Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for a crazy mind.

A/N: I know it's been months, and I am truly sorry. I really do appreciate people continuously reading, reviewing, and sending me PMs to check up on me and this story, there aren't enough words to express my gratitude to every single person who takes the time to read my work, you guys are truly awesome. Honestly, I really dislike this chapter because I don't think it feels right, but then I figure, no matter how long I spend re-writing it, it is what it is. Hopefully, it's okay! Anyway, this is my olive branch, please accept it and as always: read, enjoy and let me know what you think! (:

It felt like the calm before the storm. The room was still, the house was silent and Lexie wondered if this was it.

This was how she was going to die.

Alone, broken, her body weak, this was going to be the end for her because no-one knew. No-one knew that Thatcher was in here with her, he had hurt her, he would kill her, no-one knew and as the thought washed over Lexie's mind all she could think about was the fact that this was her fault. She never told anyone, she never told Meredith or Derek. No-one knew except for Mark and he had no reason to assume she was in trouble.

You're going to die.

As the thought rolled around in the darkness of her mind, Lexie felt her heart clench in pain. Although there were no more tears left to shed, her throat constricted and her eyes burned with sorrow. This wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be over, she had Mark now and she was supposed to have a happy ending.

You don't deserve it.

You're going to die.

Lexie sighed as she shifted slowly against the floor, her muscles aching and her face sticky from the blood that had been seeping out of her. There was no point in trying to leave, there was no fight left in her because this was it. There was no way out. The door was locked and when he came back in…

Lexie closed her eyes and let out a ragged breath.

You're going to die.

Staggering up the stairs, Thatcher smirked when the noises of Mark slamming himself against the wooden door became fainter and fainter. "Idiot," Thatcher murmured under his breath as he reached to top of the stairs. Glancing at the locked door in which Lexie lay behind, Thatcher wondered briefly if he should turn away. Let the bitch rot in there. The thought was appealing; however Thatcher's curiosity got the better of him.

He wanted to see the dirty bitch in pain.

He wanted to hear her whimper and scream and beg him to stop.

Pathetic.

Unlocking the bedroom door, Thatcher slammed the door open with such force that the noise caused Lexie to jump from her position on the floor. Thatcher watched as she shivered and scrambled into an upright position against the wall.

"Your boyfriend is outside," he announced as he walked back into the room. His voice is uninterested and Thatcher shrugged casually as he walked towards her.

Titling his head to the side, he watched as she quivered in the corner, her knees held tightly to her chest. "Aren't you going to say anything?" He murmured as he crouched down in front of her. When Lexie doesn't respond, Thatcher sighed and got up. "Fine."

As he walked away from her, he whistled cheerfully. If she wasn't going to speak to him willingly, he would just have to make her speak. Stopping by her desk, Thatcher titled his head to one side as his eyes searched the content of the desk. Finally, he picked up what seemed like the heaviest medical journal and turned around to see Lexie watching him with large eyes.

"I never understood why you had to do it," he murmured as he sat down on her bed, his body facing her as he opened the book and began flipping through the pages. "Medicine. Useless."

Of course, Lexie thought dryly, because who really needed medicine? Doctors aren't important. If she wasn't in so much pain, Lexie would have rolled her eyes at his actions. Before this, Lexie would never have thought her father was an idiot, she would have been too afraid to think badly of him. But now as she watched him mutter under his breath about the "pathetic doctors who think they know everything," Lexie realized that it was okay to think her father was an incredibly stupid, worthless man.

A man who would be stupid enough to hit a woman certainly didn't deserve her kindness or respect.

From her position on the floor, Lexie watched as Thatcher suddenly stopped in the middle of his muttered rant to look up at Lexie. His eyes narrowed at her and he spat, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

When Lexie didn't respond, this only made Thatcher angrier. "What? Cat got your tongue, princess?" Shaking his head furiously, Thatcher gripped the book tighter. "Maybe this will get you to speak," he seethed before he ripped a page out of the journal.

With each rip, the sharp noise caused Lexie to flinch. Mark had given her that journal.

"This," Thatcher shouted as he held up the tattered book, "This is why you're like this. This is why you don't listen to me!"

With tears in her eyes, Lexie turned her head away from him. She still refused to make a noise; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Thatcher watched as she turned away from him and suddenly, his anger couldn't be contained. Standing up, Thatcher threw the book at Lexie, causing it to hit her exposed neck. Even though her body reacted on its own accord, Lexie didn't even whimper.

It wasn't good enough.

"Say something!" Thatcher shouted at her as he loomed over her. Her silence was making him crazy. For all these months, she had cried and shouted and yelped and now, there was nothing. There was nothing left to say. It wasn't right; it wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

"Stupid bitch," Thatcher gritted out as he moved closer to he could swiftly kick her in the stomach. Instantly, Lexie's lips drew into a thin, tight line, but she didn't make a noise.

