Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.

Remembrance

Chapter Six: Shades of Grey

Three and Two, Lexie realized as she turned the corner with Steve, were going to be late. Which was bad enough when it was just Yang to contend with, but when Yang was meeting an attending, having late interns was unacceptable.

"Dr. Grey." Dr. Sloan stood near the patient's bedside, arms crossed over his chest, his feet apart as he glowered. "Thank you for joining us."

Lexie looked out of the corner of her eye to Steve, who ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. S—"

"No, I'm sorry, Grey. Clearly whatever you were doing was far more important than reconstructing Ms. Sullivan's tongue."

Again, she looked at Steve, who now just looked grateful. He took a step away from her. She glared at him.

Dr. Sloan turned to Steve. "You," he said. "Have you read Ms. Sullivan's chart?"

Steve did his very best impression of a bobble-head and rattled off facts while Lexie tried to keep the heat out of her face.

Dr. Sloan nodded when Steve finished, his chin tucked to his chest while he stared over the ridge of his brows. "Yang, you and your intern can scrub in." He handed her the chart. "But you may want to teach Grey how to tell time." As he brushed out of the room, white-cloaked bodies moved out of his way. She followed suit, and resented her compliancy immediately.

"Three," Yang said. "When I page you, it's time to put Malibu Barbie down and get to work."

"But I—" She looked over Cristina's shoulder to where Steve stood. His face was apologetic and she swallowed her comment. "I'm sorry, Dr. Yang."

Cristina sighed, her lip curling in disgust. Then she smiled, shoving a stack of charts into her arms. Waving her hand in dismissal, she said, "Go."

Lexie turned to leave the room, her labcoat fluttering around her thighs. On her way to the elevator, he walked by her with Derek, matching Styrofoam cups in hand. He winked at her. She stared in incredulity. Unbelievable.

By the time she finished her nineteenth rectal exam, she was damn certain she'd never eat again. She ripped the nineteenth pair of gloves off her hands and tossed them in a nearby bin. The chalk residue of latex remained and she rubbed her palms against her coat.

"Dr. Yang," she said, when she found her resident leaning over the nurse's station. Cristina moved away to reveal Dr. Sloan sitting at the computer. Fantastic.

"Done, Three?" Cristina smiled. "You should go eat something. Keep your strength up."

She couldn't help the grimace that twisted across her face. Pressing her lips together, she waited for the nausea to recede.

She caught the curious look he gave her before turning back to his screen. Then she looked at her resident. "Steve's still tied up in OR 3, so…"

Cristina twisted a thick strand of hair out of her face. She looked at the clock and then at Dr. Sloan.

Lexie divided a look between them and then decided the old adage about the squeaky wheel was probably true. "Do you think maybe I could scr—"

"Yang, the clinic could probably use Dr. Grey's services."

If a bit surprised, Cristina was ready to nod her agreement. "You heard the man."

Lexie stood there for a moment, her mouth parted as if to say something. Then she snapped it shut, shaking her head as she turned away. Almost trembling with the injustice of it, she stamped her way to the cafeteria.

Out of principal rather than actual hunger, she stood in line and grabbed random items to slam onto her tray. She drummed her fingertips on the steel counter as she waited, her foot tapping out some unheard rhythm.

When Mark slid in line after her, she looked up and immediately gave him her back.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"What?" she hissed over her shoulder.

Before he could reply, Izzie Stevens turned from her place in line to look at Lexie. For a terrible moment, Lexie thought the other woman had heard. Then, her brown eyes focusing on Lexie's wan face, she said, her voice knowing, "Rectal exams?"

Lexie nodded, her shoulders slumping in relief more than defeat.

"Been there. Stay away from the pudding." Paying for her food, she left, her short hair gleaming under the skylights.

She could practically feel the amusement radiating off his tall body behind her. Refusing to look back, she slid forward in line. He matched her steps and reached into his scrub pants.

Gesturing to their trays, he said over her head, "I got hers."

The man behind the register nodded, his fingers punching the machine.

"No, he doesn't." Lexie held out a ten.

"Yes," he insisted, his arm extending further than hers. A twenty fluttered under the man's nose. "I do."

All but shoving him aside, she glared at the cafeteria worker, daring him to accept the twenty. The man took a step back, staring at Lexie's mutinous face and Mark's clenched jaw. Reaching out a wavering hand, he took her ten.

Mark expelled his breath above her and she pulled her lips in a tight smile for the worker before darting off with her unwanted salad and chips. He was right on her heels out of the cafeteria.

"Get away from me," she said, turning a quick corner to find the tunnels. Sure it was an intern-free zone, but, right now, with the mood she was in, the residents were the ones who'd be wise to scatter.

"What is the matter with you?" he said.

