A/n: Merry Thursday! I actually have a lot on my plate right now and was going to wait until next week to put this up, but I managed to grab a few minutes here, so I'll be quick... I'm going to start including a line or two of lyrics at the beginning of the chapters from now on (and will go back and add them to previous chapters). The 'why' will perhaps be clear some time later. Anyways, thanks as always to every one of my great readers and especially my reviewers. You rock! Ok - enjoy the latest. :)
You fall away from your past
But it's following you…
-The Fray
Chapter 7 - Fall Away
Two months later
When Meredith came home that night with Derek, Lexie and Mark trailing in behind her, Izzie greeted them all brightly and then returned to the kitchen to finish carving the roast she'd made.
"Izzie, my God, you've got to stop cooking such amazing food!" Meredith half-heartedly protested moments later as she entered the kitchen and saw the spread of delicious looking things across the kitchen table.
Mark was staring in awe and his stomach began rumbling immediately.
"She's trying to make us fat," Derek joked.
"What's the special occasion?" asked Lexie.
"Um... it's... a Wednesday," replied Izzie as she set a plate of roast down in the middle of the table.
"She's bored." Meredith supplied.
Mark inhaled the extremely appetizing smells around him and said, "I love that you're bored."
Once everyone was seated, the group said a quick grace and began to dig in.
She liked cooking for everyone and especially the nights when it was more than just Meredith and Derek, but in truth the thing she wanted to be doing more than anything was working at the hospital again. She was taking it slow, getting back on her feet since her mom's death. That didn't mean she enjoyed it.
The hardest part of not working at the hospital was listening to everyone she knew talk about it. All of her friends worked there – it was their life. It just wasn't hers anymore. So while she drank up every word, she still yearned to be the one telling the stories of the severed hand or the pitchfork through some guy's stomach.
"It was amazing. All the way through!" Lexie gestured with her fork.
"I still say the wife did it," said Mark.
"Oh stop." Meredith shook her head. "He totally fell, just like he said. You saw how drunk he was when he came in. Besides, the way it was lodged in him like that, he had to have fallen on it."
"I also heard him telling the guy in the bed next to him how hot his young new farm assistant is." Mark raised his eyebrow suggestively and took a swig of beer before adding, "And the wife easily could have thrust it upwards like that to make it look like an accident."
"But why would he lie then, if it was her?" Lexie questioned.
"People are crazy, how should I know?"
The conversation had inevitably come to what everyone's day had been like and what cases they had worked on. They talked for quite some time about Pitchfork Guy and Izzie listened quietly, wishing more than anything that she'd been the one to extricate the pitchfork and stitch him up instead of the others. Derek then proceeded to tell them all about his brain hemorrhaging case, who was lucky to be alive, and Meredith talked about Mrs. Lyden in 24C who apparently had scurvy.
Izzie eventually rose to clear the table before they decided to ask her about her day. She'd only be able to give them a boring (but true) answer anyway: she'd spent the morning in bed, she'd read more of this old mystery book from the library, came over to Meredith's house, made herself a tiny lunch, watched Ellen, and then spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and cooking.
It was a routine she'd developed when she was recovering from cancer - being in a sort of strange limbo where she had no idea what to do to occupy herself. She'd started and stopped various hobbies (she was tired of knitting, didn't like to draw and lost interest in scrapbooking too quickly), had become secretly addicted to several shows on daytime television (yelling out the prices while watching The Price Is Right, for example) and hated this weird emptiness that took up so much of her life without her duties at the hospital. At least last time she'd been stuck at home she'd had a goal: get better, get stronger, get over cancer and get back to work. They'd been holding a job for her and they were in no rush to force her to come back. Now she had nothing, except to somehow wait this period out, until the Chief felt she was mentally healed enough to return to the hospital.
"Izzie, stop! You spent all day cooking, you're not clearing the table too," Meredith said abruptly when she heard Izzie put several plates into the sink.
