AN: Greetings from New Zealand! I punched this chapter out before my flight and Erin was awesome enough to get it back to me. Let me know what you think!

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

Remembrance

Chapter Twelve: Almost In Love

She let her keychain slip from her fingers into the small bowl by the door. The metal clang reverberated through the empty hallway. The next step was slipping her jacket off, but it took a few seconds for her to summon the energy to raise her arms.

The day had been exhausting. She thought the night before had been bad, with the twin faces of shock Meredith and Derek had donned. But that was nothing compared to the frosty treatment she'd been given today.

Meredith didn't bother with glares, she just breezed by her in hallways, making Lexie feel more transparent than hated. She would have preferred the latter; at least that was an emotion.

She thought back to the time she'd spent in Meredith's attic, the tentative steps they'd taken toward some form of sibling acknowledgment. Now she was about ten steps behind square one.

In retrospect, the part that pissed Meredith off the most was probably the secrecy. If they had just come right out--if not at the beginning, some months later--and admitted to the secret sex and dirty flirting, maybe the retribution wouldn't be so bad now. But to confess to a secret they'd hidden for almost two years? That was unthinkable.

Mark hadn't even been able to get to the part of the story that compelled their confession. Derek had just shaken his head, reaching for Meredith's hand as they both stood to leave.

"I cannot believe we're here again," he'd said, disgust visible in his features. The usually soft corners of his eyes had been replaced with a far more daunting persona.

"Derek— " Mark tried.

"Meredith," Lexie said at the same time.

They hadn't looked back on their way.

And apparently that was the last conversation she'd ever have with her sister. She should have never agreed to keep it a secret, not when things had progressed to living together. This was equal parts her fault; she'd brought this upon herself. The knowledge didn't prevent the petty seeds of resentment from taking root inside of her.

His choice, his insistence, his fear of losing his best friend.

And for what? she thought bitterly.

With a shake of her dark head, she hung her coat and moved into the apartment.

"Wha--?" She cut herself off as she looked around the living room. The lights were off, but candles illuminated the table. An ice bucket divided two carefully laid plates.

"Hey," he greeted.

"What's all this?"

"This," he gestured, "is because last night was godawful."

Guilt for her prior thoughts flooded her. "You didn't have to."

"It's more about wanting to."

She gave him a tremulous smile and moved closer. With her cheek against his black dress shirt, she let him hug her. Dampness blurred her vision and she blinked a few times. In an attempt to alleviate her own hormones, she said, "Tell me you didn't cook."

He laughed above her. "I didn't cook," he confirmed.

When they pulled away, Lexie's head snapped back, pulled by her hair. "Ow," she grimaced, her face tilted up at an awkward angle.

"What the—" He tried to peer around her to see what had snagged. He moved his arm again to get a closer look.

"Ow!" She slapped his shoulder. "Stop doing that."

"It's my watch," he sighed. "It's in your hair."

Bringing her head closer to his chest, she bent at the neck so he could work out the tangle.

After a few attempts, he gave up. "I can't get it from this angle," he said. "Can you turn around?" As if to guide her, he began moving his arm closer to his body.

"Hey—Ow, whoa, wait!" Arms behind her neck, she attempted to keep her hair attached to her head. "Okay, let's go slowly." She bent at the waist and they twisted around each other until his wrist and her back faced him.

It took a few minutes but he finally detached his watch, though a few of Lexie's burgundy hairs were sacrificed in the process.

When she turned to face him, one hand rubbing her scalp, they exchanged smiles. His was fleeting, almost nervous. Clearing his throat, he said, "Dinner," before moving into the kitchen.

They took their first bite of the salmon in unison. Lexie's smile died around her fork. She attempted chewing for about two seconds before giving up. Around the inedible mouthful, she mumbled, "I thought you said you didn't cook."

His expression mirrored hers. He glared down at the plate as if threatening it to transform into something palatable. "I didn't. I ordered in from Pastis." He set his fork down with a clamor. "Damn, this was supposed to be perfect."

She spit the fish into a linen napkin, the taste still on her tongue. Chugging her glass of ice water didn't relieve it. "Oh, God," she moaned, grabbing her stomach. Fingers pressed against her lips, she made a run for the bathroom.

Mark was waiting with a wet cloth for her when she unlocked the door a few minutes later. Sympathy etched on his features, he gave her another glass of water.

"I ordered a pizza," he said, his voice glum. He looked so disappointed, she didn't have the heart to tell him she'd rather get an enema than eat anything.

