Doc: This is just a collection of seasonal ficlets that seemed to pop into my head one night. They're basically unrelated, and can be interpreted any way you like. It's basically just a bunch of scenarios between the hospital staff that I found amusing. Lately, the only thing I can seem to write about is Christmas. So you all get this lovely early Christmas Gift. And, as a bonus, I'm not dead.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the wonderful characters of Grey's Anatomy. I do, however, own the odd scenarios that sprout in these ficlets.

001. The Twelve Days of Christmas

Continuity: Second Christmas; after season two.

Last year it had been different. It was Black Friday one year ago when they'd come home to find the house completely covered in a thin blanket of holiday cheer. Izzie had given her playful smile, the one she used when she knew she went overboard with something as she was very likely to do. They'd let it go then; she'd been going through a difficult time. And though neither Meredith nor George would ever admit it, Izzie wasn't the only one who enjoyed the holidays. She just happened to be the only one to show it.

This year wasn't like that. He came home on a chilly Friday afternoon, exhausted from a forty-eight hour shift. Kicking some of the freshly fallen snow from his shoes, George kicked them off and left them by the door. He shook his head roughly, almost like a dog trying to rid itself of the snow in its fur. Snowflakes fell onto the ground though he didn't bother to clean them up. Instead he shuffled into the den, a heavy sigh passing over his lips as he leaned in the doorway.

"Not going out tonight?" He questioned, eying Meredith on the couch with a steady gaze. She looked up from the cup of cocoa she'd made and shrugged indifferently. She took a sip of her cocoa and echoed his sigh.

"It's December thirteenth," Meredith replied. Somehow George understood this, even if it wasn't the answer to his question. It seemed to satisfy him, though, for he slid into the room and flopped onto the couch next to her, chin resting on the back of the couch. Christmas lights were blinking at him from their neighbors' houses. Another collective sigh.

"There's only twelve more days until Christmas, George," Meredith murmured unnecessarily. He'd figured that much out. His eyes reflected the multicolored lights as he traced a snowflake on the frosty window behind them.

"Last year she had that tree up by the day after Thanksgiving," he responded, turning to cast the staircase a glance. Maybe if he stared at it long enough Izzie would come bounding down with tinsel in hand and deck the halls. Maybe she'd go back to being her normal self, too.

It had taken her a long time to get over Denny. No, scratch that. Everyone knew Izzie wasn't over Denny and that she probably never would be. But she had finally gotten back to work and was acting seemingly normal. It had just spurred up around Thanksgiving, this new, reclusive Izzie who liked to spend her free time locked up in her room or baking. Absently George snatched a cookie from the plate on his left.

"I miss the lights," he managed, gaze drifting back to the window.

"I miss the cookies," Meredith muttered under her breath just as George stuffed the last of Izzie's baked goods into his mouth. Giving a sheepish smile he glanced about, eyes falling onto the closet in the corner he knew to hold all of the various Christmas decorations.

"I miss Izzie," he finally admitted, slowly getting to his feet and stretching his arms over his head. "I miss how she used to be." Meredith paused, a thoughtful look passing through her eyes. George arched a brow at the grin creeping upon her lips.

"I think I know how we can get her back."

GA

She was a surgeon. Death was inevitable. It shouldn't be that hard to digest. Death might have been inevitable, but who you fall in love with? You can't help who you fall in love with. That fact had already been established. Apparently, you couldn't help how long you stayed in love, either. It was December thirteenth and Izzie Stevens was locked up in her bedroom, staring blankly into the darkness. It was Christmastime and she wasn't into it.

Why wasn't she into it?

Denny. Denny was the reason for many changes in the former Doctor Model. She was still Izzie, sure, but you could still see her eyes spark when the topic was mentioned, about what happened those months ago. She wasn't over Denny. She didn't think she ever would be. Last year, she'd thrown all her energy into Christmas after the entire Alex ordeal. This year, she preferred staying locked up in her room.