"I can do it, Mer, I don't mind – "
"Not allowed." Meredith took the dirty silverware out Izzie's hand, who laughed as Lexie shooed her out of the kitchen area.
The guys headed to the living room with fresh bottles of beer after taking an obligatory few dishes to the counter and sink.
"Have you heard from George?" Lexie asked.
Izzie shook her head. "Not since Sunday."
The three girls chatted about this and that and as the Grey sisters were finishing up with the dishes, Lexie suggested they break out a card game of some kind. Meredith liked the idea as she hadn't played any games in a long time, but Izzie declined.
"Actually guys, I haven't been feeling well lately, so I'm going to pass. Mer, I'm going to crash upstairs for a bit before I head back to the trailer."
"Alright. Later, Iz."
Once upstairs, Izzie made herself comfortable in what used to be her room, but was now technically a guest room even though it still housed much of her stuff that couldn't fit into the small trailer. She retrieved her laptop from her desk and immediately checked her email, grinning the moment she spotted George's name in her inbox. She opened the email eagerly and began to read:
"Hey Iz,
You always ask me what's new exciting over here but in the span of a few days, nothing terribly new or exciting happens. Okay, I guess that it isn't true, because I'm basically living in a war zone, but you know what I mean.
I practically had to fight Trevor off for my turn on the computer. I've told you about how he likes to check his Facebook for hours on end, right? Well now he's added some gaming site to his list of things to do when he's on the computer. I really try not to take my day to use it the same day as him, but it seems to always happen that way anyway."
Izzie smiled. Trevor was one of the other doctors that George worked with in his unit, and there was always something that Trevor was doing or not doing that annoyed the heck out of George. He was a lot younger than George and had apparently signed up almost completely straight out of med school, aside from about half a year at a small hospital in a town in North Dakota. He talked constantly, used by far the most time on the computer shared between several of the guys, and made mistakes while they were working too often. Many of the others were fed up with the kid and it sounded like he was soon going to get transferred to a smaller more inner city unit that saw less action.
"Yesterday Anthony went out again on patrol. He says it's far scarier than anything he's ever had to do before, what with all the roadside bombs that seem to go off so regularly here. But you know Anthony - or, at least, from what I've told you. He always has to make a joke of it, saying stuff like that he thinks losing an arm would make his waist look smaller - stuff like that. Some the guys don't like the black humor, but Anthony's too good of guy, they can't really hate him."
Anthony wasn't part of the medical team, but part of a unit of soldiers that based with George's med unit. From what George had told her through the various emails and brief phone conversations they'd managed to have, Anthony was probably his closet friend out there. He was British, loud and funny, always teasing everyone and always smiling. Everybody really enjoyed his company and he was a good morale booster, not to mention a courageous soldier. When attacks happened, he was usually the first guy to rush in and grab the wounded and send them back to the med unit where George worked.
She read on.
"I've been up since way-too-early this morning, dealing with a group of severe injuries from a unit over 30 miles from here. They were hit with a late night attack while they were on a supply run and we were the closest med base. There were eight men in total and we lost one of them, with another likely on his way if his stats don't go up.
It's rough here, Iz. I know I've said that a lot lately, but it's just such a different way of doing things. I've never been in conditions like this, never practiced medicine like this. It's not like I was expecting to be in a brand new hospital with world class surgeons or anything, but I certainly wasn't expecting to be in large, structured tents and temporary buildings with generators for electricity out in the middle of damn nowhere.
Sorry to go on about the tough stuff. I'm just completely exhausted!
Anyways.
I'm sorry to hear about you and Alex. I wish things were going better and I wish I could give you some sort of worthwhile advice to help fix this. The best I can say is that you and I both know Alex, and he'll eventually come around in his grudging Alex-way. You just keep being bright-and-shiny."
