scurvyknavery (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scurvyknavery) wrote2009-10-10 06:41 pm
scurvyknavery) wrote2009-10-10 06:41 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions (GA, gen.)
Originally posted 19 May, 2006.
Title: The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions (or, Nobody's Going to Get a Cookie Unless You Two Stop Fighting)
Challenge:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
psych_30 #25, "placebo effect"
Rating: PG
Summary: George just wanted to do something nice. Post-finale.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
"Give it to me, Alex." There's some low noises she can't quite make out, then, "Seriously, I mean it!"
"No, not unless you promise to do it properly."
"Alex, stop being a jerk - hey!"
"Look. I'm in charge here, and we're doing this my way."
"You're in charge? I - this is my house! You're a guest!" There's the unmistakeable slap of skin hitting skin. "Ow! Fine, would you just. . .stop doing it like that, you're going to break something."
"Would you just shut up, O'Malley?"
Izzie's been listening to this - and variations on this - coming from the kitchen for over an hour. The bickering is oddly soothing after so much quiet. Ordinarily, she'd leave her room to go see what's going on, but their conversation is just ambiguous enough that they might be having sex. She's pretty sure they aren't - mostly because it's George and Alex, and even in Bizarro world the chances of that happening are pretty slim. But also because it sounds like sometimes there's a third person in the kitchen with them, occasionally shushing them when they get too carried away.
Still. She is only listening, and George and Alex doing it on the kitchen counter isn't really something she wants to get surprised by. Plus, Denny's dead. And going downstairs will just make them concerned and they'll start to act like Denny's dead instead of fighting about who gets to be on top, or whatever the hell it is they're doing. Which will just remind her that he's dead, and that's not only aggravating and very upsetting but kind of defeats the purpose of hanging out with her friends to take her mind off of things. And if she just listens, it makes her feel better because if Alex can still make George angry after Denny's dead, then not everything has changed and maybe it will all be okay. So. She's just listening.
"You're doing it wrong. O'Malley, give me that."
The ensuing sounds of scuffle and the loud metallic crash make Izzie think that whatever "that" is, one of them's gone ahead and dropped it. "Nice going, George."
"What are you talking about? It fell because you hit it with your arm!"
"Yeah, because you were trying to feel me up or something."
"I was not feeling you up! I was hitting, with my fists. Hitting!"
"Hey, man, I'm not going to judge. It's perfectly normal to be into me."
"I am not into you."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Would you guys quit it?" This is new. Mystery Third Person is finally shouting a little herself. "You're supposed to be doctors. Adult doctors."
"Are too."
There's a swish and a thump that means the front door is open, and whatever George was going to say back - Izzie can't see him but she knows that tone, knows he's never been one to back down from a childish argument, knows he had something to say - dies before the words can leave his mouth. Meredith's home. There's another swish that means the kitchen door is open, and a brief pause where Izzie can't hear anything but the clack of heels on hardwood.
Then, she hears Meredith's voice. Loudly. Even louder than George and Alex have been, underscored by the clatter of something else hitting the floor. Izzie fears briefly for her mixing bowl, but the moment passes when she realizes that a) they would have to be baking something in the kitchen to drop her mixing bowl, and b) even if they were baking, George couldn't identify a kitchen utensil if his life depended on it.
"George! Alex! What the hell is - "
Meredith's voice drops away suddenly. Very, very suddenly, like she's just been shushed - or, knowing George and Alex, had a hand clapped over her open mouth - by three people at once. It's adorable because it means they think Izzie is still sleeping, despite the fact that they've spent the last hour fighting loudly enough to wake a deaf coma patient. A dead deaf coma patient.
Izzie rolls out of bed and pulls on some pyjama pants, trying not to look at the dress crumpled in the corner or trip over the shoes she left somewhere in the middle of the floor. Or have any other thoughts that might be remotely related to the worst prom in history, because she's still having trouble with the ridiculousness of the fact that she's a grown woman who is somehow getting upset about her boyfriend dying on prom night. Prom night. Which is why she's ignoring the whole idea of it for now, and going downstairs for a closer look.
She tiptoes down the hallway like she's five years old, settles on the stairs just above the one that always squeaks, and hopes nobody is looking through the kitchen door. The tiny part of her that's still competitive like a surgeon is pretty sure this is going to be too good to miss, and she doesn't want to interrupt the show.
