A/N: Can't wait for September!
"You said her name."
Alex looked at her wearily. The drugs were messing with his body, and the bullet wound still hurt like a bitch because of how it was initially treated. "Whose name?" he asked, humouring her. Lexie had attended to his every need and had refused to leave his side, from the moment he gained consciousness at Seattle Presbyterian up to now, two weeks after the incident (they never referred to it as anything else).
"Izzie," he didn't miss the coldness in her voice. "You lost a lot of blood, you were dying," maybe jealousy too, he thought? "You called out for her. I was there, you called out for her."
Alex remained silent, trying to remember what happened between getting shot and ending up in an ambulance with Teddy barking instructions to the EMTs. "I don't," she said, trying to compose herself, realizing she just compared herself to his ex-wife, "I mean whatever."
He would have believed her if her voice didn't hitch at the last syllable. "I was dying," he explained.
"We were all well aware of that," she replied, suddenly busying herself with his bed sheet, since it was the only thing she could distract herself with. She didn't need much reminding that he (and she, for that matter) almost died two weeks ago. She then took a thermometer, promptly shaking the thoughts away. She studied it, pressing her hand to his forehead and trying to feel for the temperature on the apparatus. She spent most of her time fussing over Alex or fussing over his things. The room was immaculate; what was she supposed to do when he's asleep and she's worried he might not wake up?
"You know how they say when you're dying, your life flashes before your eyes?"
"Don't be cliché." She rolled her eyes.
He turned to her, his face contorting into a painful grimace. He bit his lip so she wouldn't hear him whimper with pain. "You just, think about what you've done. Accomplishments. Regrets. Your life up until that moment."
"Never pegged you to be so poignant," she mumbled sarcastically, her attention now on the bandages on his torso.
"Shut up, I'm drugged," he answered, which made her lips curl into an almost smile. "Izzie was my life, so I said her name."
"Oh," Lexie said, disappointed.
"You're not hearing me," he emphasized, "Izzie was my life."
She looked at him, and he took it as a good sign. He continued, "Before it was just her. When she coded in my arms, it was like," he paused, "she was my life. My past. But now, my life is," he smiled, "I'm good at my job, my friends are two chicks who have more balls than the whole fire department combined."
He took her hand gently. "And you," she beamed, "my smokin' hot girlfriend who gave up surgeries just so I can take my meds on time. You're my life now. Izzie's my past; you're my future."
She tightened her grip and leaned in to kiss him gently. She scooted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You're going to deny this once the drugs wear off, aren't you?"
"Just like you're going to deny what you told me when I was dying on that conference room table?" he smirked.
She looked up at him, smiling mischievously. "You lost a lot of blood. You're delusional."
"Was I?" he asked, laughing.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall deeper on the crevice of his neck. His arm had curled into her waist and she sighed contentedly. "Maybe," she teased, and she felt a rumble of laughter from his chest.