Violence in Your Heart

by Violet1979

Lexie is hurting, so she goes on a rampage. Grey's Anatomy, Mark/Lexie, post 6x13, into 6x14.

Title: Violence in Your Heart
Author: violet1979
Show: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mark/Lexie
Rating: R
Summary: Lexie is hurting, so she goes on a rampage. Post 6x13, into 6x14 (based on promo).
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.
Author's note: Titel taken from Muse, Undisclosed Desires

I

She almost died in that fucking elevator today. It wasn't just claustrophobic to an almost pathological degree, it was subjecting her to an unearthly deprivation of senses (most of all, you know, a roaring silence that even deletes your own sounds of breathing) that ultimately sent her on a freaky flashback of her recently terminated love life (and how fucked up is that), totally as if she was going to die.

Never, ever will she use it again, she explains to a grinning Jackson Avery on the bar stool next to her, it is toxic and therefore makes people sick and just sucks.

She downs her next glass. It is about time the sick feeling disappears already, so she orders another drink.

And after a night of laughing too loudly and flirting like mad with several strangers at once (carefully selected for being her own age, of course), she might have even consented to sex in the backseat of some random car if she had not been humiliated by being violently sick first.

II

She hates herself with a passion for not being able to deal with it.

She awoke with a huge hangover, and she welcomes the physical pain of the lingering intoxication, not least because she really needs to blame it on the poison that once again, she was moving over to his side of the bed for some good morning spooning before she remembered.

And to add insult to injury, when she touches a washcloth to her aching body in the shower, her overactive memory chooses to torture her yet again with images of bathroom adventures past, in great and entirely unwelcome detail.

She wrenches her eyes open, and there it is, her pathetic reflection, all teary and droopy and who would ever want to choose her over anyone else?

A sudden surge of rage jolts through her, and she just has to give in to the urge to throw the heavy soap dish against the mirror as hard as she can. The mirror, though, denies her the satisfaction of shattering into a thousand pieces and just wobbles on its hinges. She presses her hands up to her face, aiming for bruises, and chants a long series of expletives that she would not normally even think of.

But then her sister and her sister's husband worry in front of the bathroom door, and good girl she is, she musters the composure to assure them that she's okay. And she is. She will pull herself together. She will be an amazing doctor today. And she will do something to change her look later, just to remind herself of the fact that she is firmly in control of her life.

III

She is as entitled to some fun on Valentine's Day as anybody else is.

And to make a point of being badass as well as fun, she makes sure he notices when she pushes a surprised Alex into a supply closet, kissing him hungrily and yielding to his not particularly cherishing lovemaking all too willingly all over again, working hard at it as well, if only to silence the suspicion that it may not be the true point of the game to feel worse, or to be half-hoping that he may break down the door on them.

When she leaves the crappy loveshack, though, wearily pulling her hair into a ponytail, he is still over at the counter, staring at the door, and she feels herself blushing in that good girl way she really needs to lose, and quick. What she will do is brace herself and shoot down the inevitable taunt wittily. And she will smile innocently, a lot, like, right now.

But at the same time as her badass self is striding assertively on towards the counter, boldly challenging him for eye contact, her not-quite-over self is suddenly choked by the explosion of hot shame, when upon seeing the utterly impossible shimmer of helpless tears in his eyes, the possibility finally strikes her for the first time ever, that he could have been hit hard by all the pain she sent his way, too.