Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.

Notes: And so begins the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and enjoyed.

Lexie hears the first whispers in the locker room. Her shift is over, and she's more than ready to get the hell out of the hospital for the night. If she can leave quickly enough, then maybe a disaster could be completely averted after all. But, as she's changing, she notices the murmurs and mumbles coming from all of her colleagues, from the corners of their mouths. They're hunched over, eyes darting from side to side, lips moving rapidly as they compare information about something. Lexie tries not to roll her eyes; more Seattle Grace gossip.

When she has one arm in her sweater, Ryan plops down on the bench facing her, swinging one leg over to the other side. "What do you know? Anything we don't? You were on plastics today, so you have to know something, right?" he asks in an excited half-whisper, eyes bright with enthusiasm. At her non-reaction, he continues incredulously, "Did you even hear anything?"

"About what?" she asks flatly, to appease him, pulling her shirt the rest of the way on. In that one moment all of the interns stop what they're doing to stare at her, amazed at her ignorance. Ryan's dark eyebrows travel up his forehead as he answers her.

"Sloan and Shepherd just got into this epic fight on the bridge. Fistfight." He shudders, not with disgust, but with amazement.

It takes a moment for it to sink in. They echo in her mind a few times, and she's unable to fathom that phrase, those words placed together in that order. Her mind turns fuzzy at corners as dread grips at her chest. Her throat is stiff, she can't swallow and it feels strange to breathe.

Ryan and the others, in their mirth, don't seem to notice the panic-stricken look her face. They don't see that she's gone completely pale or that her eyes have glossed over. They begin to talk in the open, discussing the news out loud for the first time.

"I heard it was a sick fight, too," Pierce comments, grinning and jab-cross-hooking at some invisible opponent in front of him. "I wish I could have seen it!" he cries, throwing his hands over his head in victory, Rocky-style.

"Apparently Shepherd went crazy on Sloan," Leo added. "But then Sloan came back and would have beaten the shit out of Shepherd if Dr. Hunt hadn't stepped in." Steve whined something to Leo, and took him aside, because it was completely obvious that Steve had a major mancrush on Shepherd. There was almost another fight started in the locker room over Leo's comment.

"So violent, I don't get how you guys can revel in this," Graciella says, shaking her head in disapproval.

"Still, I wonder what could have made them fight like that. They were both completely unhinged, I heard."

"Oh, totally!" Ryan exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. "I need to know. Do you have any idea what they could have been fighting over, Grey?" It's only when he addresses her that he notices her expression, her chalky complexion, her terrified eyes. "Whoa, you okay, Grey?" He knits his brow in concern. "Lexie?"

But she can't respond. She opens her mouth and feels that air is rushing past her vocal cords, but no vibration accompanies. It's an all-encompassing terror, the realization of her worst fear about the whole situation. "I have to go," she blurts quickly, voice tight and strangled, before gathering her things and rushing for the door.

She walks through the corridors to the exit, moving as quickly as she can without breaking into a jog. She can hear the rest of the staff talking about the incident as well, doctors and nurses speaking in low hushed voices. They say things that Lexie instantly wishes she hadn't overheard, things of injuries and hand injuries and possible suspensions. A wave of nausea rolls over her. The back of her neck tingles with heat.

It happened. Mark told Derek and Derek went ballistic. It was all about her, all about her and Mark. Their friendship and their careers are in jeopardy just because of her. She hadn't thought it would go this way, but it did and she feels sick.

She has a feeling that this is the beginning of the end.

When she exits the hospital and the chilly outside air hits her, it does nothing to cool her off; it only makes her clammy and shivery. With her eyes on the ground before her, she heads for her car, climbing inside and taking two attempts to start it with her shaking hands. She pulls out of the parking lot and speeds away, needing to get as far away as she can as quickly as she can.

