Here's the part that will require a huge leap of faith from all of us. Just remember, stick with it, this still isn't the end. In fact, it's nowhere near the end.
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To the average person, nothing about that night seemed unusual. The Emerald City Bar was pretty crowded, as it always was. It was full to bursting with patrons, at the bar, at tables, or standing. Most of them were U-Dub students, crowding together in clusters with their drinks and pool sticks. The atmosphere was jovial and loud, with a cacophony of the students' voices. The initial excitement had been sparked – Spring Break was about a month away, and they were all chattering about where they planned to go and how much alcohol they were planning on bringing, each trying to outtalk the others. The jukebox in the corner was blaring and, beside it, in the shadows, a couple was engaged in some heavy kissing.

The collegiate crowd wasn't the only one there, however. Some of the regulars from Seattle Grace were present as well, at tables mostly. They were generally quieter, having been there and done that with the college stuff. They sat and sipped their drinks, unwinding after a long day at the place across the street (sometimes, they didn't call it by their name when they were at the bar; it was a sanctuary). One table a few paces away from the bar was occupied by Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang, and Alex Karev. They were the quietest of the bunch, too preoccupied with watching another patron who was sitting alone at the bar to converse amongst themselves. Lexie had no idea that three pair of eyes were fixed intently on her, watching her every move.

"That's number four," Alex commented, gesturing toward Lexie's back with the mouth of his beer bottle as Joe poured her yet another shot of tequila. "Damn, Mer, I guess I should have realized this a long time ago, but she really is just like you." Meredith raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, watching as Lexie knocked the shot back smoothly, shuddered, smacked the glass down onto the bar, and gestured for another. "Just what we need, another tequila drunk." He smiled with sarcastic sweetness at Meredith as Cristina snorted. Meredith couldn't help but smirk as well, even when she backhanded him in the bicep.

"You don't think Sloan's going to show up here, do you?" Cristina asked, shoving a handful of peanuts into her mouth and washing it down with a mouthful of her beer.

"How does everyone know already?" Meredith wondered aloud, eyes never leaving her sister.

"She tore him apart in the middle of the hallway," Cristina replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I was standing, like, right there. Everyone heard."

"He won't show up," Alex confirmed. "Any level-headed guy knows that if you get caught cheating, don't chase after the girl. Makes you look like kind of a pussy." The women gave him a look of surprise and distaste. They knew he was stressed about Izzie, but that didn't exactly give him the right to say whatever he wanted. "What?" he said defensively. "It's only the truth." He shrugged. "Besides," he continued, "you've gotta give the girl time to cool off. Maybe think about the thing, you know? You weren't there in the OR. You didn't see the look on Sloan's face when I called the time of death." Alex took a quick gulp of his drink, squirming in his seat. At this rate, he was going to need one of those tequila shots in a few minutes.

Cristina shook her head vigorously, held up her index finger, and swallowed her peanuts. "Still doesn't make what he did anywhere near acceptable," she argued. "If he wanted to screw someone to forget, why screw Callie? Why not Lexie?" The clatter of a pool stick punctuated her sentence.

"Okay," Meredith interjected. "I feel bad too, terrible, actually, but let's stop talking about my sister having sex, please." Alex and Cristina murmured apologies before they resumed Lexie Watch.

Joe had returned to refill her glass, and he had been caught in the vortex. She was speaking to him a bit too loudly, and the three residents could just about make out her words above all of the other bar noises. "And you know, I feel sorry for him," she rambled with a hint of drunken spite in her voice, "because he's such a bastard. Like, nobody should ever have to carry that amount of bastardity in them. Is that a word? Well, it's a word now. And it'd have his picture next to it in the dictionary." Joe nodded silently, staring at her with his mouth agape. She was in rare form tonight. He had never seen her like this. The Lexie he first knew would have sulked silently with a pitiful pout. She really had been changed, he thought.

Her hands were gesturing more than usual and she was talking so quickly that she was probably trying to convince herself rather than him. He considered cutting her off from the alcohol, then, but she had this underlying look of sadness in her chestnut eyes and he couldn't do that to her. Besides, she had friends here who would look after her. He hoped.

"What's she saying?" Cristina whispered, leaning in closer and straining to hear. Alex and Meredith shushed her harshly.

