Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keynote speaker.

Big deal. Huge, even.

Technically, it was supposed to be Derek. But he’d gotten sick—nothing serious, just a nasty case of the flu—and Lexie had begged for the chance to take his place. Literally begged. On her knees, in the attending’s lounge, holding a PowerPoint clicker in one hand and an iced coffee in the other.

Amelia had offered, of course. But Lexie had just wrapped a groundbreaking run of resections in the OR, all of them deemed “impossible” by pretty much everyone except the Shepherd siblings. So, she’d made her case. And it worked.

On the flight over, she’d tried to calm her nerves by reviewing slides, pretending not to notice how her palms were sweating like she was an intern again. She’d stared out the window somewhere over Chicago, thinking about the last time she flew to Boston. It was for a college visit. Her mom had booked the hotel. Lexie had picked the restaurant. Everything felt big and shiny and full of promise.

Now? It felt like what it was. A work trip.

Boston looked the same. The skyline still glittered in that polished East Coast way—historic and modern all at once. But she wasn’t seventeen anymore. And this time, her mom wasn’t sitting next to her on the plane, squeezing her hand as they landed.

Now, stepping out of Logan International into a cab, Lexie took a long breath and soaked in Boston’s skyline. She hadn’t been here since before her mom died—almost ten years ago now. Back when she still thought this city—and Mass Gen—could be her future.

The cab driver had one of those thick Boston accents that made her smile. He talked about the Sox and the weather and traffic on Storrow like she was a local. Lexie nodded and smiled and watched the buildings blur past the window, unsure of whether she should have just let Amelia take Derek’s spot.

The sun was shining in that annoyingly perfect way that made everything feel like a movie. Seventy degrees, clear skies, and just enough of a breeze to lift her bangs without making them do that awkward flip.

Her cab pulled up to the hotel—a five-star, expensive tower that Catherine Fox herself had probably picked out. Ever since the Fox Foundation acquired SGMW, they’d dropped the “Mercy West” and reverted back to their roots. Thank God. The name was cleaner now. Less traumatic. And apparently, rich enough to fund her entire stay here.

She pulled her earbuds out as the doors slid open. “Red” had been on repeat since Sea-Tac. Great album. No skips. Heart-wrenching. Unfortunately, also wildly inappropriate for keeping her emotions in check this week.

Inside the lobby, everything was marble and gold accents, too polished to walk on. Lexie caught her reflection in a hallway mirror—lip gloss half-smudged, hair in a travel-day bun, badge lanyard already tangled in her bag strap. She barely recognized herself.

You’re a keynote speaker, she reminded herself. Act like it.

But it was hard to feel like a big deal when her back hurt and her stomach hadn’t stopped fluttering since she’d landed.

At the front desk, a blonde woman smiled brightly. “Name?”

“Grey,” Lexie said, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Alexandra Grey.”

Moments later, she was upstairs, flopping face-first onto a king-sized bed. The hotel room was sleek and modern—muted tones, floor-to-ceiling windows, and enough throw pillows to build a decent fort. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Everything smelled like lavender and warm vanilla. The kind of place where people had affairs and existential crises. The kind of place where you forget who you’re supposed to be and say things you shouldn’t.

Don’t text him, she told herself, eyes flicking to her phone.

She didn’t even have his number saved anymore. But she still remembered it. Muscle memory. Like riding a bike or closing a lac.

Don’t do it.

Hotels were weird. Temporary, transient, glamorous in an impersonal sort of way.

Something about them made people do…things. Say things they maybe shouldn’t. Knock on their attending’s door at an ungodly hour demanding to be “taught.”

She groaned.

He was here. He had to be. There was no way Mark Sloan—top plastic surgeon on the East Coast, occasional tabloid feature, and still stupidly hot—wasn’t at the biggest surgical conference of the year. He probably had a penthouse suite and a swarm of residents who worshipped the ground he walked on.

She could practically picture him already. The smug smile, the ridiculous biceps, the perfectly trimmed beard. The stupid v-line. The happy trail. The—

The mixer.

Lexie bolted upright. “Shit.”

She scrambled for her suitcase, tossing sweaters and heels and dress pants across the bed until she found it—the red cocktail dress. Tight, tasteful, and probably a mistake.

“This isn’t a damn bachelorette party, Grey,” she muttered under her breath, already halfway into it. But it was too late now.

Makeup. Hair. She gave herself a little pep talk in the mirror before heading for the elevator.

“You’re brilliant. You’re here for work. You do not care if he’s hot. Or charming. Or smells like heaven. You’re a professional.”

The doors of the elevator opened.

“Three!” Cristina Yang shouted, already inside and very, very drunk. “I’m drunk!”

Lexie blinked. “Already?”

Cristina grinned, swaying slightly in her stilettos. “Of course. You look hot. Like Meredith. Or Izzie. Remember her? Or maybe Addison. Or me. I was hot. Still am, actually.”

“Definitely still are,” Lexie said with a soft smile, watching the elevator numbers blink.

They stepped into the ballroom together. It was packed—soft jazz playing in the background, waiters weaving through the crowd with champagne flutes, and groups of surgeons clustered in conversation.

Lexie scanned the room—and then she saw him.

Mark Sloan. Talking to Jim Rainer, Clark Willis, and Lance Evans. Only the three most high-profile investors in the country. Old, cranky men with deep pockets.

Mark fit in effortlessly, laughing like he owned the place. He was in a black button-down—no jacket, sleeves rolled just enough to show the forearms that made women swoon. His suit jacket hung on the back of a nearby chair. His chair. She could tell by the glass of scotch on the table, untouched but sweating slightly. 

The Sinai surgeons were circled around, clearly claiming him as their own. But his posture was relaxed. Confident. Classic Sloan.

Lexie took a breath and found the Seattle Grace table. Yang plopped down beside her, already signaling a waiter for another drink.

Lexie didn’t dare look back at Mark. But she felt it—that shift in the air. Like someone had turned the volume down on the whole room.

He’d seen her.

And whether she wanted to admit it or not, the second his eyes found hers again…everything tilted.

And then she felt it.

A tap on her bare shoulder.

“Well, well, well,” a low, familiar voice rumbled behind her, still raspy in the way it always was after he’d just woken up. The only way she could tell he used to smoke as a teenager. “If it isn’t Lexie Grey.”

Her stomach flipped.

She turned, grinning with forced ease. “Dr. Sloan!”

His beard was thicker than she remembered, but not in a bad way. His shirt—black, tailored—fit a little too well. And his eyes? Still that same dangerous shade of blue.

She should have just stayed put. Sipped her champagne like a good girl and stayed quiet. 

Nope.

She stood quickly, smoothing down her dress, and the two of them wandered to a quieter corner of the ballroom without saying much at all. It was almost instinctual, like muscle memory.

Mark motioned vaguely toward a man who had followed them, awkwardly hovering. “Fletcher, go find something productive to do.” He turned towards her. “These residents are obsessed with me. I’m like a god to them.”

Lexie arched a brow and took a sip of champagne. “I can see that.”

He leaned casually against the wall, a little too comfortable, like the last five years hadn’t happened.

“Keynote speaker, huh?” he asked.

“Mhm. Derek got sick. Amelia was gonna take his place, but I kind of…begged. Not exactly dignified, but here I am.”

“Grey,” he said, looking at her in that way that made her stomach flutter, “don’t sell yourself short. I’ve been following your work. You’re a big shot now. ‘Impossible’ tumors my ass.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she relaxed a little, mirroring his stance against the wall.

“So, uh,” she said, fiddling with her bracelet, “how’s New York treating you?”

Mark shrugged. “About the same. It was exciting for the first couple of years, but then it got boring. Old childhood crap started bubbling up. You know how it goes.”

Lexie frowned. “You thinking about transferring?”

“Nah. They need me. Though I did get an offer from Houston Methodist.”

Her brows lifted. “That’s kind of huge.”

“Yeah, but Texas is hot. And I don’t look good when I sweat.”

Lexie laughed. “That’s debatable.”

The second it came out of her mouth, she froze. Shit. That was supposed to stay internal.

“That…” she mumbled, blushing, “was not supposed to exit my brain.”

But Mark just smiled, amused. “Lex, I look like a drenched dog when I sweat. You know that.”

Lex.

One word. That’s all it took. And just like that, she was 24 again, in Meredith’s attic, with her heart in her throat.

“You look like a Calvin Klein model when you sweat,” she blurted. And then immediately covered her face. “Shit. I need to stop talking.”

He smirked, toying with the top button of his shirt. “I like it when you ramble. You know that.”

Her heart was doing things. Dangerous things.

A sharp clink of a champagne glass rang out nearby, and people began trickling back to their tables.

Mark straightened. “We should get back. But hey—” his eyes flicked down to her dress, slow and deliberate—“you look good in red.”

And then he walked away.

Lexie stood frozen. “You look good in everything,” she whispered.

But he didn’t hear her.

At least, she hoped he hadn’t.

She made her way back to her table, her cheeks still flushed and her chest impossibly tight.

Meredith—the general surgery representative of Seattle Grace—leaned in from beside her, sipping her wine. “I saw you talking to McSteamy. Are you excited about your co-panel tomorrow?”

Lexie blinked. “Wait. What panel?”

Meredith grinned like she was plotting something.

Shit.

Multidisciplinary Approaches to Facial Reconstruction Post-Tumor Resection.

Lexie stared at the title slide, blinking like it might change if she just looked hard enough.

How hadn’t she noticed it before? The file hadn’t been buried deep in her drive or cryptically labeled. It had been sitting in her inbox all week—sent from Dr. Mark Sloan, subject line: “Co-Panel.” She just hadn’t opened it.

Meredith was curled up beside her on the king bed, half-distracted by her wine and half-playing consultant. She squinted at the screen.

“Lexie, you know this material,” she said, nudging her shoulder. “You could talk about surgical approaches to tumor resection in your sleep.”

“I basically do,” Lexie mumbled, closing her laptop. “I’ve had dreams about it.”

Meredith smirked. “Okay, weird. But I do have one note.”

Lexie tilted her head. “What?”

“How the hell are you gonna get on stage and do a whole-ass presentation with Mark Sloan?”

Lexie groaned and flopped backward onto the bed, dramatic. “That…is an excellent question.”

“I mean, do you even know how to talk to him anymore? Like, professionally? Without your voice getting all shaky?”

“I am a grown woman,” she argued, without an ounce of conviction. “A trained surgeon. I’ve survived 27-hour surgeries, meetings with Catherine Fox, and teaching interns how to not kill people. I can handle Mark.”

“Can he handle you?” Meredith raised a brow.

Lexie ignored that. “We’re adults. We’ll be civil. He’ll wear one of his smug turtlenecks, I’ll pretend not to stare at his arms, and then we’ll talk about scalpels like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Uh-huh. So you don’t still love him.”

Lexie sat up too fast. “No! That would be so incredibly pathetic. It’s been five years since…confession-gate.”

Meredith grinned. “You can’t just slap ‘-gate’ onto every semi-traumatic event in your life.”

“Do not bring up diaper-gate.”

“Would you rather discuss bone-gate?”

Lexie hurled a pillow at her, then collapsed again with a groan. “I’m doomed.”

Sleep was more of a hope than a reality that night. She tossed and turned, obsessing over every syllable of her talking points, mentally rewriting her introduction three different ways, and imagining every terrible thing that could go wrong—tripping on her way to the stage, forgetting her slides, accidentally forgetting not to stand too close to Mark.

She was royally fucked.

Chapter Text

By morning, she was running on four hours of sleep, two espressos, and way too many peanut butter cups. Her outfit—a tailored brown pantsuit she wasn’t entirely sure she could pull off—felt stiff and overly confident. The red stilettos were a mistake. A drunk Lexie had clearly done the packing.

Her ponytail was aggressively slicked back, held in place by enough hairspray to cause real concern. Her bangs were practically perfect. The entire look screamed Addison Montgomery, which was absolutely not the vibe she’d intended, but it was too late to do anything about it.

