Chapter 7:

A note to the anon "Olympia": Thank you! I'm really glad you love the story; I know it's a hard one to like, let alone love.

And a note to "angelgrl": I'm glad you find the story realistic. There will be a lot of the first story coming back into this one.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the reviews! …I regret to inform you that this chapter is also quite sad. I'm sorry about the timing with the show.

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Mark Sloan has had enough of waiting. With a sigh, he gets to his feet and leaves the table, heading in the direction of the bathroom Lexie excused herself to use over fifteen minutes ago. His determined stride falters the moment he sets foot inside their bedroom, having found her much more quickly than expected.

But then his eyes fall to her hands, and what she's holding, and he stops dead in his tracks. It takes him a whole minute to be able to speak.

"I… I thought you put that away," Mark calls quietly, breaking the long silence. Lexie's head snaps up at his voice; her eyes fly to the figure leaning against her bedroom's doorframe. She feels her heart try to beat out of her chest like she was a child, being caught red-handed with someone she shouldn't have. But instead of trying to prove her innocence, she clutches the small box closer, protecting it and protecting itself. "Or at least that's what you told me," he murmurs after a moment, his eyes drifting to the two container on her lap.

She sighs slowly before eventually replying in a whisper, "Did you really expect that I would?" She raises her eyes to his; hers are sad and dull. He's sure they're a mirror image of his own. "You think I'd lock it away in the back of our closet and never look at it again?"

He stares at her, and ends up sighing himself when he has nothing to say. "I guess not," he whispers finally, his voice soft. He walks across the room, taking his seat beside her on the edge of the bed.

"I… I did put it away," she whispers, unable to take her eyes off the small, black-and-white photograph resting inside the box. She forces herself not to reach out and touch it. She knows she'll only be disappointed when her finger feels the smooth paper and not a baby's soft skin. Reality is always such a disappointment. "But—But with tomorrow—"

"You don't need to explain tomorrow to me," he interrupts softly, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I get it. I understand."

She looks over at him, her mouth tugging down in a small frown for trying to separate their levels of grief. "Right," she whispers apologetically. "I know you do."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs after a second. "I'm sorry I didn't remember."

"I didn't remember, either," she replies quietly.

"And I didn't mean to sound like I was accusing you when I walked in here."

"You didn't."

"You just left to go to the bathroom…"

Lexie looks down, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she says, having forgotten she left him alone at the dinner table. "I—I just, the closet was open, and I—I saw it after I washed my hands… And I couldn't… I couldn't just leave…"

"I don't blame you," he murmurs, placing his hand on her knee. "I'd have done the same thing."

He nods, and they both lapse into silence.

After a time, she sighs quietly, letting her body fall to the side. His shoulder catches her head softly, and a moment later his arm wraps around her waist. She reaches out, her hand trembling, to pick up the small piece of paper. Carefully, he reaches over to support his side of the picture. He watches as her thumb moves back and forth across the paper, just barely appearing to caress the two-dimensional image. He closes his eyes when he can't watch anymore, and turning his head to hers, presses a kiss against her dark hair.

"We'll get through tomorrow," he tells her quietly, firming up his light grip on her waist. "We've gotten through days, weeks, months… We can do tomorrow."

She nods slowly, her cheek brushing against his shoulder. "Yeah," she whispers quietly. "I know." He listens to her take a slow, shaky breath. "And maybe," she adds softly, "maybe after tomorrow, I'll finally be able to leave this all behind." She wipes away a tear with a still-trembling hand. "Maybe when I don't come home with a crying baby boy in my arms tomorrow, I'll finally give up on the fantasy and come to terms with the reality of what happened to us. Maybe I'll finally accept it."

"You… have come to terms with it," Mark replies, his breathing shallow. He tries not to let himself fall apart at her words and the picture they paint. "We both have. We accepted it."

