Warning: Rated T for strong language and for some difficult or disturbing domestic violence situations.

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews. You have no idea how much they mean!

MG – I try for you all. I will continue to try and update daily.

Mojotom – Your worst fears are confirmed. ;( I will at least give you this…I planned from the beginning that in this story, Mark will not take it lying down when someone doesn't want him to be with Lexie.

Syb – Thank you so much. Your comments mean a lot.

GabsN – I am glad you are liking it. As for Lexie….

Maria2716 – I loved Mr. Jensen as well. One of my favorite characters I have written thus far. Rest assured…you will hear of him again.

Leann – Thank you for your feedback and reading.

Patsy – Gald you stumbled onto the story and are liking!

Chapter 5 – A Hard Day's Night

Lexie

"Where the hell have you been?" Thatcher Grey's voice boomed on the other side of the door.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my own temper at bay. This was exactly why more and more I had been avoiding wanting to come back home. I had intended to save money after college by living with my dad during internship, but that was no longer an option. Not with the drinking.

Ever since my mother passed away, my dad turned into a completely different person. Not the loving and caring father that had raised me as a little girl. Not the father that encouraged all of my dreams and ambitions. Now, he had turned into some kind of monster out of fairytale books.

"I'm sorry. I've been busy with my internship," I said, even though the words felt like they were acid on my tongue.

This was my life now. Always apologizing and being sorry that I wasn't here more often. That I wasn't enough for him to want to clean up and get healthy from drinking before he drank himself to death. That didn't seem to matter. It didn't seem to matter to him that after my mother passed away, I was the only one left willing to put up with him anymore.

Mr. Jensen's words were screaming repeatedly in the back of my mind. Your surrounded by darkness. You shouldn't have to deal with it on your own. Eventually, it could swallow you whole. What if I already was being swallowed whole? What if the darkness already had a hold of me?

My dad's words snapped me back to attention. "Because the only one you seem to care about these days is you," he spat. "Where is my scotch?"

I let out an exasperated sigh. There were three kinds of drunk Thatcher Grey's. Similar to the stages of grief. There was a happy drunk Thatcher that was extremely rare to get. As if he was remembering all the good times he had with my mother when he started drinking. In those moments, when he would get drunk past the return of remembering, he would smile and want to spend our moments together telling me all about my mother, their love, and their life together. As if he didn't remember that she had died.

Then there was the sad and whinny Thatcher. He would cry and walk around the house fingering every item that reminded him of my mother and break down again. The only thing that seemed to help him before he would eventually pass out, was me following him along and listening to him. Asking questions would seem to break him out of the deepest darkest despair.

The worst stage…the one that seemed to be ever present all the time, was the angry and violent Thatcher. The one that would take out anything and everything on the only remaining person he had left in his life. At first, it just started with words. Things that would strike right at your heart. Cause the back of your eyes to sting before the tears would ultimately fall. After a while, hearing the same awful things over and over, I started to become numb and they didn't hold the same meaning they once held.

That was when he had turned to violence. I had never experienced my father ever lifting a hand my entire life. He had never once even spanked me—and I had done some pretty crazy things as a kid and adolescent—but this was a whole new animal. Between the emotional scars and now physical ones…I wondered if there would ever be a chance for us to recover from this.

"I'm sorry, dad," I said again, trying to say the words without any rage. "They were out of the brand you liked."

It was a lie. The lie I used most of the time, because I would not field his habit. As it was, I was already enabling his behavior enough, but for some reason, unlike Molly, I just couldn't fully walk away. I still wanted to hold out hope that the man that raised me, loved me, cared for me, was still in there somehow.

His eyes narrowed at me, before he stepped away from the door. "Useless," he muttered turning away from me, but his words still reached me.

I begrudgingly stepped inside and shut the door behind me. I closed my eyes once I took in the full view of the room. He had been drinking a lot before I had arrived. The choice to have stayed at the bar and drink with Mark last night instead of stopping over here to check on him was proving to be the wrong decision.

Because why should I have a life?

