among these friends, Mark realizes how much he’s grown over the last year. Ordinarily, he would have been sitting at the end of the table, avoiding conversation and closing himself off from the people around him. But now, tonight, he’s looking at Lexie and he knows he loves her. He loves her and she’s what matters to him.
Three hours later, with the dishes packed and put away at Meredith’s house, Lexie snuggles into the sheets of her and Mark’s bed. Her body aches, her legs throbbing from standing still all day in the kitchen, and she settles back against the pillows. “Mark,” she calls softly, “aren’t you coming to bed?”
Mark appears at the doorframe holding the one remaining pumpkin pie with an ample dollop of whipped cream and a fork, “I made a promise, didn’t I?” he smirks.
Lexie smiles jubilantly, finally able to relax after the day’s insanity. “You did,” she agrees.
Mark takes his usual place next to her and proceeds to snuggle next to her, hoping to steal a bit of her warmth for himself. He pierces the pie right in the center and offers the first bite to Lexie. She covers the fork with her lips and closes her eyes, enjoying the simplistic taste of a beautifully baked pie. “Hmmm,” she murmurs as he pulls the fork from her mouth and guides a bite to his own mouth.
“Here’s to the perfect Thanksgiving,” Mark says.
“It was a perfect Thanksgiving,” Lexie replies, kissing him fully on the mouth.
Friday
The alarm sounds at 4:30 and Lexie bolts upright in bed. She’s only gotten five hours of sleep and she’s completely exhausted. But today is Black Friday. For every year that she can remember, her mother took her shopping on Black Friday and they spent the majority of the day browsing through sales racks and buying every piece of clothing that might possibly fit either one of them. Last night, Meredith promised to join Lexie for a morning of shopping, but only until noon, because Meredith’s shift at the hospital starts at two today. So, Lexie gets up, moving as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake Mark from his dream filled sleep. But, true to form, Mark stirs once he realizes he’s been left alone in the bed, “Lex?”
“Go back to sleep, Mark,” she insists.
“You too?”
“No, I’m going shopping with Meredith.”
“You should come back to bed. You have to be tired; you need more sleep,” he reasons.
“I’ll be back around noon and we can take a long nap then, sound okay?”
“Don’t leave,” Mark begs.
“I can’t buy your present if you don’t let me go shopping,” Lexie teases.
“You’re buying my present today?” he asks.
“Maybe,” she responds.
“Fine,” he relents, kissing the hand he’s held tight during their exchange.
“I’ll be back later,” Lexie promises before kissing his lips and leaving the bedroom.
After the door shuts, Mark tries to go back to sleep but there’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind. He’s so sleep deprived that he can’t seem to put a finger on what he’s missing in this scenario and the warm sheets are beckoning him to let it go and just sleep. But the thought just won’t leave him alone and for ten minutes he goes through his to do list until the thought strikes him. He has no idea what to get Lexie for Christmas. He nearly jumps out of the bed at the realization and his eyes bug out. “Shit,” he breathes and he knows it’s going to be a long December.
Author: KelNY7
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mark/Lexie
Disclaimer: I do not own Mark, Lexie, or Grey's Anatomy
My apologies for not getting this posted until now...I'm a day late and a dollar short to the party :( Hopefully you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and were able to spend time with family and friends yesterday.
Wednesday
Mark leaves the hospital at a run, he’s late and she’s going to be pissed. His last surgery ran over and when she waved goodbye from the gallery above, he’d nodded his head, letting her know that he’d be home. But then the patient blew an artery and without a cardio attending on staff, he and Callie had to make due with their two hands. Luckily, they got the bleed under control and were able to close, but a simple ninety minute surgery turned into a three hour bloodbath of defibrillation and cardiac massage. In the end, he’s two hours late leaving the hospital and he’s got to get home to help Lexie. She’s nervous, and he’s certain it’s without merit. But telling her that she’ll be just fine and that her meal will be a hit isn’t going to convince her. So he needs to get home quickly so he can help her bake four pumpkin pies. He smiles as he recalls their conversation about the excessive number of pies. Lexie, ever the gracious hostess, worries that two pies won’t be enough, that three pies might look like she’s rationing slice sizes, and that four pies looks like they are all pigs. In the end, he managed to talk her into four pies by promising that if they had extras, he’d bring them home and eat them straight out of the pie pan.