Lexie turns her head towards him, a sad smile on her face. "Have we really, though?" She whispers. "I know you still dream about him, Mark." He looks away. "And I still do, too." She closes her eyes, taking a slow breath. The scene plays out in her mind, as vibrant and real as if it were a memory. "I—I still see us together, all of us, even though I know he's—he's—"

"Gone."

Lexie opens her eyes, and just like that, the happiness from her dreams has disappeared. "Yeah," she whispers, finding his sad eyes with hers. Her chin wobbles as she forces herself to hold his gaze. "Would you hate me?" She whispers. "Would you really hate me, would you never forgive me if…if I…?"

Mark shakes his head, feeling his eyes prick at the barely-concealed meaning behind her words. His heart constricts upon hearing the terror and heartbreak in her voice. "I could never hate you," he vows. "You could never, ever do anything that would make me hate you."

"B—But he was our son, Mark." And I'm proposing we leave him behind.

Mark nods. "Only… Only for a few months, though," he replies, his voice cracking. "And if—if this is what it takes for us to—to actually heal, to get over what happened…"

"You—You want to do it, then?" She whispers, her breath catching. In awe or horror, even she can't be sure. She knows, on some level, that they are on the same side of this horrible decision. "You wanna let go? Do… Do you think we even can?"

He shrugs helplessly. When he blinks, tears fall down his cheeks. "I don't want to, no But what else can we do, Lex? If remembering him, just for two seconds like this, makes us fall apart every time we do it? What other choice do we have except…except to try to forget? What else can we do?"

"But… But…" Lexie lifts a hand, covering her face. She isn't so sure this is the right idea anymore. "He—He was our son, Mark."

"I know, Lex."

"He was just—" She chokes on the words. "He was just a baby." Her voice catches, and though her throat tightens painfully, she continues. "A little boy. Barely alive… Not—Not even," she corrects through sobs a moment later. "He didn't even get a chance—Not a kick or a cry or a breath—" She breaks off, moaning in realization. "Oh, god, Mark," she sobs, finding his fearful eyes with hers. "I never even felt him kick." Her eyes spill over, unable to hold back anymore. "Not once. Not—Not—"

"I know," he interrupts, his voice gravelly and hushed with pain. She breaks off quickly, realizing how much her words must be hurting him. Instead of continuing, she leans toward him, snuggling against his body. He wraps an arm around her back, stroking her hair gently. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

They hold each other in silence for a few minutes before Lexie speaks.

"Can we…" She pulls up out of his embrace, wiping her eyes carefully and meeting his. "Should we…" She tries to swallow the lump in her throat but it's impossible. "We should probably say good-bye, shouldn't we? If we're letting go?"

Mark nods, and Lexie stares at him, watching his eyes fill with tears again. He takes a shuddering breath, and Lexie feels her heart crack open when those tears fall out of his eyes, leaving wet stains his cheeks. "I'll go first," he whispers when he can. "If you want." They hold the picture between them, and it shakes, even in their joint grip.

"Hey, little guy," he begins a few seconds later. His voice is low and hoarse, riddled with tears and pain, but all Lexie hears is the love behind his words. Instinctively, she huddles closer to him as they stare down at the blurry picture on the worn piece of paper. "I'll—always love you, okay? It was because of you, buddy, that your Mom and I are where we are today. You're the reason we're together; you're the reason we're always going to be together. I owe all that to you, Mikey. I owe my present and my future to you. So thank you."

Lexie covers her mouth at the nickname, turning away when a sob chokes out. "He can't hear us," she protests when his hand touches her arm, silently urging her to speak. "He's—dead. No," she corrects a moment later, close to hysterics, "he's worse than dead! At least being dead implies the person lived at one time. But he never lived. We're talking to a photograph of someone who's never even lived, Mark! We—"

"Say it," he interrupts, his voice hoarse and desperate. "Say it anyway, say what you were going to say, if…if only so I can hear it."