The room looked as if the house had been broken into and ransacked. There were photo frames strewn all over the floor, broken pieces of glass littered in different areas of the house. I counted almost five empty bottles of scotch left around the room. Chairs were flipped over. The kitchen had various stages of dirty dishes and food left out. I picked up the nearest milk carton, my face frowning as soon as I smelled the rancidness of the milk. The carton was warm and had been obviously left out for days.

First thing was first, I started to make coffee. Not just in hopes of getting my dad to drink a couple of cups and break out of his drunken stupor. The other reason, was I was going to need a ton of caffeine if I was going to pull an all nighter and get this placed cleaned up. Not that he deserved my help or even appreciated that I came over and always cleaned up his mess. The last thing I needed was him getting injured and showing up at the hospital so everyone learned of what he had become.

Once the coffee was brewing, I started with the kitchen. I could hear my dad thumping around, no doubt creating more of a mess that I would have to clean up, but as long as we were able to stay separated, things might be able to cool down. It took about forty-five minutes, but I finally had the kitchen back into a presentable looking room.

"Do you have no pride? Look at this place. How dare you disrespect my home this way," he snapped, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

I counted to ten. I had read that when you were angry and that you didn't want to say something you would regret, that you close your eyes and count to ten. I turned away from him, and pulled out a freshly new clean mug and poured a steaming hot cup of coffee. My dad liked it black. I turned around and slid the coffee cup down the counter letting him know it was for him.

"I didn't do this, dad," I answered calmly.

"Who do you think did this? I don't see anyone else here. Molly would never do anything to disappoint me."

"Molly isn't here," I said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, because ever since your mother—" his voice cracked, his expression turning to one of torture— "—died you've changed. Nobody wants to be around you anymore."

I tried to count to ten, but only made it to three. A girl could only take so much. "No, dad, Molly moved away because she couldn't stand you."

His eyes narrowed. "How dare you!"

"Drink your coffee. I have to go and clean up the next mess you made," I said bitterly moving to go past him.

His hand reached out and gripped my upper arm. His voice rose further. "I have tolerated your disappointments and mistakes long enough."

I flinched in utter shock. "I didn't do anything," I snapped.

His grip on my upper arm tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh. I bit my lip trying to keep from crying out, no doubt his strength in holding me was going to leave another bruise. Another to add to my collection. At least this one would be able to be hidden by my scrubs and lab coat and not raise and suspicion.

Because my life, my personal life, that was on hold. There would be no way I could explain the number of bruises, scratches, and injuries I somehow occurred at his hands. As it was, April was already starting to catch on. I could only use the fact that I was clumsy or drunk so many times before it would raise eyebrows. After all, I was supposed to be a doctor. Who would want to let me around a scalpel if I couldn't walk a straight line?

My dad dragged me into the family room, my shoes crunching the broken glass underneath.

"Look at this place!" he demanded.

His voice boomed in my ear, and I could feel his spit reach my cheek as he turned his anger on me. I was past the point of reasoning with him any longer. When he was this drunk and this far past the point of return, trying to turn small, weak, and groveling for his mercy was the best bet I had.

"I promise, I'll clean it up right now," I answered softly.

He shoved me down, my hands and knees smacking into the hard floor. I winced, as the broken shards of glass dug into both my palms and my knees. Tears started to brim at the back of my eyes, but I didn't dare move. It would only dig the glass in further and make him even angrier than he already was. The best I could ask for at this point was that he would pass out soon.

"It better be spick and span, or so help me god…"

His threat trailed off, and I had to fight back the sob. Hot shame flared to my cheeks, and I was glad that I was looking down and not in a position where he could see me directly. After all these months, I had thought that I built up thick skin. I had thought his words and actions could no longer affect me, but here I was…allowing it to continue to happen. Would I ever be strong enough to walk away?

I gulped. "It will, I promise."

He muttered under his breath, but moved away and plopped himself on the couch. I had hoped that he would have gone to his room or another part of the house, but here he was…watching me like a hawk. At least, without any additional alcohol, he wouldn't be able to get any worse.

