The Not-So-Easy - Izzie/Addison for theagonyofblank
Title: The Not-So-Easy
Author: giantessmess
Recipient: theagonyofblank
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Addison/Izzie
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,270
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Shonda Rhimes and co, not me. No profit, no foul.
Spoilers: Set after 3.02 and during season 3.
Summary: Izzie wishes things were easier
It would have been easier if you’d hated her from the start. It was your duty as a friend, right? To hate that salmon-scrubbed witch. But that was so long ago, and you have a hard time remembering the person you’d been. Miss Silver Lining. The world was a safe place for that Izzie: good triumphed, evil got its ass kicked and the woman married to your friend’s McDreamy was a bad person. Simple. Clean. This was also a world where the man you loved would never, ever die on the same day he proposed. Before, before. Before Denny.
Clearly this was a stupid, lying world. Clearly this world is untenable with the world of today, where you’re supposed to get up and walk down the street like your insides haven’t been vacuum-sealed, your legs stiff and untrustworthy. Your brain refusing to compute simple real-world things. Like walking outside, like going back to Seattle Grace.
Instead, you choose muffins. Muffins are supremely underrated, you know. They are. But once you’re done making them, and the kitchen surfaces look worse than some bakeries, you know you need to get the hell out of there.
When you get to Joe’s bar, only Addison has eyes for the muffins. But that’s ok. It’s ok. You give Joe both baskets. There are too many muffins.
‘How’s it going Izzie?’
‘Huh? Yeah. Fine. I just ran out of space.’
‘Ok…’
‘I needed space.’
‘Right, ok.’
Joe asks some pointless, worried questions, but you can’t really process much. It isn’t until later that you remember the layout of the bar, and the way Addison looked. Like she’d forgotten how to dress herself, or how to sit up normally in public. It isn’t till later still that you think you should feel bad for what you did. That maybe you weren’t the only person in the world with her heart recently ripped out and obliterated. It’s a few weeks till Joe tells you that Addison pretty much ate every muffin in the bar. Or at least tried to.
But that doesn’t matter, really. What matters is Addison turning up at the house. The night of the muffins, she’s there. She’s yelling something about Meredith and panties, but you’re the only one there - the only one who isn’t out having a life somewhere. Addison trips over the front stoop.
‘Dr Montgomery-Shepherd?’
‘I don’t…' she laughs. 'I don’t know why I’m here.’
‘You don’t know why you’re here?’
She’s drunk, of course. No, she’s post-drunk; she’s about to start boring bartenders with her life story and telling strangers that she loves them. You stop her from losing her balance.
‘Dr Montgomery-Shepherd? Addison? Did you drive…’
‘I walked…to the cab. I think there was a cab.’
‘Why did you take a cab over here?’
‘I think…I think I don’t feel so good.’
'Uh, ok. Just let me...'
'I don't feel so good.'
She looks ok to you, just a little unbalanced. You don’t say anything, you just bring her inside. You bring her inside, where you’ve been stuck all day every day since it happened. You should probably feel guilty - you do feel guilty. She’s drunk, and you shouldn’t be thinking about sex any more than you should be thinking about being a surgeon. But Addison’s lips feel so good on your skin, and she feels so soft and safe without her clothes. She doesn’t feel like anyone you’ve ever been with, and that’s good. That’s very good. It’s so good, and the lights are out, and the sheets are soft and there’s no one there but the two of you. Her fingers inside you, her body reacting to yours. You refuse to feel bad. You refuse.
She almost falls asleep with her head against your shoulder, her legs curled around yours. You jolt to a sitting position and send her to a hotel, in another taxi. Because you need to get back to the muffins. If it’s between Denny and Addison and falling to pieces on the spot, you choose muffins. You always choose muffins. It takes Bailey to stop you from baking everything in sight.
It isn’t easy, having this secret - this whatever-you-want-to-call-it with Addison Montgomery. After a while things become ok; not good, not bad, not even normal really, but ok. Even after you manage to drag yourself back into the surgery program, you still can’t figure out how to deal with the Addison thing. And it hasn’t gone away. As everybody knows - when you’re being all dirty with the secrets it’s advisable to pick your moments, (the dirty secret moments) wisely. But you’re both too screwed up to be that organized. Neither of you is capable of sneaking around, so you’re sure Meredith has noticed the lingering scent in your bedroom. The red hair clogging the shower drain. The extra set of scrubs in the wash every now and again; thankfully they’re no longer salmon. Meredith has to notice. Seriously. But you refuse to feel bad for something no one admits to seeing. Or guilty, or sad. You can’t feel bad for something that isn’t real yet.
‘I think we should, you know, tell someone,’ Addison says, eventually. ‘You know, maybe.’
