(no subject)
Title: Alphabet Soup
Part: 3/4
Pairings: Alex/Addison, Alex/Izzie, Mark/Lexie, Sam & Addison.
Rating: R
Summary: Short drabbles inspired by prompts. In alphabetical order, pairings scattered. Previous: A-I, J-P.
A/N: I've never written any one of these pairings oddly enough, so I hope they aren't too screwed up. I'm attempting to get back into writing here so they're probably a little rough. Enjoy-
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Q is for Quota
(Mark/Lexie)
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They say bad news spreads like a wildfire, so it's a wonder that she hadn't found out before. Lexie curls into the abandoned gurney and clutches her Snickers bar like it's the only salvation she has left. Her world has stopped turning, the momentum left enough to make her starving and subsequently nauseous as hell. She supposes it's because no one ever bothers to notice her, much less talk to her about the gigantic mistakes she is making day in and day out. But one way or another, she knows now.
Mark Sloan. Player, manwhore, love them and leave them.
It's just not the man she has come to know. Without the bravado and pretense he is simply Mark. Mark Sloan who likes to boss around interns because he feels it's the natural order of things. Mark Sloan who likes to watch the Animal Planet channel in his downtime because once upon a life ago he wanted to be a veterinarian. Before the money, the women, and the prestige. He always wanted to help first and foremost. And she identified in that, found other traits, linked them together as a pretty decent couple, but apparently she doesn't know him at all.
A nurse's strike was surely the thing of folklore, but no it was indeed real, the striking of her boyfriend for never calling the next day. She wonders what the exact count is as she takes another bite of caramel and peanut. Perhaps it's better not know, not to marvel in the fact that she is another number on his list.
But then the thing she hates happens. She becomes a woman. Wanting to know why in heaven's name he picked her to stop with, what makes her so special as to have captured his attention, when he is going to leave, and where is this all going? The demands swirl through her mind as she lies back carefully, stomach full and aching. Her pager sounds off but she chucks it at the ground ignoring his booty call.
Should she be thankful, upset, amused, disgusted? She's unsure. Is he that person still? Should she bring it up? It's enough to make her want to hurl. Surely chalking it up to sheer panic and lack of sleep isn't going to help her delusions.
"What are you doing down here?" Mark asks, looking around the darkened tunnels, wanting to know why his "girlfriend" looks like she's been struck by lightning.
"I-uh, was sleeping. Lost track of time, sorry," Lexie gulps unconvincingly, scooting up on the bed and trying to ready herself for yet another set of rounds.
"I haven't seen you all week," Mark mentions, taking the spot next to her, not in any particular hurry.
"Busy," Lexie shrugs, "Cristina is on the warpath ever since Dr. Hunt dumped her."
"Hunt and Yang?" Mark asks.
"Yeah," Lexie sighs, leaning against the wall. There is no escaping. "You didn't know?"
"People talk, I listen," Mark says, trying not picture the two together. How...awkward.
"Have you really slept with everyone here?" Lexie blurts out ungracefully.
"Wh-" Mark stops, looking over at her. The game is up. The rosy colored world they inhabited is gone and now reality is settling into their relationship. "Almost everyone," Mark nods. "Not Big Grey...or Stevens...or Yang."
"Bailey?" Lexie asks carefully. She needs to know where the line was drawn, but when he looks back at her with disgust she sees it's pretty apparent.
"You think-"
"Had to check," Lexie explains.
"Let's not do this," Mark decides, leaning over slightly and kissing the tender skin of her neck.
"Mark," Lexie gulps, feeling chunks of peanut begin to rise in her throat. "I-"
"Lexie," Mark sighs, knowing the gig is up. It doesn't matter who he actually is, doesn't matter that he genuinely enjoys spending time with her and can kind of see a fuzzy future ahead of them. His reputation tarnishes their chances, scuffing the edges of hopes, slicing through dreams. "It doesn't matter."
"My mother...she was a good person. She watched over my dad, and always made sure that everything in the house was in perfect order. She went to soccer games, and made dinner. Not that that makes anyone a good person," Lexie recognizes suddenly. "She just was."
"Okay," Mark nods hesitantly, unsure of where they are headed.
"And I miss her. A lot. Everyday." She feels his arm slide across her shoulder easily, but she shrugs it off. "We never talk-"
"We talk," Mark interjects, it's one of the best things about Lexie. That, and she doesn't know the "real" him, until now.
Lexie glances over at him sadly, ripe with the tears of another's hurt, "Not about anything important."
"It's my past," Mark argues, growing agitated, fearing the curve of rejection that's coming up quick, but then she smiles and he relaxes.
"I like to know things," she says, the grin still scattered over her lips.
"All right," Mark agrees, crashing his back against the hard wall, his feet hanging over the bed.
"We're even," Lexie tells him softly. Both sides tallied up with at a meager one. One thing that they don't speak of, the things that hurt too much to acknowledge.
"You aren't dumping me," Mark breathes, cringing at his poor terminology.
"Cheat on me and you'll wish yourself dead by the time I'm done with you," she warns teasingly. There's something reassuring in his eyes, the questions and desire to know everything ever about all of his relationships gone by fade away so easily when he's around. And hopefully he's there enough to head off the perpetual worry, because things have a way of slowly disintegrating in her world.
"Deal," Mark agrees, lacing his hand through hers, kicking her swinging foot with the point of his shoe. "Lexie?" he asks a few quiet minutes later.
"Yeah?" she replies, far off, intoxicated by his warmth.
"Thank you," he says calmly, taking the step, investing himself ever so further. She's not just another woman, another blonde in his menagerie of booty calls. She doesn't belong in the group, she's too busy breaking the mold.
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R is for Rhubarb
(Sam & Addison)
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The smell of warm rhubarb pie wafts under Addison's nose gracefully, swirling and tempting. She grins weakly, curling her feet into the couch as her neighbor slices into the dessert behind her. Most of the time they meet outside, dangling feet into the sand, talking without saying anything. A part of Addison has always resided within Sam. The serene, his calming nature, his assurance. His ability to listen without judgment was never something she encountered before that day at medical school when Naomi was running behind and Sam awkwardly sat on her couch, watching her struggle through life's new difficulty.
"You're quiet," Sam observes, the redhead crumpled into the armchair by the window, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her lap. "Naomi says you talk non-stop."
"Naomi doesn't..." Addison drifts off. Naomi doesn't get it, at all. She's got two parents still, married happily, a conventional family without the lingering dysfunction that plagues Addison.
"Bad day," Sam nods.
"Bad...life," Addison replies cynically, and she feels it ache through her body. One crap storm after another. "You have a dad?" she asks suddenly, intrigued by the new man her best friend cannot stop jabbering about.
"Nope," Sam shrugs. "He...left."
"Yeah," Addison nods sorrowfully, hands escaping under the throw to hide in her sleeves.
"You?" Sam asks cautiously. She's teetering on a very tender ledge, he can see that.
"Something like that," Addison answers a few seconds later, lost in her own thoughts. She watches Sam hop off the couch and pull out a bakery box from the refrigerator. He gave it to Naomi the day before, so he feels slightly entitled. His girlfriend was always professing how much she loved cheesecake so he thought he'd share his passion for rhubarb pie. Needless to say, she was unimpressed. He searches through cupboards, stumbling upon plates, and then he pops them both into the microwave for 30 seconds. He returns, sliding it onto her lap, placing the fork on the arm of the chair when she doesn't move.
He sinks back to his own place, licking the edge of his plate where the filling carelessly gathered. Slowly, she takes the utensil and shovels food into her mouth. What he doesn't know is that it's the first time she's eaten something real in days, the first time she's come out of her room to socialize, even if she was surprised into it.
"I found him." Addison's voice startles Sam suddenly. It's sharpness, it's anguish. "In the study," she whispers, recalling her short visit home for Spring Break that only filled her with a funeral and pity instead of beaches and sunburns. "He was a coward," she asserts suddenly.
"Mine too," Sam agrees and then returns to his pie, watching with one eye as she scrapes her plate clean. "I'm sorry to hear about your dad though, sorry you have to go through that," he adds as the door jingles open, Naomi dropping her books on the end table.
"Hey Addie," Naomi issues hesitantly, not wanting to scare her, as she's been jittery lately. She doesn't know all of the details, just that Mr. Montgomery is no longer among the land of the living, and that Addison isn't talking about it. Archer mentioned something, but she wasn't paying much attention when he dropped her off on Monday. "You like that stuff?" She points to the empty plate on Addison's lap.
"It's our thing woman," Sam tells her when Addison finds a window to stare out of. "You ready?"
"Yeah, let me grab my purse first."
"You know," Sam's voice perks up, trying to grab Addison's attention. "We're just going to hang out with some friends, you could come."
"No thank you."
"There's this guy you should meet, my friend Derek. Naomi thinks you'd hit it off."
"Thanks for the pie Sam," Addison says casually as she shuffles back to her room, to sleep dreamless slumbers far removed from the nightmare she's currently living.
"Pie," Sam says, dropping the bowl, topped with vanilla ice cream into her lap. "Eat, tell, feel."
Addison scoops up a mouthful, and chews silently. They haven't shared many pies in their history, but it's enough. "This is our thing."
"It is," Sam nods. "Naomi broke up with me, again."
"Kevin is going to leave me," Addison replies. She just knows it. He's too good for her and her craziness.