The living room took me over an hour, it already well past midnight by the time I got all the glass cleaned up, the cotton and feathers pulled from the ripped open pillows, and furniture back in its place. My dad was still sitting on the couch, but not yet passed out. Every few minutes, his head would lull to the side, before he would shake himself awake.

He looked around the room, and then back at me. The room was cleaner than it had been in years, and yet, I could already see his looking around ready to point out any faults of mine that did not exist. I was tired and at this point didn't really care.

"If you're expecting a thank you, you're not getting one," he snapped.

"I wasn't looking for one," I said evenly.

His eyes turned cold, flaring again with anger. "You dare sass me?"

I was done. I had enough. I was done taking his abuse and his hits—literally. He got himself into this mess and he needed to face the consequences. I couldn't do it anymore.

I turned away from him. "I'm done. Clean up your own mess."

I made my move towards the door, crying out, when I felt the force of my hair being pulled back. "Excuse me?"

"Let go," I cried.

Even if my dad's drunken state, he turned me around to face him. "You don't walk away, unless I allow you too."

I attempted to jerk away from his grip, and failed miserably. "Let go." I repeated.

His hand moved from my hair and back to my upper arm. Digging his finger back into the same spot from earlier, making a sob escape from my throat.

"Get back in there and clean up the rest of your mess!"

Tears slipped from my eyes. "No!"

He pressed his lips together. "This is why your mother didn't want to fight to live. Because she was tired of your disappointments."

I knew it wasn't true, but his words were like a knife directly to the heart. "You are such an asshole," I exclaimed.

I felt the sting of his slap against my cheek, making the tears in my eyes fully fall down my cheeks now. His hand moved down to grab my wrist and pull me back, but I dug my feet into the tile and gave it all I had to resist going with him. Even in his drunken state, he was still much stronger than me.

I did the only thing I could. I was not a violent person. After these last few months being my own dad's personal punching bag, the last thing I ever wanted was to be anything or do anything like him resulting in physical harm, but I needed to get out of here before things got any worse.

My stomach tensed up, as I brought my other free hand back and launched it right at his head. One thing was very clear…I did not know how to throw a proper punch. I didn't know who was hurt worse by my hit—him or me. There was a sharp pain in my wrist, but I bit back the cry, as his grip on me let go as he stumbled back. I took the advantage, turned, grabbed my purse and jacket and fled.

"Lexie?"

My attempt to come home and be quiet and not wake anyone was all futile. April was already in the kitchen brewing a cup of coffee, and I could hear the shower running down the hall.

I cleared my throat. "Um, hi."

Her brows furrowed together. "Are you just getting home now?" she asked, turning to look back at the clock on the microwave.

My eyes followed hers to the clock and noticed that it was after two in the morning.

"Yeah. What are you doing up?" I asked.

She frowned. "We have early morning rounds at four. Don't you remember?"

I scolded myself internally. I hadn't remembered that we had early morning rounds. Normally, they weren't that early, but there was talk about things having to change at the hospital for the next couple of days. Something about a patient that was coming that required more security and essentially VIP treatment.

"Sorry, I forgot," I said sheepishly.

The apartment was dark, but as I moved closer to the kitchen where the glow of light from underneath the stove shined, I realized that April's expression turned to one of aghast. Her eyes went round, her hands stilled with the cup of coffee in her hand.

"What happened?" she cried.

I had forgotten what I must've looked like. I still had cuts on my hands, I was sure my cheek still had a red blotch from where my dad had slapped me, and with the little sleep I had…I was sure that I must've looked like I had just spent the whole night drinking myself.

"Nothing," I lied.

April dropped her cup on the counter and came around to intercept me. "Lexie, who did this to you. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I repeated more firmly.

I felt bad that she seemed genuinely hurt that I was shutting her out. April was one of the sweetest people that I knew. She had been there for me after my mother had died, and was becoming one of the closest friends I ever had. Out of everyone, she would be the person that I could trust with telling my secrets. I know she would keep them and not judge me—maybe it had to do with her faith in God—but I just couldn't.

I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I knew I was better and stronger than allowing someone to mistreat me and harm me physically. There was no excuse—no matter how much I loved my father to allow him to behave and treat me this way, yet I allowed it to happen anyway.

I had taken courses in medical school regarding signs of domestic abuse in the event it happened or we came across it in the hospital. Domestic abuse mostly affected females and I exhibited all the signs. Separating myself from my friends and loves ones. I made excuses for him. I constantly told myself that things would get better. That this wasn't him. Maybe it hadn't been him before, but it was who he was now. Until he decided to clean himself up or get help…I needed to let him go.

"Lexie…"

"I need to get ready," I interjected.

"You look exhausted," she pointed out.

"I'm fine," I retorted.

I was close to making it to my room, when Jackson stepped out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his bare muscular chest on display. Even in my quickened pace and attempt to want to hide, it was hard not to appreciate the view. Jackson was a pretty guy. Don't get me wrong—he was very masculine, and he had the muscles on display to prove it—but his aqua green eyes and facial features could have very well been carved from stone, made him attractive.

Like April, Jackson stopped short having seen my appearance. My wrist was throbbing something fierce. I was pretty certain I did not break it, but it would definitely need a bandage for support for the next few days. I just needed to get to my room and then the bathroom to try and wrap it and wash away the night.

His brows pinched together. "What happened to you?"

I tried to not to feel touched that he did care. He looked like what I imagined a big brother might look like at seeing someone they cared about looking distressed and clearly injured. I gave him the same answer as April.

"Nothing," I lied.

He crossed his arms over his bare chest, making his chest muscles that much more pronounced. "You don't look like nothing. Did someone hurt you?"

"No," I lied again.

When it came to my dad and his situation, the lies seemed to just flow so easily, and I hated it. But he was my dad, and that meant this fell onto my shoulders. If it wasn't for the fact that f I didn't go over there and check on him, that I was sure he would get in his car drunk and possibly hurt others—I would fully walk away. The guilt that someone could seriously get hurt and I chose to walk away…was the only reason I kept going back.

I absentmindedly pushed my hair forward, to shield as much of my face from his view as I could. All it did was show the cuts to my hands. His eyes sprang up.

"Lexie, what the hell!"

"Shh!" I admonished looking over my shoulder, knowing April was not far away.

His lips pressed into a hard line. "This is not nothing," he whispered harshly.

"It's none of your business."

His features took on a frustrated look. "Is that what you're going to go with?"

I just stared at him. After a moment, I gave him a quick nod. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

He shook his head disapprovingly, his eyes sad. "We're your friends. We just want to help."

I knew that. But this was something I had to do on my own. This was my problem. "I know. Thank you," I said, stepping to move past him.

His hand reached out as if he was going to stop me, and I immediately sputtered. Jackson's hand instantly recoiled, only adding to his heightened concern. I could see he wanted to say more, but he must've seen on my facet that I was close to falling apart and that it was something I didn't want to do in his presence. He stepped back and gave me a slight nod.

I scurried to my room to grab fresh clothes and made it to the shower.

Mark

I hated rounds this early. I hadn't had to be at the hospital doing these kinds of rounds since early on in my residency. In truth, I didn't need to be here this early. The interns and second year residents would be required to be here, and since Derek and I were partnering on this next case together, he was taking lead…but I couldn't sleep.

As much as I tried to push the thoughts from my mind about what Mr. Jensen had said about me, Lexie, and even his cryptic message about my rapidly growing closeness to the young intern. It was the fact that Mr. Jensen looked concern at telling Lexie about her being surrounded by darkness. I didn't know why I was feeling these urges of protectiveness when it came to the young intern, but they were happening none the less.

I tried to tell myself that it was because she would be like a sister to me. I instantly, recoiled at that thought. Derek was my brother, and he was going to marry Meredith, which meant that Lexie was going to be his sister. He made that perfectly clear last night in our conversation by the elevator and his warning that it meant that I should stay clear from her.

No matter how hard I tried to want to stay away from her, I was constantly pulled in her direction. It was bound to happen when she was working cases with me, and me being her attending, but I would be lying to myself if that was the only reason. I was seeking opportunities out to be near her or see her.

