AN: Just to be clear, the first part of this chapter is a flashback (don't worry if things getting muddy—it'll clear up later). Hope you all enjoy!

PS: So excited about the synopsis for "Beat Your Heart Out"—Lexie demanding Mark own up to their relationship is just awesome, I love her newfound spirit.

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

Remembrance

Chapter Seven: Putting the Damage On

Her key slid noisily into the lock and she almost shushed it before realizing that that would just be ridiculous. When she slid the door shut behind her and turned to walk into the apartment, she stopped short. Her stealth had been in vain, all the lights in the living room were on and Mark was there, his arms crossed over his chest. He still wore the gray sweater and slacks he had had on earlier at Joe's.

"Where the hell have you been?"

She let her bag drop onto a dining chair and turned away from him to enter their bedroom. She stared at the empty bed for a long moment, as if looking for something.

"Lexie."

She continued to ignore him, pulling items out of her drawers as if he weren't behind her in the doorway. Any attempt to smoothly change clothes was decimated when she stumbled on her way to the adjoining bathroom.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?" he asked, his voice rising.

Her chin lifted a notch. "Maybe."

He walked over to stand in front of her. "Where were you?"

"Joe's," she said curtly, trying to move past him.

He anticipated her clumsy sidestep and still blocked her. "I didn't see you there."

"Yeah, well you were busy." Rancor was evident in each word she spoke and in the twist of her pink mouth.

It was so out of character, he stepped back, and she took advantage of the space to move past him. He swiveled to grab her elbow and she shook him off. The glare she gave him made him recoil.

He'd seen that look before on countless other women, so many that one would think he'd be used to it by now. But those looks had been a lifetime ago, reserved for a man he'd worked hard to make sure no longer existed so he'd never have to see that look on her face.

He remained silent as she dumped her clothes onto the bed and left the room without changing. Following her into the kitchen, he watched her pour a glass of water. She drank the entire glass with single-minded determination, avoiding his eyes the entire time.

He sighed. "Are you going to talk to me about it?"

She stiffened, as if the very sound of his voice was enough to rub her the wrong way.

He pressed. "Where were you?"

"At a bar."

"Why did you leave Joe's?"

She slammed the empty glass on the counter and he winced at the sound, surprised it hadn't shattered. "I met a guy tonight."

Though his entire body felt too hot, his hands were suddenly ice. "I'm not sure what that means," he said carefully.

"It means that you don't have to feel guilty now because we're both bad." Then she shoved her body away from the counter and left the kitchen.

"Meaning?" he demanded after her.

She didn't answer, but he caught her halfway between the kitchen and living room, both his hands manacled around her wrists. He repeated the question.

To her credit, she gave him hell, twisting her arms under his grip with enough strength to make him work hard.

"Meaning," she finally spat after giving up, "you're not the only one who can cheat."

There were images then of Lexie in a stranger's apartment, Lexie under a stranger, Lexie getting dressed by lamplight with the same distracted expression he'd perfected. His words were slow. "This guy you met. Did you sleep with him?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to compare sins with you." She tried to spin away from him.

"Damn it, Lexie!" He shouted then, wanting to shake the truth out of her. He was in real position to judge; he'd been born a cheater. Hate was powerful; forgiveness more so. They could salvage this—they could, he just needed to know what he was up against. Sex. Lust. Affection. Love.

"You want details?" she shouted back. "He kissed me, all right? He kissed me and I let him."

He let her go then, his hand dropping from her so fast his wrist snapped. For some crazy reason, crazy because he'd been prepared for torrid sex and she'd only said 'kiss', her words cut. Until then, he hadn't realized how much he'd been hoping she'd been lying about the guy in the bar. How much he'd been wishing that the truth entailed her and Sadie drinking across the street.

"You don't get to do that," she sneered. "You don't get to look wounded and lost."

He couldn't look at her, he realized. He couldn't look at that beautiful face with its perfect skin without looking at her eyes, her huge eyes filled with so much loathing it made his head spin.

