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ga_fanfic comment fic-a-thon is now closed. Thanks to everyone who participated and helped make this a giant success. We had a really fantastic response to this, and we may hold more in the future (hiatus survival, anyone?).Recap post and master list of fics can be found here.
If you are in the process of writing something for the ficathon: Post it in response to the prompt by Wednesday March 16th; we'll add your fic to the recap post and make sure to include it in the next wrap-up post so people don't have to continually check for updates.
Thank you all again for participating! You've rocked!
Howdy, folks! Welcome to the first (hopefully of many) Grey's Anatomy Comment Fic-A-Thon!
For those who are new to these things, the general concept is this: people post prompts, and other people write short fics in response. It's designed to be a quick, fun thing everyone in fic and fandom can get involved in.
Basic guidelines:
Prompting: One per comment (you can leave as many or as few comments as you'd like), in the form of character/pairing - prompt (i.e, Derek/Meredith - painting). If you'd rather not have a porny response, please say so. Unless explicitly stated by the prompter, all ratings are viable.
Writing: Post replies as comments to the prompt (so the prompter knows you responded, and so there's at least an ounce of organization). The title of the fic, pairing, and rating should go in the subject line. If your fic goes beyond the LJ character limits for comments (4,300, which includes spaces), you can either post it in parts (1/2, 2/2, etc.) or post an excerpt and link back to the full fic hosted elsewhere.
Community Posting: In order to keep non-ficathon fics from getting lost in a potential deluge, please keep fics for the comment ficathon contained to this post and do not also submit them to the community for posting (posting them in your own journal/community is a-okay). We'll do a huge, epic master recap post with author and pairing tags once things appear to have tapered off.
Prompting and writing are open simultaneously.
So go forth! Prompt! Write!
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March 2 2011, 02:05:19 UTC 1 year ago
Questions?
Ask 'em in reply here!March 2 2011, 02:22:55 UTC 1 year ago
March 2 2011, 02:32:09 UTC 1 year ago Edited: March 2 2011, 02:32:26 UTC
March 2 2011, 03:13:48 UTC 1 year ago
March 5 2011, 10:25:33 UTC 1 year ago
Pat Me On The Back When You're Able | Alex and Cristina | PG
(*circa season four...)- - -
She counts the money, gets to seventeen cents before she's distracted by something foreign and slightly darker in colour, a penny perhaps, loses track then because paying attention to anything that isn't her own pathetic misery is apparently too much to ask.
“You're better off anyway...” His words land in the space that separates them. Scatter and spread like the coins she's bouncing in the palm of her hand. He's not sure he believes a single one.
She raises her eyebrows but doesn't turn to look at him. Tilts her head to the ceiling instead, searches for the proof that may just be painted there.
A silent validation.
“Yeah, probably...” She doesn't believe him either. Two weeks in Hawaii with Meredith and it all feels like a lifetime ago. Tequila swallowed straight from the glass neck of the bottle and too much but not enough, never enough, endless sunshine.
He'd wasted gas and time and breathing space on a trip that didn't really take him anywhere except further into his own head. A place it seems he's spent his whole life running from with a pointless desperation.
“Wanna go to Joe's?” He shrugs as he's asking the question. An incongruous movement that she doesn't really understand.
Then again, there is so very little about him that she does...
“Not particularly.” She mirrors his shrug. Tries the motion on for size. A quick tension release and she thinks she might just get it then.
“Yeah, me either.”
She pours the coins back into the bag he'd presented them in. Tosses the lot into his lap. “It's your shout, Evilspawn.”
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:16:26 UTC 1 year ago
Alex/Izzie
As I tread through crowds of people
trying to keep from looking back,
got your sense on something passing,
and it sends me off my track...
March 5 2011, 07:58:11 UTC 1 year ago Edited: March 5 2011, 08:00:03 UTC
timeless like a broken watch, pg-13, alex/izzie
this is what happens in fifteen minutes*
They meet again in an airport in the middle of the country.
All bets are off.
He told her to go be happy elsewhere, not so subtle code for i never want to see you again, only this is nothing but coincidence and Iowa is barely four hours in his wake. He’s tired and she’s bewildered and so they sit back to back in an airport terminal in Denver and don’t say a single word until they call his connecting flight back to Seattle as delayed to severe weather yet again and he bites out a string of curses.
“We’re on the same flight,” she tells him, the first words out of her mouth, and they’re not exactly hurting for personal space, rows of seats untouched, and yet here she chose to sit. Here he chose to let her. In silence.
“Of course we are,” he says, but it lacks the venom it so badly needs. He’s got two more hours here and if it weren’t for the relative discomfort of these chairs, if it weren’t for her, he’d seriously consider sleeping through them.
Four days in Iowa and, he figures, a grand total of maybe twelve hours of sleep. If that.
“You dyed your hair,” he adds, in lieu of any sort of response on her part. He doesn’t want to keep talking but he also doesn’t know how to stop now that he’s begun.
“And you appear to have cut sleep out of your life entirely.”
He might just be expecting it but he thinks he can hear among other things somewhere in that heavy sigh she gives after a beat. “Shit happens.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Alex just laughs. It sounds hollow and he can hear the scuff of her shoes on the floor beneath them.
