A/N: written for Labil for the prompt "I wanted to be all you need" which, along with the title and the inspiration, is taken from Here Is Gone by The Goo Goo Dolls.
Sitting across the table from her at the lawyer's office, you wonder how this happened. How your differences became so damned irreconcilable that your life together has been reduced to bits of paper and the ink from a Mont Blanc pen.
You sign your name. That's what you're here for, after all. Then gather the papers together, screw the cap back on the lawyer's pen and push the whole dismal collection aside.
You're half divorced now, you and Lexie, and you stare at your hands on the polished wood conference table, not allowing yourself to try for one last look at the woman you want to love but don't seem to know how to.
"Dr. Grey." The lawyer's voice fractures the hush: it's followed by a shuffling of papers and a further unscrewing of the pen that's about to seal the other half of your fate.
You hear her sigh. It might be the last time you hear it and now you glance up because you can't help it, wanting an impression of her to take away in your head that includes as many senses as possible. Her dark head bent over the paper, her perfume, the way she clears her throat before she writes (a habit and not reserved for divorce papers – it applies equally to charts, shopping lists and the little notes where she scribbled I love you).
For taste and touch, you'll have to make do with older memories. But that's for another time, when how her lips tasted and how her body felt against yours can be recalled with sufficiently little pain that it's not quite unbearable.
Of course, that's not how memory works. There are always synaptic connections waiting to bite you on the ass even if you don't have your wife's (Jesus - your almost ex-wife's) photographic memory and a fragment of conversation runs through your mind.
"What the hell is your problem? I didn't cheat on you."
"You did, Mark. You just think you didn't because you didn't sleep with someone."
"I didn't even look at anyone."
She shakes her head. "I know," she says, half way to sympathetic. "But you cheated me out of yourself. I can't stay if you're not . . . you."
She was right. Until now, you never understood quite how right.
You and Lexie? You started off beautifully. But you always thought it would end (you didn't want that, you just thought it was inevitable) and that made it easy. Life would screw it up somehow and save your self-loathing the trouble.
But once the pressure was off and nothing external was against you, what was more inevitable was that you would find a way to screw it up yourself. There was nothing on this earth that would make you cheat on her – even now, you're having a hard time with the concept of sex with anyone who isn't Lexie. So you were absent, retracted, inside a shell of indifference that you'd seen Derek retreat into once but stamped with your own unique brand of insanity.
You're not enough – never have been, never will be. You learned that lesson too damn well and then you used it to break your marriage, break yourself (and any hopes you had of being whole) and worst – fucking worst of all – to break Lexie.
"Dr. Grey," the lawyer says again, gently insistent.
Lexie swallows audibly. "I just need a minute."
She's still poised over the papers, pen in mid air, dark hair covering her face and anything she might be thinking. Then you see her eyes. She's not looking at the papers, she's looking at you and her eyes are brown, deep, compassionate . . . Lexie.
You feel as though you should give her something. Let her know you understand, even though at this point it's useless.
"I wanted to be all you need," you say, so hoarsely you're not even sure she heard you. Then you pull your gaze back from hers and stare at your hands again. "I couldn't pull it off. But trust me, I wanted to. So damn much."
You just need her to know. You need her to know you loved her.
"So fight for me," she says quietly.
The pen clacks lightly as she puts it down and the papers shuffle back around the table. But not towards the lawyer – she's pushing them towards you and the lines where her signature is supposed to be are blank.
"Dr. Grey?" the lawyer probes.
She ignores him. You glance up. She shrugs.
"Fight for me," she says, louder, firmer this time. Her eyes don't leave your face for one second.
You rest your head on one hand, elbow on the table. "Lexie, come on. You filed for divorce. I broke us. I'm --"
"Okay, so you broke us." She takes a breath. "You did. But today, you know that. Today, you're you. So let's fix it. Let's just be us and let's fix it." Her fingers worry at her lips and her eyes fill with moisture. "Because I don't want to lose you. I never did. I just thought I already had."
This can't happen. She'll trust you and you'll try, but somewhere down the line you'll shut down and act like an ass and she deserves better. She always did. "Just sign the papers, Lex, and go and have a good life." You scrub your hand over your face and lean back in your chair, giving the papers a little shove back in her direction.
She hesitates, gives you a last pleading look, then pulls the papers the rest of the way and picks up the pen. "Remember when you fought Derek for me?" she says. "Isn't it worth fighting yourself?"
"Sign the papers." The words are almost a groan: suddenly you want so much to say the opposite you have to force them out.
She uncaps the pen, sorts through the papers and, once more, holds her hand poised to sign. She presses the pen against the thick, legal paper, but she doesn't start writing. "Please?"
When you don't respond, she clears her throat and begins the 'A' of Alexandra.
She doesn't get past the first upstroke. It's the throat clearing that tips you over the edge (you can't stand the thought of not hearing it again) and your hand reaches out and stops hers.
"Okay," you say. It's the best you can do in words, but your eyes are on hers, you can't tear them away from the possibilities she reflects back at you and, yeah . . . it is worth fighting.
She puts down the pen and smiles at the lawyer. "Sorry for wasting your time."
"Think nothing of it, Dr. Grey," he says softly.
You shoot him a brief glance, mouthing some kind of apology. If he weren't a divorce lawyer, you would swear there were tears in his eyes.
Lexie stands, pushing back the leather swivel chair and walks around to your side of the table. "Let's go home, Mark," she says and takes your hand. "This . . . you . . . you being you . . . is all I need."