Chances Lost
Title: Chances Lost
Character: Alex, George, Izzie. Alex/Izzie (What the hell? I don't even ship them!) and mention of George/Izzie (Or them!). George/Alex friendship/preslash (Spin it how you like).
Word Count: 731
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Note: I'm going to leave it up to you guys as to whether I write an epilogue or not. Know though that if I do, it is going to be GeorgeAlex.
Summary: She cared about him. Everyone that cares leaves.
Spoiler: This is set post-Elevator Love Letter (5x18), so be warned.
PLEASE REVIEW!
It hadn’t been Derek’s fault.
Alex knew that as Derek put the paddles down with shaking hands. His eyes were plastered to Izzie, but he heard Derek curse and the distinct sound of a fist hitting a wall and Derek’s choked whisper declaring time of death at 8:42 before the familiar footsteps faded away, suddenly sounding much heavier. Meredith was sobbing behind him, feet dancing between whether to follow her fiancé or to stay here and cry. He knew Cristina was there, heard her silent breaths and wondered if she was crying too. George was in surgery.
But none of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Izzie was three feet away from him in the hospital bed she’d occupied. Her knitting needles were on the nightstand, sticking out of a ball of blue yarn. She’d been making him a new beanie.
She’d never get to finish it now.
She was in front of him, eyes closed like they had been when he’d climbed in beside her and told her that he’d snooched into a cup for her.
It didn’t matter anymore. Those little fertilized eggs would sit there forever, little what ifs of what could have been with Izzie. Would they have had his hair and her eyes? Would it have been the reverse? Boy or girl?
They’d never have children. There’d never be a little card on a plastic crib with “Baby Stevens-Karev” with the two of them smiling down. Those days were never going to happen now.
She laid on her bed, the constant, reassuring beeps gone since someone had turned it off and cut out that shrill beep. He didn’t know who it was and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or to hate them for giving this room so much damn silence that Meredith sounded like she was sobbing into a microphone.
It was a slow realization as he took tiny steps towards the bed that the room wasn’t the one shaking, that it was him. He was inches away from the bed when he dropped. There wasn’t a chair there to catch him. No, he’d pushed that hard plastic chair into the corner when she’d coded, pushed it away from him as he shot for the call button. Maybe if he’d gotten to it faster she’d…
His knees hit the floor hard, the jolt sending him onto his ass. There’d be bruises in the morning, but he didn’t care. He felt the tears begin to fall down his face as he pushed himself onto his throbbing knees. He had to see her.
She hadn’t moved, couldn’t move to laugh at him and call him a klutz. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to kiss her and remind her that that klutz loved her. He couldn’t kiss her. He wouldn’t let their last kiss be a good-bye with him kissing her cooling, unresponsive lips.
He grasped at the blankets, finally letting out a heart wrenching sob as one hand brushed hers. It was going cold. How long had he been there? How long had it been since…
Then suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently as a voice whispered his name.
He didn’t take his eyes off her, trying to remember the old prayers he’d been taught in Sunday school and angry when he couldn’t. Why had his mother stopped taking him to church? Why had he stopped going?
“Alex, you can’t stay here.”
But he wanted to.
“She’s gone.”
Why her?
Those arms moved from his shoulders, moving down to his waist before they hefted him up. Whoever it was was shorter than him. He didn’t fight. Every part of his brain was screaming at him to fight, to stay with her, but his limbs wouldn’t listen.
“She’s gone, Alex.”
O’Malley. George.
George O’Malley was holding him as he cried, grieving a woman that they both loved.
“Momma, where’d Grandma go?”
He’d been four when he asked, too young to understand what it meant when they put his grandma into the ground one July morning.
“She’s with the angels, Lex.”
He hoped Izzie was with the angels too. She would have liked his grandma. She’d loved baking too.
“Alex, come on.”
He let George lead him from the room as a new wave of tears washed over him.
Isobel Stevens was dead.
The engagement ring felt like a weight in his pocket.