Because Denny was dead, she wasn't into it.

It had hit her just after Thanksgiving. She'd never shared Christmas with Denny. She'd never even baked him anything. She should have, Izzie knew. He should be there with her right now, decorating the tree. He should have been the one to put the star on top. She should be happy right now, dammit!

"On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming," Izzie blinked. There were no visions of sugar plums dancing in her head. Why was she hearing Christmas carols?

"Eleven pipers piping," she pushed herself into a seated position, eyebrows furrowed. She was definitely hearing singing. Izzie rubbed her eyes, staring at the closed door.

"Ten lords a-leaping," She swung her legs over the bed. Someone was laughing. It struck her as odd that anyone could be happy right now, when she was so depressed.

"Nine ladies dancing," Izzie stood, somehow drawn to the music. No, she told herself, she was just going to see where it was coming from. After all, Meredith and George weren't Christmas people. There were probably some carolers outside or something.

"Eight maids a-milking," She pushed the door open, squinting into the darkness. It was eight o'clock p.m. Why was it so dark in here? Izzie supposed George and Meredith were out. It was Friday after all.

"Seven swans a-swimming," but the singing sounded so close. Izzie hovered at the top of the stairs for a moment. The singing had stopped. She vaguely heard whispers before another line suddenly piped up, "Six geese a-laying."

Izzie bit her lip, waiting for the triumphant fifth number. "Five golden rings!" She took a step, lingering at the second to last step and attempting to peer into the dim house below.

"Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves..."

"Hey, what's that last line again?"

"I dunno." Izzie rolled her eyes lightly, glancing about cautiously. Unconsciously, she'd hopped down each of the steps and was now standing awkwardly on the landing. George and Meredith were ignoring her, but she noted he had a string of tinsel wrapped around his neck. Meredith was partially tangled with Christmas lights. The tree was positioned near the window, fully decorated save for the star.

"A partridge in a pear tree," Izzie supplied with a heavy sigh.

"Huh?" George murmured with a frown, stumbling over a box of decorations littering the floor.

"The last line. It's 'and a partridge in a pear tree'. But you already knew that." Meredith and George exchanged innocent looks that failed miserably. Izzie moved into the den, eyebrow arched. He finally burst into laughter and had to turn away. Meredith simply shrugged.

"We knew you couldn't resist Christmas carols. So, what do you think?"

Izzie cast the den a surveying glance. She nodded her approval. "Couldn't have done it better myself." She finally took pity on George and snatched the end of the tinsel, successfully untangling him from the mess of silver. She moved to string the tinsel over the window, slightly surprised when George tapped her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

He held up the glittering silver star as an offering. "We saved the star for you."

Izzie sighed slightly, reluctantly taking the tree-topper from him and moving to place it at the top of the tree. Denny should have been putting the star on the tree. Instead, she was doing it in his place. She placed the star gently on the tip, eyes wandering to the window. A smile had crept its way across her face.

It was snowing.

002. Cookies

Continuity: Any Christmas.

He sat on a stool near the counter watching her. She had all the ingredients spread out over the counter around a large bowl. One batch was already cooking away in the oven, but she was on a tight schedule. There needed to be at least twelve dozen cookies for the hospital's annual Christmas party tonight, and she was determined there would be two dozen of six different kinds. She was trying her best to ignore him, but George had that sad puppy look on his face again.

Izzie couldn't resist his sad puppy face.

Groaning slightly she began mixing her ingredients slowly, eyes averted from his. But George had the kind of warm gaze you couldn't help but be drawn to, even when you were ignoring him. "Stop looking at me," she murmured between stirs. "Can't you see I'm trying to create a masterpiece?"

"The party's in a few hours," George answered offhandedly, elbow propped on the counter and chin in his upturned palm. "Want some help?" If it was one thing Izzie took pride in besides her medical career, it was her baking. She never let anyone help with her baking, not even George.

