"Dr. Karev," the pretty blond receptionist greeted, smiling warmly. "Dr. Grey-Shepherd is finishing a consultation down stairs. She should be back in a few minutes. Would you care to wait in her office?" "Sure" Alex repeated, briefly returning her smile as he followed her into the room. It had been a while since he thought of himself as a doctor.
Sitting in his usual seat, he eyed Mere's awards, and the framed journal covers touting the Grey-Shepherd methods for tumor resection. He knew she was working on a major publication, and would soon be starting another clinical trial. He wondered if it burned Yang that Mere had out-paced all of them, even the would-be cardio goddess herself.
"Alex," Meredith said, briskly entering the room with a fresh set of films, "you just get here?" "Yeah," he said, pointing to one of the framed articles behind her, "I was checking out that citation." "Oh, that's nothing. You should see this." He raised his eyebrows, following her to the lighted screen beside her desk as she motioned for him to join her.
Alex scanned the x-ray, his eyes widening. "Did he walk in like that? He should be blind in his left eye by now, right?" he asked, frowning. "That," she nodded, "and paralyzed on his left side." "Can you cut?" Alex asked, eyeing the images in more detail. "Here" she pointed, "and here, and here. We're going to go in from several angles, but we'll get it."
"Cool," Alex said, returning to his chair as she flipped through his file. "I had your labs run twice," she told him, "and had Derek look over your films, and had our Chief of Hematology review your blood work. It still looks good," she said. "Any chance I could go back to work part time?" he interrupted, almost wincing at her incredulous expression. "I know," he grumbled, "No working, no running, no driving…"
Meredith giggled as he repeated the litany, before growing serious again. "Actually," she said, almost hesitantly, "I want to add two new drugs to your protocol. You're doing fine," she emphasized, "but I've been reviewing this new regimen with our oncologists, and I think it could knock the cancer out completely."
Alex studied her face closely, knowing that tone. "And?" he prodded. "You'd have to be on it for another year." "Another year?" he repeated blankly. "I know that sounds awful," she said, "and there are no guarantees. But I think it's your best shot." He picked at his fingers, bile rising in his throat. "How bad?" he asked finally.
"The side effects won't be much worse then what you've got now. That's not great" she admitted "but better than the alternatives." "You think?" he snorted bitterly, glaring out the office window. Meredith waited, signing some papers while he stewed in his seat. "When?" he asked, after an awkward silence. "Tuesday," she said, so quickly that he did a double take. "I know you," she shrugged, a smile teasing her lips, "you won't give up. I already made the first appointment." Alex rolled his eyes. "And I'll still want to see you every month."
"Every month" Alex echoed mechanically. "Every month," she repeated, "that's what you get for settling for pro bono work." Alex smirked, meeting her eyes. "Films and labs," she reminded him sternly. He nodded, a shy smile flickering across his face as she pointed her pen at him. "Besides," she added, "Izzie would insist. Is she working today?"
He shrugged reluctantly. "Last week too, huh?" she asked. "I took a cab," he grumbled, "I'm not driving." "Does she know you're here?" she asked quietly. "She has a job," he reminded her, "she has a life, she has better things to do than chauffer me around." He avoided her eyes, too tired to argue, just like he was too shaky to drive, and too scared to run away, and too distracted to notice when she repeated her next question.
"What'd you do now?" Meredith smirked. "I don't know," he said. It was a half truth; he'd never lie to Mere, but lately he could only stomach truth in small doses. "It must have happened at the party. She's been crazy ever since." "Izzie crazy," Meredith asked cautiously, "or mad crazy?" "Pissed," he said flatly. "I told you no orgies in my guest room." "Like I could stay awake through a decent orgy," Alex groused, shaking his head. "Are you sure it's you?" she asked, watching as he raised his eye brows.
"Right, it's always you. Did you ask her?" "I think she can't take this anymore," he said, pulling at the crumpled receipt from the cab as he twisted it in his hands. "I can't work. I can't drive… I can't do anything…" "Alex," she interrupted, "We're winning, this new protocol will work, and you'll be fine." "Izzie and me might not be," he stammered, lowering his eyes.
