Write Your Own Season
Title: Big Girl’s Don’t Cry
Fandom: GA
Pairing: George/Izzie
Episode: 3, of the altered anatomy multi author project.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm only responsible for their fictional corruption.
Summary: The season moves on.
A/N: My style is completely different from the first two wonderful writers. Hope you like.
Closing the door behind her shouldn't be the hardest thing Izzie has done in a long while. After all - her life lately has been full of really hard things. Just last year she cut the LVAD wire keeping the love of her life's heart beating and performed brain surgery on a crashed ferry boat with a non medical issued power drill.
That kind of skews a person’s perspective.
Lying to George and letting him walk away should be easy. But somehow it's just not. It's with a too late stab of clarity that Izzie realizes life or death is only simple because it's life or death.
She's used to life being the only sensible choice. This thing with her and George is much more complicated.
She won't die without him, she just might want to. He'll be fine, picking up his perfect little life already in progress. They are - they were - just a momentary irregular heartbeat. A symptom of an illness easily cured.
Sliding down to the floor because her legs will no longer support her is a pathetic way to respond to her current situation. Izzie shouldn't indulge in tears. She's too strong to let this break her. She's survived too much to give in to defeat.
Plenty of people live their whole life without finding a best friend, someone who understands them perfectly, fits exactly. Izzie can lose hers and find a way to move on.
She tells herself that. Over and over. Hoping that by the fiftieth repetition it will seem real, truth like, possible.
But she isn't surprised when an hour later she's still in the floor, completely unconvinced, craving closure, something sweet, and George.
Not exactly in that order.
----
When Meredith comes home, the lights are off and the house is eerily silent. She toes off her shoes at the door and heads immediately for the quiet of her room.
She doesn't ask why Izzie is sitting in the middle of her bed with a half eaten triple chocolate cake and a bottle of chocolate syrup. She's too insanely grateful to care.
"How did this happen?" She asks, not so much Izzie, but the universe.
Izzie just hands her a pre-prepared plate and shrugs.
"I just feel like crying." Meredith informs, taking the extra fork from the nightstand. "How stupid is that?" Meredith's disgusted laugh is cut off by a big mouthful of the dessert." What good is that going to do?"
Izzie's sigh is familiar; Meredith feels like her entire day was spent sighing. Giving Derek space meant resigning herself to a day of feeling nothing but empty, with the occasional jolt of lurking dread.
What if he doesn't forgive me? And what will I do if I lose him too? And because Meredith IS who she IS - why does this always happen to me?
She's letting it all out before she can stop herself, the questions, the tears, everything that has built up since Derek told her that she was the one, everything that hasn't since she walked away without telling him he was the one back. "You know - I don't mean to shut people out. I just - why does everything - and how do you...and what am I supposed to do to fix it?"
Izzie somehow manages to rescue the food before Meredith destroys it. Somehow manages to get her arms around Meredith and whisper words of comfort that are almost convincing. "It will all work out."
Meredith hiccups and buries her head further into blonde curls, mumbling "How?"
Izzie's squeeze precedes her release. Meredith tries to get control and manages minimally when her friend puts on a brave encouraging smile and answers "If I knew that I wouldn't need cake."
Laughing, for real this time, Meredith has to agree and ask for another slice.
-----
In her hotel room, this place that feels less like home by the minute, Callie just stares at the room service hardening on the tray.
Choice cuts of medium rare steak and garlic potatoes grow stone cold. She watches somewhat fascinated as the lettuce in the salads slowly wilts and the ice cream on their apple pie a la mode melts.
Their. The longer she waits the more she starts to realize that “their” doesn't exist. Their marriage, their love, their future. They are over, if they ever were.
George's note to Izzie, the abused scrap of paper hidden underneath the bread basket, felt like a slap in the face when she read it. It was freezing water thrown on her while she was peacefully dreaming.
She's awake now.
Awake and feeling so many things she can't settle on just one emotion in the swirl. There's anger, there's sadness, and there is the one that made her order dinner - this disturbing hope that George will make her change her mind.
That George will do something, say something, to stop her from telling him to pack his bags and go to hell.
One hour turns into an hour and a half, then two, and Callie starts to think that she won't get the opportunity. That he's made the decision for her already, cleared up whatever confusion he was feeling when he wrote the letter and settled on his precious Izzie.
Izzie with her perfect body and perfect face and perfect way of being George's everything. His best friend, his work ally, his mistress.
Mistress. How can Callie even think of forgiving him? What's happened to the woman she used to be, tough and together and...
The knock on the door has her up in a flash, wiping stray moisture from the corner of her eyelids and the wetness gathering near her nose with the napkin in her lap.