“Right. Because where’s the fun in that?”
“You don’t have the monopoly on angry and bitter,” he says and there, there he’s finally able to snap right back at her. Feels something shift into place.
“Well neither do you, so I guess we’re even.”
“Yeah.”
There’s silence from behind him again and he settles back and tries not to obsessively glance at the clock, determined to make these two hours go by faster just through sheer power of will. And then the flight. Her on the flight.
They keep trying to get away from each other.
They keep failing at that too.
Her shoes start up against the floor again, only this time they’re traveling away and for a minute he thinks she’s finally got up and left before he sees her coming down his row. Stopping just short of the seat next to him with her purse slung over her shoulder and last month’s issue of Cosmo in her right hand, blunt nails and a front cover that’s had its edges bent so many times they’re a gentle tug away from falling off entirely. Nervous habits.
“What are you doing?” He asks, finally, when she’s offered no explanation for running in the opposite direction from the expected, closer instead of further.
“Going to get coffee. You coming or would you rather sit and sulk?”
“I’m not sulking,” he says and, to prove it, he heaves himself out of his chair and goes along with it.
They have two hours.
It can just be two hours.
He’s back to lying to himself, if he ever really stopped.
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:24:05 UTC 1 year ago
So where did you go?
And do you now know how to be happy?
March 3 2011, 18:49:53 UTC 1 year ago
Sometimes, Alex/Izzie, R for language
He was just the fucked-up jackass who went to state school on a wrestling scholarship. He was broken, just a little bit, maybe. But sometimes that happens. When a child has to take care of his mentally ill mother, and protect her and his younger brother and sister from his abusive, alcoholic addict of a father, and gets bounced around seventeen foster homes in five years, and then beats his father up so his mother will never be hurt again, and then watches his father leave and never come back, sometimes, the child gets a little broken in the process.She was just the former trailer trash who modeled her way through med school. She was an optimist. Sometimes that happens. When a sixteen year old girl from a trailer park gives up her baby girl for adoption and then has to work her way through school because her mother spent her savings on psychics, sometimes, that girl has to become an optimist to survive.
And sometimes, the fucked-up jackass and the former trailer trash fall in love. Sometimes, the jackass cheats because he's an insecure idiot. Sometimes, the jackass and the trailer trash give it another shot, and then she leaves him for a heart patient who dies. Sometimes, the jackass stops being a jackass long enough to make sure she's okay. Sometimes, the jackass and the trailer trash have other failed relationships, and then, sometimes, they give it another try. Sometimes, they wind up happy.
But then, other times, she gets cancer, and she almost dies. Sometimes, she leaves him over a stupid misunderstanding. Sometimes, she comes back to find that he can't take any more pain.
Sometimes, she's out there, with cancer, maybe alive, maybe doing God knows what, and he's back to being the jackass, because that's how he deals with things. Sometimes, he wonders every night if she's still alive, if she's happy, if he'll ever see her again. Sometimes, she wishes things had turned out differently.
But the thing is, he's a fucked-up jackass and she's former trailer trash. These things always end badly. No matter how much he loves her.
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:28:07 UTC 1 year ago
I had a hole in the middle where the lightning went through...
March 2 2011, 04:32:45 UTC 1 year ago
Cover your eyes,
Look away until it fades.
March 5 2011, 23:56:10 UTC 1 year ago
Fade to Black, Alex/Lexie, PG-13
Lexie had never been the kind of girl who watched scary movies.On the rare occasions when she tried because she wanted to try to look cool she ended up covering her eyes, sinking low in her seat and tugging her knees to her chest in an act of self-protection.
She’d done the same thing when real life turned into a horror movie, closed her eyes and waited for the end.
She’d had her near death experience, had watched a thousand memories flash before her eyes in seconds that felt like hours, saw the face of everyone she ever loved.
88888888
She didn’t talk about it once therapy was over, once she’d been cleared by the quote unquote best trauma counselor in the country.
She figured it was probably the one instance where she wasn’t special, figured everyone had a photographic memory of blood stained hallways that had them hesitating before turning corners.
Alex didn’t talk about it either, but then, Alex didn’t talk about much, and she thought maybe he was lucky, maybe he’d been so out of it he didn’t really remember much. Besides, you know, that whole excruciating pain almost dying part.
But then he hesitated, flinched a little every time the elevator dinged so maybe there was no such thing as lucky.
888888888
His scar faded as much, probably, as she figured it ever would.
She saw it sometimes in the locker room, exposed patches of skin that she forced herself to turn away from.
She wondered what he told other girls when they saw them, if he reacted when fingers traced them.
She wondered why she was stupid enough to care.
8888888888
“I closed my eyes.”
“What?” he asked, frowning and staring at her like he was trying to figure her out.
She shrugged, shoulders slumping, elbows propped on the table. “That day…” she trailed off, because no one really said more than that. “I closed my eyes.”
He nodded like it meant something, like he got it, and maybe he did. Maybe that’s why she was always going to be pulled towards him like a magnet, because he got it and no one else really did.
“I never even saw it coming,” he offered.