Like asking her if she wanted to get drinks together as friends. She had friends, but for whatever reason, I felt as if the friends she had wasn't the kind of friends she really needed. Friends that she wanted to confide in and tell her deepest darkest secrets too. You want that to be you. Maybe she wanted that person to be Meredith, but she wasn't showing any openness when it came to wanting to get to know her.

Something was clearly going on. I could see it behind her amber eyes. There was concern and something else there. Darkness. Something was troubling her. I wanted to get to the bottom of it. I shouldn't' get involved. She was my intern. I should let her friends or someone else—like a boyfriend be the one to help. The thought alone that some other guy would be close to her and getting to the bottom of it made my stomach churn.

She wasn't dating anyone. She didn't mention having a boyfriend. When I asked about her having a hot date, she nixed that idea right away. She wasn't meeting with her friends at the bar—even if she didn't want to drink with me—so this was something else. What could have her so distracted and almost afraid to have to deal with it on her own?

I wanted to push. I wanted to demand that Lexie tell me what was going on, but I instantly turned that idea down. Lexie was not the kind of woman you pushed into anything. The more you pushed, the more she would retreat and back away. As much as I was internally struggling with having to wait and be patient—two things I was never good at—it was what I was going to have to do.

I met up with Derek at the main atrium of the hospital, knowing that the entire staff was going to have to be looped in on their new mystery patient. As it was, the hospital already had to security detail here prepping for the arrival any minute. Making sure that all proper security measures were taking place as he got admitted.

As a crowd started to form, my eyes instantly started to look around the room until I spotted her. She was standing among her friends, but something was off. Even from over here…she looked exhausted. I could see bags forming under her eyes, and even though I had only been looking at her for less than thirty seconds, she must've yawned at least four or five times.

Her friend; the redhead, I think her name was Dr. April Kepner handed her another cup of coffee—which she took appreciatively—I could see it did nothing to help the internal struggle that she was battling. As if that pull that always seemed to occur when the two of us were together in the same room happened, her eyes instantly found mine. She held my gaze for a few seconds before I was the first to break it. You're her teacher. You're her teacher.

Before I tore my gaze fully away, I caught sight of what looked like bandage around her arm. As if she knew I was looking, she quickly pulled the sleeve of her lab coat down, while the other still held the cup of coffee in her hand. Even from almost across the room, I could see that the inside of her palms were red. Were those scratches?

"Alright, listen up," Chief Hunt said, pulling me from wanting to take a closer look. "I am only going to say this once. If I catch you spying or trying to get anywhere near this case where you don't belong, I will suspend you." Everyone in the room quieted down. "You are probably wondering who these two men are standing directly next to me," continued Owen.

My eyes instantly went to the men in black suits. They looked and dressed what would look like typical feds, but I knew they were just private security thanks to our patient. They had been with him at our initial consult when Derek and I considered taking the case, and it was made clear they would be with us for the entire stay of their duration at Seattle Grace.

"Doctor's Shepherd and Sloan will be performing a joint surgery on our patient. Dr. Shepherd will be removing a tumor, while Dr. Sloan will work to place a skin graft on our patient," said Owen.

"While all the secrecy?" asked Alex.

Dr. Alex Karev was the other resident playboy—so they loved to call him—around Seattle Grace. He was a little rough around the edges and had more of an attitude that someone should have for only being in their second year, but he was somewhat capable. At least more capable than George O'Malley. I still didn't care for him much, after all, he was the one that slept with an ex of mine when I had thought wanting a serious relationship with her was what I wanted.

"Because, our patient is Senator James Whittman," Owen answered.

There were collective gasps around the room. Senator James Whittman was one of the youngest senators to come from our state. He was young, had the looks, and knew how to charm any lady or man if that got him a vote. I didn't really give a crap about politics, and normally tried to stay away from wanting to treat anyone that considered themselves as high importance as James did, but couldn't argue the great publicity he was going to bring.

Of course, like most politicians, he wasn't going to disclose—nor should he have too—the full reason he was here at the hospital seeking treatment, but instead using it as a PR stunt to further his play into the community. The man could most likely sell ice to the Eskimos.