It made him queasy, hearing it out loud. "Those Emily?" he asked suddenly, pointing to the photos on her desk, desperate to change the subject. "Yeah," she said, handing them to him. "Lexi likes to keep you updated. She was so grateful when you did Emily's surgery." "It was a simple procedure," he said, scanning the pictures, "looks like a Grey alright."
"It wasn't a simple procedure to them," she said, "and Emily is a Sloan, remember?" "She'll overcome that," he asserted, "those Grey chicks are tough." "I hope so," Meredith said, following his lead. "Lexi's still got Thatcher to deal with." "How's he doing?" Alex asked. "The drinking didn't help, but it's progressing slowly," she shrugged. "Does he still know who you are?" Alex asked. "Yes," she snapped, "and I still know who he is."
Alex nodded, waiting. "No lectures?" she asked. "Me?" he smirked. She retrieved the photos and slipped them into her desk. "Lexi wants me to visit him more," she said, "so does Derek." Alex listened quietly, watching her pick at her fingernails. "It's just going to get worse. Even if I stop hating him," she said. "That where you want to leave it?" he asked. "I thought you weren't giving advice?" Meredith said. "I'm not," he replied.
"It sounds like you think I should see him," Meredith challenged, "he's not worth it." "That's what I thought, too," he remarked, after a long silence. "What'd you do?" she asked carefully. "Not enough," he said, "and then it was too late." "I thought you weren't giving advice," she pointed out. "I'm not," he shrugged, rising slowly from his chair.
"You'll work it out," she said, standing up with him, "with Izzie. Whatever it is, you guys always work it out." "I know," he said nervously. "I mean it," she reminded him, "every month, or I'll hunt you down and draw the freaking blood myself." "I get it," he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "every month, to the day."
------------------------------
Alex slammed the weights down on the cross bars, struggling to the bathroom in the basement as he vomited his lunch into the toilet. Lifting to failure had its down sides, but it was a quick way to restore muscle mass. His arms still trembled as he lay on the cold tile floor, shivering through his damp dark tee shirt. After all the drugs burning through his veins, and with more coming, he almost welcomed a different kind of pain.
He heard the lawn mower in the distance, and cursed the time, hoping the kid he hired would be finished before Izzie got home. He intended to do it himself, to at least cut his own grass and yank his own weeds. But he'd just started Mere's new treatment protocol, and after four days of work, he was still dragging around the yard and not even half way through, and the weeds were winning, and he knew that Izzie was losing patience.
He rinsed out his mouth, grateful at least that this sickness was self-induced, unlike the wracking nausea that Izzie had endured during her treatments, or the surgeries that had laid her up for weeks. Wiping his face with a towel, he crossed to the other side of the basement, pulling a small box down from a corner shelf.
He was still rooting through it when Izzie's voice broke his concentration. "Alex," she said, suspiciously eying how lightly he was dressed, "what are you doing?" "Looking for something," he mumbled, continuing to rummage. "I can see that," she said, surveying the mess on the table in front of him.
Peeking over his shoulder, she saw old papers and photos in small stacks, and a battered crate full of the wrestling trophies that usually lined the wall of his gym. "This," he said finally, digging out a wrinkled photo from his stash. Izzie looked at it curiously, but it was faded and crackled, and she could scarcely make out who, or what, it was.
Moving closer, she noticed its tattered edges, as if it had been carried often and casually, in a jacket pocket, or a backpack. "Is that…your mom?" Izzie asked, puzzling to make out the faint image. "Yeah," Alex said sharply, "he's got his arm around her."
"I used to use this," he said, staring at it intently, though the picture was faded almost beyond recognition, "when I was training for wrestling, when I thought I couldn't lift one more pound, or run one more mile, I'd look at him, what he did to her…" he trailed off. "I almost killed him. I think I would have if she hadn't been there," he added softly.
"I don't think you mean that," Izzie said carefully. "He was useless," he snapped, "she did everything for him, he couldn't even hold a freaking job, couldn't even clean up after himself. I thought she'd be better off." "Alex," she interrupted, "I think your mom loved him. Whether that was right or wrong…" "She didn't," he insisted, "She got married, and they had a kid, and she was stuck with him, and she couldn't leave, because of me."