Without thinking (without the capacity of thought) she travels on the route that she normally takes home. It's not until she reaches a certain part of highway that she realizes that she has a choice to make: stay straight, go to Meredith's; turn left, go to the Archfield. By habit she has her left turn signal on, but maybe it's best if she doesn't go to the hotel right now, so she thinks better of it and turns it off. Then she flicks it on once again, and then off, suddenly in an agony of indecision.

She has to pull over for a second, to force herself to think clearly. She grips the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white, tears of frustration and fear burning her eyes and threatening to fall. Everything had been compromised for her. And if Mark has to choose between her and Derek, she knows what his choice will be. It's completely obvious. Derek's been there for him forever.

She's caught in an awful position. No matter where she goes home to, she'll have to see one of them. Either way, it won't be good. The question remains, which one would she rather have to face? She sits there, car stalling on the side of the highway, for a long time, bouncing back and forth between decisions.

Finally, she swallows hard and wipes her eyes and pulls back onto the road. She forces herself to make a decision, turning left at the last second, the sharp turn causing her stomach to drop. She continues to drive, a numb anxiousness overcoming her. She made her choice; she's going to the Archfield.

Now all that remains is for her to wait for Mark to come home and tell her what choice he made.

If it's going to end, she needs to know. She needs to hear it for herself.

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"You," Callie announces snidely, pulling Mark into the exam room by the front of his shirt, "are a dumbass." She basically tosses him onto the table, sitting on the stool in front of him with a huff. She takes his ailing hand into hers.

He completely disagrees with her, of course, but considering that she's doing a favor for him (her shift technically ended ten minutes ago) he really doesn't have a choice but to go along with it. Also, she's touching his possibly-broken hand. He nods.

She runs a finger over his knuckles, evaluating their size, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. "I mean, God, Mark." She palpates his palm. "Do you have any idea what could happen to you now?" she asks, scoffing, making an incredulous and disapproving face at him.

"I know," he replies softly, wincing as she pushes on a sore spot.

"Can you bend your fingers?" He does, even though it hurts pretty badly, and she studies the angle that each ends up at. "Was it really worth it?" she adds, raising one eyebrow, voice going up an octave at the end.

"Yes," Mark answers without hesitation, eyes locking with hers.

It's such a sure and assertive tone, such a serious expression on his face that Callie freezes for a moment, her mouth falling open. His reaction is completely definitive and it's obvious that the fight or something else that happened today has changed him. All at once he's Mark and not Mark; he's the man she's always known him to be, but, at the same time, a different version, a version that's completely sure about something. It's a version that she hasn't seen often, if, she wracks her memory, at all.

His icy eyes continue to bore into hers, and she knows that it would be for the best if she backs off. She clears her throat. "Well." Regains her bearings. "Well, in that case, I guess I have no choice but to be happy for you, champ." The snark and grin she's giving him are merely playfully teasing. He recognizes this and returns the sarcastic smirk as Callie reaches into a drawer and pulls out some medical tape.

"Okay, well, it's not broken," she sighs. "But I'm going to tape it up anyway. It's going to hurt like hell later on, too, so what do you want for it? Pick your poison."

"Nothing," he tells her. He wants the pain. He accepts it. It's a reminder of what happened, a reminder of the fight and how he fought and what he fought for. When she offers to bandage the gashes on his lip and forehead, he refuses this as well.

"Brave soul," Callie comments, widening her eyes. "Just promise me you'll take something for the swelling?"

"I promise."

She sets his hand and begins to wrap it with the tape, holding it solidly in position. "I really am glad for you, you know," she remarks, distracted, weaving the adhesive around his palm. "Glad that you found someone. Even though I'm a little bitter that I still can't."

"What happened to Nevada?" Mark asks, unable to suppress a smile.

"Arizona." Callie rolls her eyes before diving into a rant. "Can you believe that she turned me down? She called me inexperienced." Callie scrunches her face in anger and confusion.

"She called you inexperienced?" Mark repeats, bewildered, before laughing. "That has to be the funniest thing I've ever heard."