888888888
She didn’t trace the scar that night with her tongue or her fingers or her eyes but she felt it, rough against her skin as his body pressed against hers and her eyes drifted closed one more time.
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:34:20 UTC 1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:34:47 UTC 1 year ago
There's no up,
There's no down.
Side to side,
lost and found.
March 10 2011, 01:01:23 UTC 1 year ago
Recovery
THERE'S NO UP,The water sluiced down down the back of his head, across his shoulders, down his chest. The hot water had run out five, ten minutes ago, but he hadn't noticed it yet.
He found he wasn't noticing much any more.
Clothes – changing them was – too much work.
Work – being on time – too much energy.
Showering – he was only in it now because Mere had pushed him into the bathroom and locked the damn door.
She was subtle like that.
…
THERE'S NO DOWN.
He pours himself another shot of tequila, then realizes he taking the slow road to oblivion and, ignoring the glass, he lifts the bottle to his mouth and inhales the potent golden liquid.
Four solid, deep gulps later and he thinks he can see the end.
He's stopped from his liquid escape by Grey; she jerks the liquor from his hand, but instead of chastising him as most people would do, she simply looks at the label before throwing her head back and finishing the bottle off.
She won't let him escape.
Won't let him disappear.
As much as he wants to float away... just
float
away
… she keeps that damn tether on him.
SIDE TO SIDE,
He scratches the stubble that covers his face then rolls over to see what the woman he'd brought home with him last night looks like.
Another fucking blonde.
Cursing under his breath he quietly climbs out of the bed, stopping just long enough to put on the boxers that lay discarded at the foot of the bed.
Opening the bedroom door he steps in to the hall and groans when he sees Meredith, brow lifted, half-smirk on her face.
“What?” He responds to her unworded accusation.
She simply lifts her other brow.
“Does it fucking hurt when your eyebrows touch your hairline?” He asks as he shuffles towards the bathroom.
She ignores his barb, she's gotten quite adept at dodging them. “Let me know when you've sent the bar-ho home, and i'll make us pancakes.” She turns back into her bedroom and he's left standing in the hall. Feeling like an ass.
More of an ass.
LOST AND FOUND
He's checking on the Tompson baby; reading the attached monitors, mumbling the numbers as he records them.
He takes one last look down at the baby as he finishes her charting and he nearly chokes.
The baby was staring up at him.
She'd opened her fucking eyes and was staring at him.
She'd been unresponsive for nearly two weeks... giving little more than cursory reactions to touches to her feet, her belly, her hands.
He places his hand in the incubator and touches her face; pale, paper-thin skin - cooler than it should be - but that didn't matter to him now. What mattered was that she was looking at him. She was fucking 'aware'.
He runs his fingers over her tiny, curl covered head.
“Time to wake up little Anna?”
She blinks then continues to stare... at him.
((()))
“You got Chinese!”
He shrugged.
“And you set the table?” Meredith peered at him in confusion....
He simply shrugged again as he pulled the utensils for their dinner out of the drawer..
“Why?”
He looked at her.
And she looked at him.
And the thing about Meredith? She got him.
She'd always gotten him.
Top to bottom, up and down, side to side... when he was lost? She was the one who fucking found him.
Always.
… so he looked at her.
And she looked at him.
And she tinged pink... lightly. “Oh.”
The other thing about Meredith? She didn't make him say stuff. She simply took his unspoken crap, defined it, and embraced it.
She offered a small smile. “Did you get Crab Rangoons?”
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:39:25 UTC 1 year ago
I swear I've drunk enough for both of us tonight,
But I'll buy another round before it's closing time...
March 2 2011, 06:09:37 UTC 1 year ago
BUT FIRST I HAVE TO PASS COLLEGE, SO GIVE ME TWO DAYS, KK?
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:41:52 UTC 1 year ago
You've got bones in your closet
You've got ghosts in your town
Ain't no doubt that they're gonna come out
They're waiting for the sun to go down
March 2 2011, 07:25:22 UTC 1 year ago
Running, Mark, PG-13
First off, I highly approve of Little Big Town prompts.People think I'm nothing but a whore. They think I'm shallow and vain and arrogant and a sorry, amoral son of a bitch. And they, whoever the hell they are, would be absolutely correct. I'm shallow. I'm vain. I'm arrogant. I'm a sorry, amoral son of a bitch. At least, that's what I want them to think. They think I don't care, that I don't feel, and that's good. If they think I can't feel, I can act like I don't hurt. I don't have to hide my past if people think I'm not deep enough to have secrets. I don't believe in ghosts, but I've been running from them all my life, and I'm getting damn tired. So I'll be the shallow, arrogant whore who doesn't care. It's better than the truth.
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:42:44 UTC 1 year ago
Underneath all your clothes
I admit it comes and goes
I don't know what I'll do
When I set my sights on you
March 12 2011, 07:19:13 UTC 1 year ago
Denial, Cristina/Alex, PG
Alex Karev.Alex freaking Karev.
He went to state school on a wrestling scholarship. And that's one of the positive things about him.
His father was a heroin-addicted, alcoholic, abusive bastard.
His mother was mentally ill, and he had to take care of her.
