Chapter One
"She's furious, George," Izzie said, panic rising in her voice. "She's furious at me. And Callie… Callie is not the woman you want to be angry at you. Oh, and to hear her tell it?" She sat on the couch beside a stunned and exhausted-looking George and stole his yogurt, which sat mostly uneaten on his lap. "It's fine that you cheated. I'm a whore, but you're fine in her book."
"Izzie, I am not. She… she thinks she owes me forgiveness, and I guess... she's trying."
"Well, you don't deserve it," she said, around a mouthful of pink food.
"Her forgiveness?"
"I'm sorry," Izzie said, setting down the carton. Her eyes were fixed on the hardwood floor of Meredith's living room, alternately meeting George's and avoiding them. "But why am I the whore around here?" George shook his head, aware that there was no right response to that.
There was a long pause.
"Do you love Callie, too?" Izzie asked. George exhaled, and out of the corner of her eye Izzie saw him deflate a little.
"She's my wife."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Izzie, don't make me do this." He sought her gaze, but she kept her profile towards him until she whipped her head around.
"George." She looked at him purposefully now, dead on.
"You make promises, you know?" George explained. "They make you stand up and make promises, and you can't break those, just… like that."
"You slept with me, George. There must have been something you thought, something that ran through your head when you took my shirt off… something….?"
"I was drunk!" He nearly yelled. He wasn't sure why he was so angry, but it rubbed Izzie's frayed nerves the wrong way.
"Were you drunk in the elevator, George? When you came to my door and told me you loved me? Were you drunk then?"
Silence. Then, somehow, he was sitting very close to her, and their faces nearly touched.
"Are you going to let me kiss you this time?" Izzie asked, her annoyance dissipating with anticipation. George's smell, some combination of Seattle Grace's rubbing-alcohol-scented air and a softer something, like soap, permeated her body and made her shiver.
"I want to," he said, turning his head away. "I want to." He stood up and walked out, just a little too fast.
"George," Izzie called after him. "George!"
Meredith came into the doorway instead, and looked at Izzie quizzically.
"What's going on with you two?" She asked, picking up the yogurt and eating it.
"You are the third person to eat that yogurt today," Izzie said, avoiding her question.
"Nice try." Meredith laughed. "Why are you and George spending half your time storming out of rooms?" The corners of her eyes came up; clearly, she thought this was some kind of indecipherable private joke. Izzie shifted to defense, though nothing Meredith said called for it.
"Oh, me and George? Nothing. You know. Normal, friend stuff. Just friends. Doing what friends do. Like… talking about things! His, um, crazy wife. Surgeries." Sickening comprehension dawned on Meredith's face, as so many strange pieces fell into place within her mind.
"You and George are… you did… seriously?" Izzie stared back at her, wide-eyed and numb.
"I'm not going to run and tell Christina," Meredith promised. Izzie's face relaxed a little. "But… what?" Meredith continued. "Why?"
"I love him," Izzie said, as if that would make up for the immorality of the whole thing and assuage Meredith's shock.
"Great," Meredith said, nodding, "everyone's freaking in love." She sighed and sank into the dark leather chair opposite Izzie, with the seemingly bottomless carton.
"When did you know you were in love with Derek?" Izzie asked, sighing.
"I don't know, Iz." Meredith studied the last spoonful of yogurt. "How does anyone tell?" With that cryptic thought, Meredith tossed the empty container and the spoon on the coffee table, then left.
Izzie stayed behind on the couch. For five minutes, she watched the threshold, waiting for the next person to come through.
The next person, predictably, was George.
"I am so sorry," he whispered. He threw himself down beside her. Wordlessly, he leaned in, tipped her back, and kissed her. It was so intimate, so careful, so full of impulses they couldn't act on, that anyone who saw it would feel uncomfortably like they had caught George and Izzie in bed together.
Then they went in for another kiss, rougher this time. His hand was tangled in her hair, slightly damp from a recent shower and curling up because she had given up on the straightening iron for that evening. Izzie slid her hands were around the small of his back as she sucked in the smell and taste and feel of him when it was readily available, since it so rarely was.
Suddenly, they were sprung apart by the sound of a door being wrenched open, slammed, and post-ceded by heavy footsteps in the foyer.
"Where… the hell… is my husband?"