"I thought...it was good with the cop," Sam says, stepping into the role of someone else. This stuff is Naomi's job, but he's there now, and when Addison is willingly going to talk about something you don't stop her. You listen.
"I'm so tired of being alone," Addison sniffles, tears glazing over her eyes.
"You are not alone," Sam asserts. "You'll always have me, and you'll always have pie."
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S is for Serenade
(Alex/Addison)
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"Is Dr. Montgomery in?" Alex asks nervously, fiddling with his watch.
"I'll check," the receptionist tells him, picking up her phone, and punching in the numbers that are surely going to give him a heart attack. "You can go in," he tells her a few seconds later. "Third door on the left. Do you want me to show you?"
"No, got it," Alex grunts in reply and pushes his feet forward. He knocks lightly on the side of the door and then slides inside, noting the purple walls and little trinkets that adorn the office. "Nice view," he begins, watching as she swivels around in her chair, confused.
"Dr.- Alex," Addison breathes slowly. "What are you doing-"
"You were wrong," Alex says roughly, mourning immediately as her brow creases in frustration.
"You flew all the way down here to tell me I was wrong about something Dr. Karev?" Addison tests, walking to her door and closing it anyway, just in case.
"Drove actually," Alex corrects.
"Oh, all the better," Addison snarks, taking a spot on her couch and instructing him to sit.
He declines the gesture and takes a deep breath trying to build himself up. "You said I wanted Ava- or Rebecca. I don't. Didn't."
"I really don't see how this is relevant Karev, and I have patients."
"You were wrong," Alex states again, annoyed that she and her thick skull are not getting this and that he'll have to spell it out.
"Do you want some sort of medal, or certificate commemorating the occurrence?" Addison asks, losing patience easily, fury building within her as their little game begins anew.
"No," Alex stutters, unsure of how to do this exactly. He wants to rush in and kiss her senseless. Wrap her long legs around his waist and just go at it against the brick wall. He wants to sing it, write it in a note, do all sorts of crap that Alex Karev does not under any circumstances do. But that's the way Addison works with him. He doesn't want a girlfriend, he doesn't want Ava, but he does want Addison Montgomery and that is confusing as fuck.
"Today Karev, I have a schedule."
"I love you, you moron!" Alex shouts loudly, watching as her eyes light up, and his face burns red. "That came out wrong."
"Care to try again?" Addison asks, her heart racing, thumping against her ribcage.
"I- don't want Ava, you were wrong, I....want you."
"You love me," Addison says victoriously, momentarily empowered.
"Maybe," Alex concedes, sitting down next to her for once.
"You don't know anything about me," Addison points out.
"I know you married an ass, dated an ass, and then ran away-"
"I didn't run. I changed," Addison corrects immediately. There are differences. She's not running from anything or anyone, it's just time to move on.
"Addison," Alex pauses, reaching out for a hand. "I know you sing to the babies sometimes when you think no one is watching, and that you take your coffee black and would never ask an intern to get it for you. I know you like soup when it rains, and that you got contacts after you broke your glasses a few weeks ago when you were fiddling with them."
"You may be a stalker," Addison decides.
"I'm observant," Alex tells her. "I'm taking a chance. Someone once told me I don't have unlimited opportunities for the good stuff so...I'm risking it."
"Alex," Addison mumbles, out of her comfort zone. He's a child really, and she lives here, and she just left that behind. And he's her student, and the list goes on and on. "I have a patient."
"You always have a patient Addison."
"I need to..." She stands, the lump working its way into her throat. "You should go. Go home Alex. Become...who you are supposed to be."
"I'm trying-" Alex mutters as she sways to the door of her own office and disappears. He stamps down the hallway, never one for rejection, and grabs her arm, stuffing her into the closest door, an empty exam room. "You don't just get to walk away all of the time."
"You don't want me!" Addison yells at him, jolting into fight mode. "You think you want me, but you don't. The baggage, the crazy- you don't want this. Just go home to your little intern house and live your life."
"I want you in my life," Alex retorts, laying the cards face up on the table.
"I can't do this," Addison motions wildly. "I...please go, please. Please just get back in your car and drive away. Please, Alex. Please."
He watches her plead with him pathetically, him being present almost bringing her to tears, and not, he presumes, in a good way. She's not happy to see him, her arms aren't wound around his neck passionately, and he envisioned this so differently. He's being burned once more by the redhead.
The door of the exam room slams loudly as he exits, leaving Addison to hunch over, clutching at her own knees for shying away again. It was good for him, she knows. They aren't that couple-holding hands, serenades in the warm evening, candlelit dinners.
They aren't a couple at all. He said it himself.
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T is for Time
(Alex/Izzie)
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For the longest part of Alex's life he remembered he just couldn't wait to get out. To be free from the shackles of failed parenting, and resentment. He told himself people did the best they could, and it wasn't always as good as someone else's best; life is not fair, that's universal. He wanted to run until his lungs tore apart, reach for the highest ladders of success. To be something, someone worthy.
