"Yup, it's broken," Callie Torres said casually, pulling the x-rays down from the screen, "but it's not too bad. No nerve damage. I'll cast it for four weeks, and then have you do an exercise program to strengthen the surrounding ligaments. It'll be good as new. But you know what this means," she warned. "Uh-huh," Alex muttered as she examined his left hand, wiping away the rest of the blood and checking to see if he needed stitches. "No surgeries for at least six weeks, Karev," she announced, making additional notes on his chart. "How'd you do this, anyway?"
He shrugged, still staring at the floor, as he had since he'd arrived. "Ok, fine," she asked, "you want me to put spontaneous left tarsal fracture on the injury report? Or wait," she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face, "tell me you finally popped Izzie Stevens?" He shook his head, desperate to focus on anything except the previous night.
"That'd be your job, Torres," Alex retorted, "but she did you a favor. Obviously you can do way better than O'malley." "You've heard, then" Callie asked hesitantly, "about me and Erica Hahn?" He nodded, watching disinterestedly as she set his cast, checking with him to see that the fit was right.
"No snide comments?" she asked, almost disappointed, as she completed her work. "What's to say?" he shrugged again, "Sloan's hotter, but he's an ass and you're not into looks or you'd never have picked O'malley, so if bad ass cardio chick's your thing, go for it. She's still an upgrade, right?" Callie tried not to look at him, and tried harder not to laugh, but succeeded at neither. "That's my ex you're talking about," she insisted slyly, jabbing him lightly with her scissors, "and remember, I can hurt you with these."
"Which ex are you defending?" he smirked. Rolling her eyes, she finished filling in his chart. "I'll let Bailey know about your activity restrictions. I'll tell her no suturing for at least four weeks," she added with a smile, "that should keep you out of the pit at least." He pushed himself off the exam table, taking the notes she'd written as he walked to the door. "Alex," she said softly, grabbing his arm, "whatever's going on with you, try not to take it out on your hands, okay? Next time, it might not be as easy to fix."
--
Two days later, Meredith Grey sat at their usual lunch table, her head buried in notes for the procedure she'd be assisting on later that afternoon. Her and Derek's clinical trial was going well, which left her with an enormous case load to keep up with. "Did you guys know," she announced excitedly, flipping through the thick binder, "that fewer than a hundred of these have been tried anywhere, like, ever?"
"Meredith," Christina interrupted, "get over it. It's not cardio. It's just lasers and chemo-therapy. It's barely even surgery." "Christina," Meredith protested, "these techniques may revolutionize the treatment of advanced brain cancer. It's amazing."
"I don't know why I bother," Christina said, slumping back in her chair as she polished off her yogurt. "I'm talking to a glorified shrink and a gynecologist. And at least Evil Spawn cuts, well, he used to anyway," she snickered.
"Yeah, Alex," Meredith asked, looking up from her book and motioning toward his hand, "how'd you do that, anyway?" He moved his hand around, scowling at Christina. "It'll be fine in six weeks," he insisted, adding smugly, "and meanwhile, no suturing." Meredith giggled as Christina stuck her tongue out at him. Hahn was playing nicer these days, but had still seen to it that Christina did her time in the pit for showing her up in surgery.
"Izzie must still be busy in the clinic," Meredith noted, glancing at her watch and then at Alex as she pushed her books aside and dug into her salad. "She's so wasting her time," Christina said, biting angrily into her apple. "It's all sprains and runny noses and mangy kids with lice. Removing ticks and splinters with tweezers is not surgery."
"Stop that," Meredith chastised, "she loves working in that clinic. She built that clinic, it's like the main thing she cares about right now. At least she's not, you know, still moping around like she was after…"
"Yeah, yeah," Christina said, waving her off, "I guess it's better than dealing with all those crazy hormonal pregnant chicks."
"Christina!" Meredith squeaked, giggling despite herself and glancing back at Alex, who was poking idly at his French fries. "How's that going anyway, Alex?" Meredith asked, sliding her pudding onto his tray. "Any news on when the new neo-natal attending will be here?" Alex nodded, jabbing his spoon eagerly into the pudding. "Two weeks," he said casually, "she's finishing up her fellowship at Yale, than coming right out here."
