AN: You guys are amazing. Thank you so much for your feedback to the end of Remembrance. I'm really grateful so many of you shared the ride with me. =) Also, thank you so much for taking such a liking to this new story! It's so much fun to write and I'm glad you're enjoying it thus far. I cannot WAIT until the 23rd!

Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.

If I Should Fall Behind

Chapter Two: Dancing in the Dark

I ain't nothing but tired, man, I'm just tired and bored with myself

Meredith was the first to go. Four shots in and Derek had arrived, clad in a tailored suit, to collect her and leave. He gave her a sympathetic squeeze, his hand careful not to touch the pristine material of her wedding dress.

"Boo," Lexie called after them, reaching for the shot Joe had poured her some time ago and missing by a mile. Clearing her vision with a hard blink, she tried again and wrapped her fingers around the petite glass.

Cristina frowned and Derek led Meredith out, his jacket masking the shimmer of her bridesmaid dress. "She just doesn't have the stamina she used to," Cristina mused, finishing the rest of her cocktail through her straw. She fiddled with the ice for a moment, swirling it around the glass while she waited for Joe to bring her a another one.

Lexie clambered across the now vacant seat and plopped down next to Callie. The layers were cumbersome and she slapped them away as she sat. "I've been thinking," she announced. "I think I'd make a great lesbian."

Callie choked on her drink before setting it down, her manicured hands playing with twin straws. "Oh, yeah?" she finally managed.

Lexie stared at the other woman's hands, the darkly painted nail beds moving in silent rhythm. "Yes. I'm cute and good at talking and…" here her voice lowered in conspiring tones. "And I'm generous in bed. I don't just lie there." Lexie shook her head adamantly. "No, sir, I put in work."

Callie nodded. "Right. I'll-er—I'll put in a good word for you at the meetings."

Cristina rolled her eyes and turned away from the bar to survey the rest of the patrons. Her elbows rested on the counter as she stared. She called over her shoulder, "She doesn't have what it takes to be a lesbian. You need grit, Grey. Women can be bitches."

Lexie's huge eyes swung over to Callie, who nodded with obvious reluctance. The erstwhile bride sighed, her shoulders slumping at the failed plan. She perked up visibly when the next round arrived. Another shot of Patrón later, she picked up a clean cocktail napkin and perched it on her head. Balancing it, she turned to Callie.

"Look," she said, glee written all over her features. "I have a hat."

Callie stared back for a moment before downing the contents of her drink. She gestured to Joe for the check. "That's pretty."

I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face

Pleased, Lexie looked down at her lap. "I hate this dress." She snapped her fingers. "You know who loved this dress? George. George looooved this dress. That should have been the first sign: never let the groom see the dress."

Cristina sighed. "If they're gonna leave, they're gonna leave. Forget the dress."

Lexie shook her head. "I can't. it's too ugly." Inspiration struck. She turned to Callie, her face earnest. "You want it?"

"Er—no." Then, "Thanks though."

Lexie shrugged. Wiggling about, she wrangled with the zipper and before Callie could stop her, the bodice was loose and Lexie was pulling it down her hips. Leaving it in a white ball of lace on the empty stool next to her, Lexie focused her energy on her next drink.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world to sit around a bar drinking in a slip, she thanked a disturbed Joe. "You're so lucky you're gay." She toasted him before swallowing.

Joe's brow furrowed. Another hour and he could go home to Walter. "I've always thought so," he said slowly.

"I mean," she continued, "What's the point of having the legal right to get married if the bastard doesn't show, right?"

Callie signed the receipt and handed the leather folder back to Joe. "Thanks. I have to run to the hospital, but I'll be back before you close."

Joe eyed Lexie warily. She was toying with the garter on her thigh and singing along with the juke box. "Are you sure she'll make it until then?"

Callie sighed. "I don't want to leave her, but the nurses have paged me three times already."

Cristina swung around. "I'll take her to our apartment. She shouldn't be alone tonight anyway."

Callie nodded, grabbing her bag. "Great. I'll see you there?"

Cristina smirked. "Say hi to Arizona for me."

"Rude," Callie muttered.

There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me

Cristina was in the middle of pursing her lips around her straw when Lexie peered at her, her brown gaze so intent it belied the alcohol swimming through her blood. "Are you ever afraid," she asked, "that you'll end up alone?"

When the older woman set her drink down without taking a sip and didn't answer for a long moment, Lexie knew she was thinking about Hunt. "No," Cristina said. "Even after Burke: no."

Lexie nodded. "That's good." She shrugged. "And there's always Meredith."

Cristina let out a short bark of laughter. "Yeah me with cereal and her with a chicken."

Lexie's brows knitted. "What?"

Cristina shook her head. "Nevermind." Spinning on her stool, she took her glass and cocktail napkin in one graceful hand. "I'm playing darts, you want in?"

"I may stab myself at this point." Lexie waved her off. "Go ahead."

Cristina eyed her warily. "Don't go anywhere, Three. I'm in no mood to organize a search party."

Lexie's chin lifted a notch. "I don't need a search party," she declared, her voice haughty. "I have Joe." One arm flailed up to gesture to the bartender drying glasses. "Don't I, Joe?"

"Until two, I'm all yours."

