Title: The Transcending Elevator
Author: phoniexchild
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: missing scene, angst, drama
Rating: T/PG-13
Pairings: mention of Izzie/Alex
Spoilers: season 5 finale
Summary: The elevator doors slid open almost soundlessly, but she could hear the slight scraping of metal on metal.
Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy.
Author's Notes: Huge thanks to my friends Mary and Quinn who both read this exceptionally quickly and were very encouraging. And kudos to Mary who practically handed me the title.
I've watched Grey's off and on since the second season and haven't seen any of season 6, but I had to write something for the season 5 finale. It just took much longer than I thought it would. I hope you enjoy it!
--
The elevator doors slid open almost soundlessly, but she could hear the slight scraping of metal on metal. Her eyes caught his and a smile began to grow until realization struck. She saw the same conclusion drawn in his eyes. There was no air in her lungs and a pain in her chest. A snap-crackle of electricity and a faint beeping sounded before silence descended.
He held out his hand and, stepping out of the elevator, she took it. They began to stroll aimlessly down the hallways they had known for years. They seemed foreign now; the echoes of fast paced footsteps and the low babble of conversation trickled in the air surrounding them. As harmless as the noise was, it unnerved her. It buzzed in her ears until she was forced to speak in an attempt to drown the echoes out:
"Amanda's cute. I totally would have stepped in front of a bus for her," she said lightly, hoping for nonchalance.
He laughed softly as if wary to sound too loud, "Good thing you're married to Alex then, less competition for me."
Glad he was playing along, she smiled brightly, "That's what you think."
His shocked laugh echoed lightly, preceding them down the white, too-bright hallways.
--
They reached the cafeteria. The babble rose and crested in quick rumbling secessions. She could almost see the blue of scrubs and smell a faint wafting scent of deli meat. Suddenly the smell turned rotten in her nose and her throat felt clenched as her stomach rolled nauseatingly. She sat down quickly, willing the feelings to pass. He sat down next to her, watching her closely.
She turned to him, taking in his pale face and pinched look. She watched as his arm reached out towards her; it blurred around the edges as if he was moving too slow or perhaps too fast. He touched the golden locks of hers that were resting over her shoulder.
"I've missed your hair," he said wistfully, almost to himself, as he tugged it gently.
She smiled as tears gathered in her eyes and smoothly ran a hand over the fuzz that remained of his once messy half-curls, "And I'll miss yours."
They sat like that a moment, each lingering in the other's hair, until she allowed her hand to drop to his lap. "Did it hurt?"
His blue eyes go wide, filling with shock and incomprehension, and his hand pulls back. She draws hers back and forces them to cling to the pink cloud of her dress instead of the solid deep blue of his uniform. She bites her lip harshly, then meets his eyes determined, "Did it?"
He stares at her, his eyes going blank, before he turns to face to wall. "Honestly?" His voice drifts in from far away, too soft despite the sudden harsh hush of the cafeteria. Even the living are at attention for this.
"I don't really remember," he sounds like a dream, confused and hazy, "I think there was pain."
"You were run over by a bus," she prompts, denying her mind the moment to think of what this means.
"Pain," he agrees with a short nod. He turns to her suddenly and the hush is obliterated; the babble rises higher than before. He continues on evenly, despite the sounds, "You?"
She realizes how hesitant and scared he sounds. They are both dying and they both know it. She can even see the pain of her lies echo and dance through his veins. "It was sudden," she admits, thinking of that moment. She can feel Alex's arms around her limp body. She hears someone yell "clear!" and feels the sharp pain in her chest again. Alex's face appears and he is crying as if she's truly dying. Startled, she reaches up and tentatively touches fingertips to lips, "I can taste his tears," she says wonderingly.
He watches her, halfway between surprised and acceptance. She meets his gaze and can see Meredith's shock and horror in his eyes, "oh god, oh god!"
She focuses on him, feeling the edges of her reality stretch and twist. They bend and pain builds in her chest and in her mind. The babble grows, becoming whispers, distinct conversations, rushing towards the edges she's trying to manipulate with his eyes and his death. She turns away quickly, pulling back and feeling afraid. The noises fade until they are barely heard.
"Do you feel weird here?" She whispers, still afraid to look into his eyes.
He takes her hand gently and waits til she sees him. He smiles sadly and leads them out of the cafeteria.
