Warning: Rated T for strong language and some light sexual content.

A/N: Thanks for your continued reviews and comments. Q&A time from last chapter's reviews.

moonxue5 – Your question about Thatcher and going deeper…answered below. ;)

Chapter 11 – The Talk

Mark

For the remainder of the party, Lexie and I had played it safe and didn't leave the room together alone. Derek had been watching me, and then her, and then me again.

I nursed my beer while the others continued to drink themselves until they were either completely wasted, or they were buzzed and feeling too good to care about what else was going on around them.

It didn't stop the looks both Lexie and I were giving each other. The hidden meaning behind our gazes. A few of our colleagues might suspect, Callie being the only one who really knew of my true feelings for the young intern.

I caught Lexie glance again my direction, sucking in her bottom lip as she tucked a piece of her loose hair behind her ear If she didn't stop right now, in this instance, I didn't care who knew or who was watching, I would March right across the room and crush my lips to hers.

She knew it too. That little minx.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the party had started to wind down. Most were passed out and staying at Meredith's, like Alex, Cristina, and George, while others who were too drunk took Uber's home.

I caught Lexie's eyes across the room, my head gesturing towards the door.

I found Derek sitting next to Meredith on the couch who was already starting to slump to the side. She would be passing out soon.

"I'm going to head out," I said.

"Thanks for coming," he replied.

"Have fun cleaning up, and you might want to get her to bed."

Derek looked over at Meredith a loving but goofy look in his eyes. Suddenly, I was jealous of the both of them in that moment. Jealous that they both had someone to come home too and look after one another. You could see, even now, that the way that Derek looked at her left no room for interpretation that he was madly in love with her.

It was risky, but it made me look up at Lexie who was across the room trying her hardest to pretend like she wasn't listening to what I was saying to Derek. That she wasn't interested in looking in my direction. She turned and started busing herself by picking up empty beer bottles, empty food trays, and chip baskets to take into the kitchen.

I watched her retreating form leave the room and then focused back on Derek. "I'll see you later."

Derek let out a long yawn. "Yeah, see you later," he replied sleepily.

I didn't think he was going to last that much longer. That should give Lexie the perfect opportunity to slip out behind me, where I would be waiting for her outside. Because I wasn't ready for this night to end.

I slipped my arms through my jacket and headed outside. I paced back and forth—for how long I didn't know—until I heard the front door open, Lexie coming out, just as she lifted her hair and settled her jacket on her shoulders.

She looked up to see me standing at the end of the walkway, right in front of my car. If I didn't know any better, she actually looked relieved that I had been still standing there waiting for her. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who didn't want this night to end.

"So, you know what happens to be the perfect cure after a night of wild partying?"

Her lips spread into a smile. "What's that?"

"Diner food," I suggested. "Would you want to come with me?"

She only hesitated for a brief second. "I'd like that."

I wanted to take her in my car with me, but that might only raise suspicion should anyone who wasn't passed out saw us leaving together, or saw me return her back to her car. Instead, we worked it out that she would follow behind me directly. I knew just the place and it wasn't too far away.

Carl's diner was a staple here in Seattle. After pulling all nighter's in the ER, or after one to many at Joe's, coming to the diner which kept to the classic fifties style was down to earth and wholesome. You couldn't beat the food either. Especially when you needed the grease and carbs to soak up all the alcohol after a wild night of drinking.

As we walked into the place, I could see Lexie take in the décor and smile. The floor was the black and white checker pattern, with ruby red booths and different shades of mint green and yellow paint around the walls. The tables shined with silver, and each table had the plastic squeeze bottles for mustard and ketchup and napkin containers. The waitresses wore those puffy dresses you think about when watching the movie Grease, and the music matched the place. Currently, Elvis Presley's All Shook Up was blasting through the single jute box in the corner of the room.

"This place is adorable," Lexie commented.

"It's my favorite place," I said. She stared at me questioningly. "What?"

She just shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I just never saw you in a place like this," she commented.

"Why is that?"

"Well, your clothes are expensive and immaculate, you drive an expensive Porsche, and if I had to guess…you usually only eat at five-star restaurants on a normal evening," she answered, ticking off each of her answers on her fingers.

