Knuckles

As he sits on the sofa, in the semi-darkness, he studies the various scars on his knuckles. Fighting is what he does when he can’t deal with things, and when he can’t fight, he argues. He curls his hand into a fist and watches as the skin around his knuckles turns white from the temporary lack of blood flow. When he hears footsteps on the stairs he lets his hand rest but he doesn’t turn around to see who it is, because he’s hoping that person will just ignore him. He’s hoping most of all though that it isn’t Rebecca because he had finally lulled her into sleep an hour ago. He tries not to remember her hysterical sobs, tries not to remember her mumbling about the baby, a baby that never existed in the first place. But he remembers anyways and it makes his throat close up and he has to swallow hard to clear it.

There’s a hand on his bare shoulder then and he knows instantly who it is, because he would know that touch anywhere. It relaxes him but at the same time it makes him tense. He tips his head back to see her face, pale and nervous in the darkness; her blonde hair is mussed by her pillow and, for a moment, he finds breathing difficult again.

“I’m sorry Alex,” she whispers.

“For what?” He knows it comes out as a snap and that he didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Izzie doesn’t flinch or pull away, she just stares at him.

“For everything, I’m just… sorry.”

Alex shrugs and looks away from her. That look in her eyes, that hurt one that tells him that she’s been through more than she ever lets on, makes him want to hold her and to do equally mushy things that normally Alex Karev would never dream of doing.

Izzie takes a deep breath and he expects her to leave but she doesn’t. “I know you told me to mind my own business but I just can’t stand by and watch you get hurt. Alex, Rebecca is sick, she’s mentally ill and you don’t seem to realize it.”

His first instinct is to argue, to snap at her until she leaves in defeat but when he tips his head back to look at her again, he knows she isn’t going to leave. She’s determined and he also knows that she’s going to be stubborn about it.

“What do you expect me to do? Is that the kind of guy you think I am? I am not going to ship her off to her husband just because she’s not pregnant and because she deluded herself into thinking she was,” he finishes as evenly as he can, his fingernails digging into the fabric of the couch.

“Stop saying that.”

He looks at her closely and realizes that he’s made her angry.

“Stop thinking that you’re not a good guy, because you are when you want to be. And for the record I never thought you were scum, not once. Sure, I thought you were an ass on several occasions but I never thought you were scum,” Izzie utters, her lips thin in anger and annoyance.

He doesn’t comment, he just closes his eyes, lets his mind focus on her hand on his shoulder, and on the silence in the room when she isn’t talking.

“Alex, you have to take her for a psych consult.”

He groans, low in his throat, because he’s tired of this conversation and he wishes she would leave so that he could wallow in peace. “Don’t tell me what to do; I can take care of her.”

“I am not telling you what to do, because you already know what the right thing is. And I know you can, I don’t doubt you, but it would be best for her if you took her for a consult,” she said, the hand on his shoulder flexing a little and then moving down over hard muscle and his collar bone. She cups his chin and tilts his head back, meeting his eyes straight on. “You shouldn’t have to take care of her all by yourself, let me help.”  

He stares at her. Help. She runs her soft knuckles across his cheek as she tilts her head to the side and somehow he finds himself nodding. “Alright,” he murmurs, his throat feeling oddly tight again.

She smiles a little and his stomach plummets but he ignores it because his stomach has been doing that for what seems like forever.

“You see, that wasn’t so hard, letting me help.”

****

He lets himself slide down the wall, because his mind is blank and he feels empty inside. Brain tumor. Inoperable. Clinical trial. I’m sorry Alex, she’s gone.

Alex barely notices when someone sits down beside him and it’s only the strong smell of flowery shampoo and antiseptic that rouses him enough to turn his head. Izzie’s legs are curled under her and her hair is hanging loose down the back of her scrubs. There are tears in her eyes and she’s looking at him, ignoring the other doctors and patients standing on the sidelines. Alex feels like he’s going to be sick to his stomach.

“Let me in Alex, let me help.”

Before he knows what to think or how to stop her, she’s moving closer and tilting his head down to rest on her shoulder. He breathes in flowers and antiseptic and then he closes his eyes, letting his clenched fist unfurl and his knuckles brush against the cold hospital floor.