Turning away, he pulled a hand down his face. "Why?" he asked the mantle, where pictures of them happy mocked him.

"Oh, come off it," she said, suddenly tired. "A blind man could have seen you two flirting today."

He frowned, turning around. "Addison?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment, her body swaying. There it was, engrained on the back of her eyelids: an image of Addison leaning into a seated Mark. Perfect Addison with burgundy hair and fabulous accessories and legs that started at her ears. And Mark, gazing back at her as if the Holy Grail was in front of him.

When Lexie's eyes opened, she found her anger again. "I'm surprised she's not still here. But then again…" she paused, pretending to think, "The Archfield's more your MO, isn't it?"

"Lexie—" he started.

"Save it," she snapped. "Once a cheater, always a cheater, right? That's what you do, Mark, you take things and you ruin them."

That one hurt, but even he had to admit, karmically speaking, he deserved some woman somewhere along the line screaming that at him.

"Lexie," he tried again, "I give you my word nothing happened between me and Addison."

"You word?" she echoed with contempt. "You'll forgive me if that doesn't carry much weight with me? Considering you and I started out by you breaking your word to Derek."

She could have killed his dog and elicited such a stricken expression. Reeling back, he sat on the edge of the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his forehead.

"I would think," she continued, "that you'd have the decency to be a bit more discreet. In the middle of Joe's? Really?"

He tried to count to five, he tried to focus on his breathing. She deserved patience, he told himself. She'd been through a lot lately.

"You finally tell people about us—and three months later you're mortifying me in public?"

But damn her, so had he! He stood up then, the movement sudden. Surprised, she cut herself off, staring up at him.

"We were talking!" he gritted out. "Just talking. It was nice to talk, it was nice to look at someone who smiles."

Her eyes narrowed and she took a step back. "And at home all you have is poor, depressed Lexie, right? Well, I'm sorry I'm not a barrel of laughs, Mark, I'm sorry I don't feel like having sex all the time, I'm sorry I'm grieving—"

"I'm grieving, too!" he yelled.

"Could have fooled me!" she yelled back, moving across the living room to stand near the mantle. Her eyes fell on a picture of them and her arm shot out before she had time to think. Her palm met the cool frame and slapped it down to the floor.

The sound of cracking glass filled the silence between them.

He understood; he wanted to lash out at something, too. Instead he clenched his fists at his side and watched her back as she tried to control her breathing.

"Just because I don't walk around like a martyr doesn't mean I'm not sorry, too."

She whirled around. "I don't think I'm a martyr," she whispered.

"Maybe if you weren't so goddamn selfish you'd realize that there's someone else in this apartment."

Her face lost even more of its color and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. Swallowing, she found her voice. "Your apartment. Your apartment, your furniture, your life—I'm just lucky you let me be a part of it, right?"

He shook his head. "What are talking about?"

"Nothing," she muttered. Backing down came like second nature these days. Her head felt muzzy. "Nevermind."

They were quiet for a long moment, him on one side of the living room and her on the other. It was easy enough to avoid looking at each other, there were plenty of other things in the living room. Neither of them tried to cross the invisible line that bisected the room.

His voice was low and hard. "Since the day there was you, there's only been you."

Maybe she wanted to believe him or maybe she needed to, either way, believe him she did. Her face twisted in an expression of pain. "I thought—"

He sighed, sitting back on the couch. "I know what you thought."

"I saw—"

"Yeah," he said wearily. "I can imagine."

"Mark—"

"Go to bed, Lexie."

She moved closer to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know why I'm so angry." She wasn't just talking about right now, or tonight, and they both knew it. It seemed she was always angry lately. Maybe if it had been recent development, he could attribute it to…

Mark gave himself a mental shake before his mind could voice a subject they'd made taboo. The point, he thought grimly, was that it wasn't a recent development.

At least before he had been able to reach her in their bed. No matter how icy her posture was, he could reach for her and she'd meet him halfway willingly, her body pliant and warm. Maybe it didn't dissolve her anger, but he could still make her say his name as she dug all ten fingers into his skin.

