A/N: So, as I was watching last night's episode, I couldn't get this little tidbit out of my head. Not to mention, I don't think we get it nearly enough. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All rights are property of Shonda Rhimes

He doesn't even know how long he's been sitting there, the screeching of heart rate monitor, the final nail in the coffin. Alex can't help but cringe as he considers that twisted metaphor. He can't even remember the last time the two of them had a decent conversation. Thinking better of it, he's not sure they ever did. At least, not as a kid. He started playing babysitter before he could do long division. This should be easy. It's what he's always wanted. A good for nothing bastard finally kind enough to kick the bucket. A man he hardly knows who supposedly taught him a thing or two about being a man.

The roll of his eyes is so much that they might as well roll right out of his head. Jimmy whatever his name is (If he was ever told what it was, he couldn't give two shits to remember it) taught him nothing. A solid F- in parenting. At least now he knows what not to do. Even so, despite all his crap, he sits frozen. The solid whine of the machines that breathed him pathetic life for however much longer he had (not much considering he shot up like he was drinking fresh water from a well) almost become one with his familiar frustrations.

He might as well have held the guy's hand while he "crossed over" or whatever. Firey pits of hell or not, no man deserved to die alone. Mistake. He'd lost count of just how many times he repeated the same reassurances. He was pretty sure he could recite them verbatim at some point. But he knows death too well. When you're close, you get desperate. You see things, say things, want things that aren't yours to have. The dying say whatever they can to redeem themselves before they meet their maker.

His maker sucks ass. Here he is trying to be charitable and good—bedside manner and all that shit—and he has to sit through this; some blubbering idiot whose "other family" and praying to God or whoever that they know he loves them or something stupid like that. Alex wants to laugh. Laugh until it hurts because it's just so fucking ironic. The whole thing is. He finally gets a chance to tell this jackass how terrible he is and he has to up and die on him. Figures.

"You son of a bitch," he whispers, not even sure what makes him madder. Past wounds? No. He's way over that. It's the fact that for once, he gets exactly what he wants. Funny shit. The one time life decides to listen. And suddenly, he wishes more than anything it hadn't. But wishes don't come true for Alex Karev. They never had before so why start now?

Time is irrelevant. He doesn't even know how much longer he's in there, still locked on the sight of his father, warm and dead before him. His fingers are itching to shake the bastard. Shake him hard enough that he wakes, just so he can deliver one last blow to his ridiculous ego. He'll throw a fist or two for good measure. But as it is, he can't even do that and somehow, that's the most frustrating thing of all.

Jimmy Somebody gets away with everything. No karma for neglect and abandon. Blind and yet equally aware of just how much he's fucked up. And somehow, he has zero capacity to at least try and fix it. Because that's always been Alex's job. Picking up after everyone and their crap. So why not just make it easier on himself? It's always worked before. He's even doing it now for a guy who doesn't even know his fucking name. Figures.

Because see, that's the shitty thing about being a doctor. You take an oath to saving lives; even when your own's a fucking mess. So here he is practicing good medicine on a guy who never so much as gave him band aids for scraped knees and elbows. It's branded into any good doctor's head. And Alex Karev knows he's got that going for him. He may not have much else but he was damn good at his job, something he would like to keep. And for the moment, that means showing remorse for a guy who's got nobody, even though he'd much rather be stuffing his face with banana cream or drinking himself into some endless oblivion.

Sober, the one thing Jimmy never was. He was never sober or clean and his family (or families—who knew how many little ankle biters he had floating around this place) paid for it. His mother was beaten senseless on more occasions than Alex could count; so much so that she got the brains rattled right out of her. Aaron…Who the hell knows what happened to him. All Alex knew was they were both cozied up in some facility, in a town he can't even muster the balls to visit. And Amber. She hated him most of all. And rightly so. Alex is a coward and he knows it. Just like his old man. Apple doesn't fall too far from the goddamn tree. But he could rest easy knowing that at least he gets points for trying.

The taste of sand coats his mouth and Alex has to swallow hard to keep the grains from between his teeth, clenched as he watches the lifeless. Try. He can't remember a day when he didn't have to fight for it, for anything. Jimmy's words and final requests echo in his head now, fuel to the already growing fire inside the doctor. Determined. He can't remember a time when his father was that driven to go for anything that wasn't an ice cold beer. And even then he wasn't happy. Because it was never the right brand of poison. But as he rode is final breath, an ounce of sincerity rang through, the sound of it making him sick.

His stomach twists so hard he barely notes a hand quietly resting on his shoulder. He knows those hands. He knows them with a startling clarity. And all at once, it's as though someone's come up behind him and shoved his face in the sandbox, his mouth so full that it takes everything he's got not to let it spill out. These floors are sterile, these walls too white and clean. He has to keep it together if he has any hope at all of making it out of this room. Instinct is the enemy as he finds himself leaning into her hand; quiet and calm as everything inside of him seems comprised of every anger that ever was.