He protected his younger siblings from his father, and when he was old enough, he beat the hell out of his father so he'd never hurt them again.
He was in and out of seventeen foster homes in five years.
His schizophrenic brother tried to kill his baby sister.
He cheated on Izzie with the syph nurse.
He made up with Izzie, and she left him for a dying man.
He tried to put Izzie back together after Denny died.
He fell for a patient who later had a hysterical pregnancy, went crazy, and tried to kill herself in the next room.
Izzie left him, even after he told her he couldn't survive losing her.
He's an ass.
He's the definition of dark and twisty.
He fights and broods and drinks like Ernest Hemingway on a bender.
I'm sleeping with him.
I love his body.
I love his voice.
I love his hands on my skin.
I don't know what this even is.
Alex freaking Karev.
What the hell is wrong with me?
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:42:47 UTC 1 year ago
March 7 2011, 03:28:04 UTC 1 year ago
RomCom-Meredith + Cristina-PG
“I have a plan,” Meredith mumbled, hands tightly wrapped around her glass of tequila.Cristina rolled her eyes. “You don’t have a plan, what you have is a movie. Life is not a romcom.”
“I bet it is for some people,” Meredith protested. “You know, normal people who aren’t all dark and twisty and stuff, they have romcom lives.”
“Poor bastards,” Cristina said with a grin.
“No,” Meredith said. “We’re the poor bastards because we’re sad and miserable and alone.”
“Speak for yourself,” Cristina muttered.
Meredith blinked. “Fine. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I have a plan. I have a plan, and I’m going to follow it and I’m going to be bright and shiny and you’re going to be jealous.”
“Yeah right.”
Meredith took another drink. “Fine. Tell me what’s so terrible about my plan.”
“It’s not a plan,” Cristina said slowly. “You watched a movie and stole the plot and that kind of crap only works if you’re the character in a movie.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Meredith frowned. “You’re my person, you have to be nice to me.”
“This is me being nice,” Cristina shrugged.
“Then give me a better plan.”
“Okay,” Cristina said, “everything you just said you were going to do? You do the opposite of all of that. Plan improved immediately.”
“Mean,” Meredith repeated.
“Give up on McDreamy. There’s a plan for you.”
“I don’t want to give up on him. I love him.”
“He’s married,” Cristina pointed out.
“I know,” Meredith said. “That’s why I need a plan.”
“You don’t need a plan,” Cristina said. “You need a vibrator and another drink.”
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:45:00 UTC 1 year ago
March 9 2011, 12:12:26 UTC 1 year ago
Isn't it ironic?
After all her fears of being abandoned in the end she was the one who did the abandoning. Callie abandoned them all and took their baby with her.It wasn't supposed to be that way..they were all going to co-parent together..and even when it was hard,damn hard,for her,for Mark and Callie too..the payoff was going to be worth it. And he was..so much more than worth it..Daniel Mark Torres...the most beautiful blue eyed dark haired sallow skinned baby that had ever been seen.
And she was happy,had never known such happiness,this was her little boy,her son just as much as if he had her DNA flowing through him. And she and Mark had become friends and he was a great dad and it was just as well because with Callies cartilage research going global and her Harper Avery award Callie suddenly was hardly ever there. She and Mark seemed more like a couple than her and Callie these days.
And then when Danny was 18 months old Callie dropped her bombshell: she had been made an offer she couldn't refuse-she was moving to a New York hospital: Arizona just began wondering out loud what contacts she had on the east coast and how long it would take her to get a job and thats when Callie told her she had met someone else and Arizona Robbins,type A personality and arrogant surgeon had cried and begged and pleaded even after Callie reminded her that he was not her son,not really;that all the diaper changes and early morning feeds and hours spent holding him did not make her a mother,not really.
And Mark had ranted and raved and pleaded too: she couldn't take his son to the other end of the country but she did. He had rights,because he was a father,really. And somehow every month when he went to New York to see Danny ARizona went too. And Callie tried to stop that but Arizona still went.
And when they didn't have Danny,back in Seattle they spent their free time together talking about him crying over him getting drunk together to drown out the pain. The first time they were really drunk and it wasn't planned and it was Arizonas first time with a man, but Mark was so gentle,and even drunk he was a considerate lover. They both said it wouldn't happen again but it did. Arizona was and would always be a lesbian but Calliope had broken her and Mark put her back together. And Lexie was gone too and with the loss of his one true love and his best friends betrayal and yet another child living apart from him well he was broken too and Arizona put him back together.
And so it evolved,they lived across the hall from each other but spent a lot of their time together,learning to cook,making plans for Dannys visits to Seattle as he got older, talking about surgeries and dreams of the futureand sleeping together and sure she thought about how he wasn't Callie and he knew she wasn't Lexie but that didn't mean they couldn't love each other.
And well years of not ever having to worry about getting pregnant as a gold star lesbian meant it was almost inevitable that there would be an accident which turned,just under nine months later, into the most gorgeous blue-eyed fair haired dimpled twins anyone had ever seen. So Danny got a half sister and a half brother and somehow they worked. They were great parents and were best friends and they knew,both knew deep down that neither would ever betray the other, not in the ways that mattered, because they both knew what that felt like.