And then he'd noticed the film of some underlying emotion beneath the physical satiation in her eyes. Afterward, when he tucked her body against his side, he'd noticed it hardening her eyes. He didn't dare call it resentment and he didn't dare analyze it. But eventually the distance between them turned into a mile and he'd stopped reaching.

Her anger was tangible as it widened the chasm between them. It was the reason that while they had once showered together in order to guarantee they'd run late, they now showered together to rush through their morning routine, their bodies reaching around each other for soap and shampoo, avoiding skin and eye contact.

Now he looked up to see her standing in front of him. She was always so small. Addison and Callie were striking women, naturally tall, made taller by the confidence they exuded. But Lexie…Lexie's strength came out in spurts, when she was pushed, tested. Her strength was almost invisible.

So to see there, her slender brows knitted as she pressed her lips together in an endeavor not to cry, evoked the urge to comfort. Her eyes were huge and dark, the inner corners turning toward her nose and exaggerating their doe shape.

Pulling her down next to him, he let her head fall into his lap. He stroked her hair away from her temple with an idle hand, his eyes straight ahead.

"Try not to think about it," he said. "Just go to sleep."

*******

A cab, he calculated, would take about fifteen minutes from Meredith Grey's house to their apartment at this time of night. So why then, had it been thirty minutes since Derek called?

Mark turned away from the clock in the living room to stare at the flickering images on the muted television. Turning the entire set off, he tossed down the remote and resumed his pacing.

When he'd come home at three-thirty—early, he recounted now, with a self-deprecating smile, because he just couldn't wait to see her—he'd first searched the apartment for a note. Lexie always left notes, sometimes for no reason at all. After the refrigerator, nightstand and bathroom mirrors had come up empty, he'd examined the guest bedroom and living room to no avail.

The image of an amnesiac Lexie Caroline Grey roaming streets with no idea where she was made his gut drop and his jaw clench. He couldn't figure out if she was more beautiful than stupid or vice versa.

When the sound of a key in the lock reached his ears, he was ready for her. Standing in the middle of the living room, his arms crossed and feet apart in a stance that could only be seen as combative, he waited.

"Where the hell have you been?"

She blinked at him, looking behind her and then at him as if trying to assess where exactly she was.

"Meredith's house," she answered slowly, as if he were challenged.

He frowned. Perhaps it was a stupid question, he had, after all, just spoken to Derek. "I meant all day."

She shrugged, setting her bag down on a chair. "Around."

"Care to be more specific?"

"Not really."

His voice grew impatient. "You can't just run away without bothering to tell me where you are."

Her face grew solemn as she straightened. One hand flew up to salute him. "Yessir," she said loudly. "Of course, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir." Then she dissolved into giggles, her posture relaxing.

He stared at her, his brows furrowing into a vee. "Are you drunk?" Derek hadn't mentioned the drinking.

Lexie waved her hands around. "Wait, don't tell me, I remember." She tapped her finger to her chin. "This is where I say: 'Maayyybee'." She sang the last word, giving him the bleary smile of someone who doesn't quite see what one is smiling at.

He frowned. "What are—"

She cut him off, coming closer to look up at him. "Would you consider yourself a faithful man, Mark?"

He swallowed, his eyes flicking from her face to stare above her head. When he spoke, his eyes returned to her. "No," he answered. "But I am to you."

"Huh," was her only answer. For all the alcohol she imbibed, her eyes sharpened. "Was I faithful?"

His jaw clenched. It took a moment, but he bit out, "Yes."

"Really?" The word came out in one long, disbelieving drawl that irked him.

"You never slept with another man."

"Is that how we're defining cheating?" she goaded, "Sex?"

"Damn you, Lexie!" he shouted. He blew out his breath and turned away from her. When he spoke again, his voice was lower and tired. "You clearly remember something so why not just be out with it?"

"I kissed another guy," she said, her eyes closing. When the world swayed, she snapped them open again to find that the world wasn't the only thing moving, so was her body. She tried to plant her feet on the ground because this was something she wanted to hear, needed to hear.

