Title: Gradual Progression
Word Count: 1 360
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: An old piece from 2009. Trying to archive everything in once place.
The first time you ask her out it's only because you get a kick out of seeing her get all flustered and wide-eyed from surprise. There's a part of you that thinks it's adorable (that she's adorable) but you've never been the kind of guy who's drawn to adorable things so you can't really say why you have this persistent need to pull her pigtails (metaphorically speaking, of course) whenever you run into her.
Somehow, you manage to befriend her.
Well.
It's not so much befriending her as it is her putting up with your presence because you're her boss. But you'll take what you can get because Derek is wrapped up in Meredith Grey drama (along with half of the hospital) and Callie's too busy familiarizing herself with the lesbian community at Seattle Grace to pay you any notice.
You admit you've always craved a little attention so when you find someone (her) willing to humour you, you latch on. And where she's only giving you an inch in her life, you demand a foot. You push; and hover; and taunt until she grudgingly forfeits that foot, and then you grin triumphantly because that's what you do.
Then you really do befriend her.
It's not the sort of friendship you have with Callie though, where you fuck because you're bored or handout relationship advice. Like everything else about her, it's all very innocent (lunches, coffees, genuine interest in your life). Occasionally, you'll make some sly comment about the unoccupied on-call room and the free time on both your hands and wouldn't it be great if you could help her work out some stress? She'll respond by rolling her eyes at your not-so-discreet innuendo, usually followed by a Shut up, Mark (on a first-name basis now), before walking away to do Yang's bidding.
It gets to the point where you start to feel protective (briefly you wonder if this is how Derek is with his sisters, then dismiss it almost instantaneously because the things you want to do to Lexie Grey are nowhere near brotherly). Then you hover, not because you know it unnerves her (although you do getsome perverse pleasure out of that), but because the asshole two seats down from you at Joe's can't keep his eyes North of her chest.
Your hand twitches when he approaches. She's sitting next to you and, really, any moron would make the assumption she's taken by the way your hand is set on the back of her chair and the glare on your face, but it seems this one is from the Isle of Complete and Utter Morons because he's ignorant of all this and sidles up to her side, opposite of you.
He's charming, you'll give him that, with his blue eyes, dark hair and a smile you figure is suppose to be seductive. Not more than 20 minutes later, Lexie's fully turned towards him (away from you, but you ignore that) and leaning slightly more than you're comfortable with, in his direction. You down your next glass of scotch like it's a bottle of Maalox and listen with a less-than-enthusiastic attitude to her laughter (she's never laughed quite that loud with you, you duly note) and the asswipe's life as a part-time firefighter.
So what, you think darkly, any idiot could run into a burning building; it takes a real man to stand hours on end over an OR table to graft skin meticulously on a burn victim.
You keep this to yourself though (you have a feeling your insights will not be appreciated), and mentally keep track of how many drinks she's had. At three, she usually gets buzzed enough to engage you in flirtatious banter.
She's halfway through her fourth.
You're ready to play interference (you were ready quite a while ago) on her behalf, and all you can do now is wait it out. If you're certain of one thing, it's that she's leaving with you tonight and that settles you a little. You're her ride home (she'll repay you tomorrow morning with coffee) and you'll be damned if you leave her at the bar with a charming moron.
As soon as she finishes her drink, you decide it's time to haul ass out of there. It takes her a moment to realize you've paid the tab and are impatiently drumming your fingers on the counter, then slipping off her chair she still has the awareness to smile and nod politely when he hands her a card. Then the asshole does something you don't expect.
He tries to kiss her.
Your heart jumps to your throat and you stop breathing in that one moment where terror freezes your ability to move. To think. To watch.
Lexie, it seems, sees it coming, even in her semi-inebriated state, and manages to divert her head and give him her cheek at the last second, pretending to cough earnestly into her shoulder.
Air reaches your lungs. Attagirl, you think with smug satisfaction.
With your hand on her back, you guide her through the crowded bar and to your car. And if you can't get the cocky smirk off your face, then so be it. She's too out of it to notice anyways.
The ride to her place doesn't take long. Her cheek is pressed against the window the entire way, and her eyes are closed (she might be asleep, you're not sure). When you walk around to her side though, she has the door open and is stumbling out. You slip an arm around her waist to support her, kicking the door closed with your foot and walk her up to her apartment.
Once inside, she heads straight for the bedroom while you busy yourself with hunting through her drawers for a glass and a bottle of Tylenol. She won't be hung over by any means, but just in case, you argue with yourself.
It is in her kitchen at 12:24AM you come to the conclusion that you don't know how this happened. When the gradual progression took place and you became this person who has a soft spot and looks out for her. You wonder bemusedly when exactly it was that Lexie Grey took a foot in your life.
She's collapsed in bed, shoes and all, by the time you reach her bedside. After setting the glass of water and painkillers on her night table, you take it upon yourself to get her as comfortable as possible, gently discarding her ratty sneakers and working her sweater over head (thankfully she's wearing a tank top underneath). You stay away from her jeans with good reason. Once she's settled under the covers, you feel a sense of accomplishment by having done right one of the few times in your life.
You haven't even taken one full step away, when her hand catches yours.
"Mark?" she breathes on a murmur, sleep curving around the words.
"What?" you whisper back softly.
"C'mere." She tugs on your hand to kneel down, and you quickly oblige because you're engulfed with an emotion so strong that you would have tried to give her the moon, had she asked.
"What is it, Lex?"
You aren't prepared for the feel of her lips against yours. Her tongue tentatively tracing your upper lip. When she sighs into your mouth, it hits you. By the time you react, she's already pulling back and you move in the same direction, barely getting a hold of her lips in time. You didn't realize how much you wanted this until she kissed you. She breaks the kiss again, and this time you let her go, her head falling on the pillow and her eyes looking at you through a heavy-lidded gaze.
"Thank you," she mumbles drowsily, a faint smile on her face.
You don't ask for what. It doesn't matter.
You give her one last kiss on the forehead before leaving, shutting the bedroom door gently. When you're leaning against your car outside (an extra key found under the doormat allowed you to lockup after), you take a deep breath and wonder what the hell you got yourself into this time.