"George, I didn't think you were going to sho-" Callie stops short when she swings the door open way too eagerly and finds a tall man instead of a short one. "Mark?"
He's all smiles and gently leaning charm in her doorway. "Invite me in. We could both use the company."
It's not the best idea she's had all night, but the competition is stiff. For some reason Callie decides to listen, decides that her dinner, her marriage, her life, is ruined - so why the hell not?
-----
This could be it. This could definitely be the worst day of his life. Somewhere in the general vicinity of where his heart should be, George only feels a remarkable ache.
If he hadn't done this before, he might be on his knees. If it weren't for all the practice he'd had in the last couple of weeks, he would probably be hyperventilating.
First his dad, George couldn't save him. Then his marriage, George knew that was a dumb attempt to save himself.
Then the affair.
Then his job.
Now this.
George thinks he could, if he tried a little harder, turn failure into an art form.
Izzie doesn't love him. After days of angst and confusion, he figures out what he wants, what he needs, and Izzie suddenly knows it was the mistake he tried to sell her from day one.
He loves her, and now she can't even be his friend. He's screwed it all up so much it's almost comforting. What the hell else could go wrong?
He might as well go home, face Callie, tell her the truth and end this once and for all. George is too tired not to, too tired to pretend that he deserves her forgiveness, that she deserves anything but a man who loves her one hundred percent.
This could be it. The worst day of a long string of bad ones, so he doesn't even bother knocking. He uses the key she'll probably take back at the end of the night and takes a deep breath in preparation.
It's not what he expected.
The sight of his wife in their bed with Mark Sloan.
But life has lost the ability to surprise him. George can only blink, then nod, and turn quickly without saying a word.
All he can do is leave.
As he passes the small table on his way out George lets his fingers find the gold band around his finger and pull. He places the symbol of commitment they've both broken in between two untouched plates.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Callie crying, telling him that she “knows about Izzie,” that he has “no one to blame but himself,” that she's “glad that she's made it easy for him.”
Some part of him knows that she's very right and very wrong.
He did this to all of them, but it still hurts.
-----
She no longer knows what day it is. But whichever one it is - it's been a particularly hard one already.
Lexie was the first intern there, the first intern to scrub in, and the first one to screw up.
It's only nine and she's been here five hours. She could almost be proud of the fact that she's not crying and wanting to quit, if just the thought of the next ten hours didn't make her want to.
All the same she has to have a moment, some fresh air, something. She's half way down the stairs when she sees George looking more dejected than she feels and changes her plan.
"Did you fix it?" She asks, flopping down beside him, even though she can guess the answer by the circles under his eyes and the frown on his face.
But George doesn't have a chance to confirm. Lexie is just about to do the old "there, there, it can't be that bad" pat on his shoulder when another doctor she hasn't met approaches them.
"O'Malley could I have a word?"
Lexie's never seen George's eyes look quite like they do now. All hard and empty. It's sort of amazing how in the three days she's known him she's gotten used to his steady warmth.
"Sure, take anything you want." George offers, his voice as emotionless as everything else.
Lexie moves to leave and is surprised to feel George reach out to stop her.
The man only nods and continues. "Dr. Mark Sloan, and you are?"
"Dr. Lexie Grey." She's not sure she should, but she smiles anyway, extending an eager hand.
Dr. Sloan's eyebrows rise for some reason and he doesn't let go when he should. His grip is a little too tight and his eyes too penetrating. "Grey?"
"You had something to say?" George interrupts, and the moment is over.
"About last night, we have to work together." Sloan scowls when George rolls his eyes. "And personally I don't give a shit about you, O'Malley, but the last thing I want is you telling all your little friends that this was my fault. I'm not taking the fall for this one."
Lexie is intrigued by the last two words of that sentence and makes a mental note to ask George what that means later.
"All my little friends, or Dr. Sheppard?" George challenges, but then seems to deflate mid-thought. "You know what, fine. You are free and clear. Can this conversation be over with now? Could you do me the favor of just- not?"
Lexie can only watch as both men seem to reach a weird agreement and turn to walk away.
"Hey!" Her bad day forgotten, Lexie is going to find out what the hell is going on around her.
Seattle Grace is a literal hot bed of gossip. She's not even through her first week, but she's over being clueless.
"Could someone please tell me what is going on?"
George stops like he might actually tell her, opens his mouth and then suddenly closes it right back up. His attention diverts, goes behind her, to the big automatic doors they all walk in every morning to get to work, to live the dream, to save lives.
When she looks over her shoulder Lexie sees why - the dark haired Callie O'Malley and the fair Izzie Stevens, sharing the same space and the exact same unhappy expression.
And she thought she had it rough.