Lexie takes a deep, shuddering breath. She closes her eyes for a brief moment before opening them. Once she does, her gaze never strays from the tiny figure, captured forever and only, in black and white.

"I… I love you, Michael," she whispers brokenly. "I know you—you never got to meet either of us. It wasn't fair. We—We both loved you so much and you never got to see that; you never got to experience that." She sighs softly. "You didn't get much of a chance in anything, really. But sometimes, I guess, that's how life works." She takes a deep breath. "I just, um, I want you to know how much you mean to me. How much I love you and how much I'll always love you. And—" She sucks in a painful breath. "Your dad's right," she whispers. "You're the reason we're together. You're the reason we're getting married. And I've… I've never been so grateful. Your existence means the world to me, no matter for how short of a time you were here. I miss you so much."

Mark takes a deep breath after she finishes speaking; he feels the need to say more. To explain. He closes his eyes, momentarily summoning his courage. "Your Mom and I…" He trails off in a whisper, only continuing after he feels his fiancée's supportive hand squeeze his hip. "We just love you too much. And we can't—with you not here, with no one to—to give our love to… We just have to learn to let go."

The room is bathed in silence for half of a minute before Lexie whispers, ever so quietly, "I'm sorry, Michael."

I doesn't take long for her to fall against him again or for him to give up trying to hold things together. They slump against each other, their shoulders clashing and their heads bent close. They don't move for hours.

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Neither sleeps that night.

They go to bed early, they turn off the lights, they hold each other… But nothing works. Nothing helps. The reality of their loss and their decision to finally give up hits them both again and again, like never-ending waves breaking against a the rocky and damaged shore that is their minds. Their bodies feel just as battered as their heads do, though the scars are impossible to see.

It's a little after midnight when Lexie finally has enough courage to speak the words that have been on her mind for months. Though there has never been a right time—and never will be a right time now, fate has seen to that—she knows that now is the only time. If they're truly letting him go, now is when she has to tell him. Just like she had to say good-bye to Michael, she has to say good-bye to this reality, too.

"You would've been such a wonderful father," she whispers. Her voice is bogged down with tears, and the words scrap painfully from her lungs like nails of chalkboard, but she repeats them again and again. Mark stares at her back while she speaks, frozen in disbelief, as he listens to her voice drift over her shoulder. Her words are like a mantra, she repeats them again and again, and each time simultaneously tortures and lifts his soul, regardless of how many times he's heard it. "He would've been so lucky to have you as a dad."

"Lexie…" Her name claws its way out of his throat. "Lexie, you—"

"I… I know it hurts," she whispers, rolling over to face him. "I know it's hard to hear; hell, it's hard for me to say… But you need to know it, okay? You need to hear it. You…" She closes her eyes; when she opens them, he's staring right at her. "You would have been the best father to our little boy, Mark, I know it. I could see it back then, back when we had him. I just… I just wish…" She trails off, biting her lip to hold back the tears.

"I know," he murmurs when he finally finds his voice. He leans forward, kissing her slowly, softly. Their tears touch and mix. "I wish we'd gotten the chance, too." He pauses. "He would've been just as lucky to have you as a mother, too, you know." He stares into her eyes. "I—I know you were worried, Lex," he begins. "I know you thought you couldn't do it; I know you thought you weren't old enough or experienced enough… But I want you to know… I've always known you could do it. I know you, and you'd—you'd have been a fantastic mother. And you'll… You'll always be his mother, Lexie. He might be gone, but that doesn't change the facts."

Lexie stares at him for minutes on end. Finally, when she can't hold it in anymore, she whispers, broken but truthful, "I love you."

He gives her a sad smile. "I love you too, baby."

She bites her lip hard, but after a few seconds, gives up, and doesn't try and stop the tears. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling her flush against him. Her hands wrap around his back automatically, and for the rest of the night they lie entangled in heartbroken silence.