He crosses the street with an alert eye on traffic, something he’s noticed himself and all the other doctor’s doing since O’Malley’s unfortunate accident. Once he’s entering their apartment building, he chances a look at his blackberry and finds he has three missed calls, all from Lexie. There’s no voicemail because she has an aversion to leaving a message unless the subject of her call is of major importance. “I just don’t like leaving messages, I tend to ramble,” she’d said in defense of her actions.
The elevator to the fifth floor is slower than he remembers it ever being, stopping at every floor to allow husbands and wives return home to their families. He realizes that he’s exactly like them. It’s shocking, even though he knows he’s in a committed relationship and has been for quite some time; that he’s a part of a fraternity like this. That he is considered a boyfriend, and a good boyfriend at that, is something of a miracle. When he finally arrives at the door, he shoves the key in the lock and runs in the house, expecting to see Lexie sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in hand and four pies cooling on a rack in the kitchen. Instead he finds the kitchen a mess and his Lexie nearly in tears. “Baby, what happened here?” he asks, rushing into the kitchen after dropping his jacket and bag.
Lexie, covered head to toe in flour, pumpkin, and cinnamon, rushes into his arms, heedless of the mess she’s getting all over his clean clothes. “I can’t make a damn pie!” she laments, unable to catch her breath over the sobs wracking her body.
“Of course you can,” he reassures. “You make pecan pies all the time.”
“Because that’s my mother’s recipe. I don’t know my mother’s pumpkin pie recipe, so I used the one on the pumpkin can. But it doesn’t taste right, so I must be missing an ingredient or something.”
She shakes her head, clearly disgusted with her inability, and lays her head back against Mark’s shoulder.
“Here, Lex,” he directs. “Let’s look at this recipe and see what’s going on.”
He finds a fork and takes a bite straight from the center of an already ruined pie. Mark wills himself to not have the obvious reaction of a quick frown and spitting out the uneaten pie. Instead, he chews and swallows the entire bite before grabbing one of the empty cans of pumpkin and reading the recipe word for word, hoping for some insight about the problem. When he spots it, he’s shocked she didn’t pick up on it immediately. “Lexie, how many times have we said that we hate cloves?”
“I know, but the recipe called for it, so I thought I should include them,” she says.
“Let’s try one without the cloves, okay? Did you buy enough ingredients for us to bake a few extra pies, just in case?” he asks, hedging his bet.
“I bought enough to make eight pies,” Lexie admits.
“Come here,” Mark says, opening his arms again and wrapping them tightly around her shoulders.
“Everything is going to be alright, okay? We’re going to fix this. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“It’s not your fault. You had surgery, that’s how it goes. I just wish I had paid attention when my mother made the pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.”
Mark doesn’t say anything, there’s nothing he can say to make her feel better right now. Though he may not be a professional at being a boyfriend, he knows that this breakdown is about more than a botched pie. “I just thought I could learn the pumpkin pie thing someday in the future. I took advantage of being a kid and I didn’t spend time making the pumpkin pie with my mom, so I don’t know anything about how she made it. But Mark, she made the best pumpkin pie. And you and Derek are so fond of Mrs. Shepherd’s pumpkin pie and I just wish I knew my mother’s recipe,” she cries into his shirt.
“Shhh,” Mark says, hoping her sobs will subside as he rubs a firm hand up and down her back.
“Lexie, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Everybody’s mom makes pumpkin pie based on the recipe on the can. It’s just another Thanksgiving tradition, as important as hand traced turkeys,” he says. “Mrs. Shepherd used to read the recipe right off the can and she always left out the cloves. I’m willing to bet that your mother did the same thing. So let’s try that. We can do that together, can’t we?”
Lexie nods, wiping her eyes with a gentle hand and pushing her hands against his arms to stand fully on her own feet. They stand in the kitchen together, combining all the ingredients, save the cloves, and placing the contents into the waiting pie shells. Mark teases her about being a pumpkin covered mess and she reminds him how that turned out at Halloween. Mark muses, privately, that it wasn’t so long ago that he was worried about telling her that he loved her and now they are creating Thanksgiving traditions of their own. “I love you,” he says, right after they slip the first pie in the oven.
“I love you too,” she replies, kissing him as they stand back to admire their hard work baking in the oven.
“We should get out of these clothes. I think I remember how to pre-treat pumpkin stains.”
“Lex, we still have three pies to make. I think we should stick with the status quo on the clothes,” he smirks.