"For those of you that will be assigned to Senator Whittman's case, you will have an escort with you at all times. I don't need to tell you how important and serious it is to ensure our patient confidentiality and care while he is here at Seattle Grace," Owen continued sternly.

Derek and I had talked last night about who we wanted on the case. Initially, it was going to just be mostly attendings and one or two second year residents, but Owen reminded us that this was a teaching hospital, and that we needed to have interns on the case. To me, it was risky and a lot to ask putting new interns on a case that was this important and could have serious implications if anything went wrong. Whether you loved or hated Senator Whittman, the man was popular. No doubt, we would already have mobs of reporters outside waiting to get a glimpse of him, or attempt to talk to one of his doctors.

"Doctor's Yang and Lexie Grey, you will be assigned to Dr. Shepherd's service today. Doctor's Karev and Wilson, you will be on Dr. Sloan's service. That is all folks."

Derek and I waited for everyone to clear out before the others approached us. My eyes instantly went to Lexie who was clearly trying to avoid eye contact with me. I had originally wanted her on my service, but after my conversation with Derek the night before, I felt the last thing I needed to do was raise his suspicion on anything if he thought I was merely trying to sleep with her.

I had asked for Big Grey, but Owen had immediately dismissed the idea. He didn't want it to seem like he was playing favorites by assigning Derek's own girlfriend to a high-profile case. Funny considering, he was trying extremely hard to hide the fact that he was chasing Cristina Yang all over the hospital but assigned her to the case. Yang had no interest normally in anything outside of cardio, but this was the kind of case that looked good when taking the boards.

It left me with Karev and Wilson. Karev was at least someone I could work with, even though I didn't care much for him. Dr. Wilson, while she was cute, I didn't know much about. I only had her on my service once and even during that case it wasn't enough to really determine her skills and abilities. As it was, she was looking pretty chummy with Karev, which made me wonder if the resident was already attempting to try and get in her pants.

We filled in everyone on the case with as much details, both of James security details staying with us at all times. The man had a team of four security with him. Two that stayed with him in his room, and the other two that would be responsible for following us around the hospital. It wasn't because he didn't trust—or so he says—but to ensure that things ran smoothly. A.k.a. making sure we didn't kill the Senator before he could possibly run for the presidency in years to come.

As we reached the room, I noticed that Lexie wasn't just trying to avoid eye contact with me, but she was trying to keep herself as far from me as she could get. That only made me want to find out more on what was going on. Something was going on, and it was serious. Now, that I could look at her more closely, whatever or wherever she had gone last night did not look like it was kind to her.

She definitely looked tried. The bags under her eyes were more pronounced up close, and she still continued to yawn no matter how much coffee she had. She was definitely sporting some bandage on her left wrist, and my eyes narrowed when I confirmed that she had scratches on her palms. What the hell could she have been doing to end up with scratches on her hands?

For now, that would have to wait. We had an important patient we needed to tend too.

"Doctor's Shepherd and Sloan…just the two men I wanted to see," James greeted with his wide high wattage smile.

"Good to see you again, Senator Whittman," Derek replied.

He raised his hand to wave us off. "Please, how many times do I have to tell you to call me James," he said.

I let Derek do most of the talking, because men like James were not the kind of people, I liked to kiss ass too. His eyes surveyed the room at our new guests. He looked to each of the doctor's giving them direct eye contact and a nod as he passed over each of them. When he got to Jo, his smiled went wider giving her a quick glance. When he reached Lexie, something in my gut revolted at his appraising glance.

It wasn't as if I had any claim or stake on my intern, but I didn't have to like the way he was looking at her. Like she was one of his constituents that he needed to win over. His lips turned upwards from ear to ear, and his eyes did a long slow appraisal of her body. Lexie must've noticed it too, because I saw the flush to her cheeks as she smiled in return nervously and tucked her hair behind her ear. I found she was doing that a lot when she seemed nervous or wanted to hide something.

Don't smile at him. Smiling and egging on men like James Whittman was a challenge. I might not be a relationship guy and like sex as much as the next hot-blooded male, but men like Whittam were different. It was almost a game to them. How many they could conquer and add to their belt. The harder the woman was to get the better the challenge and game to be played.