She was stronger than this. She wasn't going to give in to him.

She wasn't going to show her pain because she was better than him. She was better than this.

Even if he killed her, she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't do anything to show her pain because then he would win. And if this was her last fight, then she was going to finally win.

Looking up at him, Lexie felt her anger rise and suddenly, even though her body was bruised and tired and numb, she managed to shift so that her hands were planted firmly on the floor. And then, before Thatcher could react, Lexie pushed herself up so that she was on all fours.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Thatcher said just before he moved forward and kicked Lexie's legs, causing her to buckle and fall flat on her stomach. Lexie's sharp intake of breath was the only thing that alerted Thatcher to the fact he had hurt Lexie. Besides that, she remained perfectly silent and still, much to Thatcher's annoyance.

Shaking his head, Thatcher is about to speak when a noise stops him.

Was that glass shattering?

Thatcher remained still for a moment, and when the noise didn't happen again, he looked down in disgust at Lexie. "You're pathetic; did you know that, princess?" When Lexie doesn't reply, Thatcher grabbed her hair, easily pulling her limp body upwards. "Answer me!"

Fumbling slightly, Lexie grabbed onto the bottom of Thatcher's shirt, slowly pushing her shaking legs into an upright position. Leaning heavily against him, Lexie stared Thatcher, her eyes steady on his and when he growled and yanked her hair, Lexie didn't blink. Instead, she let out a breath and gripped onto his shirt tighter.

Before he can say anything, Lexie sighed heavily and with a hoarse, unrecognizable voice, she muttered, "You…" Her eyes flick up to meet his as a soft smile formed on her cracked lips. "You…disgust me."

A rather animalistic snarl escaped Thatcher's lips as he dug his fingers into her scalp. "I disgust you? You're the disgusting bitch, not me!"

Swaying slightly, Lexie clenches her hands into fists against him. "You," she muttered before slamming her fist into his stomach. Of course Thatcher doesn't react; it would have been more effective if she wasn't so weak. "You…deserve to rot in Hell."

"And you," Thatcher replied as he stared at her. "You aren't even worthy of Hell."

Before Lexie has time to react, Thatcher pushed her down to the floor. Landing on her back, Lexie finally groaned in pain.

Finally giving up, Lexie closed her eyes when she sees Thatcher walking away again.

You're…going….to….die.

Slowly maneuvering his way over the shattered glass, Mark glanced around the still hallway. The eerie silence that encased the house caused Mark's heart to beat painfully in his chest, his thoughts racing in his mind, loud and frantic. And when Lexie's face fluttered into his mind's eye, Mark jerked into action, his legs moving on their own accord towards the stairway, his first instinct to check Lexie's bedroom.

And as soon as he reached the first step, the sound of floorboards creaking caused Mark's head to snap up.

The blood slowly drained from his face at the sight in front of him.

Thatcher.

A slow, sick smile crawled onto the older man's face as he regarded Mark's pale face.

"Welcome to my home."

The icy statement caused Mark to shiver involuntarily, whether it was out of fear or dread or anger, Mark wasn't sure because all he knew at that moment was that Thatcher was in front of him, Thatcher was in the way of him and Lexie and finally, Mark could save her from this man.

Staring at the man who had surely, once upon a time, loved the girl he had trapped in this house, Mark was stuck between waiting for the police, waiting for reason and justice, or he could run, he could slam his fist into Thatcher's face and tear him to pieces, leave him in a pool of blood and run for Lexie.

A shoot of anger tore through his body and before he knew what he was doing, Mark marched up the stairs, his footsteps heavy as his eyes remained on Thatcher, silently afraid that if he glanced away, the man would disappear and take Lexie with him.

It didn't take long for him to be standing in front of him. Mark loomed over the older man, his body taunt and threatening as he ever so slightly shook with rage. The indifferent look in Thatcher's icy eyes made Mark want to slam his fist into his face. The idea was appealing, and Mark thought briefly, that it would be justified, after all, this man in front of him, had been terrorizing, abusing the woman he loved. Punching him was certainly justified.

And so, as the thought became more prominent in his mind, Mark clenched his hands, prepared himself for the satisfying sting that would accompany his knuckles cracking Thatcher's nose.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

The low hiss of Thatcher's voice caused Mark to clench his jaw and step closer, his body an inch away from Thatcher's. "And why shouldn't I?" Mark's voice was unrecognizable to his own ears. Low, harsh, edged with the violence that was waiting to spurt out of him. "Why shouldn't I give you exactly what you deserve?"

A hollow laugh vibrated through the hallway.

"I haven't done anything wrong," Thatcher stated, his voice laced with sick pleasure. His head titled to one side as he glanced done to Mark's fist and then back up to his stormy blue eyes. "What do you think has happened, son?"