She stopped so quickly, he and his tray almost rammed into her back. Then she whirled around, her hands tightening around her tray. "You're an ass."

Half his mouth turned up in a smirk that was all arrogance. "And?"

She let out a noise of disgust. "Shouldn't you be off thinking of other ways to ban me from surgeries?"

His chin tipped up as if he'd just come to the bottom of something. "Ah, so that's it." He put his tray on the top of a vending machine and crossed his arms over his chest. Looking down at her, he said, "You know I can't give you special treatment, people would suspect."

She gaped at him, wondering how much damage the plastic knife on her tray could do. She couldn't figure out what offended her more: that he would think she'd expect special treatment or that he couldn't see he was treating her differently.

"Seriously?" she said instead. "Seriously?"

She jammed her tray into his solar plexus and took off, stopping halfway down the hall to come tearing back. He hadn't moved and she reached into the salad to grab a fistful of wilted leaves before tossing them over his immaculate features. "Assface."

That night she passed by the Archfield without so much as slowing down. It was the first time in two weeks she wouldn't spend the hours between eleven and four in his hotel room.

She missed him. That much came apparent when she nearly turned her car around twice. Then came the inevitable questions. Was what he did really so bad? Neither of them wanted their relationship to be public knowledge, not yet anyway. So what if he was going a bit overboard? It would take sometime to get the hang of things, develop a healthy medium.

She frowned as she pulled into her parking spot. Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face?

George wasn't home when she arrived, but that wasn't surprising. He tried to spend the least amount of time possible in their apartment. In all honesty, that was fine with her. She'd liked the time she spent alone in the apartment since her home makeover. The bright colors of pilfered hospital supplies cheered the place up, expanding the walls. Of course, since the night she'd gone to the Archfield, she hadn't spent much time with the yellow bed pan cum fruit bowl or the blue bed sheets cum drapes/tablecloth/what-have-you.

If she left now, she could be at the hotel in ten minutes and he'd open the door, kiss her, and help her forget the wretched day filled with rectal exams and STD-ridden teenagers.

But, she wavered yet again, the entire day was wretched due to him. So she tore her eyes away from her car keys and decided she'd make dinner instead. Measuring some pasta out of her stolen containers and heating some water, she gnawed on a piece of cheese while figuring out how to unbolt the televisions in the hospital.

Halfway through her plan, which included a lookout, a monkey wrench and posing as a pregnant patient, a knock on the door disturbed the gurgling of the boiling water.

She opened it warily; they didn't exactly live in the best neighborhood and though the rest of the interns had come over a few times to drink, the social activities had pretty much stopped in the aftermath of the botched appy.

Mark stood across the doorway, six roses tucked in the curve of his arm. Extremely shiny roses, she noted, stepping to the side to let him in.

"So, here goes," he said. His black jacket had drops of rain clinging to the shoulders. "I'm sorry." Then he blew out his breath, the admission clearly taxing him.

"For what?"

"I have absolutely no idea." He grinned then, shrugging. It was strangely disarming. "I'm somewhat new at this. But I'm sure you'll help me figure it out."

She remained quiet, moving away to turn off the stove. It gave him time to look around the apartment and its furnishings.

"Is that—?"

"Yes."

"Are those—?"

"Yes." She turned to face him, her hands braced against the counter behind her. She nodded toward the bundle in his arms. "Are those for me?"

"Do you forgive me?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Neither have I."

It was difficult enough to resist him on her own. But when he played charming, it was damn near unbearable. Knowing she would just be prolonging the inevitable, she decided to save time. She turned back to the stove.

"I'm making pasta, do you want some?"

She didn't have to looking at him to know he was grinning. "I would love some." His fingers linked around her abdomen as they both watched her stir the pot.

It was after he'd taken it upon himself to get them both acquainted with her bedroom that he finally gave her the roses.

She sat up in bed, taking the sheet with her in a display of modesty he found endearing. He joined her on the creaking mattress, his weight creating a sinkhole that caused her to dip toward him.

The stems were long, thorn-free and plastic. She fingered one of the six in her small hand, trailing up until she reached the gleaming foil of the rose.

"Flowers die, so…"

She peeled back the foil to discover a perfect chocolate rose. She laughed as she bit into it, her small teeth ruining the petal design. She offered him one, but he refused, sweeping the remaining flowers on the ground when he leaned forward to kiss her.

She tasted of chocolate and hope.

There were things they hadn't said, things she needed to tell him. But later, she decided when he reached for the sheet separating them. There would be plenty of time later.

Later, she determined with the onus of hindsight, had never come. He'd continued to cut her from surgeries, insult her intelligence and make Yang hate her even more throughout the remainder of her internship. But he would follow up with a tweak of her ponytail or a discreetly paid-for lunch and she had kept quiet.