--
They are once again strolling slowly along in the hospital's hallways. She thinks that they make quite a picture. She dressed her in mauve pink prom dress, a cloud of femininity in the white walls and sterile halls. He dressed in his uniform of dark blue and power. She wonders if he had ever worn it in life.
They abruptly stop at the entrance to the waiting area. She feels apprehension, but she is startled by the depth of his fear. It swirls around her like the smell of fresh bread and the light flurry of snow. She grips his hand tightly, as unnerved by his emotions as her mind's representation of them.
"Which way?" He whispers, lost. Lost, she realizes, for the first time she can recall since the elevator doors opened. She wants to go outdoors, but waiting area looms ahead of them. His fear crests in her hesitation and the sounds of a blaring horn, screeching metal and loud piercing screams ring through her head. She thinks she's screaming as well, but she grabs his arm with both hands and runs to the door. Her head explodes with pain and it feels like it is losing shape, the pain trickles down like egg yolk to the rest of her. Through the pain she can feel joy and jubilation as families survive and pain, hurt, and sorrow as friends die. Oh god ("oh god, oh god!"), she feels like she's dying again, a different death.
"Wait!" He grabs her close, sounding breathless, but they're all breathless now she thinks almost hysterically. She pulls back, feeling his skin crackle with electricity. He looks pale and like he's going to be violently ill and she wants to laugh because she's the one whose suppose to be violently ill. The laugh bubbles and dies in her throat. He was violently crushed. She suddenly wonders what she looks like and wonders if they have just felt each other die.
"Wait," he repeats softer, still panicked, "wait." Her name is on the tip of his tongue and she is surprised at how it tastes.
They are just inside the doors. A strong push of glass and a mere step forward and they will be outside. Outside in this half-world of echoes and shadows and pain. She feels the pull to go out into the sunlight; knows the pull is stronger for him, can feel it through his fingertips.
They can't do this together and it breaks her heart, she feels the liquid of blood leak through and puddle in her feet. Without looking at him, she lets go and pushes open the door, leaving a red dripping handprint on the glass. She walks out, the fresh air assaulting her skin, and goes to the benches lining the pathway.
Suddenly the air smells crisp and clean. She spins around and sees that he has joined her outdoors. She grins at him, but he's captivated by the bloody footprints she left behind. They are a solid swimming red by the doors, but fade to nonexistence the closer they are to her. He walks beside them and she can taste tears again and hear an argument about a DNR.
He reaches her, but is looking outwards, somewhere she can't see. Worry creeps into her heart and she lightly touches his fingers. When he looks at her, she smiles and spreading out her arms, deeply breathes in the sun.
His responding grin is even more illuminating than the rising sun and she laughs like perfect crystal. In a completely spontaneous moment, movement, in a way that makes every sense in the world and none at all, she leans forward and kisses him. It is a perfectly chaste kiss, a most innocent kiss. It is peaceful and it is love.
"Let's stay here forever," she breathes out, resting her forehead on his, gazing into his eyes. His hand moves upward and gently grazes her cheek. A small feeling of unease begins to unfurl in her mind and her gut when they both notice the clouds moving in.
--
They are inside once again, standing just inside the doors. Her bloody handprint still stains the glass behind them, mocking them. She looks in and sees the anxious families waiting news for their injured beloveds and feels the memory of his skull caving in once again.
This whole hospital made her feel uneasy.
He grasps her hand and leads her indoors. There is silence and he asks, "Where do we go?"
She shivers desperately. There is an ending coming and feels the tears gather just behind her eyes. "Away," she whispers. Away from this hospital and their deaths and the pain and the fear of those they have left behind. Away from the whispering babble that grows in their presence. She closes her eyes stubbornly, unable to continue seeing and feeling anymore. He leads them to places unknown. The babble follows.
"Please," he whispers in her ear suddenly and she hears "clear!" The crack and spark of electricity echoes in his chest and he is crying, "Please."
"Oh god," her eyes fly open as her hands fly to his face ("oh god, oh god!"), "Don't, please, I'm not ready!" She caresses his face as he bleeds. His heart is broken and it can barely pump. The red sustaining blood is draining through his toes, pooling around them. His life is draining out of his eyes, out of him.
They can't do this together and they can't do this alone.
"We're dead," she sobs as his strength leaves him and they float to the ground. The puddle of blood soaks through their pinks and blues. "We're dead!" She screams at the babble, clutching him tighter to her.
The babble is gone and there is the lone sound of rushing steps, "John Doe!"