"That's because you haven't had a chance to get to know all of me," I rebutted.

She offered me that smile again that made me want to reach out and kiss her. "I know."

"Hello, sweeties!" An older woman in about her sixties came walking up. "Just you two love birds for this evening?" I nodded. "Follow me," she beckoned.

The place wasn't totally deserted for it being midnight, but there were still various couples and even single guests enjoying the place and grabbing something to eat. You could pinpoint those who were here studying with their books or laptops opened on the table as they shoved their food in their mouth.

Lexie slide into the seat and I slid into the other side. Our hostess dropped two menus on the table and reminded us about the jute box in the room if we wanted to decide on any of the tunes. We ordered our drinks and she turned and walked away.

"There's so many options here, I don't even know what to pick," Lexie said.

I laughed. She wasn't kidding. The diner's menu was at least five pages and that was front to back. You could get anything almost twenty-four hours from Eggs Benedict to a big fat juicy hamburger.

"Almost everything here is good," I said.

Her eyes went wide as she looked down at the menu. "You've tried almost everything on this menu?"

"Almost. A lot of late nights."

Our waitress arrived with our drinks and then our orders. I opted for a Hangover burger and fries which was the perfect combination of breakfast and dinner with an over medium egg, and Lexie settled on breakfast with eggs, sausage, potatoes, with a side of pancakes.

When the waitress was gone, it seemed that some of that slight awkwardness was back between us. We had now kissed twice—two of the best kisses I had ever had—and I kissed a lot of women in my thirty-seven years—but nothing had been like this. It felt so intimate that we had been together like that for years, not weeks or even days.

For now, I wanted her guard down. I wanted us to be at ease. We seemed to talk about all subjects going on in our lives. She told me a little more about her time at Harvard, me going over the differences of Columbia and their teaching method of medical studies now. We talked about Seattle Grace's internship program and her synopsis of working with each of the other interns.

"So, what made you decide to become a doctor?" I asked.

Our food had just arrived minutes earlier, Lexie plopping a forkful of her eggs into her mouth. I chomped down on a hot and crispy French fry.

"For as long as I could remember, I wanted to help people." She paused as she started to butter and pour syrup on her pancakes. "When I was seven and I was walking home from school, there were these two kids in school who were just mean and cruel. They would pick on the smaller kids all of the time. There was one kid in particular they would pick on, because he had fire red hair and big black boxy glasses. They started to team up and beat up on the kid, but ran off when they saw more of us coming. The poor kid, August—Auggie—for short—had a split lip and crying because his ankle was hurt. I did what I could to help him as we slowly started to walk back home. Ever since then, I knew I wanted to be a doctor."

As I chewed a big bite of my burger and listened to her story, I knew the woman sitting across from me was truly someone who was special. "Let me guess, you and Auggie became close friends, didn't you?"

She looked up and grinned. "How did you know?"

I laughed. "I know you," I said simply.

She plopped a potato in her mouth. "Well, smarty pants, we were friends. Up until he moved away during eight grade. It was the first time I lost a best friend. We kept in touch by writing letters, but then when time came for high school, I never heard from him again."

Idiot. What man would ever walk away from Lexie when they had her trust and friendship and never look back. Even now, after all these years later, I could see a little sadness in her expression that they had lost touch from long ago. She must've genuinely cared about this Auggie fellow and it was clear on her face that she never got a reason for why they had lost touch after years of being what she thought was best friends.

"He's an idiot," I said out loud because I didn't like the sadness in her features.

Her fork lazily played with the eggs on her plate. "He was actually pretty smart. Almost always top in our class," she argued.

I shook my head and leaned in forcing her to look up at me. "No. He's an idiot to ever walk away and not care to look back and keep you in his life." I clarified.

Lexie just stared at me as if she was trying to figure me out. It was the same look I had seen thousands of times when she was on my service. She was listening to the symptoms and racking her photographic memory to link it to some diagnosis she had read about.

