in circles {grey's - mark/lexie}
Title: In Circles
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Mark/Lexie -- sort of.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 300
Prompt: #9 - Transparent for drabble123
Summary: Sloan drives them apart and then plasters them together, an ugly push-pull, except Lexie’s going to push back this time.
He’s a stumbling mess of limbs and leather, and every time she moves to hook an arm around his waist he sidesteps her advances.
“I’m fine,” Mark doesn’t slur but he’s childishly indignant in a way that has everything to do with the scotch and the whatever-else coursing through his veins.
“Right.”
“I am.”
“Mark, it’s either me or a cab.” Her hand on her door handle, she watches him duck into the passenger side and exhales when the slam echoes. Lexie doubts it was intentional.
“I’m fine,” he continues to insist, even as the car roars to life. He’s close to her, taking up more than his half of the space in this car, and she finds that interesting all things considered. “I’m a grown man. A very - ”
This is where she snaps.
(It’s been coming all day, since she saw the smile bloom as he held his grandson and then watched it fade when he saw her).
“I dated you for a year. A year. Seriously. I know when you’re buzzed and I know when you’re drunk, and I can see right through you so just stop it, okay?” She wants to hit something and she wants him to stop staring at her.
She wants him to stop leaning in and, mostly, she wants not to be the one who pushes him away when he tilts his head in the way that means he’s going to kiss her.
A hand on his chest and, “you’re drunk.”
“I am,” he finally admits.
“And you’re not going to kiss me because you’re scared or happy or sad or - nostalgic.” The rearview mirror reflects a stranger, smarter than she. “And I’m taking you home.”
Lexie means to say ‘your’; she means to forget it used to be hers.
She doesn’t.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Mark/Lexie -- sort of.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 300
Prompt: #9 - Transparent for drabble123
Summary: Sloan drives them apart and then plasters them together, an ugly push-pull, except Lexie’s going to push back this time.
He’s a stumbling mess of limbs and leather, and every time she moves to hook an arm around his waist he sidesteps her advances.
“I’m fine,” Mark doesn’t slur but he’s childishly indignant in a way that has everything to do with the scotch and the whatever-else coursing through his veins.
“Right.”
“I am.”
“Mark, it’s either me or a cab.” Her hand on her door handle, she watches him duck into the passenger side and exhales when the slam echoes. Lexie doubts it was intentional.
“I’m fine,” he continues to insist, even as the car roars to life. He’s close to her, taking up more than his half of the space in this car, and she finds that interesting all things considered. “I’m a grown man. A very - ”
This is where she snaps.
(It’s been coming all day, since she saw the smile bloom as he held his grandson and then watched it fade when he saw her).
“I dated you for a year. A year. Seriously. I know when you’re buzzed and I know when you’re drunk, and I can see right through you so just stop it, okay?” She wants to hit something and she wants him to stop staring at her.
She wants him to stop leaning in and, mostly, she wants not to be the one who pushes him away when he tilts his head in the way that means he’s going to kiss her.
A hand on his chest and, “you’re drunk.”
“I am,” he finally admits.
“And you’re not going to kiss me because you’re scared or happy or sad or - nostalgic.” The rearview mirror reflects a stranger, smarter than she. “And I’m taking you home.”
Lexie means to say ‘your’; she means to forget it used to be hers.
She doesn’t.