Chapter 3:

Author's Note: The first bit here is Lexie's POV (again, exercise in trying it out); the rest is a general POV, though, since I couldn't quite use her POV for every scene. Thank you all so much for your reviews. For anyone reading IHYBMM, I will update ASAP. I've got most of the chapter written, but I just need to tweak it some. Anyway, this chapter continues from where the other left outside the church...

. . .

"Are you okay, miss?"

"What?" I ask, throwing myself into the cab. My voice comes out half-choked as I meet the taxi driver's eyes and try to avoid Mark's. I just know he's looking at me, and if I look at him too, I'll just end up jumping out of the car and telling him everything. Not a good idea.

"You just break up with your boyfriend or something?" The driver catches my eye in the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile.

"What?" I repeat. I'm about to say 'Mark isn't' when I realize, 'Jackson used to be.' "Um, yeah," I manage, knowing we're talking about different people, but still feeling the need to tell someone. "I did, actually."

"Around the holidays?" He questions, pulling out into traffic. "That sucks."

"Yeah," I reply, turning around and looking out the back window. The window's too smudged and the snow's falling too quickly for me to see him. I close my eyes, facing forward after a moment. He probably already left, anyway. "Yeah, it does."

"So… Where to?"

. . .

A half-hour later, I'm back at Meredith's. Despite it being Christmas Day, I walk through the large house without hearing a sound. No one is at home and there's a half-decorated tree in the living room. Unlike Mark, I know that they aren't at church either. I close my eyes, halfway up the stairs, and lift a hand to my temple. I rub the side of my forehead in continuous circles, hoping I can erase everything I heard a few days ago. Or at least denounce it as spurious. But no such luck. God, Mr. O'Reilly was right. He really was at the church.

. . .

Three days ago…

. . .

"Mr. O'Reilly?" I ask, walking slowly towards the older man who's hunched over in his chair. "Are you all right?"

I can see his lips moving slowly against the skin of his fingers, his hands folded before his mouth. A few seconds later, he leans back in his chair, opening his eyes and looking at me.

"I'm fine, Dr. Grey," he replies with a small smile. "Just praying."

"Oh, I… I didn't know you were religious," I falter.

He smiles at me; I can't tell if the gesture is kind and understanding or mocking of my obliviousness. "Quite, actually. Alice used to come to church with me every week."

"Well, the tests will be back soon," I reply quietly, glancing at the young girl asleep in the hospital bed. "And if they're negative, then I'm betting your daughter will be there with you on Sunday. I'm sure it's a bit lonely going by yourself," she adds sympathetically, "especially on Christmas."

"Oh, it's fine," Patrick replies. "There are plenty of other people to talk and pray with."

"There are?" I ask, looking over. Hadn't he just evidenced that praying was a private, silent practice?

Patrick turns his head to meet my curious gaze; I'm certain he can hear the skepticism in my voice. "You aren't very religious, are you?"

"I…" I trail off, glancing down to the white tiled floor for a moment. The last thing I want to do is alienate an already suffering man with my considerable lack of belief. Not when his daughter might only have a few years left. "There… There isn't always time, you know," I excuse. "Being a surgeon and all… It's, um, it's hard to find time."

"Oh, you can find time," he corrects gently. "In fact, there's a surgeon that goes to my church; he's there every week. If he can find time, I'm sure you can too."

"Yes," I reply, smiling tightly and stepping back. "I'll have to see."

"And praying isn't always a solitary act," he continues, taking care to look me in the eye. "You can do it with others."

I shrug, indicating to his own actions from just moments ago with the gesture. "I always saw it as something personal."

"Many people do," Patrick agrees. "But just because someone doesn't want to pray with you doesn't mean you can't keep them in your prayers."

I smile at him. "You probably have enough on your hands without including other people in your prayers."

"Oh, there's always space for others. Just like finding time for church, you can always find time to help others."