A couple of times since we sat down, I could feel as if there is a desire within her to want to lean in and be close to me, yet run so far away. I wondered if this was because she was afraid of being hurt thanks to people like Auggie who just up and left, or gravellier, someone like her father who betrayed her trust and the notion that he should be the one person that should always love and protect her. Both failed her miserably.

She took a mouthful of her pancakes, her hand coming to her mouth as she chewed and asked me her next question. "I know you and Derek are close, but why do you always say you consider him like a brother?" she asked.

I sighed. I wasn't very good about talking about my past or my feelings. It wasn't fair of me to ask her to pick at the scabs of her wounds that obviously were hard for her to talk about, so it was only the honorable thing to do if I opened up and answered her questions.

"My mother died when I was young. A car accident when my parents were on their way home from one of their many social functions. My father had no reason to want to stick around."

Lexie's head snapped up. "That's not true. He had you."

I scoffed. "My father never wanted children. It was more my mother, and he only got on board because he thought it would be good to carry on the Sloan name."

Her brows knitted together, and if I didn't know any better, she looked angry and sad for me, or maybe it was for the little boy in me from so long ago.

"So, he just left," she guessed more as a statement then a question.

I took a bite of my burger, giving her a simple nod before I continued. "I always spent more time with our house staff anyway." Lexie looked sad at hearing me say that. I wanted to tell her it was ok, because in some cases my nannies or housekeepers were better for me than my actual parents. "Anyway, my father took off weeks after she died. He needed to get himself a new life that would meet the social standards he was used too. Being a widow with a kid didn't really fit the bill."

Her fork hit her plate with a thunk. "I don't even know your dad, and I already don't like him," she said earnestly.

Her reaction made me smile. Besides Derek and even now in some cases with Callie, no one had ever seemed so mad for me about the childhood I had, or what I might have felt as a young boy. Is this what it could be like if you let someone in and let them care for you?

"After he left, Derek's parents took me in. We were already pretty inseparable as friends, and they—like you—were appalled that my father could just take off without a glance backwards. I never met my grandparents, so if it weren't for the Shepherds, I would have likely gone into the foster care program."

"I'm sorry," she said faintly.

My hand reached out to hers that was sitting on top of the table, resting on tops of hers as I squeezed it gently. She looked up and even in a somber conversation, both of us could feel that jolt of electricity that seemed to occur every time we touched each other.

"Don't be. The Shepherd's were good to me, and I turned out pretty ok."

Her upper lip only rose slightly. "I would say more than ok," she admitted.

I moved my thumb so that it was starting to rub small circles on the top of her hand, because I wasn't sure if my next question would be something she would answer for me. She had already taken a big step the night of the gala to come and tell me about Thatcher, but now I needed to hear more from her.

"Why do you keep going back to him, knowing that he hurts you?" I asked. "Why don't you walk away?"

She looked at our joined hands, my thumb still rubbing the top of her hand, before she slowly lifted her eyes and looked up at me. I could see her wrestling with whether she wanted to rip open that wound, that one that was so deep inside that it oozed that blackness and darkness that everyone had. She blinked; and I saw the moment she had come to a decision.

She took a deep breath.

And she started to tell me.

Lexie

"I know I told you that the reason I keep going back is because I worry about who could get hurt if I didn't check up on him, or stop him from getting in the car when he is drunk," I said.

I felt his big firm hand on top of mine squeeze again. When I first started to tell Mark about the fact that my father was a drunk, he was so protective and angry that I would think it fell on my shoulders to feel responsible for anything that he would do. He was right. My father was an adult, and he made his own decisions, and those decisions he made would be consequences he would need to face, but it was hard to separate the guilt when you knew what was happening and you could play a role in stopping it. Even just once.

"I don't know how to explain it, but I always felt there was something my dad was hiding from me. He would talk about his childhood and college, but there was always that gap in between then and when he met my mother. I knew he was married before, but other than that, we never talked about it," I said, looking at my plate and some of the remaining food that I could no longer eat.