And Danny came to visit his Dad and his Mom No.2 every alternate Christmas and Summer.
And both Mark and Arizona were happy,and because he would always be a manwhore and she would always be a lesbian they occasionally and by consent had other partners but they loved each other only each other and their three children. And they were happy.
It was ironic that in the end he became her best friend and she ended up with Mark and CAllie was the one who left.
It was an unconventional romance but it worked,it was real and it was the romance of their lives.
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:48:31 UTC 1 year ago Edited: March 2 2011, 04:49:01 UTC
And I thought you were going to leave, but not that you'd evaporate...
March 7 2011, 03:18:54 UTC 1 year ago
Fear and Loathing, Meredith & Izzie, PG-13
“I’m mad at you,” Meredith muttered, full of liquid courage that hadn’t quite made her hands stop shaking yet. “I’m really, really mad at you.”There was silence at the end of the line, but she could hear breathing and that was really all the encouragement that she needed.
“I needed you,” she went on, because it felt good to actually say it. “We all needed you. Alex got shot and Derek…Derek kept ending up in jail every day and I lost a baby and Cristina lost her mind and you…I get that you left, I even kind of get why you left but I didn’t think that you would just disappear.”
She paused to take a breath and another drink and give the other woman a chance to speak.
“I’m sorry,” Izzie offered. “I…I heard and I got in my car and I drove halfway there and then I stopped and I turned around because I convinced myself you’d all be better off without me.”
“Well we weren’t. And we aren’t. And…where the hell are you anyway?”
“I got a job in Chicago,” Izzie said slowly. “At this clinic…”
“Chicago,” Meredith repeated like the word was foreign.
“It’s nice. I like it. You could come and visit sometime if you wanted.”
Meredith closed her eyes, rubbed aching temples and drained her glass. “Yeah,” she said. “Sounds nice. Maybe I’ll do that.”
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:50:20 UTC 1 year ago
March 2 2011, 20:29:45 UTC 1 year ago
This Always Happens, Mark/Derek, R, (1/2)
It's dark, it's late, and it's raining, because it's Seattle, and it's always fucking raining. Last call at Joe's was ten minutes ago. Yang and Burke are long gone, Addison's still off doing God knows what God knows where, Grey's at home with Izzie and Alex because she and Sheperd are on the rocks, the O'Malley's left to have marital problems in private, the Chief gave up on the art of flirting an hour ago, and Bailey, the only one with any damn sense, is home with her husband and her baby. Mark and Derek are being Mark and Derek. Which means they're drinking scotch and existing in tense silence. Joe wants to get to home to Walter, so he tells McDreamy and McSteamy that it's closing time. They stumble out into the dark and the rain, leaning on each other, yet trying not to touch. They're both soaked and rumpled and looking very much like they just spent three hours at the bottom of a bottle. They're not stupid enough to drive, but they're not calling a cab. They're walking. They're stumbling. They're brooding. Together. In silence. Until... "Damn it, Mark. Damn you. Damn you to hell. ""Derek. What the hell did I do now?"
"It's your fault. It's all your fault! You ruined my marriage. You destroyed my family. I would still be with Addison. Maybe we wouldn't be happy. But I wouldn't be with Meredith. I wouldn't be hurting. I wouldn't be confused. So fuck you, Mark! Fuck you!"
Mark was drunk, confused, and on his way to pissed off.
"My fault? My fault? I fucked up, yeah, I know that, but your marriage was over anyway. And Addie tried to make it work with you. She came out here to find you. You could still be with her if you wanted! You could have her! You chose Meredith. You chose her. And now you're choosing to be confused. Addie walked away from me. She didn't want me. She wanted Karev. And now she's fucking gone. So this isn't my fucking fault, you selfish son of a bitch. Fuck me? No, fuck you!"
Raindrops fall, penetrating to angry silence. Mark's chest is heaving, and Derek's entire body is tense. The air is thick, with threat and promise. They can feel something coming. They stand, staring each other down. It's going to happen. There's no other ending for this. They're drunk and angry and stupid, so this is going to happen. Again. It always happens this way. They get drunk, they yell about whatever they can blame on each other, they stand, frozen, with heat in their eyes, and then one of them swings. It's inevitable. It's coming. They can both feel it.
"Come on, Derek." Mark is oddly calm. This is familiar. He's been here before.
"I'm not going to make this easy on you. You're going to have to do it. I'm not doing it for you. So, hit me, Derek. Come on. Hit me."
Derek clenches and unclenches his fist, feeling his nails dig into his palm. He knows what happens next. They always do this. He can't avoid it. This is what they do. So he swings.
Mark blocks him. This is what happens. Every time they do this, this is what happens. The alcohol, the anger, the staring. And then one of them swings. And the other one blocks the punch. That's not the important part. What happens next, what always happens, that's the important part. The part where Mark grabs Derek by the collar and slams him against the nearest wall and presses their bodies together, that's important. The part where Derek's hands move to Mark's hips almost under their own power, that's important. The part where Mark stares into Derek's eyes, gaze full of intent and frustration, that's important. They can already feel it starting. They always do this. Always. They know what's going to happen, and they can't stop it. They fight it, standing there, hands gripping clothing, eyes angry and heated. It's going to happen. It always happens.