The conference auditorium was already filling up when she arrived backstage. Techs scurried around adjusting microphones and screens, and the stage manager gave her a tight smile and an “it’s almost time” thumbs up.

And then she saw him.

Mark Sloan. Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, talking with one of the event coordinators. He was in a black turtleneck—because of course he was—and khaki pants that should not have looked as good as they did. His hair was perfectly tousled, just long enough to play with. And his beard? Trimmed since the night before, clean but rugged. Somehow hotter.

Lexie swore she could smell his cologne—sexy, expensive—from several feet away. It didn’t matter how faint it was. Her brain still had it memorized.

He looked over, smiled.

“Lexie Grey,” he said, walking toward her. “How’s your day?”

“I’m sweaty, my stomach’s in knots, and I feel like I might pass out,” she admitted, her voice breathier than she’d like.

“So…what you’re saying is I still get you hot and bothered,” he said with a smirk.

Lexie froze. Cue the blush. Raging, full-body blush, like her skin had suddenly burst into flames. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Nope. No words.

Before she could recover, the house lights dimmed.

A voice over the loudspeaker rang out.

“Up next, we have a phenomenal duo—former colleagues at Seattle Grace Hospital, please welcome Dr. Mark Sloan and Dr. Alexandra Grey!”

Lexie jumped. “Oh God.”

Mark grinned. “Ready, Lex?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” He gently took her by the shoulder, steering her toward the stage entrance like he used to guide her into on-call rooms. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

And then they were walking out into the lights—side by side.

The thing about medical panels was that they were boring.

It didn’t matter how groundbreaking the topic was, how sleek the PowerPoint looked, or how many letters the presenters had after their names—by the halfway point, the audience was collectively zoning out. Some were discreetly scrolling through their phones under the table, others were doodling spirals into the margins of their conference programs. A few brave souls had fully surrendered and were dozing off.

This panel was no exception.

Despite the title’s promise of excitement, Multidisciplinary Approaches to Facial Reconstruction Post-Tumor Resection wasn’t exactly the adrenaline rush of the century. But somehow, it actually went…well. Smooth, even. No major hiccups. Only a few awkward glances between Lexie and Mark, which was a miracle in itself. They kept things clinical, professional. Mostly.

Their chemistry might’ve sparked once or twice—in a shared smirk, a long pause between slides—but it didn’t combust. No confessions, no chaos. And that was progress.

As soon as they stepped offstage, Lexie beelined it backstage and exhaled like she’d just run a marathon. Her heart was still thudding in her chest, but she’d done it. She’d done it. She was a grown-up, functioning, emotionally regulated professional. And honestly? She was kind of proud of herself.

“Grey!” Mark’s voice rang out behind her.

She turned. “Dr. Sloan!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lex…”

She shot back with a raised one of her own. “Mark.”

He gave her a crooked smile—one of the real ones, not the performance version he used in press photos—and walked over to the refreshment table. He grabbed two waters and held one out to her.

“Good girl,” he said casually, like it was nothing.

Lexie’s face warmed immediately. She snatched the bottle a little too fast. “You really shouldn’t call me that in a professional setting.”

He chuckled and held up his hands. “Right. Got it. Strictly business.”

“Strictly.”

There was a beat of silence as they sipped their waters, not quite looking at each other.

Then he cleared his throat. “So…would you maybe want to grab some coffee? I checked the schedule. We’d only miss a panel on medical ethics.”

Lexie hesitated. She opened her mouth to offer a very responsible excuse. “I should probably practice for my keynote…”

Mark gave her a look. “Lex. Your keynote is on Saturday. It’s Tuesday. You have a photographic memory. You already know your speech backwards.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, considering. He wasn’t wrong.

“And besides,” he added, softer now, “it’s just coffee.”

Which was a lie. And they both knew it.

Still, Lexie nodded, small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Okay. Coffee.”

Mark held the door open for her as they exited the auditorium and stepped into the lobby, where a familiar voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Hey, you two! How’d it go?” Meredith asked, nudging Lexie playfully as she approached. She had obviously just finished a presentation as well, cheeks flushed and hair slightly frizzed from stress.

Callie trailed beside her, clutching a folder to her chest, eyes darting around the room like she was being hunted.

“It went well, Big Grey,” Mark replied, grinning. “Little Grey’s a genius.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “Barely.”

Meredith leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “So…no new ‘-gates’ to add to the list?”

Lexie shook her head.

Meredith smirked. “Proud of you.”

Lexie’s attention flicked to Callie, who looked seconds away from bolting. “What’s up with her?”

“She’s got a co-panel with Atticus Lincoln in ten minutes,” Meredith explained.

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “She runs circles around him. What’s she worried about? Oh! Right. Forgot about that.”

“Stage fright,” Meredith and Mark said in unison.

Like, real stage fright. The kind that made Callie hyperventilate before med school oral exams and once almost got her out of giving a TED Talk before Bailey dragged her on stage by the arm.

Callie looked at them, wide-eyed. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“We love you,” Lexie offered, not helping at all.

“Ugh,” Callie groaned, dramatically walking away toward the auditorium like she was being sent to war.

Lexie turned back to Meredith. “How’s Derek? Any news?”

“He thinks he’s dying,” Meredith said with a shrug. “Amelia says it’s a low-grade fever and that he’s being dramatic.”

Lexie laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Mark shifted beside her, casually close. “We were gonna grab coffee,” he said. “Grey’s taking me to her favorite spot,” he added, with an almost-smile.

Lexie side-eyed him. “Apparently. I guess I can take you to my favorite one near my old apartment. If you behave.”

“No promises.”

Boston had changed its mind overnight.

Yesterday’s spring sun had vanished, traded for a biting wind and sheets of cold rain. By the time Lexie and Mark rounded the corner into her favorite coffee shop, they were completely soaked—hair dripping, clothes clinging, shoes squelching.

“Oh, God,” Mark groaned dramatically. “I’m wearing a turtleneck. It weighs ten pounds now.”

He leaned over a trash can and actually squeezed water out of his sleeves.

Lexie burst out laughing, shivering. “Who let me pack stilettos?”

They ordered coffee—her usual vanilla oat latte, his bone-dry cappuccino—and found a table by the window, both still damp and slightly breathless from their impromptu sprint through the city.

Mark sipped his drink. “So, Grey…how’s life in Seattle?”

Lexie exhaled, her fingers wrapped around the warm cup. “Good. The interns are scared of me.”

Mark smirked. “Impressive.”

“I’m actually really loving being Chief of Neuro.”

Mark blinked. “Wait. You’re Chief of Neuro?”

“I am.” She smiled, a little proud but trying to play it cool. “Bailey—who’s Chief of Surgery now, by the way—couldn’t deal with the Shepherd sibling drama, so she gave it to me. Derek’s still technically our main guy, but I got the title.”

Mark leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised, genuinely impressed. “I’m proud of you. Seriously. That’s huge, Grey. You deserve that.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, her cheeks warming more from his tone than the coffee. Then came the pause.

Mark tilted his head. “Anything else going on?”

She knew exactly what he was asking.

Lexie looked out the window, watching rain blur the traffic lights. “No,” she admitted. “I’m pathetically single. Thirty-two and still…whatever this is. Not by choice, if I’m being honest.”

Mark let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Come on. There are probably guys lining up for you.”

“If you count an intern, a radiology tech, and a firefighter who asked for my number while I was checking a head CT…then, yeah. Totally lined up, but…”

He raised an eyebrow. “But…?”

But none of them are you.

Lexie shrugged. “None of them are really my type.”

Mark nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on her, and Lexie suddenly became hyper-aware of just how close their knees were under the table.

He looked older now. Not in a bad way—just different. Wiser, steadier. And for a second, she wondered if this version of him would’ve reacted better to her confession.

“So,” she said, trying to shake the thought, “what about you? Still with the, uh, eye surgeon? Any more kids?”

Mark snorted into his coffee. “God, no. To both.”

Lexie laughed. “I don’t know. You were very pro-baby at one point. Like, terrifyingly so.”

Mark’s smile faltered—just for a second. “Yeah, well…turns out I haven’t really felt that way about anyone since…”

The air between them shifted. A silence went on a bit too long.

Lexie stirred her coffee, even though it didn’t need stirring. “I still think about that night,” she said quietly. “Outside the hospital. I kind of wish I hadn’t said anything.”

Mark didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched, then relaxed.

“I don’t,” he finally said. “You were brave. I was…not.”

That made her look up.

“I wanted to say it back,” he added. “I should’ve. But I was a coward. I kept thinking that Julia was ready to give me what I wanted and that you’d hold me back. But…I think I was really just scared to admit that you still had me in a chokehold.”

Lexie blinked, stunned by his honesty. “I did?”

“Still kind of do,” he said with a half-smile. “You always will, I think.”

A silence settled over them. 

“We should get back,” Lexie finally said, standing up slowly. “Callie’s probably done by now, and Meredith’s probably halfway through her mini-bar.”

Mark stood too, and for a second, they just looked at each other.

“You going tomorrow?” he asked suddenly. “Big Grey is having a reunion dinner at some karaoke bar.”

Lexie hesitated.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m going.”

Mark smiled like it meant something. Maybe it did.

As they stepped out into the street, he held the door open for her and gently placed his hand on the small of her back, like it was 2009 again. Like nothing had ever broken.

And for the first time in years, Lexie Grey didn’t feel like she was holding her breath.

She didn’t rush to move his hand. She didn’t flinch or blush or crack a joke to deflect. She just let herself feel it—solid, grounding, familiar. Something she hadn’t realized she’d been craving until this exact second. It wasn’t romantic, not outright. But it wasn’t neutral either. It was…something.

They walked in silence, the city humming softly around them—car tires hissing through puddles, distant horns, the occasional loud conversation echoing through the streets. It felt like Boston was exhaling, too. 

Lexie’s heels clicked against the sidewalk, and for once she didn’t care how ridiculous they sounded. She didn’t care that her pantsuit was now damp and wrinkled, or that her bangs were starting to frizz in the post-storm humidity. 

“You still walk fast,” Mark said casually, breaking the silence.

She looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “You still complain about it.”

He smiled, the same crooked, lazy grin that used to undo her in about three seconds. 

They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and Mark turned slightly toward her. The wind picked up again, sending a few loose strands of her ponytail flying across her face. Without thinking, he reached out and gently pushed them off her face.

Lexie’s breath caught.

It was stupid—barely a second, barely a touch—but something about it felt too tender, too loaded with meaning. She didn’t move. Just looked at him, trying to read the expression on his face.

His eyes softened. “You were incredible up there today. You always are, but…”

Lexie smiled, small and tired and real. “Thanks. I think I kind of needed that.”

“You needed to prove to yourself you could do it,” he said.

“Yeah,” she admitted, surprised by how easily the truth came out.

Mark looked at her like he was seeing her clearly for the first time in years. 

The light turned green, but neither of them moved right away.

Eventually, they crossed, shoulders bumping slightly, not bothering to fix the space between them. Not bothering to define what it meant.

By the time they got back to the hotel, the rain had started again. The lobby was buzzing again—doctors in suits and scrubs and name tags, holding coffee cups and talking about panels.

Lexie reached the elevator first and pressed the button. Mark stood beside her, his hands in his coat pockets, still damp and windblown and way too composed. The doors slid open with a ding.

“Well,” she said, stepping inside, “this was weirdly…nice.”

Mark stepped in after her. “Yeah. Weirdly.”

They stood there in silence as the doors closed, watching the lobby disappear behind them.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, just before the elevator started moving.

Lexie didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

When the elevator stopped at her floor, she stepped out first. Turned around. Held his gaze for one suspended moment.

But then she smiled. Soft, simple.

“Sloan.”

He smiled back. “Grey.”

And the doors slid shut.

Lexie walked down the hall alone, her heels echoing off the walls, her heart somehow steadier than it had been in a long, long time.

She wasn’t holding her breath anymore.

She was breathing him in again.

Damn it.

Chapter Text

After a long day of watching other people nervously present their topics, Lexie ran to her hotel room, took a shot from her mini-bar, and hopped in the shower. She stood under the hot water for longer than she meant to, letting the steam relax her tight shoulders and wash away the conference-induced anxiety.