It wasn't like I had revealed anything that Mark didn't already know, or that it was solicitous in none else knew, but I felt that was where it all really began. Where for years my mother had taken on that burden all by herself, because she was such a saint. Even thinking about it now, made me equally sad and mad at the same time. Because I should have pushed harder to want to know instead of just shrugging my shoulders and saying it was no big deal if my parents didn't want to share. Maybe I could have known Meredith years earlier.

"Right after my mother passed away, the first time my dad had gotten really drunk, I had just managed to get him into his room into bed. I had thought he was passed out—like most nights since her death—but he wasn't. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, this haunted look in his eyes. At first, I didn't think he realized what he saying, but his words were far too confident for being as drunk as he was. He said that she had kept the darkness at bay. That she was always his light. His goodness."

I paused for a moment. I could start to feel the sadness rising in me at going back to the night and seeing a broken man. There was no doubt in my mind that my father loved my mother. Fully and truly loved my mother. In addition to the sadness, there was this fear; this crippling fear that he was going to lose everything and there was nothing holding it back anymore. It was the first time in my life I didn't see my father as a strong man, but a broken one.

I let out a long breath, already feeling my voice breaking. "When I was younger and he would say she was light and goodness, I thought it was the sweetest thing, but then I understood that even though she was those things, she had been his crutch. She had been his only remaining link to his humanity."

I felt Mark's hand tense on top of mine. I risked a glance to look up, and there was something in his eyes that was fierce in that he would do anything to protect me and take the pain away. Already, he was making me feel safe and a little better at having to tell this story for the first time to anyone. Even Molly didn't know.

"When my mother started having her symptoms, after she had been discharged the first time, I heard my parents in their room fighting," I said. "They had forgotten I was home for the weekend on a long break. My dad was so angry that my mother was going to Seattle Grace for treatment. He didn't want her to go there. He said all it would do is ruin and kill people. My mom kept making comments about how it was time and that he needed to return, but he refused. Their voices got louder, they got into a real fight—the first I ever heard from them—before she stormed out of the room and saw me sitting in the kitchen." I looked back up at Mark, my mouth twisting at what I recalled next.

"My dad came storming out, grabbing his keys and slamming the door behind him. My mom had tears in her eyes, and I could see that she needed to talk to someone. That she wanted someone to know everything that she had obviously had bottled up for more than twenty-three years. So, I convinced her to tell me," I said in a strangled voice.

"She told me about how she found my father after learning of the affair between my dad and Ellis. He was spiraling downward. She had said he was surrounded by constant darkness, even though there was still that sliver of light that refused to be snuffed out. My mother felt it was her calling to fall in love with him and bring him back to the light. That goodness." My voice was thicker now. "She slowly brought it back, removed the cobwebs of sadness and hurt, wrangling that growing darkness back in the cage and show him that life could be worth living again."

"So, that's why when Andrew said you were surrounded by darkness, you knew what he was talking about," Mark said.

I nodded. "Yes. As much as my mom feared for my dad, I could equally see the fear in her own eyes. I think…I think she knew that if that darkness were ever to escape from its cage that even she—his light and goodness—might not be able to help put it back again. She had said helping him through his darkest times had almost nearly taken her down too, and things were different now. It wasn't just them, but she had me and Molly now. If it came too it, she would choose us in a heartbeat, but I know that would crush that light from her."

It killed me to see my own mother so sad and surrounded by fear. It was the first time I had seen some of the confidence leave her. Some of that light that I could see everyone talk about.

"I don't think she told me all of this because she expected that I was to do anything, I think she just wanted to tell someone"—I swallowed as water filled at the back of my eyes—"so when she passed away, I felt it was up to me now to make sure that after losing one of my parents, that I didn't lose the other too. I figured that if I could just take some of that darkness, even just a little bit, that maybe…like my mother…I could be enough to heal him too."

The tears were already falling before I knew they were. Mark's grip on my hand never lessened, but he slid out of the booth across from me and was at my side in seconds. A strangled cry left my throat, as I instantly melted into his side, as he wrapped me in his arms, and I buried my face in his chest. My tears were soaking his shirt, but he didn't care, he just held me tighter.

