[ga] fic | The Ones I Never Wrote
Title:’Til I Find My Way
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters: Lexie (+ Alex/Amelia)
Rating: R (drug use)
♥: rorylie
Special Feature: Backing track; Friend In The Field [Art vs Science]
“Hey, do you know-”
She’s three steps into his bedroom and half way through her opening sentence before she registers that Alex is not its only occupant. Amelia is wearing little more than a dress shirt. Far too big for her and completely unbuttoned, revealing a swath of red lace across her chest. Lexie doubts it belongs to Alex, guesses Derek while her mind plays a desperate game of catch up.
But she’s losing ground fast.
There’s a fine white powder dusted across the surface of last month’s Journal of Pediatric Surgery. She knows it’s last month’s because she read it, cover to cover and with her feet curled beneath her, at the foot of his bed while he slept. Or pretended to.
Waged a willing war with the demons he refuses to acknowledge.
He’s using a card of some kind to shape the powder into thin rows. Rows that in turn divide the journal cover into fragmented shards of colour and shape and letters she can no longer decipher. His hands shake and the powder blurs.
“Alex?” Whispered. Like she might disrupt the precariously balanced equilibrium of the room.
There’s music pulsing from an iPod wired up in one corner. The only light in the small space is cast by the moon, alternating, strobe-like, between bright and black as clouds and tree branches and the ghosts of those she can no longer hear pass resolutely in front of it.
There's no up
There's no down
Side to side
Lost and found, ‘til I find my way back home...
He lifts his chin in her direction. Slow. So painfully slow. Grin widening across his face as his eyes struggle to keep up with the movement.
“Hey, Lex...” A slur of consonants and vowels that drip off his tongue, languid.
Amelia has the sense to keep her head down. Eyes on her bare knees. Fingers tucked tight between them.
“Alex, what are you doing?” She doesn’t think she wants him to answer her.
He blinks, a slow droop of eyelids that pause closed for a beat before staggering back to open. Wide. He shifts his gaze a little to the left, like he can’t quite gather the resources required to focus on her.
His mouth drops open but no words form. At least, not yet.
There’s an open pill bottle on the carpet that separates them. Contents spilled beside the corpse of what was once a bottle of red wine. Her vision clouds suddenly and she feels sick. Her fingers against her lips and her thudding heart beating somewhere high and hard in the back of her constricted throat.
What the hell has she missed?
The music continues to fill the room. She can feel it climbing inside her. Clawing its way into all her emptied out spaces as breathing becomes an almost unnecessary action.
We lost a friend in the field tonight.
Steal away in a beam of light...
Alex drops his face then. Crouched over at the waist as he presses one finger to his nose and inhales until he chokes.
Amelia’s fingers find his hands and she pulls him into her, looks up finally.
“You should go.”
“No.” The word accompanied by an emphatic shake of her head.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
She rocks back, the words almost physical in their force. Left reeling.
Alex is slowly pulling away from Amelia. Sliding back off the bed and staggering to something like upright. His gaze dances between the two of them. Back and forth and back and forth. He laughs, the sound; a paradox of sorts.
His hands push out towards her. Through the cloying thickness of sweat and pounding bass, through alcohol fumes and something else she can’t quite bring herself to name.
“Come dance with me, Lex...” Fingertips against her lips and breath hot in her ear. “Come dance with me...”
Title: More Than This
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters: April/Everyone
Rating: MA (angst rolled in crack. pretty much)
♥: leobrat
When she notes Mark Sloan drop his keys near the bar at Joe’s she wants nothing more than to bend seductively and collect them for him. Dangle them from one blood-red nail as he struggles against an overwhelming urge to press his lips to hers.
She wants nothing more than this.
The shot of tequila in her right hand and the half consumed glass of something sparkling in her left mean she’s out of options. Stamps her foot on the keys instead and manages to slur out a less than suggestive, “but have you been a good boy today?” in response to his request for her to move.
Alex is hunched over a beer at the end of the bar. His bottle is still mostly full and she notes, with some sadness, that he’s steadily picking at the label. Resolutely determined to ignore the rousing festivities that are playing out behind his back.
She tips back the tequila and swallows. Frees up a hand by dumping the glass on the edge of the closest table and tottering on her too high heels across the bar to hoist herself onto the empty stool beside him.
If her thigh presses up against his, then it’s not her fault the bar is so crowded.