"What is going on? What have you done to my kitchen? What's all over the floor? Alex, what the hell are you doing here?" Meredith's voice is getting higher, like she's on a roll and getting good and ready to freak out like only she can.
Alex interrupts her, like he's explaining something to a small child. "Because," and even though Izzie can't see him, she can picture the smirk on his face, "O'Malley's an idiot."
"I am not" and the scrape of a chair come at about the same time.
"Ow, let go of my - O'Malley, that's my hair!"
"George! Stop that!"
Had she been in the room, Izzie could have told Alex he was pushing his luck. George is better at taking down bigger, heavier guys than most people give him credit for. Mostly from being a baby brother his whole life, but also from spending the better part of a year fighting over a single bathroom with two girls who don't get much sleep. Meredith is scrappier than she looks when the last hot shower is at stake.
"Hey, get your hands off him!"
This catches Izzie so much off guard that she actually laughs out loud. Because Mystery Third Person is definitely Callie, and only George would pull another man's hair, sober, in front of his fairly new girlfriend. Izzie hopes nobody's noticed the noise, hopes they'll continue with their lives without remembering her and all the baggage that now belongs to her, but her luck hasn't been great these past couple of days and it seems to be holding steady.
Everything goes quiet. It's awkward, and she realizes they've stopped everything like she's Bailey catching them taking a break. She knows exactly what they'll look like when she goes in there, frozen in place and staring at each other like they're trying to come up with a plan. There's a little stab of guilt when she realizes she's almost mad at Denny, for going ahead and dying and making her friends not know how to act around her. But she's not thinking about that right now because hey, her feet seem to have gone ahead and started walking without her consent, and she's in front of the kitchen door.
Which leaves Izzie with nothing else to do but go inside, only to be greeted with the perfect picture of epic chaos. A small army of toddlers could not have done a better job, and she's almost impressed at the total disaster the three of them seem to have produced. George is sheepishly moving away from Alex and putting his hands behind his back, avoiding Izzie's eyes. Alex is straightening up, trying and failing to make rubbing his throbbing scalp look manly and cool.
Alex'x hair is also, for some reason, totally white, and there's white powder down the front of his jeans, in George's hair and the front of his shirt, all over the floor. As she slowly pieces everything together - Callie is spooning something that looks like it aspires to be batter onto a baking sheet, the flour container is upside-down next to the kitchen table, almost every drawer that could possibly hold something baking-related is open - she almost wishes she'd walked in on George and Alex having sex.
"Oh my god." She opens her mouth to say more, but the words just aren't happening. There was attempted baking. Baking was almost happening, and she wasn't involved, and her life is much too weird for her brain to handle all at once.
Meredith slips out the door to go upstairs, like she's trying to avoid notice now that she's spent five minutes shrieking in her kitchen in the slinky black prom dress she was wearing the night before. George looks like he desperately, desperately wants to follow her, but can't seem to figure out how his legs work. He just stands there, looking Izzie in the eye with an expression that kind of says he's sorry but also says "help me," and Izzie just laughs. She laughs and laughs and laughs, until nothing is really funny anymore but she can't stop, so she just keeps on going.
Callie puts the cookies in the oven and leaves, which Izzie can't really fault her for because she's a little worried that she might be going mental. And if Izzie was in Callie's shoes she wouldn't want to intrude on that, plus she has more important things to worry about than harboring mild dislike for George's new girlfriend. Like, she still can't stop laughing.
Alex gets this weird look on his face for a second, and holds her wrists in his hands until she looks up. She's only giggling now, but for some reason tears are running down her face, even though she doesn't really feel anything. She's not happy or sad or amused at all, but that doesn't seem to matter. "Izzie." She can focus on his face, and she's only giggling a little bit now. That's a step. "Izzie, are you okay?"
She doesn't know who this person is, this guy who looks like Alex but seems to feel actual feelings, so she just nods. "Are you going to go crazy?"
She shakes her head, no. She's feeling better, so she'll probably be fine a little later. "Alright, I'm out of here. Later, George."
Izzie hiccups once, twice when Alex walks out the door, and even though she feels a little surge of fear that she's going to start laughing again, she doesn't. So she wipes her cheeks and looks over at George, who's staring at her like he just killed her dog. "I'm sorry. I just. . .I thought I could bake something for you, you know? And that would be nice, and maybe make you feel better. But then I realized that, um, I don't know what your favourite kind of cookies are, so I called Alex, because I thought he might know. And he kind of figured out that I can't really. . .bake, so he came over to help. Except he can't really bake either, and Callie doesn't cook, and. . .I'm sorry. We kind of made a mess."