He couldn't wait.
Alex never took particular stock in memories or photographs. They were supposed to account for moments that no one cared to remember. There are no baby books in his past, he isn't even sure his mother knows what his first word was.
It was always a race.
He resolved, after another night in a smoky club, that while he didn't know who he wanted to be, he knew damn well who he didn't want to be. Inherited from his father, a temper of unmatched fury, he knew deep down he would never strike a woman. He was breaking the cycle, because not all of those who are abused then become abusers. It was a sure bet, a safe passage. He watched the trails of residue bathe the room in inevitable respiratory problems, and he thought, at the tender age of 8, that when he grew up he may like to do something about that. Besides what held greater prestige; was there a better way to stick it to someone than by becoming a doctor?
There was no looking back.
He rarely visited home during his stay at college. His mother would call on occasion, when she recalled that he existed, and he spoke to his sister (his neurotic port in the storm) frequently enough to still be considered in the family. Alex cited wrestling, grades, and girls as all more important, but the truth was that he couldn't return. That wasn't his home anymore. He never belonged there to begin with. He was born into the wrong dynamic, deserving of something more but destroyed by what he was given. So he kept his distance, and it got easier.
Never pausing to make a connection.
There were many girls during college, fewer (but enough) during med school. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. All colors, all shapes, all sizes. He didn't discriminate, which made it even easier because he wasn't looking for anyone in specific. He was treading water until the big leagues finally struck. There were a few offers for his skills, but he wanted Seattle. And on the last day, he got the news. Long after he had settled for Arizona. Well into convincing himself that he could deal with the soaring temperatures. Seattle Grace Hospital, a formidable teaching institution, wanted him.
Pursuing a goal dipped in treacherous stakes.
Nothing was stopping him now, desired and finally put in place. He learned as much as he could, hooked up with random nurses when the need arose, and kept true to himself; all he had. He was crass, and a pig, but that was Alex and he never much cared for what people thought of him. They were generally wrong and he didn't have the time to babble on about his merits and reasons for being a "horrible" person. Through his partnership with Dr. Montgomery, through his living with crazy women, he dealt. Dealt with Shepherd eating his fucking cereal in the morning, handled Cristina slamming through the house at all hours, and lived with the fact that Izzie would cook for him if he was there no matter how much he protested.
It was never the right moment, they didn't have those.
He always had a thing for the crazy chicks, they were more interesting, and it made he feel less retarded for being so fucked up all of the time. But Izzie, she wasn't crazy until she was. He didn't love her until he did, and then it all changed. Halted on it's heel, momentum waiting to topple forward, only ending in a commitment the likes of which he never thought he'd see himself in. He told himself she was dying, that there wasn't time to question stupid shit like the fact that they had only been together for a few months and were nowhere near ready for marriage. He didn't have a quiet minute to ask himself if he actually wanted to be at her side, or if he was doing it to do it; to punish himself.
He much prefers that time speed on by.
Alex takes stock in proven skills, but he's still weary of Shepherd and his ridiculous asshat breakdown a few days ago. There's no moment to crumble under the insane pressure of the situation, they are busy saving a life-his. Because for as much as he loves Izzie breathing in and out on a regular basis, he cannot begin to comprehend what may happen to him if she doesn't pull through. He's running through treatment options in his head, the more radical ones on the right side of the list, traditional on the left. He's willing to hold her hand, whatever she picks, as long as she fights.
When it stops, he crashes.
He tells Meredith that she may actually die, and for the first time he can feel it. Looming above, his fate. Another one lost. It suffocated him in a tight cloak of hope, teasing and testing. And part of him, a teeny, tiny part wishes she would just get it over with; if she has to die why can't it happen already. Lingering, daring time, that's not his thing. He moves forward, but now he's trapped in a vacuum where nothing changes; but he changes every second.
He holds his breath as Shepherd updates him once more. Success, however uncertain, clouds his vision and his heart beats frantically. Her memory is back, it just needed to recover. They finally managed to achieve something. He holds Izzie's hand tightly, her trashy wedding ring pressing into his flesh, the fight for her life beginning to slow, lose intensity. Their leading the scoreboard, challenging cancer to throw them another curve ball.
Then he realizes, they bought, bargained for more. She very well may not die, and his hurried decisions rush back into his stomach in a sickening knot. They have time now, and he's terrified. He could hurt her, she could get sick again, they may have an opportunity to fight, to make up, to have a family. Every possibility splashes over him as Izzie smiles brightly in the bed next to him.
He doesn't know how to be still with another, he always made his own tempo.
The urge to run as fast as he can, and as far as he can, smashes over him like a thousand pound sledgehammer. Time has never been crueler than in this instant.