"Ha ha ha."

"Seriously though." Callie finishes taping his hand. "You just need to tell her how experienced you are, because you are." He grins. "You keep it up and it'll work out. And if it doesn't, it wouldn't have been meant to be."

Callie only gives him a half-smile before fetching an ice pack, waving it at him and placing it over his knuckles. "You need to ice your hand, too. Lots and lots of ice."

"Okay."

"Hey." Callie and Mark both turn to see Addison standing in doorway, leaning with one hand against the frame. She's got that look on her face that Callie and Mark can recognize immediately, both having worn it before. It's an expression of resigned sadness, caught somewhere between the devastating loss of a patient and the acceptance of that loss. "I just wanted to say goodbye to you guys." She smiles sadly and runs her fingers through her hair, obviously exhausted.

"Oh, I wish you could stay longer," Callie says softly, enveloping Addison in a big hug. "We miss you!"

"I know," Addison replies, giving Callie a squeeze. "But it's time for me to mosey on home. Back where I belong." In her voice is a strange mixture of nostalgia and yearning, stuck between where she belongs and where she used to belong.

Callie releases Addison and immediately notices the glances being exchanged between Mark and Addison, full of meaning and the desire to talk privately. Taking this as her cue, she clears her throat. "Well, remember, lots of ice. Bye." With a final smile, she leaves the room.

Addison pouts as she saunters up to Mark. "How does the other guy look?" she asks sarcastically, pursing her lips and gingerly touching the cut on Mark's forehead. One corner of Mark's mouth pulls into a half-grin.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "About the same, I hope."

Addison narrows her eyes, scrutinizing his bruises. "This thing between you and Lexie, it must be real," she concludes. "Would you have fought for me like that?"

He doesn't answer, but the question isn't meant to have an answer. She doesn't want one.

"So, you're really going back to Los Angeles?" Mark asks her, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Yes." She nods, smirking. "Back to sunlight and beautiful people and surfing."

"But you'll be back."

"Someday. Hopefully I'll be invited to the wedding, if there is a wedding."

"Yeah."

Small laughter, then a pause. Mark is the first to speak.

"Good." Sincere. The idea of her being here, it's not scary anymore. It's not the problem it once was. "Looking forward to it."

"Me too." Addison grins.

She embraces him and he embraces her, gently squeezing her hip with his good hand. This time, there's no pain, no ghosts from the past to make it uncomfortable. After a long moment, she pulls away, gently patting him on the non-bruised cheek. "Well, I guess I'll see you soon." Her smile is real this time. "Will you tell Lexie that it was nice to meet her? I don't want her to think I'm Satan or anything. I don't want a repeat of the Meredith situation."

Mark laughs. It wouldn't be the first time somebody thought that. "I will."

Addison straightens and heads for the door saying, "Good luck, with everything. Goodbye, Mark."

And with that she walks away, leaving him and Seattle for the third time. But not for good. She'll be back. She'll always come back. But it will be alright; it will be more than alright. Mark can't help but smile to himself.

He's found a way to move forward, and he knows that she will too. Extending into the future, their paths are parallel now: never meant to cross, but still side-by-side. And to Mark, that sounds just wonderful.

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Callie drives him back to the Archfield. Lexie is waiting there for him; he knows this, he can feel it. He also realizes that she's probably freaking out. Callie drops him off and continues on her way (throughout the entire drive, she ranted about how she was going to Joe's to march up to Arizona and tell it like it is). He rushes to his floor, almost jogging down the hallway. He doesn't want to keep her waiting any longer. He stops in front of his door, taking a deep breath before unlocking – it takes a bit longer than usual with his left hand – and opening it.

He takes the steps across the threshold, stopping in his tracks as he sees her lying on the bed in a crumpled heap. She hears him enter and curls into herself, as if reflexively trying to disappear. It amazes Mark that she's in the same position he was in about two days ago (is it really only two days?). This time, she's the one who's terrified and he's the one who's going to be there to comfort her. It's her turn to be reassured.

