spoilers for all of season 6; my way of making sense of mark and lexie's breakup, plus lexie and alex's reoccurring "meetings". It turned into something much different than I expected, but I'm rather pleased with it. Raw and un-beta'd. rated r for adult situations. lexie/mark; lexie/alex.
She sucks in her breath sharply as Alex presses her against the wall, his fingers everywhere and nowhere all at once, her heartbeat racing, and her thoughts obscure and far away.
It’s no secret that they’re using one another.
It’s also no secret that it’s not working.
His lips graze her collarbone and she gasps, fingers working their way beneath his belt, jarred out of her thoughts and back into the moment. She doesn’t want to focus on him. It makes it that much more painful in the morning when she can recall every freckle, every scar, every ripple on his body. She doesn’t want to know this man, but she does and she will, and it’s not like she’s stopping her thighs from wrapping around his hips.
She rips her shirt off herself and pushes him down onto his bed, wondering haughtily if he likes her better this way. The hair’s got to make it easier for him to pretend she’s Izzy.
And he is pretending she’s Izzy, or at least, she has to convince herself that that’s what he’s doing. Because she’s too distracted by his tongue under her bra to remember that she doesn’t want him, and she’s trying desperately to picture Mark, but oh god, his fingers are driving her wild, and oh god, she’s not even worried about the wedding ring that sits next to them on the dresser.
"Alex," she whispers daringly, because it’s an unspoken rule between them that neither says the other’s name. This is not about them. This is about pain and aching and the need to turn their suffering into something tangible. This is not about them.
But then he’s whispering her name into her skin as his mouth trails downward along her stomach, his teeth nipping at the insides of her thighs, and there’s something much too intimate about this moment and this time.
She can’t fucking remember how to breathe.
She pushes herself back on top of him, struggling for control, because she has to end this now, before both of them end up saying things they’ll both regret. (Things they don’t mean, she tells herself.) This is just about fun and forgetting and nothing more.
Only, he pushes her hair behind her ear as she leans down to kiss him, and his fingertips barely touch her skin as they glide down her back, making her shiver, and they’re fucking looking in each other’s eyes and they don’t do this.
Oh god, she thinks as takes the time to unzip her skirt and throw it on the floor, rather than just pushing it up and being done with it. This means something, she thinks, but her brain’s working much too slowly, because now he’s arching up to kiss her and she can’t stop to think.
The sheets stay off and the lights stay on and there’s something eerie about the brightness, and they’re too naked, and this is all making her feel much too insecure.
Except then, he whispers, "You’re beautiful," and she feels like fucking crying, but she doesn’t, and she’s kissing him for real, and this is all wrong, but she can’t stop it and she falls down onto him, a slight moan escaping from her lips as he plunges inside of her, and she’s digging her nails into his chest, and he’s gripping her sides too tightly, as if they only have each other to hold onto. (Because really, there’s no one else there for them, and no one else who seems to care.)
He flips on top of her with ease, positioning her underneath of him, and her eyes are all wide with shock and something else, fear maybe, and he’s cradling her head and she hates how safe he’s making her feel.
When it’s over, she’s not sure what to do with her hands or feet, where to move or how to lay, because something changed between them and now she’s feeling awkward and exposed.
Then he turns towards her slowly, a rare smile offered to her sheepishly, and she grins in spite of her better judgment, and allows him to wrap himself around her, her cheek warm against his chest.
It’s moments like these that she can understand how Izzy Stevens fell in love with him in the first place.
In the morning, it gets worse.
She’s getting coffee from the cafeteria when he walks in, and of course Mark’s sitting next to Callie, laughing over some joke that she’s certain isn’t nearly as funny as he’s making it out to be, a silent, I’m fucking over you slapping her in the face.
Alex reaches over her to grab an apple and the sugar flies out of her hand, feet losing their footing until she’s horizontal on the floor cup of coffee balanced miraculously over her crumbled body.
Alex’s laughs, making no effort to hide his amusement, before leaning down and helping her up, and she smirks at him, tossing a stray sugar packet at his cheek, her own cheeks beat red. She hates her nervous blushing, but Alex just rolls his eyes and bites into his apple, grinning mischievously at her.
"Shut up," is all she manages after a matter of moments go by, her hands brushing off her scrubs as she turns her head away from him and snaps a lid onto her coffee cup.
Alex laughs, shrugging slightly. "Wouldn’t dream of saying a word," he teases, shooting her one last smirk before walking away.
Lexie’s still smiling when she spins around to head towards the register, her body freezing as Mark’s eyes hone in on her burning holes through her.
She swallows slowly, nearly tripping over a chair.
And just like that, she’s back to being a neurotic freak of nature.
"I hope you know what you’re doing," Meredith says, non-accusingly as she reaches for her clipboard at the nurse’s station.
Lexie’s still scribbling away as she glances up, eyes peering incomprehensively at her sister. "With my hernia patient?" she questions incredulously, her mind digging for other possible explanations.
Meredith rolls her eyes. "With Alex," she mutters, eyes falling back onto her chart.
Lexie makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a please.
Meredith eyes her sharply. "I get it, you’re a big girl and as we’ve already been determined, I’m the last person who should be giving relationship advice."