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Part: 3/4
Pairings: Alex/Addison, Alex/Izzie, Mark/Lexie, Sam & Addison.
Rating: R
Summary: Short drabbles inspired by prompts. In alphabetical order, pairings scattered. Previous: A-I, J-P.
A/N: I've never written any one of these pairings oddly enough, so I hope they aren't too screwed up. I'm attempting to get back into writing here so they're probably a little rough. Enjoy-
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Q is for Quota
(Mark/Lexie)
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They say bad news spreads like a wildfire, so it's a wonder that she hadn't found out before. Lexie curls into the abandoned gurney and clutches her Snickers bar like it's the only salvation she has left. Her world has stopped turning, the momentum left enough to make her starving and subsequently nauseous as hell. She supposes it's because no one ever bothers to notice her, much less talk to her about the gigantic mistakes she is making day in and day out. But one way or another, she knows now.
Mark Sloan. Player, manwhore, love them and leave them.
It's just not the man she has come to know. Without the bravado and pretense he is simply Mark. Mark Sloan who likes to boss around interns because he feels it's the natural order of things. Mark Sloan who likes to watch the Animal Planet channel in his downtime because once upon a life ago he wanted to be a veterinarian. Before the money, the women, and the prestige. He always wanted to help first and foremost. And she identified in that, found other traits, linked them together as a pretty decent couple, but apparently she doesn't know him at all.
A nurse's strike was surely the thing of folklore, but no it was indeed real, the striking of her boyfriend for never calling the next day. She wonders what the exact count is as she takes another bite of caramel and peanut. Perhaps it's better not know, not to marvel in the fact that she is another number on his list.
But then the thing she hates happens. She becomes a woman. Wanting to know why in heaven's name he picked her to stop with, what makes her so special as to have captured his attention, when he is going to leave, and where is this all going? The demands swirl through her mind as she lies back carefully, stomach full and aching. Her pager sounds off but she chucks it at the ground ignoring his booty call.
Should she be thankful, upset, amused, disgusted? She's unsure. Is he that person still? Should she bring it up? It's enough to make her want to hurl. Surely chalking it up to sheer panic and lack of sleep isn't going to help her delusions.
"What are you doing down here?" Mark asks, looking around the darkened tunnels, wanting to know why his "girlfriend" looks like she's been struck by lightning.
"I-uh, was sleeping. Lost track of time, sorry," Lexie gulps unconvincingly, scooting up on the bed and trying to ready herself for yet another set of rounds.
"I haven't seen you all week," Mark mentions, taking the spot next to her, not in any particular hurry.
"Busy," Lexie shrugs, "Cristina is on the warpath ever since Dr. Hunt dumped her."
"Hunt and Yang?" Mark asks.
"Yeah," Lexie sighs, leaning against the wall. There is no escaping. "You didn't know?"
"People talk, I listen," Mark says, trying not picture the two together. How...awkward.
"Have you really slept with everyone here?" Lexie blurts out ungracefully.
"Wh-" Mark stops, looking over at her. The game is up. The rosy colored world they inhabited is gone and now reality is settling into their relationship. "Almost everyone," Mark nods. "Not Big Grey...or Stevens...or Yang."
"Bailey?" Lexie asks carefully. She needs to know where the line was drawn, but when he looks back at her with disgust she sees it's pretty apparent.
"You think-"
"Had to check," Lexie explains.
"Let's not do this," Mark decides, leaning over slightly and kissing the tender skin of her neck.
"Mark," Lexie gulps, feeling chunks of peanut begin to rise in her throat. "I-"
"Lexie," Mark sighs, knowing the gig is up. It doesn't matter who he actually is, doesn't matter that he genuinely enjoys spending time with her and can kind of see a fuzzy future ahead of them. His reputation tarnishes their chances, scuffing the edges of hopes, slicing through dreams. "It doesn't matter."
"My mother...she was a good person. She watched over my dad, and always made sure that everything in the house was in perfect order. She went to soccer games, and made dinner. Not that that makes anyone a good person," Lexie recognizes suddenly. "She just was."
"Okay," Mark nods hesitantly, unsure of where they are headed.
"And I miss her. A lot. Everyday." She feels his arm slide across her shoulder easily, but she shrugs it off. "We never talk-"
"We talk," Mark interjects, it's one of the best things about Lexie. That, and she doesn't know the "real" him, until now.
Lexie glances over at him sadly, ripe with the tears of another's hurt, "Not about anything important."
"It's my past," Mark argues, growing agitated, fearing the curve of rejection that's coming up quick, but then she smiles and he relaxes.
"I like to know things," she says, the grin still scattered over her lips.
"All right," Mark agrees, crashing his back against the hard wall, his feet hanging over the bed.
