A/n: Reviewers - you are awesome, thank you so much! :) I know you're eager for the next chapter, so all I have to say is Happy Easter! Enjoy.

I'm standing here until you make me move...
-Lifehouse

Chapter 4 - Hanging By A Moment

First message: "Izzie, it's Alex. You're not at the trailer and your bag is gone. And O'Malley told me you got fired. Call me."

Second message: "Hey, it's George again. I'm uh… just wondering, still, where you are and if you're okay. You haven't called me back yet – well, obviously, otherwise I probably wouldn't be leaving you another message. Um, anyways. I have my phone on me at all times, so call me back. Whenever. But soon. Bye."

Third message: "Iz, where are you? I'm freaking out here. You're not dead in a ditch or anything, right? Okay, that was kinda morbid, sorry. Look, it's fine if you went to Davenport early, just for God's sake, let me know. Talk to you soon."

Fourth message: "Hey Izzie! It's Meredith. Just checking in. In case you haven't been keeping track, it's actually been three days since you disappeared and we're really worried about you back here, so… maybe you could call me – or any one of us, back. Okay, bye."

Fifth message: "Okay, so you're not dead. Thanks for calling when you knew no one was home. Izzie, I… talk to me! Should I be coming down there to be with you? You know, as your husband and all...? Or... whatever. Call someone else for all I care. Bye."

Sixth message: "Um, hey, George. Again. My phone died this morning and it took an hour to charge and um… just hoping you didn't call while it was off. But if you did, then call me back right away, because my phone's all charged now. So… yeah. Bye."

Seventh message: "Izzie, where the hell are you? Should I be filing a missing person's report? I'm your husband and I don't even care if you call anyone else back – I'm sure they're all leaving you voicemails too – but… c'mon, call me back. Please."

Eighth message: "Hey. It's Cristina. Mer told me I should call you and badger you too. And I'm supposed to remind you that it's now been a full nine days since you left. They're all going mental here, I hope you know, and debating daily if they should pile into a car and drive to Davenport to find you. Anyways, they're probably all leaving you massive amounts of voicemails. I wouldn't answer my phone either. But you seriously should call them and actually talk to someone so that we can talk about something else at lunch. And they'll stop bothering me to call you too. Later."

Ninth message: "George calling… again. Maybe if I leave you enough messages you'll eventually call me back? C'mon Iz, just tell me what's going on. This isn't like you. Talk to me – I'm here. I'm always here, you know that. You know my number, so use it, okay? Talk to you soon."

Tenth message: "Izzie, is it me? Did you leave because I said something? I'm sorry – I'm sorry about our fight, okay? I'm sorry we always fight. You're not leaving me for good, right? This is just a grief thing because of your mom...? We got the message you left the other day saying you don't want any of us to come find you, so then what the hell do you want? The radio silence here is making me crazy, Iz. Call me."

Eleventh message: "George again. Still pretty much freaking out about you… um… Is your phone broken? Is that it? There's still pay phones around, you know. Get a stranger to lend you a quarter. Or you could send us a letter. Hey maybe it's in the mail! Or an email – that'd be faster, actually. Smoke signals? I don't really know how to read them, but I could learn. Okay, uh… rambling. Okay. Just… call me back. And in case you seriously have lost your phone and had a memory wipe and don't remember my number anymore, it's 555-8732. And it's George - George O'Malley. Your best friend. Waiting not-so-patiently by his phone and staying up all night to make sure I don't miss your call."

Twelfth message: "Izzie! Seriously? It's been almost two weeks! What's going on?! Why can't we come to you? Alex won't even talk to us anymore and George is seriously going to get an ulcer if he keeps worrying the way he is. Seriously. Call. Us. Now."

Being in Davenport was like being a strange, protected and familiar bubble. Izzie could pretend she had no other problems to deal with except those pertaining to her mother's sudden death, which were more than enough. Here she was surrounded by people who also were feeling the loss and somehow that helped her grieve instead of making things worse like she'd thought she'd feel. People here knew, people here understood. They weren't just acquaintances and coworkers who felt bad for her but secretly were glad it wasn't them. They were grieving over the loss of Robbie too.

She felt guilty about not calling her friends back, aside from two quick phone calls when she knew they'd all be at work, first assuring them she wasn't dead and she'd come back eventually, and then asking them not to pursue her in Davenport. She couldn't face being unemployed just yet and she didn't want to hear them all assure her everything would be okay. It felt anything but okay and she had a hard time thinking it would get better anytime soon.

She hardly knew how she felt, in fact. As soon as she was around someone she knew in Davenport, she wanted to be alone. Then as soon as she was alone in the apartment that family friend Mr. Herman Wickenheimer was letting her stay in rent-free, she felt painfully alone and wished she had company. She appreciated the way she couldn't go anywhere in the small town without seeing someone she recognized, but she hated that she couldn't be anonymous. Everyone knew she was Robbie's daughter, the girl from the big city, the girl who'd lost her mom.

