Chapter Four: Personal Brand of Prozac

Disclaimer: Do not own Grey's Anatomy

A/N: I know you all must hate me. So very very much. But I bring this chapter as a peace offering!!! *shakes story in front of angry mob* :P

Basically I have finally moved out of home, so things were a bit busy there, and I have been juggling a few different jobs and sport. But I'd like to thank everyone for being so patient and nice and not posting flame after flame after flame telling me to get a wriggle on. I love you all  Enjoy, and please review!!

Alex was numb. He couldn't feel anything at all; not his arms, his legs, his eyes or his hair swishing around him as he floated so blissfully in oblivion. You'd think that he'd be scared, a little concerned, even. But it was, maybe, just perhaps the very best that he had felt in a very, very long time. He was finally able to let go. It was so easy. And, as he said before, it felt so good.

He couldn't help but wonder... "Am I dead?", and this, of course, understandably made him ask himself "Why didn't I do this sooner?" He was really quite enjoying himself, sitting back and letting himself follow the tides of his subconscious.

But deep down he knew that, because he was Alex, it was too good to be true. And, because he was Alex, who was always right, his assumptions were correct.

A blinding light, a sudden sickening pain and Alex could suddenly feel himself again. He was still floating, sure, but he was no longer numb. Sitting up, he did the only thing that he found even reasonably logical at the time. He examined his hands. They were so pale, so white; he turned them over, his nails perfectly trimmed and well shaped. The hands of a surgeon. Just like he remembered.

His hands suddenly blended into his surroundings as…well…wherever he was once again filled with a bright white light. Alex winced, grabbing at his chest in an attempt to make it go away. The light extinguished, and Alex's attention was drawn to his arms. He stared, in complete and utter confusion, as little lines began snaking along his veins, getting deeper and longer as he watched them. Blood ran in little streams from each newly made cut, dripping off his wrists and into his floating space. He quickly grabbed at his wrist to stem the bleeding, but it wasn't himself he was worried about; the walls around him were turning a deep red, the same colour as the drips and dribbles making their way out of his veins. This…this paradise was the most beautiful place that he had ever seen, and he didn't want to be the one to ruin the one room in which he had felt himself, the one place that he felt that he could call home.

He'd already ruined so much already; why did he have to wreck this place as well?

A third flash of white light, and through his squinting eyes Alex could see faces appearing in the now blood-red walls surrounding him. He gasped as he recognized Meredith, Bailey, hell, even George's face appeared.

But none of their faces touched him any more than hers.

Her soft lips as red as the blush on her supple cheeks; blonde hair swishing gently, angelically around her. Everything about her was just so…so perfect. She seemed to belong here. She was so pristine and so beautiful that nothing in the world could ever take her place.

Alex frowned. Her eyes, her innocent hazel eyes, were slowly glazing over, shining and glistening as tears began to fall down her cheeks and drip down onto the floor below. Tear after tear, drop after drop, the puddle on the floor just got bigger and bigger, and Alex wanted nothing more than for her to stop. She was too beautiful to cry. Angels weren't supposed to be upset, were they?

"Please," he croaked, coughing as he realised his voice was raspy and his throat sore, "don't cry. Why are you crying?"

She looked up at him, then, a small grimace crossing her features, before speaking in that angelic tone that he absolutely adored and loved and could listen to for the rest of his life.

"Why Alex?"

He blinked; he didn't understand, what had he done?

"Come on Alex, I know you can hear me." She spoke again, her words quick and desperate. She looked at him again.

"Open your eyes."

He stood up, then, because he was so confused but at the same time so worried that he had done something to hurt her that he just had to touch her face one more time. Just one more time to let her know that he was there; he could hear her, and he would always, always see her. Whether in his dreams or in real life, she would always be there and no-one else could ever take her place.

He needed to prove to her that he would always be there for her, too.

As he stood, Alex looked down in confusion; he couldn't feel any weight on his feet, he didn't even think about walking, placing one foot in front of the other, but the next thing he knew his arm was outstretched and he was moving quickly towards her. He was getting closer, getting closer to her beauty and wonder and everything beautiful about her when she spoke again, this time a lot louder than before.

"Alex! God-damn it, Alex, open your eyes, open your eyes please! Please Alex!" she cried, those tears building and threatening to spill once again.

He stopped in front of her, smiling softly, before clearing his throat again.

"You are the only reason I live."

As he spoke these words, he brought his hands up to her soft face, before placing a kiss on her forehead.

Blinding white light, matched with an equally blinding pain rocked through Alex again, but this time, the white room didn't return, and the pain stayed, coursing through his body and throbbing in his wrists. All Alex knew now was black. Painful black. He could hear voices, murmurs, beeping and a million other noises that hurt his head and his entire body and he only wanted to return to the peaceful white room where he could spend eternity with her.

He suddenly felt two soft hands on either side of his face, and a soft kiss lightly brush his forehead. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but all he could manage was to open them a slit before closing them again.

Alex couldn't help but smile.

He had seen her.

"Good work, people. He's back. Now, place him on…" A voice he recognised as Dr. Bailey's trailed off as he slowly succumbed to the drowsiness that had suddenly placed him in a vice-grip.

But he knew he would rest easily; her beautiful face, full of relief and happiness and joy and so much compassion filled his entire being with joy.

Izzie Stevens, he thought, who knew you'd be my own personal brand of Prozac?