"That wasn't your fault. Your mother was sick." "No she wasn't," he retorted bitterly, "he made her that way." "Alex," she said, "your mother…" "My mother would have been fine, if it hadn't been for him." "Alex…" she interrupted, touching his arm.
He pulled away abruptly, his chair scraping the cement floor beneath him. "She said he was sick," he added incredulously. "That's why she stayed with him. That's why she let him… That's why he…that's why he…" he struggled to catch his breath, as his voice died in his throat, "she said he was sick."
"Maybe he was," she said hesitantly. "He was useless," Alex spat, "he ruined her life." "Because she took care of him?" Izzie asked, puzzled. "She shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have had to do that," he insisted, "that was his job, to take care of her." "I couldn't do it," he rambled, "not like she deserved. That was his job, and he blew it."
Izzie stood beside him, watching him shiver in the chilly basement, as she groped for words, for anything to distract him, to prevent him from unraveling further. "Why did you take these down?" she asked suddenly, motioning to the trophies tossed haphazardly in the crate beside her. "More motivation," he said, as if it was obvious, "I get them back when I can bench fifty for thirty reps."
"You won't be able to do that for at least a year," she pointed out, "and Meredith would be pissed if she thought you were jeopardizing your treatment plan." He glared at her, almost pulling away until she pushed him back down into his seat, much harder than she intended. "I can't even do five," he whispered, his face burning red.
"You'll get better, Alex. It may not feel like that now, but Meredith wouldn't lie to you." "You talked to her?" he demanded. "She told me," Izzie said reluctantly, "She didn't know you hadn't talked to me yet." Alex turned away, his eyes burning. "You shouldn't be down here like this," she muttered, running her hand along his back as he shivered.
"I can't even stay awake through the freaking news," he insisted, pulling away from her, "and now I've got another year of this? How am I going to get back to being a surgeon?"
he rambled. "You'll get better" she insisted fiercely, "Meredith said…" "She said another year," he stammered, "another year of…"
"Alex," she said nervously, reaching for him again. "I'm sorry," he whispered finally, still trembling. "For what?" she said. "I was supposed to protect you, to take care of you. That's all I wanted… It… he destroyed her. She did nothing but take care of him, and it destroyed her. And now you're stuck…"
"I'm not stuck," Izzie protested, "I love you, remember?" He shrank away from her, his hands still shaking as he struggled to form the words. "That doesn't mean you should stay." "You want me to leave?" she asked incredulously. "She should have left," he muttered, staring back at the picture. "Or he should have left her. If was half a man, he…" "Alex, stop," she said.
"What?" he demanded, "you told me I was no better than half a man. Now I'm not even that. Now I'm…" "Now you're being an ass," she accused. "That's me," he sneered, "but you knew that when we got into the mess." "What mess?" "This mess," he said, waving his hands around him, "us." "We're not a mess," she asserted, weighing her words.
"Iz…," he said hesitantly. "Did you think I would leave you?" she asked, half-stunned and half-infuriated. He slumped miserably in his chair, placing the photo in front of him, an icy silence surrounding him. "I should want you to leave," he whispered finally, "I should…" "But you don't?" she asked softly. He shook his head, looking away from her. "I need you too, Alex," she said, after another long silence, "I always will."
He was shivering harder, and flinched when she touched him. "You came back," she said quietly, "for the tests, for the waiting, when the bills came, after all our fights after your residency..." She almost chuckled, shaking her head. "I could feel your hand shaking, sometimes, before I'd wake up after my surgeries, but I could feel it holding mine."
Struggling to get his hands under control, he fumbled with the pictures that littered the table, clumsily shoveling them back into their boxes. "I was scared, too" she added, stopping his arms, "but I wasn't alone." He sat frozen, watching as she tossed the last photos in with the others and shoved the box back against the wall. "Come on," she said finally, grabbing the crate of trophies, "I'm putting these back where they belong."
--------------------------------------
"You're not watching that again," Izzie groaned, walking into their living room the following week. "It's not Jurassic Park Eight," he said sleepily, it's a documentary." "It's about who would win a fight between tyrannosaurus and triceratops," she corrected him. "You're four years old." "I am not," he protested, his eyes lighting up when he spied the plate she was carrying.