If she were honest, she'd own up to being slightly pathetic. Was it better to be unhappy during the day, cherished at night, and silent in between than it was to be alone?

There were ways around it that didn't involve confrontation. Yang didn't exactly love Plastics so it was relatively easy to avoid his service. Meanwhile, she did her damnedest to scrub in on Dr. Shepherd's cases, or Dr. Hunt's, or chart in a supply closet and convince herself she was not the runt of the year, no matter what Alex said. Residency, she'd chanted in that closet, residency would bring change.

She frowned on the bed, trying to concentrate before she lost the tenuous strand of something she knew she needed. It was there; elusive, but there. She told herself to think faster, to reach it before it went beyond her grasp. But the pressure alone was enough to push it over until the last vestiges were gone and she was left with an empty box and cluttered non-memories.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, her head hurt from self-flogging. Mark would be home soon and there was news to share. But how could she tell a man who'd bought her a ring that she remembered him as an overbearing ogre?

In the end, her decision to not be in the apartment at four was not purely altruistic. She wasn't just sparing his feelings by not sharing the memory; she just didn't want to see him. Afraid she'd engage in a confrontation that was so late it bordered on moot, she grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her.

After walking around in mall for four hours, picking at a salty pretzel, she stood in front of a two-story house with a swing on its porch. She lifted her purse higher on her shoulder and walked up the steps.

When Meredith answered the door, her hair curling around a Dartmouth shirt, her mouth fell open in a soft 'O'.

"Hey," she said, her hand wrapped around the doorknob. She looked past Lexie's shoulder, as if expecting someone else with her.

"Hey," Lexie said, shifting her weight. She blew out her breath. "I don't really know who I know besides Mark and I had your address…" She held up her phone before shoving it into her jacket pocket. "But, um, I do know uninvited guests shouldn't come empty-handed, and in the spirit of our father being a drunk…"

Meredith watched her pull out a paper bag shaped like a bottle. "That's disturbingly inappropriate," she said.

Lexie sighed, still outside. "Listen, I didn't want to pull this card, but I nearly died." As if to drive her point home, she added, "From a baseball bat."

Meredith shook her head, waves of dirty blonde hair framing her face. "That doesn't work on me. I nearly died, too. I did die."

Lexie frowned. "How?" she asked, suspicious.

"Drowned," she answered, her voice matter-of-fact.

Lexie's brow cleared. "Then unless someone else shoved you under water, I win."

They squared off for a moment before Meredith took the bottle, gesturing her sister inside.

"Hope tequila's all right," Lexie said, hanging her coat. Her hands uncoiled her scarf as Meredith pulled out the bottle.

"You have no idea," Meredith muttered, going into the kitchen. When she came back, she flopped onto the couch with a knife and limes

Lexie joined her, looking around the empty living room. "Where's Derek?"

"Hospital. He's monitoring a patient overnight."

Lexie nodded while Meredith broke the seal of the bottle with practiced ease. She poured two shots while Lexie cut the fruit into wedges.

"Where's Mark?"

"I don't know, probably at the apartment." Lexie lifted her tiny glass. "Cheers," she said, the toast devoid of merriment.

Meredith's eyebrow rose, but she remained quiet, clinking her glass to Lexie's before tapping it to the coffee table and downing it. To her credit, she waited patiently through two more shots before speaking.

"Okay," Meredith said, tossing another used lime away. "What gives? Why are you avoiding Mark?"

Lexie sighed, reaching for the bottle to refill their glasses. "I remembered something. Something I'd rather forget. And even though he's being great—amazing, really—I'm just so…so…pissed."

Meredith looked sympathetic for a brief moment. "Addison?"

Lexie blinked. "What?"

Meredith just handed her a lime. "Nevermind, drink up."

"So you and Derek, huh?"

That sent Meredith reaching for the bottle. She missed the first time, but managed to grab the neck on the second try. "Yup. Me and Derek."

Lexie squinted. "Can I ask you something?"

"Why not?"

"Why did you have concerns about Mark and I dating? I know he's older—"

Meredith waved a dismissive hand. "It wasn't the age thing, it was the manwhore thing."

"Manwhore thing," Lexie repeated, her nose wrinkling in an expression of distaste.

Meredith narrowed her eyes and put down her shot glass. "Exactly what do you remember?" she said, her voice suspicious.

"Him being a dick to me."

Meredith nodded wisely, tapping a finger to her temple and hitting a bit too close to her eye. "That was to throw us off the scent."

"But eventually the jig was up, right? I mean we did move in together."

The other woman snorted, bringing her slim legs up onto the couch. "Are you kidding me? When you moved out, you—"

"I lived here?" She looked around the room with renewed interest.

"Well, technically you lived with George, then you stayed here, but when George left—"

"Who's George?" she interrupted, her brow furrowing. "My ex-boyfriend?"