Lexie's eyes brightened with unshed tears. Pressing a hand against her bare upper chest, she sniffed. "That—that is so…" her voice broke. "Sweet, Joe. You're just so kind."

He gave her an odd look, moving across the bar to wipe down the counter. Drumming her manicured nails along the bar's lintel, she tried not to think about how she was going to get to sleep. Not tonight; she had a feeling that wouldn't be so difficult, what with the way her head was swimming. But there was always the pesky problem of sleeping alone the next night, and the next, when the novelty of the rejection wore off to others and she'd be expected to get over it, to fend for herself.

There's something happening somewhere

The bar's main door opened and a draft chilled her nearly bare back. She straightened, shivering a bit until the door closed and the goose bumps lining her skin dissipated.

When a man occupied the seat next to her discarded bridal wear and ordered a Scotch, she didn't bother looking up. However, the surprise in Joe's greeting piqued her curiosity.

"Mark?"

A slash cut across the man's mouth, but it could have been either a smile or a grimace. Lexie couldn't tell. "Joe," he said, his voice low. "How the hell have you been?"

Joe shrugged. "Can't complain. What about you? What brings you back?"

The man named Mark also shrugged, but it wasn't a casual movement so much as one meant to fend off questions. "Missed the weather," he quipped.

Joe slid him his drink. "Good to have you."

When Joe left, wringing his hands on a dishrag, Mark hunched over his glass and wrapped ten long fingers around its small proportions. Lexie watched him exhale once and then lift the glass to his mouth. In doing so, his blue eyes caught her staring unabashedly.

Though he didn't say anything, his brow rose and he held her stare even as he set his Scotch down. "Interesting dress," he finally said.

Lexie didn't take umbrage. "I have an uglier one," she said, finishing another shot with clean precision. She gestured to the ridiculously decorated stool next to her with one hand. "Would you like to see?"

Mark's eyes dipped down to the lace and frippery. "Ah, no. Maybe some other time."

Lexie shrugged her bare shoulders. "Your loss. It brings new meaning to the term heinous shit."

"I don't ever think I've met a bride who hated her wedding dress."

She laughed. "That's because you haven't seen this dress."

Mark nodded, watching her shred a napkin and add neat strips to a growing pile. "Well," he said, lifting his glass to her, "Congratulations."

A snort escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Huge eyes looked at him over her small hand. Then she laughed, slapping the counter with her palm once.

"Are you okay?" he asked, more out of sarcasm than actual concern.

"You're not very bright, are you?"

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, come on. You see a half-naked drunk woman with a balled up wedding gown and you think the entire day went off without a hitch?" She shook her head and tapped her temple. "Clearly, you're not the brightest crayon in the box."

"I—" he started.

She waved a dismissive hand that was meant to reassure. "Hey, no, it's okay. I'm sure you've got a lot of other things going for you." She gazed at him, trying to make her eyes focus. "You're pretty," she said matter-of-factly. "Maybe you could model underwear." Her eyes widened as if something had just occurred to her. "Hey! You could be that guy—you know, that guy on the wrapping—" Here her hands began gesturing wildly to nothing in particular—"of those three packs of underwear you get?"

He was quiet for a moment, rubbing his hand across his grizzly jaw. "Thank you?"

Her smile was serene. "No problem."

Come on, baby, this laugh's on me

They looked away from each other. He went back to his drink and she stared at the gleaming rows of the bottles behind the bar, her chin held up by her hand.

"I hope I didn't offend you," she blurted out, still staring at the bottles.

He looked over his shoulder before turning to her. "Me?"

She went on, "You know, with the "you're stupid" crack. I didn't mean to insult you."

"It's—ah, okay." He cleared his throat. "Fine, really."

"It's not you," she said, her voice breezy. "I'm probably just bitchy because I got jilted today."

He blinked. "Right." Though he didn't want to, his eyes ducked down to the discarded dress. "Well, that blows."

Her nose scrunched up as she looked at him. "Right?"

He sighed and took another swallow. "Unfortunately, that's what people do." He finished his drink and took out his wallet.

She waved at him. "Don't worry about it. I got it."

His hands stilled. "Excuse me?"

"There's a special today: Jilted brides drink free." She smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. "Besides, out of work underwear models should save their money."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged his lips. "Thanks," he said.

She didn't respond because she was too busy staring at him, her head cocked to the side as if she were sizing him up. "You're a stranger," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

"So you're probably inappropriate."

There was no way to follow this conversation gracefully. So he asked yet again: "Excuse me?"

Not that she heeded his question. Standing up, her posture proud and only slightly unsteady, she faced him. Her slip barely reached her knees and the sheen of the material glowed in the dim bar. He had to look hard to see the thin straps holding up the silk.

You can't start a fire without a spark

"You want to get out of here?"

Despite being called inappropriate, the appropriate response would have been no. Rejected brides represented a vulnerability even he was loathe to take advantage of.

Then she shook her head back as she collected her dress like it was a stack of books and her cloud of dark hair fell across the smooth skin of her shoulders. In that small moment he realized two things: he'd had his own fair share of rejection recently and the way she looked tonight, all fractured poise and bold whimsy, she'd be one taking advantage.

AN: Please review!

"Dancing in the Dark" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.