"We're even," Lexie tells him softly. Both sides tallied up with at a meager one. One thing that they don't speak of, the things that hurt too much to acknowledge.
"You aren't dumping me," Mark breathes, cringing at his poor terminology.
"Cheat on me and you'll wish yourself dead by the time I'm done with you," she warns teasingly. There's something reassuring in his eyes, the questions and desire to know everything ever about all of his relationships gone by fade away so easily when he's around. And hopefully he's there enough to head off the perpetual worry, because things have a way of slowly disintegrating in her world.
"Deal," Mark agrees, lacing his hand through hers, kicking her swinging foot with the point of his shoe. "Lexie?" he asks a few quiet minutes later.
"Yeah?" she replies, far off, intoxicated by his warmth.
"Thank you," he says calmly, taking the step, investing himself ever so further. She's not just another woman, another blonde in his menagerie of booty calls. She doesn't belong in the group, she's too busy breaking the mold.
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R is for Rhubarb
(Sam & Addison)
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The smell of warm rhubarb pie wafts under Addison's nose gracefully, swirling and tempting. She grins weakly, curling her feet into the couch as her neighbor slices into the dessert behind her. Most of the time they meet outside, dangling feet into the sand, talking without saying anything. A part of Addison has always resided within Sam. The serene, his calming nature, his assurance. His ability to listen without judgment was never something she encountered before that day at medical school when Naomi was running behind and Sam awkwardly sat on her couch, watching her struggle through life's new difficulty.
"You're quiet," Sam observes, the redhead crumpled into the armchair by the window, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her lap. "Naomi says you talk non-stop."
"Naomi doesn't..." Addison drifts off. Naomi doesn't get it, at all. She's got two parents still, married happily, a conventional family without the lingering dysfunction that plagues Addison.
"Bad day," Sam nods.
"Bad...life," Addison replies cynically, and she feels it ache through her body. One crap storm after another. "You have a dad?" she asks suddenly, intrigued by the new man her best friend cannot stop jabbering about.
"Nope," Sam shrugs. "He...left."
"Yeah," Addison nods sorrowfully, hands escaping under the throw to hide in her sleeves.
"You?" Sam asks cautiously. She's teetering on a very tender ledge, he can see that.
"Something like that," Addison answers a few seconds later, lost in her own thoughts. She watches Sam hop off the couch and pull out a bakery box from the refrigerator. He gave it to Naomi the day before, so he feels slightly entitled. His girlfriend was always professing how much she loved cheesecake so he thought he'd share his passion for rhubarb pie. Needless to say, she was unimpressed. He searches through cupboards, stumbling upon plates, and then he pops them both into the microwave for 30 seconds. He returns, sliding it onto her lap, placing the fork on the arm of the chair when she doesn't move.
He sinks back to his own place, licking the edge of his plate where the filling carelessly gathered. Slowly, she takes the utensil and shovels food into her mouth. What he doesn't know is that it's the first time she's eaten something real in days, the first time she's come out of her room to socialize, even if she was surprised into it.
"I found him." Addison's voice startles Sam suddenly. It's sharpness, it's anguish. "In the study," she whispers, recalling her short visit home for Spring Break that only filled her with a funeral and pity instead of beaches and sunburns. "He was a coward," she asserts suddenly.
"Mine too," Sam agrees and then returns to his pie, watching with one eye as she scrapes her plate clean. "I'm sorry to hear about your dad though, sorry you have to go through that," he adds as the door jingles open, Naomi dropping her books on the end table.
"Hey Addie," Naomi issues hesitantly, not wanting to scare her, as she's been jittery lately. She doesn't know all of the details, just that Mr. Montgomery is no longer among the land of the living, and that Addison isn't talking about it. Archer mentioned something, but she wasn't paying much attention when he dropped her off on Monday. "You like that stuff?" She points to the empty plate on Addison's lap.
"It's our thing woman," Sam tells her when Addison finds a window to stare out of. "You ready?"
"Yeah, let me grab my purse first."
"You know," Sam's voice perks up, trying to grab Addison's attention. "We're just going to hang out with some friends, you could come."
"No thank you."
"There's this guy you should meet, my friend Derek. Naomi thinks you'd hit it off."
"Thanks for the pie Sam," Addison says casually as she shuffles back to her room, to sleep dreamless slumbers far removed from the nightmare she's currently living.
"Pie," Sam says, dropping the bowl, topped with vanilla ice cream into her lap. "Eat, tell, feel."
Addison scoops up a mouthful, and chews silently. They haven't shared many pies in their history, but it's enough. "This is our thing."
"It is," Sam nods. "Naomi broke up with me, again."
"Kevin is going to leave me," Addison replies. She just knows it. He's too good for her and her craziness.
"I thought...it was good with the cop," Sam says, stepping into the role of someone else. This stuff is Naomi's job, but he's there now, and when Addison is willingly going to talk about something you don't stop her. You listen.