She was afraid of going to the funeral tomorrow by herself, afraid to go at all and have to let herself fully realize her mother was gone for good. The funeral would make it really final. A big "The End" stamp that was going hurt more than anything else had so far. She'd been to a few funerals in her life to know the feeling.

And though she was afraid of going alone, she couldn't bring herself to answer the phone when one of her friends called and ask any one of them, including her husband, to be by her side. She'd told them not to come in the first place, after all, thinking she wanted to deal with this on her own. She couldn't articulate why, but when she saw one of their numbers come up, she let her phone ring and then would guiltily listen to the worried voicemail they'd often leave.

It was one of those moments when she was sipping a cup of tea, feeling so alone and afraid of going to the funeral that her phone rang with a number she didn't recognize. She answered.

"Izzie? Thank God. Look, don't hang up."

Izzie sat up straight in surprise. "George? This isn't your number."

"Yeah, I know. I'm on a payphone. I really need a new phone, I think. It died again. And I lost my car charger, so I couldn't charge it in the car. Anyways, um. I'm calling to say that uh, I'm here."

She wasn't sure what he meant. Here, as in he was always there for her and wanted to talk? Here, as in... She dismissed the idea before it even fully formed. It was almost a four hour drive and unlike her, George had a job.

"Izzie?"

"I'm still here."

"Oh, okay. You were just... quiet." He cleared his throat. "Did you hear me? I said I'm here. In Davenport, I mean. I'm outside, uh... Barbara's... Fashion and... Physiotherapy? Really? Wow. That's uh, quite a unique combination."

He couldn't see it, but already in just a few seconds from talking to him, he'd made her smile. Her eyes became watery and she could hardly believe he'd just driven all the way to Davenport for her, even after she'd asked none of them to come, and he hadn't even called in advance to ask if she maybe had changed her mind. She sniffled loudly without meaning to.

"You okay?"

"You came."

"You're my person." He said matter-of-factly. "I should've come sooner, but they, um, kept convincing me to actually listen to you. And I know you said not to, but… I couldn't let you do this alone."

She wiped her eyes and wished she could hug George right at that moment just for being George.

"Do you wanna tell me where you are? And actually, the sooner the better - this thing's starting to yell at me for more money."

Izzie quickly told him the address and he barely had time to say goodbye and that he'd be right there before they were disconnected.

She hung up her phone and leaned back into the old couch, hardly daring to believe George was really here in Davenport. She wouldn't have to go the funeral alone after all.

When George arrived, the first thing he did was wrap Izzie in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his shoulder and held onto him tight.

"You didn't have to try and do this alone." He said in her ear.

Following that, Izzie's world got a whole lot brighter, if only for a few hours. George proceeded to empty the contents of a large grocery bag in the kitchen and make his homemade hot chocolate. He asked her to pick a movie to watch from the ones he'd brought with him which were half a dozen of her very favorites. He told her funny stories or interesting stories about things that happened at the hospital while she was gone. The setting had changed, but it felt very much like a regular weekend from the months where she wasn't working at the hospital. She knew he wanted to know why she'd asked them not to come after her, why she refused to call them, and more, but he never pressed her and for that she was extremely grateful.

The next morning was the day of the funeral. Izzie moved about the apartment in a strange state of numbness. She barely spoke and couldn't take her mind off of the idea that she was burying her mother today. Her mother who hadn't been very old, who hadn't died of old age, who'd been healthy and vibrant and still died of natural causes.

"You ready to go?" George poked his head in her room, dressed in a handsome dark suit that made his blue eyes stand out vividly.

Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't do up the buttons on her long black coat and without a word George moved forward and helped her.

"I can't do this, George. I can't be there and hear everyone say they're sorry, and…" She wiped her eyes fiercely. "I can't, I can't…"

"Hey," he held her hands tight and looked her in the eye. "Remember how I was before Dad's funeral? I couldn't do it either. But you… you were there. And you told me I could. This is like that. Except - except now I'm going to be there for you. You can do this. You're strong. And it won't seem like it now, and it won't seem like it for a while… but you'll make it. You'll make it to the other side of this. Okay?"

She nodded and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Let's go."

She'd expected to cry more.

As the coffin was laid down into the ground, as the preacher gave his comforting words, as a few family members said a quick and emotional goodbye, her tears did no more than hover and threaten to spill out. She reasoned she was probably cried out, having spent the better part of the past two weeks alternating between crying heavily and stoically refusing to cry any longer. Now she was simply numb.