Derek Shepherd tosses his head at regular intervals. Send his coiffed mane into a spin before it settles back into perfect place. On the seventh go, she thinks he might actually be hypnotising her with the motion.
Decides to ask him exactly that.
“Doctor Shepherd, are you trying to hypnotise me by tossing your perfect hair once every twenty eight seconds?”
He blinks but doesn’t answer. She decides to take that as a yes.
She wraps her arms around Jackson from behind. Locks her fingers against his chest and sways them both in time to a beat she half suspects only she can hear.
But it is a great beat. She doesn’t think that he will mind.
Except it’s not him. And when she’s suddenly face to face with a very confused looking Chief of Surgery she simply shrugs and backs off. Concedes that the beat may have suited Jackson Avery but it was most definitely far too cool for Owen Hunt. It’s not his fault.
The Chief, the old Chief, the original Chief, her favourite Chief, is sipping a lemonade and chatting causally to Joe. She spots him out of the corner of her eye, collects a glass from the closest table and almost chokes on the fiery burn of something acrid that she most definitely doesn’t remember ordering, before starting in his direction.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
“It’s time for you to call it a night.”
And it’s Callie, and it’s Arizona, and she’s suddenly in a sandwich. An all-girl sandwich. Hands wrapped around her upper arms and voices guiding her towards... somewhere that obviously isn’t here. This isn’t quite how she imagined her new years eve panning out, but, if there’s one thing she’s resolved to do this year it’s try new things.
And lesbian sex definitely counts as a ‘new thing’.
But she’s flat on her back in her bed, one foot pressed hard into the cold floor to keep the room still, when she finally registers that she’s all alone. Again. Still.
And maybe new things are harder to come by that she’d first thought.
But her door creaks open then, and a voice whispers across the empty space.
“April? Are you okay?”
A weight settles, hot against her hip, and she dares to open her eyes into a half squint as she groans out a somewhat unconvincing answer in the affirmative.
The weight evens out then as fingers curl into her palm and a head lands softly on the pillow beside her.
“I’m gonna sleep here tonight, okay." Not a question, she notes. "Happy New Year, April.”
“Mmm,” she murmurs back, sleep heavy but smiling. “Happy New Year, Jackson.”
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters: Lexie (+ Alex/Amelia)
Rating: R (drug use)
♥: rorylie
Special Feature: Backing track; Friend In The Field [Art vs Science]
“Hey, do you know-”
She’s three steps into his bedroom and half way through her opening sentence before she registers that Alex is not its only occupant. Amelia is wearing little more than a dress shirt. Far too big for her and completely unbuttoned, revealing a swath of red lace across her chest. Lexie doubts it belongs to Alex, guesses Derek while her mind plays a desperate game of catch up.
But she’s losing ground fast.
There’s a fine white powder dusted across the surface of last month’s Journal of Pediatric Surgery. She knows it’s last month’s because she read it, cover to cover and with her feet curled beneath her, at the foot of his bed while he slept. Or pretended to.
Waged a willing war with the demons he refuses to acknowledge.
He’s using a card of some kind to shape the powder into thin rows. Rows that in turn divide the journal cover into fragmented shards of colour and shape and letters she can no longer decipher. His hands shake and the powder blurs.
“Alex?” Whispered. Like she might disrupt the precariously balanced equilibrium of the room.
There’s music pulsing from an iPod wired up in one corner. The only light in the small space is cast by the moon, alternating, strobe-like, between bright and black as clouds and tree branches and the ghosts of those she can no longer hear pass resolutely in front of it.
There's no up
There's no down
Side to side
Lost and found, ‘til I find my way back home...
He lifts his chin in her direction. Slow. So painfully slow. Grin widening across his face as his eyes struggle to keep up with the movement.
“Hey, Lex...” A slur of consonants and vowels that drip off his tongue, languid.
Amelia has the sense to keep her head down. Eyes on her bare knees. Fingers tucked tight between them.
“Alex, what are you doing?” She doesn’t think she wants him to answer her.
He blinks, a slow droop of eyelids that pause closed for a beat before staggering back to open. Wide. He shifts his gaze a little to the left, like he can’t quite gather the resources required to focus on her.
His mouth drops open but no words form. At least, not yet.