"And he is an idiot," Lexie continued sloppily, bumping one of her empty glasses with her elbow and causing it to slide dangerously close to the edge of the bar, "and nowhere near as good in bed as everyone says he is." She paused, eyes rolling sheepishly to the ceiling. "Okay, so maybe he is. But that's not the point!" she concluded sharply. Joe smiled uncomfortably and craned his neck to look over her head (she was oblivious) at the trio of residents, his awkward smile subtly transforming into a strained, embarrassed "help-me-please" cry. Alex, Cristina, and Meredith looked between one another and shrugged sympathetically at Joe. A few stools away from Lexie, two kids were grasping the handles of their empty beer mugs and staring impatiently at Joe. Lexie was oblivious to this as well and the words kept flowing out. "Am I being too harsh here?"

"No," Joe answered immediately, seeing this as his exit. "Just…drink this," he instructed, pushing the full shot glass to her, "and I have to go refill their beers before they jump over the bar." He gestured to the students who were looking more frustrated by the second.

"Okay," Lexie agreed quite easily, looking at the drink in front of her. Joe nodded and started toward the kids. "Thank you for listening, Joe!" she exclaimed rather loudly after him, placing her elbows on the bar and leaning over it. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he shot her a thumbs-up. Satisfied, she was about to toss back the next shot. But, when the bell at the door jingled, signaling that someone had either entered or left, her head whipped around immediately to see who it was. The residents noticed her teeter dangerously on the barstool before they looked back as well. Her hazel eyes were crazy, unfocused due to the alcohol, with a mixture of anger and the tiniest hints of hopefulness and sadness in them.

She let out a defeated sigh when she realized that it was just another U-Dub student. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he pinpointed his girlfriend and surprised her with a hug from behind and a kiss against the side of her neck. Her giggles rang above all of the other sounds, and Lexie scowled down at her drink. When the bell tinkled again, she didn't even bother looking up.

"Hey," George called to Alex, Cristina, and Meredith, shrugging off his track jacket and making his way over to their table. They greeted him half-heartedly, still distracted by Lexie's actions. George followed the line of their gazes to her, and his eyes widened.

"Is she okay?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it. The others muttered an unintelligible, collectively uncertain answer. "How many has she had?" In that exact moment, Lexie took the shot, relishing in the burning trail it left down her throat. For a second or two, it overshadowed the deeper pain.

"That's five," Alex answered.

"Seriously?" George said incredulously.

"Yep," Meredith and Cristina chimed in unison. Cristina took another handful of peanuts.

"Did Sloan…was he here?"

"No."

George could not think of any more questions, so he joined in the silent vigil for a few moments. Then, he fidgeted in his chair, leaned back, and ran his hands through his hair. "Are we going to sit here and stare at her or are we going to try and talk to her?" he asked slowly and softly, drawing out his words. The others glanced at each other, considering, before Cristina answered for the group.

"Sit here and stare." The three of them glanced at George for a split second from the corners of their eyes in affirmation.

George furrowed his brow at them. "Well, I think we should try and help her," he offered, shrugging. "We can't let her drink herself into a stupor alone. Meredith, you're her sister, do something."

Meredith held her hands up. "Like I said before, I feel awful," she told him defensively, voice rising an octave. "But what can I do? I don't know what to say to her." George almost scoffed at her avoidance.

"You were in the exact same situation as she was not too long ago," he pointed out.

"What do you mean?"

George's jaw dropped. "Do secret wives and me snorting beer out of my nose ring any bells?"

Meredith grimaced. "They do now. I was trying to repress that, but thank you very much for reminding me." She stole a drink of Cristina's beer; she had been trying to avoid getting another drink of her own since Lexie was at the bar. She didn't particularly want to be sucked into the vortex too.

"Well, what did you want someone to say to you that night?" George pressed, raising an eyebrow at Meredith.

She contemplated that for a careful moment before responding, "I wanted to hear, 'here's another drink, Meredith.'"

"Amen to that," Cristina muttered. Alex snickered. George sighed huffily.

"Well, if nobody else is going to help her, I am," he said, scooting his chair backwards and standing up.

"Leave it alone," Alex said exasperatedly. "She'll just drink herself sick and put off feeling really shitty to tomorrow. It's what we all do, man, you've been there too." George ignored him, looking between his chair and Lexie. "George." Alex's voice hardened. "Trust me, she won't want you there."

"Why not?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "You broke her heart, dude. You going over there right now will only add insult to injury." At that, George visibly deflated. Alex had a point.