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 04:51:54 UTC 1 year ago
If you love me let me go
back to that bar in Tokyo
where the demons from my past
leave me in peace...
March 5 2011, 23:58:36 UTC 1 year ago
Letting go, Mark/Lexie, PG 13
It was cliché, the whole freaking idea that if you loved someone then you had to let them go, that if you were really destined to be together you’d find your way back to each other eventually or something.Lexie had always been at least a little bit clichéd anyway.
She was sitting hunched over the bar drinking too much because she’d always been daddy’s little girl, one more cliché that slid more easily off her tongue than anything resembling the real hard truth.
They weren’t right for each other, her and Mark, and they probably never had been. They were rough edges, constantly rubbing up against each other, neat versus messy and organized versus spontaneous and smooth versus whatever the hell she was exactly.
They were too different, wanted too many different things, were constantly heading in opposite directions no matter what they tried to pretend.
She knew that he loved her, believed him when he said it, over and over again like it changed something when really it just made everything harder. She just wanted him to love her more, to love her enough to understand he had to let her go, to let her live her own life and if she came back to him, if they ended up together somewhere down the line then maybe they’d have a chance.
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March 2 2011, 04:55:34 UTC 1 year ago Edited: March 2 2011, 04:56:01 UTC
(oh, come on. I've been using this as a joke for years in mod posts...someone has to have come up with a viable response by now)
March 6 2011, 02:19:35 UTC 1 year ago
Misunderstandings, Richard and Miranda, PG-13
Miranda Bailey had enough problems, with the ex-husband, and the baby, and the five fools who used to be her interns now turned loose on the hospital as residents. She was just looking for a file. She absolutely did not need to find what she had just found in the chief's desk drawer."Chief. Tell me I did not just find fuzzy handcuffs in your desk."
Oh, shit. He was busted. Busted by Miranda Bailey, who was about to give him forty shades of hell.
"Uh, Bailey, I can explain..."
"Oh, I just bet you can. All these doctors running around sleeping with every warm body that'll stay still long enough, I though you at least had more sense than that. Then, I thought I'd raised my interns better than that too. Bunch of nasty..."
"Miranda. Those aren't even mine. However, even if they were, what I do in my private life - "
"Not yours my ass. And private life? Private life?! If it's so damn private, why exactly do you need handcuffs in your desk? Can you explain that to me, chief? Hmmm?"
"Well, I...I mean...you do know I'm your boss, right?"
"Mmmhmmm. You know what, don't come bother me when you get syphilis."
Richard sighs as she walks out of his office. That's the last damn time he lets Mark Sloan store unspecified items in his desk drawer.
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March 2 2011, 04:56:41 UTC 1 year ago
March 8 2011, 07:26:03 UTC 1 year ago
burn in flames; derek/meredith, r
He watches her but her gaze is empty now.-
One more miscarriage and she doesn't speak anymore. He can only assume things because assumption is what he's left with, so he takes away anything harmful to her. Razorblades. Chemicals. Watches her carefully in the tub.
He's never really been the hero because she's always been the one who saves him, but he thinks that there has to be an after life that she can be happy to exist. He doesn't touch her anymore because every time he does, she bursts into tears. It breaks his heart.
She used to cling to things like kisses and house plans and a semi grasp on normalcy. He doesn't think he can help her anymore. He's nearly lost all of the memories himself.
He shudders when he hears her cry.
-
She calls herself a failure when she thinks he's asleep, but he can hear her gruff voice, rough from days without uttering a word.
He thinks that maybe if he lets her be dark and twisty, talk to Cristina, she'll pull through. But 3 months goes by and he's still living with a ghost, a mere shell of the woman he'd once fallen in love with. He cringes when she crawls into bed because when she's near him he can't breathe anymore.
-
A month later, he packs a bag before she can get home because she finally crawls out of bed, much to her dismay. He has to get away, feel like he isn't breathing the air that someone else has abused, and he leaves like it couldn't break his heart.
The tin can that he used to live in looks exactly how he left it, but it seems to echo louder when it rains.
1 year ago
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 05:27:17 UTC 1 year ago
whiskey shot a hole in your heart
kinda liked it better when we were sober
March 7 2011, 09:49:52 UTC 1 year ago
aha, heartbreak; mark/addison, r
He can smell it before he can see it. It's a rough stench that evades his nostrils and he briefly wonders if it was just going to be a repeated pattern of heartbreak. In the end, someone always has to lose and there's never really a winner.He closes the front door behind him as his shoes echo on the hidden wood floor and he thinks he should take it as a warning, but he's always been a fiend for disaster so he proceeds into her kitchen anyway.
She's pouring a drink, a mixture of things that will probably kill her when all is said and done, doesn't hesitate to lift her eyes to his before sighing and going on with her death concoction. It takes everything in him to let her make her big girl choices and drown herself in the whiskey, the scotch, the tequila like she's a fucking liquor store. His heart aches as her knees buckle and she barely manages to catch herself from falling.
Better than what he used to know.
