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

Remembrance

Imagine an object so dense, not even the speed of light is fast enough to escape its pull.

Chapter Sixteen: Escape Velocity

He knew it was wrong, but he preferred her asleep. Her face, thought drained, was innocent, quiet, calm. It wasn't hurling accusations at him, it wasn't bleeding him dry as it demanded his guilt.

He'd be lying if he denied that the resentment she felt toward him wasn't mutual. He wasn't a saint, he'd never purported to be. To have her, with bright idealism infused in here every action and word, look at him as if he'd robbed her of what she'd expected out of life was more than difficult. It was offensive. It was unbearable.

Of course he'd hoped she'd forget about the miscarriage. It was a gift he, too, craved. Why would anyone deny themselves such oblivion and a chance to start anew?

Even now, with the accident making their arguments from before seem like another lifetime, he shuddered to think about the shell of Lexie he'd seen after they'd lost the baby.

Though she'd never worn his ring again, they'd forged a sort of forgiving alliance as they'd prepared for the baby. A baby tied her to him. God help him, he hadn't been above exploiting that, at least, he'd told himself, until they could get back on the ground where love had began.

His mouth twisted into a rueful grin as he thought about the second onesie he'd bought in his life. It had been followed by an eagerly purchased car seat and paint samples for the baby room. Lexie wasn't Addison and he wasn't that guy anymore and this wasn't going to be like last time.

All of it had been too soon. You didn't start telling people until after the third month…just in case. But the just-in-cases hadn't applied to them. Doctors were notoriously delinquent in adhering to their own advice; caution about first trimester mishaps hadn't even factored into their equations. They'd tried to tell Meredith and Derek immediately; but that, he acknowledged with a frown, had been long overdue. At that point, it had been about sharing any part of his real life with Derek, not just that he was going to be a father.

Yet fate, with dark sense of irony and punishment, had obliterated the carefully constructed strands of mutuality they'd forged. It had been raining that night, too, he mused, the wipers of Lexie's Honda working overtime to keep his vision clear. Then again, it was always raining here.

****

"Yellow is gender neutral."

"I'm not trying to be politically correct; I'm trying to decorate a nursery."

She rolled her eyes, tossing a throw pillow in his direction. He deflected it with an elbow, his gaze never leaving the paint samples in his palms.

"What about green?" she suggested. "It also goes both ways."

"Green is for a boy," he said, frowning at the colors. Then his head jerked up. "Are we having a boy?"

She sighed. He'd been on her like white on rice since the first ultrasound. He'd been paged in the waiting room and kissed her regretfully before leaving. "For the millionth time: I don't know."

"You'd tell me if you did?"

"I'd have the doctor call you before he breathed a word to me."

Satisfied, Mark turned back to the samples. He held the pink one closer and then the blue one. "What do you think it is?" he asked for the umpteenth time that week.

"It could be a girl…" she said.

"Yeah?" He smiled, one corner of his mouth curling upward.

"Or a boy," she finished. His smile vanished.

"Very funny," he said, chucking the pillow back at her.

With one hand, she tucked it under her shirt, smoothing the fabric over the new bump. Then she pressed her palms against her fake belly. He watched with obvious interest, the squares forgotten in his hands. "I'm going to get fat," she said.

"Not fat," he corrected. "Pregnant."

"You should wear one of those sympathy bellies."

He snorted. "Yeah, right."

Feigning offense, she pulled a face. "Jerk." Smiling, she leaned into him, grazing her nose against the hollow concavity of his cheek. "Besides, you're already kind of getting a gut."

His eyes widened. "Am not."

"Are too. Don't worry, I don't mind." She gave the skin of his taut abdomen a playful pinch. "It's more to love," she said, the words dripping with condescension.

He scowled at her, brushing her wandering hand away. "Don't do that. Don't take it out on me. I can't help the fact that you're getting fat."

She sat back, pulling the throw pillow out from underneath her shirt. "I thought you said I was pregnant."

"That was when you were being nice. Now, you're just fat."