"I'm so tired of being alone," Addison sniffles, tears glazing over her eyes.
"You are not alone," Sam asserts. "You'll always have me, and you'll always have pie."
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S is for Serenade
(Alex/Addison)
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"Is Dr. Montgomery in?" Alex asks nervously, fiddling with his watch.
"I'll check," the receptionist tells him, picking up her phone, and punching in the numbers that are surely going to give him a heart attack. "You can go in," he tells her a few seconds later. "Third door on the left. Do you want me to show you?"
"No, got it," Alex grunts in reply and pushes his feet forward. He knocks lightly on the side of the door and then slides inside, noting the purple walls and little trinkets that adorn the office. "Nice view," he begins, watching as she swivels around in her chair, confused.
"Dr.- Alex," Addison breathes slowly. "What are you doing-"
"You were wrong," Alex says roughly, mourning immediately as her brow creases in frustration.
"You flew all the way down here to tell me I was wrong about something Dr. Karev?" Addison tests, walking to her door and closing it anyway, just in case.
"Drove actually," Alex corrects.
"Oh, all the better," Addison snarks, taking a spot on her couch and instructing him to sit.
He declines the gesture and takes a deep breath trying to build himself up. "You said I wanted Ava- or Rebecca. I don't. Didn't."
"I really don't see how this is relevant Karev, and I have patients."
"You were wrong," Alex states again, annoyed that she and her thick skull are not getting this and that he'll have to spell it out.
"Do you want some sort of medal, or certificate commemorating the occurrence?" Addison asks, losing patience easily, fury building within her as their little game begins anew.
"No," Alex stutters, unsure of how to do this exactly. He wants to rush in and kiss her senseless. Wrap her long legs around his waist and just go at it against the brick wall. He wants to sing it, write it in a note, do all sorts of crap that Alex Karev does not under any circumstances do. But that's the way Addison works with him. He doesn't want a girlfriend, he doesn't want Ava, but he does want Addison Montgomery and that is confusing as fuck.
"Today Karev, I have a schedule."
"I love you, you moron!" Alex shouts loudly, watching as her eyes light up, and his face burns red. "That came out wrong."
"Care to try again?" Addison asks, her heart racing, thumping against her ribcage.
"I- don't want Ava, you were wrong, I....want you."
"You love me," Addison says victoriously, momentarily empowered.
"Maybe," Alex concedes, sitting down next to her for once.
"You don't know anything about me," Addison points out.
"I know you married an ass, dated an ass, and then ran away-"
"I didn't run. I changed," Addison corrects immediately. There are differences. She's not running from anything or anyone, it's just time to move on.
"Addison," Alex pauses, reaching out for a hand. "I know you sing to the babies sometimes when you think no one is watching, and that you take your coffee black and would never ask an intern to get it for you. I know you like soup when it rains, and that you got contacts after you broke your glasses a few weeks ago when you were fiddling with them."
"You may be a stalker," Addison decides.
"I'm observant," Alex tells her. "I'm taking a chance. Someone once told me I don't have unlimited opportunities for the good stuff so...I'm risking it."
"Alex," Addison mumbles, out of her comfort zone. He's a child really, and she lives here, and she just left that behind. And he's her student, and the list goes on and on. "I have a patient."
"You always have a patient Addison."
"I need to..." She stands, the lump working its way into her throat. "You should go. Go home Alex. Become...who you are supposed to be."
"I'm trying-" Alex mutters as she sways to the door of her own office and disappears. He stamps down the hallway, never one for rejection, and grabs her arm, stuffing her into the closest door, an empty exam room. "You don't just get to walk away all of the time."
"You don't want me!" Addison yells at him, jolting into fight mode. "You think you want me, but you don't. The baggage, the crazy- you don't want this. Just go home to your little intern house and live your life."
"I want you in my life," Alex retorts, laying the cards face up on the table.
"I can't do this," Addison motions wildly. "I...please go, please. Please just get back in your car and drive away. Please, Alex. Please."
He watches her plead with him pathetically, him being present almost bringing her to tears, and not, he presumes, in a good way. She's not happy to see him, her arms aren't wound around his neck passionately, and he envisioned this so differently. He's being burned once more by the redhead.
The door of the exam room slams loudly as he exits, leaving Addison to hunch over, clutching at her own knees for shying away again. It was good for him, she knows. They aren't that couple-holding hands, serenades in the warm evening, candlelit dinners.
They aren't a couple at all. He said it himself.
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T is for Time
(Alex/Izzie)
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For the longest part of Alex's life he remembered he just couldn't wait to get out. To be free from the shackles of failed parenting, and resentment. He told himself people did the best they could, and it wasn't always as good as someone else's best; life is not fair, that's universal. He wanted to run until his lungs tore apart, reach for the highest ladders of success. To be something, someone worthy.