-
It goes like this
she calls him, voice shaking, whispering words of desperation; baby, i need you now
and, just as always, he hops on a plane so he can hold her while she cries
-
She falls to the floor but manages to keep all of the liquid in her glass while he watches on. He steps towards her, his feet crunching against the floor in the silence that surrounds them, and he thinks he can hear a sob escape her throat. His fingertips touch her bare shoulder and all she can do is giggle behind her hand.
"Mark, I'm drunk," she mutters.
She clasps her fingers around his and nearly chokes on her drink before setting it on the floor, abandoning the whole idea and he thinks no one can save her now. He helps her to her feet and hears her breath heavily as she falls into him. He can't stand to see her this way.
"I know, baby," falls from his lips beyond his control. The pattern of give and take that never seems to go away. "I've got you."
"I loved you, you know? I was just too fucked up to stop myself."
"I was fucked up," he says, "you were perfect."
He doesn't say anything else, just wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her with him as he walks towards the stairs. He thinks it's kind of like the blind leading the blind because she's drunk and he's just, well, stupid, but he's here.
-
"You're a beautiful man," she whispers.
"You're drunk."
"So are you," she giggles. His hand brushes over hers and she can feel herself falling. She can't help but let his fingers trail over hers with every breath she releases. "You're always here when Derek isn't."
"You're beautiful too," he answers, afraid to go into the details.
His fingers brush over her cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She shivers and falls into him. He lets his lips touch hers. There's no looking back.
-
She pushes his jacket off of his shoulders and as it hits the floor, her nails scrape down his biceps. He shudders beneath her touch and feels his eyes lock onto hers. He should be the good guy here and save it for another day, but he can't look her in the eye and leave her standing there vulnerable, broken.
He lightly presses his lips to hers, the taste of evil on her tongue that makes him feel drunk, and her fingers find the back of his neck. His hand slips beneath her old Yale hoodie, her skin cold to his warm fingers, and she leans into him. Her hands slide down his back, move to unbutton his jeans, and he tosses his shirt aside. Her smooth fingers press into his skin as the back of her knees hit the bed, and he can feel her pulling him into her.
-
She falls asleep pressed against him, hands clinging to him like she doesn't want to let him go.
He's used to this, to her falling asleep like all she could want is beside her. But in the morning, she'll look at him with guilt in her eyes, muttering phrases that indicate she wants something else because she's sober. They've been here before, naked and entangled and making decisions based on the alcohol.
His eyes stay open all night.
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March 2 2011, 05:57:30 UTC 1 year ago
March 2 2011, 08:08:20 UTC 1 year ago
It was never supposed to be this way
March 8 2011, 11:53:44 UTC 1 year ago Edited: March 8 2011, 11:56:51 UTC
The Ghost Appears
Probably not quite what you were looking for... but....---
even now, he couldn't stop himself from watching her
furtitively
his eyelids dropping as his eyes peered up... out... following her as she moved around the bar, laughing with Torres, teasing Karev and Sloan
and every once and a while, she'd look his direction, mid sentence, mid sip, mid thought
and something would cross her face, a ghost of something/someone he use to 'know'. carnally, intimately, forever.
and then it would disappear
and she would smile at him, and finish her sentence, finish her drink, finish her thought
and he would remember - as if he ever really forgot [not when she was near and he could see her, hear her, smell her] - that 'forever' was just a word.
a word like: wish, dream, fantasy...
beautiful, but, oh so empty.
Meredith steps into his line of sight, fragile, 'save me', broken Meredith; and his view of Addison is temporarily blocked.
she curls onto his lap, elbows and hips and angles pressing against him
and he half listens, half responds to her murmured words
and then his eyes are back - secretively - on the flame, the human fire that is Addison
as Meredith presses her lips to his jaw, a quick claim, Addison's eyes drift in his direction again
the ghost appears
and disappears
and he's reminded, once again, that it was never suppose to be this way
1 year ago
March 2 2011, 08:09:47 UTC 1 year ago
I need you
March 8 2011, 04:12:19 UTC 1 year ago
if i don't know where i come from, how do i know where to go?; Addison/Derek; PG
(sorry for the double post, there was an editing problem)Addison twirls the stem of her wine glass, watching the red liquid swirl and tornado in the dying candlelight. She’s taken to candlelight lately, even when eating alone. She can pretend that there’s any number of people in the chair across from her, sitting in the shadows; any number of people who she imagines to be fantastic dinner companions (Winston Churchill, Annie Hall, Joe DiMaggio, Gloria Steinem – though she mostly lectured Addison in Addison’s own head, so she wasn’t invited back, Al Capone if she’s feeling particularly inclined to encase someone’s feet in concrete).
She puts the glass against her lips and tilts it backward, relishing in the sharp tang as it hits her tongue and slides down her throat. She finishes it in one swallow. She nods once to the chair opposite her – Joni Mitchell, tonight – and leans backward to flip on the light. Blinking against the brightness, she stands up and clears away the remnants of dinner: takeout Thai.
She’s learned that anything is acceptable if you put it on a plate and eat it by candlelight, even if it is from three days ago.
