Title: Reaction
Chapter Title: They
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Coupling: Mark/Lexie
Rating: PG-13/T
Words: 1,573
Author's Note: Completely ignores the events "Holidaze" and beyond. I kept waffling between happy and sad and finally just had to go with my gut. Forewarning, tissues might be nice to have on hand. I'm a bit dark and twisty. Caroline is pronounced Care-o-line. Music recommendation: "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol.
The little black dress billed as a requirement for any smart girl's wardrobe has been enveloped in sadness for too long. She's worn it to so many grave sites in the past couple of years; first her mother, then George O'Malley, followed by a handful of patients she got too close to, and finally her babysitter from when she was younger, Mrs. Malone. And now it's hanging on the rack of her closet taunting her because she has to put it on again and she would give anything not to have to.
"I don't want her to go into her final surgery without a name," he tells her. She pauses mid-chew and looks at him like a deer in the headlights. "I don't want Arizona and Addison to refer to her a 'Baby Grey-Sloan' as they cut into her."
What he doesn't say – what he really means – is that he doesn't want her to die without a name.
Her mother puts her fork down, swallows the piece of lettuce she was chewing, and takes a sip from her apple juice box. She looks innocent, but there's a lurking fear in her eyes that makes him hesitant to say anything. Yet, he feels really strong about this issue, so he does.
"She needs a name," he says. "And I was thinking maybe we could name after…you."
"Me?" She asks incredulously. "No, I…I don't even like my name hence the nickname, and she's her own person so she should have her own name."
"Not Lexie Junior," he says with a trace of laughter. "That would inflate your ego."
"My ego?"
"Uh huh," he replies. "But maybe Caroline for your middle name, and it's variation of Mrs. Shepard's first name so that's good too."
"Caroline?" She questions, and then repeats to test it out. "Caroline. Caroline Grey-Sloan."
"Caroline," he affirms. "Caroline Sloan."
Her chin starts to quiver, though, because he's just shoved her out of the picture, and that scares her.
"Sloan? She's my baby too, Mark."
"I know," he replies. "But Grey-Sloan is kind of a mouthful, and I figured if we named her after you, we could name her after me."
Her chin's quivering, and there are tears, but they're the kind of good tears because the little baby she's too afraid to touch has a name and a daddy that loves her dearly.
Caroline Susanne Sloan.
She doubts it fits. The stress eating and the weight gained with pregnancy have accumulated around her hips and thighs and face as well as in an empty, saggy lump across her stomach. She feels horribly unattractive, but mostly empty because all she has to show for the last thirty weeks is a lumpy body, tear-stained cheeks, and a broken heart.
He watches her from the door to the bathroom; watches as she stares at the dress hanging from the rod in her closet. At any other moment he'd be aroused by her naked body, but not today. Not when they have to leave for it in a few minutes. He hasn't shaved his beard since all of this happened and it scratches the back of his hand as he rubs it across his cheek. He should shave because he looks good shaved, but then the dark circles and bags under his eyes would be more obvious and he's just so tired.
She rips the dress off the hanger, but her anger dissipates and she lets it fall through her fingers to the ground. Her chest begins to heave as dry sobs rack her frame and she sinks down onto the bed they once shared.
"The transplanted skin became infected and had to be removed. We've put the baby…"
"Caroline," Thatcher interrupts. "Her name is Caroline."
"Caroline is now a antibiotics regiment, but the infection has spread pretty quickly," Addison finishes.
"What does that mean?" Thatcher interrupts again.
"You should prepare yourself," Arizona says as gently as possible.
They stand apart around the rim of the hole in the ground; a divide between them filled with pain, hurt, and the empty words of "If there's anything I can do to help". They opted to have a private ceremony, but privacy is hard to come by at Seattle Grace-Mercy West and it seems like everyone is there. The attending, residents, nurses, and even the interns that annoy him. Her sister and her father stand around her with her brother-in-law hovering in the background (he reckons they left the baby with Eric's family), and rather than turn to him for comfort she has retreated into herself with her pain and anger and sadness.
Behind him and around him is his family – Derek, Callie, Arizona, and Mrs. Shepard, who flew in from New York with a no-nonsense attitude and words that told him he could cry. He never cried over his first chance; he can't cry over his second chance.
The reverend finishes talking, but neither he nor she registers the words. Which is oddly ironic considering that when it became abundantly clear they were going to lose her, she demanded that he get someone to baptize her right away.
"I know neither of us are religious, but you were baptized Catholic and I went to the Methodist church down the road for Christmas and Easter when I was a kid and I can't…I can't stomach the idea that, if there is a heaven, she won't…go. There."
She watches the tiniest coffin in the world be lowered down into the hole in the ground. It's dark and damp and scary and all she wants to do is scope her baby up and save her from being swallowed up by the dark hole. Truth be told, though, she wants to go too. She tries to barter and beg and ask Him to take her instead, or at the very least to take her too. And when the world's tiniest coffin reaches the bottom of the hole – the softness of its landing sounding like a horrific thud in their ears – she resists the urge to jump in too.
He, on the other hand, turns away as friends and family drop pink Gerbera daisies into the hole (an act of comfort the funeral home director told him as he attempted to keep his head above water and plan this whole thing), and instead jams his hands into his suit pocket and walks away.
People part like the Red Sea around him, but they shoot him looks mixed with sympathy and disbelief at his action. As he gets away from the rest of the crowd and away from the safety of the tent, his suit becomes dampened. The raindrops hide his tears, but anger is hard to hide as he rips off his tie in frantic, clawing motions.
She feels weightless in his arms but at the same time she's heavy. Margaret, from Pictures of Hope, hovers in the background trying to be stealthy and nonintrusive of what will probably be their final moments as daddy and daughter. The click of her camera gives her away, but he's glad she's here because if nothing else he wants one real photo of him and his daughter, of mommy and daughter, and of the three of them as a family.
"Mark," she whispers. "Can I…I'd like to…"
He doesn't say anything because he knows what she wants and so as she sinks down in the chair next to him, he carefully shifts Caroline from his arms to hers only to watch her face crumble into tears.
"Oh sweet Caroline," she croons. "You're so beautiful. So beautiful. And Mommy loves you so much."
He's slightly drunk when he stumbles back to their apartment after sunset. There's casserole dishes everywhere but he still expects to see smiling pregnant Lexie standing behind the counter munching on something. Reality smacks him in the face when he sees Callie standing behind the counter washing dishes with Arizona placing them into the dishwasher.
"Where have you been?" Callie hisses at him. Arizona freezes and tears spring to her eyes. She's lost patients before, but this is her wife's best friend's daughter.
"Where's Lex?" He mumbles.
"She's locked herself in the bathroom," Cristina tells him in a matter of fact tone. "Meredith and Grey 3.0 are trying to convince her to come out."
He nods and drops the tie he's been carrying around his hand since the funeral onto the couch. His suit jacket is next, and everyone is looking at him like he's spouted a third eye. He shrugs off their stares and strides through the living room, into the bedroom, and right to the door of their bathroom. Molly steps aside, but Meredith looks like she's going to say something and before she opens her mouth he knocks on the door.
"Little Grey," he says, "open the door."
It takes a moment, but finally the door clicks open and she peers out around the door.
"Mark," she whimpers. He doesn't wait for her to say something more, but instead steps into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Her brown hair is falling into her eyes, her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks are stained with tears. With a sob she falls into his arms, and tightens his grip around her.
"I allowed myself to hope," she sniffles. "I thought…she wasn't supposed to die."
"I know," he whispers before placing a kiss on the crown of her head. "I know."