A/N: written for the prompt "goldfish" for ga_lfas on livejournal.
In the waiting area of the small Chehalis doctor's office, there is a tank of goldfish. You watch them from the other side of the room, following their abbreviated dives and repetitive investigations. They're a cliché; the done thing whenever there are patients grouped in a room (you've seen your share of fish during the past months); but, actually, they're kind of restful.
It's raining outside. Of course. If anything, it's probably wetter here than in Seattle. But it drums against the windows and the rhythm is nice. It's peaceful. You can think (or not). It's what you came out here for when everything fell apart.
A family rushes in (one of the children coughing) and, while the mother talks to the receptionist, the three children crowd around the fish tank. At first they watch too, and then one (a boy) starts to tap on the glass. The peace (yours and the fishes') is jarred apart.
He calls you. He calls you all the time: "Izzie. Where the fuck are you?"
Now he thinks you've got a death wish: missing your IL-2 treatment out of some kind of spite towards him or Seattle Grace or the world or yourself. But you're here, aren't you? Trying to get a referral to the local hospital; papers in your bag to explain your protocol to a doctor who has probably never heard of it.
Your cell rings, tinkling out the wedding song (his personal ringtone - he hated it and you loved to tease him) that you keep forgetting to change. You don't pick up; you don't need to. It's always the same: "Izzie."
Except.
You're here. Trying to arrange treatment. And that's his doing because, if you're truly honest, you did have a little bit of a death wish, even if it was only by omission. (Sometimes someone needs to bang on the glass.)
You're not ready to talk to him. Have no idea what you'd say. You think the only thing that would suffice would be to beat his chest with your fists (for everything that happened, and everything he did, and everything he couldn't save you from). And on the phone that would just translate to crying and that's not the message you want to send.
At least, not yet.