Her doorbell rings, which is odd because she’d thought it was broken. She’s not sure anyone’s actually used the doorbell since she moved in here; everyone who isn’t expected knocks, everyone who is expected just walks on in, and everyone who doesn’t get a response immediately makes their way to the porch to find her outside.
“Derek,” she says, stunned. A thousand questions pop into her mind – most are variations on what are you doing here? – but she doesn’t ask any of them because she’s focused on the fact that he looks like hell. Hell run over by a garbage truck.
“Can I come in?” He asks it like he expects her to shut the door in his face.
She peers around him and sees his car parked crookedly in her driveway. Raising her eyebrows and seriously hoping she’s going to get an explanation soon, she steps aside to let him in.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says, standing awkwardly just inside her front door.
Addison thinks she has a theory – that he didn’t have any place else to go, because rumors and gossip from up north always find their way down here, especially if they concern her ex-husband – but doesn’t voice it. He has a look on his face like he knows that she knows but doesn’t want to quite say it out loud yet. “You’re bleeding,” she says instead, after ushering him further into her house and giving him the once-over underneath a light that isn’t threatening to blow out. More accurately, he was bleeding, but somewhere on the drive down his body did what it was supposed to do and stopped bleeding.
“Oh,” Derek says, as if he’s just noticed that his right hand looks like it belongs in a Saturday night made-for-TV horror film.
Addison takes a deep breath and points to her kitchen table. “Sit.” She goes to the bathroom and wets a washcloth, grabbing her first-aid kit from its spot in the medicine cabinet. “You want to tell me what happened?” She asks, sitting down next to him and beginning to wipe off the congealed blood so she can see what’s going on underneath.
“I broke a window,” he says. He hisses when her attentions inadvertently pull off a newly-formed scab.
She looks up from his hand. “Haven’t we been over this?” He had a habit, while they were interns and residents, of punching things when days didn’t go according to plan. He usually stuck to walls and doors, but every so often he’d expand his horizons to include things that were breakable; she bought him a punching bag for Christmas the year that he shattered a hallway mirror.
Derek shrugs and stares at the wall.
Addison pats his hand dry with a towel and picks up the Neosporin. “Look,” she says, “you don’t want to talk right now, fine. But I know you didn’t drive down here just because you prefer my bedside manner. You can stay here tonight, but when I make you breakfast in the morning – you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on. Deal?”
He turns back to her, a hint of a smile on his face. “Deal.”
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March 2 2011, 09:07:25 UTC 1 year ago
March 8 2011, 07:07:28 UTC 1 year ago
wipeout; mark/teddy, r
He's seen her naked. He's seen her ramble. He's seen her eat like it's the last meal. He's seen her deliver a baby, repair a heart, strip down to her bra and panties seconds after walking in the front door only for him to have another woman in his bed.He's seen her do a lot of things, but not a single time has he seen her cry.
So, when he walks into the lobby of the hospital and he sees her crying, he's automatically drawn to her. He's almost certain that he's the last person she'd want to talk to while she's crying, but if there's one thing he can do with her it is listen. He doesn't have much to brag about considering the outcome at their go ahead, but he does have that.
He sits down in the empty seat beside her, trying not to let himself stare at the quiet tears sliding down her cheeks. He reaches over, touches her arm, hears a sigh escape between her slightly parted lips. He thinks there's something to her that she'll never let him understand.
"Teddy? Are you okay?" He mutters.
She whispers incoherent words that he'll never make out.
-
She kisses him and he wants to remind her the last time she fell for his charm, but he can't because his lips are too busy moving against hers. She sighs into his mouth as her tear stained cheeks swipe over his 5 o'clock shadow, and he can't help but let her do with him as she pleases. If he's honest, the feel of her lips against his makes him believe a brighter world does against.
-
She dresses in the dark and he wants to ask her not to go, beg her to stay like he can't let her walk out the door as easily as he did before. It isn't what he knew that makes him want her to stay, but it's what he could know. It's the abrasive undertones in her sheer honesty, and the way that she falters when she considers humanity over morality.
He grunts as he pushes himself up on his arms, finally reaching out to grasp her hand, and more than anything else she looks at him. He catches her eye in the glint from the lights the hospital gives out and he can see the tears resting in them. When she doesn't let go, he swallows like he's making space to say her name.
"Won't you stay?" She doesn't move and he can't figure out what she's thinking, what she wants to do from here; all he can think is that when it comes down to his healing power, he thinks with his heart rather than his head. "We can...talk."
"We tried that," she finally whispers in response.
The sex they had was quiet, grunts and sighs and whispers, but it was etched in like a memory.
-
"Henry died," she finally admits. She's sitting beside him on the bed, close enough for him to feel her body heat, but not close enough for him to see her face from the light sneaking in. "I thought I could save him, but..."
"You couldn't," he supplies. He wants to understand, wants to weasel out rumors and disadvantages of the distance between them, but he can't without her permission. He isn't sure he can ask her. "You did everything you could. You do good work."
She offers him a slight smile that he can barely see, but she scoots closer in the dark. He's never been a liar, but he's never been good with words either. He turns onto his side and reaches out to touch her hand, thinking that maybe he's made mistakes that she can forgive him for.
Maybe she needs a hero just as much as he needs one.
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