"Yes, but…" I sigh, setting my chart down on the tray table beside Alice's bed. I glance at the sleeping girl for a moment before returning my attention to her father. "I don't mean to be rude, but—Mr. O'Reilly, you've already lost so much. Don't you ever think… Don't you ever want to keep your prayers just for you and your family?"

"Now, there's no need to be selfish with prayers," he says with a half-smile directed my way. "God will grant the ones he sees fit. It doesn't matter how many people you pray for, he'll still hear them all and help as many as he can." He smile levels out. "Just like I tell the guy at my church: God will hear you and she'll come back."

"Huh?" I repeat with a smile and a half-chuckle. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh," he shakes his head and waves a hand. "It's nothing. Just this guy at mass. He's having a bit of a rough time, from what I can tell." He looks up to the ceiling; the gesture seems like half of an eye-roll to Lexie, causing her smile to solidify in amusement. "He's waiting for a girl to come back. He said she's 'gone.'"

"Gone like 'ran away' or gone like 'broke up?'" I inquire, more out of courtesy than interest. At this point, I'd continue a conversation about unicorns if it kept Mr. O'Reilly's mind off of his potentially very sick daughter.

"I'm not sure," Patrick replies slowly. By the even way he draws out his words, I can tell he's considering the question seriously. "Mark doesn't like to talk about her, and I can't really tell what he's praying for—her to be okay and happy or them to be together. But I think she's still around—she hasn't gone anywhere, I don't think—but he won't talk about her. And if she ran off to some other city, I'm sure he'd follow after her." He shrugs with a smile. "I feel for the guy, you know? He seems pretty desperate. And we've all been there, haven't we? We've all been at the end of our rope."

Patrick had been looking off into space while he spoke, but now his eyes find mine—and I can't move a muscle. Mark. Praying. Girl. I manage to take a shallow breath, stringing my broken thoughts together. Me. Mark is praying for me. I feel my eyes fall closed as if my eyelids are now too heavy to be supported by my own muscles. For a second, I think I'm about to fall to the floor, but Mr. O'Rielly's voice brings me back.

"What is it?" His voice is urgent and worried. "Did you get the test results—"

"Oh, no," I reply quickly, my eyes snapping open. The fluorescent lights hit my eyes automatically, forcing myself to blink a few times to steady my head. "No, it's not that. Dr. Robbins is looking over the procedures now." In my nervousness, I drum my fingers against Alice's chart in my hands. It's not him. It's not him. It can't be him. It can't be him.

"Oh," Patrick replies, his voice immediately deflated. I watch as his eyes drop, instinctively looking towards his daughter.

"It's just…" I begin quickly, trying not to let him linger on the unknown. "It's just… You said the guy's name was Mark?"

"At St. James?" He asks, looking back over to me. "Yeah."

I lick my lips, feeling like my tongue is bloated and dried all at the same time. "You—you said he's the one who's waiting for a—a girl to come back?" It's not Mark. It's not Mark. It's not Mark.

Patrick nods. "Yeah. Why?"

"Do you… Do you know his last name?"

Patrick opens his mouth to reply before frowning. "You know what?" He asks with a laugh. "I don't. He's never told me." He glances to me, his eyes flicking left and right as if he's about to confide information concerning national security. "Between you and me, I get the feeling he doesn't want me to know. He's a pretty private guy. I mean, he's never even told me what kind of surgeon he is."

I close my eyes, whispering the word "otolaryngologist" softly. This can't be real, I think. This isn't real.

"What?" Patrick asks, looking over.

I open my eyes, thanking whatever god there is that the room isn't spinning and I can see straight. Passing out in front of a patient would not be professional. "He's—he's a plastic surgeon," I simplify.

I can see interest flutter across Mr. O'Rielly's face. "You know him?"

"I…" I pause a moment to exhale, realizing that I must've been holding my breath for some time now. Maybe that's why I felt so dizzy. Maybe. "Yes, I—I know him," I manage after a moment. I try not to remember the last time we spoke. I sigh softly. Six months ago.

