CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
time has come today.
season three, episodes one and two.

"HOW ARE YOU FEELING?" BAILEY ASKED WARILY AS SHE STEPPED INTO THE ROOM. Cassie hadn't spoken, let alone made eye contact, with anyone since Meredith told her out about Denny's death.

Cassie did nothing, other than shrug her shoulders as a response. Bailey sighed, and left the room. Derek, who was waiting at the nurses station, immediately went up to her.

"Nothing?" he inquired.

"Can you blame her?" Bailey let out a sharp breath. "In the span of the last thirty six hours, she got shot, underwent a dangerous surgery, and lost the last family she had left. Not to mention, he died because of a post-op complication, caused by someone she once considered a close friend. Honestly, I'm surprised that she's able to keep it together at all."

"I'm her family," Derek corrected, running a hand down his face. "But I have no clue what to do."

Bailey tilted her head in thought, looking at the numb girl through the glass. "She's stubborn, headstrong, but in a lot of pain. She's not going to want to open up, but she will eventually. And when she does, you need to be there."

☆

In Meredith's bathroom, Izzie Stevens lied on the floor in her prom dress. Despite their best efforts, the interns couldn't get her to move.

"Izzie, come on," Alex pleaded through the door.

"Okay, she's been in there all night. We have to do something," George said.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Meredith nodded, noticing the stares she was getting. "Why are you all looking at me?"

"Well, this is familiar territory to you," Cristina shrugged.

Meredith scoffed. "There is nothing familiar about this. Unfamiliar. Denny died. The man she loves died. One of her best friends hates her, and probably will forever."

"Yeah, but you're all dark and twisty inside."

"Normally we would go to Cassie for this, since I'm pretty sure that she has magic powers that can make people feel better," George added.

"But she just got shot, lost her only father figure, and wants to rip Izzie's head off, so...." Alex trailed off.

"Dark and twisty?" Meredith scoffed.

Cristina nodded. "The mother with the Alzheimer's thing, and the father that you don't talk to."

"The tequila thing, and the inappropriate men thing..."

"You are dark and twisty inside Meredith, and now Izzie is dark and twisty inside."

"So now all the sudden, I'm the president of people with crappy lives?"

"No," Cristina disagreed, "I think Cassie deserves that title."

George frowned in thought. "Wait, why are we all here? Why isn't anyone with Cass?"

Meredith gave him a pointed look, crossing her arms over her chest. "We tried, remember?"

"All she did was throw a shoe at me," Cristina grumbled. "It hurt. Girl's got an arm."

☆

"You don't have to do this, you know," Bailey said softly, wheeling Cassie down to the morgue. The brunette stayed silent, staring straight ahead. "I mean it, Cassie. I can do it."

Cassie stopped the wheelchair with her hand, turning her head slightly so she could be heard. "It's my responsibility."

Bailey looked at the ground, feeling upset and guilty about the entire situation. She felt like she failed her.

The smell of death never used to bother Cassie ever since she practiced on cadavers in medical school, but the moment they entered the morgue, she wanted nothing more than to puke her guts out.

"Hey, you're here to ID the body?" the mortician asked. Cassie simply nodded as a response.

"How does this work?" Bailey asked him.

"You just gotta ID the body before I take him to the funeral home. So I don't take the wrong guy."

"That happens?"

The mortician let out a chuckle. "You wouldn't believe how many times I take the wrong guy."

Denny's body was inside a body bag, and was wheeled out on a stretcher. Once the bag was unzipped, Cassie slowly looked inside.

What was meant to be a brief glance, turned into her staring at his face, memorizing every feature. It only hit her just now that this was the last time she was ever going to see him.

Bailey noticed this, speaking up since Cassie was unable to. "That's him. That's Denny Duquette."

"Great, let's load him up. And sign here," he said, handing Cassie a clipboard.

Bailey gently rested an arm on Cassie's shoulder. "When's the funeral?"

"No funeral," Cassie murmured. "Both of his parents are dead. I was his only family. I haven't, um, I haven't received his will yet, but I remember him saying that he didn't want a funeral, because no one other than me would show up."

"Well, I'm sure that's not—"

"No funeral," she repeated sternly, handing the clipboard back to the mortician.

"Wait, wait, wait," Bailey said, just before the guy could take the body away. She leaned in, whispered a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Cassie reached up to lightly brush away the hairs that were sprawled across his forehead.

"Goodbye, Den. I love you."

☆

"Hey, angel."

Cassie froze at the familiar voice coming from the doorway, but stayed planted in bed without looking up.

"Why are you here, Mark?" she asked quietly.

