can we dance upon the tables again
I know we're the crooked kind
But you're crooked too, boy, and it shows,
radical face, the crooked kind
...
He once said that his work – that surgery - was more important than love.
now
well, now, he thinks he used to talk a lot of crap.
...
He remembers being sixteen years old. Flying off the rails. Getting caught by a cop.
-remembers that he never thought he'd ever do anything with his life.
Not then. Not trapped in Iowa with a missing deadbeat dad, a crazy mom and two siblings who looked up to him like he was the sun.
((that was the reason, really, he decided to take the car on that little spin. Because it scares him being someone's whole world. Because maybe he never really felt like he deserved it))
and, anyway, he was always going to bring it back
...
He stands in Jo's loft space, holding her hand, watching the sun go down, drinking a beer. He likes it, likes everything about it.
-yet, how come he keeps being reminded of a time when he held a different girl's hand, watching a different sun set, with her head close to his, a gold band shining in the dark, outside Derek's old trailer, blonde curls spilling over his shoulder.
That had been there place – and like this it had been a little crappy, a little small
but it had been
theirs
and suddenly,
out of nowhere
HE CAN'T BREATHE
He takes a swig of beer. Jo says something. The ache in his chest doesn't go away
and just as suddenly,
he realises that it never will
((because it's been here a while already)))
...
Sometimes he gets freaked-out about the kids and the white picket fences and the perfect little family that Jo dreams of.
-maybe it's cause he once held those dreams in his hands, about a different woman, a different future and watched them all slip away
and maybe he doesn't want that to happen again.
...
He put her behind him.
Moved on.
Let go.
let her go
((Izzie))
-the girl with the golden hair who sometimes makes unannounced, unwanted appearances in his dreams, only to be long gone in the morning.
...
not that he'd ever admit to it.
...
People come, go, change, move on.
Some things don't change, of course.
He stays.
Jo stays.
Meredith stays, to remind him about the past.
...
Cristina's always halfway across the world.
Izzie's always gone.
George is always dead.
- -and we're all different-
they're all different
from who they used to be – fresh-faced interns have evolved into battle-hardened surgeons, and just like Richard predicted
not all of them have made it to the finish line
...
Meredith's birthday. Balloons, people, cake, kids.
He stands at the edge, watching things. Scans the faces, makes quick calculations. Then does them again, because surely it can't be right.
Nope – just him and Meredith.
The only two still standing.
((it scares him))
...
He runs into her one day. The sun is low in the sky, burning orange flames flickering and glowing. It's just a store – one he's been to hundreds of times and will go to hundreds more, but this time it's different.
She's there, standing in the parking lot, looking around like she's lost.
His car stops dead, not twenty feet away, the dark shrouding him. He forgets how to drive, how to move
-how to breathe.
It might have been years and years and years and years but it doesn't make it easier.
...
She comes over, drops her head down so she's level with his window. He presses the button, watches as it opens. Her face is the same, her eyes the same, everything is the same. It's like he's gone back in time.
She says she's lost her keys.
-nothing more, nothing less. Words are just words and too many have been used between them in the past for any to be of any use now.
There's no point apologising for what's done and gone and over. There's no point arguing over what's done and gone and over. There's no point full stop going back to something that's done and gone and over.
He replies that that's a stupid thing to do
but that it's such an Izzie thing to do.
Then he opens the passenger door of his car and she gets inside.
They just drive around for a while, taking the clocks back. They talk about anything and everything – except the burning topics, the one's that could topple worlds, one's they've always avoided before and continue to do so now.
But everything else is fair game, really.
...
He thinks afterwards, maybe he made a mistake.
-but he's not sure the mistake is letting her in his car, right then, or letting her go in the first place.
...
Izzie gets out the car when they finished talking. Walks away. Alex wonders if he'll ever see her again.
She turns back, when she reaches the hotel's entrance. She smiles at him, and it's like he's twenty seven again and they've just met and they have their entire future ahead of them.
He stays in the car, because a piece of him knows that even if they tried again, they might end up hurting each other even more. And he couldn't go through that, not again – and he doesn't want to hurt her, anymore than he already has.
He doesn't get out the car and she goes inside.
...
He drives home, music he hasn't listened to in years blaring out his speakers, spending a little more time in the ruins of past, memories long buried tumbling out of some hidden recess and pouring over him.
He remembers moments he didn't ever know he lived and wishes that he could live them again, wishes there was a way to go back, because his chest feels like its on fire with the pain of what he's lost
-he's always losing parts himself as he moves through life. So many places, people, have a claim on him that he feels torn into a thousand pieces.
He parks the car on a verge, haphazardly, breaking the first law he's broken in decades – since he was a lost tearaway of youth - and breaks down.
Alex Karev doesn't cry, but then, he does.
...
Izzie was a lot to him.
a lot of firsts.
((first love, first wife, first woman he ever dare dream of a future with))
first woman to see through his crap and to him.
he thinks that, maybe,
he owes her one
...
-he wonders about her sometimes,
about whether she's happy.
He hopes to god she is.
...
that's all he ever wanted.
...