A karaoke bar. Why? Why did Meredith have to be like that?

She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, still questioning how her sister managed to rope them all into such a wildly out-of-character outing. There were world-class surgeons staying in this hotel, doctors who’d published groundbreaking research and pioneered new techniques—and yet somehow, she was expected to end her day singing off-key versions of early 2000s pop songs. Great.

Lexie threw on a simple outfit. No need to go all out again, not after the fitted navy dress she wore earlier that had gotten her just a bit too much attention—including from a certain plastic surgeon who still looked at her like he knew every part of her. He definitely still did, and that thought made her shiver.

She opted for her go-to jeans—the ones that hugged her hips and made her ass look objectively amazing—and a soft black V-neck tee that dipped just enough to be interesting but not enough to draw attention. She let her hair fall in soft curls over her shoulders, swiped on some mascara, and added a little lip gloss to look like she cared.

Grabbing her phone and clutch, she bolted for the elevator, already running late.

The lobby was buzzing with doctors and conference attendees debriefing over cocktails and overpriced hotel snacks, but she spotted her group near the revolving door—Mark, Callie, Meredith, Cristina, Alex, and Owen, all waiting for her. Well, mostly Owen.

“Grey, let’s go!” Owen bellowed, already halfway out the door like he had somewhere better to be.

Cristina groaned immediately. “I still can’t believe this is how I’m ending my night. I could be sleeping. Or eating. Or eating then sleeping.”

“Both valid,” Meredith said, pushing the door open with dramatic flair. “But I plan to be four or five drinks in by the time the night’s over. Drunk enough to attempt a Beyoncé song.”

“Spare us,” Alex muttered.

Owen launched into a recap of his trauma presentation as they walked down the block, seemingly unaware that no one was listening. Callie stayed quiet, her expression distant. Lexie knew it was still the nerves—she’d presented yesterday, and it hadn’t gone badly, per se, but she was still spiraling about the Q&A session.

Lexie fell in step beside Mark without even thinking about it. It felt familiar. Easy. Like muscle memory.

He glanced at her, eyes dipping down to take in her outfit, and then back up again, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So,” he said, his voice low and playful, “what will you be singing tonight?”

Lexie shot him a look. “Nothing. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. Not even one song?”

“Not even a chorus.”

“You used to sing in the car all the time.”

She arched an eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s kind of the same thing.”

“I’m not here to make a fool out of myself.”

“Lexie,” he said with that smug little grin, “you’re probably the best singer of all of us.”

Lexie tried not to let that go straight to her head, but it kind of did. She gave him a look—half warning, half soft—and shook her head.

“You’re not getting me up on that stage, Sloan.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. “You’ll just spontaneously decide to do it after two margaritas. I’ve seen this film before.”

She laughed despite herself. “You are the worst.”

“And yet,” he said, brushing his hand against hers as they turned the corner toward the bar, “you’re still walking next to me.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull her hand away, either.

The bar was packed. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a local dive tucked in the middle of downtown Boston, but it had a charm to it—dim lights, neon beer signs buzzing in the background, the faint scent of nachos and cheap whiskey hanging in the air. The karaoke setup was front and center, and the screen above the stage already blared lyrics to some early 2000s pop song a guy in a button-down was butchering. 

Lexie was two drinks in as soon as they grabbed a table near the front. The nerves from earlier, the adrenaline from the conference, were finally settling into something looser. Warmer. Less terrifying. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the comfort of the group, but she could feel the tension uncoil slowly from her spine.

“Okay, I’m going first,” Meredith announced, already halfway through her third drink and bouncing a little in her seat. Her eyes were shining. “I’ll show you all how it’s done.”

Lexie rolled her eyes fondly, sipping her drink as Meredith staggered toward the stage like it was a runway. She didn’t even wait for the host to call her up—just snatched the mic and queued up a Beyoncé song, of course.

Lexie nearly choked on her straw when the first notes of “Single Ladies” kicked in.

“Oh, she’s serious,” Mark muttered from beside her, tipping his beer toward the stage.

“Very serious,” Lexie said, leaning forward to watch. 

Cristina booed Meredith the entire time as she sang off-key and danced around.

“You suck!” Cristina shouted from her seat, though the grin on her face said otherwise. “Get off the stage!”

When Meredith finally stumbled off stage, beaming and unbothered, Cristina rolled her eyes, stood up without a word, and walked toward the mic.

The song she chose was “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne. Cristina sang it like she was reading a medical journal. Absolutely zero inflection. Pure monotone. She stared at the screen with dead eyes, barely moving, somehow making the whole thing funnier by just existing.

Mark was dying—shoulders shaking with laughter, beer almost spilling onto the table.

“I will never listen to this song the same.” he whispered to Lexie.

Lexie covered her mouth, trying not to snort. “I think she scared the DJ.”

When Cristina returned to the table, Owen stood without a word and took his turn. Lexie hadn’t expected much. Maybe something weird and off-putting—he was, after all, Owen Hunt.

But then the twangy first chords of a country song rang out, and Owen started to sing. Actually sing.

Lexie blinked. “Wait. Is he…good?”

“Oh, he’s weirdly good,” Callie confirmed, mouth open mid-sip of her mojito. 

“He sounds like he voted wrong,” Meredith added, still catching her breath from her Beyoncé performance.

“I’m uncomfortable,” Alex snorted.

Owen hit a surprisingly heartfelt note, eyes closed, voice gravelly and deep. The whole bar clapped when he finished, and he just nodded solemnly.

“What the hell?” Mark muttered.

“Shut up, he did better than you would,” Lexie replied, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

Mark turned his head toward her, smirk tugging at his lips. “You think?”

Lexie opened her mouth to argue but was distracted by Alex standing up and dramatically pointing to Callie.

“My turn,” he declared, extending his hand. “Let’s go, Torres.”

Callie gave him a suspicious look but let him pull her up. They bickered the entire way to the stage, arguing over song choices, until eventually they settled on a painfully cheesy duet—“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.”

It was a mess. A delightful mess. Callie could actually sing, and Alex…absolutely couldn’t. But he made up for it in attitude, leaning into every lyric with exaggerated expressions and awful dance moves. By the end, Callie was laughing too hard to even finish her lines.

When they collapsed back into their seats, flushed and proud, Mark stood up with a sigh, cracking his neck like he was about to go into the OR.

“Alright. Time to raise the bar.”

Lexie narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Performing,” he said, already halfway to the stage.

“Mark!” she called after him, but he didn’t look back.

The music started almost instantly.

“Oh my god,” Cristina whispered.

“No. No no no no—” Lexie buried her face in her hands.

The first piano notes of “How to Save a Life” echoed through the bar.

Mark Sloan stood under the spotlight like it was built for him. He wasn’t even singing—he was performing. One hand on the mic stand, the other outstretched dramatically with every verse. His voice was average at best, a little raspy, a little flat, but it didn’t matter. 

Lexie peeked through her fingers.

“Did he just…wink?”

“Oh yeah,” Meredith confirmed, sipping her drink.

The moment the chorus hit, Mark flung his arms wide and belted it out, over-enunciating every word. The crowd was eating it up. People were laughing, clapping along, phones were out. One woman at the bar whistled loudly.

By the end of the song, Mark dropped to one knee in a ridiculous manner, holding the final note longer than necessary, eyes locked with Lexie’s the entire time.

She wanted to die.

When he walked back over, smug and flushed from laughter, Lexie didn’t look at him.

“Mark, that was so…”

“Hot?” he supplied immediately.

Lexie blinked at him, deadpan. “I was gonna say ‘painful.’”

He grinned. “Admit it. You were a little turned on.”

“You sounded like a dying bear.”

“So that’s a yes.”

Lexie rolled her eyes, took another sip of her drink, and then—

“I’m next!”

She hadn’t meant to say it. Truly. It just came out of her mouth without permission.

Everyone turned to her in shock. Even the DJ froze for a second.

Mark leaned in, eyebrows raised. “You?”

“I—yeah. Yep. I’m doing it.”

Cristina narrowed her eyes. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Not enough,” Lexie muttered, already standing. Her legs were a little wobbly. The bar felt hotter now, her heart racing.

She stomped toward the mic before she could change her mind.

“What are you singing?” the DJ asked, blinking at her.

“Taylor Swift,” Lexie said. “Any of them. Surprise me.”

The screen flickered.

“You Belong With Me” started to play.

Lexie closed her eyes. When she opened them, the spotlight hit her square in the face. She could barely see her group, but she knew they were watching.

Especially him.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She sang.

On-key, a little fast, giggling halfway through the verses, and God, she sang her little heart out. She pointed randomly at people in the crowd during the chorus. She twirled once, maybe twice. The nerves melted away with every line, replaced by something reckless and electric and stupidly fun.

And then her eyes landed on Mark.

He was watching her like she was the only person in the room.

Something fluttered in her chest.

When the song ended, the bar erupted into applause, and Lexie—blushing and breathless—tossed the mic back like she’d just performed at the VMAs. She practically floated back to the table.

“Lexie Grey,” Mark said when she returned. “That was…”

“I swear, if you say—”

“I was going to say amazing.”

Lexie blinked. “Oh.”

He smiled, a little softer this time. “But also hot.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder into his, cheeks still pink from the performance.

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “You were really bad.”

“You secretly loved it.”

“I secretly considered moving tables.”

Mark leaned in, voice low and smug. “I meant it. That was hot.”

Lexie flushed.

“Shut up.”

He just grinned wider, and Lexie—buzzed and warm and vaguely horrified—buried her face in her hands.

Many, many songs later—far too many, if Lexie was being honest—the night was winding down. Her voice was scratchy from laughing and singing along with the rest of the bar, her cheeks were sore from smiling, and her boots clicked unevenly on the sidewalk as they made their way back to the hotel.

Meredith and Cristina had tapped out earlier, both being dragged out by Owen under the promise of “saving face before tomorrow’s panels.” Callie and Alex had peeled off somewhere along the way, stumbling down different streets, loudly debating whether to find late-night pizza or just crash.

That left Mark and Lexie, trailing shortly behind, stumbling a bit.

“You’re drunk,” Mark teased, nudging her shoulder as she caught herself against the brick wall of a random storefront.

“No!” Lexie protested immediately, one finger raised in warning. “I prefer…tipsy.” She grinned proudly, even as she tripped slightly over her own boots.

Mark caught her elbow, steadying her effortlessly. “Oh yeah? Tipsy? Is that what you’re calling it?”

“I am a professional, Sloan,” she sniffed, standing up straighter, or at least trying to. “I give speeches at conferences.”

“You also sang Taylor Swift at a dive bar and twirled like a princess,” he pointed out, voice smug and low.

She bumped his shoulder with hers, half-heartedly. “It was a crowd-pleaser.”

“It was,” he agreed easily, smiling down at her like she was the only thing keeping him entertained in the entire world. “I know I was pleased.”

Lexie blushed, looking down at the pavement to hide it. God, even buzzed, even wobbling down a Boston sidewalk in uncomfortable boots, Mark Sloan could wreck her with a single look.

The hotel finally came into view, a big, fancy block of beige concrete that looked way more inviting than it had earlier. Probably because her feet were killing her. Probably because she was still floating a little from the karaoke and the drinks and the way Mark kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

Mark hit the elevator button with a little more force than necessary, leaning heavily on the wall while they waited.

Callie and Alex caught up with them in the elevator, pausing to say goodnight before disappearing onto their respective floors.

Then it was just Mark and Lexie.

Alone.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding, sealing them inside.

Lexie leaned against the mirrored wall, feeling the buzz in her veins, feeling the weight of Mark’s gaze on her even though he wasn’t looking directly at her.

“You wore the jeans,” he said, voice lower now. Different somehow.

Lexie turned her head toward him.

He was smiling.

Not the cocky, overconfident grin he usually wore when he was showing off or flirting just to pass the time. This one was softer. Realer.

And it made her stomach flip.

“I did,” she confirmed, a little breathless. She smoothed her hands over the denim automatically, suddenly self-conscious. “They’re just jeans.”