"So he works here?" Patrick continues, somehow oblivious to my internal meltdown.

"He does," I find myself saying a second later. Oh, I need to stop talking to him, I think desperately, glancing down to my pager. The one time I need a 911 page and it doesn't come!

"Well," Patrick continues as I brace myself. Please don't let his questions be too invasive, I hope. Please. "When he's ready, I'll let him tell me who she is." He smiles, glancing over at me as if we're just making polite conversation. "Until then, I've probably crossed a few too many lines in his private life."

"Right," I reply slowly, still waiting for the moment when he realizes who I am. The moment doesn't come. After a couple silent minutes, he asks me again if I have the test results. I fake flipping through his daughter's chart before excusing myself to pathology.

I take a detour to a deserted on-call room, locking the door behind me. I don't know if I've ever been more appreciative of an empty, silent place to stop and think in my entire life.

I don't know if I've ever been more unappreciative, either.

. . .

When I reach the top of the stairs in Mer's house, I head immediately to my bedroom, grabbing my cell phone out of my bag as I shut the door tight. Even with no one in the house, I can't shake the need for privacy. Before I can stop for a second to think about what I'm doing, I've already dialed and put the phone to her ear. I could have sworn my fingers had their own free will.

A minute later, though, I'm hanging up without so much as speaking with him. His voicemail had picked up, meaning he was probably asleep or out somewhere. I'd checked yesterday, but I hadn't seen his name on the surgical board at all, so I knew he wouldn't be at the hospital. All that's left is going to his house.

I sigh softly, sinking down to the edge of my bed. Good thing the house is empty, I think to myself. It'll take me a good while to work up the nerve, and that particular task will be easier to accomplish when there's no one else around.

. . .

5.30 PM

. . .

After spending a half-hour staring at Mark's closed blue door, Lexie had finally knocked. In the few seconds it took for him to answer, she half-wished he wouldn't come to the door. The other half of her wanted nothing less to see him again.

Upon opening the door, Mark just stares at her. He'd seen the missed an hour ago when he got home, but he had no idea what to make of it. He'd been so eager to talk to her before, but now that he saw that she'd reached out to him, he felt like shrinking away again. But now that she was here, there were no other options. He'll have to speak to her.

Never taking his eyes off of her, half of Mark is angry that she thinks she can just show up here and talk to him like they're old pals. The other half of him wishes she'd done it months ago.

"Hi," he says, feeling the need to break the silence. It doesn't work; Lexie just bites her lip, looking away. For a second, Mark's sure she's about to run off again, but then she speaks.

"I have a patient," she whispers after a moment.

"Oh…kay," he replies slowly. He's been waiting for her to explain why she's here and now she's leaving for the hospital. Great. Couldn't she have thought of a better excuse?

"I have a patient," she repeats, her voice stronger this time.

Yes, I heard you the first time.

"Her name is Alice. Her mom died from skin cancer last year and she just got a sentinel node biopsy."

"I'm… sorry?"

Lexie shakes her head, and Mark gets the feeling his brain is moving too slow for her taste. But how am I supposed to have any idea what she's talking about? He thinks, more than a little confused.

"She just has her dad left. His name is Patrick."

Mark nods, wondering where this is going.

"Their last name is O'Reilly," she tells him, taking great pause to make extreme eye contact. "Alice and Patrick O'Reilly."

Mark parts his lips to speak, but finds that he doesn't have anything to say. Not to her, at least. Why didn't he tell me? Mark's eyes fly to his phone on the table to his right, but Mark knows he doesn't have the man's number. What is my problem with not ever wanting to know anyone?

"She's sick?" He asks a moment later, feeling his heart go out to his friend. Why didn't he tell me? Mark thinks again. Oh, same reason you don't have the guy's phone number. You didn't want to know, did you?