"Lexie," he says her name softly, voice low and gravelly. He doesn't move to her, just stays where he is, letting her make the first move.

At the sound of her name, she jerks, then freezes, and then slowly sits up to look at him. It nearly physically hurts him to see what kind of state she's in. Her sleek hair is disheveled and her hazel-brown eyes are rimmed with scarlet. She hasn't been crying, there are no tear tracks on her cheeks. But her eyes are glossy and watery regardless, wide with something between a plea and a prayer. It looks as if she got halfway to crying but then couldn't summon the strength to let the tears come.

She bites her lip, fists clenching. He's here. It's unavoidable now.

He watches her, waiting patiently during the moment it takes for her to absorb all of his injuries. Her stomach churns, eyes somehow manage to widen even more, and fingertips fly to her lips as she processes everything. The gash on his forehead, the cut on his lip, the bruise marring the corner of his eye.

She feels numb and everything's in slow-motion as her eyes fall to his hand, his scalpel hand, taped up with an ice pack attached to it. This, this was the part she was most afraid of.

It's just as bad as she's been picturing it to be. She swallows nothing, almost choking on the huge lump in her throat. It's all too terrifying to think about, and she wants to go to him but she can't will her lefts to move, so she stays put, immobilized on the edge of the bed.

The colors of the room's interior suddenly become a lot sharper to Mark as an adrenaline rush catches him off-guard, flooding over him, intoxicating him. Nothing remains to stop him from what he's about to do: no guilt about Derek, no secrecy, no skeletons in the closet. He's finally going to tell her what's been whispering at the corners of his mind, what he's said quietly to himself several times just to try the words out.

"We need to talk." The words come out all wrong to start with, sounding like it's an ending. He hadn't intended that. Lexie doesn't move, looking like she's been dreading this but, at the same time, expecting it. He shakes his head, wanting to get back on the right track.

He'll have to begin at the beginning. He'll have to begin with the truth.

"Addison kissed me today," he blurts, the words torn from his lips by this need to tell her everything. He sees her reaction in slow-motion: her eyes narrow in sudden pain, she bites down hard on her lip, cringing, shoulders tensing. He wants to quit talking and to hold her, but he can't stop now. "And I kissed back."

Lexie is both speechless and breathless, teeth pressed against her lips so hard she feels like she might draw blood. Her chest is empty but also ready to explode. So Addison was the problem all along. The pain is raw and sharp at the edges.

Mark speaks again, more quickly this time, wanting to spare her of the pain as soon as possible. "But almost as soon as I started to, I knew that I didn't want to. It wasn't the same as it was before, it did nothing but make me feel empty." He stops to swallow and lick his lips anxiously. "I realized that the past can really be and is in the past. I loved her, and that's true, there's no way I can deny that. But I don't anymore. And that's just as true."

Lexie listens, now. There's hope, she recognizes from under the fog. There might be hope.

"So, after that, I found Derek and told him. Just like you wanted me to, and, underneath it all, I wanted to. As you heard and can definitely see, it didn't go very well." He gives her a tiny smirk, gesturing with his good hand at his face and bad hand. She allows herself to nod almost imperceptibly, slightly comforted by his demeanor.

"I'm so sorry," she says in barely more than a whisper, closing her eyes and hugging her chest. "I caused this. I never wanted to pit Derek against you. It's all about me-"

"No!" he exclaims, cutting her off with an outstretched open palm. Her sentence falls to nothing. "You see, it's perfectly okay." He pauses. "In fact, it's better than okay. Because, until today, I've never stood up to Derek for anything I've really wanted. I've never been willing to sacrifice our friendship for anything. Until today. Today, I fought for something that's honestly worth it." She stares up at him, regaining the ability to breathe normally. "I fought for you. And I'd do it again, and again. And then again. Lexie, you are worth it."