Izzie can't do anything but smile, and bury her face in his chest. He smells relaxing, like flour and laundry soap. It's a comforting smell, the same way that the sound of petty arguing or Meredith having sex with some strange boy are comforting. It reminds her of a time before Denny. "You, um, don't want to eat them, though. I don't think they're going to be very good."
She knows, because he's George, that he's not going to believe a word she says if she disagrees, so she just keeps hugging him and smiles a little more and asks if they've started betting on who Meredith went home with the night before.
George opens his mouth and looks like he's about to say something comforting, something that's going to remind her of Denny. Izzie braces herself, and maybe he feels it because instead of talking about whether or not she's okay he just gets it and starts gossiping about Meredith's love life like nobody's dead.
Which makes Izzie feel strong enough to lean over the counter to start cleaning up, while she listens to the soothing babble of George's voice until she feels warm inside. If George can make her feel okay, then things will be okay. Even if her mixing bowl is chipped, and they're out of flour.
+++
Later, when Meredith has slipped out to visit her mystery lover like it's a secret she's given up on celibacy, and George and Callie have fallen asleep in front of the TV, Izzie goes downstairs barefoot and steals a cookie straight from the pan. Well, tries to. She has to kind of scrape it off the tray with a butter knife, and when it finally comes loose the knife flies out of her hand and clatters against the floor with a crash that must wake somebody.
Izzie winces a little at the noise, but manages to at least take a first bite of her cookie before George can come in and stop her. It's black on the edges and too gooey in the middle, and tastes a little too much like salt. Plus, the gooey centre is interspersed with clusters of dry oats from shoddy mixing and it's a little too flat, like maybe they forgot to put in all the flour.
"Izzie, please, don't eat -" George trails off when he realizes she's already taken a bite. And gets this look on his face like he wants to call the poison control centre, but needs a minute to overcome his horror and maybe have an aneurysm, first.
"Oatmeal chocolate chip, right?" She smiles, and completely means it. "My favourite."
If George can try to bake her cookies, then things will be okay.
Title: The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions (or, Nobody's Going to Get a Cookie Unless You Two Stop Fighting)
Challenge:
psych_30 #25, "placebo effect"Rating: PG
Summary: George just wanted to do something nice. Post-finale.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
"Give it to me, Alex." There's some low noises she can't quite make out, then, "Seriously, I mean it!"
"No, not unless you promise to do it properly."
"Alex, stop being a jerk - hey!"
"Look. I'm in charge here, and we're doing this my way."
"You're in charge? I - this is my house! You're a guest!" There's the unmistakeable slap of skin hitting skin. "Ow! Fine, would you just. . .stop doing it like that, you're going to break something."
"Would you just shut up, O'Malley?"
Izzie's been listening to this - and variations on this - coming from the kitchen for over an hour. The bickering is oddly soothing after so much quiet. Ordinarily, she'd leave her room to go see what's going on, but their conversation is just ambiguous enough that they might be having sex. She's pretty sure they aren't - mostly because it's George and Alex, and even in Bizarro world the chances of that happening are pretty slim. But also because it sounds like sometimes there's a third person in the kitchen with them, occasionally shushing them when they get too carried away.
Still. She is only listening, and George and Alex doing it on the kitchen counter isn't really something she wants to get surprised by. Plus, Denny's dead. And going downstairs will just make them concerned and they'll start to act like Denny's dead instead of fighting about who gets to be on top, or whatever the hell it is they're doing. Which will just remind her that he's dead, and that's not only aggravating and very upsetting but kind of defeats the purpose of hanging out with her friends to take her mind off of things. And if she just listens, it makes her feel better because if Alex can still make George angry after Denny's dead, then not everything has changed and maybe it will all be okay. So. She's just listening.
"You're doing it wrong. O'Malley, give me that."
The ensuing sounds of scuffle and the loud metallic crash make Izzie think that whatever "that" is, one of them's gone ahead and dropped it. "Nice going, George."
"What are you talking about? It fell because you hit it with your arm!"
"Yeah, because you were trying to feel me up or something."
