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Fic: Your Ex-Lover Is Dead (Grey's Anatomy/Supernatural, John/Izzie)
Title: Your Ex-Lover Is Dead
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy/Supernatural
Pairing(s): John/Izzie
Word Count: 4120
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When John Winchester comes to Seattle Grace, Izzie struggles to deal with the reminder of her past.
Notes: Spoilers up to mid-season three of Grey's Anatomy.
There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save
- Your Ex-Lover Is Dead, Stars
-
"John Winchester. Admitted with a possible broken rib and burns to the right side of his body."
But Izzie isn't listening to George read off the chart. She's staring at the bed where he's lying, pale and unshaven, looking so much like him she could scream.
"Stevens."
She barely hears Bailey calling her name, and blinks as she tears her eyes away from him.
"What?"
Bailey has her annoyed voice, but Izzie doesn't care. "What are we looking at?"
"Um." She falters; glances back at the bed. He isn't looking at her, and it's a small mercy. "I don't know."
Bailey sighs, and Izzie can feel George's concerned stare. It barely registers against the pale vestige of Denny lying in front of her.
"Grey?"
"If he has a broken rib, it may have punctured a lung."
"Good. Get him scheduled for a chest X-ray."
"I'm on it."
She doesn't stick around afterwards, doesn't wait for Bailey's lecture or look at George as he reaches out for her. Once she's out of sight, she runs, barely making it to the bathroom before she loses what's left of her breakfast.
She waits a few minutes before she leaves, splashing her face with cold water. Nobody followed her in, but it's a small comfort, and she doesn't bother to hope that they won't ask questions later.
"Here." Meredith hands her a chart when she gets back, and Izzie glances over it, trying to appear busy. "Izzie -"
"Don't," she says, and doesn't quite look at Meredith. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." Meredith doesn't say anything else, and after a minute, she walks away. Izzie takes a breath, and reads over the chart again. She's never been more interested in plastics than she is right now.
-
"He looks just like him. I'm just saying, it's freaky."
"Cristina."
Izzie pretends she didn't hear as she sits down, tries not to be bothered by the awkward silence in the room. She isn't hungry, but she picks at her lunch anyway, staring as if her sandwich is the most interesting thing she's ever seen.
She looks up at George, and she hates the look on his face, like she's going to break at any moment.
"I'm fine," she says, without much conviction. "Just go back to whatever you were talking about."
There's silence for a minute, and Cristina is the first to speak.
"I've got a heart transplant with Burke," she says, and it's obviously the wrong thing, because Meredith kicks her ankle. She looks confused for a minute, and then blanches, and Izzie can't stand that even Cristina feels sorry for her.
Nobody else says anything, and Izzie throws down her lunch.
"Okay," she says, and she knows her voice is a little hysterical, but she can't help it. "Why don't we just talk about it? He looks like Denny. There. I said it."
They're all staring at her, and she shakes her head. "I'm fine with it. Really. Can we move on?"
"My guy needs brain surgery," George says, and after a beat, she lets out a breath. Eventually, the conversation moves on, and she manages to eat something.
"You're with Sloan?" Alex asks later. His tone is a little softer than usual, but he's not talking about it, and she could hug him. She nods. "Lucky. I've got -"
"Stevens."
Izzie looks up to see Bailey, and she braces herself. Alex touches her on the arm briefly, and moves away.
"You're with me this afternoon. We're going into surgery on Mr Winchester."
She searches Bailey's face for any sign that she's joking, that she doesn't know exactly what she's doing. Bailey's expression isn't cold, but it's implacable, and she glances away.
"I'm with Sloan this afternoon."
"Not any more. He doesn't need you; I do. You're with me."
Izzie doesn't say anything, and Bailey raises an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"
After a minute, she meets Bailey's eyes. "No. No problem."
"Good. Go help Grey prep him for surgery."
-
When he's lying on the table, he looks less like Denny, but she still avoids looking at his face. She keeps her eyes focused on his chest, where Bailey's repairing his lung.
"Stevens, what do we have to look out for?"
She's composed enough to answer. It's easier when she can't see his eyes. "His burns place an extra layer of stress on the body. We should keep an eye on his BP and heart rate."
"Right. And why aren't we dealing with the burns?"
"They're not severe enough to need medical treatment. They should heal on their own."
Bailey's about to close when his BP drops, and Izzie closes her eyes, because his heart can't be failing.
"Grey," Bailey says, and Izzie's never been more willing to stand at the side and watch. "Get in here."
Ten minutes later, he's in the clear, and she lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She scrubs out quickly, and doesn't glance at Meredith as she leaves the operating room.
"Do you want me to take care of it?" Meredith asks later, and her voice is a little more like normal. "I mean, if you've got other things to do, I'd be happy to do post-op."
"Yeah," Izzie says, and manages the closest thing to a smile she's come all day. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
-
"Stevens, you're on day two of post-op with Mr Winchester."
