Fic: Round Robin Part 6
Jan. 6th, 2010 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
waltzmatildahPrevious parts can be found HERE!
Part Six...
It takes three and a half minutes for Reed's breathing to resemble anything approaching normal, and as she pushes her way into the nearest bathroom, her heart rate still hasn't quite managed to follow suit.
She leans over the basin, both hands clenched firmly to its porcelain sides, and squints intently at her reflection. She's almost convinced that the elevator sex, legendary as it is within the hallowed walls of Seattle Grace, is somehow evident on her features, around the curve of her lips, echoed in the slight smudge of her mascara. It's not, of course, but she grins suddenly, triumphantly, and pretends that it is.
She's well aware of the fact that Alex Karev loves Izzie Stevens to the depths of his core. It radiates from his pores. You can't be that angry at someone you don't love with every fibre of your being.
She runs smooth fingertips over stubble roughened lips that have slid into a celebratory sneer and laughs harsly, victoriously.
“I'm trying to be nice...”
She mimics her previous plea savagely and watches her reflection slip a little in the mottled mirror. Licking the tip of her index finger, she grins and drags it straight down the water marked surface; chalks up round one to herself.
“Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex... 'silly rabbit'...”
*
The thing with Reed, he's refusing to name it anything more than that, helps Alex to forget about Izzie and the medical bills and the wedding that should never have been and the DNR and friggin' everything else that has exploded in his face during the last couple of months, for about twenty nine seconds.
He still marks it down as a resounding success because twenty nine seconds is twenty eight seconds longer than his previous attempt.
Fuck.
He hates with a passion the fact that she genuinely seems to care about him. About what's been happening to him. About what might be about to happen to him next. He hates all of that.
But, he also kind of likes it as well.
*
Richard scratches his fingernails through a beard that is a little longer than he'd usually like to keep. He's finding, more and more these days, that tasks such as shaving and eating and sleeping are not as second nature to him as they once were.
There is a folder open on his desk; open and only partially read. The mere thought of finishing it suddenly bone numbingly exhausting.
An insistent knock sounds at his door and he raises his chin an inch, calls out for the enquirer to enter. The remnants of last night's liquid dinner swim shallowly at the base of a heavy cut crystal glass and he only just manages to push it into the depths of his top drawer before his door pushes open.
“You paged, sir?”
It's more a statement of fact than a question, and that degree of confidence and certainty is what had him summons Miranda in the first place.
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
He slides the opened file across his desk towards her as she makes her way into the room, lab coat in place, the picture of professionalism. She looks down at the papers but makes no move to touch them. He encourages her with a sharp nod.
“I need your opinion.”
“On what, exactly?” She doesn't bother to mask her confusion.
“It's been brought to my attention that...” he trails off, unsure exactly how to explain, gives himself some added seconds to put the words into a semblance of order and cohesion, “...that when the finance department were finalising the budget and dictating staff numbers that were to be cut, they... they failed to account for... for O'Malley's... departure...”
Miranda's eyes widen, impossibly huge, and he looks down at his hands, laying idle in lap.
“So...?”
“So, I've been given permission to... hire or... re-hire...”
“And this?” She grabs at the file now, no longer hesitant, shuffles through the pages quickly.
“They're test results, they were sent to me, along with a host of other documents...”
“Are they saying what I think they're saying?”
He nods, allows himself a smile at the hope in her voice, at the inflection of disbelief that she can't quite hide. Her eyes brighten and he watches as she goes back through the pages noisily and with renewed appreciation.
“And what do you need me to do?”
She doesn't look up from the bulging folder, seems to ask the question as though she thinks she couldn't possibly be of any assistance to him and he wonders, suddenly, why she still doesn't seem to realise that, at work, her opinion is everything to him.
“Miranda,” he states, waits for her attention to be drawn from the ink and the numbers and the levels, “I need you to tell me if you think it's a good idea...” He nods to the file, “... if you think it could possibly work...”
Her eyes widen again and her fingertips fly to her lips, make it as far as her chin, pause there as she seems to be considering his words, “Wait, you're saying you want to re-hire Izzie Stevens and you need me to tell you whether I think Alex Karev will bring an automatic weapon to the hospital and open fire in the hallways?”
Richard sighs heavily and sinks back into the leather of his desk chair, welcomes the unconditional support it offers, “Yeah... something like that...”
