nature's cruel she laughs at me {alex}
Title: Nature's Cruel, She Laughs At Me
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex, other characters.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,148
Author's Note: Bear with me here -- this has a point. Also, I think we can all figure out what happened to Izzie prior to this fic.
Summary: Spoilers for Season Five. He remembers that he was thirty-nine at the time, the way the girl smiled something familiar, and the brief flash of her driver's license, the first few letters of her name. These are things that will stick out for him, later.
Alex remembers that he was thirty-nine at the time, because of that morning. It was late June and Meredith had spent the better part of four in the morning complaining about new interns coming in next week and how she can’t deal with that and an upcoming baby and an upcoming fortieth birthday (she was particularly bitter about that, and thus insisting that this baby better show up before September) all at the same time. Derek had steered clear of her and Alex had nodded his head at the appropriate times and reminded Derek that he was out of here in a week (construction at his apartment had displaced him) and soon Derek wouldn’t have the luxury of avoidance.
He’d ended up at Joe’s, like always, and Lexie asked about her sister, in between drinks and lamentations about Mark and her shitty interns, for the first half hour before Mark showed up and she left him to his own devices.
That was fine though, because these days Alex drank alone. He did a lot of things alone and Meredith gave him one earful after another about that but it was what worked for him. The occasional nurse or new doctor found her way into his bed and he avoided any type of real attachments otherwise.
Tonight he wasn’t familiar with the girl who sat down next to him - young and dirty blonde; the kind of girl he’d call pretty instead of hot. Too much innocence and too much youth and he’s never been into the whole catholic school virgins or giggly college girls aspect of it all. So he nursed his drink and listened to her order her own, only slightly surprised that she was old enough to do so. Something in his face must have given that away because then she’s leaning in and telling him, “I look younger than I am.”
He only nods, making his first bit of eye contact with her so far. “Really? I was thinking thirties.”
She smiles, swirls her glass a little, something pink splashing gently along the sides. “Twenty three,” she insists, flashing a driver’s license as proof; he can buy that. “Do you work here?”
“The bar?” He asks with a frown.
“No, the hospital.” She gestures in the direction of the door unnecessarily. “Seattle Grace.”
“Yeah,” he replies, takes a long sip. Sometimes they get women in here looking for doctors, to turn them into boys to bring home to mom, like a doctor is synonymous with good - being one certainly sours that perspective. “Why?”
“I’m going to be an intern there. Next week,” she beams, like she’s telling him of some grand feat instead of the same thing he’s heard every June for the past eleven years. “Are you like a resident?”
“Attending.” He leaves out the field, intentionally. Gynie squad, neonatal, whatever, it never sounds quite as badass as cardiothoracic or plastics, so he avoids it unless it’s asked of him.
“Neat,” she says, anyways, more smiling, and he’s trying to deduce just how much of it is fake, sucking up to a future boss, when she starts talking again. “You know, my mom thinks I’m crazy for being okay with all the blood and guts and everything but I don’t know…it just feels normal, you know, it doesn’t bother me. Isn’t that like a sign or something?”
“Depends,” he says.
She turns too-familiar brown eyes on him. “On what?”
“No, on why?”
The woman gets quiet for a moment, playing with her drink again and running her teeth along her bottom lip, some nervous habit. Then, “I got sick when I was a kid. Leukemia.” If nothing else, it’s got his attention. “I guess I always felt like I should try and help out people like the doctors helped me.”
Alex keeps watching her but doesn’t say anything, and she ducks her head.
“You think it’s stupid don’t you?”
No, he doesn’t, but he restrains himself from saying so, in favor of, “I’m just a guy in the bar; does it matter what I think?”
He can tell instantaneously that it’s not the answer she was hoping for. “Maybe,” she says, something sad in her smile. “Maybe not.”
“You’re probably better off sticking to that last one.” He shakes his head. “If I’d listened to everyone who told me differently I wouldn’t be here. None of us would.”
An arm brushes his, from the other side, and George mutters a ‘sorry’, grabs his drink from Joe, and then does some sort of non-too-subtle double take that’s just embarrassing. You would think the man would’ve learned by now - apparently not. He doesn’t leave, just kind of stays there, and Alex shoots him a glare.
The woman’s purse starts dancing across the bar and she grabs it, pulls her cell phone out and flips it open. She hits a few buttons, before she looks back at him. “I have to go, but it was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah,” he says, with a nod of the head that he mostly means. She gives him another smile, before hooking her purse over her shoulder and leaving.
George is still there, even then, watching her go, and Alex turns around to face him once more. “Has it really been that long since you got laid?”
“What?” He lets the question sink in for a second, before receiving a harsh and more than a little offended, “No. Thank you.”
He’s still got this look on his face, conflicted, and Alex waits and waits for him to say something about it, and when he doesn’t Alex tells him, “Just spit it out, O’Malley.”
Whatever it is, he can tell George really doesn’t want to ask it. “What’s her name?”
Alex shrugs, trying to recall the license she’d showed him. He could remember the picture clearly - she’d looked too tan and the lighting was shitty, but it took effort to get past the first few letters of her name. “I don’t know, began with an ‘H’ I think.”
“Hannah?” Comes out about an octave higher than the other man’s voice normally is.
“I guess.” He watches George swallow, hard, his mouth just slightly open, and it strikes Alex that he is definitely missing something here. “Why is that name important?”
George looks between the door and Alex with wide eyes, before managing to get a handle on whatever his problem seems to be. He shakes his head, vigorously, ridiculously, so. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“And yet you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I said spit it out.”
“Some girl I slept with.” It’s too loud and too quick and just…too implausible, if he’s being honest here, to believe, but George runs off back to the table he’s sitting at with whatever friends he’s made in the past few years - they aren’t people Alex really knows - leaving him behind to draw his own conclusions.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex, other characters.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,148
Author's Note: Bear with me here -- this has a point. Also, I think we can all figure out what happened to Izzie prior to this fic.