“They’re not just jeans,” Mark said, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step toward her.

Lexie’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“You know what those jeans do to me, Grey.”

She swallowed. “What…what do they do?”

Mark was standing close enough now that she could smell the faint scent of his cologne—clean and sharp and way too distracting.

He tilted his head slightly, looking her up and down in a way that made her knees weak.

“They make it really hard…” he said simply, “To behave.” 

The elevator dinged again, jolting them apart.

Lexie practically ran for it, laughing too hard, cheeks burning, heart pounding.

Mark followed her down the hallway, still grinning, still looking at her like she was something he didn’t quite know what to do with.

When they reached her door, she turned to face him.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made everything else seem louder—her breathing, his breathing, the beat of her pulse in her ears.

“I had fun tonight,” she said finally, because she had to say something or she was going to combust.

“Me too,” Mark said, his voice soft in a way she almost didn’t recognize. Vulnerable.

They stood there for another second, suspended in the moment.

Mark reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

His fingers lingered against her skin for just a second too long.

“Goodnight, Grey,” he murmured, eyes dropping to her mouth and back up again.

Lexie thought she might pass out.

“Goodnight,” she whispered back.

And then she fumbled with her key card and practically threw herself into her room, slamming the door shut behind her before she could do something really, really stupid.

Like kiss him.

Or worse—let him kiss her back.

She leaned against the door for a moment, breathing hard, heart hammering in her chest.

God help her.

Because she wasn’t just tipsy anymore.

She was falling. Again.

And it was going to be a problem, because her and Mark? Did not work.

Lexie didn’t even remember brushing her teeth, but she did remember standing under the too-hot stream of her shower, forehead pressed against the tile, replaying every second of the night.

The way he’d looked at her in the elevator.

The way he’d checked her out.

The way he’d said her name—Grey—low and almost reverent.

She hated how easy it was to imagine what could’ve happened if she’d just leaned in. If she’d been just a little braver. Or drunker. Or something.

Because if she had?

Mark Sloan would’ve pushed her against the wall. His mouth would’ve found hers without hesitation. His hands would’ve slid down her body, slow and greedy, mapping out all the places he already knew by heart.

And he’d show her, without a single word, just how much he liked her jeans, hands on her ass.

The thought alone was enough to make her knees go weak, even standing there, dripping and exhausted and slightly sobering up.

She stumbled out of the shower, dried off without any real care, threw on shorts and a t-shirt, and crawled into the king-size bed, her skin still pink from the heat.

She tried to think about anything else—tomorrow’s schedule, her next presentation, literally anything professional—but it was useless.

Her mind kept circling back to him.

Mark.

The one who could bring her over the edge in less than a minute.

The one who knew every single one of her tells. 

The one who smiled at her like she hung the stars herself.

The one she wasn’t supposed to still be in love with.

Not after five years.

Not after everything.

Not after all the ways they’d broken each other’s hearts.

And yet here she was, lying in a too-big hotel bed, still buzzing from the night and from the way he made her feel, like she was the only person who mattered.

So, she did what any rational, slightly drunk, overwhelmingly hormonal woman would do.

She slid her hand between her thighs, closed her eyes, and thought about him.

His hands on her, in her.

His mouth, kissing, nipping, sucking.

His voice, murmuring her name, sweet nothings, and drunken I love yous.

It was desperate and messy and over too fast, but it was better than nothing.

And when she eventually came down, breathless and a little shaky, she couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty about it.

Because Mark Sloan?

Mark Sloan was still the love of her life.

No matter how many years had passed.

No matter how many miles or mistakes or missed chances sat between them.

She was still hopelessly, irrevocably, stupidly in love with him.

And if tonight proved anything—it was that some things, no matter how much time goes by, don’t change at all.

She might as well be in high school, pining over her ex.

Chapter Text

A knock at the door jolted Lexie out of the half-sleep she’d stumbled into.

She groaned into her pillow, praying it was Meredith with a cheeseburger and some Advil, or Cristina with whatever weird hangover cure she swore by this week.

Instead, when she cracked the door open, she found Mark Sloan standing there, barefoot, a little disheveled, and…wearing pajamas.

Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, and a worn Columbia University sweatshirt stretched across his chest. His hair was sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it. His smile was lazy.

Lexie’s heart tripped over itself.

“Oh—uh—M-Mark?” she mumbled, painfully aware of the fact that she was in tiny shorts and her old high school cheer T-shirt—the one with the faded lettering and the rip by the hem. 

“I woke up with a hell of a hangover,” he said, lifting a rattling pill bottle in one hand and a steaming coffee cup in the other. “Figured you’d be in the same boat.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up like he knew exactly how bad she was feeling. Like he always did.

Lexie stepped back to let him in, cheeks flaming.

“Thank you,” she breathed, taking the coffee and swallowing the Advil gratefully. She sipped and made a face.

“Black. I know. You hate black coffee,” Mark said, sinking down on the edge of her unmade bed without waiting for an invite. “But it’ll help.”

She set the coffee down and sat beside him, the mattress dipping under their combined weight. She could smell his body wash—clean, fresh—and it made her dizzy for a whole different reason.

“I have a presentation in an hour,” she croaked.

Mark leaned back on his hands, studying her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“This your intro to the keynote?”

She nodded miserably, burying her face in her hands.

Silence fell between them, thick and sleepy and weirdly comforting.

But Lexie’s brain was anything but quiet.

It spun in exhausted, hungover circles, dragging her back to the night before—the elevator, his grin, those jeans, the way he’d looked at her like maybe he missed her too.

He hadn’t kissed her. He hadn’t even tried.

But still, she’d gotten herself so worked up thinking about him that she’d fallen apart under her own hand, whispering his name against the pillow.

And now he was here, in her room, sitting on her bed, being thoughtful and perfect and wearing sweatpants that gave her a peek of the v-line she loved so much.

Lexie shivered, mortified at her own body’s betrayal.

“You cold?” Mark asked, misreading the way she curled into herself.

Before she could even answer, he was tugging the sweatshirt over his head, revealing a tight white T-shirt stretched over solid muscle. He held the sweatshirt out to her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Wordlessly, she ducked her head and let him pull it over her.

It smelled like him.

It felt like him.

Warm and safe and a little overwhelming.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice catching in her throat.

Mark just smiled, that slow, devastating smile that made her wonder if maybe he did know what he was doing to her.

Maybe he always had.

Lexie flopped back against the mattress with a sigh, tugging Mark’s sweatshirt tighter around her. 

“Thank you,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. “For last night, I mean. You made it fun.”

Mark let out a low laugh and mirrored her movement, dropping back onto the bed beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their arms brushed. Lexie’s heart stumbled.

“I tend to do that,” he chuckled, eyes closed, voice still rough with sleep.

“You do,” Lexie agreed, smiling despite the pounding in her head. She turned her head slightly to watch him. “I’ve had a really great time this week. Seeing you again.” She hesitated, fighting every instinct to say exactly what she meant. But she chickened out at the last second. “I’ve missed you. Your friendship.”

Friendship.

The word hit her like a punch to the stomach as she said it.

Girls didn’t get off to the thought of their friends.

Or maybe some girls did. But not her.

Mark’s laugh came a second too late—slow, a little awkward—and Lexie’s stomach twisted even tighter.

For a minute, neither of them said anything. The room felt heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

Lexie’s mind raced.

She couldn’t stop herself from wondering about the night before—what he had done once they’d said goodnight. Had he thought about her too? Had he felt the same pull, the same ache?

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry.

And then Mark’s voice cut through the silence, so close to her that she could feel it.

“I’m not sure if ‘friends’ is the best way to describe us, Lex,” he whispered.

Lexie’s heart nearly stopped.

She turned onto her side, facing him. He did the same, propping his head on his hand.

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

Mark smiled a small, knowing smile.

“You’re a smart woman, Little Grey.”

There it was, the nickname that somehow made her feel special instead of small. His voice was so gentle when he said it.

Lexie’s chest ached. She hated how badly she needed him to close the space between them. How badly she needed to feel him.

Without really thinking, she reached out and cupped his face, her palm fitting against his cheek like it belonged there. His skin was warm, his beard rough. Her thumb brushed the line of his jaw almost absently, and she felt him lean into the touch.

God, he was beautiful.

She wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt.

“I think I…” she started, her voice trembling under the weight of everything she wasn’t brave enough to say.

Mark stopped her.

He caught her hand in his, his fingers curling around hers like it was instinct. His eyes locked onto hers, serious and soft all at once.

“I know,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Me too.”

The air between them shifted, thickened, sparked.

Lexie’s heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought he might hear it.

They stayed like that for a moment—staring, breathing, feeling—and Lexie thought if she moved even an inch closer, everything would change.

Lexie leaned in.

Not far—barely a shift, really—but enough. Enough to make it clear that if something happened, he would have to be the one to close the distance.

She felt her breath catch as Mark moved too—almost imperceptibly—like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Like gravity was doing all the work for them.

Their lips brushed.

It wasn’t a kiss.

Not really.

It was softer than that—lighter, barely tangible. Just the faintest touch.

Lexie felt her whole body tense at the contact, every nerve ending sparking to life.

It wasn’t enough.

And yet…

It was too much.

She didn’t pull her hand away from his. Their fingers stayed tangled. His thumb moved absently over her knuckles, slow and steady.

Their faces were so close now that she could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the faint, clean scent of his skin mixed with his sweatshirt that was still on her.

Another brush of lips and Lexie’s whole body shivered.

A soft, broken sound escaped her without permission, a tiny moan that she couldn’t hold back.

Mark’s hand tightened around hers, and she heard him groan under his breath—a rough, helpless noise that made her head spin.

It would be so easy.

So easy to lean in that extra millimeter.

To kiss him.

But before either of them could move again, Lexie’s alarm shattered the moment.

The shrill, jarring sound cut through the quiet of the room like a scalpel.

Lexie jumped back instinctively, her heart thundering, her cheeks burning.

Reality slammed into her like a freight train.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, fumbling for her phone on the nightstand, silencing the alarm as fast as her trembling hands would allow. “I—I have to—”

Mark pulled back too, clearing his throat, suddenly very interested in the carpet. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in the room so thick it was almost suffocating.

“You have to get ready,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual, but still careful. Gentle.

Lexie swallowed hard and nodded, her hands still shaking.

Right.

Presentation. Pre-keynote. Entire career.

Not the man sitting inches away from her who had just almost kissed her in the softest, most devastating way. 

“Thank you again. For the coffee. And the Advil. And…everything.” She risked a glance at him, heart stuttering again when she caught the way he was looking at her—like he was memorizing her face. Like he didn’t want to leave either.

Mark stood slowly, squeezing her hand one last time before letting it go.

“Go knock ‘em dead, Little Grey.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking quietly behind him, leaving Lexie sitting in the middle of her messy bed, wearing his sweatshirt, feeling the ghost of his lips against hers, and wondering how the hell she was supposed to focus on anything else today.

Lexie got ready in record time.

She threw on the safest outfit she had packed—a fitted black dress that hit just above the knee, professional but still cute, paired with low heels she hated. In a lapse of judgment, she threw his sweatshirt on over her dress. She barely remembered to brush her hair before grabbing her notes and sprinting for the hallway.

She needed Meredith.

Immediately.

Before she lost her mind.

Lexie pounded on her sister’s door like her life depended on it.

A groggy, very hungover Meredith cracked it open, looking like she’d been hit by a bus, one eye barely open.

“Lexie, if you’re here to drag me to your presentation, I love you, but I’m dying,” Meredith groaned, shuffling back into the dark room and flopping face-first onto the unmade bed.

Lexie didn’t even hesitate. She stormed in and threw herself down onto the edge of the mattress.

“I think Mark and I kissed,” she blurted.

Meredith immediately bolted upright, suddenly a lot less near-death. “You think you kissed?!”

Lexie buried her face in her hands. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Like—brushed lips. Barely. Maybe.”

Meredith’s mouth dropped open into the biggest smile Lexie had ever seen on her. “Lexie! You’re still in love.”