She blew out her breath, the mint of the toothpaste she'd used cooling the inside of her mouth. "Pizza is a great idea."

It arrived twenty minutes later and she ate her slice with a determination she'd reserved for her boards. Crumpling her napkin, she sat back with a sigh when nothing but the crust was left.

"Water?" he asked, getting up with both their glasses. He'd fiddled through the entire meal, scarcely eating two slices when she knew well enough that he could inhale half a pie before she'd blinked.

She nodded as he moved past her. When he came back, she reached up to take the proffered glass. In a completely uncharacteristic motion, his foot caught the end of the throw rug and he stumbled, tipping the entire contents down her shirt.

She gasped as ice tumbled into her top. She leapt to her feet, pulling the soggy material away from her skin.

His brows rose at the mess on her and he reached out to help the same time she moved for napkins. Their arms collided and the other glass tipped over onto the open pizza carton before bouncing off to land on the carpet.

She reached to pick up the glass. Unfortunately, so did he. Their foreheads met with enough force to knock her back. Reeling on her haunches, she rubbed her forehead in pain and looked up to see him doing the same.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, staring at the soaked pizza with an undisguised grimace. "Just fantastic."

She shivered under her wet shirt as she stood. "It's okay, I think we were done eating anyway."

"No," he shook his head. "Not that." He sucked in a deep breath, his hands riding low on his hips. Turning to face her, he said, "I was going to wait until the end of the night, but the way things are going, you might be dead by then."

Her eyes narrowing, she gave a slight shake of her head as if to convey her confusion. "I don't—"

"Just—just wait." He held out a hand, palm up. Tucking his chin to his chest, he took a moment before lifting his head again. He dug into his pocket and lowered himself onto the carpet. "This isn't ideal, in fact, it's a damned mess, but marry me anyway."

Her first thought was whether he was talking about the night being a mess or just them in general. Her next was completely drowned out by the alarm bells blaring in her head.

"I…." she stuttered, her fingers dropping from her wet shirt to her side. She stared at his right earlobe, knowing time was running out, that with each passing second his smile was losing its brilliance, but still unable to do anything about it.

The man she loved was on one knee, offering her a lifetime of family and memories and stability.

There was absolutely no answer but yes.

But all she could think about was Meredith's stricken face as she divided a look between her and Mark. Lexie could practically see her sister's thoughts as they pieced together what had happened over the past two years. When Lexie had said she was moving out to live on her own, she was really shacking up with her sister's boyfriend's soon to be ex-friend. When Lexie had politely turned down her Thanksgiving invitation, she had had someone else with whom to share the holiday. When Lexie had stuttered through a million excuses to not go to Joe's it was because Mark was waiting for her at home.

And now, with Mark's anxious face below her, she simultaneously wanted to cry, throw up, and slap him. Above all, she wanted to demand why. Why now? Was it because losing a best friend over a woman wasn't acceptable, so he'd decided to turn their relationship into something that justified such a betrayal?

There was a much more obvious answer, but by this time, his gaze was on her left hand which was in his larger one, the ring already on her finger.

Of course he'd take her yes for granted. The thought held no rancor. It was logical. She loved him, she needed him, now more than ever. Why would she say anything but yes?

She parted her dry lips to speak. "I need some time," she finally said, her voice clogged with emotion. "Just…to think." Her head throbbed.

His fingers slid from hers, taking their warmth with them. He rose to his full height, clearing his throat. "Right," he said. "Of course." Frost tipped each of his words and she closed her eyes against his latent anger.

"Mark, please," she started, when he leaned over to clear the soggy carton.

His actions were entirely too calm and her pleaded words seemed to snap something inside of him. He slammed the carton back onto the table. "Please what?" he growled. "I heard you, Lexie. Take all the goddamn time you want."

Tears blurred her vision. It wasn't supposed to be like this, they weren't supposed to end up like this.

"You have to listen to me," she said, reaching out to touch his sleeve. "I don't know—"

He wouldn't look at her, giving her his back instead. He let out a derisive laugh. "Neither do I."

Her useless hand floated in the air before falling. She had no idea how to begin to fix this, how to make him understand everything that worried her, everything that kept her up at night.

"Can we just drop it?" he said, sounding tired.

No! she should have screamed. Instead: "Yeah," she sighed, bending to help him clean up.

They slept on opposite sides of the bed that night.

AN: Please review!