(no subject)
Title: Calm Before The Storm
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Izzie
Prompt: #73 - Bed for
100_situations
Word Count: 556
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: I've had this plotbunny for awhile so I figured I might as well unload it. It's sappy, I know.
Summary: Based off this Season Two Deleted scene, so at the immediate opening of 2.19 "What Have I Done To Deserve This". I recommend viewing it if you haven't already.
Alex doesn’t know how she can sleep.
It’s only the second time he’s spent the night here, but he can’t imagine being able to sleep through this, right up until the buzz of the alarm clock.
Her bedroom is sandwiched between Meredith and George’s and so she gets surround sound for whatever they’re doing. This morning it appears to be pacing, trying to be quiet and failing. He can hear them move about the house, not a word said between them and he kind of has to wonder what’s eating them. He’s not even looking at them and yet he can feel the tension in the shuffling footsteps, and the occasional clearing of throats.
The clock tells him he’s got another ten minutes before they have to get up. She’s curled up on her side, facing him, and he wonders what makes her look so peaceful. As much as he’d like to think so, he knows that it isn’t him that puts that look on her face.
He’s not stupid. He knows that this thing between them means more to him than it does to her. It’s ironic that it was the other way around only a few months ago. He’s aware now, that he may have lost his chance.
That much was made clear enough last night.
“Do you want me to stay or go?” He’d asked.
She’d rolled onto her side, away from him, and a part of him read into the maneuver. “I don’t care. I just want to sleep.”
He hadn’t pushed the matter, mostly because he had no interest in leaving, and so he kept his mouth shut and drifted off.
Except at some point she’d turned in her sleep and, in some dream-induced move, latched onto his arm, with her nails practically embedding into his skin. He was pretty much awake after that. Meredith and George and whatever was going on there didn’t help.
He liked watching her sleep. Yeah, it sounded stalker-ish or like something out of a Hallmark movie, but he did. He never had been able to before. He likes watching her burrow into the pillows, one hand curled inward, the other one against his arm. He likes the feel of her breath against his skin, short bursts of damp heat. He likes being here.
Alex doesn’t usually think about stuff like that. It’s usually thoughts about how he can leave without waking the other person up, or occasionally how to avoid the person at work. He’s not thinking about avoiding her at all.
He’s thinking that he might just be in love with Izzie Stevens, and he’s hating himself for it.
She wakes up two minutes before her alarm (he has no idea how he’s spent the last thirteen minutes thinking about watching her sleep and what the hell that means to him), with a sigh and a “whoa”.
“Good morning,” he says, shaking himself out of his thoughts.
“Morning breath,” she half-moans as she rolls over and away from him, in a repeat of last night. Again, he thinks it’s a conscious move, harder to ignore the more she does it.
Still, he thinks, there is something to be said for the fact that her unconscious self reached for him, even if she won’t when she’s awake.
Maybe he hasn’t lost his chance after all.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Izzie
Prompt: #73 - Bed for
100_situations
Word Count: 556
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: I've had this plotbunny for awhile so I figured I might as well unload it. It's sappy, I know.
Summary: Based off this Season Two Deleted scene, so at the immediate opening of 2.19 "What Have I Done To Deserve This". I recommend viewing it if you haven't already.
Alex doesn’t know how she can sleep.
It’s only the second time he’s spent the night here, but he can’t imagine being able to sleep through this, right up until the buzz of the alarm clock.
Her bedroom is sandwiched between Meredith and George’s and so she gets surround sound for whatever they’re doing. This morning it appears to be pacing, trying to be quiet and failing. He can hear them move about the house, not a word said between them and he kind of has to wonder what’s eating them. He’s not even looking at them and yet he can feel the tension in the shuffling footsteps, and the occasional clearing of throats.
The clock tells him he’s got another ten minutes before they have to get up. She’s curled up on her side, facing him, and he wonders what makes her look so peaceful. As much as he’d like to think so, he knows that it isn’t him that puts that look on her face.
He’s not stupid. He knows that this thing between them means more to him than it does to her. It’s ironic that it was the other way around only a few months ago. He’s aware now, that he may have lost his chance.
That much was made clear enough last night.
“Do you want me to stay or go?” He’d asked.
She’d rolled onto her side, away from him, and a part of him read into the maneuver. “I don’t care. I just want to sleep.”
He hadn’t pushed the matter, mostly because he had no interest in leaving, and so he kept his mouth shut and drifted off.
Except at some point she’d turned in her sleep and, in some dream-induced move, latched onto his arm, with her nails practically embedding into his skin. He was pretty much awake after that. Meredith and George and whatever was going on there didn’t help.
He liked watching her sleep. Yeah, it sounded stalker-ish or like something out of a Hallmark movie, but he did. He never had been able to before. He likes watching her burrow into the pillows, one hand curled inward, the other one against his arm. He likes the feel of her breath against his skin, short bursts of damp heat. He likes being here.
Alex doesn’t usually think about stuff like that. It’s usually thoughts about how he can leave without waking the other person up, or occasionally how to avoid the person at work. He’s not thinking about avoiding her at all.
He’s thinking that he might just be in love with Izzie Stevens, and he’s hating himself for it.
She wakes up two minutes before her alarm (he has no idea how he’s spent the last thirteen minutes thinking about watching her sleep and what the hell that means to him), with a sigh and a “whoa”.
“Good morning,” he says, shaking himself out of his thoughts.
“Morning breath,” she half-moans as she rolls over and away from him, in a repeat of last night. Again, he thinks it’s a conscious move, harder to ignore the more she does it.
Still, he thinks, there is something to be said for the fact that her unconscious self reached for him, even if she won’t when she’s awake.
Maybe he hasn’t lost his chance after all.