"Yeah, but," he countered, thinking on his feet, "have you guys never broken her heart before?" He addressed each of the individually, counting off the offenses on his fingers. "Cristina, you're her mean resident. I'm sure you've said some harsh stuff to her. Alex, you forgot you had sex with her. I don't think anything else needs to be said. And Mer, you were pretty much poisonous to her in the beginning." She opened her mouth to protest, but George spoke over her. "I used to see her crying in the locker room, I know it's true. You've come a long way, but back then, you might as well have just kicked her newborn puppy."

When it sunk in that George was right, Alex scratched the back of his neck as Cristina and Meredith looked guiltily at the tabletop. He held back a triumphant smile.

After a long, subdued silence, Alex sighed and slowly got to his feet. "Well, do what you want, bleeding heart, but I have to go," he said, removing his jacket from the back of his chair and putting it on. "I'm going to see Iz." The words were spoken with a silent thankfulness for the ability to supersede visiting hours. He dug a few bills out of his pocket and placed them on the table. Cristina and Meredith said their goodbyes, and he left. George's mind was still stuck on Lexie and the way she was basically draped across the bar.

"Look, Lexie helped me through a rough time," he explained earnestly to whoever was listening, if either of were listening to him. "And even though we didn't leave things in a good place, it would only be right of me to do the same for her." Besides, he didn't say this part out loud, but regardless of the ice between them, he still considered Lexie to be one of his best friends. The crapartment was painfully empty without her. He missed her. If there was any opportunity to reconnect with her and maybe even clear the air, he would take it.

Without waiting for approval or even disapproval, George headed toward the empty spot at the bar next to Lexie. Watching him, Cristina pulled a fiver from her pocket.

"Five bucks says she cries," she offered. "Or punches him. Or both. Or maybe she'll punch him and he'll cry." Meredith ignored her, and Cristina decided it best to put the money away.

George approached Lexie carefully, trying not to many any sudden movements. "Um, Lexie?" he said hesitantly when he was close enough. She jumped a bit, surprised, and so did he. At first, she squinted at him, as if she wasn't sure who he was. When the delayed registration took place and she realized that it was George, a look of shock and confusion came across her face. With wide eyes, drawn-together eyebrows, and wrinkled forehead, it was the same drunk as it was when she was sober.

"George?" she stammered, flabbergasted. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Her cheeks were incredibly flushed, and he hoped it was from the tequila and not from embarrassment at his presence. Maybe the others were right. Maybe he should have stayed out of this.

But he couldn't just leave now. "Are…are you okay?" he asked, his voice growing higher at the end.

Lexie's gawking persisted. Why would George be there then, in her moment of complete and alcohol-laced vulnerability? Why wasn't he there all of those times when she wanted him to be there? Fuzzy memories coursed through her, like that one time she decorated his locker, the many, many times she sniffed him, and that exhilarated, quick kiss that meant a lot to her but was apparently meaningless to him. The flashbacks brought prickly, sharp sensations of humiliation and regret. But they were quickly overshadowed once again by her disbelief and all-encompassing anger at Mark's betrayal. She had bigger things to be mad about, she remembered.

And besides, it felt nice to have someone be concerned for her. George was the first one to even approach her. It felt good to have someone there.

She blinked twice before she gathered her thoughts well enough to answer.

"Uh, yeah." Her face contorted and she shook her head. "No. No." She sighed. "I don't know." She placed her hand on her forehead and took another deep breath, closing her eyes to halt the room's movement. It wasn't at the point of a full spin just yet; it was just rocking back and forth, over and over again, tilting relentlessly from side to side. It was disorienting enough to make her shake her head again.

George let out a pent-up breath. She hadn't started screaming at him or crying yet. That was a good sign. He edged a bit closer to her, as if he was walking on a bed of nails. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Um, no," she replied awkwardly, eyes still very wide. She reached over and brushed some nonexistent debris off of the barstool next to her. "Go ahead." George took the offer and slid onto the stool, watching her from the corner of his eye. Immediately, Joe appeared in front of him.

"Hey, George," he greeted. "What can I get you?"

"Guinness, please," he requested. Joe nodded with a smile and reached for a beer mug before he noticed Lexie playing absent-mindedly with her empty glass.

"I'm assuming you'd like another?"

Lexie didn't need to say anything. She just held the glass up to him.