"Yes," he said, the words struggled out of him. "But it was a mistake. It didn't matter and we moved past it."

"I wouldn't have kissed another man if we were happy, Mark."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was a misunderstanding."

"What did I misunderstand?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared back at her. "You tell me."

"I thought you cheated first."

He didn't nod, but he didn't deny it either.

"With Addison," she added. The name came naturally and she thought of Meredith's face earlier that night. "Who's Addison?"

He blew out his breath. "Doesn't matter," he said, trying to move past her into the spare bedroom.

She blocked his path with her body. "It matters to me."

"We can talk about this later. Go to bed." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he all but picked her up and out of his way.

Lexie sidestepped back in front of him. "No, we can talk about it now."

He sighed and then said, "Derek's ex-wife."

Her eyes widened. "Then what—"

He had the urge to get this part over with, to get to the part where she knew all about him, knew his sins and didn't care. But, then again, there was a reason he hadn't told her from the get-go. Maybe this Lexie, this woman with the familiar face but guarded eyes, wouldn't be as forgiving as the Lexie he'd lost. "We had an affair," he said, his words curt.

"You…and Addison," she said slowly.

His head jerked once in a nod. "A long time ago."

"So—at the bar—when I saw—you didn't…?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

That one surprised him and he faltered for a moment. She saw the hesitation immediately and took a step back from him.

"Oh," she said, nodding.

"Don't." He couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. "Don't pretend you know what I—"

"How long were you going to keep lying to me?"

His brow furrowed. "I haven't—"

"Yes! You have! Every time you've looked at me and spouted off bullshit about how happy we were and how we love each other, you've been lying to me." She rubbed her forehead. "Because we weren't. We weren't happy. Happy people don't cheat and they don't want to cheat and they don't lie to each other."

"All couples have problems," Mark said.

"Yeah, well, not all couples rekindle affairs with their ex-mistresses or start new ones with strangers in bars."

"I didn't rekindle anything and you didn't have an affair." He paused, his eyes narrowing. He stalked closer and grabbed her shoulders once again, this time with the purpose of keeping her in place. "Did you?"

"What?" She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his fingers tightened. "No."

"Did you remember something else?" he persisted. "Like going home with the guy in the bar?"

"Are you crazy? No."

"'No' you don't remember or 'no' you didn't?"

She glared up at him. "I didn't go home with him," she said, enunciating in a way that was all condescension.

"You sure? You have a history of taking off all your clothes in front of virtual strangers."

She gaped at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you coming to my hotel room and stripping!"

She wasn't equipped to fight back when he was referencing things she didn't recall. It was dirty of him, so she decided to get just as dirty. "This coming from a manwhore."

The name-calling angered him. They were standing so close she could see the tick in his jaw. He took a step closer, causing her head to fall back to maintain eye contact.

"At least I don't get off from withholding sex."

A noise of choked offense left her throat. "I do no such thing."

He snorted and the derision in the action nearly swallowed her. "Then why can't I remember the last time I got laid?"

She nearly slapped the smug look off of his handsome face. "Yeah, well I can't remember ever getting laid so maybe we're even!"

Later, it would be easy to place the blame on him, to tell herself that he started it and she became a cajoled participant. But, if she were completely honest with herself, she'd acknowledge that she was the first one to reach out.

Either way, in the same moment her hands grabbed his shirt collar, he palmed her bottom, bringing her high and hard up against him. Her mouth found his in an expression of starvation that had him stumbling back against the wall.

As they tripped along the hallway, her back bumping a picture frame on the way to their bedroom, he pulled away to look up at her. "I don't think—"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Don't."

"You're drunk," he said. It was a flimsy excuse, one he took some time in creating as his eyes searched hers.

Mouth dry, she licked her lips. If he put her down and sent her to bed alone, she'd die from the mortification of it all. At the thought of such rejection, her legs tightened around his hips. He groaned under the pressure and let out a curse before kissing her again.

He was going to hell anyway, what was one more sin under his belt?

AN: Please review!