My next words were spoken directly into his chest. "I've tried so hard, Mark. I try and be enough. To be strong to take that darkness, to tell myself that if I just take the hits, the verbal lashings that eventually all of it will spill out of him and then he would see that there could still be more after my mom died. That Molly, myself, and Meredith…that we could be enough," I hiccupped.

"Lexie," Mark's voice broke through faintly.

My voice was taking on a frantic edge now, because it was all pouring out of me. "But the hits keep coming. They are stronger and worse, and no matter how much pleading and crying…" I shake my head into his chest. "Dad, why are you doing this? Can't you see it hurts—"

"Lexie!"

"I can't take another hit," I plea to my dad, because now I am back in the house and my dad's fist as just hit me right in the stomach. Mark's protective arms and warmth seems so far away now. "Please just stop!"

"Lexie!"

His arm was wrapped so tightly around my shoulder, that I was no longer back in the house but here in the present with Mark in the diner. I blink a couple of times, as everything came back into focus. I was safe. I was safe.

I lifted my head from his chest and faced him directly. Right here, in this moment, being so open and vulnerable, this was now the hardest thing I was going to have to do. Because if Mark looked at me like I was no longer a desirable woman but some damaged human being that he would only want to be just friends…I didn't think I could take it.

I took a few steady breaths, the back of my hand coming up to wipe away some of the liquid coming down my cheeks. Mark didn't say anything for a moment, just content to sit there and hold me against him.

Our waitress had started to come over towards us, but took one look at the crying mess I was in his arms and looked at Mark who just slightly shook his head, and she turned in the opposite direction. I just remembered that we were in public, in a diner, and I had let myself get carried away. I tried to reach my hands up and pat at my hair, and wipe under my eyes in case my makeup and run down my cheeks. Mark instantly reached over to my left and grabbed a couple of napkins from the dispenser and handed them to me. I shot him an appreciative smile as a thanks, unsure my voice would be strong enough to voice it.

He cleared his throat after a couple of minutes. "Thank you, for telling me," he said.

His tone was carefully neutral, but I could tell that he was trying to hold himself back. I was so sure that if I wasn't sitting with him right here and now, that he would get up from the booth and drive back over to my father's home and pummel him senseless for all of the times he hurt my physically and emotionally.

"I promise you, Lex…I won't ever let him hurt you again. Never."

I believed him. Really believed him. I remember how he was a couple of days ago. How his eyes transformed into a rage I had never seen when my dad had reached out to me. Even with Mark present, he was so drunk that he would have hit me anyway. It was Mark that put himself between me and him and protected me. Just as he had done since the first day we met.

I just pressed my face back into his chest, his arm pulling me towards him again, his other arm coming around to form a circle of protection around me. I don't know how long we stayed like that, but we did at least until my tears were long dried, my heaves quieted and my body relaxed into his.

Somewhere in that timeframe, our waitress had returned to take our plates away, and placed the check in front of Mark.

"I guess we should go," I said, pulling away from him, even though I didn't want too.

It felt like everything that had been bottled up in me was finally gone now. All that stress and pent-up emotion I had taken on was finally released. Mr. Jensen's words were loud in my brain. You need a friend. You need someone to talk too. You need help. I'm saying that even the most skilled fire tamer cannot battle a blaze on their own. Mark was that person for me. He suddenly made everything seem that it would be ok.

Mark let me pull away, even though I was sure he didn't want too. He took my hand as we slid out of the booth, never letting it go and squeezing it for support. He paid our check at the front of the restaurant, leaving a rather large tip for our waitress—no doubt as a thanks for being discreet and looking the other way during my outburst.

When we got outside, the sky seemed even darker, the stars now long gone as heavy clouds were starting to form. The air visibly changed, and I swear the sky was going to open up any minute and rain would fall. After all, we were in Seattle where it pretty much rained all the time. Mark slid his arm around my waist and pulled me closer as we both started to walk towards our parked cars.

When we reached the door to my car, he made no move to open it up. If I didn't know any better, he too didn't want our night—or now early morning—to end just as much as I didn't. That gave me more hope than anything that despite what I had just ugly cried back in there and confessed, that Mark Sloan still wanted me. That made heat flare up inside of me.