"Good," Lexie remarks, inexplicably defensive. "Then stop trying to lecture me."
"And it’s not like it’s a relationship," Lexie adds, because for some unknown reason, it seems important to add this last part. "Everyone knows he’s not over Izzy, but it’s not like she’s coming back. And I get it, she’s your best friend and you miss her and I’m just the crappy dirty mistress who’s making everything worse, but...."
"Lexie, you’re my sister," Meredith insists slowly, setting her chart down. Lexie looks up quickly, clipboard dangling at her side. "I’m not choosing Izzy over you. It’s nothing like that. What happens between Izzy and Alex is between them. I’m worried about you."
Lexie shifts her weight slowly, hair falling over her shoulder. "I’ll be fine," she insists softly. "It’s just Alex."
Meredith laughs. "I’ve heard that before."
Lexie rolls her eyes at her sister.
"Have you talked to Mark?" Meredith questions, eyes scanning her sister’s face.
Lexie shrinks under the scrutiny. "He still won’t speak to me," she admits reluctantly.
Meredith nods as if this response explains everything.
Lexie sighs. "Just...I’m dealing with this," she insists, slamming her clipboard down. "Just let me deal with this."
She’s strangely proud of herself for declining Alex’s invitation to drink with him at Joe’s. It’s not that she didn’t feel like it, like she told him, but more or less that she feels like she shouldn’t feel like it. Or whatever that means.
She spots Callie in the elevator, but at least it’s just Callie and if she has another blonde (for lack of a better word) moment, it’s not as if she hasn’t already embarrassed herself in front of Callie, and this time she has the hair to fit the excuse.
She should have inferred from Callie’s wide eyes that something was amiss, but like a fool, she steps onto the elevator anyway, slipping in just before it snaps closed, and of course, of course Mark’s standing behind Arizona, and suddenly the walls are much too small for her liking.
Sighing, Lexie finds a small spot against the side wall, inches in front of Mark, Callie’s hand barely brushing hers.
Arizona reaches for Callie’s hand and she spins around to face her girlfriend, Arizona’s whispers undeterminable, but Callie giggles and Arizona laughs outright, and now Lexie’s stuck on a damn elevator with Mark and two flirting girls.
She grips the side rail too tightly.
"You’re keeping it?" Mark questions at last and Lexie loses her mind.
"I..." she begins spinning around, hair whipping her wildly in the face. She’s too stunned by his conversation and too nervous about finding the right words. "I kind of like it."
His lips part, but no words come out, and for a moment, she swears he’s going to say something nice. She can tell because his eyes soften and the hint of a smile tugs at his lips and she’s bracing herself for whatever comes next, her body still and stoic.
"You should dye it back," he says at last, packing up his eyes as his gaze leaves hers.
She lets out the breathe she didn’t realize she’d been holding, anger twisting through her surprisingly. "Yeah, well, I think I’m going to keep it."
"Your choice," he mutters.
"Yes, it is."
"I mean, you’ve chosen a lot of things you’ll have to live with."
There it is. As the elevator opens and he brushes past her coldly, Callie shooting her a sympathetic look and Arizona’s eyes pacing between the two, she bites down on her lower lip to keep from crying, because it’s the same old tired argument and she’s sick of always being the bad guy.
She’s not so surprised when she finds herself walking into Joe’s.
Her nights seem to end the same way, with fingers rushing to unbutton shirts and shoes being kicked across dark rooms.
That night, she’s selfish. This isn’t for him or for them or for getting over anyone. She’s angry and she’s feeling belittled and inadequate and she’d rip Alex to pieces if he weren’t already just a collection of leftovers and shredded could-have-beens. She’s rough with him as she shoves him to the wall, her tongue tasting blood as her teeth gnash against his.
This time she’s calling him Mark, but he keeps saying her name over and over again, Lexie Lexie Lexie until she realizes that she can’t stop the tears from coming this time and she’s sobbing and she’s a mess, but he’s still holding her even though this isn’t part of her agreement.
"I’m sorry," she manages as he kneels down, stroking her hair as she sits broken on the floor, half naked in her bra and jeans, hands pushing against his chest to propel herself away from him. "I’m sorry," she says again, and means it.
"Lexie," he remarks, eyes finding hers as tears continue to stream down her face. "It’s all right," he insists as she climbs to her feet, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Why are you...." she begins, biting the words back before she can finish her question. Because they’re both treading on dangerous ground and no one knows what they want, but it’s become obvious that neither wants to give the other up.
"Whatever," Alex remarks, his guard flying back up as he walks over to the bed, leaving her standing there awkwardly, unsure what move to make next.
"Yeah, whatever," she mimics, scanning the darkness for any signs of her shirt.
"Hey," he remarks shrugging nonchalantly as he sits on the edge of his bed. "You can stay if you want."
She nods numbly as the knot forms in her stomach. She’s bracing herself to leave, but she’s terrified to go, because it this ends, she has nothing. She’s left with nobody and he’s left with the memories of his wife and neither wants to go back to the empty shells of themselves.
So she says, "Okay," and falls asleep next to him, oddly aware of how familiar this routine has become.