She smiles sheepishly, having forgotten the necessity to make the additional pies. “I’m not sure I can do this,” she admits. “My mother always did Thanksgiving. I’ve never had to do it by myself.”
Mark walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “You are going to be just fine. And you never have to do anything by yourself. You’ll always have me to help you; that’s the definition of being in love.”
“I’m not making mashed potatoes. Do you think Meredith will be pissed?”
“I think Meredith can kiss my ass if she is,” Mark says, kissing Lexie’s temple. “She didn’t have an opinion when you asked her before, so she damn well better not have an opinion tomorrow.”
“It’s her house, so it’s technically her Thanksgiving,” Lexie insists.
“It’s our Thanksgiving, Lex. Just think of it as our Thanksgiving and everything will be perfect.”
She smiles, seemingly accepting his explanation. The oven buzzes and Mark moves to take the finished pie out. This one looks much more edible and Mark lightly dips a spoon in the edge to take out a small bite. Feeding the first taste to Lexie, he sees a bright smile erupt on her face before he takes the final taste. “It tastes just like my mother’s,” she smiles.
“And just like Mrs. Shepherd’s too,” Mark says.
“I love you,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss against his cheek.
“See, I told you it would be fine,” Mark replies.
Later that night, Mark and Lexie curl up on the couch, each holding a glass of red wine. The four pies sit on the cooling rack on the counter and they are watching David Letterman’s monologue. It’s exactly how Mark pictured this evening going, even if it’s taken three hours and a change of clothes to accomplish it.
Thursday, Thanksgiving
The alarm goes off at 8am and Mark leans over top of Lexie to slap an angry hand against the buzzer. He pulls his hand back and wraps it around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his body. “We have to get up,” Lexie mumbles, sleep invading her voice.
“No,” Mark says, clearly more awake than he wants to be in this moment.
“We have to. If we don’t get up now and get over there, we’ll miss the beginning of the parade and then the turkey won’t have enough time to cook. And then we’ll be behind on everything else,” Lexie says, worry creeping into her voice.
“Okay, okay,” Mark relents, lifting his arm and allowing her to slip from beneath the sheets.
Thirty minutes later, they pull into Meredith’s driveway and park. Mark hops out of the driver’s side carrying their Starbucks coffees and scones. Lexie grabs the pies from the backseat and waits for Mark to unlock the door. Upon entering the house, it’s clear to both of them that Meredith and Derek are still sleeping and there’s not a soul stirring in the house. “I’m going to kick his ass,” Mark hisses, still seething that his warm bed is empty at home.
“Hush,” Lexie scolds him, setting the pies on the kitchen table and well out of the way. “Turn on the TV, I don’t want to miss the beginning of the parade.
Mark moves to the kitchen TV and flips it to the Macy’s parade. Lexie mentioned last night how much she loved watching it as a child and Mark couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the parade on television, he’s always watched it from his apartment window and cursed the day because there was no way he could get takeout at lunch. But things are different now and he’s actually looking forward to the parade because he wants to see the childlike reactions he knows Lexie is going to have. He grabs the first coffee he comes to, taking a large swig before grimacing. “Damn, it’s yours,” he says, passing her the coffee.
“You don’t like the White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha?” she teases.
“You are not funny. It’s too damn early,” Mark responds, moving to get plates for their breakfast.
Lexie’s already pulled the turkey out of the refrigerator and she’s placing it beside the waiting roaster plugged in on the countertop. She’s never cooked a whole turkey before and she’s scared out of her mind, because really, she was never supposed to have this responsibility. In an ideal world, her mother would be preparing this dinner and she would be sitting on the couch wrapped up in Mark, watching the parade. But the ideal world doesn’t exist anymore. And even though she’s more happy than ever in her romantic relationship, she can’t help but long for the days when her mother was always there. Mark wraps a reassuring arm around her middle as she starts to baste the turkey with a mixture of butter, olive oil, and seasoning. “You are going to be the Queen of the Kitchen,” he mumbles against her still damp hair before placing a kiss there.
She smiles, leaning back against his strong, hard body, relishing the feeling of safety and comfort she feels against him. Their romantic moment is interrupted by the sound of feet padding down the back stairs. Mark turns his head to acknowledge the intruder while Lexie continues to prepare the turkey. “What the hell?” Derek asks, his hair disheveled and his eyes dark from sleep.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Mark shrugs as though this is the most normal thing in the world. “Dinner doesn’t get to the table without a cook. So here we are.”