Lexie turns back, about to once again offer her support, and finds George gone.
Fandom: GA
Pairing: George/Izzie
Episode: 3, of the altered anatomy multi author project.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm only responsible for their fictional corruption.
Summary: The season moves on.
A/N: My style is completely different from the first two wonderful writers. Hope you like.
Closing the door behind her shouldn't be the hardest thing Izzie has done in a long while. After all - her life lately has been full of really hard things. Just last year she cut the LVAD wire keeping the love of her life's heart beating and performed brain surgery on a crashed ferry boat with a non medical issued power drill.
That kind of skews a person’s perspective.
Lying to George and letting him walk away should be easy. But somehow it's just not. It's with a too late stab of clarity that Izzie realizes life or death is only simple because it's life or death.
She's used to life being the only sensible choice. This thing with her and George is much more complicated.
She won't die without him, she just might want to. He'll be fine, picking up his perfect little life already in progress. They are - they were - just a momentary irregular heartbeat. A symptom of an illness easily cured.
Sliding down to the floor because her legs will no longer support her is a pathetic way to respond to her current situation. Izzie shouldn't indulge in tears. She's too strong to let this break her. She's survived too much to give in to defeat.
Plenty of people live their whole life without finding a best friend, someone who understands them perfectly, fits exactly. Izzie can lose hers and find a way to move on.
She tells herself that. Over and over. Hoping that by the fiftieth repetition it will seem real, truth like, possible.
But she isn't surprised when an hour later she's still in the floor, completely unconvinced, craving closure, something sweet, and George.
Not exactly in that order.
----
When Meredith comes home, the lights are off and the house is eerily silent. She toes off her shoes at the door and heads immediately for the quiet of her room.
She doesn't ask why Izzie is sitting in the middle of her bed with a half eaten triple chocolate cake and a bottle of chocolate syrup. She's too insanely grateful to care.
"How did this happen?" She asks, not so much Izzie, but the universe.
Izzie just hands her a pre-prepared plate and shrugs.
"I just feel like crying." Meredith informs, taking the extra fork from the nightstand. "How stupid is that?" Meredith's disgusted laugh is cut off by a big mouthful of the dessert." What good is that going to do?"
Izzie's sigh is familiar; Meredith feels like her entire day was spent sighing. Giving Derek space meant resigning herself to a day of feeling nothing but empty, with the occasional jolt of lurking dread.
What if he doesn't forgive me? And what will I do if I lose him too? And because Meredith IS who she IS - why does this always happen to me?
She's letting it all out before she can stop herself, the questions, the tears, everything that has built up since Derek told her that she was the one, everything that hasn't since she walked away without telling him he was the one back. "You know - I don't mean to shut people out. I just - why does everything - and how do you...and what am I supposed to do to fix it?"
Izzie somehow manages to rescue the food before Meredith destroys it. Somehow manages to get her arms around Meredith and whisper words of comfort that are almost convincing. "It will all work out."
Meredith hiccups and buries her head further into blonde curls, mumbling "How?"
Izzie's squeeze precedes her release. Meredith tries to get control and manages minimally when her friend puts on a brave encouraging smile and answers "If I knew that I wouldn't need cake."
Laughing, for real this time, Meredith has to agree and ask for another slice.
-----
In her hotel room, this place that feels less like home by the minute, Callie just stares at the room service hardening on the tray.
Choice cuts of medium rare steak and garlic potatoes grow stone cold. She watches somewhat fascinated as the lettuce in the salads slowly wilts and the ice cream on their apple pie a la mode melts.
Their. The longer she waits the more she starts to realize that “their” doesn't exist. Their marriage, their love, their future. They are over, if they ever were.
George's note to Izzie, the abused scrap of paper hidden underneath the bread basket, felt like a slap in the face when she read it. It was freezing water thrown on her while she was peacefully dreaming.
She's awake now.
Awake and feeling so many things she can't settle on just one emotion in the swirl. There's anger, there's sadness, and there is the one that made her order dinner - this disturbing hope that George will make her change her mind.
That George will do something, say something, to stop her from telling him to pack his bags and go to hell.
One hour turns into an hour and a half, then two, and Callie starts to think that she won't get the opportunity. That he's made the decision for her already, cleared up whatever confusion he was feeling when he wrote the letter and settled on his precious Izzie.
Izzie with her perfect body and perfect face and perfect way of being George's everything. His best friend, his work ally, his mistress.
Mistress. How can Callie even think of forgiving him? What's happened to the woman she used to be, tough and together and...
The knock on the door has her up in a flash, wiping stray moisture from the corner of her eyelids and the wetness gathering near her nose with the napkin in her lap.
