speeding cars {alex/izzie}
Title: Speeding Cars
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Izzie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,616
Author's Note: This comes from one too many discussions I've had with people. And really bad ideas at midnight.
Summary: Spoilers for Season 5. Set sometime in the future. This is what nine hours in a car will do to you, when you’ve spent the past few months speaking in quiet tones, always this side of goodbye, always waiting for something to go wrong.
The driver’s side door slams resoundingly, rattling in the frame enough that the car bounces a little. Izzie watches him pull his phone out of his pocket, flipping it open and bathing them in a glaring blue light that lasts all of thirty seconds before the backlight switches off. It’s enough for her to see there are no bars, which means no reception, which probably means a very long night.
“It’s dead,” Alex says, with a shake of his head, setting the phone down in the cup holder next to the radio, for safekeeping.
“Which one? The car or the phone?” She half means it as a joke but it doesn’t quite come out like one. Now it just sounds annoyed.
“Might as well be both.” His eyes keep flicking over to the rearview mirror, looking for taillights to break through the darkness, view obscured by the pouring rain. He won’t find any - they took the road less traveled and now they’re going to pay for it by spending what’s left of the night in the car.
“A watched pot never boils,” she says, some adage her grandmother used to say, but he still watches, doesn’t even take the time to glare at her. It’s quite a change from the last few hours where he kept glancing over at her every now and then, in that way like he thought she didn’t notice. Every stop light, traffic jam, or crossing pedestrian had his eyes on her, just for a few seconds, and she was used to it, but she was also in a car that felt like it was getting more cramped by the second, and it was hot and humid outside, the same air blowing in through the open windows, and maybe today she just doesn’t feel like dealing with that. Unfortunately, she actually says that before she can catch herself. “At least you’ve found something else to stare at.”
Now he rolls his eyes. Now he looks at her. This is what nine hours in a car will do to you, when you’ve spent the past few months speaking in quiet tones, always this side of goodbye, always waiting for something to go wrong. This is what happens when that all goes away and you’re exhausted from being so damn careful all the time, and full of bad decisions and recklessness. “It’s the dress,” he admits.
“I know it’s the dress.” She can feel the satin underneath her fingers, and she doesn’t know what the hell she was thinking this morning when she put it on, because who spends nine hours in a car in a dress that’s meant for parties and high heels and good first impressions that turn out to be bad ones. Just for that, she moves her hand onto the armrest. “I should change.”
“Fine.” He says. “Just don’t expect me to close my eyes.”
She doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead she climbs into the backseat and grabs her bag, finding a cotton t-shirt and pants that were made out of a fabric that she could actually sleep in, and changing into them, not even fazed by the fact that, yes, he’s still looking in the rearview mirror. Nothing he hasn’t seen before. “This was a stupid idea,” she mutters, and she doesn’t really mean for him to hear her, but that’s generally when people do hear you.
“I wasn’t the one who brought it up,” Alex replies, after a moment, through gritted teeth and he is still looking, except now he looks anxious and irritated and hurt.
It should make her feel bad. But she just shakes her head as she pulls her shirt over her head, and tells him, “How about we stop hiding behind playground logic and start acting like adults?”
That he chooses not to answer.
Izzie sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, and she’s still trying to get the hang of being back in the real world, instead of one full of hospital beds and tests and being poked and prodded several times on any given day. She just got the all clear. She just got the good news. She’s been back in her own bed for three days, and then they go and do something incredibly stupid like this. They were setting themselves up for failure.
She climbs back over, with much more ease than the first time, settling into her seat once more, watching him for a good twenty seconds with absolutely no response on his part, before she grabs a hold of his arm, feels the muscles tense and realizes he’s a little shaky on top of that.
“We can’t even be together in a car for nine hours before we’re at each other’s throats. What the hell are we doing even thinking about getting married?”
He shrugs, and finally he tears his eyes away from the road behind them, like maybe he’s done waiting. It took him long enough. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
“And now we’re halfway to Vegas.” She isn’t sure if that’s funny or sad, because if the car hadn’t broken down then they’d be that much closer to making what’s becoming more and more likely to be one hell of a mistake. “This is a sign.”
“Yeah, that I shouldn’t have ignored the check engine light last week.” Which is really just his way of saying that he doesn’t believe in those things. He leans his head back against the headrest, cracking his neck, and he relaxes a little, underneath her hands. “So does this mean you’re finally breaking up with me?”
It could’ve been a joke, but there’s a little bit of desperation that seeps into his voice, even if he’s trying to cover it up, that turns it into something else all together. They both keep trying to play it off like this isn’t anything serious, they always sort of have, despite the fact that he was glued to her side when she went through her treatment, despite the fact that if anything makes or breaks a relationship it’s one half of that relationship almost dying, but they almost got married tomorrow.
Now, if ever, the time for jokes is over. This is serious.