"You so are," she giggled, "you're more excited to see these brownies than you are to see your hot wife." "Not true," he objected, reaching eagerly toward the plate. "Napkin," she reminded him, taking one herself and dropping onto the couch next to him. "Oh, gross," she exclaimed, watching as a small dinosaur had its arm ripped off and swallowed whole.
"But look at the wound," he said, "that's a clean cut. The vessels are probably intact. Even the nerves could be spared if ..." "Operated on many baby triceratops have you?" "Not lately," he groused. "You're on medical leave. You'll go back when you're ready." "Right," he said, settling back into the sofa as she slid her arms around him. "At least you get to be a surgeon," she added.
"You like family practice," he said. "I do," she admitted, "but sometimes I wonder if…"
"You're a great doctor, Iz, Your patients love you." "Not as much as yours," she teased, laughing as his head snapped up, before he awkwardly looked away. "It's okay that you like kids, Alex, you do work with them." He eyed her suspiciously, waiting.
"I don't mean anything like that," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just mean, it wasn't what you'd planned. You wanted plastics." "I just wanted out," Alex shrugged, "I wanted to make enough money to…" "to what,?" Izzie asked, after he paused.
He didn't really know. He'd always just wanted out, away from the loser who couldn't even keep them one step ahead of the next week's bills, or the eviction notices that came like clockwork, propped under the beer bottles. He wanted out, just to get away, even if it meant living in a gym, or his car, or the crappy back room of Joe's bar.
"To take care of my mom," he said finally. "After your dad left?" "He didn't exactly leave," he reminded her. "I'm sure she forgave you," Izzie repeated softly. Alex ignored her, staring at the floor with a shy half smile. "She loved you," he added, "I knew she would." "Of course she did, mothers always love me. Plus we bakers stick together."
"She hated baking," Alex insisted, "she did it for him." "You're nothing like him," Izzie said. "And you would have been a great dad," she repeated. "Iz,… he said, shifting away from her. "It's okay," she interrupted him, grabbing his arm, "I don't want to fight about that anymore. I just…" "I couldn't think like that," he protested, "not when you were… I couldn't think about anything but just the next day."
"I know," she said, "me too." Alex looked at her warily. "I thought about it, too," she admitted. "What if we had a kid and then I got sick again, or ..." "That didn't happen," he said quickly. "No," she said, "but I thought about it. Even when I switched residencies, I thought, why not, I might not have much time, anyway."
Alex sat motionless, his stomach fluttering. "I always thought I'd have kids," she said, "I felt cheated. That's why I was so mad." He eyed her carefully, his jaw twitching. "You were mad at me too," she pointed out, ignoring his glum expression. "Sometimes I think you were ready to smother me with a pillow," she teased.
"And cut off my brownie supply?" he asked, after an awkward silence. "Is that all I am to you?" she griped. "No," he said, "I like your cup cakes, too." "Well, you're never getting either again if you keep this up." "Iz," he objected, "you know I could never imagine a future without you." "That is such a line," she groaned. "Is it working?" "Never," she huffed, sliding her arms back around him and kissing him softly.
"Alex," she asked suddenly, trying to ignore the dinosaur drama on the television, "are you happy we stayed in Seattle?" "Yeah, I guess" he shrugged, puzzled, already too worn out to field her random questions, especially so late in the day. "Our jobs are here, well, yours…" he grumbled, "our friends are here, your mother's not too far. Weather sucks," he added, "the Seahawks will never have a quarter-back. Why?" he asked, abruptly breaking off his impromptu evaluation.
"I drove past Maple Street today," she giggled. "It wasn't that bad," Alex muttered. "You could barely stand up in the shower," she said, picturing the tiny bathroom in their first apartment, wedged awkwardly beneath a heating vent. "You were in there with me often enough," he smirked. "I was trying to get away from the spiders," she teased.
"And the floorboards squeaked," she continued. "I fixed those." "The shower tiles were always falling off…" she noted. "I replaced those, like I did here." "Don't remind me," she laughed, recalling their first months in their home, a run down blue Craftsman with peeling paint, mismatched wall paper, squeaky kitchen cabinets, and an overgrown yard.
"You loved it the first time you saw it," he insisted, tracing his fingers along her jaw as he kissed her. "I was just moving to get away from the spiders. I thought you were crazy for wanting to buy this place." "I wanted us to have a house as soon as we could afford something," he shrugged. "I wanted to get you a ring, too,"
"I liked the first ring, you know, and the gum ball that came with it." "Very funny," he muttered, "and you weren't much help." "You take that back. You think those flower beds just sprung up from nothing?" "Fancy weeds," he taunted. "And what about the fire place I painted?" "I liked it better before," he smirked. "Right, when we couldn't even decide what color it was." "Long as the oven works, I'm happy," he pointed out.
"You never thought of living anywhere else?" she asked "No, why?" he asked, baffled by her sudden interest in geography. "No reason," she shrugged. "But one of our nurses just signed up for a travel service. She's going to Alaska for six months. "Ugh," he grimaced, shivering at the thought. "Okay, bad example, but they had other postings. She could've to Cairo." "Camels stink," Alex commented, shaking his head.
"Or New Mexico," she added. "Aliens," he frowned. "Now you sound like my mother," Izzie pointed out. "You're just jealous because she likes me better." "She thinks Elvis is alive," Izzie retorted, "not real sound judgment there." "Really," she asked, "you never think about living anywhere else. "No," he said, "do you?" "I guess not," she said, "it just sounded so exotic, so adventurous."
"We could become nurses," he yawned, "and go with her." "I could be a nurse," Izzie said smugly, "you're not charming enough." "I'm charming," he said, kissing her neck. "Not that kind of charming," she giggled, "you'd still want to play doctor." "I might have to become a nurse, at this rate…"
"Don't be silly," she protested, "they'd never hire you as a nurse. And the hospital couldn't use you otherwise. You'd make a lousy janitor. You know how many crumbs I swept off the kitchen floor?" "I cleaned those up." "Only if you're trying to attract mice," she corrected him. "We don't have mice, the spiders ate them."
Izzie laughed, tugging him closer, "the only one I want you playing doctor with is me, remember?" See," he said, "you can't keep your hands off me. I am charming." "A real prince," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's more like it." "Right," she snorted, "a prince who leaves a trail of brownies crumbs everywhere he goes?"
"You make them for me," he pouted. "You're right," she giggled, "it's all my fault. I never should have expected a prince when I married a frog anyway" "Very reassuring," he grumbled, as she slid her arms more tightly around him, nibbling his ear. "That's cheating," he protested, suppressing a sleepy groan. "I know," she said, "that's why I do it." Shifting carefully, she felt his breathing slowing as he settled closer into her.
"How many today?" she asked. "Nine reps," he mumbled sleepily. "That's great," she said, "it's a few more than last week." "Um-hum," he nodded as she pulled a nearby blanket around him. "You'll do even better tomorrow," she assured him, lightly kissing his hair as he drifted off. She knew that wouldn't seem like much to him, but that was all cancer usually allowed, a few more unsteady steps, a few more months of waiting.
"Enough dinosaurs," she muttered under head breath, rolling her eyes as she picked up the television remote. Checking the time, she knew that he'd be asleep for an hour or so, time enough for her to catch the Travel Channel special on Malta. She'd already seen it three times, but she loved fantasizing about the wide sandy beaches and the expansive blue seas. It would have been the perfect place for a honeymoon.
--------------------------------
"You really are four years old," Izzie taunted, catching him before he could turn the DVD off. "You're just a snob," he insisted. "Really?" Izzie asked, leaning over him. "Um-huh," he nodded, sighing as she kissed his neck. "What was that?" she prodded, her lips wandering behind his ear as she lay beside him on the plush carpeting.
"Snob," he repeated, inhaling sharply, "besides, it was a Christmas present from my wife." "You're married?" she asked incredulously. "A four year old who watches dinosaur movies?" "It's a classic," he insisted. "Is your wife pretty?" she taunted. "Hot," he said, smiling dreamily as she returned to his neck, "but she's kind of a prude." "A prude?" Izzie huffed.