It was his undoing.

The casual tone, the denial and underlying joy that surrounded every word he said. The use of the word Mark hated. Before he could stop himself – he never really wanted to stop, he wanted to do it continuously, for the rest of his days – Mark's fist slammed into Thatcher's face, a sickly satisfying crunch resounding between the two men.

Thatcher didn't fall. His only reaction was a turn of his head, and a slow trickle of blood from his nose.

Looking at Mark from the corner of his eye, Thatcher slowly turned his head back to face Mark. "Now, what was that for?"

Through a clenched jaw, Mark spat, "You know what that was for, you sick bastard."

There was a moment of silence before Thatcher slowly nodded his head before wiping away the blood that had found its home on the top of his lip. "This is about her, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he murmured, "Mm, why am I not surprised? You're the boyfriend." Thatcher let out a snort of disgust. "I didn't do a good job if someone still wants her."

Mark would have responded, but Thatcher's curt voice stopped him. "You can get out of my house now. You're not seeing her."

Another sharp punch to the face, and this time Thatcher stumbled backwards. "Get the fuck out of my way," Mark growled as he forcefully pushed Thatcher and made his way down the hallway.

"Stop!" Thatcher shouted and for a moment he watched in horror as Mark approached the door Lexie was behind. With manic urgency, Thatcher lunged at Mark, shoving him to the ground.

Before Thatcher could do any harm, Mark had rolled them over so that he was lurking above Thatcher. There was a deafening crack as Mark slammed his fist into Thatcher's nose, this time effectively breaking it. "Stay away from her," Mark spat as he moved to stand up, however before he got the chance, Thatcher's head collided with Mark's, causing Mark to fall back in pain.

Using this moment to his advantage, Thatcher crawled away from Mark and leaned against Lexie's door. "You'll never get her," he muttered as he watched Mark slowly rise to his feet. "You'll never touch her. She's mine, not yours. No-one's meant to touch her but me. She's not–"

The sound of distant sirens caused Thatcher to stop, the color draining from his face.

And suddenly, Thatcher's mouth curled up into a snarl as he barked, "The police? You called the police?"

Mark's face remained stony as he approached Thatcher, trapping him against the wooden door of Lexie's bedroom. Mark knew that any moment know the police would be slamming through the front door, storming up the stairs and if he didn't get away from Thatcher now, he may also get charged on an account of assault. It didn't matter how much he wanted to kick in Thatcher's head, what mattered the most now was that Lexie was behind that door.

Lexie was behind that door.

She was…

Shoving Thatcher to the side, Mark threw himself against the door repeatedly, suddenly overcome by a new sense of urgency. Lexie was there, she was in there, she was so close to him.

"Lex, it's me," Mark shouted as he rested his palms against the door. "I'm here, Lexie. I'm here."

From his position on the floor, Thatcher could do nothing but watch as Mark slammed his foot against Lexie's door. And suddenly, there were several shouts of, "Police!" and the thudding of footsteps on the stairs and slowly, a cold trickle of dread ran down Thatcher's spine as the realization hit him.

This was it.

This really was it.

She was lying on the floor when they entered the bedroom.

After taking the key from Thatcher, two officers had taken him away to the station, while another two accompanied Mark into the room.

And now, as Mark stood in the ridiculously bright room, he watched silently as the two female officers slowly approached Lexie.

"Lexie?" The first officer said quietly, as she looked at Lexie, who was staring ahead, her eyes unblinking, her breathing heavy and even. "I'm Sandra, and this is my colleague, Jane. We're from–"

"Is he gone?"

Lexie's voice was rough as she slowly rolled over so that her back was against the floor. When she heard the confirmation from the second officer, Jane, Lexie swallowed thickly before she closed her eyes. She didn't realize she was crying until she began to shake, the sobs shaking her small body.

She didn't hear Sandra tell her that she had to go to the hospital, and then the police station, she didn't hear her say that Mark was in the room, that it was him that called the police, and she didn't feel them slowly lift her from the ground, because there was only one thought that was rolling through Lexie's mind.

He was gone.

And Lexie prayed that this wasn't a sick dream and that it was in fact the truth.

When they led her down the stairs, Mark walking closely behind her, Lexie continued to cry silently because this couldn't possibly be true.

He was gone.

He was really gone.

She was safe.

She was…This…It was…

You're not going to die.

And when she stepped outside, Lexie felt Mark touch her hand ever so gently, causing Lexie to turn slowly to face him.

"He's gone," she whispered, her whole body shaking as the full extent of what was happening settled in her mind.

"He's gone, Lex," Mark replied, his voice reflecting hers, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

And finally, Lexie collapsed in relief, her legs weak as the weight finally lifted from her heart.

Thatcher was gone.