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"Mark," Lexie whispers the next morning, after they've woken and put on clothes for work. It's still early—over an hour before either of their shifts start—but they couldn't lie in bed doing nothing any longer.

He turns from the dresser, meeting her eyes and looking just as tired as she feels. "Hey," he murmurs, his eyes roaming over her. "How…" He pauses, half-waiting for her to burst into tears. "How are you?"

"I'm…" He watches her chest rise and fall shallowly with a breath. "I'm okay," she settles on softly.

He nods. "Me too," he replies, even though it's clear they're both anything but.

"I, um…" She swallows, searching for something to say, something to do. Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't. Think. "You said you found a church?"

He stares at her for a minute, shocked to be talking about something so normal. Something so… not Michael.

"Yesterday?" She prompts.

"Y—Yeah," he replies quickly, welcoming the change in subject and eagerly latching onto it. "Yeah, I did. It's downtown. A small church, but—"

"Small is good," Lexie interrupts quietly.

He takes a breath, studying her nervously. "You think so?" He manages to whisper.

She nods. "Yeah." He listens to her draw a shaky breath. "I would like to see it."

He feels his heart rise in his throat. Not today. Not now. Not—Not today. "Lexie…"

"Show me the church," she tells him. Her voice is quiet, soft, yet he can still hear the command behind it. The need for change, for distraction, for something new. "Show me where we're going to get married," she continues, her voice much weaker this time. "Show me because I—I need something to hold onto, Mark. I need some way to focus today. And planning the wedding—"

He nods immediately, knowing exactly how she feels. "Let's go."

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"So?" He finally asks after five minutes of dead silence. He looks up and down the rows of pews before focusing his attention on her face. "What do you think?"

"I—"

"You don't like it?" Mark presses before she can even get the words out.

She almost smiles at his insistence. "Mark—"

"We can find another one," he tells her, already turning to the exit. "We have weeks, months, we can find another—"

"I love it."

"You—" He blanks for a second, not having expected this. "You do? Really?"

"Yeah." She turns to him, and he feel almost blinded by the small smile on her face. "I think it's perfect, Mark."

"You…" He takes a breath. "You think we can get married here?"

She smiles, walking a few paces back to his side. "I know we can get married here."

"Then it's settled." He reaches back, resting his palm on her lower back. "We'll do it here." He feels a smile take place on his face at the thought, and he looks to her, ready to see that happiness on her face— "Lexie," he whispers, seeing tears swimming in her eyes. "Lexie, I…"

"You promise me," she whispers, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them tight, "you promise me we'll get through today?"

"I—" He nods. "I promise. Today and—and every day after."

"But… today," she whispers, her eyes wide and fearful and focused on the present. "We can do today, can't we?"

He closes his eyes momentarily, a small smile turning up his lips. He shuffles forward, bending his forehead to touch hers. When he opens his eyes, hers are looking right at him. "I already promised," he whispers, "so unless you'd like me to swear—"

"Swear it," she manages, her voice cracking.

He bends closer, never blinking or breaking eye contact. "I swear," he vows. "I swear to you, I promise, I guarantee—we will survive today."

She swallows roughly, but he can tell her fears have been assuaged for the moment. "And… And every day after?" She whispers.

He nods. "Yes. Yes, every day after."

She takes a deep, shaky breath. "I love you." She confesses the words softly, as if it was her most guarded and closely-kept secret.

He gives her a smile, staring into her eyes for a minute, before bending ever closer and touching his lips to hers as gently as possible. "I love you, too," he murmurs against her skin. "So much."

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Author's Note: Reviews are greatly appreciated! I believe the wedding is up next :)

Also! Important side note: Guys, I need to know... How many people will be pissed if I cut out the wedding scene from You Can't Imagine's epilogue? It worked when I wrote that story, but back then I had no intention of writing a sequel... And it doesn't quite fit anymore in the scheme of this story. I think I'm going to have to leave it out. I hope this doesn't upset too many people, but leave me with your thoughts...