"There was a time when I held hearts in my hands."

Cristina's angry words register dimly through the fog of a half doze. It's been a long day, Lexie's sitting next to you resting her hand on your arm, Callie's couch is comfortable and you weren't really listening. But these words make it through your wandering attention and blend with sleepiness and Lexie's touch until the thought emerges:

Lexie Grey does not hold your heart in her hands.

(You know how it feels and that's not how it goes with you and her.)

Love was never something you expected. (Wanted, maybe, but you lied to yourself that you were content behind the defensible walls you built out of conquests and screwing, kidding yourself it was an adventure.)

Then Addison came along.

You never planned on loving her, but one taste and you were hooked. Your heart tuned its beat to her moods. Bipolar: ecstasy and agony. She gave until the balance tipped to self-destructive and then she cut you off and love was just you down on your knees begging for your next fix.

Addison held your heart, knowing just when to bruise, just when to stroke enough to keep you hoping.

But Lexie? Lexie is recovery. Lexie is waking up and seeing the sun again. She's sleeping in with smiles and sex and hot coffee. She's coming home after a harrowing surgery and finding silent understanding. With her, your heart beats to its own rhythm. With her (you think -- you never felt it before) your heart is becoming whole.

"Hey," she nudges you softly, whispering in your ear, and you blink your eyes open, still not fully awake. "You fell asleep."

Lexie Grey does not hold your heart in her hands.

(But if she asked to, you'd let her. You'd trust her not to break it.)