"We don't know," Lexie replies. "There are still some tests to do. But I hope not."

"Okay, well, thank you for telling me," Mark replies politely, trying to think of where he can find Pat. Are they still at the hospital? "I should probably—"

"No, that isn't…" Lexie shakes her head, and Mark pauses, despite wanting to find Pat. "Mark, that isn't why I came here."

"Well, then…" He can feel his forehead creasing in confusion. "Why did you come here?"

"I came here because he—he said something to me, Patrick did."

"He…said something to you?" Mark repeats slowly, not getting the message any clearer than before.

Lexie nods, and Mark get that strange feeling that she might cry again. "He—he told me there way a guy at his church, St.—St. James, that… came every week, praying that some woman would come back to him. He said he was a surgeon and his name was Mark and I just…" She shrugs hopelessly and Mark turns away. He can't look at her, not after she knows it all. "I—I had no idea that this is what's been happening," Lexie continues, her voice disappearing to a whisper. "Mark, believe me, please. I had no idea."

"He… He had no right to say that to you," he manages finally. Be can feel his perfect little hellish world shrinking and then wildly expanding around me, somehow simultaneously. He can't believe she knows everything. He can't believe Pat told her. "He had no right."

"He didn't know who he was talking to," Lexie whispers after a moment. Mark hears a shift in the floorboards, and he wonders if she's stepped forward or back. Back, probably. She didn't come here to comfort me, anyway.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I told you I was letting go and…" He trails off, unable to think clearly with everything he's just realized. Oh, God, he probably told her everything. He probably said everything because he thought she was a stranger. And, shit, that's probably why Avery was pissed off before, because I've been pining after his girlfriend instead of leaving them alone like I told both of them I would.

"And you aren't letting me go," Lexie finishes quietly. Mark blinks at her words, finding his head oddly cleared. Shouldn't she have yelled that? Isn't this the part with the yelling? "You didn't let me go. You—you kept wishing and hoping after me… And—and praying." He can hear her sigh softly, probably in frustration or anger. But her voice is still soft—almost…concerned. "God, Mark, you prayed for me? That I'd come back to you?"

"I said I was sorry," He replies quickly. "I shouldn't have… It was stupid, okay? I'm sorry."

"No," she cuts in forcefully, and Mark finds himself turning around at her firm voice. She's standing closer than she was before. "What was stupid was you not talking to me about this!"

"Talking to you…" He blinks at her, twisting his head when he realizes what she's saying. "Wait, what? You wanted me to come to you with all this? All this—this hopelessness bullshit? What would that have done?"

"It obviously wasn't hopeless to you. You never stopped."

"Okay, meaningless," he settles on. "Meaningless bullshit."

"Mark, if being with me was… this important to you… Jesus, why didn't you just tell me that?"

"I did. I—I told you I was letting you go. And that was hard, but I did it. That was it."

Lexie opens her mouth, but after a few seconds closes it. Her expression clouds over, and Mark knows he's about to get the yelling he's been waiting for. But still she doesn't speak. She just lifts a hand to her forehead, covering her eyes and half-turning away from him. "Jesus, Mark."

He mouths the word 'What?' but he know she can't hear or see it.

"You can't do that," she continues. "You can't just expect me to assume all that from a couple words and a little fight!"

"Little—" He asks, incredulous that she'd downplay what happened between them like that.

"You can't just assume that I'll know you miss me like that!" Lexie replies loudly. "You've been avoiding me for months! Why in the world would I think you still wanted me back or loved me or even cared about me anymore?"

He stares at her, literally speechless. He'd been prepared for yelling, but it was supposed to be angry yelling. This is… Mark has no idea what this is. Frustrated? Desperate?

"When you wouldn't talk to me or look me in the eye or even be in the same room as me—why would I get any inclination that you still cared?"

"When I…" Mark swallows trying to wrap his head around this. "When I didn't speak to you, when I didn't look at you… What? Did you think I did that because I hated you or something?"