George took the first sip of his beer, licking the foam from his lips. To Lexie, he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, "I know this might seem like a lot to ask, and I don't want you to freak out or anything but…do you want to talk about it? Because I know about this kind of thing and-"

The look she gave him could have turned him to stone.

"Okay." He gulped. "Should we just drink then?"

Her reply was soft, but final.

"Yes."

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The not-talking lasted only a little while longer. Lexie had finished another shot, and then wisely decided to take a break for a while. She wanted to forget, not die. George was almost done with his second beer, and to him, the room was beginning to echo just a little bit more than usual. Meredith and Cristina had come over to say their goodbyes – Meredith had squeezed Lexie's shoulder reassuringly, even though she had nothing to say.

After they left, the mutual drunkenness had made the whole situation a lot less awkward, so Lexie finally spoke. "I mean, it's like, he's…" she babbled, drumming her fingers on the bar, searching for the right analogy. The lightbulb went off. "It's like he's Henry the eighth!"

"Mmm!" George exclaimed, mouth shut, into his beer glass as he drained the last bit of Guinness that was in the bottom. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "I'm Henry the eighth I am…" he sang, quite off-key. Lexie snorted with laughter, forgetting what she was trying to say for a moment before blinking her mind clear again.

"And I'm-" she did a quick count in her head of previous "serious" relationships she knew he had, and could only think of one "-I'm Anne Boleyn!" she cried in despair, lying her head down on the bar. She recoiled and quickly pulled back up when it was sticky beneath her cheek.

"You know, Lex," George said, and Lexie didn't wince when he used her nickname, "honestly, I think you're better off without him. He's got this whole…" He lost the word. "…thing that you don't know about. Side. Past. Whatever. I can empathize. You know, he slept with Callie while I was with her."

Her whole body tightened as if it was trying to physically fight off the words. Even though she stayed silent, Lexie did know that. She knew it very well, he had told her. About that, about Addison, about pretty much everything. It wasn't the fact that it happened that was like an ice pick through her heart – it was that she thought Mark had been past it. Apparently, she was wrong. She thought she was right about him. He had fooled her, she thought. It ached again, and maybe it was time for another shot.

"Screw him," George continued, waving his hand like he was trying to flick something off of it. He was staying in the safe zone, saying only the things he knew would make Lexie feel better. "He didn't deserve you." His voice was earnest, his eyes truthful. She smiled softly, just the slightest quirk of her mouth's corner, and glanced down at her hands.

There was once a time when George saying something like that would have turned her into a puddle of goo and hormones. Her knees would have gone weak and her skin would have flushed – temporarily uncomfortable heat would radiate throughout her whole body, but no matter how agonizing it was, she loved and craved the feeling. Her smile would have been uncontrollable, but he would have looked at her obliviously and it would have faded quickly. Disappointment would manifest itself; her body would droop and she would sigh. But, then, the cycle would repeat and she would have believed every time that this time would be it.

It never was.

Now, though, his words were almost akin to an apology, or making things even. Through them (and her hazy mind), she caught a glimpse of a fresh start. It broke through her gloom for a fleeting moment. She felt better, now, just by a little bit. But, for once, a little bit was enough. Maybe this would be a release. Maybe things between them would finally, finally be right again.

"Thanks, George." She leaned toward him, placing her hand on his knee for balance. She smiled again as he stared at her. His breath had hitched.

Her hand, heavy and warm, lingered on his knee for a little too long. Clenching his jaw, he chalked it up to his lagging sense of time. Before it remained there any longer, she straightened and asked for another shot. He got another beer.

But, in the middle of the first gulp, it felt like there was something was lodged in his throat. He almost couldn't get it down.

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George glared into the eyes of his opponent, nostrils flaring in determination. It was some redheaded, freckly U-Dub student with a backwards baseball cap and a muscle shirt. His friends stood behind him, red-faced, sweaty, and calling out with raspy enthusiasm. A few of them thumped him on the back, giving words of encouragement. By then, everyone in the bar was completely plastered, too far gone to be dragged back.

George and the kid each held a shot glass, suspended above another glass that was half-full of a light amber liquid. George rotated the shot of Jägermeister between his fingers, being careful not to let it fall into the other glass before the countdown. Lexie was cheering behind him, probably not quite aware of what was going on. She was also bouncing on her barstool to the beat of the blaring music, distracting many a college kid in the process.

