Author's Note: This is a result of being stuck on a bus for over four hours after being awake for more than two days straight. Sorry if it's poorly written or sad. I was in a bad mood.

Pairings: Lexie/Jackson, Lexie/Mark

You let Jackson start things. You can't bear to be the one to initiate this; it would just be too much. Surprisingly, as reluctant as you are, it isn't awful. It's good. It might be considered great, but the bar has already been set so high.

Outwardly, you enjoy yourself. You smile, laugh, moan, complete all the necessary steps to the big finale.

Inside, though, it's a different story. Inside, you can't help but wish there was someone else with you. Sadly, you can't even imagine or pretend that that someone else is here right now—for the two experiences you're comparing are so vastly different.

Afterward, you come to the conclusion that, though you just did—and most likely will continue to—have sex, you won't ever make love with someone again. The only person you could bare your soul enough to do such a thing is gone now.

Of course, there are and there will be men to hold you, kiss you, support you, and protect you. But none of them will really know you. Not after him.

And how could anyone know you as well as he did, anyway? At times, it seemed like he knew you better than you knew yourself. And those times...those glorious times that seemed like they would never end…did just that: they ended. But they last in your mind. Those were times when neither of you doubted each other's intentions, feelings, thoughts, words, or futures—yours were already so entwined with his that all you had to do was think of your own needs and wants, and his were right there beside yours.

As you look back, you know you'll never share something like that with anyone else. And that's okay.

Really. It's okay.

Because you've gotten the most out of him that you could get out of anyone. There's a reason why everyone only has one 'love of their life.' There's only room for one. Any more, and it doesn't work. And if you play your cards right, take your chances with hope, and have faith, maybe that person will walk beside you for the rest of your life. But if you don't...

Well, that's what this is, now, isn't it? This, the 'after' part. This is where you don't play your cards right. This is where all the chances you take sputter and die. This is where your faith lies broken and bleeding at your feet, until it can no longer be called 'faith.' This is where everything that could go wrong goes wrong. This is the 'after' part, where you start 'anew.'

For you, though, it's impossible to start with a clean slate. Your innocence has been gone for some time, and your heart has been hardened by the constant cracking open of your chest. It's weather-beaten and tired from having it's hopes built up and then quickly crushed. It needs something easy, something that takes no effort, something that will give you nothing in return.

So that's why you turned to Jackson. He was there, willing, and seemed like an alright guy. You needed an anchor at the time, something to hold you in place so you wouldn't float away.

Unfortunately, what you don't realize at the time is that anchors are not the making of a safe harbor. Anchors can drag you down, drown you before you have a chance to think, and leave you gasping for air that's long gone. Anchors keep you locked in place, suffocated, and unable to move.

But years later, you realize, staring at him in front of you…maybe anchors aren't so bad. He takes your hand, and you allow it as you've done hundreds of times in the past.

Sometimes you wonder, though, when he'll wake up and realize. Sometimes you wonder if he'll ever look past your cracked and breaking exterior to see that the inside is no different—it's been falling apart, piece by piece, year after year, day after day. It's been disintegrating behind your very eyes from the first moment you left your true love behind.

But that isn't Jackson's fault. You can't blame him for this, and why would you want to, anyway? He had noticed it in the beginning, of course, but he'd simply laughed it off. That's what you did with old relationships, right? You pretend they never happened and you eagerly look to the next one. You forget and move on.

So why is it that you can't? Why is it that you're still stuck on the man you had a one-night stand with over a decade ago?

Simple: he is the love of your life. Not 'was,' not 'used to be,' just is. That is who he is, who he's always been, and who he always will be.

Marriages don't matter. Children, if they come, don't matter. Nothing will change that unshakable fact.

Every once in a while, you'll see him. Though you moved away years ago, you come back and visit every year. The pretense is always that you're visiting Meredith and Derek, and it is never questioned. After all these years, you think that Derek might know. Meredith turns a blind eye, but it's sure that if one has figured it out, the other knows as well. They probably even told Zola. You can tell that they know in the way they watch you when you're around him. Meredith discreetly looks away, busying herself with her children or your husband when these brief moments arise. Derek however, watches both you and him closely. His eyes seem to capture every detail, and each time, you're sure that he knows and will voice his findings.

You see how Derek watches as you hug him, the way your arms linger around each other, they way you breathe in each other's scent, the way your eyes lock as you pull away...

Derek knows, this you're sure of by now. He's probably always known. He always mentions with a light chuckle that Mark brightens when you come to visit—it could be either because you're here or because Jackson studied under him and is now a plastic attending in his own right. Mark will smile, and, of course, push opinion towards the latter—all while holding your gaze. And his eyes will flicker down to the ring on your finger, and for the rest of the night you'll feel incredibly hollow—exactly the way you've been making him feel for these last twenty years. Since that first meeting, you always know when the look is coming, yet you never avoid it. That would be unfair.

After all he's suffered through for you, he should be allowed to glare at you. He should glare at you. He never does, though. He never blames you, he never presses, he just lets life go on like he has no will or way to change his own destiny. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's given up.

And it breaks your heart to see him act like this. True, it might be just that—an act—but it's so convincing, it makes you want to run to him and denounce the last couple decades. Then again, it doesn't take much for you to feel that way these days.

It's become a constant state of being for you.

So you look up, hold his gaze, and try your best to look sympathetic. Later, you'll do better. Later, you'll lie together and hold each other, and whisper sweet words to the other, old wishes and hopes that used to be attainable.

And then, once again, as always, they will all be crushed.

As the seemingly endless night turns to day, he will likewise turn to you, a searching gaze investigating your eyes. He won't even have to ask; you both know what's coming. And once again, you'll have to explain to him for what must be the thousandth time why right now isn't a good time. Why right now just won't work. And he'll nod and look away like always. And you'll try not to remember that first time and all the pain you've caused him over the years.

And from the rigid way he holds himself, you know he's fighting asking you for more. Instead of following his own wants, though, he'll accept your rejection without argument, kiss you softly, and then it will be silent for a while. He has no arguments because through his eyes, he's the one that has wronged you. He's the one who tore the both of you apart again and again, but he happens to forget one thing: you chose someone else. True, the choice was a bit forced on you, and you were never completely accepting of the idea, but still: you chose someone other than him.

In that silence, you wonder when he'll call you out on it. You wonder when he'll put his foot down. You wonder when he'll finally cast you aside. You wonder when he'll give up chasing this ludicrous dream once and for all, but you already know the answer: never.

He can't give you up anymore than you can give him up.

And if this place you live in was anything resembling a fair world, you would be together. You would be happy everyday, instead of just a few scattered holidays, a few cold nights made warm as you settle within the arms of your true love for a couple stolen hours of adulterous bliss…

But this isn't a fair world.

He's the love of your life, but that doesn't mean you get a happily ever after.

You just get 'after.'

And that's better than nothing… Isn't it?

...

I'm hanging on another day

Just to see what you will throw my way

And I'm hanging on to the words you say

You said that I will

be okay.

...

Author's Note: Please review and give me your thoughts. I might add more...