Warning: Rated T for strong language.

A/N: Thanks again for the love and support with your reviews.

Chapter 9 – A Little Help From a Friend

Lexie

It was the following day, and my nerves were threatening to take hold of me and swallow me whole.

Today was the day that Mark and I were going to check on my father.

It happened to coincide that we both had the earlier shift at the hospital, so we were out of there before nightfall. Between my recent successes with the gala and securing donors for the hospital, and now helping the hospital avoid new technology that would clearly make our jobs that much worse, Owen was adamant that I had earned the early evening off.

Luckily, I had not been on Mark's service today. I had been on Dr. Robbins's service with Dr. Karev. In between patients, and one surgery I got to observe, I tried to think of a number of excuses to get out of Mark needing to come with me today. I didn't regret telling him what was going on, but my moment of weakness…I regretted that I was going to pull him into this mess.

After I had changed in my regular clothes, a dark pair of jeans and a ruby red sweater, Mark was casually waiting near the exit where we parked our cars. I took a deep breath getting ready to try out one of my excuses for why he did not need to come—including that I wasn't going to go, when I was going to go—but he had already guessed what I was going to do by the look on my face.

"Don't even try," he warned.

My shoulders slumped as I just sighed and continued walking, him falling into step with me. We had argued in the parking lot about me going in the car with him. I had argued that we would take separate cars, but he had once again proved to be too crafty with reasons why I shouldn't say no.

And here we were. We were parked just outside of my childhood home, sitting in Mark's nice and plushy Porsche. He seemed to understand my hesitance and need to wait before going inside. It was something I had to do all the time. Psych myself up that I was strong enough that I could do this. That I could walk back in that house and shut off all emotions and just do what I needed to do.

This time…it felt different. This time, I had the support of the man next to me. I sat there in silence, every few minutes his eyes looking back and forth between the house and his steering wheel and even sometimes me. He looked like a man that was at peace right before he was ready to charge into battle.

I felt I owed him one more time to back out. "Are you sure you really want to come with me? You don't have to do this," I said.

He looked at my home, and then at me. His eyes were set to a determination, his jawline hardened. "I'm with you all the way, Lexie. I am not letting you go in there yourself," he replied.

His words were like a salve to an open wound. A calming sensation to burned or flamed skin, that gave me that comfort and release to knowing I was going to be ok. The words died in my throat, the emotion of his words and the look he was giving, making it hard to say anything. I nodded mutely.

His hand reached out, and this time I didn't pull back. His larger fingers closed over my smaller ones, our fingers interlocking. It was such a thing that a couple would do, and while it did even hold a semblance of more romantic feelings I was beginning to have for him, that I could no longer ignore—this was him offering me the support he knew I needed just to get out of this car and make the walk up towards the house.

I looked up at him again, and returned a smile. A smile that said I was ready. A smile that said that even though deep inside I felt nothing but dread, that I was hallow, I could do this. His expression already told me he knew all of this and that if I needed him…he was there. I would never forget his kindness or help today.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded. Ready."

He released my hand and instantly I hated it. There was a brief moment of panic that started to bubble up within me, but then I remembered that as much as I tried to tell myself that I hadn't needed him, I was glad for his strength and comfort beside me.

Like I had done hundreds of times before, we both walked up towards the walkway of my childhood home. I reached into my jacket and pulled out my keys, my hands trembling slightly. I could sense that Mark saw it too, but instead of saying anything, he just offered me the support through stepping a bit closer that I could feel his arm brush against mine.

I shoved the key in through the lock, closing my eyes as the squeak of the door opening let me know there was no turning back now.

"Dad!" I called out less confidently than I felt.

It was dark with the exception of the light on the hallway table, something we would always leave on when we were out and figured we might not be back before dark.

"Dad!"

I stepped further into the room, Mark's presence right behind me. The house was in shambles—again—but nowhere near as bad as it was before. I felt a clink at my feet. I bent down and picked up a large empty glass bottle of scotch that my toe had hit.