Derek shakes his head, clearly not ready to deal with the idea of Thanksgiving yet, and returns to the steps, leaving Mark and Lexie alone in the kitchen again. Lexie motions to Mark, indicating that she’s ready to put the turkey in the roaster and he helps her arrange the lifting strings and everything perfectly. Lexie turns on the roaster and steps away to admire her work. “Let the games begin,” she smiles.
Three hours later the house is bustling with new guests arriving all the time. Christina and Owen are drowning their sorrows in their alcoholic beverages, he watches the window intently, unsure of how he fits in this scenario. And Christina stares at Lexie and Mark, who are still in the kitchen cooking together and smiling at each other over their individual tasks of either adding marshmallows to the sweet potato casserole or shredding Swiss cheese for the green bean casserole. It’s not that Christina is jealous of what they have; it’s that she just doesn’t understand it. It looks like an unselfish love and she’s not sure how they can accomplish that kind of a relationship while still being cut throat surgeons. It confuses and confounds her.
Callie and Arizona bustle around the living room, setting the table and filling glasses with water and wine in preparation. Alex, who hadn’t originally been happy about attending a holiday celebration, is actually smiling and having a lengthy conversation with Dr. Bailey who is helping herself to a mixed drink from the bar beside the table. Thatcher, true to his promise to Lexie, shows up just before dinner is served, not wanting to cause a scene with Meredith. Lexie darts from behind the kitchen island to wrap him in a warm hug. “Hi dad. I’m so glad you came,” she whispers against his cheek before loosening her grip on his shoulders.
“Hey kid,” Thatcher says with a warm smile and reaches for Mark’s hand, pulling him into a man-hug.
“Good to see you Thatcher,” Mark says, clapping a firm hand on Thatcher’s shoulder.
“How are my two favorite kids?”
“We’re good Dad. I’m so nervous about dinner though,” Lexie admits.
“You are your mother’s daughter, you’re doing perfectly,” Thatcher reassures her.
“That’s what I’ve been saying all week,” Mark agrees, sliding an arm comfortably around Lexie’s waist.
“It never worked on Susan either,” Thatcher muses.
Lexie feels the air catch in her lungs and she’s momentarily frozen in a moment. She’s always wanted to be just like her mother. She wants to be the perfect wife, mother, and lover. And it almost hurts her heart to hear her father compare her to her mother. It’s the best compliment he could ever offer her and she’s not quite sure how to respond. “Thank you Dad,” she breathes, leaving Mark’s embrace briefly to hug her father again.
“Hey Thatcher,” Meredith says, returning from the living room to the kitchen.
“Meredith. How are you feeling?” Thatcher asks, releasing Lexie.
“I’m well,” Meredith smiles, pulling her lips into a tight line. “Make yourself at home. Although, I guess this is your home. So…whatever.”
Meredith clearly isn’t as comfortable with having Thatcher Grey in her house as she’d led Lexie to believe. Lexie sends Meredith a quick glance of reassurance. Derek swoops into the kitchen before Meredith can open her mouth to form some sort of response to her supposed father. “Thatcher, so nice of you to join us,” Derek says, extending his hand.
Thatcher shakes Derek’s hand with a formality not present in his greeting with Mark, “Thank you for the invitation,” he responds, nodding his head.
“Dinner is ready,” Lexie says, hoping to return the environment in the kitchen to one of happiness and joy rather than one of tension and discomfort.
The table is clearly set at an advantage to Meredith with her being at the head of the table. Lexie flanks her right side, with Mark sitting next to her and then Thatcher. On Meredith’s other side is Derek, followed by Christina and Owen, then Alex. Callie, as is her usual nature, made quick conversation with Thatcher and demands to sit next to him with Arizona on her other side. At the end of the table, Bailey takes the final open seat next to Alex, saying “You need a date tonight, Karev. And I’m better than most, don’t you agree?”
They begin passing dishes of food from one end of the table to another, filling their plates with helpings of sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese, stuffing, sautéed spinach, cranberry sauce, and the all important turkey. When the turkey reaches Mark, he first serves Lexie’s plate and then his own. Lexie smiles and cocks her head to the side, looking for some sort of reason for the intimate gesture. “The cook should never serve herself. Especially when she’s gone far above and beyond the call of duty,” he explains, leaning in to kiss her gently.