Izzie freezes as everyone else files out, and looks up at Bailey. "I can't," she says after a minute.
Bailey glances up from the chart. "Why not?"
When Izzie doesn't answer, Bailey steps forward, and her expression softens. "He's not Denny," she says, echoing what Izzie's been telling herself all morning. "I know this is hard for you. But he's not Denny, and you need to realise that."
I know he's not Denny, she wants to snap, but Bailey probably doesn't deserve that. "It's just -"
"I know," Bailey says. "But this is good for you, even if it doesn't seem that way right now. I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I didn't think you could handle it."
Bailey hands over the chart, and Izzie takes it. She doesn't need to check the room number.
-
She's quiet as she checks his stats, doesn't look him in the eye. A part of her wishes he would speak so she could see he's really not Denny, but a stronger part wants to avoid talking to him at all. Bailey's wrong, she thinks; she can't do this.
"How am I doing?"
She's almost at the door, and for a moment she considers leaving anyway, pretending she didn't hear him. Steadying herself, she turns, clutching the chart to her chest.
"You're doing good," she says, looking a little to the left of the bed. "Dr Bailey's a good surgeon. You should be out of here in a few days."
He nods, and she glances at him. Almost immediately, she wishes she hadn't; he doesn't have Denny's eyes - the colour is the same, but the expression behind them is different, the product of a few extra years and a whole different world - but the line of his jaw is the same, his nose, even his mouth. After a minute, she realises she's staring, and looks away again.
"We'll be back to check on you later."
-
"There's something you're not telling me," he says when she comes back, and she looks up in surprise.
"No," she lies, finishing the routine as quickly as she can. "There's not."
-
If she was waiting for Bailey to take her off the case, she's disappointed again.
"The other doctors said I'm doing fine," he says, and she wishes he'd stop trying to talk to her.
"You are," she says. She doesn't look at him.
"So how come you can't look me in the eye?"
She doesn't know if it's a challenge, but she turns around and meets his gaze. "Happy?"
"You've got a secret."
It isn't a question, and she'd be pissed that he's trying to figure her out, but she thinks it probably isn't too hard.
"It's okay. I've got secrets."
"As long as they're not medical secrets, you can keep them." She knows she's being rude, but she isn't sure she cares. He looks more amused than angry, and when he smiles, he looks more like Denny. She really wants him to stop.
"You don't like me," he says, and that isn't a question either.
She avoids it anyway. "Is there someone we can call for you?" she asks. "Family?"
After a minute, he nods. "My son. Dean."
-
Working in the clinic should be a relief, but she has to see the words Denny Duquette Memorial when she enters, and it stings worse than usual. She knows Bailey's watching her, and she tries not to let is show, because Bailey doesn't get to assign her to the case and then be sorry about it.
"What's the problem?" she asks the guy sitting in front of her, and his lips part in a broad smile.
"My ankle," he says, and she glances down. "I think I twisted it."
"Let me take a look." She runs her hands down over his leg, and almost smiles in sympathy when he winces. Behind them, another man is watching as she works, and she glances up. "You're with him?"
"Brothers," he confirms, and she nods, lifting her hands.
"We should get you in for an X-ray, but it's probably just a sprain. You should be back on your feet in no time."
"Actually," the brother says, "we're looking for our dad. He's a patient here."
She nods. "What's his name? I'll look him up for you."
"Winchester," he says, and she can feel the blood drain from her face. "John Winchester."
-
"Mind if I join you?"
Izzie glances up, and stops, coffee cup halfway to her lips. She wishes, now, that she hadn't been eating alone, but she couldn't handle Meredith talking in guarded tones about the patient who wasn't Denny, or Cristina's heart transplant, or Alex and George's patients that weren't hers. She wishes she were finished, but her sandwich is sitting uneaten on the table, and all she can do is nod.
If the man - Dean, she thinks, or maybe that was the other one - is put off by her silence, it doesn't show. He smiles in a way she supposes is charming, in a way that reminds her of Alex or Sloan or, if it comes to that, Denny, and sits down across from her.
"I'm Dean," she says, and she nods again.
"I know. Your dad told me about you."
"Are you his doctor?"
She forces herself to take a sip of her coffee. "Yeah."
His smile widens, and that's really the last thing she needs. "How's he doing?"
"He's doing fine. He was in surgery a few days ago, but he's recovering. He should be out of here soon."
Dean nods. "It was pretty nasty."
"You were there?" She takes a bite of her sandwich.
"No. I was - I mean, it sounded pretty nasty. From what he told me."
She tells herself she doesn't want to know how it happened. That she doesn't care about this guy's life story, or his kids, or the way her heart stops every time she enters his room.
"I've got to go," she says, when she's halfway through her lunch. It's about as much as she can stand. Dean nods, and the smile is back in place.
"I guess I'll see you around."
God, she hopes not.
-
"Izzie." Meredith sits down beside her as she's pulling on her shoes. "We're going to Joe's. You're coming."
