It Never Happened

This is a total reactionary fic to the depressing ending of the episode "Invasion." I'm absolutely loyal to Alex and Izzie as a couple, but this story just kind of came out of my annoyance with their story line. Like it, don't like it. Whatever. This story was really oddly theraputic to me.


The hug never happened, but the attempt was enough. He eventually moved to a chair, which relieved both of the women, as he looked like he would pass out at any second. She sat on the end of Meredith's bed and they let the silence engulf them.

Eventually Meredith's pain meds took affect and she fell asleep. Neither of the other two moved until her soft snores turned into the roar of a tractor trailer on the interstate. She stood, put her hand on his shoulder. "Come on. Time to go home."

He looked at his hands before standing. "I don't know where that is anymore," he said, his voice choked with unshed tears. She nodded in response and they walked out the door together, passing Shepard as they went. He felt a pang of sadness as he watched Derek take his seat next to Meredith as she lay in the hospital bed. It was a reminder of a time, not so long ago, that he was the one sleeping in that uncomfortable chair, fighting to keep his wife alive, fighting to keep their love alive. He wonders if it was a battle he was destined to lose.

They entered Joe's and he immediately moved toward the men's room, whether he was washing the tears from his face or drowning himself in the toilet, she couldn't be sure. She moved to the bar and orders a bottle of tequila. "Bad day, Yang? You and Alex both look like someone stole your puppy."

"Something like that. The hospital was invaded by bloodsucking pod people. Hunt's an ass. Izzie left." She takes the glass the bartender handed her and pours herself a shot, downing it quickly.

"Wait, Izzie left?! Why? How?"

"Don't know. She left him a note in his locker. That was it."

"God. Poor Alex. He must -- Hey, man." Joe's comments were cut off as Alex rounded the corner, looking less upset, but more empty and lost than he did before he went into the bathroom.

Merely nodding to Joe, Alex grabbed the bottle of tequila and brought it quickly up to his lips, taking a few big gulps before placing it back on the bar. An hour passed without a word as they continue to drink. Eventually the liquor losens his lips enough for him to verbalize his thoughts. "I don't know what I did."

"I have a couch you can sleep on," she said in response to his earlier comment about not knowing where home was. "It's not Meredith's big empty house and it's not the woods, but you can sleep there." It was an hour or so too late in coming, but it was the only thing she could think of. Giving pep talks and encouragement were not her thing. That was Izzie's thing. But Izzie was gone.

Two hours and a second bottle of tequila later, they found themselves struggling to walk the block and a half to her apartment. Finally making it to the elevator, they both leaned against opposite walls, concentrating on staying upright. "Izzie left me," he repeated, almost with a laugh.

"You know she'll be back. You guys are Izzie and Alex. Evil Spawn and Dr. Model. It's like peanut butter and jelly ... or something like that." she stammered and slurred. The doors to the elevator opened revealing Mark Sloane on the other side.

"Woah. You two look like hell."

"Yeah, and we feel worse than we look," she said, smacking Alex in the shoulder pushing him to get off the elevator, passing the confused plastic surgeon on the way. "Have fun with the bloodsuckers, Sloane."

Once inside the empty apartment, he sat down on the floor, not feeling any motivation to move to the sofa. Not really knowing how to deal with him or this situation, or maybe just not thinking things through in her inebriated state, she sat down beside him.

Neither is certain how it starts, but suddenly clothes get pushed away, meaningless kisses are pressed against the other's lips and skin, and guilt has been lost in the bottom of that second bottle of Cuervo.

Some recognition comes to her when he pushes himself into her, but not enough to make her want to stop. Even when he calls her "Izzie", and even when his hazel eyes turn blue, she made no effort to end it before it was over.

After it was over, after the last sigh of ecstacy, he passes out cold. She grabs her clothes and crawls to her bed and does the same.

The sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, far too loudly for her taste, brought her to a painful awareness hours later. She pulls a robe around her and walks toward the kitchen to yell at whoever is making the offensive sounds.

She doesn't have the energy to yell when she spies Callie putting dishes in the diswasher, choosing to find the asprin instead.

"Rough night?" her roomate asks, cheerfully.

"Something like that."

"Looks like you weren't the only one." She motions to the still sleeping form on the couch. Mercifully, during the night, he had somehow pulled on his pants and moved to the couch. "What's he doing here? I heard Stevens got fired. Shouldn't he be with her, you know, comforting her or whatever?"

"She left."

The weeks that followed happened just as she expected. They both remembered what happened, but neither of them acknowleged that night. They moved forward with their work, fought off some of the bloodsuckers, acted as if nothing happened. It was for the best.

Owen remained steadfast, but she couldn't deny what she felt for him and they put an effort into fixing themselves yet again.

Izzie returned as expected a little less than a month later, and in a tearfilled moment outside the hospital, witnessed by several new interns, she explained her actions and asked him for forgiveness. According to accounts, he said nothing, but rather walked over to her, kissed her like they do in the movies, and asked her to never leave him like that again.

And just like that hug, Alex and Cristina became something that never happened.