give me a break with this heartache {alex/izzie}
Title: Give Me A Break With This Heartache
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Izzie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,261
Prompt: Written for kickaboutheart as part of the alphabet meme (g is for goodbye). Also using this for #17 - Forbidden at lover100
Author's Note: Um, this deals with illness/possible death in a non-negative way. I don't know, give me the prompt 'kitten' and I'll write about someone's childhood trauma over losing a pet, but give me 'goodbye' and i'm all 'life is beautiful'. Also, I took a ton of liberties with this -- sorry about that.
Summary:Spoilers up to 5.19 -- full of references to prior episodes. This is the dance they do, before every major surgery, before every procedure. Dancing around the elephant in the room and the words they'd rather not say. They never can quite get it right.
They do the same dance before every surgery, every major procedure.
He’ll come into her room ten minutes before he knows anyone else will and he’ll stand there awkwardly or sit farther away from her bedside than he normally does. He doesn’t freak out, doesn’t make big speeches about how much he loves her or the effect she’s had on his life, and she’s glad because if he did she’d be really worried about him. But there’s this tension in the room, suffocating in its intensity, because they both know each time might be the last time.
---
“Bailey says they’re going to go in through the - “
Izzie brings the hand that doesn’t currently have a bunch of tubes and needles hooked up to it, up to her face, covering her eyes, massaging her temples, the plastic hospital bracelet scratching a line of red across her forehead, as she drowns out whatever else he’s got to say. “Alex, I’m a doctor, I know how this works. Even if I didn’t, Bailey’s already explained it several times.”
He sets his jaw, leans back further in his chair, which is to say he leans further away from her. “Right.”
After a moment in which she rationalizes that he was probably just trying to help, she says, “I’m sorry. It’s just I’m not the average patient, and to be honest, I really don’t want to think about it, okay?”
“Okay.” He echoes, stops looking at her. She watches him fixate on the clock now, because while normal people look down, Alex probably views that as some level of vulnerability, and so either keeps his eyes level or higher than those of the person he’s trying to avoid. And this is how much unfortunate free time she’s had lately; she notices everyone’s little ticks, their habits.
When he doesn’t say anything else for a minute straight, she pipes up again. “That was your cue to distract me.”
He nods, like maybe he knew that and he’s been trying to come up with something, except that’s clearly not it, can’t possibly be it, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “At least it’s not raining today.”
“Are you kidding me?” She doesn’t even try to hide her disbelief or sugarcoat her tone; he doesn’t deserve it. “You really want our last conversation to be about the weather? Seriously?”
The last part slips out unintentionally; she hadn’t really meant for it to be anything more than an internal monologue. Alex resumes not looking at her, this time giving his full attention to the pictures on the wall.
“I’m sorry.” She says again, even if she can’t believe she’s the one sitting here apologizing. She might die in the next few hours and she’s apologizing. Great. “The weather. Right.”
---
“Can you make sure that Mer doesn’t go with the vintage wedding dress; I think it hangs on her a little too much.” Alex frowns at her, like part of that sentence wasn’t translatable for him. “The ivory one, with the gold beading.” He’s still looking at her blankly. “The one that gives her cleavage.”
That brings about a look of recognition. “Yeah.” She rolls her eyes, maybe smiles despite herself, face turned away so that he can’t see. “You can tell her yourself. It’ll probably go over better if you tell her yourself.”
“I’m just saying if…” she lets the rest of the sentence hang there. And just like that their easy conversation has returned to that uncomfortable, just this side of morbid, place that she hates.
“Are you going to tell me who gets your recipes next?” He asks, sounding a little edgy, a little irritated, probably less at her and more at the situation. “Because we all know that she can’t cook so I don’t think she’s your best choice.”
“Cooking is an art, baking is a science.” She informs, falling back on an old saying that she can’t place, in hopes of returning to the lighthearted. “And no. And stop it.”
“Got any orders?” He’s still got that tone. If she felt better she’d throw something at him.
Instead, she says, “Kiss me.”
He obliges. She still had to ask.
---
“What happened to the eggs?”
“We didn’t really do Easter this year.”
Izzie levels her gaze with his, trying to figure out if he’s avoiding the topic or really is that oblivious. It’s a toss up. “Not those eggs, Alex.”
There’s a moment where a series of expressions pass over his features and she decides it’s the latter. Then he shifts and swallows hard and maybe grips the armrest of the chair a little too hard. “You should ask the Chief about that.”