"I was not feeling you up! I was hitting, with my fists. Hitting!"
"Hey, man, I'm not going to judge. It's perfectly normal to be into me."
"I am not into you."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Would you guys quit it?" This is new. Mystery Third Person is finally shouting a little herself. "You're supposed to be doctors. Adult doctors."
"Are too."
There's a swish and a thump that means the front door is open, and whatever George was going to say back - Izzie can't see him but she knows that tone, knows he's never been one to back down from a childish argument, knows he had something to say - dies before the words can leave his mouth. Meredith's home. There's another swish that means the kitchen door is open, and a brief pause where Izzie can't hear anything but the clack of heels on hardwood.
Then, she hears Meredith's voice. Loudly. Even louder than George and Alex have been, underscored by the clatter of something else hitting the floor. Izzie fears briefly for her mixing bowl, but the moment passes when she realizes that a) they would have to be baking something in the kitchen to drop her mixing bowl, and b) even if they were baking, George couldn't identify a kitchen utensil if his life depended on it.
"George! Alex! What the hell is - "
Meredith's voice drops away suddenly. Very, very suddenly, like she's just been shushed - or, knowing George and Alex, had a hand clapped over her open mouth - by three people at once. It's adorable because it means they think Izzie is still sleeping, despite the fact that they've spent the last hour fighting loudly enough to wake a deaf coma patient. A dead deaf coma patient.
Izzie rolls out of bed and pulls on some pyjama pants, trying not to look at the dress crumpled in the corner or trip over the shoes she left somewhere in the middle of the floor. Or have any other thoughts that might be remotely related to the worst prom in history, because she's still having trouble with the ridiculousness of the fact that she's a grown woman who is somehow getting upset about her boyfriend dying on prom night. Prom night. Which is why she's ignoring the whole idea of it for now, and going downstairs for a closer look.
She tiptoes down the hallway like she's five years old, settles on the stairs just above the one that always squeaks, and hopes nobody is looking through the kitchen door. The tiny part of her that's still competitive like a surgeon is pretty sure this is going to be too good to miss, and she doesn't want to interrupt the show.
"What is going on? What have you done to my kitchen? What's all over the floor? Alex, what the hell are you doing here?" Meredith's voice is getting higher, like she's on a roll and getting good and ready to freak out like only she can.
Alex interrupts her, like he's explaining something to a small child. "Because," and even though Izzie can't see him, she can picture the smirk on his face, "O'Malley's an idiot."
"I am not" and the scrape of a chair come at about the same time.
"Ow, let go of my - O'Malley, that's my hair!"
"George! Stop that!"
Had she been in the room, Izzie could have told Alex he was pushing his luck. George is better at taking down bigger, heavier guys than most people give him credit for. Mostly from being a baby brother his whole life, but also from spending the better part of a year fighting over a single bathroom with two girls who don't get much sleep. Meredith is scrappier than she looks when the last hot shower is at stake.
"Hey, get your hands off him!"
This catches Izzie so much off guard that she actually laughs out loud. Because Mystery Third Person is definitely Callie, and only George would pull another man's hair, sober, in front of his fairly new girlfriend. Izzie hopes nobody's noticed the noise, hopes they'll continue with their lives without remembering her and all the baggage that now belongs to her, but her luck hasn't been great these past couple of days and it seems to be holding steady.
Everything goes quiet. It's awkward, and she realizes they've stopped everything like she's Bailey catching them taking a break. She knows exactly what they'll look like when she goes in there, frozen in place and staring at each other like they're trying to come up with a plan. There's a little stab of guilt when she realizes she's almost mad at Denny, for going ahead and dying and making her friends not know how to act around her. But she's not thinking about that right now because hey, her feet seem to have gone ahead and started walking without her consent, and she's in front of the kitchen door.
Which leaves Izzie with nothing else to do but go inside, only to be greeted with the perfect picture of epic chaos. A small army of toddlers could not have done a better job, and she's almost impressed at the total disaster the three of them seem to have produced. George is sheepishly moving away from Alex and putting his hands behind his back, avoiding Izzie's eyes. Alex is straightening up, trying and failing to make rubbing his throbbing scalp look manly and cool.
Alex'x hair is also, for some reason, totally white, and there's white powder down the front of his jeans, in George's hair and the front of his shirt, all over the floor. As she slowly pieces everything together - Callie is spooning something that looks like it aspires to be batter onto a baking sheet, the flour container is upside-down next to the kitchen table, almost every drawer that could possibly hold something baking-related is open - she almost wishes she'd walked in on George and Alex having sex.