Izzie pauses for a minute as she thinks. She doesn't want to sit around and talk about her feelings, or about why she avoided everything but the clinic all day.
She does want to get really, stupidly drunk, and she thinks it'd be nice to deal with other peoples' problems for a night.
"Okay," she says finally. "I'm in."
It isn't crowded when they get there, and they slide onto the stools in front of the bar. She orders a gin and tonic, reconsiders, and makes it a double. Joe smiles like he understands, because of course he does, by now, and she can barely taste the tonic when it comes.
"So," she says, as she downs it quickly; Joe's already poured her another. "Who's got problems?"
Everyone shrugs, and she can't believe it. Since when did they not have something to bitch about?
"Derek and I are good," Meredith says, and Izzie rolls her eyes. The one week Meredith's relationship is going smoothly.
"George?"
"Um, same here," he says, and at least he has the decency to sound apologetic. "Callie's fine." He glances at Izzie. "You can bitch about her, if you want."
She sighs into her drink. "I don't have a problem with Callie."
She can almost hear the really? he doesn't say, and ignores it. "Cristina?"
Cristina looks like she's trying really hard to come up with something, and Izzie would hate it if she weren't already pitying herself. "I didn't get any good surgeries today," she says, like she's accomplished something, and Izzie nods.
"Okay."
Three drinks later, she shrugs off a game of darts, and she doesn't know whether she's trying to talk herself into or out of ordering another one when someone comes up beside her.
"Is this seat taken?"
She glances up, and wants to say yes, but he's already sat down beside her. She asks Joe for another drink instead.
"You come here often?" Dean asks.
"It's right across from the hospital," she says, and he nods as if she's answered his question. She doesn't look too hard at him, afraid she'll see Denny in him if she does, so she stared at her glass instead.
"I'm not from around here," he says, and she can't believe he's trying to start a conversation. She should have a sign made: I don't want to talk to anyone about, resembling, or related to someone resembling my dead ex-fiancé. It might be a little unwieldy.
"Where are you from?" she asks instead, before she can think about it. She blames the gin.
"Kansas," he says. "Originally. All over, really. We move around a lot."
"With your dad?"
"Yeah, dad and Sam. Haven't really been to Seattle before."
She nods, and tries not to finish her drink all at once.
"So, can I buy another drink?"
She tries to ignore the way his easy confidence reminds her of Denny, the way Dean's smile is something like his. Any other time, she might have said yes, might have let him buy her a drink, and flirted back, but she just can't.
"Actually, I should get home," she says, and the words aren't as clear as they should be in her ears. "Early surgery tomorrow. You know."
She stumbles a little as she gets up, and Dean reaches out a hand to steady her. She has to concentrate not to swat it away. Across the room, George glances over at her, and a few seconds later he's by her side, helping her to the door. She doesn't look back as she leaves, but she thinks Dean might still be watching her.
-
A minor outbreak at the hospital shouldn't be good news, but Izzie can't help thinking of it that way. She spends the day running labs, comparing charts, and scouring medical textbooks for an answer, so it's late afternoon before Bailey finally sends her to check up on him.
"Your recovery's going well," she says, her voice overly professional, distant in a way she could never bring herself to be with Denny. "Another day or two and we should be able to discharge you."
She walks out without asking any questions, her breath coming faster than she'd like. She isn't being a great doctor, she knows, but right now it's the best she can do.
Somebody follows her out of the room, and she turns, expecting to see Dean. Sam's smiling back at her instead, and she manages to smile back a little.
"I heard there's some kind of plague going around the hospital," he says quietly.
She smiles a little brighter, a little more fake, and shakes her head. "Don't say 'plague' in a hospital," she warns.
He nods. "All right. But ... is there?"
"No," she lies easily. Lies-to-patients are like lies-to-children, and he's close enough to count. "People are sick. It's a hospital. People get sick here. Don't worry, your dad's not in any danger."
He nods again, thoughtfully, and she takes a step back. "I should really go check on my other patients."
"Yeah, of course."
Izzie watches as he leaves, then turns and walks away. She finds Cristina at the nurses' station, still poring over charts, and glances down at them.
"So," she says, like she's trying to make small talk. "These people, getting sick. It's not a big deal, is it?"
Cristina shakes her head, but doesn't look up. "Of course not. Some idiot probably just forgot to wash his hands. Which is why I should be in surgery instead of -"
She pauses as her pager goes off, and a minute later, so does Izzie's. She looks down at it, and then at Cristina, and they jog towards Bailey.
"Three more people just got sick," she's saying as they reach her. "I want you all to go find your patients, and keep them calm and in their rooms."
"Are we -" Alex interrupts, and Bailey waves him off.
"We're not in quarantine just yet. I don't know what's going to happen. Right now, what I need from all of you is to keep your patients calm, and not let them wander around the hospital. Is that clear?"