Summary: Spoilers for Season Five. He remembers that he was thirty-nine at the time, the way the girl smiled something familiar, and the brief flash of her driver's license, the first few letters of her name. These are things that will stick out for him, later.
Alex remembers that he was thirty-nine at the time, because of that morning. It was late June and Meredith had spent the better part of four in the morning complaining about new interns coming in next week and how she can’t deal with that and an upcoming baby and an upcoming fortieth birthday (she was particularly bitter about that, and thus insisting that this baby better show up before September) all at the same time. Derek had steered clear of her and Alex had nodded his head at the appropriate times and reminded Derek that he was out of here in a week (construction at his apartment had displaced him) and soon Derek wouldn’t have the luxury of avoidance.
He’d ended up at Joe’s, like always, and Lexie asked about her sister, in between drinks and lamentations about Mark and her shitty interns, for the first half hour before Mark showed up and she left him to his own devices.
That was fine though, because these days Alex drank alone. He did a lot of things alone and Meredith gave him one earful after another about that but it was what worked for him. The occasional nurse or new doctor found her way into his bed and he avoided any type of real attachments otherwise.
Tonight he wasn’t familiar with the girl who sat down next to him - young and dirty blonde; the kind of girl he’d call pretty instead of hot. Too much innocence and too much youth and he’s never been into the whole catholic school virgins or giggly college girls aspect of it all. So he nursed his drink and listened to her order her own, only slightly surprised that she was old enough to do so. Something in his face must have given that away because then she’s leaning in and telling him, “I look younger than I am.”
He only nods, making his first bit of eye contact with her so far. “Really? I was thinking thirties.”
She smiles, swirls her glass a little, something pink splashing gently along the sides. “Twenty three,” she insists, flashing a driver’s license as proof; he can buy that. “Do you work here?”
“The bar?” He asks with a frown.
“No, the hospital.” She gestures in the direction of the door unnecessarily. “Seattle Grace.”
“Yeah,” he replies, takes a long sip. Sometimes they get women in here looking for doctors, to turn them into boys to bring home to mom, like a doctor is synonymous with good - being one certainly sours that perspective. “Why?”
“I’m going to be an intern there. Next week,” she beams, like she’s telling him of some grand feat instead of the same thing he’s heard every June for the past eleven years. “Are you like a resident?”
“Attending.” He leaves out the field, intentionally. Gynie squad, neonatal, whatever, it never sounds quite as badass as cardiothoracic or plastics, so he avoids it unless it’s asked of him.
“Neat,” she says, anyways, more smiling, and he’s trying to deduce just how much of it is fake, sucking up to a future boss, when she starts talking again. “You know, my mom thinks I’m crazy for being okay with all the blood and guts and everything but I don’t know…it just feels normal, you know, it doesn’t bother me. Isn’t that like a sign or something?”
“Depends,” he says.
She turns too-familiar brown eyes on him. “On what?”
“No, on why?”
The woman gets quiet for a moment, playing with her drink again and running her teeth along her bottom lip, some nervous habit. Then, “I got sick when I was a kid. Leukemia.” If nothing else, it’s got his attention. “I guess I always felt like I should try and help out people like the doctors helped me.”
Alex keeps watching her but doesn’t say anything, and she ducks her head.
“You think it’s stupid don’t you?”
No, he doesn’t, but he restrains himself from saying so, in favor of, “I’m just a guy in the bar; does it matter what I think?”
He can tell instantaneously that it’s not the answer she was hoping for. “Maybe,” she says, something sad in her smile. “Maybe not.”
“You’re probably better off sticking to that last one.” He shakes his head. “If I’d listened to everyone who told me differently I wouldn’t be here. None of us would.”
An arm brushes his, from the other side, and George mutters a ‘sorry’, grabs his drink from Joe, and then does some sort of non-too-subtle double take that’s just embarrassing. You would think the man would’ve learned by now - apparently not. He doesn’t leave, just kind of stays there, and Alex shoots him a glare.
The woman’s purse starts dancing across the bar and she grabs it, pulls her cell phone out and flips it open. She hits a few buttons, before she looks back at him. “I have to go, but it was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah,” he says, with a nod of the head that he mostly means. She gives him another smile, before hooking her purse over her shoulder and leaving.
George is still there, even then, watching her go, and Alex turns around to face him once more. “Has it really been that long since you got laid?”
“What?” He lets the question sink in for a second, before receiving a harsh and more than a little offended, “No. Thank you.”
He’s still got this look on his face, conflicted, and Alex waits and waits for him to say something about it, and when he doesn’t Alex tells him, “Just spit it out, O’Malley.”
Whatever it is, he can tell George really doesn’t want to ask it. “What’s her name?”
Alex shrugs, trying to recall the license she’d showed him. He could remember the picture clearly - she’d looked too tan and the lighting was shitty, but it took effort to get past the first few letters of her name. “I don’t know, began with an ‘H’ I think.”
“Hannah?” Comes out about an octave higher than the other man’s voice normally is.
“I guess.” He watches George swallow, hard, his mouth just slightly open, and it strikes Alex that he is definitely missing something here. “Why is that name important?”
George looks between the door and Alex with wide eyes, before managing to get a handle on whatever his problem seems to be. He shakes his head, vigorously, ridiculously, so. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“And yet you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I said spit it out.”
“Some girl I slept with.” It’s too loud and too quick and just…too implausible, if he’s being honest here, to believe, but George runs off back to the table he’s sitting at with whatever friends he’s made in the past few years - they aren’t people Alex really knows - leaving him behind to draw his own conclusions.