Fic: Time in Tableaus (Alex)
Title: Time In Tableaus (Chapter One)
Word Count: 5000
Disclaimer: Not mine…mostly.
Rating: Violence and graphic images.
Spoilers: A rough AU continuation from Ep. 402 and 403.
Summary: Alex-centric drama that also includes all other characters, conventional pairings and break ups as a car crash and subsequent shooting have far reaching repercussions for many Seattle Grace staff members.
Prologue
The pavement under Alex's feet is harsh, warn and recently wet, his heavy strides echo through shallow puddles and across cracks that spiderweb their way across the city.
The wall behind George's back is cold and unyielding and the leather strap of his suitcase cuts roughly across the soft skin of his palms as it hangs, heavy, in his loose grasp.
The edge of the bed on which Callie is now sitting seems so soft and welcoming and intimately familiar that it is all she can do to stop herself from setting it alight and standing back to watch it burn.
The bathroom floor on which Izzie is lying seems wrong and uneven, as though, should she turn just a little to the left, she will roll off and keep going, never able to stop.
The halogen that lights Meredith and Christina, engrossed in hushed conversation, with a back glow of ethereal blues and whites and golden yellows is cold and sharp and warm and soft all at once.
The dining table where Norman sits to eat his breakfast is a large oval and stained a deep burgundy red that reminds him of good wine, family holidays and spilled spaghetti sauce on small chins.
The couch that Mark and Derek are sitting on is just big enough for them to feel a reassuring semblance of distance but not too big that the distance seems insurmountable, impossible.
The clinic where Miranda stands is quiet and calm and despite it's newness, smells of complicated stories untold, unseen, unheard and lingering, laughing ghosts and she smiles to them.
1.
"Callie...?"
The waiver in George's voice is unmistakable and he flinches as the sound is raw and pathetic even to his own ears.
"Callie, please...please just..."
The flinch this time is physical and the sudden movement sends the side of his head thudding dully into the wall at his back as Callie spins to face him, all angles and shadows and shaded misery.
"What George? Please just what?" Water from her recent shower still clings to the ends of her jet black hair and is snaking down the sides of her face in loose tendrils that makes her look wild and untamed. George can't help but think he's never met a person whose hair so matches their personality before.
She is staring back at him expectantly, dark eyes flashing with danger and a hazy madness that George knows from past experience, though not personal, never personal until now, that she is desperately trying to keep in check.
"Why are you even still here?"
George's left knee is trembling violently and he can hear the back of his shoe tapping involuntarily against the very bottom of the wall. He imagines it leaving a muted grey smudge on the perfect silk cream paint and has to choke back an hysterical laugh at the thought of it being the only proof he has ever been in this room once he leaves.
If he leaves.
When he leaves.
He fights an uncharacteristic urge to slam his fist though the plaster, to leave a more permanent mark or at least one that will be harder to hide or cover up or explain away but he thinks he is probably going to do that anyway, hole in the wall or no hole in the wall.
He sighs deeply, feels the air come all the way up from his toes, and decides it's time.
"I don't know...I don't know why I'm still here but...I'm gonna go. I'm gonna go and...I don't know where and I don't know for how long and, dammit Callie...I don't know. I don't know..."
He can feel tears burning hot and acrid on his lashes and swipes at them forcefully, knowing he has no right to them, that he has no right to any of this. Not this room, not the band of gold around his finger that is fast feeling like it's becoming a noose around his neck and definitely not the beautiful, broken woman, his wife, standing in front of him.
"...but I know I'm so sorry..."
"Just get out...okay...I have to get ready for work and I can't do that with you standing there looking at me, all pathetic and shaking and..."she steps towards him as she speaks, droplets falling from her chin and running down the front of her shirt, rending short sharp streaks of the pale material see through, water and tears, tears and water, mixing together to tear her open, to expose her, figuratively and literally, and George realises he has never hated himself more than he does right now.
But then he is stepping towards her and she is pushing him back and crushing him against the wall. Her lips are on his and she tastes of loathing and desperation and something else he can't quite figure out but guesses is probably something along the lines of mania, sharp and bitter. Her hair is trapped between them, the water soaking him too now and he's crying and he wants to lift his hand to run it through her hair but he can't because he is still holding tightly to his packed bags and is too terrified to put them down in case he never picks them up again...and he needs to pick them up again. For her, for him, for them both.
"Get out, get out, get out, getoutgetoutgetout..." she murmurs against his lips but he's unsure if she means it because the more she says it the tighter she clings to him and the harder she kisses him. Then it's like she suddenly comes into her self and she shoves him backwards and away from her, not stepping back herself but creating distance anyhow, as if claiming her turf and refusing to be beaten. He loves her more in this moment that he thinks he ever has in all their shared moments previously.