He leaned against my car door, which only prevented me from being able to open the door to get in. It was ok by me, because I didn't want to leave him.

"Five questions."

I looked up at him stunned. First, because I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that a gorgeous specimen of a man like him would be interested in a woman like me, but also that he was putting himself out there for me. I was aware that many people rode Mark off as this shallow, womanizing man—and maybe at some point he was like that—but I knew there was more. More to him.

Mark was the man that looked after me when I was hurt even when I didn't ask him too. He protected me even though it wasn't in his job description or his need too. Now, he was willing to open up to me even though I could see clearly that he was the kind of person that built walls around himself and didn't want to let anyone in. It hit me then, that he didn't feel worthy of letting anyone love him, because from what he just told me tonight, his parents never made him believe he was worthy of it.

He was putting himself out there and giving me the same opportunity that I gave back at the bar. An ability to ask him anything—no hold bars—and he would answer it for me. I felt my lips glide upwards in a smile—the first since I had unleashed everything on him.

"Really?"

He nodded his head, no doubt just waiting in anticipation to what it could possibly be that I could ask. This was almost like the holy grail in that I could ask anything and get the answers I was seeking since we had met. One question at a time.

"First question. How many women have you slept with?"

He grimaced. For the first time since I have known him, he actually looked embarrassed to have to want to answer that question. Just as I thought that after telling him my deepest and darkest crap, that he would run from me, but yet, here he stood, willing to open up to me and still seemed interested.

I remembered how he looked at me both in the elevator and again in the kitchen when it looked as if it was taking every ounce of control and strength in him now, to not close the distance between us and pull me to him so he could allure me with those kisses that he was so damn good at.

His expression turned bashful, but he met my eyes anyway. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. He was worried about me hearing his answer. "A lot," he admitted. "I…I don't have a number, because it's never been my thing to tabulate how many I slept with it. It wasn't like that," he explained.

I nodded. I had expected that might be his answer. In fact, I knew it was going to be his answer. I thought I would be ready for the pang of jealousy that I would feel, but I still wasn't ready for it. I had no right to be mad at him or judge him for anything that he did prior to us—or if there was even an us to be had—but there was still the tiny gleam of possessiveness inside of me that didn't like it.

"Was there ever anything more between you and Callie besides sex?"

He shook his head easily. "No. We're just friends. She was lonely and upset after George, and I…"

I raised my hand. "Yep, I got it," I interjected not needing all of the gory details. "Did you ever want anything more with her?"

He shook his head no again. "No. Never. In fact, I am glad and more relieved that we are just back to being friends again."

I realized I had let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding in. I didn't think I could compete with someone like Callie Torres. She was beautiful, funny, and charming, and she was his best friends. It was one thing if it was just sex, but anyone that I had ever met that started off as friends and then became more…it was a strong connection that was hard to ignore.

I had two questions left, and I knew what I wanted them to be now, that I had his answers to my first three. "Forth question. Do you think you could ever be a relationship kind of guy?"

He stared at me for a long moment. Something shifted in his features and I didn't know if that was going to be a good thing or a bad thing.

"If you asked me about a week ago, I would tell you no. I don't really do relationships. I have sex and that is about it," he said.

There was a but coming on. There had to be.

"But—"

Thank God.

"The idea doesn't scare me or repeal me as much as it once did," he said. When I met his eyes, I felt that pull in me, every time our eyes met that told me there was something here, something deep that just couldn't be ignored.

I nodded, because suddenly that limited space between us again was getting thicker. Then I felt a wetness on my head in the form of a drop. Then another. We both looked up at the clouds that had been heavy when we had come out of the diner were now low and heavy. It was going to rain down upon us any moment.

My voice sounded tremulous as I asked my final question. "Why me?"

I wanted him to tell me to my face what I had heard him tell my father. She's smart. She's beautiful. She's perfect. Those words had played over and over in my head, but now, there was a real possibility he could say it to my face and I could hear them directly. At least, if he still meant it anyway.

"Because you're my salvation, Lexie," he said, his voice thick, husky, with need.

A/N: Thanks for reading.