He moaned softly, and though somewhat drowsy, could feel himself sinking, into space, or into sleep, he couldn't quite tell which, although the feeling was definitely desirable. He was vaguely aware of changes in the textures against his skin, of being unwrapped or unraveled completely, her hands and her lips trailing leisurely down his body, her skilled fingers skimming his thighs, burrowing deeply into his trembling flesh, her lips following with agonizing slowness, until his senses shattered around him.
She felt him shudder beneath her, a satisfied smirk teasing her lips as she curled lazily around him. It had been her job of late, to initiate their love making, and to do most of the work, a task complicated by his recent need to sleep layered in flannel and fleece. He'd be fine though, with the luxurious carpeting beneath them, and the crackling fire that still bathed the room in a faint glow, and the huge down comforter she pulled around them.
Gently testing the warmth of his skin, her hands trailed a familiar topography, long ago mapped for the spots that made him laugh, or moan, or sigh. She traced her fingers over his chest, and down his sides, gently settling on the slight spare tire that had clung to him since he finished his residency, the fault, he insisted, entirely of her brownies.
"Hmm, working on it," he mumbled sleepily, sighing as she gathered him closer, while she tried not to giggle. He'd been self-conscious about it, especially after Cristina goaded him to play Santa Claus at Seattle Grace's annual party. But she welcomed the solid feel of his body, his comfortable bulk reassuring her that the cancer wasn't eating him alive.
She was thankful, too, that at least it left his skin unmarked, his torso smooth and supple beneath her hands. She'd envied that once, long ago, his body so different from her own, forever lined from innumerable surgeries, as if carved by a drunken map maker.
She'd been furious with him, the first year of their marriage, that amid the waiting and the appointments and the bills, he'd been so very careful of her beast. All she wanted from him then was to make her forget, to drive out the lingering fear and pain, to free the beast that cancer had caged in a hospital bed, to prove that she was really alive and well.
But his hands were too fumbling and his fingers too delicate and his lips too slow – too careful of the scars – as if he feared she'd spill open like a fragile rag doll. She'd seen him wince when she instinctively recoiled from any touch too close to a recent wound, and watched as he learned to move too precisely, around the patches of her body that she surrendered to her disease.
Brushing her fingers through his hair, she noted that it was longer than hers had been, the night of their wedding, the night it hit her full force, that till death do us part might prove less a vow or a cliché than the next day's event, the night she'd seen it in him for the first time – raw, animal fear, as palpable as her own.
It made no sense, really, how sure she'd been, that he would survive, if only he kept his hair. She survived without her own, long after the night it came off right in his hands, the night he told her she was beautiful. She was sure that he was lying, even as he tugged her scarf off to see for himself. But his eyes were on hers, and he kissed her anyway, and he found his way, eventually, through the tubes and the wires.
She found it funny, sometimes, that they'd fought about cancer even before she had it, the day he told her he wanted her rack, but wanted her more. Almost giggling, she touched his face where she slapped him for that so long ago. She'd never fall for a line like that, not after she got pregnant at sixteen; that was a line that would work on her mother, who paid fortune tellers with rent money and blew food budgets on magic beans.
She was sure that was why he married her, that it was some sick ruse for the sick chick. But months went by, months of bandages and drains and toxins, and his unsteady hand still clasped hers, and he prowled her room like a caged lion, and he came back after that first fight, and every day after that one, and he paced beside her, waiting, and sometimes, he still looked at her like he had the day he promised her he'd be ready for anything.
Sliding her hands gently along his back, she lingered over a familiar smooth spot between his shoulder blades. Despite her detailed explorations, she never had quite settled if this particular motion was prone to make him giggle, or moan, or sigh, but it always drew him closer, his head tucked snugly against her chest as he dozed, purring contentedly.
She wondered if it would come back, her own cancer, and where she'd keep him then, if the rack he was resting against ended up in a hospital incinerator, as so much of her had the first time, and if he could still sleep there so comfortably, amid a new mass of scars.
She wondered that a lot, since she knew cancer so intimately - almost better than she knew herself - since she'd been fighting it for over a decade, as it devoured her dreams.
She wondered, but her answer always came back the same. He'd do what he always did; he'd rant and roar and pace and prowl, even as his trembling hands reached in through the tubes and the wires and around the scars, and found her again.
