George and Izzie: From the Top

Number Two

The Letter

Izzie had spent the whole day feeling like everything around her was cloaked in a thick haze that was smearing her concentration. Sure, she'd been able to get to work safely and on time, and performed her surgical duties with her usual competence - maybe even a little better, frankly - but the focus she displayed inside the walls of Seattle Grace had waved goodbye. She couldn't manage to hold a conversation for more than three sentences, none of her charts made any sense to her, and ordering a tomato soup-and-grilled cheese sandwich combo in the cafeteria – something she ended up taking two entire bites of, anyway - somehow took ten minutes. And why?

"Hey, Iz," she heard George say, his voice less steady than usual.

Izzie's eyes shot up to meet his, an unexplainable excitement bubbling inside her. His letter was the only thing she could see clearly in her mind today – and it was burning bright. She had so many questions, so many things to say, so much she wanted to hear from him – but then she noticed that he was flanked by Meredith and Cristina, and the bubbles went away: poppity-pop-pop.

"You okay?" Meredith asked.

Pop. "Yeah," Izzie said, trying to shake off the concern. She noticed that George sat as far away from her as possible while still being at the same table. Izzie tried convince herself that it didn't hurt a little.

"Surgery go okay?" Meredith continued as the others found seats.

"Yes," Cristina said darkly. "Thief."

"Hey," George barked involuntarily, catching a withering glance from Cristina, and his eyes fell to his tray. Izzie felt a warm tingle in her stomach, and tried to offer him a small smile.

It seemed to her that he noticed her affection, but he didn't acknowledge. Instead, his attentions stayed on spooning chicken noodle soup into his mouth. In between bites, he pushed ahead, saying, "Just because she got picked over you doesn't mean she stole anything."

"It was a joke," Cristina grimaced and took a gulp from her ice tea. She gestured toward him with her head and gave a wink at the other women. "Bambi's so bloody sensitive about Barbie here. You'd think he was in love."

The words rang in Izzie's ears – almost as loudly as the clang and clatter of George's spoon hitting the floor, and his ragged, wet coughing as he choked on a swallow of soup. He clutched desperately at a napkin, and held it over his mouth as he turned away from the others, hacking and gasping for air. Izzie was on her feet to aid him, but because he was so far away, it was Meredith who was on the spot.

"George!" the duo cried in unison. Heads spun, and eyes blazed at Cristina.

"What? It's not my fault he was trying to inhale his lunch!" she fired back.

Izzie made her way around the table and knelt next to him as he continued to rattle and wheeze. "Are you okay?" she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"No," he gasped, standing up. His already red cheeks seemed to grow redder as his eyes, trying to avoid Izzie's, were registering the sight of all the strange faces around the cafeteria that were staring in his direction. "I have to change," he said between reflexive coughs. "If anybody needs me..." he started to say, but the words trailed off. He shook his head sadly, and quick-marched out of the room.

"I knew he was a choker," Cristina sniffed as he left, "but I never thought - "

Izzie appeared nose-to-nose with her fellow intern, and said through clenched teeth, "Not. Another. Word." She had a moment to glare at a chastened Cristina before her pager pulled her away. She could hear the other women start to talk about her being 'overly sensitive' as she left, and was tempted to turn back, but decided to let their catty chat go. For now.

Izzie double-checked the room number with the number on the page. Yeah, it matched, but the room was empty and dark. She was beginning to wonder if someone was playing a joke on her when she heard Alex's quiet, sad voice behind her. "Hi, Iz," he said.

She turned around, feeling her jaw muscles harden. "'Bye, Alex," she sneered, trying to walk past him.

He grabbed her hand, stopping her cold. "I feel like crap about what I did last night," he said. "I was out of line, and I'm sorry."

Izzie sighed as she studied his slumped posture. "You should be," she said. "I needed you to help me study, not fool around."

"Okay. But you weren't fighting me that hard, you know," Alex said, a flicker of mischief crossing his face.

She had to chuckle. He was right. "No, I guess I wasn't," she said. "But last night, I needed you to keep me on task. That Burke asked me to be in on that bypass - it was a big deal to me."

"I know," Alex replied apologetically, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's just that – I get around you, I kinda...lose my focus, you know," he said, clearing a few strands of hair from her face. "So how'd the surgery go? Burke didn't give you too much crap?"

Izzie smiled proudly. "None at all. I think he was even a little impressed about what I knew, and that he didn't have to hold my hand through it," she replied. Then she added, her voice warm and playful, "I did get a lot more studying done without you there."

Alex turned chilly. "Figures," he said. "O'Malley probably jumped at the chance to play hero."

Izzie frowned at the sourness of his tone. "No," she said, "He was asleep."

Alex snorted. "Why am I not surprised that you know that?" he grimaced.

Izzie shook her head. "What's your problem?"

"O'Malley," he said, like the mere mention of the name nauseated him. "How long did it take you to find out that he was asleep? A minute? Minute-and-a-half?"

"What is it with you and him?" she asked, feeling a nugget of anger forming in her throat. "He's not a threat to you."

Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. "Damn right he isn't," he glowered.

"Wow," Izzie replied, suddenly seeing George's crossed-out comments about the other man unspooling before her eyes. "I think I'd better leave now. I don't do well with braying jackasses." She pushed past him and started down the hall.

"Yeah, you prefer sad little boys," Alex said after her.

"No, Alex," she replied, not breaking stride, "If that were true, I wouldn't be leaving you behind."

She couldn't find George anywhere for the rest of the day – and she'd been thorough in her search. Around four, she finally found out that he'd been invited to scrub in with Shepherd on a brain aneurysm, and that was the kind of delicate procedure that meant she'd be going home before he would. She went to the scrub room outside the OR, hoping that she'd be able to catch his attention, or maybe snag him when he was sent on a errand, but no such luck. She did see him, briefly, while the neurosurgeon was walking George through some of the basics of the procedure, but even from a distance, she could see that he was engrossed in the process, and nowhere near able to respond to a smile and a wave.

Izzie felt a deep disappointment radiating through her as she sat alone in the interns' locker room at the end of the day. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the paper that she had stuffed in there so early in the morning. The words glowed in her vision.

I treasure you. I adore you.

I love you.

The last phrase was the most affecting to her, maybe because it didn't feel like the kind of 'I love you' shared by a friend, no matter how close. No, this came from a deeper, hungrier place. It was a declaration, like he had stood up in the middle of a madding crowd, and shouted it at the top of his lungs, without an ounce of fear. It was brave, it was bold – a genuinely swoon-worthy thing.

But that was the problem. She didn't know how to feel about it. She was deeply flattered, sure, but she was also deeply stunned. He'd never shown that kind of interest in her, never even hinted at it - at least not that she remembered. And she hadn't led him on, she was positive. She hadn't shown that kind of interest in him, not even a little.

Right?

Yeah, they'd sat and talked for hours a bunch of times – but best friends do that sort of stuff. And while their talks tended to turn intimate, they were most definitely not romantic conversations. They were occasionally about romance – a girl George wanted to ask out, a guy Izzie had a crush on – but the girl was never her, the guy was never him.

Never.

Right?

The sleeping in the same bed thing? Innocent. Completely, totally innocent. He had a comfortable mattress, great blankets – and he was just such a soothing presence. He didn't kick, or talk in his sleep, or have cold feet, and if you put your arms around him, he wouldn't fight you off. The man just felt good. Plus he smelled quite nice from sundown to sun-up, even after being spooned for six to eight solid hours, and that was, to Izzie's mind, a rather remarkable thing in of itself. But did he ever – EVER – do anything inappropriate? Or did she?

Nope. Not once. And that was the proof. He'd never shown this kind of passion toward her, and she had never wanted more from him than his companionship.

Right?

As Izzie searched her memory, trying to find hints in George's past behavior – and her own - that would show her what she'd missed, her awareness of the locker room dropped away. And the next thing she knew, she heard his voice echoing off the lockers, sad and soft and distant: "Where did you get that?"

Izzie looked up at him, noticing his pale, panicked cheeks, but couldn't find the right thing to say. How could she reply: I found it in your room this morning and it's been distracting me all day?

"I asked you a question, Iz," George whispered.

She felt the effect of his emotion. "I – I just – "

George's eyes shimmered as the blood came back to his face. "Did you and Alex have a big laugh over it?" he asked. "Do I need to prepare for a barrage of copies Scotch-taped to everything I come in contact with? 'Cause if not, it's the least I can do to help you and him humiliate me some more for this hospital's amusement."

Izzie's heart was rattled. "You know I wouldn't do that to you," she whispered.

"Yeah, sure," he hissed, finding his locker and flinging the door open. "Did you like the part about how I admire your compassion? Your heart? I was just winging it, you know. Had to find just the right words." He started grabbing his clothes.

"I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say.

He turned back to her, his arms full. "I want it back," he said.
"What?" she asked.

"I didn't give it to you," he snapped. "You went into my room after I was gone, and you found it, and you read it, and you - you - " George's words disappeared in a fog of frustration and disappointment, some aimed at her, but not all, and she could tell. "I want it back, dammit," he said, with a finality that chilled the air.
Izzie took a breath as he stood in front of her, his hand out. "Why?" she asked.

He swallowed. "Why what?"

"Why do you want it back?"

George's mouth fell open, and it took a moment before words followed. "Why? Because, Izzie - " He gaped some more at her before finally slumping at his locker. "Because you weren't supposed to - you weren't going to find out." He paused for a second. "Well, you were going to find out. I got it in my head that I just had to do this, had to write out how I felt about you. Had to give it to you, was going to - that was the original plan. Then I - " He sighed. "And then I realized that I was wrong." He looked up again, with a wistful smile. "I don't love you. Not at all." He said it clearly, succinctly, and without a trace of regret.

It took Izzie no more than a millisecond to know he was lying - but even the most gullible person on Earth would have bought his denial. She decided to let it go, though; Izzie was exhausted by the struggle. She gave him a little smile. "Well, I not only do not love you, I flat-out loathe you," she said, meeting his eyes. "How 'bout them apples?"

George's face lightened. "I despise you and everything you stand for," he said. "Top that."

"Despise?" Izzie grinned. "Hmm. I abhor you to the core of your very being." She held out the letter to him, and he took it.
He also held her hand in his for the longest time. She felt the warmth and gentleness of his touch, the streaming affection in it. It made her stomach quiver - but not in a bad way. Not at all.

Suddenly, she noticed him standing, and his other hand touched her cheek. "See you at home, Iz?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

And then he was gone, like a puff of smoke. Izzie sat on the bench for a little while, breathing and looking at the place where he stood. When she was ready, she exerted the energy she needed to stand, and as she pushed up, noticed the whispered crush of a ball of paper under her hand. Izzie didn't even have to steal a glance to verfiy that it was his letter, just jammed it into her pocket, and as she walked out of the locker room, felt bubbles filling her all over again - only lighter and brighter now.

The End