She launched herself at him, knocking the tiles out of his hands and slapping his upper arms. He laughed and caught her easily, stilling the attack with his own hands. By the end of the battle, they were horizontal on the couch, their limbs entangled as they kissed.

"You know what I like about you?" Lexie asked, their heads close.

"Everything?" he guessed.

She nudged him with her knee. "You make me laugh."

He kissed her. "Laughing is good."

"Laughing is very good." She moved over him, bracing herself on the cushion beneath them. Arms circling her waist, Mark helped her balance. The dark curtain of her hair fell over his face and he lifted it behind her shoulder.

Once their tops were flung over the coffee table, they set to work on each other's jeans, shimmying within the limited confines of the couch. They laughed soundlessly, kissing all the while, the distraction hindering their efficiency. When she had finally freed her legs, he sat up in one fluid motion, taking her with him.

Sitting and facing each other, her body a head taller than him, he moved against her and she sighed her contentment. He drew in her exhale before leaning in to kiss the column of her throat. Giving him access, she let her head fall back, the ends of her hair tickling his hands. The tip of his tongue met the dip at the base of her neck and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"I love you," she chanted softly, half the words a thready breath he felt rather than heard. "I love, love, love you." Long after she couldn't say them any longer, the words echoed in the room, reverberating in his ears. Transforming into some unheard song, they were a rhythm by which to move, rising with the rounded vowel and falling with the consonant that was softened by the act the very word induced.

When they slept that night, her cheek was against his chest, her breathing steadying and adjusting to mirror his. Before he slept, he rubbed his chin against the top of her head.

"Green's good," he yawned, the word drowsy.

"Mark," she called out a minute later. He sat up with a start, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom. The alarm clock read 3:58 in angry red font. They'd been sleeping for five hours. Or he had.

The sheets next to him were vacant, releasing the vestiges of her body heat with each passing moment.

"Lexie?" he said, his voice thick with sleep.

She appeared the in the doorway of the adjoining bathroom, the light behind her throwing her body into shadow. When he blinked again, he could make out her wan face and the sweat beading across her upper lip and forehead.

When she told him she was bleeding, he was wide awake. As if she knew something he didn't, she was sobbing by the time he got her in the car. Insensitive as it was, he wanted to tell her to stop, that it wasn't right to mourn something they hadn't lost. Not yet. Not for sure.

"Make a left."

He frowned, "The hospital—" he started.

"Not Seattle Grace," she said.

Trying to look at the road and not at the damage that was visible on her nightclothes, he asked, "What?"

"Not Seattle Grace. Take me to Mercy West."

He thought about protesting. She'd been adamant about receiving all her prenatal care at Mercy West; since Meredith and Derek still didn't know, neither did anyone else. The most effective way to keep it that way was steering clear of the SGH gossip mill.

None of that mattered right now. But then he looked over at her. Sweat matted her hair and her lips were pale. And then he thought about the doctors and nurses she saw everyday examining that which was most private to both of them.

He turned a sharp left.

****

Before six that morning, it was done. The very clinical and polite professionals of Mercy West had cleaned up the chaos nature had created. They'd also very happily reported they saw no reason why it wouldn't be possible for them to try again in the future. Successfully this time, was the unspoken addendum.

She was staring out at the first rays of the new day when he entered her room. "I don't want to be here anymore," she said quietly, without turning her head.

Unable to disagree, he took her home, where she didn't sleep or eat or talk for the entire day. After bringing her yet another bowl of soup that would go untouched, he sat next to her in bed, his palm lifting to stroke back her unwashed hair.

Her eyes closed when he touched her and, for some reason, that made him grateful. Maybe because such a reaction meant she was at least here, feeling things like his touch.

"I'm fine," she said then, her voice clear despite the long hours of disuse. She turned to him. "It's fine."

He nodded his agreement because there was nothing he could say. His life, up to this moment, had left him curiously ill-equipped to deal with such a situation. But Lexie was different. Lexie knew, with an unwavering belief that came from a lifetime of being loved by the people who counted, that she'd land on her feet. Some may have called that naïve, blind, unrealistic. He called it strength and envied it.