"We're dead," she whispers into his hair and feels the electricity build in his chest, in her heart.
He begins coughing as her hair feels lighter. A strand of blonde curls gracefully falls into the thick red and his coughing becomes violent.
"No!" She screams and feels her own breath catch in her throat. "Get me that crash cart!"
She clings to his shoulders and he latches onto her waist. They aren't ready. He's her brother, her lover, her best friend, her other half. He's a shorter her with messy brown half-curls and a too blue eyes.
They can't. They can't, they can't, theycan't, theycanttheycanttheycant-
His head crumbles in her hands and she screams. Her heart collapses and her throat closes.
--
"We're dead," she announces. They are on the hospital roof. Neither know how they got there, but the clouds from before have covered the sky, encircled the building. They have grown a dark, angry gray.
They have overstayed their welcome.
"Maybe not," he whispers, sounding hopeful and sad, dejected.
"We're dead," she repeats, foolhardily determined to ignore, to forget the sudden knowledge that only one of them may leave.
He looks at her and smiles, it's sad and tired.
"No," she whispers angrily. "No!" She screams to the sky. They aren't ready, but this is it.
He holds out his hand like before when she left the elevator and even now, knowing, she can't resist and takes it. They walk together towards the doors and down the stairs. They say nothing, but grip together. There is no babble sounding in the stairwells (she thinks investigative sponge and smiles softly and tearfully), but once they enter the hallway it sings, but it's sad, understanding, apologetic.
"I don't believe we are dead," he whispers, tears coursing down his cheeks. They are her tears she is unable to cry while the electricity singes the inside of her chest.
"Not yet," she says softly, knowing, knowing. What bargain did he make? Did he make a bargain? Why didn't she get a chance to do the same? She feels Derek cutting into her skull, the pressure swelling.
"I signed a DNR," she remembers and knows that no one is heeding it.
"I know," he sighs, sounding as if he would be angry at any other time.
"Incurable disease," she still feels the need to defend, knowing that she is merely trying to recapture some form of normal. "You still have a chance," she pleads to whoever, whatever was listening before.
"My skull no longer has a shape," he points out matter-of-factly as they walk over the bridge by the chief's office. The windows are wide open and the sky is still angry, taunting.
She shakes, remembering the feel of his crushed skull, and grabs his arm to stop him.
"No," she argues illogically, "You could still survive."
His sympathy flows through his mind to her heart. He is still crying her tears; they glisten on his pale cheeks. "I'd rather live than survive."
She crumples into his waiting arms as the truth she's been denying hits her full force.
--
"I'm supposed to be the one who dies," she mutters into the coarse jacket of his uniform.
"No," he soothes, clutching her tighter, "No, no." They are on a precipice; he is still afraid.
"Looks like rain," she whispers, slowly pulling from him.
"Not yet, it's only morning," he assures her tiredly with a forced smile.
"Only mourning." She grimaces at the window. He leans heavily on her shoulder. She knows their time is almost up. She feels the weight of him, the wait from him, for him. She circles an arm around his shoulders and another around his waist. The hospital is dulling in color as the gray outside cackles with the electricity that hummed in her chest. They are moments away from thunder.
--
"What's that sound?" He asks suddenly as they reach the elevator. She feels what is assuredly her own fear clench her heart. He has been drowsy and incoherent for much of their slow pace. Until now. She feels thunder roll in her stomach and in his heart. He is afraid too.
She looks at him. Her tears dry on his cheeks and begin to build beneath her own eyes. Elevator music entrances them both softly as the doors gently ding open. The elevator respectfully waits. The babble of voices quiets as a farewell.
She takes his hand and begins to lead him through the waiting doors. She crosses the threshold just as he pulls back enough to stop her, "I didn't expect to die today."
"Neither did I honestly," she promises.
They embrace tightly and she cries for the last time. She feels his breath mingling with hers, tingling her lips. Their kiss, she feels it suddenly, tasting it. It was goodbye, it was their first hello, it was their last hello. It tasted of his love and admiration for her, his own hopes and dreams.
She cries harder because she will never cry again. The electricity builds, crackling in her heart. His is hollowing out. He presses their lips together one last time; a farewell, a see you later. An I love you and I'm sorry. Be safe, take care.
"Breathe," his voice echoes throughout her body and her eyes jolt open. She can still taste his love and will cry no more.
--
Word Count: 2,633
Date Written: 5.16; 7.22, 23, 24.2009; 4.7, 8.2010