don't be alarmed {grey's - meredith, alex}
Title: Don't Be Alarmed
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith, Alex.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 942
Author's Note: Written while my brain was bleeding out my ears last night (way too much studying). I have no idea why or what purpose it serves, but when giving a list of genres that this could fall under, I'd have to make a new one: banter-y filler.
Summary: Post "Sympathy For The Parents". In which we debate the importance of using the correct prepositions and why naturally early risers are strange.
Meredith waits until after she’s had her coffee, until after Lexie’s stopped just short of asking at least three times, until after Derek’s casually inquired as to whether or not they should be prepared for other visitors showing up unannounced. Then she grabs the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet and takes the stairs two at a time.
She doesn’t knock. No one makes use of locks on these doors, and she doesn’t know what he was doing between the time she left him on the couch after Derek got home and the time she heard the front door open after two but she sort of imagines it didn’t leave him with the presence of mind to even remember that there was a lock.
There are two things that catch her attention instantly:
One, there’s a pillow over his head, as well as under it.
Two, his alarm clock is no longer on his nightstand. It’s not on the floor either, which is interesting because she’s fairly sure he had one a few days ago.
She sets the aspirin down where the clock should’ve been and pushes at his shoulder while simultaneously pulling at his pillow. The muscles in his arms flex and, though she has some success in prodding him, the pillow pretty much stays where it is.
“Alex,” she says, starting out quiet even though she’s fairly sure her voice will approach yelling volume before his feet touch the floor. “Please don’t make me act like your mother.”
“Good practice,” he groans, muffled through the pillow and apparently coherent enough to mock her and remember their conversation from yesterday. She yanks pretty fiercely on the pillow this time and it gives. Or he just stops fighting her.
“Shut up. You’re supposed to leave in half an hour.”
“I’m going to be late,” he groans, eyes still firmly closed.
“What did you do exactly?” His brows knit together, confused and perfectly expressive even if he isn’t going to bother looking at her. “Last night. The whole coming home at two thing.”
“Joe’s.” He presses the heel of his hand to his head, underneath his right temple - this is why she brought aspirin up - and there’s a slight bruise blooming where Aaron got a punch in. “Why the fuck do we have a jobs that require us to get up at the ass-crack of dawn?”
“Because we’re gluttons for punishment.” She watches his feet move under the covers, swing out on an angle to the other side of the bed, and it’s partly because she’s tired too and partly because this is the most futile, repetitive conversation in the world but she flops down on the foot of his bed.
“Good plan,” he says, and manages not to kick her in the face when he rolls onto his side. Downstairs, the naturally early risers chatter - clearly her and Lexie aren’t entirely of the same gene pool - and she sighs as she sinks into the mattress.
“Was it just Joe’s?” She asks, finally. “Or was there a girl too?”
Alex groans. “Are you sure you can’t help acting like my mother.”
“Not your mother,” she hits him in the leg for the comment; “more like your sister.”
“No thanks; I have enough siblings.” Meredith smiles, faintly, and pulls a stray thread of unknown origins off of the comforter. “Get Derek out of the picture though and you can come be other things.”
“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be less talkative if you’re hung-over?”
“Less of a hangover, more of a lack of sleep.” Which she can understand. You would think that eventually you’d get used to operating on four to six hours of a sleep a night if you do for long enough, but you don’t. Sure, there are days when she’s wide awake at five-thirty but there are also days where she’d kill for ten more minutes beneath the sheets.
The bottle of aspirin gets caught in her line of sight and she remembers point number two. “Where’s your alarm clock?”
“In the nightstand.”
“No, it’s not.” She sits up, like she really needs to check again. “Unless it’s turned invisible.”
“I said in, not on.”
“In the drawer?”
“In the drawer.”
“Um…” she chews her lip, leans so that she can pull the top drawer open, finding his clock inside, on its side. She presses a few buttons, sets it back on the nightstand, and pushes the drawer shut with her foot, resuming her position on the bed. “Why?”
“I couldn’t find the snooze button.” He replies, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
“So you put it in a drawer?”
“It made it quieter until it shut itself off.”
She does not laugh. She does not laugh. She laughs. “You know how pathetic that sounds, right?”
“Get off my bed if you’re going to mock me.”
“It’s my bed.”
“I pay rent,” he shoots back; she can feel him looking at her now, awake enough that his eyes are open, so at least she’s succeeded in her main mission. Which means she needs to get back up and ready to go. Unfortunately.
Meredith gets to her feet, picking up the pillow she’d removed from his head and throwing it to the other side of the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder again. “Okay. Up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
She gets as far as the stairs before she hears his alarm start up again, blaring this time thanks to quick fingers and thorough knowledge of how to work that clock, and her shoulders shake with laughter as she listens to the assorted curses he strings along with her name.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith, Alex.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 942
Author's Note: Written while my brain was bleeding out my ears last night (way too much studying). I have no idea why or what purpose it serves, but when giving a list of genres that this could fall under, I'd have to make a new one: banter-y filler.
