t h e . p r a c t i c a l . a p p l i c a t i o n . o f . b a k e d . g o o d s

The Practical Application of Baked Goods
[by victoria p.]

Rating: G

Summary: Izzie is grieving, but she isn't healing, and George can't stand that.

Spoilers: Through the end of season 2.

Notes: Thanks to Laura Smith for the help! All Fox's fault.

Date: July 2, 2006

George misses the kind of crazy Izzie used to be before Denny died. That was a crazy he could understand, and even when he couldn't, at least there were brownies in the morning. Now, she spends her days curled up in bed, staring off into the distance, and nothing anyone says to her gets a response. He's almost ready to ask Bailey to come over and yell at her, just to see if she'll answer, but then he realizes that would just be making things worse, and worse is definitely not a place he wants to see.

When he's working, immersed in charts and tests and the perforated bowel of a shooting victim, he can almost forget she's not there anymore, but their table at lunch is always one short, and the locker room is subdued. Cristina is spending all her free time with Dr. Burke, and George can't blame her for that. He's not sure Izzie would want to see her anyway, since Dr. Burke lived and Denny didn't. And Meredith is...George doesn't even know and he's not sure he really cares, because even though she says she's going to hang out and help him with Izzie, she never seems to be around when he needs her.

Alex comes by, but even he can't rile Izzie, and George can tell he's trying. George isn't sure when he started to think Alex was okay, and he isn't sure he likes that he's not being an asshole all the time anymore, because it's just one more change in a whole massive set of changes George isn't really ready to deal with, but he's not exactly being given a choice, so he deals. He always does. And since Alex is doing it for Izzie, George supposes it's all right.

The first few weeks, they try to give Izzie time and space--Meredith talks about the stages of grief and the healing process, and Cristina nods absently, as if they know what they're talking about, since they watch people die every day. It's not the same, though, and they all know it, even if none of them can actually say so.

Izzie is grieving, but she isn't healing, and George can't stand that.

One morning soon after the first month anniversary (and George wants to comment on how morbid that is, but he keeps his mouth shut when Meredith kicks him, because it's the first time since the funeral they've gotten Izzie out of the house), George marches into Izzie's room, flicks on the light, and yanks the curtains open.

He says, "That's enough. You haven't showered in days and I don't even know want to know when the last time you changed those sheets was." He ignores the little voice in the back of his head mocking how much he sounds like his mother and pulls at the comforter, hoping it will come clean off like a magician whipping a tablecloth out from under a table full of dishes, but of course Izzie's wrapped in it, and she jerks it back, defiant.

"Get out, George."

Her voice is rusty with disuse, and she's thin and hollow-eyed, lank hair pulled back in a ratty ponytail, and for an instant, he hates Denny Duquette with every fiber of his being, hates that he turned beautiful, vibrant Izzie into this weeping, shrinking shell of herself, and left George to clean up the mess.

"Izzie, please."

"Just go away," Izzie shouts, turning away from him and pulling the comforter over her head.

Meredith comes out of her bedroom, robe flapping behind her, and puts a hand on George's arm. "Let her be, George," she says softly, glancing in at the lump-that-is-Izzie and then away. She leads him from the room and closes the door behind them. "She just needs time."

"It's been a month--"

"I know, but think of everything she's lost, George. Not just Denny, but everything."

George grunts in frustration. "Not everything," he says. "She's still got us."

Meredith shakes her head and smiles sadly. "She does, but maybe we're just painful reminders right now." She ruffles his hair and walks back to her room. George stands there for a while and thinks.

On his next day off, George sets himself up in the kitchen and starts to bake. He's never made anything from scratch before, but he's held a human heart, so he's sure he can make brownies (how hard can it be?), even if they won't be as good as Izzie's.

He's got the first batch in the oven when he hears the creak of footsteps on the stairs. He ignores it, pretends to be engrossed in mixing up a second batch, when she says, "If you let them cook too long, you'll never get them out of the pan."

He looks up and Izzie's standing in the doorway, wrapped in a bathrobe. Her hair is still pulled into a ratty ponytail and her eyes are still underlined by purple shadows that make her look like a heroin addict, but she's wearing a tentative smile, and it's the most beautiful thing George has ever seen.

"Hey," he says as nonchalantly as he can, though his heart is racing. "They've got another," he glances at the clock, "oh, I suppose I should take them out now."

He fumbles with the oven door, because the mitts are kind of unwieldy, and he almost drops the pan, but when he turns back to the table, Izzie has set the cooling rack on it.

"They smell good," she says, and he can feel himself blushing. She looks at the recipe--now dusted with flour and stained with cocoa--and sniffs. "You printed a recipe off the internet, George?"

"We can't all be geniuses with baked goods." The fact that he's grinning like a crazy person takes the bite out of it.

"Maybe we can add a pinch of cinnamon to the next batch. And do you have the icing ready?"

"Icing?" he asks. "There's icing?"

She puts a hand on her hip and taps the piece of paper with one bitten-down fingernail. "Did you even read this?"

"I'm joking. Of course I have the icing ready." He slides a bowl across the table. "It's good. Want a taste?" He waits, just a tiny bit anxious as she sticks her finger into the bowl of icing and then slides it into her mouth.

"Mmm. Good job, George," she says, licking her lips. She leans in and gives him a quick kiss. He can taste the chocolate on his own lips when she's done, and he thinks she doesn't just mean the icing.

"Yeah," he says, pleased.

end

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Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and all its characters belong to Shonda Rhimes and various other corporate entities. This fan-written fiction intends no copyright infringement .