Lexie groaned into her palms. “I know. It’s so pathetic. Like, it’s genuinely pathetic. I should have moved on, right? Five years? That’s…that’s embarrassing.”

Meredith thumped her on the shoulder. “Alexandra Caroline Grey! Don’t even. It’s not pathetic if it’s Mark. It’s Mark.” She waved dramatically, as if that explained everything.

Lexie lifted her head just enough to glare. “You’re not helping.”

But Meredith wasn’t even listening anymore.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously—and then widened.

“Wait. Wait. Is that his sweatshirt?!” she screeched, pointing at Lexie’s oversized hoodie like it personally offended her.

Lexie froze.

Looked down.

Yep. Still wearing it.

The Columbia logo stretched across her chest, swallowing her whole.

She tugged at the hem self-consciously. “Um. Maybe.”

Meredith gaped. “Lexie. You’re wearing his clothes.”

Lexie groaned louder and dropped back onto the bed next to her. “I’m gonna die. I’m actually going to die. Forget the presentation. Just bury me here.”

Meredith cackled and pulled a pillow over her head.

Lexie laid there for another second, heart still racing with the memory of the almost-kiss, Mark’s hoodie warm against her skin.

And then her phone buzzed with a reminder.

Presentation: 7:30 AM. Auditorium 2C.

Lexie bolted upright again, pure panic flashing across her face. “I have to go. Now.”

Meredith stopped her. “Sweatshirt!”

Lexie froze and pulled it off. She smoothed her hair down. “Sweatshirt.” 

Meredith grabbed the clothing and waved her off half-heartedly. “Go be a genius! Go make Mark Sloan fall even more in love with you and your big, sexy brain!”

Lexie flipped her off on her way out the door, but she was smiling.

Maybe…maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Or maybe it was. Because she was officially in love with Mark Sloan. Again.

Her presentation went shockingly well.

Like, almost suspiciously well, considering she was operating on about three hours of sleep, the world’s worst hangover, and the lingering effects of being extremely hot and bothered.

She had barely made it through the first few slides without letting her mind drift—first to Mark’s hoodie, then to Mark’s hands, and then to the fact that they had been this close to kissing this morning.

But somehow, some way, she pulled it off.

A clean presentation, a steady voice, an answer for every question.

When she finished, the room erupted into applause from some of the best neurosurgeons in the entire country.

Lexie Grey, getting a standing ovation.

It almost didn’t feel real.

By the time she shook hands with a few people, answered another twenty questions, and gathered her things, she had three job offers tucked into the back pocket of her mind.

(Offers she had zero plans of accepting. Seattle was her home.)

Lexie floated through the hotel lobby afterward, her brain finally slowing down, her body aching for a shower and a nap. She couldn’t wait to peel off the stupid dress that felt tighter by the second and collapse into bed for four hours before the group dinner tonight.

She was two steps from the elevator when she heard it.

That voice.

The one she knew better than her own heartbeat.

“Steal my sweatshirt, Grey?” Mark’s voice teased, low and smug and way, way too hot for someone standing in a hotel lobby.

She turned just in time to see him striding toward her, falling into step beside her as she hit the elevator button.

She flushed immediately, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her dress. “It’s, uh, it’s in Meredith’s room,” she stammered. “I can get it—”

Mark shook his head, smirking as they stepped into the elevator together.

“No. It’s yours. It always looked better on you, anyway.”

The doors closed, sealing them in, just the two of them.

Mark leaned casually against the mirrored wall as the elevator began to rise, hands stuffed into his pockets like he hadn’t just complimented her.

“Besides,” he added, waving his hand vaguely as the floors ticked by, “you always sleep better when you have it on.”

Lexie’s heart did a very dramatic somersault in her chest.

She opened her mouth to say something—something normal, something not insane—but instead, as always…

“I think we kissed,” she blurted.

The words hung there, awkward and loud in the tiny elevator.

Mark tilted his head, smiling like he knew exactly what she meant, exactly what she was feeling, but still wanted to make her say it.

“You think?” he teased, brushing his hand lightly against hers.

Lexie cringed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I—I do this all the time. I ramble. You know I ramble. Forget I said—”

And then everything happened at once.

Mark reached out, cool and confident, and pulled the emergency stop.

The elevator jerked to a halt between floors, the soft hum of movement disappearing into heavy silence.

Lexie barely had time to breathe before he was on her, crowding her back against the mirrored wall, pressing close, his body practically vibrating with restrained energy.

His hand slid to her waist, the other cradling her cheek, tilting her face up to his.

Their lips brushed—again—a whisper of a kiss, so light it made her knees buckle.

She gasped softly, the sound catching in her throat.

Mark dipped his head to her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

“Lex,” he whispered, voice dark and sexy, “if that was a kiss…”

He dragged his thumb along her lower lip, slow and deliberate, making her whimper.

“…I haven’t been kissing you right.”

Lexie’s hands fisted in the front of his t-shirt, desperate for something to hold onto.

She could barely think, barely breathe, barely exist except for the overwhelming feeling of him—Mark, here, surrounding her, touching her, saying things she had dreamt about in private.

But before either of them could move, the elevator jolted back to life.

The emergency stop reset itself automatically.

They stumbled slightly as the car resumed climbing toward their destinations.

Mark pulled back just enough to let her breathe, his forehead pressing against hers, their fingers intertwined.

Neither of them said a word.

The elevator dinged softly, announcing his floor.

Slowly, Mark straightened, letting his hand fall away from her waist with a reluctant kind of tenderness.

Lexie swallowed hard and adjusted her bag on her shoulder, her heart pounding out of her chest.

As the doors slid open, he smirked at her, that same infuriating, devastating smile he’d always had when he knew he was winning.

“See you at dinner, Little Grey,” he murmured.

And then he was gone, walking down the hall like he hadn’t just ruined her in the span of three minutes.

Lexie stayed frozen in the elevator, hand pressed to her racing heart, her head spinning.

I’m so screwed, she thought.

The rest of the conference was, thankfully, simple.

Thursday night dinner.

Friday morning presentation and evening cocktail party.

Saturday afternoon keynote presentation.

Sunday morning departure.

All Lexie had to do was make it through without embarrassing herself.

No rambling. No kissing. 

Totally doable.

She got ready for the dinner that night, deciding that if she was going to combust, she might as well look good doing it.

She picked her riskiest outfit yet, a tight, figure-hugging dress and a leather jacket for the walk next door.

She curled her hair, did her makeup a little heavier than usual, swiped on red lipstick that made her feel invincible.

When she checked herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the girl staring back.

Hot. She looked hot.

She headed down to the lobby, finding Callie already waiting for her.

Callie had finished her final presentation earlier that day and was practically glowing with post-stress freedom, a margarita already in hand.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready.” Lexie echoed.

The others had gone ahead to the bar and grill—a divey place, but way classier than the karaoke mess from the night before.

Lexie and Callie took their seats at a massive table in the private area of the restaurant, the kind of setup that promised too much alcohol and very poor life decisions.

Lexie barely had time to get her bearings before realizing exactly where she was sitting.

Right beside Mark.

Of course.

Meredith and Cristina were on the opposite side of the table, looking suspiciously pleased with themselves.

Definitely a setup.

The group ordered food, the conversation easy and light as they all unwound from the chaos of the week.

Lexie grabbed a fry from the giant platter in front of her, trying to focus on literally anything other than the heat radiating off Mark’s body beside her.

The table burst into laughter at something Zola said—and somehow, in the chaos, it was decided that they needed more drinks.

Immediately.

Lexie and Mark volunteered at the same time, both standing up.

They made their way to the bar, weaving through the crowd, Lexie hyper-aware of the way Mark’s hand brushed the small of her back every time someone bumped into them.

When they reached the counter, Mark leaned down, close enough that she could feel his breath against her ear.

“You’re torturing me, Grey,” he muttered, low and wrecked and just for her.

Lexie shivered.

She hadn’t even touched him—and yet, somehow, she had all the power in the world.

Or so she thought.

Because on the way back to the table, Mark’s hand wandered to her ass.

They sat down, the rest of the group happily distracted by their fresh supply of alcohol, and Lexie tried very, very hard to focus on anything but him.

But it was impossible.

Mark’s hand slid onto her thigh.

Innocent, at first.

Then he shifted closer. His fingers moved inward, slow, deliberate circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Lexie sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering against her ribs.

She had half a mind to shove his hand away, to scold him, remind him they were in public and this was so wrong, but after days of this torture chamber of sexual tension, a girl could only take so much.

Mark leaned down, his breath warm against her ear, and murmured something so obscenely filthy that Lexie shivered from head to toe.

Across the table, Meredith caught Lexie’s expression—wide-eyed, pink-cheeked, somewhere between panic and pleasure—and tilted her head in question.

“You good, Lexie?”

Lexie let out a strangled laugh, barely managing to choke out, “I’m…perfect.”

Mark’s fingers didn’t stop.

If anything, they got bolder, slipping into her black lace underwear.

Lexie swore she was about to actually die right there at the table. Her blood felt like it was boiling, her breath shallow and fast, trying desperately not to make a scene.

Across from her, Callie was telling a story about some disastrous surgery from the week before, and Cristina was chiming in with sarcastic commentary. Everyone was laughing, not even noticing that Lexie Grey was seconds away from absolute public humiliation.

Mark shifted closer under the guise of reaching for another fry, his leg brushing hers under the table. His hand squeezed her thigh once, firmly, and Lexie bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood.

She turned her head slightly, whispering out of the side of her mouth, “You’re evil.”

Mark just smiled innocently, like he wasn’t actively trying to make her orgasm in front of all her colleagues.

He brushed his thumb higher—directly on her clit—Lexie’s eyes fluttered closed for a second—and then, as if he didn’t have his fingers in her, he grabbed his beer and took a sip, so casual she could have punched him.

Lexie wanted to cry. Or kiss him. Or throw her drink in his face and then climb him like a tree. She wasn’t sure which.

“Lexie,” Meredith’s voice broke through the fog in her brain.

Lexie snapped her eyes open. Meredith was squinting at her. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine!” Lexie blurted, way too loud.

Half the table turned to look at her.

Lexie laughed awkwardly, her face burning. “Just, um…lightheaded. Alcohol. You know.”

No one bought it, but thankfully, Callie changed the subject.

Lexie glared at Mark, who looked way too pleased with himself.

“I swear to God,” she hissed under her breath.

He only shrugged, dipping a fry in ketchup like he was so innocent.

But then—he leaned in again, voice so low it was barely audible over the noise.

“We’re not done, Grey.”

She clenched her thighs together as soon as he removed his hand, but it was absolutely no use.

She was already so far gone it wasn’t even funny anymore.

And judging by the way Mark’s eyes flickered down her body, he knew it.

He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

And the worst part?

She loved it. 

And so, when the group called it a night, and Mark tugged gently at her wrist, pulling her away from the others and into the dark alley beside the restaurant, Lexie didn’t even think twice.

The minute they were alone, he pushed her up against the cool brick wall, and his mouth was on hers—desperate, hungry, perfect.

Lexie gasped into the kiss, her hands fisting in the collar of his jacket as he pressed against her, one hand gripping her hip like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go. The other hand was sliding under the hem of her dress, rough fingertips skating up the soft skin of her thigh.

By the time he slipped his fingers inside her, Lexie was already gone—hips bucking instinctively, her whole body on fire from the sudden contact.

Seven years.

Seven fucking years.

It should have been awkward. It should have been clumsy or messy. But it wasn’t.

It was muscle memory.

He still kissed like he was starving for her. Still made that low, growling sound when she tugged his hair at the nape of his neck. Still kissed that stupid scar on her collarbone—the one from when she fell off her bike as a kid, the one he used to tease her about and secretly adored.

Mark was panting against her mouth, trying so hard to hold it together, but she could feel how much he wanted her based on the obvious tension in his jeans. She could feel the years of built-up tension snapping like a frayed wire between them.

It didn’t take long. It couldn’t.

Not with the way his fingers curled inside her, coaxing every sound out of her mouth.