"Yes!" Lexie shouts finally. "Yes, of course that's what I thought! We ended and then you stopped speaking to me! You didn't say one word to me, and you never even looked at me! What else was I supposed to think?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe that I couldn't stand to look at you because—"

"Yes, because you hate me!"

"No, because I want you!" Mark replies before he can stop himself. He groans softly, closing his eyes. "Look. The only reason I avoided you was because I couldn't bear to see you and know that you were his girlfriend and not mine, okay? And since that isn't going to change anytime soon, so I didn't really want to see it, or see you." And I still don't.

"God damn it, Mark," she growls, enunciating each syllable with anger. "I'm not his girlfriend anymore. We broke up, okay? Two weeks ago, we broke up."

"You…did?"

Lexie nods, doing her best to act indifferent. "Yes."

"Well… why?" Mark asks hesitantly. Lexie shrugs, barely having the strength anymore to completely the gesture. Her act of indifference falls sadly flat, and she's sure he's noticed by now. No point in denying the truth now, she reasons.

"Because he wasn't you," she whispers honestly.

"Lex…"

"So it didn't mean anything." She swallows, trying to gather her thoughts and find a way to make him see that she's serious. "But being with you… That has always meant something, Mark. It's always been real. Being with you has… always been what I've wanted. Always."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," Lexie cuts in softly. "And you… You should know I didn't mean any of it."

Mark forces himself to breathe before speaking. "Then why did you say it?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd stick around."

"St… Stick around?" He manages.

"I said that if you kept at me, I'd come back to you. And I—I meant it, Mark." Her lip trembles. "I wanted you to make me come back."

"No," he says, his voice barely registering at an audible decibel. "No, don't tell me that."

"But it's true," Lexie whispers. "If you had—"

He shakes his head, adamantly denouncing her words. "Do not tell me that if I had fought harder we'd be together. Don't do that to me. Not after all this."

"I'm not saying you haven't been trying," Lexie covers quickly. "I'm just saying that you've been doing it your own way and—"

He shakes his head, turning away. Lexie bites her lip, her pained eyes tightening at the sight of his turned back. "Mark, please," she whispers, stepping forward and putting a hand on his arm. She looks over at him, her eyebrows drawn worriedly together as she waits for him to speak.

"Don't tell me," he manages, his voice hoarse as he continues to avoid her eye. "Do not tell me that if I'd tried harder I could have kept you. Do not tell me that letting you walk away was the wrong thing to do. You—" He swallows, and Lexie can see the muscles in his throat work to remove the lump blocking his voice. "You have no idea how hard that was for me."

"I know," Lexie whispers. "I know. But…" Her lips trembles again, but she somehow manages to hold herself in check. "If you'd asked me to come back, I would have. Mark, I would've come back."

"Lex," he chokes out. "Stop. Please."

"I just want you to know," she says. "I just want you to know that I'll—I'll always come back." She smiles shakily. "I'll always be here, always coming back to you."

He sucks in a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets. His right automatically clutches a small box, hiding within his pocket. "If—If you're serious here, you should know…" He squeezes the box like a stress ball. "Lex, I won't do it all over again. I'm not starting from the beginning, I'm not repeating history. If—if you want to do this, if this is happening… This will have to be it." He swallows, unsure of her staying power. "This is the end of the road."

"I know," she replies. Despite seeing this coming, her voice eeks out, sharp and broken like nails on a chalkboard. "I know this is it."

"You can handle that?" He clarifies. "When I say this is it, I mean—"

"I know," she cuts in. "I know what you mean."

"So?" He asks after a second.

"I can handle it," Lexie answers. She shrugs one shoulder, a hopeless gesture. "What choice do I have, anyway?" She asks, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. But Mark is serious as ever.

"No," he corrects firmly. "I'm not forcing you into this. There's always a choice."