"Finishing up her fellowship?" Christina repeated curiously, "so she's never been an attending before?" "Nope," Alex said, devouring the rest of Meredith's pudding before moving on to her fruit salad. "I wonder why they went with someone so inexperienced," Christina said. Alex shook his head, stabbing the last of the cantaloupe: "Guess they wanted someone quick," he said, scooping up his and Meredith's trays and returning them as he left to answer Bailey's page.
--
Three days later, Alex lay face down on a bed in the on call room, watching the shadows on the floor as he replayed his latest conversation with Bailey in his mind. He heard Izzie enter, but said nothing as she sat down beside him, placing a hand on his back to see if he was awake. He shifted slightly, eyes still following the shadows, listening to her gather her thoughts. "How much longer are you planning on avoiding me?" she asked finally, her voice tired, and tinged with frustration. "I'm not avoiding you," he said quietly.
"Then why haven't you been home in almost a week? You're not on call," she pointed out, motioning to his cast. "That was an accident," he said flatly, "it'll be fine." She nodded, though she knew he probably couldn't see her in the dimly lit room. She wanted to tell him that he would feel better soon, but she wasn't sure if she believed that herself. She wanted to tell him that it hadn't been his fault, with his mother, or with Rebecca, but she knew that wouldn't matter to him. She wanted to tell him that she would help him, but he probably knew just as well as she did, that she had no idea how to do that. She wanted to say something, anything, but words just wouldn't come.
She sat for a long while, gently running her hand in familiar patterns across his back. He hated that she knew his body so well, knew the topography of his shoulders, knew just how to untie his knotted muscles, and just how to steady his ragged breathing. He hated that he moved so readily when she nudged him over, curling around him like a warm blanket as she lay down. He hated the soft curve of her shoulder, where she kept him, when he had nowhere else to go.
"Do I snore?" she asked suddenly, as if they'd just been engaged in a heated conversation on the topic. "A little," he admitted, "sometimes." "Like Meredith?" she asked, clearly worried. "No," he chuckled, "nobody snores like Meredith." "I'm sorry," she murmured. "For what?" he asked, adrift in the wilds of Izzie logic. "For snoring," she yawned. "Don't be, it's nice" he said quietly, wincing as her hand brushed his left shoulder.
"Did that hurt?" she asked, shifting away from him. "No," he said, readjusting to her movement. "Then why?" she asked. "Sorry, wasn't you," he mumbled, "just trying to stay awake." "Why?" she asked, puzzled. "Dreams," he said, after a long silence. "That's why you're sleeping here?" "Yeah," he said, "they're…not good, and loud, sometimes." "Okay," she said, as she began drifting off to sleep. "Okay?" he repeated. "Yeah," she said, as if it were obvious, "at least you don't snore."
--
"You don't like it" Derek noted, the disappointment plain in his voice. Meredith frowned and squinted more closely. She'd already seen enough flooring samples to last her several lifetimes, but this one wouldn't do, either. "It's not that I don't like it," she stammered, "it's just that…". "You hate it," Derek said, exhaling heavily and leaning back in his chair as he clicked the window shut on the computer screen.
"I know you really like that one, Derek," she said, "but…". "But nothing," he said, "you hate it. We'll find something else." Meredith nervously studied his face. "You keep picking styles just like that one," she blurted out, "I know that's what you really want." Derek shook his head. "Not necessarily. I just thought it fit the house. It's local hard wood. It's harvested responsibly. It's beautiful…"
"It's just like the flooring in my mother's study," Meredith interjected. "So?" Derek said, exasperated. Meredith glanced at the computer monitor again, measuring her words. "I want our house to be different. I don't want her furniture. I don't want her flooring. I just want something…new," she said. Derek nodded, running his hand through his hair and pulling up another computer program. "Okay," he said, "how about cork?"