Part Six...
It takes three and a half minutes for Reed's breathing to resemble anything approaching normal, and as she pushes her way into the nearest bathroom, her heart rate still hasn't quite managed to follow suit.
She leans over the basin, both hands clenched firmly to its porcelain sides, and squints intently at her reflection. She's almost convinced that the elevator sex, legendary as it is within the hallowed walls of Seattle Grace, is somehow evident on her features, around the curve of her lips, echoed in the slight smudge of her mascara. It's not, of course, but she grins suddenly, triumphantly, and pretends that it is.
She's well aware of the fact that Alex Karev loves Izzie Stevens to the depths of his core. It radiates from his pores. You can't be that angry at someone you don't love with every fibre of your being.
She runs smooth fingertips over stubble roughened lips that have slid into a celebratory sneer and laughs harsly, victoriously.
“I'm trying to be nice...”
She mimics her previous plea savagely and watches her reflection slip a little in the mottled mirror. Licking the tip of her index finger, she grins and drags it straight down the water marked surface; chalks up round one to herself.
“Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex... 'silly rabbit'...”
*
The thing with Reed, he's refusing to name it anything more than that, helps Alex to forget about Izzie and the medical bills and the wedding that should never have been and the DNR and friggin' everything else that has exploded in his face during the last couple of months, for about twenty nine seconds.
He still marks it down as a resounding success because twenty nine seconds is twenty eight seconds longer than his previous attempt.
Fuck.
He hates with a passion the fact that she genuinely seems to care about him. About what's been happening to him. About what might be about to happen to him next. He hates all of that.
But, he also kind of likes it as well.
*
Richard scratches his fingernails through a beard that is a little longer than he'd usually like to keep. He's finding, more and more these days, that tasks such as shaving and eating and sleeping are not as second nature to him as they once were.
There is a folder open on his desk; open and only partially read. The mere thought of finishing it suddenly bone numbingly exhausting.
An insistent knock sounds at his door and he raises his chin an inch, calls out for the enquirer to enter. The remnants of last night's liquid dinner swim shallowly at the base of a heavy cut crystal glass and he only just manages to push it into the depths of his top drawer before his door pushes open.
“You paged, sir?”
It's more a statement of fact than a question, and that degree of confidence and certainty is what had him summons Miranda in the first place.
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
He slides the opened file across his desk towards her as she makes her way into the room, lab coat in place, the picture of professionalism. She looks down at the papers but makes no move to touch them. He encourages her with a sharp nod.
“I need your opinion.”
“On what, exactly?” She doesn't bother to mask her confusion.
“It's been brought to my attention that...” he trails off, unsure exactly how to explain, gives himself some added seconds to put the words into a semblance of order and cohesion, “...that when the finance department were finalising the budget and dictating staff numbers that were to be cut, they... they failed to account for... for O'Malley's... departure...”
Miranda's eyes widen, impossibly huge, and he looks down at his hands, laying idle in lap.
“So...?”
“So, I've been given permission to... hire or... re-hire...”
“And this?” She grabs at the file now, no longer hesitant, shuffles through the pages quickly.
“They're test results, they were sent to me, along with a host of other documents...”
“Are they saying what I think they're saying?”
He nods, allows himself a smile at the hope in her voice, at the inflection of disbelief that she can't quite hide. Her eyes brighten and he watches as she goes back through the pages noisily and with renewed appreciation.
“And what do you need me to do?”
She doesn't look up from the bulging folder, seems to ask the question as though she thinks she couldn't possibly be of any assistance to him and he wonders, suddenly, why she still doesn't seem to realise that, at work, her opinion is everything to him.
“Miranda,” he states, waits for her attention to be drawn from the ink and the numbers and the levels, “I need you to tell me if you think it's a good idea...” He nods to the file, “... if you think it could possibly work...”
Her eyes widen again and her fingertips fly to her lips, make it as far as her chin, pause there as she seems to be considering his words, “Wait, you're saying you want to re-hire Izzie Stevens and you need me to tell you whether I think Alex Karev will bring an automatic weapon to the hospital and open fire in the hallways?”
Richard sighs heavily and sinks back into the leather of his desk chair, welcomes the unconditional support it offers, “Yeah... something like that...”