One of the redhead's friends, also wearing a muscle shirt, counted down from three. When he reached one, both men reacted immediately. Hearts pounding, everything moved in slow motion. They dropped the shot glass into the other and, as it settled to the bottom with the vaguest clink, raised the glass to their lips and began to drink. Chants of chug, chug! rang in George's ears as he swallowed again and again, barely tasting the too-sweet concoction. He could hear his blood coursing through his veins. His adrenaline spiked, and it mixed with his stomach's new contents in a tingling and mildly unpleasant way.

Squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing against the sugary-sick taste, he took two final gulps and slammed the glass down onto the bar. Just an instant after his glass made contact, the frat boy's did. Even though his mouth felt fuzzy from the drink, he was suddenly elated with alcohol and victory and freedom. He hadn't let go like this in a long time, and it felt damn good.

He whooped triumphantly, and Lexie squealed his name with excitement and pride. The other college kids were dumbstruck for a second. But, then, they began shouting for him and clapping on his back. He felt Lexie's hands as well, more delicate than the ones that were slapping him, their heat managing to radiate through his shirt and straight to his core.

Doing his best to ignore it, he hollered, "This round's on me!" Cheers erupted, loud and ringing, and George was suddenly the hero. Joe rolled his eyes, smirking. Everyone waited for their drink, shaking George's hand and grinning.

That round was the last one of the night – as soon as everyone was served, Joe made the final call. Lexie and George looked at each other and laughed. He was glad to see her smile, even though it only came out because she was absolutely smashed.

"Guess we've gotta get a cab," George slurred.

"Guess I've gotta go back to Meredith's," Lexie pointed out with sudden resignation.

"Maybe you don't," George insinuated. "You should come home with me." Her eyes widened considerably, to at least twice their size, and he was quick to correct himself. "No, no, not like that!" he exclaimed, sputtering. "I mean, it'd be a hassle. We should just get a cab back to my place. You can crash in your old bed and everything. It'd be easier."

Lexie couldn't argue with that – sober, she might have been able to, but she lacked the mental capacity at that point. George held back a grin. This was perfect. This would convince Lexie to come home.

So he pulled out his cell phone and, after two tries, managed to dial Meredith's number. It rang several times before she answered groggily. "Hello?" It sounded like she had been asleep for a while.

"Hey, Mer," George basically shouted into the phone. In his mind, he could see Meredith cringing at his voice, squinting and scrunching up her face.

"Is something wrong?" she asked nervously, breaking out of sleep's fog. "Is Lexie okay?" Her voice was the delirious sort of panicked.

"No, she's fine," George reassured her, words slightly garbled. "Drunk but fine. And so am I. And that's why I'm calling, she's not coming to your house, she's coming to the apartment." Again, the stunned silence, and again, flustered, he clarified. "Not like that! It'd just be easier, with the cab and all. Too confusing. I promise, everything will be okay. We'll be great." Excitement for his plan swelled within him. The loneliness looked like it might soon be over. It would be good to have his friend back.

Nonetheless, it took Meredith a long time to answer. "Okay," she replied, drawing out the word to make it several syllables longer than it should have been. "As long as you're sure it's no imposition."

"No way!" George said, accompanied by a hand gesture that he didn't realize she couldn't see. "She's so wasted, she'd be a handful for you. I've got her."

"Well…thanks," Meredith said hesitantly.

"Of course. We'll see you tomorrow." Before waiting for Meredith's goodbye, he disconnected the call and looked at Lexie. She was standing, holding onto the bar for support. "You ready?" he asked, and she nodded. Her ponytail shook with the motion of her head, glinting and shiny in the dim light of the saloon. She was a pretty drunk, he had to give her that.

He called for a cab. Hopefully it would arrive very soon. He couldn't wait to take Lexie back to where she belonged.

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After several attempts to get his key into his door (their door, he remembered), George finally succeeded. He turned it and opened the door and stumbled into the apartment, loosely gripping Lexie's waist and pulling her in behind him. They were both laughing breathlessly at how George had almost tumbled down the steps as he eagerly trotted to the entrance. He cast aside his keys and peeled his jacket off, dropping it to the floor and kicking it into a corner. He repeated the procedure for his shoes, tossing them on top of the pile. He looked over his shoulder, ready to invite Lexie to do the same. But his words caught in his throat when he saw her.