Not with the way she clung to him like he was air and she was drowning.

She came undone in a blinding rush, gasping his name, her head dropping to his shoulder as her legs shook.

Mark buried his face in her neck, laughing breathlessly against her skin. “Jesus, Grey…”

Lexie let out a shaky laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“You, Mark Sloan, are a teenage boy,” she teased, still breathless.

He grinned and kissed her again—slower this time, softer. Like he wasn’t in a rush anymore. Like he had all the time in the world to make up for the years they’d wasted.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured into her mouth.

Lexie smiled against him, dizzy and drunk off him and a little bit terrified of how easy it was to fall right back into him.

Like she never stopped being his.

And honestly?

Maybe she never did.

Chapter Text

She had a presentation that morning—quick, clinical, and thankfully, distraction-free—and then she was free until the evening cocktail party. Which was why, instead of pacing around her room and replaying every millisecond of Mark Sloan’s hands on her body like a deranged teenager, she went to brunch.

It wasn’t even on the itinerary. Callie texted. Meredith confirmed. Cristina grunted something like agreement. Lexie got dressed and told herself it was just brunch.

It was not just brunch. It was an interrogation.

“You look better today, Three,” Cristina said, not looking up from her phone, sipping her coffee.

Lexie blinked. “Thank you?” she sputtered, practically choking on a spoonful of yogurt.

Meredith narrowed her eyes. She was two mimosas in and in the mood to gossip. She glanced at Callie, who was already smirking.

“Alright, spill,” Callie said. “What happened, Grey? At the restaurant. And…after?”

Lexie flushed immediately. “N-nothing.”

“Grey.” Callie leaned in.

“Oh, God…” Lexie dropped her head in her hands and scanned the room for any eavesdroppers. None. Just a bunch of customers trying to sober up on eggs and coffee.

She lowered her voice. “Okay, fine. Mark…was being Mark at the restaurant. At the table. Under the table.”

Cristina arched an eyebrow.

“And whatever you’re thinking—think dirtier,” Lexie added, her voice barely above a whisper.

Meredith blinked. “God…”

“His hand was…” she trailed off, waving vaguely toward her lap. “His hand started to wander…”

“Oh my God,” Callie whispered, grinning like a devil. “Mark Sloan was fingering you at dinner?”

Lexie slapped a hand over her face. “Yes. And I cannot believe that I’m telling you this.”

Cristina took a long sip of her coffee. “Respect.”

“So then what?” Meredith pressed.

Lexie exhaled. “So then, we left. Group starts walking out, and he pulls me aside. Like literally yanks me into the alley behind the restaurant. Doesn’t even wait. He pushed me against the wall and kissed me.”

“Oh, God,” Meredith groaned.

“Yeah.” Lexie nodded. “And he knows how to kiss, Mer. His hands were under my dress before I could even think. And it was—”

“You let him?” Callie interrupted, clearly invested.

Lexie shot her a look. “Let him? I helped him. I climbed him!”

Callie and Meredith were speechless. Cristina was barely hiding a smirk.

“I came in less than a minute,” Lexie hissed. “In an alley. Outside a public restaurant. And now I’m discussing my sex life in public. Someone stop me—”

“Okay, that’s hot,” Meredith admitted, fanning herself.

“And awful,” Lexie added. “Because now I can’t think straight, and I still have to see him tonight. At the cocktail party. In a dress. While trying to appear professional.”

Callie raised her glass. “To Little Grey!”

Cristina clinked hers. “Public sex!”

Lexie groaned. “And Mark Sloan…”

Meredith smiled. “I would have expected that from Cristina, but you? Little Lexie Grey?”

“Shut up!” Lexie blushed.

It was all fun and games until she was actually standing in the hotel ballroom, the scent of perfume and cologne mixing with overpriced appetizers. Lexie adjusted the strap of her dress for the third time in ten minutes. Her keynote was in less than twelve hours. She needed professionalism and mental clarity. Not…whatever it was Mark Sloan had been doing to her sanity the past few days.

No drinks tonight. That was the rule.

Because if she got drunk, she’d lose control.

And if she lost control, she’d end up in his bed. 

She did her rounds, nodding politely, answering questions about her upcoming presentation, pretending she wasn’t having vivid flashbacks to the alley wall the night before. Callie and Meredith were no help—they kept smirking at her.

But then it happened.

Just when she thought she was home free, ready to call it a night, he appeared.

“Doctor Grey!” he said loudly, grinning as he stepped toward her, waving off one of his residents that followed him everywhere.

Lexie turned, schooling her face into something vaguely professional. Her dress felt tighter. 

“Doctor Sloan,” she replied, matching his tone, smoothing her dress.

“Ready for your keynote tomorrow?” he asked, voice sincere.

She nodded, her smile too bright. “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

Then he leaned in.

His lips barely grazed her ear, but it was enough. Her stomach flipped. Her skin flushed. His scent—clean, warm, familiar—invaded her lungs.

“You’re going to rock their worlds, Lex,” he murmured, soft and slow, like it was just for her. 

Then, as he pulled back, his hand slipped into the pocket of his suit jacket and emerged with a keycard. He held it between two fingers discreetly.

He slid it into her hand.

“2210,” he whispered. And then he walked away.

No second glance. No explanation. Just smug confidence and his ridiculously broad shoulders retreating into the crowd.

Lexie just stood there.

Her hand clenched around the keycard, her skin suddenly ten degrees hotter, and her heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted out.

She knew what he was offering.

She knew what would happen if she went upstairs.

And the worst part?

She wanted to. So badly her knees almost buckled.

And so she did.

Because screw it.

She was a grown woman with a medical degree, a keynote presentation, and a man who knew exactly how to unspool her nerve by nerve. She had no delusions—this probably wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t magically change zip codes or rewrite the years they’d spent apart.

But she had needs.

And Mark Sloan had never once failed to meet them.

She ducked back into her hotel room first—because if she was going to let herself do this, she was at least going to do it in matching bra and underwear.

Something soft. A deep reddish purple. Sexy, but not desperate.

This was for her.

Maybe a little for him.

Okay, a lot for him.

Her heart was pounding by the time she knocked.

Once.

Twice.

And just before the door opened, her mind betrayed her—what if this is it? The last time. The last memory. In a hotel room. Just like how it started.

He opened the door.

Still in his white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top two buttons undone. The same dress pants from earlier, no tie. His hair was slightly messy now—like he’d been running his hands through it. 

Lexie looked down at the floor, suddenly shy.

Then up at him.

Then down again.

Mark didn’t speak. Just…looked at her. Like she was the most impossible, gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. His eyes traced every inch of her, slow and reverent. 

He opened the door wider.

She stepped inside.

She expected heat. Teeth. Urgency. Another alleyway moment.

But he surprised her.

He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her.

Not like a man desperate to have her.

Like a man who needed her.

The corner of her mouth first.

Then her cheek.

Then her jaw.

Then that soft, secret spot just under her ear.

He kissed her neck slowly. Deeply.

Paused. Looked at her. Waited.

Their eyes met after every single kiss as he took her in.

Lexie let out a soft sound, barely a breath, and curled her fingers into his shirt.

It wasn’t lust anymore. It was something worse.

Or better.

It was yearning.

“Mark,” she whispered, almost scared of how she said it.

He just nodded, forehead pressed to hers.

“I know,” he whispered back.

And when he kissed her again—on the mouth this time—it was everything.

Seven years of aching. Of what-ifs.

Of lost time.

Of almosts.

And in that moment, it wasn’t about sex.

It was about remembering how it felt to be wanted like that.

To be loved in silence.

To be touched like someone was afraid to let go.

But eventually, the fuse wore thin and the kisses got hotter. Breath caught and desire spilled over.

He let her unbutton his shirt and toss it aside, lips not leaving hers.

She was utterly amazed that he was still so beautiful after all these years. Abs for days, that perfect v-line, a small happy trail from his navel.

She leaned forward into another kiss, this one with more teeth than before. She so desperately wanted to memorize all of him again.

He unzipped her dress and groaned when he saw her matching underwear. “For me, Grey?”

She smiled as he kissed down her bra strap, moving slowly across her chest to the opposite strap. “Mhm,” she mumbled, unable to form actual words.

The two eventually stumbled to his bed, sheets tangled already. He eased her onto the mattress and kissed and nipped down her body from her bottom lip to her hip bone, knees, calves, and back up, not before lingering above the waistband of her underwear.

“Mark,” was all she could muster. A desperate plea for relief. She had gotten some relief the night before, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Mark simply smiled devilishly and unclipped her bra ridiculously quickly, tossing it to the ground. 

“I got you, Lex,” he sighed, biting her bottom lip and running his tongue over it soothingly.

He slid his left hand over her breast and dipped his head to her neck.

She could feel herself losing all semblance of control as her hips bucked up against his. She could feel him. All of him. And she needed him. Desperately.

He kissed down her body and used his fingers to pull her underwear all the way down before moving her legs onto his shoulders and ravishing her.

All it took was a few flicks of the tongue on the perfect spot and she was over the edge.

She almost cried when it happened out of pure pleasure and decided right then and there that this man was wearing far too many clothes.

“Mark. Pants.” she gasped as she propped herself on her elbows, a confident smirk on her face as she caught her breath.

“Yes ma’am.” he teased, unzipping his dress pants and sliding his boxers down.

Damn. She’d pushed the thought of him out of her mind for so many years. And yet, she never forgot. Not his hands. Not his eyes. And definitely not this.

He looked at her as if asking a question to which she nodded.

She knew what he was asking. 

She was, in fact, still on birth control.

They hadn’t really made a habit of using condoms over the course of their relationship, and quite frankly, Lexie didn’t want to make a habit of it now.

He climbed on top of her, one hand on her cheek, the other between her legs, stroking her softly. He leaned down and kissed her.

As soon as he entered her, she remembered just how much she missed him. This. They fit perfectly together. It was absurd, really.

He started slow, and despite Lexie’s somehow still naive expectations, he stayed slow, looking her in the eyes the whole time, stroking her hair and truly allowing her to feel everything.

“Mark…” she choked out, moving her hand to his cheek.

“Let go, Lex…I got you…” he whispered into her ear as he got closer. And so she did. For the first time in a while, she truly let go. 

It didn’t take much longer than that before they were lying next to each other—sweaty, tangled in sheets, and completely undone. Her head rested on his chest, his hand lazily tracing circles along the bare skin of her shoulder.

“Wow,” Lexie managed to croak out after a few comfortable moments of silence.

Mark chuckled, his voice deep and satisfied. “Ditto.”

They turned toward each other, legs still tangled. Lexie let her eyes trace over him—memorizing the way his blue eyes softened when they landed on her, the curve of his nose, the perfectly masculine slope of his jaw, the beard that drove her wild.

He was older now. They both were. But in all the ways that mattered, he was still hers. She was still his.

She reached out and cupped his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss—slow, a little messy, and full of tongue.

He smiled against her lips, then pulled back just slightly, fingers now moving in slow figure eights on her arm.

“You ruined me, Little Grey.”

Her brows furrowed. “What?”

“You,” he said, looking her dead in the eye. “Ruined me. I broke up with Julia a month after moving to New York. I couldn’t do it. I tried to pretend I was okay. Slept around, went on a few dates, but it was pointless. Every time someone new walked in the room, I hoped it was you.”

Lexie blinked, her throat tightening. “Mark…”

“I wanted to come back to Seattle so badly. But I didn’t want to make things harder. I wanted you to move on.”

She gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Well, that plan sucked.”

Mark grinned, brushing his nose against hers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I screwed around with Alex for like a week after you left and then realized that was pointless.” She ran her fingers through his hair gently, her voice light but honest. “And before this trip…I hadn’t, you know, scratched an itch in about six months.”

Mark let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “No wonder I wrecked you in four seconds last night, Lex. Jesus.”

Her mouth dropped open as she swatted his bare chest. “That! That was foul. Never in public again. Ever. Hear me?”

He grinned wider, clearly proud. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

She smacked his chest again, smiling.

