drabble: spend all your spare time trying to escape.
title. spend all your spare time trying to escape.
fandom. grey’s anatomy.
pairing/character. alex. izzie. | alex/izzie. george/izzie.
spoilers/warnings. 4x04; ‘the heart of the matter’.
disclaimer. not mine.
word count. 502.
rating. g.
written for. pretty_stickers‘ drabbles. prompt is underneath the cut.
summary. this is him running. the world doesn’t stop moving - he simply starts.
notes. obviously au; feedback is ♥.
He finds himself in the park.
Alex Karev, as of an hour ago, likes to jog to release his pent up anger and frustrations, and to escape the world.
This is him running - and he’s not running away like a pansy, or some fairytale with bread crumbs and a girl in a red cloak; he’s just trying to keep himself safe from the cuts and bruises and her damn crying.
She cries so loud; the tissue box is probably empty, five minutes into her tears, and he can’t believe she’s crying over McNothing.
The dirt flicks up, his footprints dent the earth, and there’s a lonely bench underneath a tree that looks like charcoal and it’s about to crumble. Something poetic, he thinks, and this is where he is, sitting and catching his breath, on a bench chair that’s alone and isolated and that’s only surrounded by the sounds of dirt rustling underneath his feet, birds in the distance, people, cars - and silence.
He kind of likes the silence more and more these days - booming sounds of truth and honesty and heartbreak need to be a past memory, a dead patient who died from a stroke on prom night - and he really can’t even hear his own breathing.
He sits there until it’s dark, charcoal seems to seep from the chair and into the sky, and there’s a light somewhere in the distance that seems to be the sun’s fading rays, as he can see his shoes and the unsettled dirt that’s the bread crumbs he’s left behind just in case he’s forgotten his way home.
“Alex?” comes minutes - probably hours - after he’s stopped noticing things, the darkness that’s resting heavy on his shoulders seems to have covered him like a blanket, and here she is, tossing it up over his head and she’s going to climb under the covers with him. “What are you doing out here?” He licks his lips and doesn’t answer, and Izzie really doesn’t move, just stands there and her face is blotchy and she’s looking a little like the girl in the cloak asking the big bad wolf for directions. “Alex?”
He stares somewhere past her, can’t really see what’s there because he’s stopped seeing things and he’s a little lost in the woods, can’t find his bread crumbs. She sits beside him, hands on her knees, and he doesn’t protest, flinch or even really look at her. “I’m sorry, Alex,” she tries again, and he’s not listening. She stays still, a porcelain statue kept on a shelf, high and out of reach from the grubby child with breakable hands.
Alex figures time seems to click on, kind of like how the world needs to spin around and not stop for anyone, and she’s asking him again, a poke in the shoulder, “What are you doing here?” and he looks at her, finds feeling in his arms, and the seat is getting a little cold.
“Stopping,” he says, something breaks, and he leaves it at that.
fandom. grey’s anatomy.
pairing/character. alex. izzie. | alex/izzie. george/izzie.
spoilers/warnings. 4x04; ‘the heart of the matter’.
disclaimer. not mine.
word count. 502.
rating. g.
written for. pretty_stickers‘ drabbles. prompt is underneath the cut.
summary. this is him running. the world doesn’t stop moving - he simply starts.
notes. obviously au; feedback is ♥.
He finds himself in the park.
Alex Karev, as of an hour ago, likes to jog to release his pent up anger and frustrations, and to escape the world.
This is him running - and he’s not running away like a pansy, or some fairytale with bread crumbs and a girl in a red cloak; he’s just trying to keep himself safe from the cuts and bruises and her damn crying.
She cries so loud; the tissue box is probably empty, five minutes into her tears, and he can’t believe she’s crying over McNothing.
The dirt flicks up, his footprints dent the earth, and there’s a lonely bench underneath a tree that looks like charcoal and it’s about to crumble. Something poetic, he thinks, and this is where he is, sitting and catching his breath, on a bench chair that’s alone and isolated and that’s only surrounded by the sounds of dirt rustling underneath his feet, birds in the distance, people, cars - and silence.
He kind of likes the silence more and more these days - booming sounds of truth and honesty and heartbreak need to be a past memory, a dead patient who died from a stroke on prom night - and he really can’t even hear his own breathing.
He sits there until it’s dark, charcoal seems to seep from the chair and into the sky, and there’s a light somewhere in the distance that seems to be the sun’s fading rays, as he can see his shoes and the unsettled dirt that’s the bread crumbs he’s left behind just in case he’s forgotten his way home.
“Alex?” comes minutes - probably hours - after he’s stopped noticing things, the darkness that’s resting heavy on his shoulders seems to have covered him like a blanket, and here she is, tossing it up over his head and she’s going to climb under the covers with him. “What are you doing out here?” He licks his lips and doesn’t answer, and Izzie really doesn’t move, just stands there and her face is blotchy and she’s looking a little like the girl in the cloak asking the big bad wolf for directions. “Alex?”
He stares somewhere past her, can’t really see what’s there because he’s stopped seeing things and he’s a little lost in the woods, can’t find his bread crumbs. She sits beside him, hands on her knees, and he doesn’t protest, flinch or even really look at her. “I’m sorry, Alex,” she tries again, and he’s not listening. She stays still, a porcelain statue kept on a shelf, high and out of reach from the grubby child with breakable hands.
Alex figures time seems to click on, kind of like how the world needs to spin around and not stop for anyone, and she’s asking him again, a poke in the shoulder, “What are you doing here?” and he looks at her, finds feeling in his arms, and the seat is getting a little cold.
“Stopping,” he says, something breaks, and he leaves it at that.