She sighed heavily. Things between her and Alex had been rockier than ever. They'd both apologized, but she didn't think he'd really forgiven her – not based on the way he was acting, anyway. He was taking on more and more hours at the hospital, she was spending more and more time away from the trailer. Aside from obligatory greetings in the mornings, they hardly spoke. They still slept in the same bed for the most part, as if it was some sort of silent mandatory rule to show they were still attached to each other. But over the past couple of weeks, Alex had taken to staying at the hospital instead for a growing number of nights. She'd tried to ask him about it and he'd shut her down, saying it was just work and she should understand. And of course she did to some extent, but she didn't know how to fix the hard, cold distance between them.
"Glad to hear everything else there is still normal. Keep hanging on, Iz. The Chief will come around soon. I've got to go - some of the guys are starting to get on my case about taking up so much time (even though I take probably a fraction the amount of time as Trevor).
Talk to you soon.
Love, George"
Izzie poised her hands to compose a reply and felt a wave of exhaustion come over her, followed by a gross, unsettled feeling in her stomach. She was pretty sure she was coming down with the flu, which annoyed her greatly as she hated being sick. With a small groan and a sigh, she shut down her laptop and decided to reply to George first thing in the morning.
"C'mooon, O'Malley!"
"Alright, alright, I'm off!" George laughed as he closed his internet window after logging off and stood up.
"Who're you writing a novel to?" asked Pete, a tall, slim blonde man. He absently flipped a beat-up looking Zippo lighter open and closed.
"Was it your girlfriend again, O'Malley?" Anthony winked, his tan face crinkling. "You typing up sweet nothin's to 'er, mate?"
"She's not my girlfriend. She's my best friend, and she's married." George rolled his eyes.
"It's your mum, isn't it?" Anthony teased.
George chuckled. "Don't be jealous that I have someone other than my, uh, my mom to write to."
Pete and Dean ooed.
"Off side," Anthony touched his chest pretending to be hurt. "O'Malley, I thought you were one of the good ones!" He shook his head and then quickly went for his breast pocket, pulling out a well worn photograph. In it was a slightly younger Anthony, with messy black hair and a wide grin, hugging a pale girl with long red hair smiling shyly at the camera, as if it had been a private moment interrupted by the click of a camera.
The other guys groaned.
"This is my lady - "
"Miss Annabelle Ruth Benford, the loveliest lass in all the world!" The guys chorused and then slapped Anthony's back good-naturedly.
"I see you've heard of 'er." He laughed, ignoring their jibes about how often he pulled out that photo to show off his fiancé back home. "Have I mentioned her before?"
"Only about seven – " started Dean.
"Hundred - " George chipped in.
"Times, a day." Pete finished.
Anthony waved them off. "Oh, sod off you lot."
The guys laughed and then let Anthony be as he sat down to take his turn on the computer and began his own lengthy email back home.
George took a few more moments to join in further teasing of Anthony before heading out of the Rec building.
It'd been just under two months now that George had been in Iraq and though he couldn't say he felt used to it, it definitely felt right. He was scared a lot of the time, like when there were attacks nearby and he could hear massive explosions that rattled the barracks. He felt out of his element when there was a lot of downtime, as with little electronic means of entertainment and very few books to read, there was almost nothing to do. But it all fell into place when he was with the rest of his med unit in the med tents, rushing around and saving lives.
It was what he'd come here to do and… oh, God did it feel so good to know he was finally making a difference. He didn't feel like wallpaper anymore, he wasn't a welcome mat for people to wipe their feet on. He was respected. He was no longer disappearing.
Back in Seattle, Hunt had said he had a natural talent for being calm under extreme pressure and George was learning that it was true and he was good at it. He could see what needed to be done and sometimes with so many injured, he didn't have the time or the resources to do the most glamorous or correct way to save a life. He did the way that would work. He remembered when Hunt had first come to Seattle, some of his methods had seemed so brutal or archaic. Now George understood those methods and was constantly thankful for Hunt's experience and mentoring. He figured he'd probably be more like Trevor who was inexperienced, nervous, stumbly and wide-eyed without it.