--------------------------------
"You can't be serious," Alex grumbled, fidgeting as Izzie straightened his tie. "I told you," she insisted, "my mother wanted to see exactly how we looked on the day of the wedding. I've always wanted her to see it," she sighed, "and this will be perfect. And you like my mother, right?"
"Yeah, sure" he nodded, scanning the yard from their back deck, "but her friends are kind of weird." "So are ours," Izzie pointed out, stepping back to review her work. "Yeah, but that psychic chick…" "She a seer," Izzie corrected, "and she's very nice. Why don't you have her read your future?" "I don't want to know," he muttered. "I hope you're not referring to me," Izzie insisted, gripping his tie again.
"Iz," he smirked, "how could I mean that?" "Oh, shut up," she teased, moving in to kiss him. "Hey, you got us in trouble for doing that last time, remember? Kissing the groom before it was official." "We're already married," she pointed out, "we're just renewing our vows. And don't get any ideas. The first marriage is still in effect." "Are you kidding?" he smirked, "bail on a hot bride who still can't keep her hands off me?"
"Oh, please," Izzie scoffed, "if you keep this up, I'll let my mother's friends have you." "You wouldn't," he groaned. "No?" she asked, "two of them have already asked me if you're that doctor from Millerville General." "Where?" Alex asked. "It's from a soap opera they all watch." "They don't know that I'm a real doctor?" Alex demanded." "Oh, they know," she shook her head, "they just think their soap is real, too."
Alex raised a single eyebrow. "Seriously," she replied, fixing her hair piece as Cristina and Meredith approached. "Hey," Meredith said, eyeing Alex's tie, "much better this time. "Yeah," Cristina taunted, "you didn't have to drag him by it." "Cristina," Meredith giggled. "Are you sure about this, Izzie?" Cristina asked, "I mean, once was bad enough. But marrying Evil Spawn again?" "I'm sure," Izzie nodded, smiling shyly.
"Oh," Izzie said, "there's my mom with the Presider." "The Presider?" Cristina repeated. "Don't ask," Alex said quickly. "And don't let them look at your palms. And they're seers," he reported, "not psychics, or whack jobs." Meredith giggled. "Whose idea was that?" "Izzie's mom," he said, warily eying his mother-in-law and her friends. "They came down in two vans." "Like the Scooby mobile?" Cristina drawled out sarcastically.
"Almost," Alex nodded. "Well," Meredith interrupted, "I think it's great that you guys are renewing your vows. Derek and I are thinking of doing it too, on our land, now that the house is renovated and the girls are getting older. We'd love for them to see it." "Not me," Cristina said, shaking, her head, "with me and Owen, it was quick and dirty and once was plenty. "Too much information, Yang," Alex said, laughing with Meredith.
"Cristina, it looks like Izzie wants you over there, I guess we're about to get started," Meredith said. "Great," Cristina said, "the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can drink." "Ever the romantic," Meredith noted as Cristina walked away. "Look who's talking," Alex teased. "Hey," she protested, checking his tie one last time, "I'm a married mother of two." "Miracle," he muttered, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
"This is a miracle," she teased, motioning around her. "That Izzie hasn't killed me, yet?" "No," she laughed, "that you're getting married twice, and to the same person each time." "Right," he agreed, scanning the small gathering, "I just hope this one doesn't involve chicken sacrifices." "You'd do that for Izzie," Meredith teased, watching his face flush and his jaw twitch. "She'd do it for you, too," she reminded him, taking his arm. "They may have already taken care of that," he noted.
"I'm happy for you guys, Alex," Meredith said softly, knitting her fingers through his, "That everything worked out so well, that you…" "I know," he said, squeezing her hand. "And thanks," he added, "for…for, being my best man again." "That's me," she smiled.
"You happy enough to clear me to go back to work part time?" he asked. "I told you already," she insisted, "we'll check you again in three months. If I see one speck on one scan, you're continuing the infusion protocol for another year after this. I'm not taking any chances with you." "Fine," he grumbled, knowing the answer was coming anyway.