And James Whittam was single. Not that most married politicians were faithful anyway. It just meant that he was able to come and go as he pleased without having to face far more scrutiny than others. Eventually, if he did want to run for the presidency, he would need to settle down and find a wife—cause voters didn't like a single president—and that would make it harder for men like James to continue to play their games.

James eyes remained on Lexie's, which instantly had me stepping forward and clearing my throat. He reluctantly pulled his gaze from Lexie to look back at me.

"As we mentioned to you in our consultation, this is a teaching hospital," I said. "We have a couple of our residents and interns that will be helping with us on this case."

James's hand rested on his chest as if he was getting ready to issue his next big speech. "I am nothing if not supportive of the fundamental importance in teaching our next round of our most prized medical professionals," he said in a charming tone.

He was good. Really good. The only female that didn't seem to be buying any of it was Cristina Yang. That was because she seemed to be immune to any man—with the exception of Chief Hunt for some reason. Something I still didn't and couldn't understand.

Derek and I started off the case, turning to give each of the residents and interns a chance to go over what he needed to know. Lexie was tasked to discuss his aftercare once Derek removed his tumor and I were to place the skin graph. Really, the graph wouldn't be needed, I could just work the scar into his hairline, but James and to ensure that he looked flawless. His constituents weren't interested in disfigurement—or so he says. So much about caring about making their lives better. Since he would already be under, Derek and I couldn't argue another course of treatment. The patient would get what he wanted.

"Don't worry sweetie, I will be out of here in no time," James said when Lexie mentioned that we were advising a week here at the hospital.

I bit the inside of my cheek at him calling her sweetie. It wasn't just degrading based on the fact that she was a doctor, but he was doing it as a way to try and charm into her pants. She wouldn't fall for this guy, would she?

"Be that as it may, Senator Whittman, it is the hospital's recommendation for your recover time and your own safety," she rebutted sweetly, but there was an edge to her tone.

Derek and I already knew that no matter what we said, James was going to discharge as soon as possible. He had made it clear on several occasions that he had too many important meetings and functions that he would need to attend too, and the longer he stayed in the hospital, the harder it was going to convince his people that it was nothing serious.

"Well, I have an important function to be at in two days, so that is how long you all have me for," he said.

Lexie looked as if she was about to open her mouth to argue, but I caught her gaze and gave her a slight shake of the head to let her know not to push it any farther.

Before Derek could leave Lexie alone with James, I spoke up directing that it would be Doctor's Yang and Wilson that would be prepping James for surgery. Lexie looked shocked that she wasn't going to be asked to do it, while Yang wanted to groan. If I didn't know any better, James looked a little disappointed as well that Lexie wouldn't be staying behind so he could charm her.

As we left the room, I stopped Lexie. "Dr. Grey, a word."

Derek shot me a questioning look, but I ignored him and waited until he and Alex left giving us some privacy.

"Is everything ok, Dr. Sloan?" she asked.

My eyes looked back down at her wrist, and she instantly put her arm behind her back. She was back to not looking at me again, which told me she was in fact hiding something. I had to be careful in how far I went with pushing her, because if I did push too much, she would close up and shut me out.

"Follow me," I beckoned.

We were out in the open hallway, and if I had any hope in getting her to open up to me, doing it out in the open was not going to work. What didn't help matters, was that one of the two security details eyes were watching us. I would be damned if I was going to let them in the room when I got her alone.

She rushed to catch up with me, but was at my side in seconds. "Am I in some kind of trouble?"

I grunted, but didn't answer the question. I opened the door to one of the exam rooms and motioned for her to go inside. She looked at the inside of the room as if I was going to imprison her in there and throw away the key. Her eyes searched mine, and when she realized that I was not going to back down, she sighed and went into the room.

"You can stay out here," I snapped at his security detail.

He didn't like that he was being told to stay put, but I was going to be damned if I was going to let him in on this private conversation with my intern. I entered the room and shut the door in his face, not bothering if he liked it or not.