I turned with the item in my hands, Mark looking at me and then the glass bottle. "Is he here?" he asked.

I gave a slight shake to my head, worry starting to crease my forehead. What if he was drunk—which at this point was highly likely—and he was driving? He could hurt someone. This was what I had feared by not coming back to check on him sooner, regardless of what happened last time. Unlike me, he never remembered what he did when he was that drunk. He never remembered the times that he had physically harmed me.

I put the bottle on the side table next to me and walked back out the front door. Mark followed me. "His car is still here," I said with a note of relief.

"Do you know where he could be?" he asked.

I let out a sigh. "There's a shopping center less than a half of mile from our house. There's a bar and a grocery store in the same plaza. If I had to guess, he is either at the bar drinking, or he is restocking his supply."

I walked back into the house, grabbing the empty bottle and whatever additional trash I could hold, making my way to the kitchen to deposit it in the bin.

"I'm glad he didn't take the car, but why didn't he? Doesn't he at least realize that drinking and driving is illegal?"

I frowned, because I wish that was the case. "No," I said sadly. "Usually there is an altercation when I have to pry the keys from him when he wants to drive. If he didn't take the car, it's because his keys are around here somewhere and he just can't find them," I replied.

The kitchen was at least cleaner than it was the last time, but I immediately grabbed the sponge from the sink and started wiping things down and putting any usable food back away.

Mark crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. "Do you always do this?"

I looked up from wiping down the kitchen island. "Do what?"

"Clean up after his mess."

My hand stilled from scrubbing the counter. His inquiry wasn't one that was accusatory or mean, just curious to understanding the dynamic of our relationship.

"It keeps me busy," I said.

He uncrossed his arms and walked over to me, until we were so close to almost touching. I had to tip my head back to look up at him since he was much taller than me. "So, you don't have to feel that what he does hurts you," he guessed.

The water was brimming again at the back of my eyes. My head moved up and down. Mark's hand reached out to my hand that was still holding the sponge and gently lifted it off of it. "How about I clean this one up for you?"

I started to shake my head, but the sponge was already in his hand. "I can't—"

"You didn't," he interjected. "Sometimes, you just have to let someone take care of you," he said.

The feeling inside of me, that pull to want to lean into him was happening again and it felt so strong. The more time I spent with him, the more I was within his personal space, the more I was finding it harder to pull away. I was finding it harder to come up with excuses to stay away.

He was my boss. I should care, but I didn't.

He was older than me. That just meant he had more wisdom to offer me.

He was accomplished and I was just starting out. It was more that he could teach me so I could be successful.

He didn't do relationships—just sex. I didn't care anymore…

I could feel myself leaning in. If I didn't know any better, I swear that he was also leaning down, because was tall like a tree and if he didn't meet me some of the way, I would have to climb him just to get to him.

"Molly!"

My dad's voice broke the moment, and I pulled back quickly. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, biting the inside of my cheek. Of course, once again, he would think it was Molly that was here.

"Molly!"

I gave Mark a sympathetic look. Whatever might have possibly happened between us just before my father had walked in the door, was already gone. It was as if he had shaken his head, and the spell between us was broken.

"I better go and…"

He nodded, tossing the sponge back onto the sink. I started to move towards the opening of the kitchen, but stopped when my dad stumbled into the doorway with a bag in his hand. The sound of clinking filled the space. He had gone to the store to get more alcohol.

My dad's eyes scrunched together at me, and then he looked passed me seeing that Mark was standing there. "What are you doing here? And who's this?" he snapped.

His words were angry and cruel sounding. I felt Mark's looming presence behind me, a low growl already rumbling from his chest and up his throat. That was how close he was to standing next to me. His warmth was like the additional strength and security blanket I needed to deal with this situation.

"I came to check on you dad," I said evenly.