The wet patches on the front of her shirt have expanded and are mirrored in a similar display on George's own top and he looks between them, bewildered and light headed from lack of oxygen and something else more primal and all he can think to whisper is...
"We match..."
-
"Where's the gore? Blood and gore. Is it really too much to ask? This is a hospital? I'm a surgeon, I need blood and gore to breathe..."
"I think you need blood and gore to breathe because you're Christina Yang actually, not because you're a surgeon. I think you became a surgeon so that you could get your blood and gore legitimately and without the aid of a chainsaw and a one way ticket to maximum security," Meredith retorts, raising an eyebrow and quirking her lip into a snide grin as she settles her weight back against the bench behind her.
"Hey, I'll have you know I'm well versed in the ways of creating blood and gore and not all of them require chainsaws and I even know a few where you could never prove it was me!" Christina slams the chart in her hands back into the cart and exhales loudly before turning sharply to bring her face to face with Meredith.
"Speaking of proving who did what to whom and where and...whatever..." a quick gesticulation of wild hands providing the unspoken anyway "...I hear you have competition on your hands for the attention of the always elusive Doctor McDreamy..."
The hitch in Meredith's fast intake of air is hard to hide and the grin that lights up Christina's face is enough to have her cheeks reddening in caught out embarrassment.
"Stop waggling your eye brows at me, you forget I have photos of you without them and for your information I am not competing for the attention of anyone, especially not Derek and I'll have you..."
Christina's disbelieving snort is harsh and wet sounding and is followed by a series of hacking coughs that Meredith can't help but think are a little bit unlucky and a whole lot karmic retribution.
Still doubled over Christina raises a hand feebly and chokes out a harsh "help, dying over here..."
"Oh, and here I am thinking you were just taking matters into your own hands and creating a little blood and gore yourself...didn't want to interrupt."
"Ha, you're funny and you're also trying...very badly I might add...to change the topic, aren't you even a little bit curious?"
"Curiosity killed the cat as you well know Cristina and as you also...okay...fine, yes. Alright? I want to know, tell me, who is my competition? Can I take them? I'm tougher than I look and I'm not adverse to fighting dirty..."
"What do I get out of this?"
"What?"
"You heard me...I'll tell you, hell I'll even help you prepare by filing your nails into vicious little points but...what's in it for me? I am, after all, in mourning don't forget," Christina snarks, jutting out her bottom lip and tilting her head slightly to the side.
"Fine..I don't want to know anyway..." Meredith spins and takes three purposeful strides in the direction of the stairs before turning on her heels and reeling around to find Christina leaning back against the counter, arms crossed lazily and lips curled into a triumphant grin. "Fine, fine...okay? Blood and gore, the next time I get a surgery that is especially bloody and especially gory it will be all yours...now tell me..."
-
Alex tightens the drawstring of his sweat pants as he shoves open the bathroom door and takes a step towards the mirror. A small squeak and the sudden rustling of harried movement at his feet draws his attention just fast enough to prevent him from planting a running shoe clad foot on his number one, most favourite part of Izzie Stevens' chest and he stumbles into the wall slightly as he is forced to readjust his stride mid-air.
"What the...Izz? Are you...did someone...?
Izzie rolls over so that her face is pressed heavily into the shaggy mat on floor of the shared bathroom, the pile tickling her nose and muffling her disjointed words.
"Don't ask...just...really...no one died...well I might...later...but...trust me Alex, you so don't wanna know..."
"Okay..." Alex draws the word out slowly and sarcastically, effectively hiding his confused concern with indifference and a cool haze of whatever as he reaches over her to grab his watch from the side of the basin, forgotten earlier in the morning when his teeth brushing ritual had been interrupted by a phone call from a wrong number.
"Well, I'm running to work..."
"Jogging..."
"What?"
"You're jogging...people jog to work, they don't run..."
"Excuse me, look up..." he continues when she doesn't respond because he didn't really expect her to anyway... "fine, don't look up but seriously...do I look like a jogger to you? Trust me I run...I..." he lacks further comeback for a change, his mind still half occupied with serially flicking through his memories of the last few days for a clue as to why Izzie would be lying on the bathroom floor, not quite catatonic but still not healthy... "run," he finishes weakly, at a loss.
"Yeah well, see you there..." she answers, followed by something lower, softer, sadder that is lost entirely in the shag pile at her lips and he can't help but wonder if that was her intention all along.