They all nod, and Izzie turns, taking a breath as she moves back to his room. She doesn't want to go; if they do end up quarantined, the last thing she needs is to be stuck in a room with Denny's ghost.
"What's going on?" Sam asks as she closes the door behind her. She does her best to look reassuring.
"Everything's under control," she says, and wonders how much of that is true. "We just need you to stay in here for a while."
He and Dean try to move past her, and she backs up. "What do you think you're doing?"
"We need to get out there," Sam says, and she shakes her head.
"I can't let you -"
"Look," Dean says, and she turns to face us. "You've got to trust us. Okay? You need to let us out."
She wants to say no, needs to say no, but there's something in his expression. It reminds her of the look doctors sometimes get, when they're about to go in for a surgery nobody else even knows the patient needs. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it's reassuring.
She nods, wordlessly, and they're gone before she can change her mind. In the bed, the man who isn't Denny tries to sit up, and she walks over to him. Her fingers brush across his skin as she lays him back down, and her breath catches.
"You need to stay here," she says, and he shakes his head.
"I need -"
"You need to stay here," she repeats, and after a minute, she can feel him give in.
"Can I at least sit up?" he asks, and she nods. He's smiling, and she can't help smiling back.
"Yeah."
"What is it about me?" he asks, and she feels as if she's been hit with ice water. She's still standing too close to him, her fingers still resting on his arm, but she can't bring herself to move.
"I ... I lost someone." She closes her eyes, takes a breath. "You remind me of him."
"Yeah," he says, and for a moment, she can see something like her own pain reflected in his eyes. It's almost hypnotic, and the minutes drag on, and she'd like more than anything to pretend she's not staring into his eyes.
She tries to step back, to look away, and he reaches up, catching her arm. She doesn't look down, and she closes her eyes as she lets him pull her forward.
His lips are warmer than Denny's, but his stubble feels the same against her chin. He moves his other hand up to cup her cheek, and he tastes like copper and salt, sharp, as she kisses him.
He shouldn't be standing up, but he is, his hands warm and rough against her skin as he leans back to tug her top over her head. She doesn't open her eyes, afraid it will somehow break the illusion, and her hands work from memory as she unties her pants, steps out of them silently.
The floor is cold beneath her back as he lays her down, his fingers pulling down her underwear. She's never felt Denny's hands on her like this, so it's easy to pretend that it's him touching her, or that it isn't, whatever seems easier from one moment to another. She stops breathing for a second as he enters her, her hands scrambling for purchase on his skin as his lips move down her neck.
She calls out Denny's name somewhere in the middle, but if he notices - if he cares - he doesn't say. He's silent except for his occasional grunts, and she doesn't cry, doesn't make another sound until she calls out softly as she comes.
It feels like days have passed when it's over, and she lies there still until he moves, helping her gently to her feet.
His look asks her if she's okay as she dresses quickly, but he doesn't say the words, and she's grateful for it. She would leave, if she had anywhere else to be, but he reaches out for her as he sits on the bed, and she keeps her eyes on his as she lays down beside him.
-
The last thing she expected to do was fall asleep, but she nearly falls off the bed as she races to get up when she hears the door open beside them.
She doesn't look at John as she stands up, watching the small nod that passes from Dean as he and Sam enter the room. She hopes she isn't blushing, and resists the urge to smooth down her hair as they look at her.
"I think you can go out there now," Sam says, and she doesn't bother asking how he knows. Instead, she nods, and spares a quick glance back at the bed as she leaves the room. Her skin still burns where he touched her.
-
"Stevens, you can discharge Mr Winchester." Bailey glances at her, and Izzie bites her lip. "Think you can handle that?"
"Yeah," she says, trying for casual. "Sure. No problem."
She isn't sure if she's eager or apprehensive as she reaches his room, and she tries not to hesitate before she enters. "Good news," she says brightly, aware that they're not alone. "You're going home today."
She turns to Sam and Dean, who smile at her. She doesn't meet John's eyes. She hears him, though, when he coughs pointedly in their direction, and stiffens as they leave.
"So that's it?" he asks, and she turns to face him reluctantly. It's harder, now, to look at him than it was before, and she tries not to think about why.
"That's it," she says; she doesn't move towards the bed. "You're all better."
He nods, and she can feel her feet inching her forward.
She doesn't mean to take his hand, and it's too similar as he slides his thumb across her palm. He smiles, and he looks so much like Denny she can't breathe.
"So I guess I'm leaving," he says, and she nods. She hasn't cried until now, and she blinks away the tears that gather on her eyelashes.
"Yeah," she says, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. She isn't ready to let him go again.
"I can't stay," he says, and she nods again; she knows this. It doesn't hurt any less. "And I can't bring you with me."
I know, she wants to say, but her body isn't cooperating. She isn't asking him to do either one; she isn't even sure she'd want to.
"I should ..." She pulls her hand away, and looks at him. "I have to go."
He doesn't answer, and she's almost out the door when he speaks. "I'll be back," he says. "We'll see each other again."