Thatcher's eyes looked up to Mark again. "And who is this? Did you think to even ask me if it was ok to you bringing a guest over?"

For a moment, I think I could see that he was somewhat embarrassed that someone was in our home and it was a mess. A mess because of him.

"Dad, this is Dr. Mark Sloan. He's a friend of mine at the hospital," I replied.

My dad's eyes narrowed. "This is what you are doing instead of actually learning. Spreading your legs to get ahead."

"Dad!"

Mark's growl became more prominent, but I turned and placed my hand on his chest to stop him from lunging forward and wanting to hurl my dad across the room. "Please don't," I whispered.

Mark looked at me, his eyes softening for a moment, before he nodded and looked back up at my dad. "Don't speak to her that way," he warned through clenched teeth.

My dad's sneer came out as some kind of strangled snort. "This is my home. I will speak to her however I want."

My hand was still on Mark's chest and I could feel him inching forward again. I gently applied the pressure reminding him to not do it. Part of me really wanted him too…but it wouldn't get us anywhere. There was no way that I should be dragging Mark into this mess of mine. Fight my battles for me.

What angered me the most was that I wasn't even worthy enough to have him use my name or claim I was his daughter. I was just her. Based on his stumble and the slur to his words, he was already well past intoxicated. His hand that was carrying the bag, must've been heavy with the way his shoulder slumped down in weight.

What I would really like is to walk right back out the front door and leave, but I couldn't do that. I would need to somehow distract him and hide the alcohol for now. A place he could find it when he was sober, but not enough brain cells to attempt to look for it before he would pass out. Which by the looks of him, he was close to doing anyway.

"Why don't I take the bag from you and get you a fresh glass. You can go and rest on the couch," I offered.

My dad's eyes were still focused more on Mark. He clearly saw him as a threat. It was easy to push me around and say awful things, but it was harder for him to do that when you had someone like Mark standing behind me.

That was the thing about Mark. Something I had noticed over the last couple of weeks. It didn't matter who was around him, they reacted as if they consciously expected it. Some looked at Mark like a god, others looked at him longley like they wanted to be wrapped up in him, and some just downright seemed to fear him and his intimidating presence. As if he could snap his fingers, and get them to do whatever he wanted. My father was looking at him with the fear and intimidating presence even if he tried to hide it.

"I can do it myself," he said stubbornly, his steps clunky as he moved towards the kitchen island.

Mark's hand rested on my arm, gently shoving me to the side, so my dad didn't crash into me as he attempted to get to a solid piece of furniture in one piece.

"Dad, please—"

My father whirled on me so quick I hadn't expected it. "I said I am fine," he roared his body looming over me.

I didn't have time to register it before it happened. I was moved swiftly out of the way—behind Mark's back—as he stepped in front of me putting himself between me and Thatcher.

His voice remained calm, leveled, his eyes never leaving Thatcher's face. "I think everyone just needs to call down."

My father's eyes narrowed at Mark. I hadn't realized my hand was already clutched around Mark's upper arm seeing the hatred in my father's eyes.

Thatcher spat. "You think because you are fucking her that you can tell me what I can do. Screw you."

Mark's expression turned dangerous. "I am only going to tell you one more time to watch your language," he threatened.

My father let out a sound that I think was a laugh but came out more like a cackle. "Your nothing. She's nothing. Get out."

I stepped out from behind Mark. "Dad, please, stop this. We are only trying to help," I pleaded.

Then everything happened so fast, that it all became a blur. When my father grabbed hold of my wrist—the same one I had injured a few days before in punching him to escape—Mark sprang into action. My father's grip on my hand was gone in an instant. Mark had my father's shirt bunched in a fist as he pushed him back and against the refrigerator—hard.

"Don't touch her!" he snarled.

My father's eyes went wide, as I realized that Mark just didn't have him backed up against the refrigerator, but his toes were barely touching the floor at this point. What was even more interesting was that my father's wide eyes were looking in my direction. For help.