"Oh my god." She opens her mouth to say more, but the words just aren't happening. There was attempted baking. Baking was almost happening, and she wasn't involved, and her life is much too weird for her brain to handle all at once.
Meredith slips out the door to go upstairs, like she's trying to avoid notice now that she's spent five minutes shrieking in her kitchen in the slinky black prom dress she was wearing the night before. George looks like he desperately, desperately wants to follow her, but can't seem to figure out how his legs work. He just stands there, looking Izzie in the eye with an expression that kind of says he's sorry but also says "help me," and Izzie just laughs. She laughs and laughs and laughs, until nothing is really funny anymore but she can't stop, so she just keeps on going.
Callie puts the cookies in the oven and leaves, which Izzie can't really fault her for because she's a little worried that she might be going mental. And if Izzie was in Callie's shoes she wouldn't want to intrude on that, plus she has more important things to worry about than harboring mild dislike for George's new girlfriend. Like, she still can't stop laughing.
Alex gets this weird look on his face for a second, and holds her wrists in his hands until she looks up. She's only giggling now, but for some reason tears are running down her face, even though she doesn't really feel anything. She's not happy or sad or amused at all, but that doesn't seem to matter. "Izzie." She can focus on his face, and she's only giggling a little bit now. That's a step. "Izzie, are you okay?"
She doesn't know who this person is, this guy who looks like Alex but seems to feel actual feelings, so she just nods. "Are you going to go crazy?"
She shakes her head, no. She's feeling better, so she'll probably be fine a little later. "Alright, I'm out of here. Later, George."
Izzie hiccups once, twice when Alex walks out the door, and even though she feels a little surge of fear that she's going to start laughing again, she doesn't. So she wipes her cheeks and looks over at George, who's staring at her like he just killed her dog. "I'm sorry. I just. . .I thought I could bake something for you, you know? And that would be nice, and maybe make you feel better. But then I realized that, um, I don't know what your favourite kind of cookies are, so I called Alex, because I thought he might know. And he kind of figured out that I can't really. . .bake, so he came over to help. Except he can't really bake either, and Callie doesn't cook, and. . .I'm sorry. We kind of made a mess."
Izzie can't do anything but smile, and bury her face in his chest. He smells relaxing, like flour and laundry soap. It's a comforting smell, the same way that the sound of petty arguing or Meredith having sex with some strange boy are comforting. It reminds her of a time before Denny. "You, um, don't want to eat them, though. I don't think they're going to be very good."
She knows, because he's George, that he's not going to believe a word she says if she disagrees, so she just keeps hugging him and smiles a little more and asks if they've started betting on who Meredith went home with the night before.
George opens his mouth and looks like he's about to say something comforting, something that's going to remind her of Denny. Izzie braces herself, and maybe he feels it because instead of talking about whether or not she's okay he just gets it and starts gossiping about Meredith's love life like nobody's dead.
Which makes Izzie feel strong enough to lean over the counter to start cleaning up, while she listens to the soothing babble of George's voice until she feels warm inside. If George can make her feel okay, then things will be okay. Even if her mixing bowl is chipped, and they're out of flour.
+++
Later, when Meredith has slipped out to visit her mystery lover like it's a secret she's given up on celibacy, and George and Callie have fallen asleep in front of the TV, Izzie goes downstairs barefoot and steals a cookie straight from the pan. Well, tries to. She has to kind of scrape it off the tray with a butter knife, and when it finally comes loose the knife flies out of her hand and clatters against the floor with a crash that must wake somebody.
Izzie winces a little at the noise, but manages to at least take a first bite of her cookie before George can come in and stop her. It's black on the edges and too gooey in the middle, and tastes a little too much like salt. Plus, the gooey centre is interspersed with clusters of dry oats from shoddy mixing and it's a little too flat, like maybe they forgot to put in all the flour.
"Izzie, please, don't eat -" George trails off when he realizes she's already taken a bite. And gets this look on his face like he wants to call the poison control centre, but needs a minute to overcome his horror and maybe have an aneurysm, first.
"Oatmeal chocolate chip, right?" She smiles, and completely means it. "My favourite."
If George can try to bake her cookies, then things will be okay.