Summary: Post "Sympathy For The Parents". In which we debate the importance of using the correct prepositions and why naturally early risers are strange.
Meredith waits until after she’s had her coffee, until after Lexie’s stopped just short of asking at least three times, until after Derek’s casually inquired as to whether or not they should be prepared for other visitors showing up unannounced. Then she grabs the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet and takes the stairs two at a time.
She doesn’t knock. No one makes use of locks on these doors, and she doesn’t know what he was doing between the time she left him on the couch after Derek got home and the time she heard the front door open after two but she sort of imagines it didn’t leave him with the presence of mind to even remember that there was a lock.
There are two things that catch her attention instantly:
One, there’s a pillow over his head, as well as under it.
Two, his alarm clock is no longer on his nightstand. It’s not on the floor either, which is interesting because she’s fairly sure he had one a few days ago.
She sets the aspirin down where the clock should’ve been and pushes at his shoulder while simultaneously pulling at his pillow. The muscles in his arms flex and, though she has some success in prodding him, the pillow pretty much stays where it is.
“Alex,” she says, starting out quiet even though she’s fairly sure her voice will approach yelling volume before his feet touch the floor. “Please don’t make me act like your mother.”
“Good practice,” he groans, muffled through the pillow and apparently coherent enough to mock her and remember their conversation from yesterday. She yanks pretty fiercely on the pillow this time and it gives. Or he just stops fighting her.
“Shut up. You’re supposed to leave in half an hour.”
“I’m going to be late,” he groans, eyes still firmly closed.
“What did you do exactly?” His brows knit together, confused and perfectly expressive even if he isn’t going to bother looking at her. “Last night. The whole coming home at two thing.”
“Joe’s.” He presses the heel of his hand to his head, underneath his right temple - this is why she brought aspirin up - and there’s a slight bruise blooming where Aaron got a punch in. “Why the fuck do we have a jobs that require us to get up at the ass-crack of dawn?”
“Because we’re gluttons for punishment.” She watches his feet move under the covers, swing out on an angle to the other side of the bed, and it’s partly because she’s tired too and partly because this is the most futile, repetitive conversation in the world but she flops down on the foot of his bed.
“Good plan,” he says, and manages not to kick her in the face when he rolls onto his side. Downstairs, the naturally early risers chatter - clearly her and Lexie aren’t entirely of the same gene pool - and she sighs as she sinks into the mattress.
“Was it just Joe’s?” She asks, finally. “Or was there a girl too?”
Alex groans. “Are you sure you can’t help acting like my mother.”
“Not your mother,” she hits him in the leg for the comment; “more like your sister.”
“No thanks; I have enough siblings.” Meredith smiles, faintly, and pulls a stray thread of unknown origins off of the comforter. “Get Derek out of the picture though and you can come be other things.”
“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be less talkative if you’re hung-over?”
“Less of a hangover, more of a lack of sleep.” Which she can understand. You would think that eventually you’d get used to operating on four to six hours of a sleep a night if you do for long enough, but you don’t. Sure, there are days when she’s wide awake at five-thirty but there are also days where she’d kill for ten more minutes beneath the sheets.
The bottle of aspirin gets caught in her line of sight and she remembers point number two. “Where’s your alarm clock?”
“In the nightstand.”
“No, it’s not.” She sits up, like she really needs to check again. “Unless it’s turned invisible.”
“I said in, not on.”
“In the drawer?”
“In the drawer.”
“Um…” she chews her lip, leans so that she can pull the top drawer open, finding his clock inside, on its side. She presses a few buttons, sets it back on the nightstand, and pushes the drawer shut with her foot, resuming her position on the bed. “Why?”
“I couldn’t find the snooze button.” He replies, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
“So you put it in a drawer?”
“It made it quieter until it shut itself off.”
She does not laugh. She does not laugh. She laughs. “You know how pathetic that sounds, right?”
“Get off my bed if you’re going to mock me.”
“It’s my bed.”
“I pay rent,” he shoots back; she can feel him looking at her now, awake enough that his eyes are open, so at least she’s succeeded in her main mission. Which means she needs to get back up and ready to go. Unfortunately.
Meredith gets to her feet, picking up the pillow she’d removed from his head and throwing it to the other side of the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder again. “Okay. Up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
She gets as far as the stairs before she hears his alarm start up again, blaring this time thanks to quick fingers and thorough knowledge of how to work that clock, and her shoulders shake with laughter as she listens to the assorted curses he strings along with her name.