He couldn't wait.
Alex never took particular stock in memories or photographs. They were supposed to account for moments that no one cared to remember. There are no baby books in his past, he isn't even sure his mother knows what his first word was.
It was always a race.
He resolved, after another night in a smoky club, that while he didn't know who he wanted to be, he knew damn well who he didn't want to be. Inherited from his father, a temper of unmatched fury, he knew deep down he would never strike a woman. He was breaking the cycle, because not all of those who are abused then become abusers. It was a sure bet, a safe passage. He watched the trails of residue bathe the room in inevitable respiratory problems, and he thought, at the tender age of 8, that when he grew up he may like to do something about that. Besides what held greater prestige; was there a better way to stick it to someone than by becoming a doctor?
There was no looking back.
He rarely visited home during his stay at college. His mother would call on occasion, when she recalled that he existed, and he spoke to his sister (his neurotic port in the storm) frequently enough to still be considered in the family. Alex cited wrestling, grades, and girls as all more important, but the truth was that he couldn't return. That wasn't his home anymore. He never belonged there to begin with. He was born into the wrong dynamic, deserving of something more but destroyed by what he was given. So he kept his distance, and it got easier.
Never pausing to make a connection.
There were many girls during college, fewer (but enough) during med school. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. All colors, all shapes, all sizes. He didn't discriminate, which made it even easier because he wasn't looking for anyone in specific. He was treading water until the big leagues finally struck. There were a few offers for his skills, but he wanted Seattle. And on the last day, he got the news. Long after he had settled for Arizona. Well into convincing himself that he could deal with the soaring temperatures. Seattle Grace Hospital, a formidable teaching institution, wanted him.
Pursuing a goal dipped in treacherous stakes.
Nothing was stopping him now, desired and finally put in place. He learned as much as he could, hooked up with random nurses when the need arose, and kept true to himself; all he had. He was crass, and a pig, but that was Alex and he never much cared for what people thought of him. They were generally wrong and he didn't have the time to babble on about his merits and reasons for being a "horrible" person. Through his partnership with Dr. Montgomery, through his living with crazy women, he dealt. Dealt with Shepherd eating his fucking cereal in the morning, handled Cristina slamming through the house at all hours, and lived with the fact that Izzie would cook for him if he was there no matter how much he protested.
It was never the right moment, they didn't have those.
He always had a thing for the crazy chicks, they were more interesting, and it made he feel less retarded for being so fucked up all of the time. But Izzie, she wasn't crazy until she was. He didn't love her until he did, and then it all changed. Halted on it's heel, momentum waiting to topple forward, only ending in a commitment the likes of which he never thought he'd see himself in. He told himself she was dying, that there wasn't time to question stupid shit like the fact that they had only been together for a few months and were nowhere near ready for marriage. He didn't have a quiet minute to ask himself if he actually wanted to be at her side, or if he was doing it to do it; to punish himself.
He much prefers that time speed on by.
Alex takes stock in proven skills, but he's still weary of Shepherd and his ridiculous asshat breakdown a few days ago. There's no moment to crumble under the insane pressure of the situation, they are busy saving a life-his. Because for as much as he loves Izzie breathing in and out on a regular basis, he cannot begin to comprehend what may happen to him if she doesn't pull through. He's running through treatment options in his head, the more radical ones on the right side of the list, traditional on the left. He's willing to hold her hand, whatever she picks, as long as she fights.
When it stops, he crashes.
He tells Meredith that she may actually die, and for the first time he can feel it. Looming above, his fate. Another one lost. It suffocated him in a tight cloak of hope, teasing and testing. And part of him, a teeny, tiny part wishes she would just get it over with; if she has to die why can't it happen already. Lingering, daring time, that's not his thing. He moves forward, but now he's trapped in a vacuum where nothing changes; but he changes every second.
He holds his breath as Shepherd updates him once more. Success, however uncertain, clouds his vision and his heart beats frantically. Her memory is back, it just needed to recover. They finally managed to achieve something. He holds Izzie's hand tightly, her trashy wedding ring pressing into his flesh, the fight for her life beginning to slow, lose intensity. Their leading the scoreboard, challenging cancer to throw them another curve ball.
Then he realizes, they bought, bargained for more. She very well may not die, and his hurried decisions rush back into his stomach in a sickening knot. They have time now, and he's terrified. He could hurt her, she could get sick again, they may have an opportunity to fight, to make up, to have a family. Every possibility splashes over him as Izzie smiles brightly in the bed next to him.
He doesn't know how to be still with another, he always made his own tempo.
The urge to run as fast as he can, and as far as he can, smashes over him like a thousand pound sledgehammer. Time has never been crueler than in this instant.
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