"Like from wine bottles?" Meredith asked incredulously, wondering how far his latest environmental obsessions were taking them. "No," he laughed, "from trees. It's grown responsibly. It's a great insulator. It's less durable than wood, but…" "Derek," she snapped, cutting off another potentially lengthy lecture. "It's different," he pointed out, "it's new, it's available in many finishes…"
"Derek" she interrupted again, "I'm fine with hardwood. I know that's what you want. Let's just find a different style, or maybe a lighter shade." He nodded enthusiastically, rising from his desk and moving over to a nearby table. "Okay," he said, "I've got other samples of native…" "I'm sure you do," Meredith agreed. "Am I driving you crazy," he asked suddenly, "is this getting over-whelming?"
"No," she reassured him, shaking her head. "I just never knew you were so interested in building materials. This stuff is like porn to you," she added, laughing as she motioned toward the various materials displays littering his office. "It is not," he pouted. "Right," she agreed, "you're more like a little kid with a giant truck set. Is this your revenge for being raised around a bunch of sisters?"
He sighed, gazing at her. "I just want it to be perfect, Meredith." "I know," she said, "and whatever you decide, I'm pretty sure I'll like it." "Except the floors," he reminded her. "Is there anything else you don't like so far? The porch? The size of the bedrooms? We still have time to make changes." "Right," Meredith said, "as if the builders and the architect don't love you enough already." "They know I want it to be perfect," Derek insisted, walking over to her, "they'd never blame me for trying to please you."
Meredith eyed the current plans on his desk, his detailed notes covering every page. "I want you to enjoy it, this, the whole planning process" she said finally, motioning around the room at the models and poster boards. "You're up there all the time, anyway. I'm sure that it will be beautiful when it's done." Derek nodded silently. "But you'll tell me, right, if there's anything else you don't like about it?" he asked. She nodded hesitantly.
"Meredith," he said, sitting beside her on the low slung filing cabinet lining his office, "I want to build our home. Not just mine. I don't want to live alone in an empty dream house. I made that mistake once before. I'm not doing that again," he added fiercely. She bobbed her head, meeting his eyes. "I want a gazebo," she blurted out, "and a dog."
"A gazebo," he repeated, raising his eyebrows. "With a fountain," she added sheepishly. "A fountain," he smirked, trying to suppress his laughter. "You're making fun of me," she accused. "No, no, I'm not," he insisted, shaking his head. "That's great. We've got just the place for it right here, overlooking the water," he said, pointing to a detailed map of their building lot, "and we can get pressure treated lumber that's mildew resistant…"
"Derek," she interrupted, finally kissing him to stop the latest avalanche. "Right," he said, smiling as she released him, "too much information." She nodded patiently. "From now on, I'll tell you if I don't like something" Meredith promised. "Or if you want something that I haven't thought of," he prodded, "like say…? "A gazebo," she added, completing his sentence. "Yes," she agreed, "I won't come armed with detailed plans," she teased, "but I'll tell you what I want. Okay?"
"Okay," he nodded, kissing her again. "But it still seems a lot like construction porn to me," she taunted, motioning toward the stack of building programs on his desk as she left his office.
--
"So who are Shepherd and Meredith having lunch with," Izzie asked, eyeing them from across the cafeteria as she set her tray down between Christina and Alex. "The new neo-natal attending," Christina said, looking up from a file folder. "You won't believe this, she entered Yale Med after her junior year of college, and they offered her a fellowship before she'd even finished her surgical residency. Yale never admits their own students into their fellowship programs."
"You're stalking the new attending?" Izzie asked, suspiciously surveying the amount of information Christina had already gathered in what could only have been a few hours. "I'm not stalking!" Christina hissed, "I'm checking out the competition. Pretty soon we'll be applying for fellowships, and we need to know what we're up against." "You're not even in neo-natal," Izzie laughed, tearing into her potato chips. "So how is she your competition?"
"Work with me here, Barbie," Christina snapped. "If we want the best fellowships, we need to know what people are doing to impress the review committees. She'd already co- authored three articles by the end of her first year in residency," she continued, tossing the file down disgustedly. "Hahn barely lets me near a scalpel. And she still hates me. What kind of recommendation am I going to get from her? There's politics to consider here, too, you know."
"So, what" Izzie laughed, "you're going to go into neo-natal now?" "Don't be stupid," Christina retorted, motioning toward Alex, "gynie's for losers. I have to get Hahn to let me in on her research. Introduce me to her colleagues... "
"Bad idea, crack-whore," Alex said, unwrapping his sandwich. "You're a robot. No one who actually meets you will want to work with you. You're better off letting your resume do your talking."