You shrug, ‘Maybe.’
‘Not Derek, though.’
‘If I tell Meredith, I’m telling Dr Shepherd. It’s simple semantics. They sleep in the same bed.’
‘Please, not Derek, Stevens. Just not yet.’
‘Then I won’t tell anyone at all,’ you say. ‘Fine.’
‘No, look - Izzie, you can tell Grey, ok.’
‘Good, because I am.’
‘Well, great.’
‘Do you really want to tell people?’ You say, suddenly. ‘I mean, seriously want to?’
She looks at you funny, ‘I suggested it, didn’t I?’
‘You don’t really, though, do you?’
Addison brushes her hand against your cheek. She strokes your skin in such a way that you barely feel it. You sigh slowly.
‘I still don’t believe you.’
‘Yeah,’ Addison says. ‘I kind of don’t, either.’
In the end, you decide not to tell Meredith that you’re sleeping with Addison. It’s because she’ll act weird and give you one of those deer-in-headlights looks. And you don’t tell George, because he’ll only be smug and tell Dr Torres, who’ll be, like, super-smug while also trying to bond with you somehow. God knows how.
But you don’t tell, and Addison doesn’t either. Maybe it’s just a matter of not wanting to admit how you happened to be in Joe’s bar at the right time, with the right combination of alcohol and desperation. Doesn’t feel very romantic. She was sad and you were broken and it just sort of happened. Maybe this isn’t what you had in mind for your life, when you were Izzie The Optimist. Izzie The Optimist wouldn’t have wanted someone who cheated on her with Sloan. And yeah, you know about that too. But you also know she likes you more, and that’s almost enough in itself.
If you look at it rationally - no really, let’s do that - it would have been easier if you’d never met Denny. Let’s say you had been assigned a different case, and he’d never flirted in that sweet, puppy-dog way. Let’s say falling for him had never been an option. Let’s say.
You feel sick even wishing for it. Like any of us really want the what-ifs anyway. It would have been easier if Addison hadn’t cheated with Sloan, over and over. If she hadn’t been left by her husband. Easier, if she hadn’t turned up in Seattle, wanting to make nice. When you make nice, you rarely get nice. You think that’s one of the stupid ironies of this lame, death-filled world. It’s just so typical, and no, it’s not funny at all.
We don’t always choose the easy option. Maybe sometimes we should. Or maybe, maybe sometimes you get what you want without even meaning to.
Author: giantessmess
Recipient: theagonyofblank
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Addison/Izzie
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,270
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Shonda Rhimes and co, not me. No profit, no foul.
Spoilers: Set after 3.02 and during season 3.
Summary: Izzie wishes things were easier
It would have been easier if you’d hated her from the start. It was your duty as a friend, right? To hate that salmon-scrubbed witch. But that was so long ago, and you have a hard time remembering the person you’d been. Miss Silver Lining. The world was a safe place for that Izzie: good triumphed, evil got its ass kicked and the woman married to your friend’s McDreamy was a bad person. Simple. Clean. This was also a world where the man you loved would never, ever die on the same day he proposed. Before, before. Before Denny.
Clearly this was a stupid, lying world. Clearly this world is untenable with the world of today, where you’re supposed to get up and walk down the street like your insides haven’t been vacuum-sealed, your legs stiff and untrustworthy. Your brain refusing to compute simple real-world things. Like walking outside, like going back to Seattle Grace.
Instead, you choose muffins. Muffins are supremely underrated, you know. They are. But once you’re done making them, and the kitchen surfaces look worse than some bakeries, you know you need to get the hell out of there.
When you get to Joe’s bar, only Addison has eyes for the muffins. But that’s ok. It’s ok. You give Joe both baskets. There are too many muffins.
‘How’s it going Izzie?’
‘Huh? Yeah. Fine. I just ran out of space.’
‘Ok…’
‘I needed space.’
‘Right, ok.’
Joe asks some pointless, worried questions, but you can’t really process much. It isn’t until later that you remember the layout of the bar, and the way Addison looked. Like she’d forgotten how to dress herself, or how to sit up normally in public. It isn’t till later still that you think you should feel bad for what you did. That maybe you weren’t the only person in the world with her heart recently ripped out and obliterated. It’s a few weeks till Joe tells you that Addison pretty much ate every muffin in the bar. Or at least tried to.
But that doesn’t matter, really. What matters is Addison turning up at the house. The night of the muffins, she’s there. She’s yelling something about Meredith and panties, but you’re the only one there - the only one who isn’t out having a life somewhere. Addison trips over the front stoop.
‘Dr Montgomery-Shepherd?’
‘I don’t…' she laughs. 'I don’t know why I’m here.’
‘You don’t know why you’re here?’