"You know why I'm here." He stepped into the room, closing the door on his way in and sitting on the edge of her bed. Cassie turned her head to the left to avoid his gaze. "Derek and Addison called me. I left as soon as I could."

"You didn't need to come. I'm fine."

Mark gave her a look. "Cassandra."

Cassie couldn't help but angle her head towards him as a small smile tugged at her lips. "What's with the full name? Damn, you'd think someone died or something."

"Not funny."

"It was kind of funny."

"How are you so calm about this?" Mark questioned suddenly, surprising her. "You almost died, Cass. When Addie called me, I thought that was it. I thought you were gone for good, that I'd never see you again."

Cassie thought for a moment, guilt creeping up on her. "I'm sorry."

"What?" he frowned, grabbing her hand. "Cass, that's not what I— there's no reason for you to be sorry."

She sighed in frustration. "Then what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I was worried sick, and I don't understand why you're acting like almost dying isn't a big deal—"

"Because it's not!" Cassie snapped out of the blue. She attempted to push down the tears like she had for the last few hours, but to no avail. "It's not a big deal. But you know what is? Denny dying, Mark. That's a big deal."

"Cass," Mark sighed, his face dropping at the heartbroken look on her face. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It's no one's fault," he said. "These things just happen."

"No," she shook her head, glaring at the bed. "It is, and they don't."

Mark frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Cassie looked up, puffy eyes making eye contact with sympathetic ones.

"Izzie Stevens murdered Denny."

☆

"Ouch," Cassie winced as she stubbed her toe on the edge of Derek's bed. Ever since she'd been discharged a week prior, she'd been living in his trailer to avoid seeing Izzie.

Mark left only a few days after he came, considering that he had an entire surgical practice in New York and dozens of patients lined up for surgeries. He was clearly reluctant to go, but she assured him she would be fine.

Mark made her promise not to go to jail for homicide.

Cassie made no such promise.

"Is it your incision?" Derek asked hurriedly, stumbling out of the bathroom half dressed when he heard her sound of pain. "Are you okay? Are you bleeding?"

"I stubbed my toe, Derek," she laughed it off.

He frowned, sending her a disapproving look. "I still think that you should wait another week before you come back to work."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"Yeah," Derek huffed, lowing his voice so she couldn't hear. "Yeah, you keep saying that."

"Did you say something?"

"Nope," he denied. "But really, you're sure that you're ready to go back? Because the chief will understand if you need some more time."

"One hundred percent," Cassie nodded, ignoring the feeling of emptiness and anger in her chest that hadn't left since that night.

"If you say so." He grabbed a granola bar for himself, turning to his sister in the process. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry right now," she said nonchalantly, grabbing her purse and slinging it over her shoulder as she left the trailer.

☆

"So, um, Dr. Bailey?"

George stood nervously in front of his resident, along with Meredith, Cristina, and Alex.

"Surgeons don't say um, Dr. O'Malley. You want to be a surgeon, learn to speak like one."

"Look, he wants you to talk to the chief about Izzie," Alex said.

"She just baking. A lot of baking—"

"O'Malley," Bailey said, her eye catching a figure standing behind the group.

"—and it seems a waste for all her talent and medical skills to go into muffins—"

"O'Malley, stop talking."

"—and I get that what she did was awful, but we thought you might be willing to help—"

"Stop talking!" Bailey ordered, just as the interns finally understood what she was looking at.

Cassie stood only a few feet behind them, staring at her shoes uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Dr. Bailey," she apologized, not daring to look at their pitying faces. "Dr. Webber needed me to fill out some paperwork before I could come back."

"That's alright," Bailey said slowly, "we're just starting rounds. Feel free to contribute whenever you're ready."

Cassie nodded, pushing past the others without so much as sparing them a glance.

The group followed her to the next patient room, where Derek met them shortly after. "Good morning. Benjamin, Ruth."

"Good Morning Dr. Shepherd," the patient's sister smiled.

"It doesn't feel like a very good morning to me. I have to have brain surgery today," Ben said bluntly. "Pretty scary. Plus my sister's nervous, and when she gets nervous she sweats, and the windows in here don't open so it's pretty rank."

Cassie's eyes widened, in shock and in slight amusement.

"Benjamin," Ruth scolded.

"Was I rude Ruthie?"

"Let's let the doctors talk."

"Uh, Dr. Harper," Derek handed her the chart. "Would you like to present?"

"Yes, um, Benjamin O'Leary, 32. In for the removal of a brain tumor that's pushing on his frontal temporal lobe. Um, clearly it's affecting his impulse control."