"Don't look at her!" he snapped.

Thatcher looked back at Mark. My feet were planted right where they were. I wanted to diffuse the situation, but something stopped me. Something inside told me that whatever Mark was doing needed to be done. Mark shoved him again—not hard—but enough to make sure that my father's attention was on him.

"You will not touch her. You will not speak to her in that manner again. Do you understand?"

I wanted to tell Mark that his efforts would be for nothing. That my father would not remember any of this when he woke up from whenever he passed out.

My father nodded, but that wasn't good enough. Mark shook him again. "Say the words," he demanded.

"Okay…" Thatcher exclaimed.

Mark didn't let him go. He turned his head to look at me. "Your dad and I are going to be right back," he said calmly, but there was still rage storming behind those icy blue eyes.

I didn't dare argue with him. Mark looked over at the bag of alcohol on the counter and I understood what he was saying. Wherever he was going to take my father would give me a chance to hide the alcohol like I had planned. I nodded. Mark grabbed my father by the lapel of his shirt dragging him from the room. I distinctly heard my father call my name out as a plea, but for the first time ever—I didn't go running to him.

Mark

He was lucky that I didn't kill him. I wanted too, but then I would spend my entire life in jail and I was pretty sure that Lexie would never speak to me again.

The moment his hand touched her wrist, I saw red. I could see it in Thatcher's body language that he was going to use his weight, strength, and intimidation—even in his drunken state—to hurt her. I wasn't about to let that happen.

All I kept thinking about was how many times this probably happened to her before. How many times she endured some physical torment from him, but kept coming back anyway, because of her love for him. What kind of person would be willing to do that?

An angel that was who.

Lexie deserved better than this piece of trash of a father. After my mother died, I had lucked out when my piece of trash of a father up and left. As I looked at Thatcher and the torment, he was causing his youngest daughter, I was lucky that mine just up and walked away.

Didn't he see that Lexie loved him? That she would do almost anything—including taking his disgusting words and physical hits—just to make sure that he was ok. He didn't deserve her. I was pretty sure that no one deserved her. But, right now, I was here and I was going to make sure that she was safe. Protected.

I saw the worry in Lexie's eyes as I forcefully dragged her father from the kitchen by the lapel of his shirt. She was afraid of what I might do—she probably should be based on what I was feeling right now—but let me do it anyway. I was giving her the opportunity to hide the alcohol from him while I forced some sense into him.

I had no idea which of the rooms in the hallway of their home was his, so I kept opening doors as we moved along. Finally, we reached the last room on the hallway, and it was his. There were pictures of him and Susan in the room. Some of the frames were cracked and broken, and the room was just a mess as the rest of the house. There were far more empty bottles of scotch in here then there were out there.

I continued to drag a moaning and protesting Thatcher, as I flipped on his bathroom light that was adjoining to the bedroom and turned on the water faucet to the shower. I turned it to the coldest setting as possible. I shoved Thatcher into the shower, the cold water drenching him in seconds.

He shrieked and yelled loudly as the water sprayed him, his hair and clothes soaked in seconds. This was the only way I knew how to attempt to snap him out of this drunken stupor he was in. Derek had done it once to me after I had gotten so drunk the night before our exams, and wasn't answering his texts or calls. Between the shock of the cold shower and cup after cup of strong black coffee, I had made it to the exam and able to focus and pass long enough before I threw up and gave into my headache from my hungover. I never drank like that again.

Thatcher attempted to break free from the shower, but I blocked his path from being able to leave. I needed to make sure that he spent a few minutes under the spray to really ensure he was coherent and understanding the little heart to heart we were about to have whether he liked it or not.

When he finally gave up and just slumped towards the shower on his ass, I turned off the water and threw him a towel. I closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat down. Thatcher wiped at his face; his shoulders slumped as he started to cry in heaves.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself or to her," I said softly.

He looked up at me; the towel still in his hands, his face a range of emotions. "I have nothing to live for."