"And look at it this way, you can even have a honeymoon this time." "Yeah," he said, "we can watch the six o'clock news together. I can almost make it through the weather now." She laughed, listening as the ceremony started. "It's working, Alex, that's all that matters, right?" Yeah," he said, watching as Izzie beamed at him from across the yard.
"You were right," Izzie acknowledged hours later, after the party had broken up, and they were alone again in front of the fireplace on a warm, mid summer evening, "my mother's friends are crazy." "You're just jealous because they like me better than you," he said, nuzzling her neck as he kissed her softly. "That's so not true," Izzie insisted, "mothers always like me best." "Um-huh," he nodded, curling more tightly around her.
"Besides, my mother talks to psychics." "Seers," he reminded her. "Oh, shut up," she objected, stroking his face as she waited for him to doze off. "You know, you never took me dancing after our first wedding, either." "You would have tripped over your IV," he noted.
"You're the one with two left feet," she insisted, "remember Lexi's wedding. I could barely walk for a week after that, and I never did get your foot prints off my shoes."
"The music sucked," he protested, "Who could dance to that?" "Oh, I don't know," Izzie speculated, "someone with, say, rhythm." "I've got rhythm, you just can't keep up with me." "Right," Izzie said, "me, and modern music, and anyone else on a dance floor."
"Whatever," he sighed tiredly, "dancing's lame anyway."
Izzie pulled him closer, rolling her eyes as she remembered the weddings her mother's friends would discuss as they got their nails done, the celebrity events in the magazines that she paged through while waiting, sitting on the salon floor as a young girl, wide eyed at the gowns with sequins and lace, the elaborate flowers and the many tiered cakes.
Her first wedding had been something like that, with a perfect dress, an orchard of flowers, and a canopy of lights. But her dream brides were never bald, and they never wore toy rings in place of diamonds, or honey-mooned in hospitals.
Her dream weddings always occurred on the first day of a future stretching as far as she could imagine, with a fearless prince who promised her forever; they never included a groom frantically clutching a wrinkled DNR order, or snugly stashed in a down comforter on a warm June night, dozing peacefully against her chest, with brownie crumbs still on his lips. She delicately brushed them away, kissing him softly as he stirred beside her.
"You missed the weather," she teased, "My wedding day, and you missed the weather." "Least I'm ambulatory," he retorted. "I was ambulatory," Izzie protested, "just woozy when I came down the aisle." "I thought you were going to change your mind," he said, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. "The first time or the second?" she giggled.
"Actually," she reported, "I got my future read today." "Let me guess, we got the lovers card again." "Nope," she replied, "But Gladys Meyers said I'm going to meet my prince soon." "Really," he said smugly, "anybody I know?" "Definitely not," Izzie said, poking him gently, "most princes can control their Brownie consumption." "You make them for me," he pouted, sighing deeply as she curled around him.
"Of course I do," she said, "I like you like this." "You do, huh?" "Can't keep my hands off you, remember?" she said, stroking his back. "Why now, Iz?" he asked. "Why what?" she asked. "Renewing our vows. We could have waited until next spring or something, like you always wanted. We could have even done like a real honeymoon, maybe."
"This is a real honeymoon," she retorted. "Looks more like our living room," he pointed out." "It's the company," she said smugly, "not the destination." "Where'd you get that line from?" he chuckled. "Where'd you get your first vows from?" she teased, eyeing him suspiciously. "Fine," he said. "But really, why not wait until we're more, you know, until I'm…" "Cured?" Izzie asked quietly. "Until I can make it through the weather report."
"I think it's better this way," she said quietly, "when we know why we're doing it." "You do?" "Yeah," she said, brushing his hair with her fingers, "I do." "Now, seriously, where did you get those first vows?" "Iz," he said, rolling his eyes. "I know how to make you talk, Alex," she reminded him, slipping her hands dangerously beneath his ribs.
"That's cheating," he protested weakly. "I know," she said, shifting carefully, "that's why I do it." "Um-huh," he murmured, sighing as her hands tracked slowly up along his back, lingering over the soft spot between his shoulders. Definitely warm enough, she decided, as his breathing steadied and he drifted off again. "Welcome home, Alex" she whispered, her lips brushing his hair as he settled in where he belonged.