The table starts to eat in silence, most of them concentrating on what they should be thankful for and the things they aren’t thankful for. It’s been a trying year at Seattle Grace and there are three notable missing faces at this table. One is gone forever and the other two have recently lost their minds. But no one speaks of Izzie or the Chief, instead preferring to remember better days when the two would have been welcomed to the table. But the sting of missing George seems to be too much for some at the table. Meredith looks longingly at the seat Lexie occupies and it becomes clear to Lexie that George once sat here for Thanksgiving. She swallows the bite of food she’s been chewing, leaning over to Meredith, “You should have said something; maybe we should have left an open place?”
“What good would that do?” Meredith reasons. “That’s not what he would have wanted.”
Lexie squeezes Meredith’s waiting hand and nods, knowing that she’s right. “We should toast,” Meredith says to the table. “First to our family, those with us and those not with us, and second to our brilliant cook, my sister. Happy Thanksgiving!”
The table raises their wine glasses in a small salute and Lexie giggles at the attention, unable to keep the childlike happiness from her face. Mark presses a chaste kiss against her neck and nuzzles his nose to her ear before whispering, “I told you so,” against her soft skin.
Mark also isn’t oblivious to the fact that the relationships around the table look rather bleak, save himself and Lexie. Most of the other couples and guests avoid in depth conversation and intimate gestures, preferring to leave their personal lives outside the door of the fraternity house Mark has grown to love over the last few months. Instead they sit, exploring conversations with other friends, trying to drown their troubles in food and wine. Among these friends, Mark realizes how much he’s grown over the last year. Ordinarily, he would have been sitting at the end of the table, avoiding conversation and closing himself off from the people around him. But now, tonight, he’s looking at Lexie and he knows he loves her. He loves her and she’s what matters to him.
Three hours later, with the dishes packed and put away at Meredith’s house, Lexie snuggles into the sheets of her and Mark’s bed. Her body aches, her legs throbbing from standing still all day in the kitchen, and she settles back against the pillows. “Mark,” she calls softly, “aren’t you coming to bed?”
Mark appears at the doorframe holding the one remaining pumpkin pie with an ample dollop of whipped cream and a fork, “I made a promise, didn’t I?” he smirks.
Lexie smiles jubilantly, finally able to relax after the day’s insanity. “You did,” she agrees.
Mark takes his usual place next to her and proceeds to snuggle next to her, hoping to steal a bit of her warmth for himself. He pierces the pie right in the center and offers the first bite to Lexie. She covers the fork with her lips and closes her eyes, enjoying the simplistic taste of a beautifully baked pie. “Hmmm,” she murmurs as he pulls the fork from her mouth and guides a bite to his own mouth.
“Here’s to the perfect Thanksgiving,” Mark says.
“It was a perfect Thanksgiving,” Lexie replies, kissing him fully on the mouth.
Friday
The alarm sounds at 4:30 and Lexie bolts upright in bed. She’s only gotten five hours of sleep and she’s completely exhausted. But today is Black Friday. For every year that she can remember, her mother took her shopping on Black Friday and they spent the majority of the day browsing through sales racks and buying every piece of clothing that might possibly fit either one of them. Last night, Meredith promised to join Lexie for a morning of shopping, but only until noon, because Meredith’s shift at the hospital starts at two today. So, Lexie gets up, moving as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake Mark from his dream filled sleep. But, true to form, Mark stirs once he realizes he’s been left alone in the bed, “Lex?”
“Go back to sleep, Mark,” she insists.
“You too?”
“No, I’m going shopping with Meredith.”
“You should come back to bed. You have to be tired; you need more sleep,” he reasons.
“I’ll be back around noon and we can take a long nap then, sound okay?”
“Don’t leave,” Mark begs.
“I can’t buy your present if you don’t let me go shopping,” Lexie teases.
“You’re buying my present today?” he asks.
“Maybe,” she responds.
“Fine,” he relents, kissing the hand he’s held tight during their exchange.
“I’ll be back later,” Lexie promises before kissing his lips and leaving the bedroom.
After the door shuts, Mark tries to go back to sleep but there’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind. He’s so sleep deprived that he can’t seem to put a finger on what he’s missing in this scenario and the warm sheets are beckoning him to let it go and just sleep. But the thought just won’t leave him alone and for ten minutes he goes through his to do list until the thought strikes him. He has no idea what to get Lexie for Christmas. He nearly jumps out of the bed at the realization and his eyes bug out. “Shit,” he breathes and he knows it’s going to be a long December.