"Then mine's already made," she replies automatically. She watches as he closes his eyes, tracing the breath of oxygen entering and exiting his body as his chest rises and falls before his blue eyes meet hers.

"Mark, look," Lexie begins softly. "I'm serious, okay? After—after what Patrick told me, I realized I couldn't let you keep doing that to yourself anymore. I knew I had to… to do whatever I could to help you." She blinks slowly, staring at him. "You would've done the same for me. You have done the same for me."

"You…" He licks his lips, hating himself for saying so but knowing she needs to hear it. "You aren't responsible for me, you know."

A small smile flickers on her lips. "I feel like I am."

"You aren't," he counters firmly.

She shakes her head softly, stepping forward. Mark feels the need to step back as she moves a bit too close, but he can't seem to get his body to cooperate. It's frozen in place, so close to what he wants, and unable to heed the orders from his mind. "Apparently, I'm the only thing that makes you happy," she whispers, a sheepish look on her face. "And you deserve to be happy."

For some reason unknown to him, Mark's shaking his head and repeating his own words. "You aren't responsible for me."

"If I make you happy, then I'm responsible for you. And I've—I've never not wanted to be with you. I've never wanted to be with anyone else. Not really."

Lexie watches as Mark closes his eyes at her words, and she can practically feel the tension rolling off of him as he clenches his fists together. He doesn't speak, but a moment later, he removes them from his pockets, where they'd been shoved earlier, to rub his face roughly as if trying to wash away all that's happened. A dull thud makes his eyes snap open a moment later. Her eyes flicker down to the sound, but she's unable to tell what fell—Mark had ducked with lightning speed to grab the object and hide it within his fist before she had a chance to see it.

"What was that?" Lexie asks, amused at his actions and trying to find something trivial to focus on. They'd been speaking too seriously for too long and whatever fell from his hand that caused him to act so oddly was sure to create a good distraction. "Your cell or something?"

"It was nothing." Mark brushes it off, half-turning away from her and his hand slips towards his pocket. She grabs his wrist before he can let go of the small object.

"What is it, Mark?" She asks with an oblivious smile. His eyes fly to hers, and she takes an instinctive step towards him when she recognizes the fear in his eyes. "Hey, Mark, what is it?" She asks softly. Her mouth tilts upwards in a consoling smile. "Come on, what're you hiding?"

"It's—"

"Not nothing," Lexie finishes for him. She covers his hand with hers, noting with curiosity that whatever in his hand seems to be covered in velvet. "Is it some or of mini fabric sample or something?" She jokes. "You redecorating?"

"It's… not that."

"Okay…" Lexie draws out the word, but Mark doesn't elaborate. She grips her hand tighter around his. "Let me see it."

He stares at her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that would make her back down in any other situation. But there's no reason to back down now, Lexie thinks, because it isn't anything. Just some fabric or something. She half-smiles at the idea that he'd be embarrassed to be seen picking out furniture swatches. A moment later her eyebrows draw together. Why in the word would he be embarrassed about that?

"Let me see it," she repeats, her voice shaking for some reason unknown to her brain. Her hand is shaking now, too, and it's as if her body has realized what's happening but her mind hasn't quite caught up. As she scans her brain for ideas, Lexie feels his hands loosen around the object. She takes it in hers, glancing up to him for a moment—his eyes are closed for some strange reason, she observes—before getting a good look at what was hidden in his hand. And when she does, it's as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Leaving the box unopened, Lexie's eyes fly to his, and she can see him flinch slightly at her exhalation of air. It's dead silent between them for a few seconds before Lexie realizes that, as slowly as time is moving for her, it must be ten times worse for him.

"M—Mark," she whispers when she can speak. "I—I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers. His eyes are open now, but they're trained towards the wood floors. "Just pretend you didn't see it."

"But I did see it."

"Pretend."