George stayed right beside her and whenever she felt an overwhelming wave of emotion threaten to take her down, she'd glance his way and he'd offer her a faint, warm smile that strengthened her. She remembered doing the same thing to him at his father's funeral.

The reception following the funeral was almost as hard if not harder than the funeral itself. People came in waves to offer their condolences and memories of her mother. Izzie found it extremely difficult to have to stand there and thank them and try and find words to offer back to form some sort of a conversation. George once again remained by her side, leaving only once in a while to refill Izzie's punch or their plates with the little appetizers someone had brought.

"Ah, so this is your husband?" Mrs. Regina Hildebrandt, a good friend and neighbor of Robbie's, commented with a wide grin when she approached George and Izzie. She was in her early sixties but looked like she was more likely in her eighties due to a lifetime of smoking. "Isn't he just a handsome fella!"

George choked on his punch and reddened and Izzie chuckled uncomfortably.

"No, sorry, Mrs. Hildebrandt. He's not my, um… no, he's – "

"Best friend." George recovered and filled in hastily.

"Oh." Mrs. Hildebrandt looked very disappointed at once.

"Yes, he's my best friend. My husband is Alex Karev. He's, uh, back in Seattle. He…" Izzie struggled. What reason was good enough for a husband not to be here for his wife? "He was just, um, unable to make it. Today."

Mrs. Hildebrandt looked skeptically at George but her expression cleared as she turned back to Izzie. "Of course. Well, see you around, dear."

Izzie gave the older woman a quick hug before Mrs. Hildebrandt headed off to talk to others.

"That was awkward." George commented with a wry smile.

Mrs. Hildebrandt didn't end up being the only one who assumed George was in fact Izzie's husband. At least four or five separate people had similar awkward conversations with Izzie who couldn't find a specific reason for why Alex wasn't there and George was instead.

Because you told him not to be, a voice inside said. Because you never called him back or talked to him or anything.

She couldn't be angry with him for not deducing that she secretly wanted him here after she specifically said she wanted them all to stay in Seattle. And yet, as the latest person asking her where her husband was walked away, she found herself growing increasingly frustrated with Alex.

He should be here. She thought. He should've come for me. That's what husbands do.

You told him not to. The little voice reminded her firmly and she had no counter argument.

When they got back to the apartment following the funeral, Izzie went to her room to change and George promptly set about starting to cook them supper.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling like a milkshake of emotions. She wanted to be angry with Alex for not coming, she wanted to burst into tears, she wanted to scream and throw things, she wanted to curl up in a ball under the covers and never come out. Tears began pooling in her eyes, blurring her vision and she sat quite still, trying to get a handle on herself.

George came in some time later, concerned by the amount of time she'd spent in her room with no sound of movement happening. "Iz? Oh, hey…" He quickly sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "It's a lot, I know. It's a lot."

She looked up at him with wet eyelashes. "Why did you come? Why didn't anyone else come? I told you not to and you came anyway. Why?"

George half-smiled. "Because I like to think I know you pretty good. And you're all about doing it on your own, whether you think you can or not. And… I was there: a death of a parent - it isn't something you do alone. It's too big. So I came anyway."

More tears began to slide down Izzie's cheeks. She was completely raw and it was too much, it was all too much…

Hardly without thinking she tipped her head up and met George's lips.

He pulled back too quickly, looking startled with flushed cheeks. "Izzie…"

"You're so good to me," she croaked. "George, please." She leaned forward to kiss him again but he leaned back shaking his head.

"I can't. We can't. Izzie, you are not… You're just really emotional right now. We – you…" George fumbled for words and then stood up, putting a little distance between them. "You don't really want this."

Immediately feeling shameful and embarrassed by her actions, Izzie turned her gaze downwards and covered her burning face with her hands. She was so emotional and conflicted inside because of everything that had happened in her life recently she didn't know what she wanted. Making her best friend extremely uncomfortable was certainly not one of them, however.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her cheeks on fire. She didn't even know what had made her kiss him like that.

"It's okay." George answered. He moved close to her, gently taking her hands away from her face so he could look her in the eye. "Grief does weird things to people. It's okay." He offered her a small smile.

She was about to reply when she realized she smelt something very strange. "George, is something burning?"

George swore and jumped up, running to the kitchen where he'd accidentally left a pan of stir fry on the stove. Izzie couldn't help a small giggle as she proceeded to get out of her funeral clothes and into something more casual and comfortable. George called out a few moments later that they wouldn't be having stir fry that night after all.

A/n: By the way, the inspiration for "Barbara's Fashion and Physiotherapy" is from an actual place in my hometown. It isn't "Barbara's", but it is actually Fashion and Physiotherapy. Seriously. There are other bizarre store combos in my town, but that one if my favorite. ;) Anyways, thanks for reading. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I appreciate it SO much! More soon.