Lexie whirled on me as soon as the door was what. "What is this about?"

I crossed my arms. "You tell me."

She stared at me in confusion. "I don't know what you mean," she said her voice going an octave higher and cracking a bit.

My ass you don't. I couldn't push her though. "You look tired, Dr. Grey. I don't need to tell you the ramifications of what could happen if you are on this case and you are not up to handling it," I said instead.

When her eyes looked at me again, I was sure she could see the worried look on my face. I could have taken my concerns right to Chief Owen, which would certainly have her removed from the case and then only make her angrier with me.

"I'm fine, I promise," she said.

It didn't matter what she promised. I wasn't believing a word she was saying. She was tried and all of the physical proof proved it. I was sure that even if she was tired, she was still capable of being on the case and assisting with the surgery. It was the wrist and hands I was worried about.

"And everything is ok…at home," I pressed.

Lexie looked at me suspicious by my line of questioning. "Do you always get this involved with your interns' personal lives?"

She was deflecting, but I wasn't biting. My concern was about her directly, but I couldn't tell her that. While I morally had an obligation for my patient's well-being, I already knew that Lexie wouldn't do anything to put her patient in harm's way. She was a different story. She was hiding something that was clearly causing her trouble. Whatever it was…I wanted to help. And that wasn't because she was my intern and I was her teacher.

I looked again to where her hands were behind her back. "When there is something to be concerned about," came my reply.

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly.

So, she wanted to play this the hard way. That was fine by me. "Let me see your wrist, Dr. Grey," I said.

She stepped back. "No."

I took a step forward. "Let me see your wrist, Dr. Grey, or I will be forced to pull you off the case." She looked as if I had just physically hurt her. I sighed. "If the guy outside catches a glimpse of this, they will pull you off this case so fast."

That had done it. Her resolve slipped. It was a bit of an exaggeration that she would be pulled of the case. James would have to get wind and personally request to Derek and I that he wanted her off the case, and based on the way he was looking at her when we left the room, I didn't see that happening.

When I stepped forward again, this time her feet stayed planted. I extended my hand out asking for hers and slowly she started to release her arms from behind her back and gave me her left wrist. I took it and gently unwrapped the bandage and started to exam it. It would be better if Callie looked at this, but considering the fight she was putting up with me, the chance that I could get her to let Callie take a look was slim to none.

She tried to hide her winces when I manipulated it different ways, but I concluded that it was twisted or sprained and would only need the extra support for a day or so.

"I'll rewrap it, but it doesn't appear it will give you any trouble," I concluded.

"I told you I was fine," she said in a self-satisfied tone.

My expression was doubtful. I gently took hold of the wrist along with the bandage and wrapped it snugly. She would be able to use it and it should still provide enough support to experience less pain. A better wrap job then she attempted before. The only positive it was her non dominant hand.

"How's that?" I asked, letting her go.

She turned her wrist left and right and then nodded. "It's good, thank you."

"It would be good if you would stop managing to injure yourself," I commented.

"Not like I am doing it on purpose," she retorted.

"Pretty soon you are going to have to keep me on speed dial to handle your next injury."

She cringed and I regretted the words when they came out of my mouth. Something was definitely going on…something that either scared her or cut her deep. I wanted to so badly to push and intervene and find out what would cause her to look and feel that way, but I couldn't risk pushing too much too quickly to where she would shut me out completely.

"It won't happen again," she said softly.

I don't know who she was trying convince more, me or herself. She gave me one last look and then tried to bolt from the room.

"Lexie!" Her hand stilled on the knob of the door, her head glancing over her shoulder. I had to give it one more try that she knew I was there for her. "I know something is going on with you. I don't know what, but I know. If you ever want to talk, I'll be here…waiting."

I shouldn't have said that, because in truth, I was her attending and boss. I had no right to be involved in her personal life.

"Thank you," she said to the door, before opening and walking out of the room.

A/N: If you or anyone you know may be a victim of any domestic abuse…contact National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-SAFE (800-799-7233). Call the hotline for crisis intervention and referrals to resources, such as shelters.