The weather has been unseasonably warm for most of the week but the dawn seems to have brought with it a cold front that is threatening snow and chilling winds and roiling black clouds that are keeping the sunlight at bay with a fierce determination. As Alex rounds a tight corner and comes out from behind the relative protection of the grey bricked building of an inner city supermarket on his left the wind bites through his t-shirt sharply and he falters for a step before regaining his rhythm and forcing himself to continue. The winds bend his head lower as his eyes water icy tears that he uses his sleeve to wipe away and his chin instinctively seeks out the relative warmth of his chest as he says a small thank you to whatever it was that sparked his last minute decision to grab his beanie before he set out.
The frigid air is burning his lungs and while every medical text book he has ever read recommended against running in temperatures such as these he can't help but grin to himself and nod a self-satisfied affirmation that he always has been a rebel.
Save for the sound of his own laboured breaths and the buffeting wind that is almost but not quite head on there is relative silence. His thoughts turn to Izzie and a time when the sight of a pink dress would make him nostalgic and sad and empty when it really shouldn't but always, without fail, did. He has an urge to turn and head home again but chastises himself internally and almost manages to convince himself that it would be an exercise in futility anyway as she would have left for work by now, hopefully.
He makes a deal that if he can reach the hospital ten minutes earlier than he had originally planned he will let himself look for her and even though he thought he was already going as fast as his out of practice legs will take him he can feel the slight up-shift in speed as his tempo increases and his mind blanks and his lungs scream just that little bit more. He welcomes the pain because, unlike all those years ago when it was used as a weapon against him, he is now in control of it and he revels in the knowledge that he can turn it on and off at will. He, somewhat sadistically, likes to see how much he can take before he backs off but he has also come to know that some things are terribly motivating and worth all the pain in the world.
-
Callie's right hand trembles only briefly as she uses it to push open the doors to the emergency department and she closes her eyes for a fleeting second before stepping through to face the reality her life has sunk in to. She can see Meredith and Christina to one side, locked in an animated conversation that she is especially glad she can not hear. Izzie Stevens doesn't appear to have arrived yet but she can see George hovering behind and slightly to the left of Meredith and she unconsciously relaxes by degrees that they aren't anywhere near each other.
In the hours since George's speech, since his confirmation of, essentially, what she already had guessed, what she already knew Callie has cried and vomited and lusted and cried some more and now she simply feels hollowed out and achingly empty. The weight of her wedding ring suddenly seems unnaturally immense and her left arm feels like it may drag along the floor behind her if she doesn't remove it right away. She uses her last moments of anonymity as the doors swing closed behind her to quickly pull it off and slide it into the pocket of her lab coat, disguising the motion by pulling out a notebook that she has no immediate use for.
"Okay...residents..." she stops again, interrupted loudly, physically, by the door behind her swinging open and a flash of blue and blonde almost sideswiping her on its way past.
"Dr. Torres...I'm..."
"Stevens...you have interns here, unsupervised interns, they are your responsibility and you are my responsibility, we have rosters for a reason people...and..." Callie takes a deep, centering breath before allowing herself to continue, Izzie is staring back at her with wide unblinking blue eyes and George's mouth hangs open dumbly, before closing with a sharp snap... "speaking of unsupervised interns, where is Dr. Karev?"
A murmur ripples through the gathered throng of nurses, interns and residents and the general consensus seems to be that no one has seen him yet. Norman steps forward and offers to page him but Callie raises a hand in his direction to indicate that she will do it herself, he nods and steps back again, somewhat self consciously and Callie hates that she can't seem to bring herself to care.
"For now you split up, you two with Dr. Grey, you with Dr. Yang and you with Dr. Stevens..." she announces, desperate to assert her authority and keep some semblance of control of her staff, even if she can't keep control of herself.
She moves away and notices Meredith and Christina slide back into step with each other as they walk in the opposite direction, a gaggle of chattering interns, increased by three, trailing behind them, and Callie can't help but wonder if they know, if everyone knows, if everyone knew. Her eyes sting and she turns to the wall and blinks furiously, refusing to let herself disintegrate in front of her peers and is grateful for the sudden arrival of a screaming ambulance on the other side of the ER doors that brings with it merciful distraction.
-
Alex hurdles a particularly large puddle that the wind and what little sun they have had this morning hasn't been able to evaporate. Doing so lands him in a smaller one that soaks his shoe and works its way steadily into his sock but he knows it could have been much worse and then suddenly it is.
The wind drowns out the sound initially, the deep mechanic rumble of a vehicle being revved. Coupled with the fact that Alex is still somewhat distracted by thoughts of Izzie and bathroom floors and pink dresses means that it isn't until the car is almost on top of him that Alex becomes aware of the blue and grey SUV, and by then it's too late.