I shook my head sadly. "That's where you're wrong. You have everything to live for. You have three daughters that love you and need you."

Thatcher shook his head in defiance. "They don't need me. They never had. I needed Susan. She's gone. She left me too."

I sucked in a large breath. "This grief your feeling, this loneliness…it passes. Trust me on that. But if you keep down this path, you're subjecting them to the same grief that you are. That makes you selfish in my book."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not selfish. I am protecting them by pushing them away. Don't you see that!"

I ground my teeth. "You call emotionally traumatizing your daughter and physically abusing her…as protecting her? Wake up man, they don't want to be pushed away. They want to work through the grief with you. They've lost their mother; they don't want to have to lose their father too."

Thatcher blinked as if he hadn't thought about it that way before. "It's too late," he said dejectedly.

"It's never too late," I said. "I'm not going to say it's going to be easy. You've done a lot of damage. You've hurt them in ways that a father never should." I paused and looked back out into the bedroom as if I could feel Lexie's presence next to me. "But Lexie, you were given a rare gift when you had her. She's smart. She's beautiful. She's perfect. A guy or a father couldn't do any better," I said.

I meant those words like I had never been surer of anything in my life. They scared me, and so were these feelings that were suddenly blooming inside of me. It might never be between us, because regardless of what I was feeling, I couldn't offer her the things she deserved, and I was her boss, but that still didn't make them true.

Thatcher looked up at me questioningly based on my statement, but luckily didn't press the issue anymore. We sat there in the silence for a minute, me allowing him to absorb my words. This was now a decision that he needed to make for himself.

"You don't need to do it alone, Thatcher. There are places you can go…to get clean. You should think about checking in to one," I said.

"I'm…I'm not ready or strong enough for something like that," he exclaimed.

I stood from the toilet. "Well, find the strength, or I promise you that you will lose it all."

I walked out of the bedroom and back into the living room to find Lexie there. She had a look that said she was somewhere millions of miles away from here. She blinked; when she saw me enter into the room.

"Is everything ok?" she asked.

"For now," I answered honestly. "Did you do what you needed to do?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then we should go. Give him some space," I said.

She nodded in agreement. "Okay."

Lexie

He thinks I'm perfect.

It had only taken me a few minutes to hide the alcohol where it would take a few good hours—when my father was sober—to find the new stash. I debated on whether to just dump them down the sink and throw them out completely, but that wasn't my decision to make. My father had to make the decision to stop drinking.

I had heard the screams coming from the room. I knew that Mark would never knowingly hurt my father unless my father did something stupid like try and swing at him.

As I stepped into the bedroom, I saw the light from the bathroom and the shower, and realized what Mark had done. He was attempting to shock him awake from his drunkenness. As they started talking, it had appeared that Mark was doing what I never could.

Then he uttered those words that left me speechless. He thought I was smart, and beautiful, and perfect. Perfect. Me. The thought that someone like Mark Sloan would have any sort of thoughts like that about me, was unfathomable. For a moment, my heartbeat sped up—hope rising in my chest that maybe I wasn't the only one that was fighting whatever pull we both seemed to have towards each other.

We left shortly after his talk with my father and he had dropped me back at my apartment. Part of me didn't want the night to end, but after the last couple of days between the physical toll on my body and then the emotional rollercoaster I was seeming to have, calling it an early night and catching up on my sleep was paramount.

I didn't know how to thank Mark for what he had not only done for me but for my father. I owed him so much more than a thank you, but those had been the only words that seemed to come from my mouth. He waved it off as he always did as that it was no big deal and what friends were for. Friends.

As I walked into Seattle Grace the next day, it was the first time in days that I truly felt refreshed and my mind clear to just focus on my patients and learning new things.

I found my resident George, standing with the other second year residents and made my way over after our assignments had been called out for the day. George was smiling and laughing as well as the rest of his friends.

"Dr. O'Malley," I said interrupting to group.

