Fic - White Noise (Mark/Lexie) pg, 1/1
Title: White Noise
Summary: Set immediately after 6x24. Mark and Lexie deal with the fallout.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 726 words. Very specific spoilers for the season six finale. All mistakes are mine. These characters are not. Unfortunately. I would have treated them much better.
In the doorway of the bathroom, Mark lingers.
Lexie’s body is bent over the sink. Her fingers are scrubbing furiously against each other as she chokes on the smell of apricots and oranges and the taste of the sob caught in the back of her throat and itching for release. She looks down at her hands wilting under the water and all she sees is dried blood seeping through her skin, mixing with her own, falling into the tiny crevices around her nails. It digs in, lingers, and has absolutely no intention of letting go.
She scrubs until her fingers are raw and numb. She scrubs until the bottle of soap is all but gone, and when she looks up, she is frantic, her eyes squinting against the tears as she catches sight of him in the dirty mirror of Meredith’s bathroom. Lexie hadn’t known he was there. She can’t figure out why he is there, but she is far to exhausted to try.
(I’m still in love with you, he had told her.
As her fingers turn numb and the water that was once warm starts to grow cold, she remembers things she has worked so hard at forgetting. Lexie uses the edges of her nails to scrape at her battered cuticles and remembers the span of his fingers against her skin. She remembers the way he had molded against her perfectly, how she had felt that first night all that time ago when the distance between them had been filled with his mouth against hers, an unexpected gentleness, and the weight of their sighs.
It feels like another lifetime now. It feels like a completely different place and time when her world wasn’t marred by disaster and death and red tinting the edges of her vision and memories.
She wishes she could go back.)
Shaking her head, Lexie pumps more soap into her hand. Lathers it up and reaches for the sponge. Starts scrubbing again, moving from fingertips to elbows. Her motions are jerky and frantic.
“Lexie,” Mark starts softly. It’s an intrusion, the sound of his voice, and she closes her eyes against the sound of her name falling from his mouth as he closes the distance between them. His arm reaches past her to the faucet, shutting off the flow of water. His chest rests against her back. She can feel the rise and fall of it, the warmth, but she does not lean in to him. “Lexie,” he tries again, fingers wrapping around her own and she stills, but does not look at him. She refuses to look at him and instead pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling it back and forth until she smells a tinge of copper amongst the apricots.
After a moment, she wrenches her hands out of his grasp, fingers pushing the faucet back on before falling underneath the steady stream of water. It is too cold, but she pushes through it, shakes her head adamantly, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and running down her cheeks like rivers. Lexie doesn’t try to stop them, just mumbles her choked I can’t get it off over and over, her voice cracking along the edges, nearly broken.
Eventually his hands come to rest atop her shoulders, the weight of his touch pressing into her skin. It feels too heavy, and her hands never stop moving, but her actions do slow. She remembers then that first night with him, how she had found something in him - some strength, some understanding, a person to lean on in a world where she had no one. She remembers how she had drawn on his strength, molded it into her own and carried it with her. She needs that now, desperately, and when the soap entirely runs out and the bones of her fingers start to ache, she stops her movements and turns to face him.
Lexie’s shoulders crumble within seconds as Mark pulls her towards him effortlessly. Her tiny hands soak his t-shirt as they fist in the cotton. The sob that has been building in the back of her throat releases and gets lost in the crook of his neck as she buries her face there, breathes in the smell of him, the security he offers without question.
Mark holds her until she is ready to let go.
Summary: Set immediately after 6x24. Mark and Lexie deal with the fallout.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 726 words. Very specific spoilers for the season six finale. All mistakes are mine. These characters are not. Unfortunately. I would have treated them much better.
In the doorway of the bathroom, Mark lingers.
Lexie’s body is bent over the sink. Her fingers are scrubbing furiously against each other as she chokes on the smell of apricots and oranges and the taste of the sob caught in the back of her throat and itching for release. She looks down at her hands wilting under the water and all she sees is dried blood seeping through her skin, mixing with her own, falling into the tiny crevices around her nails. It digs in, lingers, and has absolutely no intention of letting go.
She scrubs until her fingers are raw and numb. She scrubs until the bottle of soap is all but gone, and when she looks up, she is frantic, her eyes squinting against the tears as she catches sight of him in the dirty mirror of Meredith’s bathroom. Lexie hadn’t known he was there. She can’t figure out why he is there, but she is far to exhausted to try.
(I’m still in love with you, he had told her.
As her fingers turn numb and the water that was once warm starts to grow cold, she remembers things she has worked so hard at forgetting. Lexie uses the edges of her nails to scrape at her battered cuticles and remembers the span of his fingers against her skin. She remembers the way he had molded against her perfectly, how she had felt that first night all that time ago when the distance between them had been filled with his mouth against hers, an unexpected gentleness, and the weight of their sighs.
It feels like another lifetime now. It feels like a completely different place and time when her world wasn’t marred by disaster and death and red tinting the edges of her vision and memories.
She wishes she could go back.)
Shaking her head, Lexie pumps more soap into her hand. Lathers it up and reaches for the sponge. Starts scrubbing again, moving from fingertips to elbows. Her motions are jerky and frantic.
“Lexie,” Mark starts softly. It’s an intrusion, the sound of his voice, and she closes her eyes against the sound of her name falling from his mouth as he closes the distance between them. His arm reaches past her to the faucet, shutting off the flow of water. His chest rests against her back. She can feel the rise and fall of it, the warmth, but she does not lean in to him. “Lexie,” he tries again, fingers wrapping around her own and she stills, but does not look at him. She refuses to look at him and instead pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling it back and forth until she smells a tinge of copper amongst the apricots.
After a moment, she wrenches her hands out of his grasp, fingers pushing the faucet back on before falling underneath the steady stream of water. It is too cold, but she pushes through it, shakes her head adamantly, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and running down her cheeks like rivers. Lexie doesn’t try to stop them, just mumbles her choked I can’t get it off over and over, her voice cracking along the edges, nearly broken.
Eventually his hands come to rest atop her shoulders, the weight of his touch pressing into her skin. It feels too heavy, and her hands never stop moving, but her actions do slow. She remembers then that first night with him, how she had found something in him - some strength, some understanding, a person to lean on in a world where she had no one. She remembers how she had drawn on his strength, molded it into her own and carried it with her. She needs that now, desperately, and when the soap entirely runs out and the bones of her fingers start to ache, she stops her movements and turns to face him.
Lexie’s shoulders crumble within seconds as Mark pulls her towards him effortlessly. Her tiny hands soak his t-shirt as they fist in the cotton. The sob that has been building in the back of her throat releases and gets lost in the crook of his neck as she buries her face there, breathes in the smell of him, the security he offers without question.
Mark holds her until she is ready to let go.