"Oh, right," Christina chortled, "I'm getting career advice from a gynecologist who's spent the last month wiping runny noses in Barbie's clinic. Face it, Evil Spawn, that new attending will never waste her time training someone stupid enough to punch a locker during a little tantrum. A lot of good you'll do around all those crazy hormonal chicks."
"Cast comes off next week," Alex said casually. "Few weeks of physical therapy and I'll be back to surgery, with the new attending, and Hahn will still hate you." "Guys," Izzie said, breaking into the fray, "come on. We just started residency. No one's expecting us to publish articles our first year in, or to…"
"That's the point, Barbie," Christina cut her off, crumpling up her coffee cup. "We can't just do what's expected. That woman didn't get to be an attending just because she finished her program in good standing. She did the unexpected. She did what the also-rans in her program didn't do. I have to do that, too," she insisted, grabbing her tray and stalking off to find Hahn.
--
"So, have you talked to her yet? Izzie asked Alex almost a week later. "Who," he said, looking up from the chart he was filling out. "Dr. Barton," Izzie answered, "the new neo-natal attending."
"Yeah, once" he replied, holding up his left hand, "she told me to come back when it was ready and she'd watch me do a simple procedure, see if I was any good with a scalpel; then we could talk about me maybe getting on her service."
"Really?" Izzie asked, frowning. "Yeah," he continued, "she seemed real impatient. Told me I needed to make up my mind between plastics and neo-natal, you know, get serious about my career. Everybody up there says she's tough but knows her stuff." "Sounds like she's fun to work with," Izzie said sarcastically. "Sounds like Yang," he replied glumly. "She was a maniac at lunch last week," Izzie said, "I wonder how things are going with her and Hahn. Christina was just so, I don't know… when she was reading Dr. Barton's resume… she just seemed so…"
"Yeah," Alex agreed, "but she's got a point. Fellowships are competitive, and it won't be too long before we'll be applying. And there are plenty of Bartons out there."
"I don't even have a specialty, yet, really," Izzie said sadly. "Cardio's not me, neuro's okay, general's okay… "What about neo-natal," Alex suggested, "Addison Shepherd said you had real talent for it." Izzie nervously shuffled the papers in her hands. "Yes, she did, I just, I don't know… are you sure, all of a sudden… about not doing plastics? It's not because of…?" she asked, her voice trailing off awkwardly as she glanced at the floor.
"No," Alex said quietly, shaking his head. "It's not because of Rebecca. Or Sloan. Well, not completely because of Sloan. He's an ass to work for, and I thought for a while that I'd just work around that." "But…?" she asked. "I don't know," he shrugged, "I always figured I wanted to be a doctor like Sloan. But, I think I'm just better in neo-natal, and not just because I learned more from Dr. Montgomery. It just seems to fit better."
"I thought I'd know for sure by now," Izzie admitted, "Christina's been positive from day one, Meredith's found the perfect match…" "Iz," Alex interrupted, gently squeezing her hand, "I thought we talked about you not comparing yourself to them. Especially not to Yang," he added, grimacing as if he'd just bit into an onion. "I know," she chuckled, "but it's hard not to. They're so confident in their choices."
"You will be, too, Iz," he insisted, "when you find the right place. You'll know. And Iz, I keep telling you, those two have nothing on you." Izzie smiled shyly, glancing down at the papers she was holding. "It's just hard not to get discouraged, I guess, around them. Meredith's doing this great clinical trial, and we all know Christina's going to be this kick ass cardio goddess." "Goddess" Alex repeated incredulously.
"Okay, maybe not, but…." Izzie continued. "Iz," he said, lightly grasping her wrist, "that's them. If you're that hung up on this all of sudden, then compare yourself to me instead. I was going to be Sloan someday, and I may end up a freaking gynecologist," he said wryly. "You're right," Izzie teased, "that does make me feel a little better." "Really, Iz," he said quietly, "I just mean that when you find the right specialty, you're going to be great at it." "You think?" she asked nervously. "I know," he said smugly, walking off to finish his charting.