"I can't," Lexie manages. "I—I can't pretend that I haven't seen this and—" She breaks off, her mind finally catching up with everything that's been happening. "When—when you said this was it—you—you were going to—to propose, weren't you?" She asks incredulously. "You—you had this with you and—"

"No," Mark cuts in, spinning around. His eyes are like blue fire, trained only on her. "No, that is not what happened. I did not plan this."

"Well—well then, why did you…" She swallows. "Why do you have this if you weren't going to ask me?"

Mark sighs softly, his eyes cooling to a chill blue just as quickly as they'd sparked to life moments ago. "I've had it for a while," he confesses.

"For—for me?"

Mark nods, blinking slowly. "Yes, for you." His eyes rise to meet hers, their color and shape extremely tender. They frame the small smile on his face nicely as he answers her. "Always for you." He takes a deep breath, knowing now that his words from earlier had never rung more true. This is it. "Always for you, Little Grey."

"Mark, I…" Lexie's lip trembles and she feels the box shake in her hands. He holds out his to take it, but she simply reasserts her grip, clutching the small object as if it were her lifeline to reality.

"This doesn't have to happen now," he explains softly. "I wasn't even going to ask you. It slipped out, literally, it slipped out of my pocket and—"

"If it was in your pocket, you were thinking about it," Lexie interrupts quietly. "If you were carrying it around, you were definitely thinking about asking me."

"I was thinking about asking you," Mark agrees, "but that…" He gives her wide eyes a half-smile. "That was years ago."

"Years?" Lexie whispers, barely comprehending the word. "Years?"

Mark nods. "When we were first together, you wanted me to meet your dad." He pauses, and Lexie nods numbly, waiting. "I went to a jeweler a few days later."

He can hear Lexie's audible intake of breath, and Mark feels himself hold his own in. If she's running again, it'll probably happen soon.

"All this time?" Lexie whispers. If possible, her brown eyes are wider than before. "All these—all these—years?"

Mark tries to smile. "I asked you back then, remember. I wanted to know if you'd marry—"

"That was a joke," Lexie excuses. He can hear the desperation to be right in her voice. "That was a joke," she repeats firmly.

"It was," he replies. "It was a joke at first, and then…" He takes a breath, staring her in the eyes. "And then it wasn't a joke anymore," he admits quietly. "Then it was all I thought about. Then I just kept waiting for the right moment."

"It didn't come?" Lexie guesses in a whisper, wondering why he'd never asked before now. Mark sighs softly, but his eyes remain locked with hers.

"Oh, it came. It came a lot. I was just… I was just too stupid to take advantage of the moment. I was too stupid and I let you slip away again and again."

"I'm sorry," Lexie whispers. "For putting you through that. For everything." She takes a shallow breath, the best she can manage. "I promise I won't do it ever again."

Mark nods, going along with her statement before his body freezes, mouth going dry. His gaze snap to hers, and it's his turn to stare at her wide-eyed. "What are you…"

Lexie's lips twitch at his expression, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "Want to ask me something?" She whispers quietly, never taking her eyes off his and setting the small box in his hand.

. . .

Like ships in the night

You keep passing my by

Just wasting time; trying to prove who's right

And if it all goes crashing into the sea

If it's just you and me, trying to find a light…

. . .

Author's Note: So originally this was going to be just that first chapter, a one-shot. Then I kept writing, and it was probably going to end have a depressing ending, something like Lexie marrying Avery and Mark ending up all alone… But after seeing more of Shonda's tweets (where she wrote that she 'did not say that' ML would get back together) I realized that I couldn't do that to you guys. I won't stoop to Shonda's evil and vindictive level.

So I decided to make this one happy :)

Oh, and PS: I checked a little while ago and saw that she did say there 'was hope' for ML. I can only hope that she isn't lying to our faces for the millionth time.

Also: Please review! There's probably at least one more part to this, and maybe an epilogue if I feel like it. Thank you for reading. Leave your thoughts!