"George, I didn't think you were going to sho-" Callie stops short when she swings the door open way too eagerly and finds a tall man instead of a short one. "Mark?"
He's all smiles and gently leaning charm in her doorway. "Invite me in. We could both use the company."
It's not the best idea she's had all night, but the competition is stiff. For some reason Callie decides to listen, decides that her dinner, her marriage, her life, is ruined - so why the hell not?
-----
This could be it. This could definitely be the worst day of his life. Somewhere in the general vicinity of where his heart should be, George only feels a remarkable ache.
If he hadn't done this before, he might be on his knees. If it weren't for all the practice he'd had in the last couple of weeks, he would probably be hyperventilating.
First his dad, George couldn't save him. Then his marriage, George knew that was a dumb attempt to save himself.
Then the affair.
Then his job.
Now this.
George thinks he could, if he tried a little harder, turn failure into an art form.
Izzie doesn't love him. After days of angst and confusion, he figures out what he wants, what he needs, and Izzie suddenly knows it was the mistake he tried to sell her from day one.
He loves her, and now she can't even be his friend. He's screwed it all up so much it's almost comforting. What the hell else could go wrong?
He might as well go home, face Callie, tell her the truth and end this once and for all. George is too tired not to, too tired to pretend that he deserves her forgiveness, that she deserves anything but a man who loves her one hundred percent.
This could be it. The worst day of a long string of bad ones, so he doesn't even bother knocking. He uses the key she'll probably take back at the end of the night and takes a deep breath in preparation.
It's not what he expected.
The sight of his wife in their bed with Mark Sloan.
But life has lost the ability to surprise him. George can only blink, then nod, and turn quickly without saying a word.
All he can do is leave.
As he passes the small table on his way out George lets his fingers find the gold band around his finger and pull. He places the symbol of commitment they've both broken in between two untouched plates.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Callie crying, telling him that she “knows about Izzie,” that he has “no one to blame but himself,” that she's “glad that she's made it easy for him.”
Some part of him knows that she's very right and very wrong.
He did this to all of them, but it still hurts.
-----
She no longer knows what day it is. But whichever one it is - it's been a particularly hard one already.
Lexie was the first intern there, the first intern to scrub in, and the first one to screw up.
It's only nine and she's been here five hours. She could almost be proud of the fact that she's not crying and wanting to quit, if just the thought of the next ten hours didn't make her want to.
All the same she has to have a moment, some fresh air, something. She's half way down the stairs when she sees George looking more dejected than she feels and changes her plan.
"Did you fix it?" She asks, flopping down beside him, even though she can guess the answer by the circles under his eyes and the frown on his face.
But George doesn't have a chance to confirm. Lexie is just about to do the old "there, there, it can't be that bad" pat on his shoulder when another doctor she hasn't met approaches them.
"O'Malley could I have a word?"
Lexie's never seen George's eyes look quite like they do now. All hard and empty. It's sort of amazing how in the three days she's known him she's gotten used to his steady warmth.
"Sure, take anything you want." George offers, his voice as emotionless as everything else.
Lexie moves to leave and is surprised to feel George reach out to stop her.
The man only nods and continues. "Dr. Mark Sloan, and you are?"
"Dr. Lexie Grey." She's not sure she should, but she smiles anyway, extending an eager hand.
Dr. Sloan's eyebrows rise for some reason and he doesn't let go when he should. His grip is a little too tight and his eyes too penetrating. "Grey?"
"You had something to say?" George interrupts, and the moment is over.
"About last night, we have to work together." Sloan scowls when George rolls his eyes. "And personally I don't give a shit about you, O'Malley, but the last thing I want is you telling all your little friends that this was my fault. I'm not taking the fall for this one."
Lexie is intrigued by the last two words of that sentence and makes a mental note to ask George what that means later.
"All my little friends, or Dr. Sheppard?" George challenges, but then seems to deflate mid-thought. "You know what, fine. You are free and clear. Can this conversation be over with now? Could you do me the favor of just- not?"
Lexie can only watch as both men seem to reach a weird agreement and turn to walk away.
"Hey!" Her bad day forgotten, Lexie is going to find out what the hell is going on around her.
Seattle Grace is a literal hot bed of gossip. She's not even through her first week, but she's over being clueless.
"Could someone please tell me what is going on?"
George stops like he might actually tell her, opens his mouth and then suddenly closes it right back up. His attention diverts, goes behind her, to the big automatic doors they all walk in every morning to get to work, to live the dream, to save lives.
When she looks over her shoulder Lexie sees why - the dark haired Callie O'Malley and the fair Izzie Stevens, sharing the same space and the exact same unhappy expression.
And she thought she had it rough.
Lexie turns back, about to once again offer her support, and finds George gone.