fic: bitters & absolut {grey's - alex/meredith} (archive edition)
Title: Bitters & Absolut
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Meredith
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: For the Grey's Anatomy comment ficathon. Original post here.
Summary: Her house of candles burns to the ground.
The house burns down.
It had been an unusually dry summer, the kind that made the dirt under her feet kick up dust, showing tiny cracks under the sun, and the leaves of the trees turn brown-yellow at the edges long before fall. Someone had started a fire in the woods, or maybe one of the construction guys lit a match or didn’t stomp out their cigarette because flames swallowed her half-built dream house on a Wednesday where she worked a sixteen hour shift and Derek spent two whole days trying to get up the guts to tell her.
It’s the latest setback in a long string of them.
“Dude, you built a house of candles,” Alex says, in between bites of Lucky Charms. “It’s kind of ironic.”
She can’t decide if she wants to punch him or the happy little leprechaun on the box more.
-
They go through a trial separation period, a legal term that they throw around, even in the well noted absence of an actual marriage license.
It’s a joke.
All it does is soften the blow and she has tequila for that. She has Cristina’s cynicism for all things love and marriage and children, her own ring finger bare again for months now. She has Alex’s complete inability to cut the sarcasm made up for by his unwavering ability to, if not empathize, then understand where her head is at without her having to explain.
She doesn’t need the favor.
-
“All I ever wanted was to be normal,” she muses, a half full glass, and it’s wine instead of tequila, red that stains her lips, and the difference in drink, in routine, accidentally lends itself to a departure from the usual tone. “The husband, the house, the kids. Normal. Stable.”
“No you didn’t,” and Alex takes the bottle from her other hand, or tries to anyway, and gets her instead. She falls back against him, her back to his shoulder, wine over the side of the glass and onto her fingers but not the couch. He takes the rearrangement like he takes everything else these days - with indifference. “You just thought you did.”
She wrinkles her nose, swipes her thumb across her lower lip and tastes bitterness. “How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t want any of those things.” There is the satisfying thud of the bottle against the coffee table. He breathes deep and she can feel it vibrate through her body. “And we’re the same.”
She leans back, ends up across his lap with her head tipped back, and from this angle even his smirk looks a little sad.
Meredith kisses him because he’s right, they are the same.
Because it’s easier than letting on that she knows he’s lying about the other part.
-
They don’t need candles here.
They were always better in the dark.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Meredith
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: For the Grey's Anatomy comment ficathon. Original post here.
Summary: Her house of candles burns to the ground.
The house burns down.
It had been an unusually dry summer, the kind that made the dirt under her feet kick up dust, showing tiny cracks under the sun, and the leaves of the trees turn brown-yellow at the edges long before fall. Someone had started a fire in the woods, or maybe one of the construction guys lit a match or didn’t stomp out their cigarette because flames swallowed her half-built dream house on a Wednesday where she worked a sixteen hour shift and Derek spent two whole days trying to get up the guts to tell her.
It’s the latest setback in a long string of them.
“Dude, you built a house of candles,” Alex says, in between bites of Lucky Charms. “It’s kind of ironic.”
She can’t decide if she wants to punch him or the happy little leprechaun on the box more.
-
They go through a trial separation period, a legal term that they throw around, even in the well noted absence of an actual marriage license.
It’s a joke.
All it does is soften the blow and she has tequila for that. She has Cristina’s cynicism for all things love and marriage and children, her own ring finger bare again for months now. She has Alex’s complete inability to cut the sarcasm made up for by his unwavering ability to, if not empathize, then understand where her head is at without her having to explain.
She doesn’t need the favor.
-
“All I ever wanted was to be normal,” she muses, a half full glass, and it’s wine instead of tequila, red that stains her lips, and the difference in drink, in routine, accidentally lends itself to a departure from the usual tone. “The husband, the house, the kids. Normal. Stable.”
“No you didn’t,” and Alex takes the bottle from her other hand, or tries to anyway, and gets her instead. She falls back against him, her back to his shoulder, wine over the side of the glass and onto her fingers but not the couch. He takes the rearrangement like he takes everything else these days - with indifference. “You just thought you did.”
She wrinkles her nose, swipes her thumb across her lower lip and tastes bitterness. “How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t want any of those things.” There is the satisfying thud of the bottle against the coffee table. He breathes deep and she can feel it vibrate through her body. “And we’re the same.”
She leans back, ends up across his lap with her head tipped back, and from this angle even his smirk looks a little sad.
Meredith kisses him because he’s right, they are the same.
Because it’s easier than letting on that she knows he’s lying about the other part.
-
They don’t need candles here.
They were always better in the dark.