Six Weeks Post Op

He was curled onto his side, staring out the window of his room. But it wasn't his room, it wasn't his house. It was Mark's, but even then it wasn't Mark's. They'd pulled the plug on Mark a week earlier, but Callie had insisted he stay at Mark's old place after the surgery not only to keep an eye on him but to also know that somebody was close by in case he needed help.

He hadn't brought himself to look at the leg. He had showered and used the bathroom, but he never looked down to see it. He never lifted the covers long enough to look. To an extent, he was ashamed. He was no longer Alex Karev. Instead, he was somebody he didn't recognize anymore. Alex Karev would have fought like hell to get back on his feet, put in the work to get back to work. He wasn't Alex Karev anymore because he was wallowing. He was putting everything off.

"I'm worried about him," he heard Arizona say from the living room. "He hasn't left the apartment. He hasn't really spoken to anybody. It's as if he's given up." She wasn't wrong. "It's been six weeks, Callie. He's given up."

He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the sky anymore. It was too blue, too bright, too optimistic and cheerful. She was right, he had given up. He'd given up because it felt like he'd died in those woods with Lexie, and it felt like he'd died when they got back like Mark. He wasn't sad, or angry, or upset. He was numb.

"He has to be willing to work towards recovery. We can't force him to want to get better, Arizona. You know that." He heard Arizona grumble in response, but he couldn't make out the words she'd said. The door opened, and he looked at the visitor.

"Callie's going to work. I have the day off, so I'll be with Sofia at home. If you need anything, just call." He kept eye contact for a minute more before shutting his eyes again and pulling the blanket up around him. Before he knew it, he was back asleep.

He slept a lot since he'd gotten discharged from the hospital. He didn't do much else. He slept, he ate, he occasionally watched a movie. He could never get himself to watch the news or listen to the radio. The reports of the accident had died down long ago, but he couldn't hear about the next plane crash or accident or shooting. It was all too much for him to try and comprehend. Even though it felt like it, the world did not start and stop and Seattle Grace and with their accident.

When he woke up again, the sky was pitch black and rain was pouring down in sheets. The sound of the water against the glass reminded him of the sound of the engines of the plane. The sounds of the thunder reminding him of the sound of the plane hitting the trees. Sometimes, the smallest sounds or the slightest smells took him back there. He sat up, swinging his good leg over the side of the bed. Hesitantly, he started putting weight on it, supporting himself on the crutches Callie had left by his bedside.

The feeling of standing up was odd, to say the least. He was expecting to feel more even support. He expected to feel the other leg, but he never did. He still couldn't bring himself to look down at where his leg used to be.

He heard another clap of thunder, which sent fear flooding through his body. Trying to keep his breathing even, he started walking out of the bedroom and into the living room. When he successfully accomplished that, he made his way to the front door of the apartment. Looking around as he did so, he saw Mark's pictures and his belongings. It seemed as if Mark would walk through the door any second to reclaim what was his, but he never did.

He struggled with the front door, trying to keep his balance while trying to unlock the deadbolt. It was a struggle, and his attempts failed with the sounds of thunder echoing around him each time. Finally, he was successful and he crossed the hall, knocking on the door with one of the crutches. He kept tapping at the door until Arizona opened it.

"A-Alex?" she asked, obviously surprised. "Come in. Come in," she then ushered, moving out of his way yet staying close. He knew she worried about him, and to an extent, it made him happy that she cared. After a seeming eternity, he sat on the couch as Arizona sat next to him.

"The storm makes me feel like I'm back there," he admitted quietly. "The rain sounds like the engines and the thunder sounds like when we hit the trees. Arizona, I don't know what to do." He looked at her, pleading in his eyes. "I know why you did it, I know why I pushed against it. But I don't know what to do now."

"The first thing you need to do is acknowledge it. Say it. Look at it. It's not something you can ignore or write off or pretend didn't happen, because it did."

Hesitantly, she rolled up the leg of his shorts just far enough to expose where his leg should have been, but he didn't look. He really couldn't bring himself to look yet. The two stayed looking at each other.

"I…My leg…" He didn't know how to word it. He didn't know how to describe it. Medically was one thing. He could explain the procedure, describe the different techniques that could have or were used, tell each instrument that would have been used. "My leg was amputated." Arizona gave him a small smile. "My leg was amputated," he said again.

"Now, look at it. You said it, now bring yourself to look at it." He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again with tears threatening. With a clenched jaw, he bowed his head and saw the angry, red scars. He saw where one leg began and where the other ended. He felt his lip quiver, felt the tears land on the stump.

"My leg…" he said with a shaking breath, "was amputated." He knew this was the first step of many hard ones on the road to recovery. He acknowledged it, now it was time to actively work towards getting better. It would mean physical therapy, psychological therapy, and being fitted for a prosthetic.

"Alex," Arizona said. "You're not alone in this. No matter how much it seems like you might be. You're not." She wrapped him in a hug as the tears continued to fall. The two stayed like that, with her comforting him. When a clap of thunder echoed, she'd reassure him he was safe and that he was home. He had never felt like he'd had a home. Growing up, it was never home. Meredith's house – albeit home for many years – was never really home. But there with his friend, he felt like he was home for the first time.

A/N: I just want to thank you all for the reviews and the support with this story. I've been on not only a binge-watch, but also on a writing binge, and it feels so good to be able to read your comments as I'm writing. I hope you've all enjoyed so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy!