fandom. grey’s anatomy.
pairings/characters. izzie stevens. (denny/izzie.)
warnings. early season three.
disclaimer. not mine.
summary. she is a prisoner in a cell she dares not to break out of.
notes. this is my attempt at restoring the damage caused to my love for this show and this character. (unbeta’d.) feedback is ♥.
She chooses a path designed for her, the way scalpels are meant for surgeons.
Izzie becomes recluse, a cottage built too far into the woods to be travelled alone, the way Little Red Riding Hood eventually teaches little girls to not go out in the woods without a wolf, tiny and tame, by their side.
(Izzie Stevens never learns.)
Movements are blurs and Izzie only sighs; things are changing and she’s too slow, too dead, to keep up, and there’s a weight on her shoulders that only becomes heavier and heavier with each look of pity her friends bestow upon her.
She wants to tell them she doesn’t want it, need it — need them, him, this — but her throat is dry and her voice is scarce; it’s disappeared with his heartbeat.
The bed becomes her solitude, her crystal castle no one dares to penetrate. She lives in different shades of darkness. It’s foreign at first; night is a soft blanket she curls up in, the stars are guides and she knows that she’s alive. Opposites attract and tonight it’s the sharp edges of the light seeping in from the streets and the ball of moon hovering ghostly from afar telling her she’ll soon be disconnected, a soul seeping from a dying body and she’ll cease to exist, buried under layers and layers of earth. (She’s an exception, she’s always been an exception. She never fit’s the stereotype of what she becomes. Izzie’s the surprise people never expect and question until there’s a repetitive cycle formed.)
This is a different night, one she remembers fearing, cuddling closer to her sleeping mother in a caravan too old for a child.
Seconds become minutes and everything starts prolonging, extending as far as she can see from the bars of her window. She is a prisoner in a cell she dares not to break out of.
Silence envelopes her and she becomes a distant star, lost in the blackness of night; a faceless blur of slow movement in a house full of life and speed.
For once, Izzie believes they are right; she is not cut out for this.
She is not hardcore, not strong enough; her skin is too thin and too weak to carry the burden of death and stillness under a once-moving chest. She can not bear to see life no longer existing in a person who was so full of it.
She is a child playing in an adult’s world.
Evidence is left like breadcrumbs in tales; Denny becomes forbidden, a reference of he suffices for the thicker skinned. (She feels a stab, a still of her heart, each time.)
The world keeps spinning and Izzie Stevens is silly for thinking it’d stand still for her.
Seattle Grace becomes an omen of fear; the monster in her closet, under her bed, in the corner hiding within the darkness.
She has no hand to hold, no mother to cry to.
(She has no one.)
There is a game of survival.
Izzie Stevens has lost.
There is a path Izzie remembers walking upon; gravel, loose rocks, a few figures walking in the distance. Black becomes her memories as Seattle Grace sinks further away, a ship lost in the seas of the ocean, and Izzie is too breathless and weak to swim after it.
She becomes a shell because no one ever told her how to deal with this pain. There’s nothing in the textbook, no words her mother can whisper into her ear over telephone lines, no release of pain hand holding and back rubbing can relieve.
Meredith tries, Yang softens and Alex’s eyes shine with hatred; they try to understand but it’s all false. (They have books on how to cope with this, how to diagnose and cure it. Izzie’s bookshelf is bare of guidebooks explaining the ways of grieving and moving past the heavy regret which shadows her every move, on how to fix an organ that is incapable of repair.)
She seeks the past which no one can grant her, a chance to act differently; save a life, save a heart.
In the end, there’s a diagnosis:
Izzie has lost her way and she hasn’t left anything behind to guide her home.