There was a beat. His grin faded just a little. He looked at her like he always did when he was about to get serious—eyes soft, voice quiet.

“Will there…be another time?”

Lexie’s heart fluttered, like it was trying to leap out of her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out at first. Because God, she wanted to say yes. She wanted this again. And again. And again.

But this wasn’t Meredith’s old attic. And she wasn’t 24.

So she just looked at him for a moment and said, softer than before, “Do you want there to be?”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do want there to be a next time. With…you.”

She could tell he was holding something back, but the way his fingers traced slow circles along her back had her eyelids growing heavy.

And so, in room 2210, Lexie Grey fell asleep, her bangs in her face, curled up in the arms of Mark Sloan, who followed not long after, pulling the blankets over her shoulders because she got cold at night. 

If someone didn’t know the story, their story, they might have mistaken them for a newlywed couple. The way Lexie fit into Mark like she’d never left, her head nestled perfectly on his chest.

This conference might’ve been for work, but Lexie Grey knew one thing. 

Awake or asleep, she was flying full-throttle into Mark Sloan.

And with him?

There was no emergency brake.

Chapter Text

She awoke in his arms, hair a mess, clothes strewn across the room. His suite was bigger than hers—unsurprising, given his multi-million dollar hands.

Lexie knew better than to move. Mark Sloan could sleep through a freight train crashing into the hotel, but the second her warmth left his side, his eyes would snap open. So she stayed.

She reached for her phone, which was—miraculously—on the nightstand.

Noon. It was noon. Her keynote speech and presentation were at three.

Seven missed calls from Meredith. A handful of texts, too. All asking where she was, what she was doing. She knew. She had to know.

Lexie locked her phone and pressed her face into Mark’s neck, smiling at the familiar scent of him. His shampoo mixed with his natural scent made her dizzy. Always did.

He wasn’t a morning person, not even close, but she remembered exactly how to wake him up happy.

She kissed his neck—soft, slow. Teasing. Her fingers traced light circles on his chest.

His eyes fluttered open, and that signature smile curved his lips before he even fully woke up.

She started to pull away, but Mark—still half-asleep—caught her by the waist and pulled her in for a kiss. 

Lexie kissed him back instinctively, climbing onto him without a second thought.

“Morning, Grey,” Mark mumbled with a lazy grin.

She kissed his neck again. “It’s noon.”

He groaned, then gave her that crooked smile that still wrecked her. “You’ve got three hours.”

His hands slid to her ass and stayed there.

Lexie laughed, running her fingers through his hair. “No, I’ve got an hour before I need to get ready.”

“Don’t go,” he murmured. “I’ll get Lorenzo to bring food.”

“You made friends with the bellhop?” she raised a brow.

“You can be friends with anybody if you tip them well enough,” he smirked, flipping her onto her back with ease.

Lexie rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m not sure how great their egg-free options are. I’ll stick to my yogurt.”

“Lorenzo and I have a deal,” Mark said smugly. “I can get you egg-free waffles.”

She tilted her head at him, playful. “And apple juice?”

He nodded. “I think that could be arranged.”

She paused their banter, eyes locking with his. There was a softness behind her smile.

Then, just as he leaned in to kiss her, she reached around and pinched his ass.

“Hey!” he yelped, caught off guard just enough for her to slip out from under him.

Lexie grabbed a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself. “I’m showering. Order food, and maybe…” she glanced over her shoulder with a raised brow, “you’ll make it in time to join me.”

Mark perked up immediately, scrambling for the hotel phone before she could even close the bathroom door.

As she turned on the water in the massive walk-in shower, she heard his voice echoing through the suite.

“No, Lorenzo, no eggs, damn it!”

Lexie laughed to herself and stepped into the water.

After a few peaceful moments, she started to wonder if he’d given up or if he was just teasing her. Then she heard the door creak open, and suddenly, he was behind her, stepping into the shower, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him.

They stood like that for a while, letting the water hit their skin, warm and silent.

He leaned down, mouth near her ear. “I…haven’t felt the way I did last night since the attic.”

She flushed immediately. The attic. Meredith’s attic. The last place they’d…made love…before their last breakup.

He hadn’t felt that way since their last time.

And that made her weak.

“Me neither…” she admitted softly, truthfully.

Lexie Grey was no April Kepner. She wasn’t afraid to talk about sex or treat it like anything other than normal. She knew—rationally, clinically—that some men were better at it than others.

Alex Karev? Rough. Impersonal. Good for some, she supposed. Jo Wilson, maybe. Izzie Stevens. Or the emotionally unstable, anxiety-ridden, blonde version of herself.

Jackson Avery? Vanilla. Too gentle. Perfect for people like April Kepner, who liked gentle.

But Mark Sloan?

Mark Sloan offered something else entirely. Something that left her feeling both full and craving more. A kind of satisfaction that was emotional and physical. Familiar and addictive. Safe and consuming.

And so she could admit that no other man had ever made her feel the way he did.

Mark brought Lexie back to reality with a kiss to her neck, his beard scratching lightly against the delicate skin.

His hand slid from her hip to her navel, then continued downward. She tensed, then melted into the touch.

All she could do was let it happen. It might be the last time she’d come undone by his hand.

She tried to push the thought away. And it worked, mostly. That was another thing Mark was good at. Making her forget.

So she let her body react, let the pleasure take over until she came down and something inside her broke. She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. And then, she sobbed.

Of course he knew why. He always did. He stroked her hair and let her cry.

 They stayed like that until Lexie knew she absolutely had to go back to her room and get ready. In the main room, she threw on the clothes she’d worn the night before.

But as she reached for the door, he stopped her.

“Lex…” he sighed.

“I can’t. I have my—”

He shut her up with a kiss. Gentle. Longing.

When he pulled away, his eyes didn’t waver.

“I love you. I always have, always will, Lexie Grey.”

She was completely and utterly shocked.

“I—” she started, but he kissed her again.

“Don’t. Not now,” he whispered. “Go kick some ass with your presentation. I’ll be there.”

She smiled, kissed him once more, and ran out of the room, praying no one would witness her very obvious walk of shame.

Naturally, Meredith was waiting just outside her room.

“Well, well, well,” she grinned, arms crossed. “Look who’s walking the walk of shame!”

Lexie blushed, opening her door. “Shut up.”

Meredith trailed in behind her. “Was it Mark? It had to be Mark.”

Lexie stripped and tugged on her presentation outfit, a black pantsuit and black heels. “None of your business, Mer.”

“Lexie.” Meredith gave her the look.

Lexie sighed, brushing her hair into place. “Yes, it was Mark.”

Meredith raised her brows. “How many times? Two?”

Lexie rolled her eyes and pointed a finger upward.

“Four?”

Another point.

“Five?!”

Lexie nodded, grinning. “I’m sore, Meredith. And honestly? It’s…refreshing. I’m genuinely thrilled to be sore.”

Meredith burst out laughing. “So…confession-gate part two?”

Lexie chuckled as she swiped mascara onto her lashes. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’?” Meredith echoed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means what it means,” Lexie teased, grabbing her laptop and notes. “Now, I have to get to the auditorium. Please be there. And maybe don’t tell anyone about Mark and me?”

She left before Meredith could get another word in.

Sore or not. Aching or not. Yearning or not. This presentation was make-or-break. She would either ace it and cement herself as a neurosurgical force, or bomb and drag Seattle Grace down with her.

She made her way to the auditorium.

It was packed.

Lexie scanned the crowd, recognizing a handful of renowned neurosurgeons. Her eyes landed on the front row.

Meredith had just sat down. Beside her were Callie, Owen, Alex, and Cristina, all surprisingly quiet. And then…Derek Shepherd. Looking healthier now, even smiling.

Next to him, Mark. Laughing softly at something Derek said.

Beside Cristina sat Amelia Shepherd.

And in that moment, Lexie knew she’d been bamboozled.

Amelia was never going to replace Derek at the conference. She was never going to be the one delivering this presentation.

It had always been meant for her. 

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

And then—it was time.

“And without further delay,” the announcer said over the mic, “I’d like to introduce our neurosurgery keynote speaker—Dr. Alexandra Grey of Seattle Grace!”

She stepped out onto the stage to warm applause. The lights were bright. Her hands shook just a little.

She took a deep breath.

“Good afternoon, Boston,” Lexie said, steady and smiling.

And just like that, she was off.

“Impossible is a strong word—especially for brain tumors…”

Lexie didn’t even feel the nerves. She just spoke. With clarity. With power. With the kind of calm that only comes from knowing your stuff inside and out. And she did.

Slide after slide, she commanded the room. She cracked a joke. They laughed. She circled back to a point she’d made earlier and tied it in effortlessly. She was electric.

And then, just like that, it was over.

She clicked to the final slide, smiling.

“And as my mentor, brother-in-law, and big brother always says—it’s a beautiful day to save lives. No matter how intimidating a tumor may look on a screen.”

Applause.

Lexie walked backstage, heart racing. She shook out her arms, letting the adrenaline settle, body buzzing with pride.

A few seconds later, the door opened and there they were. Her people.

Mark. 

She didn’t think, she just ran. Straight into his arms.

He caught her, lifted her off the ground, spun her like he was never letting go.

“Holy shit, Lex,” he beamed. “I got chills.”

Derek nudged Meredith. “They’re a thing again?”

Meredith laughed. “I have no clue.”

Lexie paid no attention to anyone else.

The group dragged her to the hotel bar, where they all got wasted—except for Amelia, who sipped a Coke and watched them all with a quiet smile.

“And I tried them and almost puked!” Mark laughed, gesturing animatedly.

“Aww, your buddy Lorenzo wasn’t a good egg-free cook?” Lexie teased, resting her chin in her hand, eyes twinkling.

They all laughed. It felt easy. Familiar. Like they’d never broken.

Eventually, one by one, everyone headed up to their rooms, leaving just Mark and Lexie in the dim, emptying bar.

Lexie yawned. “I need sleep.”

As they stepped into the elevator, Mark broke the silence. “I meant it this morning, Lex. I love you.”

Lexie looked down for a moment, heart in her throat. “I love you too, Mark, but—”

“But I live in Manhattan and you live in Seattle,” he finished, voice low.

She nodded slowly. “This week has been…incredible. But I can’t—” her voice cracked slightly, “I can’t put myself through losing you again.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stood there. And when the elevator dinged at his floor, he stepped out.

“I leave at six tomorrow morning,” he said, not looking back. “I should pack. I’ll see you around? Maybe next year?”

Lexie swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

He walked away.

And the doors closed between them. As they always seemed to do.

How the night had gone from laughter to tears was beyond her. All she knew was that she was ready to leave Boston. And who knew? Maybe she’d finally move on.

Chapter Text

She trudged through the airport, head pounding from a mean hangover, her hair scraped into a loose ponytail, bangs falling messily in her face. Her shirt was oversized. Her jeans were wrinkled. And her body was still sore.

All she wanted was to get home, collapse in her bed, maybe cry a little. Or a lot.

She spotted the others already seated near the gate—Cristina with her sunglasses on indoors, Derek sipping bad airport coffee, Meredith rubbing her temples like she regretted every drink from the night before.

Lexie gave a half-hearted wave and flopped into an empty seat.

Meredith looked over at her, brows slightly furrowed. She could tell something was wrong—she always could—but the hangover dulled her nosiness just enough to let it slide. For now.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom before we board,” Lexie mumbled, pulling herself up again.

Meredith nodded, eyes closed, clearly in survival mode. Lexie made her way to the nearest bathroom.

She paced back and forth in the bathroom, wondering how the hell Mark Sloan had burrowed himself back into her life. 

How had he ruined her in a week? 

After standing by the mirror for five minutes, just staring at her own reflection, Lexie finally stepped out.

She followed the others, who were heading towards the gate.

The flight home was anything but glamorous. Lexie tucked herself into the window seat and slid her earbuds in, letting Taylor Swift’s discography carry her through the emotional wreckage of the week. She skipped the love songs. As much as she loved them, it hurt too much.

