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31 May 2014 @ 09:45 pm
fic: stay (just a little bit longer)  
Title: Stay (just a little bit longer)
Author: mrsfjl66
Characters: Lexie, Meredith and cast
Rating: PG
Summary: Lexie survives the plane crash vignette.
Disclaimer: in my profile
A/N: Part of the Dearly Departed Dance-it-out Fic-a-thon. For mammothluv.



Lexie’s injuries take the longest to heal. She’s still Inpatient when Cristina goes, touching Lexie’s hand for a split second before saying, “Keep an eye on her, ok?” Lexie nods, and Cristina yells, “And stick with your PT,” as she leaves.

Mark’s discharged before her too, and he spends too long watching her like she’ll disappear. “Go home,” she says. She smiles at him—go home. Get well—and slumps against the pillows when he’s gone. She’s grateful for him, grateful, but scared down to the bone. Because people don’t come back from where they were. Where she was. Under a fucking plane, she thinks, but only curses in her brain.

Meredith knows anyway. She piles extra blankets on Lexie’s feet for the shivers deep under her skin. “It’s okay,” Meredith says. “It’s okay.” And Lexie isn’t sure which one of them she’s telling.

Derek visits in the mornings. They don’t talk about his hand, or Lexie’s pain when she sits up too fast. Instead, he brings charts. “Consult?” he asks, and hands one over. Her brain works quickly, humming at the distraction of someone else’s tumor and vein.

Callie makes her walk around the surgical floor each day, then outside when she’s stronger. At first, it’s just about pain, where it is and where it isn’t, and then Lexie’s talking. “You couldn’t have done anything,” she says. “Even if you’d been there.” Regret is written all over Callie, and Alex too.

“You don’t know that,” Callie says. “I could’ve—“

“No,” Lexie says. “You couldn’t have.”

Callie hands her water, and lets it go. For now.

Lexie talks to Molly at night, after the girls are asleep. She hears dishes and silverware clank in the sink and smiles against the receiver. “You’re busy,” she says.

“Nope. Not at all. Talk to me,” Molly says. Lexie talks, hospital gossip mostly, that Molly doesn’t care about, but listens to like their mom did. Listens for the stories in between the stories.

When Lexie takes a breath, Molly says, “This takes time, Lex.”

Lexie sniffles, swipes at tears she didn’t know were falling, frustrated they start so easily now. “I know. I’m the one who tells people that.”

In the door, Bailey waits, but Lexie motions her in. “Dr. Bailey is here. I should go.” She’s off quickly, before Molly can say, “Talk to someone,” like Lexie knows she wants to.

She would talk, but what would she say? That she feels the plane cut in to her as she sleeps. That she hears screaming—Meredith’s, Mark’s, Arizona’s, her own—in the dark. And she wonders, more than once, what now? What’s next? How do I—

“Where is it?” Bailey’s lifting back her covers, and shifting the flowers on the rolling table.

“Where’s what?” Lexie asks.

“The pizza, the French fries, the pie you had better be hiding in here,” she says.

“I don’t have any pie,” Lexie stammers because Dr. Bailey still freaks her out more than a little.

“I know you don’t. But the question is, why don’t you? You should be hungry now, Grey. Whining at me about real food, and sneaking cookies from the nurses.” She’s yelling now, just a bit.

“I eat,” Lexie says.

“Very little,” Bailey says. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Lexie says. But she is. The morphine makes her dream in the daylight, so she’s pushed for a smaller dose.

Bailey looks at her for too long then says, “You don’t eat, you don’t heal. You don’t heal, you don’t go home.”

“I know,” Lexie says.

“You do want to go home?” Bailey asks.

Of course she does. She wants to drink a beer, sleep in her own sheets, and take the IV out of her arm. “Of course I do.” But.

Bailey hmmms at her.

When Meredith’s shift ends, she’s there, bouncing a little on her feet. “Why are you so perky?” Lexie asks.

“I’m not,” Meredith says, sinking in a chair. But it’s there, in the flush of Meredith’s cheeks.

“Tell me,” Lexie says.

“Ok, but only if you eat these,” Meredith says, tossing peanut butter crackers at her.
“Bailey talked to you?”

“She didn’t have to.” Meredith waits until Lexie actually opens the crackers, and bites one. “I’m pregnant,” she says.

“Really?” Lexie says, around her mouthful. “That’s so… That’s…” Terrifying is what Lexie thinks because Tuck was born downstairs from a bomb and Sofia was born tiny enough to fit in Mark’s hand. She swallows.

“It’s terrifying,” Meredith says, keeping her eyes carefully on the ceiling. “This baby is going to be a Cyclops born in Seattle’s first sand storm.”

“No,” Lexie says, feeling perversely soothed by Meredith’s fear. “The baby’s going to be beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Meredith says.

“Even with one eye, Derek’s kid will be gorgeous,” Lexie says, and when she smiles, it blossoms into a giggle. “Get over here,” Lexie says, scooting so Meredith has room on the bed.

Meredith climbs in, and Lexie breathes in deep. “Congratulations,” she says.

“Thanks,” Meredith says, and they lie still for a while, curled shoulder to shoulder. Breathe in and out. “Are you ok?”

Usually, Lexie answers one way, the way she thinks she should. “No,” she says. “I’m scared.”

Meredith takes Lexie’s hand. “Of what?” she asks.

What isn’t she scared of? “Everything,” Lexie says.

“Me too,” Meredith says. “But I think it’s good.”

“Good?”

“You’re here. We made it out. So.”

“Good.” Lexie says. Meredith needs to go home. To Zola. To Derek. To her nightly call to Cristina. “Will you stay?” Lexie asks.

“Eat your crackers,” Meredith says, and snuggles in.

 
 
 
safertohatehersafertohateher on June 7th, 2014 03:20 pm (UTC)
LJ, you odd little beast. Thanks for clearing that up, my knowledge of HTML shit is downright pitiful.