George made his way from the Rec building to the barracks, looking forward to some sleep even though it was pretty well lunch time. He'd been up at four that morning (after only three hours of sleep) with a wave of injured men and had finally gotten everything under control. Another thing he'd learned while being here is that everyone slept at any moment they could, as they didn't know the next time they'd have the chance.
"Hey O'Malley," Rich, a stocky soldier with buzzed hair, waved. "Heading to the barracks?"
Rich was part of Anthony's unit, the soldiers who shared the med base with George's med unit. He was good friends with Anthony before they came to Iraq and as a result of George becoming good friends with Anthony, he'd become good friends with Rich too.
George nodded. "Before I collapse on my feet." He smiled crookedly.
"I hear you - me too. I was out last night with the boys from C3, canvassing those caves 20 miles north of here. They got a report from John-Boy that there was activity up there, but we couldn't find anything. Didn't help 'course, our long-range radar went a little glitchy and shut down. We got back just before lunch, but Jackson wants to try again tomorrow with a better radar."
John-Boy was the nickname of one of the guys who supervised the radar sweeps. They kept several radar stations going constantly to be warned of any threat. He'd been named John-Boy because on one of the men's first nights in the barracks after the lights went out, he'd called out a good-night to everyone. Snickering ensued, followed by out right laughter as someone shouted, "Good-night, John-Boy!" like in the old TV show, The Waltons. George wasn't even sure what John-Boy's real name was.
"You been going straight since Monday? 'Cause you were out on patrol with, uh, Anthony Monday night."
Rich nodded. "Yeah, they had him go back to back nights. Rough - I hate patrol."
"I think everybody does."
"Oh, hey, George, a bunch of us guys were planning a big poker game Saturday night, barring any emergencies. You in?"
"Sure. As long as you promise not to take all my money like last time."
Rich laughed. "It's not my fault you kinda suck at poker, O'Malley."
George couldn't deny it. Last time the guys had had a poker night in the Rec building, George had been basically wiped clean by Rich, Anthony and Jackson. Rich and Jackson were the best of the group and seemed to know exactly how to play Anthony. Anthony, in the mean time, bluffed convincingly enough that he beat out the rest of the guys.
Rich lowered his voice. "You know, I'll let you in on a bit of a secret. With Anthony, the louder and more confident he gets about his hand, the worse it is. He always thinks he can bluff his way through. It only works because the other guys think he's serious. Pete fidgets with that damn Zippo lighter in his pocket when he's got a good hand, but he stops and sets his hand on the table when he's bluffing."
"Oh ya? And what about you?"
"I'm just good." Rich grinned.
George chuckled then said, "I'll remember that, thanks."
Rich heaved a sigh a moment later and began, "I am really looking forward to saying hello to my pillow…"
George nodded in agreement.
Just as the pair had just reached the barracks, however, a blaring whoop noise came over the base speakers, followed by an officer's voice informing all medical personnel to report to the med tent, as they had several incoming wounded.
Rich slapped his friend on the back. "Ouch - tough luck, O'Malley. Catch you later."
"Later, Rich."
With a sigh, George hurried to the med tent. He'd really been looking forward to some sleep.
When Izzie woke up the next morning, she was hit such intense nausea she barely made it to the bathroom in time before she lost her stomach's meager contents. She felt like she'd barely slept at all and as she huddled shaking on the floor beside the toilet, she knew something was wrong. She wanted badly to believe it was the flu, but something told her it wasn't. This was different. And if she was truly being honest with herself, she had felt this same way before, a long time ago.
She didn't move for a long time, afraid to really think about the path her thoughts were taking her. Finally she couldn't take it any longer and retrieved a small box from the very back of the bathroom cupboard. It was a sort "In Case of Emergency" box that she and Meredith had bought ages ago in the drug store. Neither of them had had cause to open the box, until today.
A few moments later, with mounting trepidation she looked down at the stick in her quivering hands.
Positive.
She was pregnant.
A/n: (Gasp!) What!? How? Hmm... you'll just have to wait and see! (*tease tease*) Also, I promise I will getting to my review replies soon, I know I'm several behind. More soon!