"Lexie!" he cried happily.

"You seem in a good mood," I observed.

His smile grew wider. "That's because I am. Guess who was right?"

"Who?"

George beamed. "Mr. Jensen. I passed my test."

George pulled me into a hug. "Congrats," I squeaked as he hugged me so tight, I didn't think I could breathe.

"Big whoop. The rest of us passed that months ago," Alex said surly.

"Don't listen to him, George. Congratulations," Meredith said, once we pulled apart and he let me go.

Cristina seemed bored with the entire conversation, Alex looked more as if he was annoyed, and Meredith was just staring at me as if she was debating something in her head.

"We're having a celebration party for George at my place, if you would like to come," Meredith said to me.

"Yes. You have to come," George said turning to me.

"She's an intern. Why are you inviting the interns?" Cristina asked.

"Because she's Mer's sister, she has too," Alex said.

I frowned at that. For a moment, I was excited that Meredith was inviting me. After our last couple of conversations, it felt like we were making real progress. I didn't want her to think she only had to invite because she felt obligated because George was my resident, or because she felt bad.

Meredith shot Alex a glare. "I'm not just inviting her because I have too," she defended. She turned to Cristina. "And this intern, is the reason Cardio is getting some additional funding."

All four residents looked over at me. "What?"

Cristina's eyes rose up. "You actually pulled it off? That money came from the donors from that gala?"

Meredith gave me a knowing glance, and something told me that she knew something I didn't. I knew that Chief Hunt had a couple of follow-up conversations after my night at the gala, but I hadn't heard anything else since then.

Alex seemed to brighten as well. "That's amazing. No wonder Robbins was in such a good mood. She went on about talking about new equipment but now it makes sense." He stepped forward and slapped me on the shoulder. "Thanks, smaller Grey."

"It's Little Grey…" I corrected as he walked away.

"So, will you come tonight?" George asked, pulling my attention back to him.

I looked over at Meredith to see if there was anything in her expression that would tell me she wouldn't want me to come, but only got a smile in return. I turned back to George. "I will," I said.

It was later in the day. I had just gotten the opportunity to take a lunch break after being on Derek's service all day. Most of my day had been on researching journals—now that mostly everyone knew I was Lexipedia—to see if we could get a leg up on any new innovative methods to treating his most recent case.

For now, I needed to stretch my legs, roll my neck, and see if I could grab a couple of snacks and some sugar to keep me going for the remainder of my shift.

The doors opened in the elevator, and the man that has been evading my thoughts almost every minute of everyday was standing their alone.

"Going up?" he asked with a smile.

I wanted to back out and run away, but that was the cowardly thing to do. Being trapped alone in an elevator with Mark Sloan, a man that I could no longer deny that I had feelings for…was pure torture.

"Uh, yeah," I said, stepping in as his arm reached out to stop the doors from closing in on me as I entered.

I had thought about standing near the furthest opposite end of the elevator, trying to put as much distance between him and me as possible. He had to probably think I was mad. We were friends. He knew things about me that I hadn't even shared with my sisters or friends. As much as I tried to tell myself that he was a jerk and couldn't possibly care…he proved me wrong time and time again.

She's perfect.

Gggh! I couldn't unhear those words from his mouth now. Every look, every touch—even innocent—felt like one more instance where I was coming more and more alive and more and more comfortable in my skin. Largely that was thanks to him and his belief in me as a whole.

How has someone not realized all the goodness in Mark Sloan? How could they not see that he is just more than some guy who happens to be really good at sex? He's warm, and caring, and easy to talk too and…

My thoughts were interrupted, when Mark stepped back, letting the doors shut, and stood mere inches from me. In the small confines of the elevator, our bodies so close together as if we were two magnets drawn near each other, I could barely breathe. I could feel the warmth from his hand next to mine. My own hand was itching to want to reach out and take his in mine. Just like he had done in the car before we had gone into my father's home.

It took everything in me not to look over at him, but I could feel his eyes on me anyway. "Are you ok?" he asked.

"Hmm, yep, uh-huh. Why?" I asked.

He snorted. "Well, you're tapping your foot inessentially. Your shoulders are extremely rigid and tense, and you are refusing to look at me." he paused. "Did I do something to upset you?"

I gasped, and turned to him. Big mistake. "What? No! Why would you think that?"

He gave me that slow lazy smile of his and I could have sworn I was about melt into a puddle right in front of him. He turned to face me directly.

"For the reasons I literally just mentioned," he replied.

My eyes were too focused on those calming blue eyes of his. It was as if the outer part of the blue were light like the sun hitting the ocean, but the surrounding inner parts were turning shades darker the longer we stood in the elevator together looking at each other.

Something shifted in the moment between us. It was as if everything over the last few weeks—specifically the last couple of days—was hitting us head on like car crash. I took a step forward. He took a step forward. I had to tilt my head back, and he had to dip his so we could both fully look into each other's eyes.

There was no hiding whatever this was anymore. Part of me didn't really know if I wanted to hide this anymore. Apparently, he wasn't either. I saw the similar signs in him that I saw in myself. His breathing was hard, his chest heaving. His arms that he had across his chest suddenly fell to his side and that meant there was nothing in between us anymore.

My own chest rose and fell frantically. I suddenly forgot what it felt like to breathe normal.

"Lex…" he breathed.

My name…was like a caress. I don't answer him right away, because I am trying my damndest to figure out how to get my breathing back under control and my heart functioning without feeling like it's not going to jump out of my chest.

He took the last step forward and all I have to do is jet up my chin. Just slightly and our lips would be touching. Something I had been dreaming about for the last week, and secretly hoping for since I showed up at his place the night of the gala.

My body felt as if it was on fire and he hasn't even touched me yet. I had never known my body to react this way. I had seen attractive men before, some I would even fancy to want to kiss if it was possible. This—he for some reason was different. It unnerved me, how my body reacted without my own consent.

I licked my lips nervously, and that had done it. That had been the last crack to both of our resolves. His lips came down on mine, shooting wave after wave of pleasure straight to my core, making me catch my breath. His kiss was so soft at first, I think a moan escaped my lips, and a growl came from the back of his throat.

His tongue teased my lips and I whimpered, because I wanted more. I didn't want this to end. Mark sensing this, quickly had his arms around my waist pushing me up against the hardness of his chest. My soft plushness of my breasts against his strong firm pecks caused another shiver to cascade through me.

My arms came up around his neck as I either pulled him to me, or pushed myself close to him. I didn't know which one, and I didn't care. I just wanted him to continue kissing me. It was why I opened my mouth slightly. That was all Mark needed as he deepened the kiss.

Then it was over before it could really begin. The sound of a ding of the elevator opening made us both sprang apart. Anyone who walked into the elevator would see my swollen pink lips and my chest and shoulders shaking and know that something had happened between us.

Luckily, the doors opened and no one was waiting for us. I didn't give Mark a chance to say anything. I bolted from the elevator as if my ass was literally on fire. My hand came to my lips feeling how numb and on fire they felt from just that one kiss.

Mark Sloan had just ruined me from any other man when it came to kissing.

This can't be good.

Mark

She ran. Just ran, before I could even get a word out.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

What the hell was I thinking? What the hell would possess me to think that I could kiss her in the elevator of the hospital we both worked at. What if someone had been there when the doors opened? What if someone had seen?

What if Lexie regretted it?

She ran out so quickly, it was the first thing that came to my mind. But how could someone that kissed like that, responded to me like that, think that what just happened was wrong? It was…but I no longer gave a crap anymore. I no longer could hide what it was I was feeling for her. Not after that kiss. I wanted Lexie Grey, and I wanted her bad. I just had to convince her she wanted me bad enough too.

A/N: Thanks for reading