There’s an open pill bottle on the carpet that separates them. Contents spilled beside the corpse of what was once a bottle of red wine. Her vision clouds suddenly and she feels sick. Her fingers against her lips and her thudding heart beating somewhere high and hard in the back of her constricted throat.
What the hell has she missed?
The music continues to fill the room. She can feel it climbing inside her. Clawing its way into all her emptied out spaces as breathing becomes an almost unnecessary action.
We lost a friend in the field tonight.
Steal away in a beam of light...
Alex drops his face then. Crouched over at the waist as he presses one finger to his nose and inhales until he chokes.
Amelia’s fingers find his hands and she pulls him into her, looks up finally.
“You should go.”
“No.” The word accompanied by an emphatic shake of her head.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
She rocks back, the words almost physical in their force. Left reeling.
Alex is slowly pulling away from Amelia. Sliding back off the bed and staggering to something like upright. His gaze dances between the two of them. Back and forth and back and forth. He laughs, the sound; a paradox of sorts.
His hands push out towards her. Through the cloying thickness of sweat and pounding bass, through alcohol fumes and something else she can’t quite bring herself to name.
“Come dance with me, Lex...” Fingertips against her lips and breath hot in her ear. “Come dance with me...”
Title: More Than This
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters: April/Everyone
Rating: MA (angst rolled in crack. pretty much)
♥: leobrat
When she notes Mark Sloan drop his keys near the bar at Joe’s she wants nothing more than to bend seductively and collect them for him. Dangle them from one blood-red nail as he struggles against an overwhelming urge to press his lips to hers.
She wants nothing more than this.
The shot of tequila in her right hand and the half consumed glass of something sparkling in her left mean she’s out of options. Stamps her foot on the keys instead and manages to slur out a less than suggestive, “but have you been a good boy today?” in response to his request for her to move.
Alex is hunched over a beer at the end of the bar. His bottle is still mostly full and she notes, with some sadness, that he’s steadily picking at the label. Resolutely determined to ignore the rousing festivities that are playing out behind his back.
She tips back the tequila and swallows. Frees up a hand by dumping the glass on the edge of the closest table and tottering on her too high heels across the bar to hoist herself onto the empty stool beside him.
If her thigh presses up against his, then it’s not her fault the bar is so crowded.
Derek Shepherd tosses his head at regular intervals. Send his coiffed mane into a spin before it settles back into perfect place. On the seventh go, she thinks he might actually be hypnotising her with the motion.
Decides to ask him exactly that.
“Doctor Shepherd, are you trying to hypnotise me by tossing your perfect hair once every twenty eight seconds?”
He blinks but doesn’t answer. She decides to take that as a yes.
She wraps her arms around Jackson from behind. Locks her fingers against his chest and sways them both in time to a beat she half suspects only she can hear.
But it is a great beat. She doesn’t think that he will mind.
Except it’s not him. And when she’s suddenly face to face with a very confused looking Chief of Surgery she simply shrugs and backs off. Concedes that the beat may have suited Jackson Avery but it was most definitely far too cool for Owen Hunt. It’s not his fault.
The Chief, the old Chief, the original Chief, her favourite Chief, is sipping a lemonade and chatting causally to Joe. She spots him out of the corner of her eye, collects a glass from the closest table and almost chokes on the fiery burn of something acrid that she most definitely doesn’t remember ordering, before starting in his direction.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
“It’s time for you to call it a night.”
And it’s Callie, and it’s Arizona, and she’s suddenly in a sandwich. An all-girl sandwich. Hands wrapped around her upper arms and voices guiding her towards... somewhere that obviously isn’t here. This isn’t quite how she imagined her new years eve panning out, but, if there’s one thing she’s resolved to do this year it’s try new things.
And lesbian sex definitely counts as a ‘new thing’.
But she’s flat on her back in her bed, one foot pressed hard into the cold floor to keep the room still, when she finally registers that she’s all alone. Again. Still.
And maybe new things are harder to come by that she’d first thought.
But her door creaks open then, and a voice whispers across the empty space.
“April? Are you okay?”
A weight settles, hot against her hip, and she dares to open her eyes into a half squint as she groans out a somewhat unconvincing answer in the affirmative.
The weight evens out then as fingers curl into her palm and a head lands softly on the pillow beside her.
“I’m gonna sleep here tonight, okay." Not a question, she notes. "Happy New Year, April.”
“Mmm,” she murmurs back, sleep heavy but smiling. “Happy New Year, Jackson.”