The End or Epilogue?
Character: Alex, George, Izzie. Alex/Izzie (What the hell? I don't even ship them!) and mention of George/Izzie (Or them!). George/Alex friendship/preslash (Spin it how you like).
Word Count: 731
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Note: I'm going to leave it up to you guys as to whether I write an epilogue or not. Know though that if I do, it is going to be GeorgeAlex.
Summary: She cared about him. Everyone that cares leaves.
Spoiler: This is set post-Elevator Love Letter (5x18), so be warned.
PLEASE REVIEW!
It hadn’t been Derek’s fault.
Alex knew that as Derek put the paddles down with shaking hands. His eyes were plastered to Izzie, but he heard Derek curse and the distinct sound of a fist hitting a wall and Derek’s choked whisper declaring time of death at 8:42 before the familiar footsteps faded away, suddenly sounding much heavier. Meredith was sobbing behind him, feet dancing between whether to follow her fiancé or to stay here and cry. He knew Cristina was there, heard her silent breaths and wondered if she was crying too. George was in surgery.
But none of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Izzie was three feet away from him in the hospital bed she’d occupied. Her knitting needles were on the nightstand, sticking out of a ball of blue yarn. She’d been making him a new beanie.
She’d never get to finish it now.
She was in front of him, eyes closed like they had been when he’d climbed in beside her and told her that he’d snooched into a cup for her.
It didn’t matter anymore. Those little fertilized eggs would sit there forever, little what ifs of what could have been with Izzie. Would they have had his hair and her eyes? Would it have been the reverse? Boy or girl?
They’d never have children. There’d never be a little card on a plastic crib with “Baby Stevens-Karev” with the two of them smiling down. Those days were never going to happen now.
She laid on her bed, the constant, reassuring beeps gone since someone had turned it off and cut out that shrill beep. He didn’t know who it was and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or to hate them for giving this room so much damn silence that Meredith sounded like she was sobbing into a microphone.
It was a slow realization as he took tiny steps towards the bed that the room wasn’t the one shaking, that it was him. He was inches away from the bed when he dropped. There wasn’t a chair there to catch him. No, he’d pushed that hard plastic chair into the corner when she’d coded, pushed it away from him as he shot for the call button. Maybe if he’d gotten to it faster she’d…
His knees hit the floor hard, the jolt sending him onto his ass. There’d be bruises in the morning, but he didn’t care. He felt the tears begin to fall down his face as he pushed himself onto his throbbing knees. He had to see her.
She hadn’t moved, couldn’t move to laugh at him and call him a klutz. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to kiss her and remind her that that klutz loved her. He couldn’t kiss her. He wouldn’t let their last kiss be a good-bye with him kissing her cooling, unresponsive lips.
He grasped at the blankets, finally letting out a heart wrenching sob as one hand brushed hers. It was going cold. How long had he been there? How long had it been since…
Then suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently as a voice whispered his name.
He didn’t take his eyes off her, trying to remember the old prayers he’d been taught in Sunday school and angry when he couldn’t. Why had his mother stopped taking him to church? Why had he stopped going?
“Alex, you can’t stay here.”
But he wanted to.
“She’s gone.”
Why her?
Those arms moved from his shoulders, moving down to his waist before they hefted him up. Whoever it was was shorter than him. He didn’t fight. Every part of his brain was screaming at him to fight, to stay with her, but his limbs wouldn’t listen.
“She’s gone, Alex.”
O’Malley. George.
George O’Malley was holding him as he cried, grieving a woman that they both loved.
“Momma, where’d Grandma go?”
He’d been four when he asked, too young to understand what it meant when they put his grandma into the ground one July morning.
“She’s with the angels, Lex.”
He hoped Izzie was with the angels too. She would have liked his grandma. She’d loved baking too.
“Alex, come on.”
He let George lead him from the room as a new wave of tears washed over him.
Isobel Stevens was dead.
The engagement ring felt like a weight in his pocket.
The End or Epilogue?