She was frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open, lips parted in an almost dainty way. Her face had gone stark white, and her eyes were huge with shock. He said her name, but she didn't hear him. Her heart pounded in her ears as her eyes darted around the main room of the apartment. There were so many memories here, of drinking and brushing her teeth and laughing and staying up late to help George study and whispering that she loved him into the darkness at night. She saw the curtains she stole, his Bob Dylan poster, a presumably empty canister of roach repellent, and the television they had both chipped in to buy when she couldn't swipe one from Seattle Grace because they were so cleverly bolted to the wall. The scent hit her nose – peppermint, sawdust, and a tiny hint of mildew. The familiarity slammed into her as a dull blow to the gut. Otherwise, she felt numb. Her head was swimming.

It was the place she used to call home. Everything was the same. George was the same, the air was the same, the gravity was the same. But it wasn't her home anymore. Her home was with someone else, somewhere she could no longer go to. Her breath began coming in short sporadic bursts, as she periodically held it in and expelled it forcefully. She had to fix this. She couldn't go home anymore. She was a stray again. It was the first time she had thought of that. It was empty and lonely.

She tried to remember how she had made the other place home. Her intoxicated mind took a long time to recall it. Fastened to those thoughts of purple sweaters and porn star come-ons were emotions that were once wonderful, but now caused searing pain. But, when she pulled herself out of them, she knew what she had to do. Maybe it would ease the pain.

She wondered for an instant if this is what Mark had thought earlier that day, too.

"Lexie," George murmured in what he hoped was a soothing way. It hurt him to see someone who was still his friend so distraught. He stepped up to her, gently wiping the away the tears that had escaped from her eyes and rolled down her face. Slowly, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slid her jacket off, allowing it to pool around her feet and ankles. A tiny whimper came from her throat and he felt powerless. She fumbled around with her feet, removing her shoes and pushing them away.

They were flush with one another, then, the fronts of their bodies touching and brushing lightly against one another. George's pulse began to race. She raised her eyes to look into his before her head tilted upwards. They were so soft and sad and beautiful that it made his mouth fall open. She smelled like cigarette smoke and vanilla. Time stood still for an instant as they stared at one another, George stunned and Lexie heartbroken. Lexie edged closer and George was too dazed to shrink back.

"George," she whispered hoarsely, and a tiny melancholy smile quirked at her mouth. His heart was ready to leap out of his chest and bound around the room. A nervous sweat threatened at his forehead. Her arms found their way around his neck and they were suspended on a fragile thread over the threshold of danger and rash decisions. Her mouth inched towards his in slow motion. Her eyes drooped.

Their lips bumped together awkwardly first, and George only had a fraction of a second to gasp before Lexie fused hers to his more forcefully, more completely.

For a moment, George was dizzy with the combination of the beer, Jägerbombs, and the kiss. Her lips tasted like plain ChapStick and tequila. He vaguely recalled the taste from the time he kissed her accidentally a long time ago, when he was delirious from joy and basically slap-happy. He wondered if she had felt like he did now, surprised and questioning frantically if it meant something.

But, when she opened her mouth against his, his whole body stiffened. However drunk, his mind began to reject it; it hit him. The problem. The ruin of another friendship. The commencement of another crippling mistake. She was drunk and sad, and he was drunk and wanted to comfort her. It was a formula for disaster. He clamped his mouth shut and wrenched free of her grip. She shuddered at the sudden loss of contact and, when she opened her eyes, she gaped at him, visibly upset.

"Not good," was all he could get out, voice gravelly and scratchy. "This isn't good, Lexie, we're drunk and we'll regret it," he begged, keeping the "please" silent, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

With that, he saw the chain reaction. Her cheeks became tinted with red, her eyebrows rose sharply, and she swallowed with some effort.

Then, she broke.

She slumped against him, all of her weight coming to rest on him, and he caught her and held her upright. She took in a deep, ragged breath and then couldn't take another. "George," she sputtered in a half-sob, and he couldn't help but marvel at how much she sounded like her sister. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, the first tangible evidence of the heartbreak she had suffered. "Please, George, please, I need this…" She coughed and trembled. "I can't go home. Please, I can't go home. Help me," she pleaded. "Make me forget, make me forget about home, please." He could tell that home really meant him and it hurt him deep in his chest. She let out a few more sobs, clinging to him, and he held her tightly against him. She was like a frightened little child, shaking in his arms.