"Yeah," she says, almost to herself. "Yeah, I know."
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy/Supernatural
Pairing(s): John/Izzie
Word Count: 4120
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When John Winchester comes to Seattle Grace, Izzie struggles to deal with the reminder of her past.
Notes: Spoilers up to mid-season three of Grey's Anatomy.
There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save
- Your Ex-Lover Is Dead, Stars
-
"John Winchester. Admitted with a possible broken rib and burns to the right side of his body."
But Izzie isn't listening to George read off the chart. She's staring at the bed where he's lying, pale and unshaven, looking so much like him she could scream.
"Stevens."
She barely hears Bailey calling her name, and blinks as she tears her eyes away from him.
"What?"
Bailey has her annoyed voice, but Izzie doesn't care. "What are we looking at?"
"Um." She falters; glances back at the bed. He isn't looking at her, and it's a small mercy. "I don't know."
Bailey sighs, and Izzie can feel George's concerned stare. It barely registers against the pale vestige of Denny lying in front of her.
"Grey?"
"If he has a broken rib, it may have punctured a lung."
"Good. Get him scheduled for a chest X-ray."
"I'm on it."
She doesn't stick around afterwards, doesn't wait for Bailey's lecture or look at George as he reaches out for her. Once she's out of sight, she runs, barely making it to the bathroom before she loses what's left of her breakfast.
She waits a few minutes before she leaves, splashing her face with cold water. Nobody followed her in, but it's a small comfort, and she doesn't bother to hope that they won't ask questions later.
"Here." Meredith hands her a chart when she gets back, and Izzie glances over it, trying to appear busy. "Izzie -"
"Don't," she says, and doesn't quite look at Meredith. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." Meredith doesn't say anything else, and after a minute, she walks away. Izzie takes a breath, and reads over the chart again. She's never been more interested in plastics than she is right now.
-
"He looks just like him. I'm just saying, it's freaky."
"Cristina."
Izzie pretends she didn't hear as she sits down, tries not to be bothered by the awkward silence in the room. She isn't hungry, but she picks at her lunch anyway, staring as if her sandwich is the most interesting thing she's ever seen.
She looks up at George, and she hates the look on his face, like she's going to break at any moment.
"I'm fine," she says, without much conviction. "Just go back to whatever you were talking about."
There's silence for a minute, and Cristina is the first to speak.
"I've got a heart transplant with Burke," she says, and it's obviously the wrong thing, because Meredith kicks her ankle. She looks confused for a minute, and then blanches, and Izzie can't stand that even Cristina feels sorry for her.
Nobody else says anything, and Izzie throws down her lunch.
"Okay," she says, and she knows her voice is a little hysterical, but she can't help it. "Why don't we just talk about it? He looks like Denny. There. I said it."
They're all staring at her, and she shakes her head. "I'm fine with it. Really. Can we move on?"
"My guy needs brain surgery," George says, and after a beat, she lets out a breath. Eventually, the conversation moves on, and she manages to eat something.
"You're with Sloan?" Alex asks later. His tone is a little softer than usual, but he's not talking about it, and she could hug him. She nods. "Lucky. I've got -"
"Stevens."
Izzie looks up to see Bailey, and she braces herself. Alex touches her on the arm briefly, and moves away.
"You're with me this afternoon. We're going into surgery on Mr Winchester."
She searches Bailey's face for any sign that she's joking, that she doesn't know exactly what she's doing. Bailey's expression isn't cold, but it's implacable, and she glances away.
"I'm with Sloan this afternoon."
"Not any more. He doesn't need you; I do. You're with me."
Izzie doesn't say anything, and Bailey raises an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"
After a minute, she meets Bailey's eyes. "No. No problem."
"Good. Go help Grey prep him for surgery."
-
When he's lying on the table, he looks less like Denny, but she still avoids looking at his face. She keeps her eyes focused on his chest, where Bailey's repairing his lung.
"Stevens, what do we have to look out for?"
She's composed enough to answer. It's easier when she can't see his eyes. "His burns place an extra layer of stress on the body. We should keep an eye on his BP and heart rate."
"Right. And why aren't we dealing with the burns?"
"They're not severe enough to need medical treatment. They should heal on their own."
Bailey's about to close when his BP drops, and Izzie closes her eyes, because his heart can't be failing.
"Grey," Bailey says, and Izzie's never been more willing to stand at the side and watch. "Get in here."
Ten minutes later, he's in the clear, and she lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She scrubs out quickly, and doesn't glance at Meredith as she leaves the operating room.
"Do you want me to take care of it?" Meredith asks later, and her voice is a little more like normal. "I mean, if you've got other things to do, I'd be happy to do post-op."
"Yeah," Izzie says, and manages the closest thing to a smile she's come all day. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
-
"Stevens, you're on day two of post-op with Mr Winchester."
Izzie freezes as everyone else files out, and looks up at Bailey. "I can't," she says after a minute.
