Pairing: Mark Sloan/Lexie Grey
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: spoilers for 8x13, If/Then
I am so glad I decided to watch the last fifteen minutes of this episode Thursday night. This is just a very short follow-up.
He’s ready to leave. He has gotten most of that girl’s blood from off his shirt and it’s still a bit damp but he puts it back on anyway and then makes his way out of the hospital. It has started to rain – cold and wet – and he stands on the sidewalk, something stopping him. Something is keeping him there and he stands there, unable to move.
He looks back at the hospital from over his shoulder, lit up like a beacon in the middle of the dark night, silently bidding him to return to it.
He has no idea what he’s doing but he does it anyway. He goes back into the hospital, following the path he had taken just a couple of hours earlier when he had carried her in his arms into the emergency room. She is no longer there. After they got her heart beating again, they had rushed her away and he doesn’t know where to look for her now. He doesn’t even know her name.
He sees a doctor – tall and in the light blue scrubs of the hospital – and he goes to him. Mark recognizes him as the doctor who had told him to back off but he had promptly ignored him and continued pressing on the girl’s chest.
“Where is she?” Mark asks. The doctor’s i.d. badge clipped to the front of his white lab coat says Jackson Avery.
He doesn’t have to elaborate. Avery stares at him for a moment and then without a word, he walks past him to the nurse’s station where the patient charts are filed behind the desk. He finds her chart near the top of the stack and flips it open.
“They moved her,” Avery reads. “She’s in room 122,” he looks up to say something further but Mark has already turned and is walking away.
Mark easily finds the room and doesn’t hesitate in entering it. She is in the first bed. He looks at the machine beeping next to her and her heart sounds steady. He then looks at her. She is pale – so pale – and he remembers her in his arms. She is too thin, too. Even without the tattoos or the piercings or the dreads that look like she hasn’t showered in a week, he would have known she was a junkie just from her non-existent weight.
Her chart is hanging on the front of the bed and he picks it up. Lucille Ball. He smirks and puts it back before coming around to the side of the bed. There isn’t a chair, no one has come to visit her – not that he’s surprised – and he drags one over from the corner of the room. He sits down, his eyes locked to her face. Why is he here?
On her inner arms, he notices the track marks – old and faded. Whatever it was that she used to shoot into her veins, she hasn’t for some time. It only makes the fact that he had gotten her blood all over him a little bit more nervous.
She shifts suddenly and he looks back to her face. Her head is turned on the pillow towards him and he watches as her eyelids slowly flutter open. It takes her a minute but her eyes slowly focus on him. She stares at him and Mark stares at her, having no idea what to say.
What can he say to her? Sorry I almost ran you over but on the plus side, I saved your life?
“I’m Mark,” he tells her, leaning forward in his seat, closer to her.
She’s quiet and she closes her eyes for a moment before they open again. She’s still staring at him and he waits for her to ask him who he is but she never does.
“Lexie,” she whispers and there’s a pull between her brows accompanied by her face scrunching in a slight wince.
“Are you thirsty?” He asks and he’s pouring her a glass of water even before she nods. He stands up and gently places the cup to her lips. His hand slips to the back of her head, helping her hold it up and he holds the cup for her, too, as she takes a sip.
“Thank you,” she whispers, settling back against the pillow and Mark sits down again. She stares at him closely, studying him. She doesn’t say anything else though.
She closes her eyes and Mark is about to stand up and leave so she can get her rest. He shouldn’t have come back anyway.
But before he can, Lexie moves her hand and finds his hand resting on the side of the bed near her thigh. Her hand is cold as she slips it over his. He looks for a moment at her pale hand covering his warmer, tanner one and she keeps it there, not moving it.
From her hand, he looks back to her face. Her eyes are still closed and her breathing has evened out. She has fallen asleep again. It doesn’t look as if he’s going anywhere.
He shifts in the chair, trying not to move his hand, not wanting to wake her but wanting to get himself comfortable.
It looks like he’s going to be there for a while.