Her head rested gently against the window, the soft hum of the plane and the cold air from the overhead vent slowly lulling her to sleep. She barely registered Meredith settling into the seat beside her.

By the time they landed at Sea-Tac, the clouds were low and heavy, the sky spitting cold rain. You wouldn’t guess it was May. Seattle was being Seattle.

The group made their way toward baggage claim, their pace slow and fatigued. Lexie trailed behind, earbuds still in, lost in her own little world.

When she finally got home, Lexie dropped her bag at the door and headed straight for her room. She collapsed onto her bed face-first, shoes still on.

Her room in Meredith and Derek’s house had been custom-built for her. It was modern, but lived in. Glow bracelets from long-past concerts littered her shelves, medical textbooks were stacked in uneven piles, throw blankets and sweaters were strewn haphazardly around. It was chaos. But it was her chaos. For once in her life, she had a space that felt like hers.

She spent most of the day sleeping, trying to adjust to jet lag and numb her mind. Forget the way his voice sounded in the morning, the way his hands knew her like no one else’s ever had.

He loved her. She loved him. Lexie missed the days when love meant enough.

Back in high school, she’d written an essay about her life ten years into the future. Sometimes she’d reread it just to laugh. She was in her thirties now, and half of what she’d dreamed at seventeen hadn’t come close to happening.

She thought she’d have her own house by now. Maybe a puppy. A cat. A boyfriend her age who wasn’t a surgeon—because don’t mix business with pleasure, she’d boldly written back then.

She laughed now. God, seventeen-year-old Lexie would’ve hated her for falling in love with Mark Sloan.

Although, present-day Lexie hated herself for it just as much.

Around eight, she heard a soft knock on the door. She groaned.

Amelia poked her head in, arms crossed. “You killed it up there, Little Grey.” She smiled, stepping inside, closing the door and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Lexie gave a tired grin. “Thanks, Amy.”

Amelia exhaled slowly, looking more serious than Lexie had seen in a while. “I want you to promise me something,” she said. “I need you to promise me something.”

Lexie sat up. “Okay…”

“Don’t let him cloud your success.” Amelia paused. “But please, for God’s sake, Lexie, put yourself out of your misery and be with him.”

Lexie blinked. That was new. Amelia had given her surgical advice, life advice, even unsolicited sex advice, but never relationship advice. And it sounded…weirdly wise.

“I…don’t know what you’re—”

“His name was Ryan,” Amelia cut her off. Her voice was soft, but steady. “He was my person. My other half. My soulmate. And he died, Lexie. He died and took half of me with him. I’ve loved again, sure. Owen? He loved me. And I loved him. But Ryan?” Her voice cracked for just a second. “Ryan was it for me.”

Lexie swallowed hard.

Amelia reached for her hand. “Mark is your Ryan, Lexie. And he’s not dead. Don’t waste that.”

Lexie tried to laugh it off, but her throat tightened. “Jackson once told me everyone has more than one soulmate. That if we only got one, it’d be a pretty stupid system.”

“Bullshit.” Amelia sighed with a sad smile. “Owen Hunt loved me. But was it ever the same as Ryan? Absolutely not.” She leaned in. “And you—maybe you loved Jackson. In some way. But was it ever the same as Mark?”

Lexie’s breath caught. Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head.

“There’s your answer, Lexie. That man…he loves you more than anything. I’m pretty sure he’d go anywhere to be with you.”

Lexie scoffed. “That man isn’t touching Seattle with a twenty-foot pole. It’s too…”

“Haunted?” Amelia offered, wrapping an arm around her. “Yeah, well…so is every other major city in this country.”

Lexie leaned against her sister-in-law, but honestly? Her sister. “Seattle, Boston, New York, Los Angeles…maybe we should all just move to Kansas.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Amelia letting Lexie marinate in their conversation.

Then Lexie turned, something clicking. “Wait…what made you say all that? Just now?”

Amelia smirked, caught. “He’s here.”

“W-what?”

“Not in the house, calm down,” Amelia laughed. “But he’s at the hospital. Or probably at Joe’s. Bailey’s scheming to get him back. Since Kepner and Avery are moving to Boston, we’re down a plastic surgeon.”

Lexie’s mouth dropped. Then she bolted to her feet. “What am I doing?!”

Amelia grinned. “You’re getting your man back!”

It was all a blur.

Lexie Grey, thirty-something, surgical badass, Harvard graduate, was tearing through her closet like a panicked teenager. She wasn’t in heels or makeup or anything remotely sexy—she was in his Columbia sweatshirt that was ten sizes too big and pajama shorts that were questionable for a public outing. Hair barely brushed. Eyes still puffy from tears and sleep. But she didn’t care.

She had to see him.

Lexie jumped in her car, the Seattle rain starting to mist the windshield. 

She paused at the hospital lot entrance, blinker flicking left. But something pulled her right.

Joe’s. One tequila shot first. Just one. Liquid courage. Then she could go try the hospital.

She parked, heart pounding out of her chest. Joe’s was nearly empty, just a few regulars scattered around. She slid onto a barstool and ordered a shot of tequila.

She let her head hang. Maybe Amelia was wrong. Maybe he’d already left. 

A figure slipped onto the stool next to her.

“Still glad I gave you that sweatshirt, Grey.”

Lexie nearly fell off her seat.

Her eyes snapped up. “Mark?”

She must not have seen him when she came in.

He raised his glass—scotch, of course. “Last time I checked.”

She blinked at him, stunned. And for a second, it was like the entire world slowed. That stupid golden light that Joe’s exuded made his eyes look even more beautiful. The soft hum of a 90’s love song played low in the background—Sixpence None the Richer or something similar.

He looked…calm. And tired. And unbelievably in love.

Lexie took the shot, still a little shaky. “So. Bailey?”

He chuckled, low and amused. “Bailey practically groveled.”

Lexie turned to look at him, heart pounding. “Yeah?”

“I almost declined. Bags were packed, cab was waiting. Plane ticket to JFK purchased. But then she said something that stuck with me.”

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“She said…” he leaned closer, eyes not leaving hers, “that no one does their best work when their heart’s on another coast.”

Lexie froze.

Mark set his glass down. “She said I never really left Seattle—no matter how far I tried to go— I was still here because you were here.”

Lexie’s breath hitched.

“I tried, Lex.” His voice cracked just a little. “I tried to be grown-up about it. Tried to do the ‘right thing’ and let you go because I thought you needed it. But the truth is…” he laughed under his breath, bitter and soft. “I’ve been in love with you every day since the night you showed up at my door. And I don’t want to spend another day pretending I don’t need you.”

Lexie blinked, trying to process the words through the haze of tequila and disbelief.

“I love you, Lex. That didn’t change when we broke up. It didn’t change when I was with Julia. And it sure as hell didn’t change when I left.”

She slowly set the shot glass down.

“Mark…” she whispered.

He waited patiently. 

Lexie looked at him for a long moment. Then, finally, she smiled.

“You didn’t ask if I wanted you to stay.”

He blinked. “Do you?”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him. Hard. Deep. Hands on his face, her heart rate skyrocketed.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Lexie grinned and whispered, “I want nothing more.”

Mark smiled, soft and certain. “Good, ‘cause I already took the job.”

Lexie laughed giddily and kissed him again, this time slower. Like she finally had time. Like they finally had time. He wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her as her fingers curled into the collar of his jacket.

When they broke apart, still close enough to share breath, he brushed a piece of hair from her face and tucked it gently behind her ear. “How’d you know I was here?” he asked, voice low and playful.

She narrowed her eyes, already smirking. “Amy.”

He blinked. “Amelia told you?”

“Amelia practically shoved me out the door.”

Mark chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Lexie tilted her head, arms still looped around his neck. “Although something tells me you already knew she’d tell me where to find you.”

Mark pulled back just slightly, putting his hands up in mock defense. “How dare you accuse me of pulling off a cliché homecoming love confession!”

“Please,” Lexie snorted. “You live for a dramatic gesture.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m subtle. Apathetic. Reserved.”

Lexie gave him a look. “You bought me a bouquet of peanut butter cups and diamond earrings for our two month anniversary.”

“That was awesome,” he said proudly.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “God, I missed this.”

His expression softened. “Me too.”

Silence fell between them—not awkward, not heavy. Just warm. Like everything that needed to be said had been said, and now all that was left was relief. The quiet kind. The kind you feel in your bones when you realize you’re not alone anymore. When that dull aching feeling finally stops.

Mark nudged her knee with his. “So what now? You gonna make me sleep on Derek’s couch until I find a place?”

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “You still snore?”

He gasped. “How dare you—”

“I guess you can stay in my room. Temporarily. As a guest.”

“Guest with benefits?”

She gave him a pointed look.

Mark grinned like a teenager. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Lexie kissed him one more time before sliding off the barstool. “Careful, McSteamy.”

The two paid their small tabs and grabbed Mark’s hoodie and carry-on from the booth he’d been in. Lexie took one last glance at the bar before sliding her hand into Mark’s and heading out into the Seattle night.

Back at Meredith and Derek’s, the house was dark—silent save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the hardwood. They tiptoed like teenagers breaking curfew, Mark clutching his bag and Lexie shushing him every time he knocked into something.

Once safely in her room, they exhaled.

Mark set his bag down while Lexie flicked on the lamp beside her bed, her mess of a room now aglow—blankets everywhere, half-open medical books, a pile of laundry, and at least three different Taylor Swift albums visible near her record player.

Without saying a word, they both made a beeline for the bathroom. A “shower” followed—a term that was generous at best, considering the fact that there was very little showering going on.

When they finally collapsed into bed, Lexie only managed to throw on his oversized hoodie, her damp hair clinging to her face, while Mark slid under the sheets naked, pulling the comforter over their bodies to hold heat in.

His hands found their way under her sweatshirt immediately, fingers tracing soft lines over her hips, then her breasts. He kissed her lips, her cheek, the spot under her jaw that made her giggle against his mouth.

“Have I mentioned that I missed you?” he mumbled.

She hummed and kissed him back. “Shut up and go lower.”

He complied, moving his right hand down, teasing her before sliding two fingers inside. His left hand steadied her, holding her by the waist.

She moved on his fingers, head burrowed into his neck. She couldn’t help but let out a few muffled moans.

Unfortunately, they weren’t as quiet as they thought.

Just as Lexie moved to take the sweatshirt off, the bedroom door burst open.

“AHH! NO! NOPE! TURN AROUND!” Meredith shrieked, throwing a hand over her eyes and immediately retreating like she’d seen a ghost. “I’ve gone YEARS without seeing Mark Sloan’s penis and I am NOT about to break that streak now!”

Lexie gasped and yanked the covers up to her chin, laughing and mortified. “MEREDITH!”

Mark, completely unbothered, just grinned from under the blanket. “Some people would pay to see my penis!”

“No!” she groaned, turning her back and waving her hands in the air like she was warding off a demon. “I am not your target audience!”

Derek and Amelia appeared in the doorway behind her, both catching the scene before Lexie could maneuver completely off of Mark’s fingers.

Derek doubled over with laughter. “Oh my god. He’s back, isn’t he?”

“Fully back.” Amelia choked out through her laughter. “And clearly very welcome.”

Lexie covered her face with both hands and groaned. “Why are you all in my room!?”

“We thought you were crying!” Meredith huffed.

“Well, I was crying,” Lexie muttered. “Just…not for sad reasons.”

Derek gave a slow clap and walked out, laughing down the hallway.

Mark smirked, his arms now behind his head. “See? I’m good.”

“Okay, I’m done. I’m going to bleach my brain,” Meredith said, already practically running down the hallway.

“I love love!” Amelia called as she followed her out, flashing Lexie a thumbs-up before disappearing.

“LOCK THE DOOR NEXT TIME,” Derek shouted from down the hall.

Lexie rolled over and smacked Mark’s chest. “Why didn’t you lock the damn door?!”

He laughed and pulled her closer. “I forgot?”

This. This is what she had been missing. Sneaking around, feeling like a teenager. With him. Mark. Her Mark. So what if she was going a million miles too fast, full-throttle, no breaks into this again? She was happy. So damn happy.

fin~