Bailey glances up from the chart. "Why not?"
When Izzie doesn't answer, Bailey steps forward, and her expression softens. "He's not Denny," she says, echoing what Izzie's been telling herself all morning. "I know this is hard for you. But he's not Denny, and you need to realise that."
I know he's not Denny, she wants to snap, but Bailey probably doesn't deserve that. "It's just -"
"I know," Bailey says. "But this is good for you, even if it doesn't seem that way right now. I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I didn't think you could handle it."
Bailey hands over the chart, and Izzie takes it. She doesn't need to check the room number.
-
She's quiet as she checks his stats, doesn't look him in the eye. A part of her wishes he would speak so she could see he's really not Denny, but a stronger part wants to avoid talking to him at all. Bailey's wrong, she thinks; she can't do this.
"How am I doing?"
She's almost at the door, and for a moment she considers leaving anyway, pretending she didn't hear him. Steadying herself, she turns, clutching the chart to her chest.
"You're doing good," she says, looking a little to the left of the bed. "Dr Bailey's a good surgeon. You should be out of here in a few days."
He nods, and she glances at him. Almost immediately, she wishes she hadn't; he doesn't have Denny's eyes - the colour is the same, but the expression behind them is different, the product of a few extra years and a whole different world - but the line of his jaw is the same, his nose, even his mouth. After a minute, she realises she's staring, and looks away again.
"We'll be back to check on you later."
-
"There's something you're not telling me," he says when she comes back, and she looks up in surprise.
"No," she lies, finishing the routine as quickly as she can. "There's not."
-
If she was waiting for Bailey to take her off the case, she's disappointed again.
"The other doctors said I'm doing fine," he says, and she wishes he'd stop trying to talk to her.
"You are," she says. She doesn't look at him.
"So how come you can't look me in the eye?"
She doesn't know if it's a challenge, but she turns around and meets his gaze. "Happy?"
"You've got a secret."
It isn't a question, and she'd be pissed that he's trying to figure her out, but she thinks it probably isn't too hard.
"It's okay. I've got secrets."
"As long as they're not medical secrets, you can keep them." She knows she's being rude, but she isn't sure she cares. He looks more amused than angry, and when he smiles, he looks more like Denny. She really wants him to stop.
"You don't like me," he says, and that isn't a question either.
She avoids it anyway. "Is there someone we can call for you?" she asks. "Family?"
After a minute, he nods. "My son. Dean."
-
Working in the clinic should be a relief, but she has to see the words Denny Duquette Memorial when she enters, and it stings worse than usual. She knows Bailey's watching her, and she tries not to let is show, because Bailey doesn't get to assign her to the case and then be sorry about it.
"What's the problem?" she asks the guy sitting in front of her, and his lips part in a broad smile.
"My ankle," he says, and she glances down. "I think I twisted it."
"Let me take a look." She runs her hands down over his leg, and almost smiles in sympathy when he winces. Behind them, another man is watching as she works, and she glances up. "You're with him?"
"Brothers," he confirms, and she nods, lifting her hands.
"We should get you in for an X-ray, but it's probably just a sprain. You should be back on your feet in no time."
"Actually," the brother says, "we're looking for our dad. He's a patient here."
She nods. "What's his name? I'll look him up for you."
"Winchester," he says, and she can feel the blood drain from her face. "John Winchester."
-
"Mind if I join you?"
Izzie glances up, and stops, coffee cup halfway to her lips. She wishes, now, that she hadn't been eating alone, but she couldn't handle Meredith talking in guarded tones about the patient who wasn't Denny, or Cristina's heart transplant, or Alex and George's patients that weren't hers. She wishes she were finished, but her sandwich is sitting uneaten on the table, and all she can do is nod.
If the man - Dean, she thinks, or maybe that was the other one - is put off by her silence, it doesn't show. He smiles in a way she supposes is charming, in a way that reminds her of Alex or Sloan or, if it comes to that, Denny, and sits down across from her.
"I'm Dean," she says, and she nods again.
"I know. Your dad told me about you."
"Are you his doctor?"
She forces herself to take a sip of her coffee. "Yeah."
His smile widens, and that's really the last thing she needs. "How's he doing?"
"He's doing fine. He was in surgery a few days ago, but he's recovering. He should be out of here soon."
Dean nods. "It was pretty nasty."
"You were there?" She takes a bite of her sandwich.
"No. I was - I mean, it sounded pretty nasty. From what he told me."
She tells herself she doesn't want to know how it happened. That she doesn't care about this guy's life story, or his kids, or the way her heart stops every time she enters his room.
"I've got to go," she says, when she's halfway through her lunch. It's about as much as she can stand. Dean nods, and the smile is back in place.
"I guess I'll see you around."
God, she hopes not.
-
"Izzie." Meredith sits down beside her as she's pulling on her shoes. "We're going to Joe's. You're coming."