“I’m asking you,” she tells him, instead of letting him off the hook.
“They froze them,” he shrugs, a little too casually for how nervous he looked just a second ago. She can tell there’s something more to that but doesn’t quite know how to go about asking what. Or maybe she just isn’t sure she wants to hear it.
“You’re going to leave a mark if you don’t let go of that.” She gestures to the armrest. His grip lets up almost immediately. “What was the problem with your exam again?”
He clears his throat. “Bedside manner.”
“Unbelievable, huh?” She says, as sarcastically as possible. His lips twitch a little.
“I make up for it in another ways,” he says.
“You make that sound far too dirty.”
He smirks, finally something familiar, something undeniably him. “That was intentional.”
---
“We need to stop treating this as a ‘goodbye’.” She announces, when she’s finally had enough of these awkward conversations that always seem to leave a bad taste in her mouth.
“I never actually said goodbye, you know.” He reminds her, or more like protests.
“It was close.” She replies, remembering fairly well the four different phrases he’d started and stopped as they’d wheeled her away the last time. “And good.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Good?”
“Yeah, good.” A thought runs through her mind, as she tries to figure out how she came to that particular conclusion. “In fact I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” Both eyebrows go up now. “You’re forbidding the word goodbye?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe if we’re not thinking about it like it’s the last time, then we’d actually be able to have a conversation that doesn’t end in glares or insults. You know, like the conversations we have when I’m not ten minutes away from surgery. The conversations that actually remind me why I’m with you.”
He shakes his head. “I highly doubt that has a lot to do with my conversational skills.”
Izzie rolls her eyes. “Can we please be serious for five minutes?”
“That was serious.” One more look sent his way is enough to promise him that she is not kidding and get him back on track. “So you’re forbidding goodbye.”
“Just pretend they’re taking me for an MRI or a CAT scan or something. Because this - this is not helping either of us.” That’s just undeniable fact, and, you know, it helps to have good thoughts before surgery, and it might stop him from pacing constantly while she’s in surgery, because she’s heard all about that from Meredith, and it apparently gets to the point where it almost makes you dizzy.
“Okay,” he responds, nodding, muttering. “I’m supposed to be saying hello anyways.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She sighs, leaning even more into the pillows. He moves closer, his hard covering hers; she thinks she can breathe a little easier.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Izzie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,261
Prompt: Written for kickaboutheart as part of the alphabet meme (g is for goodbye). Also using this for #17 - Forbidden at lover100
Author's Note: Um, this deals with illness/possible death in a non-negative way. I don't know, give me the prompt 'kitten' and I'll write about someone's childhood trauma over losing a pet, but give me 'goodbye' and i'm all 'life is beautiful'. Also, I took a ton of liberties with this -- sorry about that.
Summary:Spoilers up to 5.19 -- full of references to prior episodes. This is the dance they do, before every major surgery, before every procedure. Dancing around the elephant in the room and the words they'd rather not say. They never can quite get it right.
They do the same dance before every surgery, every major procedure.
He’ll come into her room ten minutes before he knows anyone else will and he’ll stand there awkwardly or sit farther away from her bedside than he normally does. He doesn’t freak out, doesn’t make big speeches about how much he loves her or the effect she’s had on his life, and she’s glad because if he did she’d be really worried about him. But there’s this tension in the room, suffocating in its intensity, because they both know each time might be the last time.
---
“Bailey says they’re going to go in through the - “
Izzie brings the hand that doesn’t currently have a bunch of tubes and needles hooked up to it, up to her face, covering her eyes, massaging her temples, the plastic hospital bracelet scratching a line of red across her forehead, as she drowns out whatever else he’s got to say. “Alex, I’m a doctor, I know how this works. Even if I didn’t, Bailey’s already explained it several times.”
He sets his jaw, leans back further in his chair, which is to say he leans further away from her. “Right.”
After a moment in which she rationalizes that he was probably just trying to help, she says, “I’m sorry. It’s just I’m not the average patient, and to be honest, I really don’t want to think about it, okay?”
“Okay.” He echoes, stops looking at her. She watches him fixate on the clock now, because while normal people look down, Alex probably views that as some level of vulnerability, and so either keeps his eyes level or higher than those of the person he’s trying to avoid. And this is how much unfortunate free time she’s had lately; she notices everyone’s little ticks, their habits.
When he doesn’t say anything else for a minute straight, she pipes up again. “That was your cue to distract me.”