This apparently was hilarious because Meredith let out one of those airy giggles that were entirely out of character before resuming her story. "No, your roommate. But he left and then you were here, for a while anyway. When you moved in with Sloan, you said you'd found a studio for yourself."

Lexie frowned. "So I lied."

Meredith nodded. "Big time." She patted her sister's knee. "Runs in the family."

"So when exactly did we come out with our relationship?"

Meredith opened her mouth and quickly closed it. "After he proposed," she finally said, her voice careful.

Lexie read Meredith's anxiety and dismissed it. "I know about all that."

Meredith's forehead cleared. "Oh," she said. "Then you remember—"

"I found the ring."

Meredith nodded slowly, watching Lexie's expression as her brow furrowed again. "Er—Right. Well, he told Derek he was planning on proposing. And then you…"

Lexie sighed. "Didn't say yes," she supplied. Then, as if something occurred to her, she shifted to look Meredith in the eye. "Do you know why I—"

Meredith shook her head adamantly. "We're not—I'm mean—we don't…" she sawed a hand between their bodies. "We don't really do the sharing thing."

"Right," Lexie said, handing her another shot.

********

Three-fourths into the bottle they were sitting on the carpet looking at each other's bleary faces across the coffee table.

"My mother," Meredith said, examining her outstretched hands closely, "didn't know who I was and then she died." She blinked. "Do my hands look big to you?"

Lexie thought for a moment. "My mother," she offered, "died and now I don't know who she was." She toyed with a lime rind as Meredith nodded slowly, as if digesting a sage observation. "Your hands are fine. Your feet are huge."

"Derek wants to build a house with me because he loves me and I can't let him." She wiggled her toes.

"I am in Mark's apartment, with Mark's things and I have no idea how he feels about me." There was a surprising bitterness in her voice. The words had come to her tongue naturally, but there was no reason for the wave of animosity that accompanied them.

Meredith frowned. "He loves you," she said tentatively. So tentatively, Lexie wouldn't have believed her even if she didn't already have doubts of her own.

"Right, which is why our relationship was a secret for so long. Because of all the love."

"It was a secret because of me," Meredith said. "I thought he'd just screw with you."

Lexie nodded and then stopped when she felt her brain actually rattle around. "Yes, the manwhore."

"Reformed manwhore," Meredith corrected.

"Meredith!" Lexie announced, stamping the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table to emphasize her point. "We are sisters, we are sisters who are dating McDizzy and McSleazy."

Meredith shook her head, pointing to herself. "McDreamy." She pointed at Lexie across the table. "McSteamy."

Lexie waved a negligent hand. "Whatever." She took another shot then coughed. "The point," she wheezed out, "is we have to show sodilarity. Solarid—soral—We have to stick together."

Meredith nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "Yes. Because they come in here and 'Mc' it all up."

"They do!"

"And then we don't know our asses from our elbows."

"We don't!"

The shots they took then were thrown back violently, as if to show non-existent people that they meant business. When the front door opened, they looked up in unison.

"Lexie?" Derek asked, shaking moisture of off his coat. He closed the door behind him and looked at the heap of limes next to their shot glasses. Taking out his phone, he gave her such a disapproving look, she felt about five years old. "Mark's been making my life miserable wondering where you are."

During a short phone conversation in which Meredith hid the almost empty bottle and Lexie contemplated pretending to pass out so they wouldn't make her go back, Derek turned back to them, his phone still near his ear.

"I can drop her off," he said, looking at her small form on his carpet.

"No," she waved her hands. "I'm taking a cab."

"He says he's picking you up," Derek said, moving the mouthpiece away.

"No!" she said, this time more adamantly. "I'm taking a cab."

Derek blinked, surprised by the outburst. Giving the women his back, he murmured into the phone for a minute before hanging up.

Ten minutes later, safely ensconced into a taxi, Lexie said goodbye to her sister. "McSleazy's gonna yell at me," she said, her voice glum as she slumped.

Meredith shut the cab door. "He won't," she said. "Don't vomit."

Lexie took umbrage. "I don't vomit." Lexie leaned her head closer to the open window, the cool night air hitting her flushed cheeks. "If you do let him build you a house…"

Meredith moved in closer, her slim body swaying. "Yeah?"

"Build a sauna. Sauna's are awesome."

On the bumpy ride back to the apartment, Lexie didn't throw up. But when the driver screeched to stop in front of a red light, and the image of her stumbling drunk through a hallway slammed into her, she decided she'd prefer throwing up to reliving another memory of her life as a doormat.

So she started a monologue to God, hoping to staunch the flow of words and images that came next. Evidently, however, God was busy because by the time she came home, she remembered them anyway.

AN: Kind of a slow chapter, but a necessary one that built up a lot of stuff that comes later. Later as in…the next chapter. Please review!