"I'll be fine," she responded as the timer went off. Putting on a pair of snowman decorated oven mitts she removed a tray of steaming gingerbread cookies and placed them on the counter to cool. Her eyes followed George's steady gaze to the hot cookies and she held his gaze. "Don't even think about it." She then turned to place her next batch, snicker doodles, into the oven, ignoring his pitiful groan of longing.

"They're not gonna miss one cookie, Iz."

"George, go. Maybe if you're a good boy and let Izzie finish her baking, she'll let you decorate the gingerbread men." She was speaking to him as if he was a five year old child. Dejected, George slid off from his stool and skulked into the den. Vaguely, Izzie could hear 'It's a Wonderful Life' playing through for the fifteenth time that year.

As she bustled around the kitchen making last minute arrangements for her cookies, Izzie stared blankly at her freshly decorated gingerbread men. George hadn't come in to help her decorate them, but he was sure to sit on the couch so she could see him every time she passed the doorway. Her gaze lingered on him for a split second, but she turned away when he looked up at her.

Mixing the batter of another recipe, she hovered in front of her gingerbread men. Sighing to herself she grabbed a napkin and slipped one of the cookies onto it. Izzie, Santa Claus apron and all, appeared in the doorway and held out the cookie as a peace offering. "For me?' George questioned in an amused tone.

"Yeah," she replied as he stood, snatching the cookie and biting off one of its legs. He chewed thoughtfully and Izzie waited, as if for his approval. He swallowed hard and gave a thoughtful nod. "Well?"

"I especially liked the gumdrop buttons. Nice touch." She elbowed him playfully in the ribs before heading back to the kitchen. George took another chunk of his cookie before making to go back to the couch.

Izzie cast a glance over her shoulder expectantly. George tilted his head slightly to one side. "Wanna lick the spoon?"

He grinned and trailed her into the kitchen. Nothing like Christmas to get Izzie to share her cookie dough.

003. But As For Me And Grandpa

Continuity: Any Christmas.

He glanced around the emergency room with distaste. This was his least favorite time of year for work. People were idiots. They ended up in the hospital for the most outrageous accidents during the holiday season. This time was no different. He'd been called down for a neuro consult, and quite frankly he wasn't all that excited for it.

At least until he found out who the intern on this case was. "Doctor Grey," he gave a light grin to which she returned. "What've we got?"

"Doctor Shepherd," she nodded slowly, eyeing their patient cautiously. "She seems to have been in an accident. We're not exactly sure, since she's incoherent. She is conscious but..."

"I told you, the driver was wearing a red coat! It was him, Santa Claus!"

Meredith gave a sheepish sort of smile. "She's under the impression that Santa Claus was the driver." Derek simply stared from the retired woman lying in the hospital bed to Meredith and back again.

"She's obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress." He pulled out a flashlight and looked into the patient's eyes. He had her follow his finger with his hand. Other then a large gash in her forehead, which had been sewn up, and the break on her right arm, she seemed fine. Except she was talking crazy. That was what concerned him.

"I'd like to keep her under observation for a couple of days. See if she can tell us the real story."

Meredith nodded. "But Derek, it's Christmas Eve. She was with her family and-"

Apparently the patient didn't agree with the diagnosis. "I have told you the whole story. I told you that the guy with the red coat ran me over!" Derek and Meredith exchanged cautious glances.

"Mrs. Thompson, you're experiencing what is commonly known as post-traumatic delusions. You should be fine in a day or two. I know it's Christmas and all, but that's no excuse to be acting crazy. Now-"

Derek was cut off by a small boy darting passed the curtain to stand next to the patient. He cast the child a glance before the boy began to speak rapidly. "Grandma got run over by a reindeer!" Derek gaped silently at Meredith. "We were at a petting zoo," the boy explained. "It just went wild! It was crazy."

This job just got stranger by the day.