He nods, like maybe he knew that and he’s been trying to come up with something, except that’s clearly not it, can’t possibly be it, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “At least it’s not raining today.”
“Are you kidding me?” She doesn’t even try to hide her disbelief or sugarcoat her tone; he doesn’t deserve it. “You really want our last conversation to be about the weather? Seriously?”
The last part slips out unintentionally; she hadn’t really meant for it to be anything more than an internal monologue. Alex resumes not looking at her, this time giving his full attention to the pictures on the wall.
“I’m sorry.” She says again, even if she can’t believe she’s the one sitting here apologizing. She might die in the next few hours and she’s apologizing. Great. “The weather. Right.”
---
“Can you make sure that Mer doesn’t go with the vintage wedding dress; I think it hangs on her a little too much.” Alex frowns at her, like part of that sentence wasn’t translatable for him. “The ivory one, with the gold beading.” He’s still looking at her blankly. “The one that gives her cleavage.”
That brings about a look of recognition. “Yeah.” She rolls her eyes, maybe smiles despite herself, face turned away so that he can’t see. “You can tell her yourself. It’ll probably go over better if you tell her yourself.”
“I’m just saying if…” she lets the rest of the sentence hang there. And just like that their easy conversation has returned to that uncomfortable, just this side of morbid, place that she hates.
“Are you going to tell me who gets your recipes next?” He asks, sounding a little edgy, a little irritated, probably less at her and more at the situation. “Because we all know that she can’t cook so I don’t think she’s your best choice.”
“Cooking is an art, baking is a science.” She informs, falling back on an old saying that she can’t place, in hopes of returning to the lighthearted. “And no. And stop it.”
“Got any orders?” He’s still got that tone. If she felt better she’d throw something at him.
Instead, she says, “Kiss me.”
He obliges. She still had to ask.
---
“What happened to the eggs?”
“We didn’t really do Easter this year.”
Izzie levels her gaze with his, trying to figure out if he’s avoiding the topic or really is that oblivious. It’s a toss up. “Not those eggs, Alex.”
There’s a moment where a series of expressions pass over his features and she decides it’s the latter. Then he shifts and swallows hard and maybe grips the armrest of the chair a little too hard. “You should ask the Chief about that.”
“I’m asking you,” she tells him, instead of letting him off the hook.
“They froze them,” he shrugs, a little too casually for how nervous he looked just a second ago. She can tell there’s something more to that but doesn’t quite know how to go about asking what. Or maybe she just isn’t sure she wants to hear it.
“You’re going to leave a mark if you don’t let go of that.” She gestures to the armrest. His grip lets up almost immediately. “What was the problem with your exam again?”
He clears his throat. “Bedside manner.”
“Unbelievable, huh?” She says, as sarcastically as possible. His lips twitch a little.
“I make up for it in another ways,” he says.
“You make that sound far too dirty.”
He smirks, finally something familiar, something undeniably him. “That was intentional.”
---
“We need to stop treating this as a ‘goodbye’.” She announces, when she’s finally had enough of these awkward conversations that always seem to leave a bad taste in her mouth.
“I never actually said goodbye, you know.” He reminds her, or more like protests.
“It was close.” She replies, remembering fairly well the four different phrases he’d started and stopped as they’d wheeled her away the last time. “And good.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Good?”
“Yeah, good.” A thought runs through her mind, as she tries to figure out how she came to that particular conclusion. “In fact I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” Both eyebrows go up now. “You’re forbidding the word goodbye?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe if we’re not thinking about it like it’s the last time, then we’d actually be able to have a conversation that doesn’t end in glares or insults. You know, like the conversations we have when I’m not ten minutes away from surgery. The conversations that actually remind me why I’m with you.”
He shakes his head. “I highly doubt that has a lot to do with my conversational skills.”
Izzie rolls her eyes. “Can we please be serious for five minutes?”
“That was serious.” One more look sent his way is enough to promise him that she is not kidding and get him back on track. “So you’re forbidding goodbye.”
“Just pretend they’re taking me for an MRI or a CAT scan or something. Because this - this is not helping either of us.” That’s just undeniable fact, and, you know, it helps to have good thoughts before surgery, and it might stop him from pacing constantly while she’s in surgery, because she’s heard all about that from Meredith, and it apparently gets to the point where it almost makes you dizzy.
“Okay,” he responds, nodding, muttering. “I’m supposed to be saying hello anyways.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She sighs, leaning even more into the pillows. He moves closer, his hard covering hers; she thinks she can breathe a little easier.