A last minute evasive maneuver means he is saved from going through the SUV's windscreen but something must have happened because the next thing he remembers is freezing water soaking through the side of his t-shirt and a loud ringing deep inside his head that is compounded and multiplied and then doubled once again as the vehicle smashes its way through the plate glass of a quaint diner that is now sideways in his vision from his vantage point on the cold ground.
He hears screaming as he pushes up to sitting, some of it is his own though most of it comes from those around him. He feels numb and lost, disconnected and more than a little confused but instinct tells him to get to his feet and the world only tilts viciously to the right once when he does so he thinks he'll probably live. The SUV is almost entirely inside the front section of the diner but the reverberating in Alex's head means he can't tell if the engine is still running.
The driver is climbing out, he has blood on his forehead and he is fighting an exploded air bag that seems intent to keep him seated. Alex staggers towards him a few metres but is stopped by a cold stare and a shake of a head that sends free flowing blood into a new course down the stranger’s cheeks and off the tip of his chin.
He is approached by someone, female, that much Alex can tell and they try to force him back to sitting. Back to the puddles and the cigarette butts and the gutter where he always swore to himself that he would never end up so he pushes her away and starts towards the demolished building, stepping over jagged shards of glass and daisy blue serviettes and spilled sugar cups.
There is an elderly couple still seated at one table, a frozen tableau of normalcy amid carnage and horror. It’s not until Alex follows their unblinking line of vision to the floor at their feet that he sees the high chair from another table lying on its side and mostly under the front section of the car. He can see blonde hair, it is ringlet curly and so still that Alex's insides lurch and he forces his gag reflex to calm down as he reaches violently trembling fingers towards it.
The sound that comes out of him when his hand knocks against the smooth, cool plastic of a doll's head is somewhat uncontrolled and completely hysterical and he can't even begin to turn back to the old couple to let them know, to tell that that it's okay. That it's just a freakin' doll.
-
Rounds are relatively quick this morning and Izzie soon finds herself deliberately on the look out for George. Callie had seemed ultra tense this morning, though she has been that way since becoming Chief Resident so Izzie isn't allowing herself to use it as definitive proof that George has finally confessed.
"Dr. Stevens...should I perhaps try and find Dr. Karev?"
Intern Norman enters her field of vision and Izzie swats at him unconsciously like he's an irritant that she needs to dismiss before stopping and staring back at him, hard.
"Dr. Stevens?"
"Yes, Dr. Karev. Good idea, he should definitely be here by now, he left...well, before me anyway..."
"Before you? So...you...and Dr. Karev...live...together?"
Norman's stammering and hesitation is reminding her of George in all kinds of unmentionable ways and she can't think of a way to snap him out of it other than to start talking herself.
"No we don't...well, we do but not...Dr. Karev doesn't live with other people, he exists in the same space as them but...anyway...never mind, the point is he should definitely be here by now, he jogged..." she is walking away from Norman and he is hurrying to keep up, "no...ran, sorry, he ran to the hospital this morning and it doesn't usually take him this long so...yes, maybe try paging him again."
Izzie walks off, leaving him standing in the hallway, somewhat confused and more than a little bemused, "...and try his cell phone..."
"Certainly Dr. Stevens..." answers Norman quietly to her retreating back.
-
"Still no gore...and only minimal blood...don't forget you owe me Grey..." Christina slides onto a stool in front of where Meredith is examining a chart, still bemoaning the lack of suitable action.
"I owe you nothing, Derek and Mark, honestly Christina, Derek and Mark? You expect me to hand over surgeries for that?"
"Well, the rumour is that McSteamy admitted he came back here to...and I quote...get you back...you meaning McDreamy obviously, not you meaning, well...you..."
"Obviously..." Meredith agrees snidely.
"But that's beside the point. It's Friday, where is all my Friday blood and gore?"
Meredith slides a chart over in front of Christina.
"Does that look like a 7 or a 9 to you?"
"7..no 9, definitely 9...." tilting her head to the side to srcutinise the scrawl more accurately she eventually concedes.
"Maybe a 7...geez, who's writing is that?"
"I have no idea, probably one of Alex's...hey..." she looks up suddenly, seeking Christina's eye contact, "...do you know if he's here yet...maybe I can load them off again..."
"Nope, I've still got mine so...wonder where the hell he is..."
-
"Help me, please..."
Alex can see her mouth moving but the sound is in some kind of delay and she has to repeat herself before he can drag his body back to standing and pick his way towards her. She is almost under a table and Alex can't for the life of him figure out how she got there but because colours are swirling around him and his own body feels detached and loose he thinks it probably doesn't matter right now how she got there, only what he can do about getting her out.