The next morning, she was gone. Despite what she'd said the night before, panic flooded his entire system as he created a laundry list of the things to which grief-stricken patients sometimes resorted.

But she wasn't sitting anywhere with carved wrists or a loaded gun. She was at the hospital, her face bright and alert. He found her speed-walking across the well-lit bridge, Sadie and Steven flanking her sides.

"Lexie," he said as the three of them passed him. Sadie looked at him and for a brief moment, he wondered if Lexie had confided in her. He almost preferred it; not talking at all was far worse than simply not talking to him.

Steve didn't even spare him a look; his small eyes were focused on the goal ahead. In fact, that just summed about everyone's reaction when word about him and Lexie as a couple had gotten out a couple months back. Meredith and Derek weren't as adept at hoarding secrets as him and Lexie.

"Hi," she called back over her shoulder, a smile pinned to her face. "Gotta run." By the time the three residents finished the bridge, they were sprinting.

It was Callie who told him about the contest and the damn sparkle pager.

"Lexie." Sometime later, he found her standing outside, the wind working against her as she tried to tie a yellow gown around her. Helping her with the strings, he stood behind her. "We need to talk."

She craned her head toward the bay, her gloved hands huddled for warmth. "Can't. There's a trauma coming in." She smiled up at him and he just stared. "I'm hoping for a medical mystery." She crossed her fingers. "Eighty points for a medical mystery."

He sighed. There was only one language she understood at this point. "I have a cranium that needs suturing. Complex suturing. We could talk aft—"

She shook her head, the faint sounds of sirens reaching their ears. "A point a suture. Not worth it."

"Lexie," he said, frustration causing his voice to rise. This wasn't natural, not for anyone and definitely not for Lexie. "Lexie!"

She looked up, her eyes widening. "Don't even think about it!" she shouted.

His brow furrowed. "What—"

Then he realized she wasn't speaking to him, but to the two invading residents barreling toward them. "You can't hide cases," Ryan said, unfolding a yellow gown.

"I didn't hide anything," Lexie scoffed.

By the time the ambulance pulled up to the bay, they were screaming over the gurney. Mark backed away from the carnage, shaking his head though no one was looking.

****

Bailey and Yang were holed up in a room tallying points, so Mark knew two weeks had passed. He passed the interns crowded near the conference room without bothering to talk to Lexie. He'd stopped trying nine days ago, just like he'd stopped buying dinner for two and waiting up.

He was getting ready to go home and spend the night with the third book he'd finished that week when Bailey and Yang finally finished their version of Election Day. Zipping up his jacket, he slowed down, curiosity getting the best of him.

He watched Meredith stand next to Yang while Bailey cleared her throat.

"Grey," she said and everyone turned to Meredith, their faces blank. Irritated, Bailey repeated, her small chin jerking forward. "Grey!"

Lexie's eyes rounded, the rope of her ponytail bounced as she jumped, and her arms flew up in victory. "I won!" Steve looked at her warily, stepping away. He remembered from Izzie Stevens' intern game that Lexie was a violent winner. "I won!"

There wasn't much ceremony to the way Meredith gave her sister the red and white pager, but that didn't dampen the victory. He guessed the ongoing cold war with her sister was the last thing on Lexie's mind right now. "I won," she repeated, snatching the pager and clutching it to her chest. "I'm the best," she said to no one in particular.

Meredith's brow furrowed in something that could have been mistaken for concern if Mark hadn't know better. "I—" Here Lexie began struggling for air, her words shaky as she looked around. "I—I'm the best." Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued her stuttering mantra. "I w—won, I won, I—I won."

Then there was no room for interpretation, she was all out bawling. Meredith's eyes found his through the rest of the doctors as if to grant him permission. But he was already pushing his way through the throng of alarmed people. When he stopped to stand in front of Lexie, her face was streaked and her hiccupping sobs made her words blend together in a disjointed cry that wasn't decipherable.

"IwonIwon," she told him as he nodded, lifting her off her feet and away from the crowd.

"You won," he said quietly into her ear.

AN: Please review!