Izzie pauses for a minute as she thinks. She doesn't want to sit around and talk about her feelings, or about why she avoided everything but the clinic all day.
She does want to get really, stupidly drunk, and she thinks it'd be nice to deal with other peoples' problems for a night.
"Okay," she says finally. "I'm in."
It isn't crowded when they get there, and they slide onto the stools in front of the bar. She orders a gin and tonic, reconsiders, and makes it a double. Joe smiles like he understands, because of course he does, by now, and she can barely taste the tonic when it comes.
"So," she says, as she downs it quickly; Joe's already poured her another. "Who's got problems?"
Everyone shrugs, and she can't believe it. Since when did they not have something to bitch about?
"Derek and I are good," Meredith says, and Izzie rolls her eyes. The one week Meredith's relationship is going smoothly.
"George?"
"Um, same here," he says, and at least he has the decency to sound apologetic. "Callie's fine." He glances at Izzie. "You can bitch about her, if you want."
She sighs into her drink. "I don't have a problem with Callie."
She can almost hear the really? he doesn't say, and ignores it. "Cristina?"
Cristina looks like she's trying really hard to come up with something, and Izzie would hate it if she weren't already pitying herself. "I didn't get any good surgeries today," she says, like she's accomplished something, and Izzie nods.
"Okay."
Three drinks later, she shrugs off a game of darts, and she doesn't know whether she's trying to talk herself into or out of ordering another one when someone comes up beside her.
"Is this seat taken?"
She glances up, and wants to say yes, but he's already sat down beside her. She asks Joe for another drink instead.
"You come here often?" Dean asks.
"It's right across from the hospital," she says, and he nods as if she's answered his question. She doesn't look too hard at him, afraid she'll see Denny in him if she does, so she stared at her glass instead.
"I'm not from around here," he says, and she can't believe he's trying to start a conversation. She should have a sign made: I don't want to talk to anyone about, resembling, or related to someone resembling my dead ex-fiancé. It might be a little unwieldy.
"Where are you from?" she asks instead, before she can think about it. She blames the gin.
"Kansas," he says. "Originally. All over, really. We move around a lot."
"With your dad?"
"Yeah, dad and Sam. Haven't really been to Seattle before."
She nods, and tries not to finish her drink all at once.
"So, can I buy another drink?"
She tries to ignore the way his easy confidence reminds her of Denny, the way Dean's smile is something like his. Any other time, she might have said yes, might have let him buy her a drink, and flirted back, but she just can't.
"Actually, I should get home," she says, and the words aren't as clear as they should be in her ears. "Early surgery tomorrow. You know."
She stumbles a little as she gets up, and Dean reaches out a hand to steady her. She has to concentrate not to swat it away. Across the room, George glances over at her, and a few seconds later he's by her side, helping her to the door. She doesn't look back as she leaves, but she thinks Dean might still be watching her.
-
A minor outbreak at the hospital shouldn't be good news, but Izzie can't help thinking of it that way. She spends the day running labs, comparing charts, and scouring medical textbooks for an answer, so it's late afternoon before Bailey finally sends her to check up on him.
"Your recovery's going well," she says, her voice overly professional, distant in a way she could never bring herself to be with Denny. "Another day or two and we should be able to discharge you."
She walks out without asking any questions, her breath coming faster than she'd like. She isn't being a great doctor, she knows, but right now it's the best she can do.
Somebody follows her out of the room, and she turns, expecting to see Dean. Sam's smiling back at her instead, and she manages to smile back a little.
"I heard there's some kind of plague going around the hospital," he says quietly.
She smiles a little brighter, a little more fake, and shakes her head. "Don't say 'plague' in a hospital," she warns.
He nods. "All right. But ... is there?"
"No," she lies easily. Lies-to-patients are like lies-to-children, and he's close enough to count. "People are sick. It's a hospital. People get sick here. Don't worry, your dad's not in any danger."
He nods again, thoughtfully, and she takes a step back. "I should really go check on my other patients."
"Yeah, of course."
Izzie watches as he leaves, then turns and walks away. She finds Cristina at the nurses' station, still poring over charts, and glances down at them.
"So," she says, like she's trying to make small talk. "These people, getting sick. It's not a big deal, is it?"
Cristina shakes her head, but doesn't look up. "Of course not. Some idiot probably just forgot to wash his hands. Which is why I should be in surgery instead of -"
She pauses as her pager goes off, and a minute later, so does Izzie's. She looks down at it, and then at Cristina, and they jog towards Bailey.
"Three more people just got sick," she's saying as they reach her. "I want you all to go find your patients, and keep them calm and in their rooms."
"Are we -" Alex interrupts, and Bailey waves him off.
"We're not in quarantine just yet. I don't know what's going to happen. Right now, what I need from all of you is to keep your patients calm, and not let them wander around the hospital. Is that clear?"
They all nod, and Izzie turns, taking a breath as she moves back to his room. She doesn't want to go; if they do end up quarantined, the last thing she needs is to be stuck in a room with Denny's ghost.