She’s drunk, of course. No, she’s post-drunk; she’s about to start boring bartenders with her life story and telling strangers that she loves them. You stop her from losing her balance.
‘Dr Montgomery-Shepherd? Addison? Did you drive…’
‘I walked…to the cab. I think there was a cab.’
‘Why did you take a cab over here?’
‘I think…I think I don’t feel so good.’
'Uh, ok. Just let me...'
'I don't feel so good.'
She looks ok to you, just a little unbalanced. You don’t say anything, you just bring her inside. You bring her inside, where you’ve been stuck all day every day since it happened. You should probably feel guilty - you do feel guilty. She’s drunk, and you shouldn’t be thinking about sex any more than you should be thinking about being a surgeon. But Addison’s lips feel so good on your skin, and she feels so soft and safe without her clothes. She doesn’t feel like anyone you’ve ever been with, and that’s good. That’s very good. It’s so good, and the lights are out, and the sheets are soft and there’s no one there but the two of you. Her fingers inside you, her body reacting to yours. You refuse to feel bad. You refuse.
She almost falls asleep with her head against your shoulder, her legs curled around yours. You jolt to a sitting position and send her to a hotel, in another taxi. Because you need to get back to the muffins. If it’s between Denny and Addison and falling to pieces on the spot, you choose muffins. You always choose muffins. It takes Bailey to stop you from baking everything in sight.
It isn’t easy, having this secret - this whatever-you-want-to-call-it with Addison Montgomery. After a while things become ok; not good, not bad, not even normal really, but ok. Even after you manage to drag yourself back into the surgery program, you still can’t figure out how to deal with the Addison thing. And it hasn’t gone away. As everybody knows - when you’re being all dirty with the secrets it’s advisable to pick your moments, (the dirty secret moments) wisely. But you’re both too screwed up to be that organized. Neither of you is capable of sneaking around, so you’re sure Meredith has noticed the lingering scent in your bedroom. The red hair clogging the shower drain. The extra set of scrubs in the wash every now and again; thankfully they’re no longer salmon. Meredith has to notice. Seriously. But you refuse to feel bad for something no one admits to seeing. Or guilty, or sad. You can’t feel bad for something that isn’t real yet.
‘I think we should, you know, tell someone,’ Addison says, eventually. ‘You know, maybe.’
You shrug, ‘Maybe.’
‘Not Derek, though.’
‘If I tell Meredith, I’m telling Dr Shepherd. It’s simple semantics. They sleep in the same bed.’
‘Please, not Derek, Stevens. Just not yet.’
‘Then I won’t tell anyone at all,’ you say. ‘Fine.’
‘No, look - Izzie, you can tell Grey, ok.’
‘Good, because I am.’
‘Well, great.’
‘Do you really want to tell people?’ You say, suddenly. ‘I mean, seriously want to?’
She looks at you funny, ‘I suggested it, didn’t I?’
‘You don’t really, though, do you?’
Addison brushes her hand against your cheek. She strokes your skin in such a way that you barely feel it. You sigh slowly.
‘I still don’t believe you.’
‘Yeah,’ Addison says. ‘I kind of don’t, either.’
In the end, you decide not to tell Meredith that you’re sleeping with Addison. It’s because she’ll act weird and give you one of those deer-in-headlights looks. And you don’t tell George, because he’ll only be smug and tell Dr Torres, who’ll be, like, super-smug while also trying to bond with you somehow. God knows how.
But you don’t tell, and Addison doesn’t either. Maybe it’s just a matter of not wanting to admit how you happened to be in Joe’s bar at the right time, with the right combination of alcohol and desperation. Doesn’t feel very romantic. She was sad and you were broken and it just sort of happened. Maybe this isn’t what you had in mind for your life, when you were Izzie The Optimist. Izzie The Optimist wouldn’t have wanted someone who cheated on her with Sloan. And yeah, you know about that too. But you also know she likes you more, and that’s almost enough in itself.
If you look at it rationally - no really, let’s do that - it would have been easier if you’d never met Denny. Let’s say you had been assigned a different case, and he’d never flirted in that sweet, puppy-dog way. Let’s say falling for him had never been an option. Let’s say.
You feel sick even wishing for it. Like any of us really want the what-ifs anyway. It would have been easier if Addison hadn’t cheated with Sloan, over and over. If she hadn’t been left by her husband. Easier, if she hadn’t turned up in Seattle, wanting to make nice. When you make nice, you rarely get nice. You think that’s one of the stupid ironies of this lame, death-filled world. It’s just so typical, and no, it’s not funny at all.
We don’t always choose the easy option. Maybe sometimes we should. Or maybe, maybe sometimes you get what you want without even meaning to.