"Hi there, my names Alex and I'm a doctor...can you tell your name?"
The words are automatic and he doesn't quite know where they come from but he's grateful for them all the same.
"Lucy, I'm Lucy Reeves but..." she looks down and lifts a hand to rest on her swollen belly before looking back at him with unmasked terror dripping from the corners of her dark brown eyes and whispering "my baby, it's...please help me..."
"How far along are you? Do you know your due date?"
She nods and he quickly tells her not to move any more so she stills and follows his ministrations with her eyes only.
"Next week, he's due next week..." she pauses briefly, eyes scrunched and questioning, '...are you...you have..."
"I'm fine, it's okay," Alex dismisses her with a wide, false grin, "all we have to worry about is making sure this little guy stays in for one more week huh...so how exactly did you get to be down here?"
"I don't really... I can't..." her breathing hitches and Alex begs for her to calm down, soothing and all charm and he watches her visibly relax in front of him.
"It's okay...doesn't really matter now does it...does anything hurt? You didn't hit your head or anything?"
Lucy shakes her head, a desperate, decisive movement that fools Alex into thinking she is simply answering his question, if not a little over zealously. It's not until her lips part to form a startled oval and her breath hisses out in a terrified moan of no and please no that Alex begins to think maybe more is going on here than he first deduced.
She scrabbles backwards, trying to sit up but simultaneously trying to slide further under the table and out of his reach. It's not until the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind his head echoes in his ears that Alex realises she isn't even looking at him any more, hasn't been since the panicked verbalisations and disjointed movements started.
He swallows thickly, his throat feels sticky and tight with fear and confusion as someone else, to his left and closer to the door, screams a high pitched squeal of terror that tells him once and for all that this is real.
He turns slowly, expecting to eyeball the barrel of something metallic and deadly and only-at-the-movies like but is shocked to discover the gun isn't pointed at him at all.
Not even close.
"What's...?"
In his confusion he can't seem to articulate anything further.
"No, Jason...please, can't we just...oh God, what have you done?"
He looks towards Lucy, her hands protectively bracing her pregnant belly and tears streaking tracks of mascara down her ash white cheeks and she looks frantically from side to side and to him and back to Jason, whoever Jason is.
"Lucy...? Do you..."
"Shuttup."
The words are said so fast and so tight that at first Alex thinks he has imagined them.
"Lucy...?"
"I said...shut... up."
Alex is left with no misunderstanding this time and as a blur of knee height denim passes him by in his squatting position he can't even bring himself to react and the scene plays out in sick slow motion in front of him.
"I'm so sorry Luce...but I can't let you do this..."
He recognises the guy with the gun now, it’s the driver from the SUV, the blood from the gash on his forehead has been crudely wiped away with a sleeve smearing it across his temple and into his hair. The cut is still oozing slowly and webbing a pattern that covers his nose and one cheek in slick, shiny red.
"No no no no nononono....please, talk to me, please..."
"I'm sorry Luce, but what is there really left to talk about? "
The guy, Jason…his voice cracks as he says her name. Alex looks from the shattered SUV to the shattered diner window to the shattered woman in front of him, hands still bracing her stomach as though she can protect it from what is to come and he suddenly feels all the disjointed pieces fall together.
"Hey…maybe we just need to…" Alex starts but doesn’t know how to finish and his legs are starting to feel sluggish and more than a little numb. He doubts he can get between the gun and the woman without getting a bullet between his own eyes and the look he gets from the shooter…Jason, etches itself into his memory, cold, detached eyes that cry and blink rapidly as she whispers his name.
"Jason…please?"
Despite her plaintive plea and despite the fact that he is now half expecting it, the gunshot is still louder than anything Alex has ever heard before and still shocks him right from his flayed outer edges to the inner most parts of his soul.
She screams, loudly, louder than the gun shot, a sound that continues on, unheeded in Alex's head long after a second shot puts a stop to any and all noise Lucy is capable of making.
"I’m so sorry, Luce."
He stops breathing, of that he is fairly certain and it's not until the third shot and the sudden drop of a heavy male body landing mostly on top of him that he starts again, shoving the weight off him frantically and staring in mute fascination at the woman in front of him. A perfect round hole in the centre of her forehead and the spray of blood and something else that Alex knows instinctively but refuses to think about on the back of the booth behind her the only indication that something is wrong with this picture. She slumps to the side slightly and it is only now, as her right hand falls to lay limply in a mirror-like puddle of coffee and blood and death now pooling at her side, that he can finally see the where the first shot had been aimed.
TBC