“No, it means we’ve been forced into moving so fast that apparently we’ve forgotten how to stop.” She turns his face towards hers, leaning in and pressing her lips to his, feeling him shift his body towards her as she scrambles to move closer, around the armrest and the gearshift. When she pulls back, her face stays only inches from his, as she adds, “It means I don’t want to do this on a whim because we got scared into it.”
She knows enough to understand that there is no way Alex is going to put up a fight, that just getting into the car and doing this is a big step forward for him, and he doesn’t, and that’s fine because she’d worry about him changing too much if he did. He steals another kiss instead, and her arm loops around his neck, pulling him in close as his hands skim her back.
“We should sleep,” she tells him, when her eye catches the time on the still-working clock in the car, bright green numbers announcing it’s sometime after one in the morning. He lets out a breath that she can feel, and she settles her head against his shoulder, doing a fantastic job of maneuvering herself into a position that’s reasonably comfortable.
“Yeah,” he replies, even if it’s really just to agree. There’s a pause before he adds, cautiously, “We’ll head back in the morning.”
She murmurs her assent, and it must’ve been what he was looking for, confirmation of an unspoken decision.
They stay like that for awhile, his head tilted so that it’s resting against the top of hers, his thumb stroking her hand, listening to the rain beat against the windows and the roof of the car. It’s always been soothing to her, that sound, from spending enough time in Seattle. It feels like home, and he’s starting to feel that way too. She’s just drifting off, exhaustion finally catching up with her, when he says, “I do like that dress.”
Izzie smiles, even though he can’t see her, because Alex isn’t exactly the type to comment on her fashion choices, but it makes her feel a little bit better about all the looks he kept giving her earlier. “It’s from the mixer. The first day we met.”
“I know,” he exhales, and that’s definitely not like him, to remember that. The guy at that mixer would’ve forgotten that, should’ve, except he didn’t, and it makes her wonder just how much of this has all been an act. She wonders about all the things she still doesn’t know about him.
In the morning they flag down a passing car, find cell reception and make a few phone calls. The car ends up towed and Meredith drives down there to pick them up, with a smile on her face that’s trying to hide all the answers she wants as to why they’re here in the first place. Her questions only garner a shrug and “we were taking a break”, the vaguest thing either of them can think of to say without leaving too much room for follow up questions, and it seems to work.
Back home, the dress gets returned to her closet, a silent reminder, maybe even a warning, about rushing into things like judgments and actions that could change everything, and they try standing still for awhile, instead of just moving and waiting for something else to come along.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Izzie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,616
Author's Note: This comes from one too many discussions I've had with people. And really bad ideas at midnight.
Summary: Spoilers for Season 5. Set sometime in the future. This is what nine hours in a car will do to you, when you’ve spent the past few months speaking in quiet tones, always this side of goodbye, always waiting for something to go wrong.
The driver’s side door slams resoundingly, rattling in the frame enough that the car bounces a little. Izzie watches him pull his phone out of his pocket, flipping it open and bathing them in a glaring blue light that lasts all of thirty seconds before the backlight switches off. It’s enough for her to see there are no bars, which means no reception, which probably means a very long night.
“It’s dead,” Alex says, with a shake of his head, setting the phone down in the cup holder next to the radio, for safekeeping.
“Which one? The car or the phone?” She half means it as a joke but it doesn’t quite come out like one. Now it just sounds annoyed.
“Might as well be both.” His eyes keep flicking over to the rearview mirror, looking for taillights to break through the darkness, view obscured by the pouring rain. He won’t find any - they took the road less traveled and now they’re going to pay for it by spending what’s left of the night in the car.
“A watched pot never boils,” she says, some adage her grandmother used to say, but he still watches, doesn’t even take the time to glare at her. It’s quite a change from the last few hours where he kept glancing over at her every now and then, in that way like he thought she didn’t notice. Every stop light, traffic jam, or crossing pedestrian had his eyes on her, just for a few seconds, and she was used to it, but she was also in a car that felt like it was getting more cramped by the second, and it was hot and humid outside, the same air blowing in through the open windows, and maybe today she just doesn’t feel like dealing with that. Unfortunately, she actually says that before she can catch herself. “At least you’ve found something else to stare at.”
Now he rolls his eyes. Now he looks at her. This is what nine hours in a car will do to you, when you’ve spent the past few months speaking in quiet tones, always this side of goodbye, always waiting for something to go wrong. This is what happens when that all goes away and you’re exhausted from being so damn careful all the time, and full of bad decisions and recklessness. “It’s the dress,” he admits.
“I know it’s the dress.” She can feel the satin underneath her fingers, and she doesn’t know what the hell she was thinking this morning when she put it on, because who spends nine hours in a car in a dress that’s meant for parties and high heels and good first impressions that turn out to be bad ones. Just for that, she moves her hand onto the armrest. “I should change.”
“Fine.” He says. “Just don’t expect me to close my eyes.”
She doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead she climbs into the backseat and grabs her bag, finding a cotton t-shirt and pants that were made out of a fabric that she could actually sleep in, and changing into them, not even fazed by the fact that, yes, he’s still looking in the rearview mirror. Nothing he hasn’t seen before. “This was a stupid idea,” she mutters, and she doesn’t really mean for him to hear her, but that’s generally when people do hear you.
“I wasn’t the one who brought it up,” Alex replies, after a moment, through gritted teeth and he is still looking, except now he looks anxious and irritated and hurt.
It should make her feel bad. But she just shakes her head as she pulls her shirt over her head, and tells him, “How about we stop hiding behind playground logic and start acting like adults?”
That he chooses not to answer.
Izzie sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, and she’s still trying to get the hang of being back in the real world, instead of one full of hospital beds and tests and being poked and prodded several times on any given day. She just got the all clear. She just got the good news. She’s been back in her own bed for three days, and then they go and do something incredibly stupid like this. They were setting themselves up for failure.
She climbs back over, with much more ease than the first time, settling into her seat once more, watching him for a good twenty seconds with absolutely no response on his part, before she grabs a hold of his arm, feels the muscles tense and realizes he’s a little shaky on top of that.
“We can’t even be together in a car for nine hours before we’re at each other’s throats. What the hell are we doing even thinking about getting married?”
He shrugs, and finally he tears his eyes away from the road behind them, like maybe he’s done waiting. It took him long enough. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
“And now we’re halfway to Vegas.” She isn’t sure if that’s funny or sad, because if the car hadn’t broken down then they’d be that much closer to making what’s becoming more and more likely to be one hell of a mistake. “This is a sign.”
“Yeah, that I shouldn’t have ignored the check engine light last week.” Which is really just his way of saying that he doesn’t believe in those things. He leans his head back against the headrest, cracking his neck, and he relaxes a little, underneath her hands. “So does this mean you’re finally breaking up with me?”
It could’ve been a joke, but there’s a little bit of desperation that seeps into his voice, even if he’s trying to cover it up, that turns it into something else all together. They both keep trying to play it off like this isn’t anything serious, they always sort of have, despite the fact that he was glued to her side when she went through her treatment, despite the fact that if anything makes or breaks a relationship it’s one half of that relationship almost dying, but they almost got married tomorrow.
Now, if ever, the time for jokes is over. This is serious.
“No, it means we’ve been forced into moving so fast that apparently we’ve forgotten how to stop.” She turns his face towards hers, leaning in and pressing her lips to his, feeling him shift his body towards her as she scrambles to move closer, around the armrest and the gearshift. When she pulls back, her face stays only inches from his, as she adds, “It means I don’t want to do this on a whim because we got scared into it.”
She knows enough to understand that there is no way Alex is going to put up a fight, that just getting into the car and doing this is a big step forward for him, and he doesn’t, and that’s fine because she’d worry about him changing too much if he did. He steals another kiss instead, and her arm loops around his neck, pulling him in close as his hands skim her back.
“We should sleep,” she tells him, when her eye catches the time on the still-working clock in the car, bright green numbers announcing it’s sometime after one in the morning. He lets out a breath that she can feel, and she settles her head against his shoulder, doing a fantastic job of maneuvering herself into a position that’s reasonably comfortable.
“Yeah,” he replies, even if it’s really just to agree. There’s a pause before he adds, cautiously, “We’ll head back in the morning.”
She murmurs her assent, and it must’ve been what he was looking for, confirmation of an unspoken decision.
They stay like that for awhile, his head tilted so that it’s resting against the top of hers, his thumb stroking her hand, listening to the rain beat against the windows and the roof of the car. It’s always been soothing to her, that sound, from spending enough time in Seattle. It feels like home, and he’s starting to feel that way too. She’s just drifting off, exhaustion finally catching up with her, when he says, “I do like that dress.”
Izzie smiles, even though he can’t see her, because Alex isn’t exactly the type to comment on her fashion choices, but it makes her feel a little bit better about all the looks he kept giving her earlier. “It’s from the mixer. The first day we met.”
“I know,” he exhales, and that’s definitely not like him, to remember that. The guy at that mixer would’ve forgotten that, should’ve, except he didn’t, and it makes her wonder just how much of this has all been an act. She wonders about all the things she still doesn’t know about him.
In the morning they flag down a passing car, find cell reception and make a few phone calls. The car ends up towed and Meredith drives down there to pick them up, with a smile on her face that’s trying to hide all the answers she wants as to why they’re here in the first place. Her questions only garner a shrug and “we were taking a break”, the vaguest thing either of them can think of to say without leaving too much room for follow up questions, and it seems to work.
Back home, the dress gets returned to her closet, a silent reminder, maybe even a warning, about rushing into things like judgments and actions that could change everything, and they try standing still for awhile, instead of just moving and waiting for something else to come along.