Lexie's heart swells and leaps as Mark rushes over to her and grabs her wrist in his left hand. He pulls her to her feet in a quick yet gentle motion, as if she was light as a feather, and she comes to rest against him, her entire weight leaning against his strong frame. He holds her by the hips, gripping with his good hand, the other laying limp on the curve just above. She takes a deep breath that shudders as she exhales, relaxing her shoulders.

"All because of this," Mark goes on, feeling her melt against him, staring deep into her eyes, their dark brown irises with honey flecks. His voice loses volume, wanting to be able to build what's coming next up. "I've been feeling this for a while, but, the last time I felt it, I ended up getting hurt. But, I want to say it. I'm finally free to."

He breaks for a deep breath, holding Lexie's warm body to his. "Look, the sex is wonderful – spectacular – but it isn't everything. It's so different now than it was being with Addison or Callie. With you, I don't feel like a mere distraction or just a friend with benefits. You make me feel like a real person. When I'm with you, I feel like how I think I should feel."

His eyes are locked with hers, sending a tingle up her spine and a fluttering in her stomach. He laughs once at absolutely nothing at all. "Look, Lex, I've been let down before. I've had bad luck. I've messed things up. I hope you won't let me down, and I sure as hell don't want to let you down." He strokes her hair, fingers gentle and warm. "So this has me thinking, and I'm pretty sure it means-" He tenses, hitting a roadblock in his speech. Willing his mind to work over the nerves and aversion, he makes himself go on. The words somehow manage to come out smoothly, clearly. "This is true. This is real. I'm falling for you, Lexie Grey."

There's silence in the moment after. His confession hits her like a brick and she stares at him, dumbfounded. It's like somebody just took her knees out from under her. Her heart is beating so fast it feels like it might fly out of her chest, and she's absolutely sure she's scarlet. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, mouth numbed by nonexistent Novocain.

He's smiling like she's never seen before – teeth fully exposed, brightening his amazing eyes, creasing at their corners. The smile is beautiful, heart-stopping even. He's laughing, too. It's a laugh of complete exhilaration and relief, but also of nervous impatience for her response. She knows now. And she also knows what has to come next.

She grins up at him, the night's first tear finally slipping down her cheek. Not one of sadness, not of futility. One of liberation and happiness. Her mind racing, she can only think of one thing to say. She's whispered it a few times in the darkness, especially in Meredith's attic, where nobody else can hear. She swallows, a hybrid of a sniff and a giggle escaping her lips, and looks up at him. She speaks, evenly.

"I've already fallen."

He brushes the tear from her delicate cheekbone with his thumb. For a few moments, they stand there, smiling goofily and laughing together in a shared feeling of weightlessness and elation.

And then he kisses her and she kisses him; desperate, happy, true. Gasping, she reaches to cup both of his cheeks in her hands, mindful of his wounds. He pulls her into him quickly, sighing her name as she opens her mouth against his. Their lips meet again and again, sweet and rough at the same time. Suddenly, the passion escalates as the realization hits them.

They're free. Free from all the secrecy, from all of the fear and hiding. They're finally free to let the thing between them maybe grow into something much more.

During the past days, they've been tried, and tried hard. But they're still standing. They survived it all.

And they will survive.

They're not finished just yet. They can't know what tomorrow will be like, whether good or bad, mild or harsh, happy or heartbreaking. But, the truth remains: there will be a tomorrow. Tomorrow will exist. Tomorrow will come for them, no matter what. Another day would follow, and then another, and another. There's no end in sight yet.

And in this moment, as they hold each other, kiss each other, breathe each other, feel each other, they know that there is a future for them. A future that's worth fighting for. A future that's worth anything.
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Once again, a hugs thank you to all of the supporters. One final note: I've uploaded a playlist of songs that inspired this fic. If anyone is interested in listening/downloading, say so in your review and I'll send you the link.