"What's going on?" Sam asks as she closes the door behind her. She does her best to look reassuring.
"Everything's under control," she says, and wonders how much of that is true. "We just need you to stay in here for a while."
He and Dean try to move past her, and she backs up. "What do you think you're doing?"
"We need to get out there," Sam says, and she shakes her head.
"I can't let you -"
"Look," Dean says, and she turns to face us. "You've got to trust us. Okay? You need to let us out."
She wants to say no, needs to say no, but there's something in his expression. It reminds her of the look doctors sometimes get, when they're about to go in for a surgery nobody else even knows the patient needs. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it's reassuring.
She nods, wordlessly, and they're gone before she can change her mind. In the bed, the man who isn't Denny tries to sit up, and she walks over to him. Her fingers brush across his skin as she lays him back down, and her breath catches.
"You need to stay here," she says, and he shakes his head.
"I need -"
"You need to stay here," she repeats, and after a minute, she can feel him give in.
"Can I at least sit up?" he asks, and she nods. He's smiling, and she can't help smiling back.
"Yeah."
"What is it about me?" he asks, and she feels as if she's been hit with ice water. She's still standing too close to him, her fingers still resting on his arm, but she can't bring herself to move.
"I ... I lost someone." She closes her eyes, takes a breath. "You remind me of him."
"Yeah," he says, and for a moment, she can see something like her own pain reflected in his eyes. It's almost hypnotic, and the minutes drag on, and she'd like more than anything to pretend she's not staring into his eyes.
She tries to step back, to look away, and he reaches up, catching her arm. She doesn't look down, and she closes her eyes as she lets him pull her forward.
His lips are warmer than Denny's, but his stubble feels the same against her chin. He moves his other hand up to cup her cheek, and he tastes like copper and salt, sharp, as she kisses him.
He shouldn't be standing up, but he is, his hands warm and rough against her skin as he leans back to tug her top over her head. She doesn't open her eyes, afraid it will somehow break the illusion, and her hands work from memory as she unties her pants, steps out of them silently.
The floor is cold beneath her back as he lays her down, his fingers pulling down her underwear. She's never felt Denny's hands on her like this, so it's easy to pretend that it's him touching her, or that it isn't, whatever seems easier from one moment to another. She stops breathing for a second as he enters her, her hands scrambling for purchase on his skin as his lips move down her neck.
She calls out Denny's name somewhere in the middle, but if he notices - if he cares - he doesn't say. He's silent except for his occasional grunts, and she doesn't cry, doesn't make another sound until she calls out softly as she comes.
It feels like days have passed when it's over, and she lies there still until he moves, helping her gently to her feet.
His look asks her if she's okay as she dresses quickly, but he doesn't say the words, and she's grateful for it. She would leave, if she had anywhere else to be, but he reaches out for her as he sits on the bed, and she keeps her eyes on his as she lays down beside him.
-
The last thing she expected to do was fall asleep, but she nearly falls off the bed as she races to get up when she hears the door open beside them.
She doesn't look at John as she stands up, watching the small nod that passes from Dean as he and Sam enter the room. She hopes she isn't blushing, and resists the urge to smooth down her hair as they look at her.
"I think you can go out there now," Sam says, and she doesn't bother asking how he knows. Instead, she nods, and spares a quick glance back at the bed as she leaves the room. Her skin still burns where he touched her.
-
"Stevens, you can discharge Mr Winchester." Bailey glances at her, and Izzie bites her lip. "Think you can handle that?"
"Yeah," she says, trying for casual. "Sure. No problem."
She isn't sure if she's eager or apprehensive as she reaches his room, and she tries not to hesitate before she enters. "Good news," she says brightly, aware that they're not alone. "You're going home today."
She turns to Sam and Dean, who smile at her. She doesn't meet John's eyes. She hears him, though, when he coughs pointedly in their direction, and stiffens as they leave.
"So that's it?" he asks, and she turns to face him reluctantly. It's harder, now, to look at him than it was before, and she tries not to think about why.
"That's it," she says; she doesn't move towards the bed. "You're all better."
He nods, and she can feel her feet inching her forward.
She doesn't mean to take his hand, and it's too similar as he slides his thumb across her palm. He smiles, and he looks so much like Denny she can't breathe.
"So I guess I'm leaving," he says, and she nods. She hasn't cried until now, and she blinks away the tears that gather on her eyelashes.
"Yeah," she says, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. She isn't ready to let him go again.
"I can't stay," he says, and she nods again; she knows this. It doesn't hurt any less. "And I can't bring you with me."
I know, she wants to say, but her body isn't cooperating. She isn't asking him to do either one; she isn't even sure she'd want to.
"I should ..." She pulls her hand away, and looks at him. "I have to go."
He doesn't answer, and she's almost out the door when he speaks. "I'll be back," he says. "We'll see each other again."
"Yeah," she says, almost to herself. "Yeah, I know."