Green was never his colour really, but he figures he might as well get used to it. Sick. That's all he is. Sick. But superheroes don't get sick, right? Superheroes are supposed to be untouchable. They've built this world around themselves to make sure the enemy has no way in. But there's no stopping it now. His vision's already going, his body humming with transformation. The words that tell her it's best she step back, that she leave the room all together in the event that he causes even more damage are stuck somewhere in his throat. He finds that even if he could say them, he's too selfish to let her walk. Selfish. That's all Alex Karev has ever been. He takes every man for himself to a whole new level. And right now, in this very moment, to be left in his silence might very well kill him, just as it did his father

And suddenly it comes, the most subtle of sounds. If it wasn't so quiet in this room, he would have missed it. And all at once, Alex is gripping her hand with newfound strength. The softness and familiar shape of her hand is the one thing that reminds him of another human life, even as that of his father is slowly wasting away. He doesn't even mind that he's shaking anymore, that at any moment he could turn a nasty shade of green and his lab coat may just end up in shreds on these floors that reek of antiseptic. She's tough. She'd have to be if she was still hanging around, especially at a time like this. She's dealt with monsters before. And in that moment, Alex couldn't be more grateful.

Her hand feels so ridiculously small in comparison, but he figures that's how it's supposed to be anyway. He's the beast. Clumsy and loud, a little sloppy. Yeah, big hands are okay. At least for the time being. There's enough there to cup her hand, that somehow has come to rest upon his face. He doesn't realize until that very moment that he might as well be blind now. He can't see anything, hear anything but the sound of his own beastly behavior, only moments from reaching the surface.

"Shhh." The most subtle of whispers and yet, that seems to be all he needs. His back is broken; his boneless body brought forward so that his face rests in his hands, clammy and wet from…something. He doesn't see her come around to face him. It's all based on feeling. The one thing he seems to do too much of and hardly anything all at the same time. To know that she's there unleashes everything. It comes out so quickly that he barely has time to catch a shallow breath before everything kept trapped inside comes tumbling out. He knows it should stop, that he should do something about it but he can't. At this point, it's physically impossible. His breath hitches when his hands are taken as he scrambles to bring them back towards him. This is the last thing she should have to see. And even then he can't find the words to make her leave.

"Not you too," he whispers hoarsely. First Meredith and now…this. Whatever it was. It takes him a minute to realize what a double edged sword those words really are. As much as she should, as determined as he is to get the words out, the idea that she would actually listen floods him with uncharacteristic panic. He's taken hold of her wrists so tightly he's probably moments from breaking something. "Please…D-don't…..Don't go." He wants to punch himself in the face for sounding like such a child but she seems to hardly notice. "We…I….Not married. Not right now. I…Just don't go….Y-you can't….Please." For a guy hardly if ever uses courtesies, he sounds like a fucking moron.

"Okay," she whispers. That seems to be all he needs to hear before he loses complete composure. If he was at a loss for words before, all hope was gone now. He's shaking. Shaking so bad that even he knows it.

"He….He left me," me manages in a strangled whimper that he hopes she doesn't notice. "On and on about them….Didn't even know my name. Been here for weeks…Wiping his ass, shoving pills down his throat….And this is the thanks I get. He's dead. I can't even tell him how worthless he is anymore. Because he's dead." Alex barely scoffed. "Shoulda known, never stays anywhere long. Just my luck. Had to tell him six times that people who didn't give a ratsass about him loved him, that they were coming to see him. That's the only way he was willing to go anywhere. Never so much as a thank you for saving his sorry ass, for raising his kids…Making sure his wife didn't end up killing herself. All that work for the fucker and he can't even stay alive long enough for me to hate him some more."

"I know…"

"Fuck off!" he snarls, finally building enough strength to stand. Jo has to shuffle back quickly before he lunges forward. "You didn't care for your sick mom who could only remember your name or who you were maybe six times out of a hundred. Didn't have to make sure some dipshit's kids went to school, had food in their stomachs. You didn't have to go hunting for coins in couch cushions just to make sure your crazy mom didn't go on some rampage, trying to kill the whole goddamn neighbourhood! All 'cause some good for nothing deadbeat loser couldn't show up! Instead he just dies. 'Cause it's too fucking hard! Leaving's the easy part. Leave it to the kid. It's worked before! Doesn't matter what his name is or how old he is. All you worry about is the fact that you don't have to do shit. 'Cause it's already all taken care of. 'Cause you're too drunk to get off your own ass!"

"I know…" she said quietly.

"Like hell you do," he growls. "They're out there somewhere. Don't know where but they are. I guess you know or something when people die." If he didn't know it before, he knew it now. Alex suddenly felt cold and hallow, unsure if anything would ever warm him again. "You feel it, Wlson? Empty...? Cold…? Like nobody…." Alex raises his head just enough to see her shake it slowly.

"Gone is gone," she mumbled. "Doesn't matter how or why."

"He's dead…" he said quietly, his throat catching once more. "He's gone and I didn't even get to…"

"Yes he did." Alex raises his brow angrily, but keeps a shadow of skepticisms. "You were here…You sat with him. He wasn't alone."

"I'm a doctor," he muttered.

"Not tonight….Tonight, you were a son."

"Haven't you heard? I don't even have a name," he smirked weakly. "Those other people? Naomi or whatever her name is? They have names…They have names because they matter."

"So do you….Right now, more than any of them."

"You're not following this conversation," he mumbled.

"I am," she reassured. "They weren't here. They came and went. Took a guitar and that was it. But you….You sat here. You comforted him when he was scared, even though it killed you to hear him talk about them, hear him call out to someone who wasn't you. That takes a lot, Alex. Especially after everything. But you did it. You did it 'cause you're a good person who loves his father."

"Never said a damn thing about love," he snarled.

"You don't have to say it…It's in all the stuff you did, all the stuff you said."

"…Didn't even get to say the words…"

"You didn't have to."

"Fuck if I even know what it sounds like…"

"I love you..." she whispered.

A/N: As an Alex stan, I feel like that little extra piece was really important to add. He's long overdue for one. Thoughts?