The Closest Thing to Crazy (Alex/Ava)
Title: The Closest Thing to Crazy
Pairing: Alex/Ava (Ava POV).
Rating: PG.
Summary: What you don’t know is that he did come back for you.
Spoilers: Season 4 premiere. And whatever the Halloween episode was called.
What you don’t know is that he did come back for you. He rushed out of a friend’s wedding and away from a guaranteed one-night stand (if supplied with enough alcohol) and entered the door to your now-empty room out of breath with no idea that the taxi he passed on the way into the hospital parking lot contained you, your husband and your daughter and was headed for the airport. He didn’t chicken out, he just had sense beat into him a little too late and stopped at a yellow light when he should have kept going.
You don’t know that he spent his entire break between being an intern and becoming a first-year resident driving in the general direction of your home with the address he stole from your chart on a Post-It taped to his steering wheel. You have no idea that the dark blue car that looked like it might fall apart if someone so much as coughed in its direction that drove past your house three times one day contained him and a practiced speech that involved you coming back to Seattle with him. You just thought someone was lost or that the house with the weird people down the street had a new dealer.
You roll over and grab his pillow and clutch it tightly to your chest, so used to falling asleep holding someone or someone holding you that it feels awkward being in a bed all by yourself even if it felt awkward when your husband held you in your sleep. It smells like him, the sheets smell like him and even you smell like him where your skin met his during the passionate culmination of almost two months of flirting and another month of waiting and hoping.
When your best friend finally adjusted to your new face, you told her about him. You told her everything about him, from the way he acted to the way he looked and how he smiled, even the bit about him and the cute redhead that went nowhere when you expected it to go everywhere. She shook her head and told you about this thing she heard about where people become attached to their caregivers simply because of the position and roles they play and how, to her with her memory loss and no family, anybody who showed a deep interest would seem attractive. You told her it wasn’t like that at all. It took her you planning to go to Seattle to understand that it’s so much more.
It is so much more. Because you’d never been able to be yourself before. You’ve always had connections to people who know you and expect certain behavior but in that hospital bed with no idea who you were, you could be yourself because you didn’t know who you were supposed to be. And even after you remembered, he would give you a look that said he thought you were doing something out of character and you’d remember who you are. He always laughed at your jokes and smiled when you smiled and always seemed to genuinely appreciate you and you aren’t sure that guys like him tell just anyone how they feel about anything, no matter how late or how exhausted.
At every set of footsteps that come toward the door, you look up hopefully. And as each step keeps walking, you lay your head back down and close your eyes and squeeze the pillow tighter. Each time the clock on the wall passes your self-imposed time to get up and leave, you push it back another thirty minutes. You know that things are unpredictable around here (and you heard someone mention a chainsaw pumpkin carving contest which you assume takes up more attention than the idiots who participate deserve) and that he could just be caught up in something and be back soon and you don’t want to miss that. The knowledge that he’s still in the hospital is your reason to stay this time.
But as it gets dark outside and the muffled conversations you hear have turned dull, you nod to yourself and get dressed. You leave your shirt on the pillow this time, hoping that your smell might comfort him through rough nights as much as it does your daughter, and tug on a spare scrub top folded neatly in a pile on a shelf in a corner.
And you walk out the door because what you don’t know is that he did come back for you last time.
And what you will never know is that he will come back for you this time, too.
Music: Katie Melua :: The Closest Thing to Crazy
Pairing: Alex/Ava (Ava POV).
Rating: PG.
Summary: What you don’t know is that he did come back for you.
Spoilers: Season 4 premiere. And whatever the Halloween episode was called.
What you don’t know is that he did come back for you. He rushed out of a friend’s wedding and away from a guaranteed one-night stand (if supplied with enough alcohol) and entered the door to your now-empty room out of breath with no idea that the taxi he passed on the way into the hospital parking lot contained you, your husband and your daughter and was headed for the airport. He didn’t chicken out, he just had sense beat into him a little too late and stopped at a yellow light when he should have kept going.
You don’t know that he spent his entire break between being an intern and becoming a first-year resident driving in the general direction of your home with the address he stole from your chart on a Post-It taped to his steering wheel. You have no idea that the dark blue car that looked like it might fall apart if someone so much as coughed in its direction that drove past your house three times one day contained him and a practiced speech that involved you coming back to Seattle with him. You just thought someone was lost or that the house with the weird people down the street had a new dealer.
You roll over and grab his pillow and clutch it tightly to your chest, so used to falling asleep holding someone or someone holding you that it feels awkward being in a bed all by yourself even if it felt awkward when your husband held you in your sleep. It smells like him, the sheets smell like him and even you smell like him where your skin met his during the passionate culmination of almost two months of flirting and another month of waiting and hoping.
When your best friend finally adjusted to your new face, you told her about him. You told her everything about him, from the way he acted to the way he looked and how he smiled, even the bit about him and the cute redhead that went nowhere when you expected it to go everywhere. She shook her head and told you about this thing she heard about where people become attached to their caregivers simply because of the position and roles they play and how, to her with her memory loss and no family, anybody who showed a deep interest would seem attractive. You told her it wasn’t like that at all. It took her you planning to go to Seattle to understand that it’s so much more.
It is so much more. Because you’d never been able to be yourself before. You’ve always had connections to people who know you and expect certain behavior but in that hospital bed with no idea who you were, you could be yourself because you didn’t know who you were supposed to be. And even after you remembered, he would give you a look that said he thought you were doing something out of character and you’d remember who you are. He always laughed at your jokes and smiled when you smiled and always seemed to genuinely appreciate you and you aren’t sure that guys like him tell just anyone how they feel about anything, no matter how late or how exhausted.
At every set of footsteps that come toward the door, you look up hopefully. And as each step keeps walking, you lay your head back down and close your eyes and squeeze the pillow tighter. Each time the clock on the wall passes your self-imposed time to get up and leave, you push it back another thirty minutes. You know that things are unpredictable around here (and you heard someone mention a chainsaw pumpkin carving contest which you assume takes up more attention than the idiots who participate deserve) and that he could just be caught up in something and be back soon and you don’t want to miss that. The knowledge that he’s still in the hospital is your reason to stay this time.
But as it gets dark outside and the muffled conversations you hear have turned dull, you nod to yourself and get dressed. You leave your shirt on the pillow this time, hoping that your smell might comfort him through rough nights as much as it does your daughter, and tug on a spare scrub top folded neatly in a pile on a shelf in a corner.
And you walk out the door because what you don’t know is that he did come back for you last time.
And what you will never know is that he will come back for you this time, too.
Music: Katie Melua :: The Closest Thing to Crazy