He had to do something. The moral dilemma manifested itself. She was his friend, and he owed her so much. Gratitude, an apology, something to make everything up to her. But, he couldn't do this. He couldn't risk changing a friendship forever, like he had foolishly done before. But, on the other hand, what else could he do? He couldn't bear to see her like this, and he wouldn't be able to handle knowing that she had cried herself to sleep. He had to help her. His muddled mind made the only apparent choice, even though he still was nowhere near sure of his footing.

For a moment, they hovered uncertainly over a chasm of morally shattering choices and consequences. Holding his breath and tip-toeing to the edge, nerves alight hands shaking, George made himself take the plunge.

He used one hand to rub her back and tilted her chin upwards with the other. She stopped crying with a mere tremble of her lower lip. When she looked into his eyes, comforting deep blue, they were compliant with a bit of hesitance. It was good enough, she thought, and kissed him again, desperately, prying his mouth open with hers. He could taste the saline of her tears as they curved down her face. He let out a sigh and placed his hands on her waist. No matter how bad of a decision this was, it felt good. Emotionally, he was confused; the physical was all he could be sure about.

Without breaking the kiss, she reached up behind her and pulled her hair out of the ponytail. It fell to her shoulders, feathering for an instant against George's face. She ran her fingers through his hair, moaning softly, pouring all of her concentration into kissing him and nothing else. He kissed back just as hungrily, trying to ignore his conscience as he forced her body against his. There was no wind outside, no thunder. Everything was silent and heavy, interrupted only by the breath coming from their noses.

George led her to the couch, picking her up (even though she was almost as tall as he was, she was like a feather) and placing her on the edge of its back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, shuddering at the hardness that was pressed against her. His body was giving him away – he liked it and hated it at the same time. She grabbed at the hemline of his shirt, slowly pulling it up and over his head before casting it aside. Anticipation stirred inside of him as Lexie ran her hands from his shoulders to his biceps, and then down his chest and stomach, stopping at the button of his jeans. She removed her own shirt, then, and held his lower lip between her teeth. His eyes rolled backwards.

She was lovely. It was undeniable. She was lovely and he had repressed it for so long, choosing to block out every single thought he had about her. Maybe that first kiss really had carried implications other than gratitude; the clarity of mind bringing impulse to the forefront. And now he wanted her, even if it would hurt both of them and be filed with the other bad decisions he had made in the past year and a half. But maybe it would be worth it.

The slide of skin against skin sent jolts of energy and electricity throughout his whole body, concentrated in his spine and brain. His palms skimmed her bra, gently cupping her breasts; they were smaller than what he was used to, but they fit perfectly in his hands. The pit of his stomach just plain hurt with an agonizing combination of guilt and lust.

He lost control. He took her by the hand and helped her down; Lexie Grey wasn't the kind of girl one fucked on an old couch. Her lips attached themselves to his neck as he led her, staggering, down the hallway. On the subconscious level, he made the decision to turn left, toward her bedroom, instead of right. If this went badly (which he still had the nagging feeling that it would), he especially couldn't live with it if it happened in his own bed.

It was dark in the bedroom, and that was probably for the best. He laid her on the bed (her bed, he reminded himself) and then clambered on top of her. His mouth found the column of her throat and she arched into him, silent but still so loud.

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Meanwhile, across town, Mark wasn't sleeping either. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in the immense darkness of his Archfield residence, fidgeting relentlessly and taking deep breaths. He had tried to fall asleep, but it was to no avail. He had forgotten just how dark it was, without Lexie there – without her warm weight beside him, for him to cling to when he couldn't see anything else, keeping him connected to the real and to existence and keeping him from entering the recesses of his imagination where all of those childhood fears still lived.

Without her there, it was like he was floating in the dark that was like what was there before the universe existed. He had tried to relax and close his eyes, but they would pop back open. It didn't make a difference; the blackness was exactly the same either way. He had experienced that familiar feeling of dread, like he was being squeezed in upon himself. The tiniest of sounds became amplified and distorted. He had held his breath, tensing, straining not to hear. He remembered being a child, home alone, and how the darkness was loneliness again. Guilt was over there in the corner, a velvety shadow that was practically corporal. He could feel it expanding and moving about sporadically. He told himself it wasn't real, but it was.

Swearing under his breath, he hustled through the room and flipped every single light on – a habit he thought he would never fall back into.

Even with the entire room bathed in fluorescence, illuminating every dark corner and everything that could have been bad, his sleep was fitful at best.