"It makes me say everything I think, which apparently is annoying. This doctor looks annoyed anyway," he said, pointing to Cristina, "although it's hard to tell, because she always has a kind of pinched uptight look on her face. And this one," he pointed to Cassie, "she looks really sad, and a little angry. Oh, am I annoying you?"

"It's fine," Cristina gave him a tight lipped smile.

"You can't say it's fine. He doesn't perceive sarcasm or irony. If he's annoying you, you have to tell him," his sister informed them.

"Maybe I'm not annoying her, Ruthie."

"No, you are," Cristina said.

"Dr. Yang—"

Cristina shrugged. "Well, he asked."

"Okay," Derek interjected. "Dr. Harper is going to be prepping you for surgery today. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Is that blonde your girlfriend? Cause with the way you keep looking at her, you might as well mount her right here and now."

Cassie let out a snort, which she poorly covered up by coughing, earning her a dirty look from Derek. "Excuse me. Tickle in my throat."

"I'm sorry, was that rude?"

☆

"Is that a tree?" George questioned, looking down at the OR where Alex and Webber were operating.

"His mother rivals my mother. And that is saying something," Cristina complained about Burke's mother, who was in town.

"They're operating around it?" George continued, staring at the tree impaling itself on the patient.

"Both dark and evil. You're blocking my view, George," Cristina groaned.

Meredith looked at her person. "I miss dirty stripper Cristina. She was fun, and a lot less angry."

"Next time I see her, if she even looks at me sideways, I'm telling her what I think. She wants to call me racist? I'll call her sexist. Change my career after I'm married? What is this, 1953? She comes at me, I'm going there."

Meredith agreed. "I think you should. I think we all should just go there. You know, tell the truth. Spit it out. Go with your gut. Follow your instincts."

"I miss philandering whore Meredith. She was trashy, and much less idyllic," Cristina smirked.

"I made a choice. I'm picking Derek. Finn is great. But Derek... is Derek. And I'm following my gut."

"Whatever," Cristina waved her off. "I want my patient back. You know, the one you stole after mama cornered me?"

"That's okay. It's my day to check on Izzie anyway." She paused for a moment. "Hey, have any of you talked to Cass yet?"

George shook his head. "No, I've been trying to all day, but she keeps avoiding me."

"Probably because she overheard you blabbing on about blondie killer."

"Cristina!"

"What?" she shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

☆

"You see that right there? It's too close to the cavernous sinus," Derek said in surgery with Cassie, who he was making sure to keep a close eye on. "Suction. I've got a bleeder."

"The brain is starting to swell. His heart can't take it," Cassie said.

"Cass, get those paddles. Move!"

"Clear!"

"No change. Epi and atropine are in."

"Still in v-fib," she mentioned.

"Shock him again."

☆

Cassie left the locker room, both physically and emotionally drained. Of course, on my first day back, I lost my patient, she thought glumly. Just my luck.

All she wanted was to go home and curl up in her bed. Not Derek's bed, but her own.

She opened the door to Meredith's house, and was immediately hit with the smell of baked goods wafting from the kitchen.

"Meredith, I don't care what you say, I'm not done baking," Izzie called out with her back turned.

When she didn't get a response, she looked behind her, making eye contact with Cassie.

The brunette, who was blank faced with her arms across her chest, simply stared back at her, causing the blonde to put down the mixing bowl and turn around fully.

Cassie raised an eyebrow. "Surprise."

"Cassie," Izzie gaped, wiping off her hands on her apron. "I didn't expect you here."

Izzie felt guilt weighing her down.

She didn't think about Cassie when she cut the LVAD wire, and it took her a few days to realize it. To realize that she essentially killed Cassie's only remaining family, other than Derek.

And she hated herself for it.

"I live here," Cassie said simply, not moving from her position.

"Listen, Cassie," Izzie began to tear up. "I know you hate me, and trust me, I hate me too, and I'm so sorry for—"

"You know," Cassie interrupted, taking a slow step forward, her arms still crossed. "I did hate you. I hated you, from the moment you cut that wire to the moment I stepped into this kitchen. But now, I don't."

"You don't?"

"No. I don't hate you," Cassie said, speaking in a threateningly calm voice. "I pity you."

Izzie frowned. "You— what?"

Cassie took another step forward, causing Izzie to instinctively step back so she was leaning against the counter.

"I pity you. Because I couldn't imagine how it would feel to be as pathetic as you are," Cassie spat, slightly raising her voice. "I couldn't imagine how it would feel to have so little going for me in life, that I would have to ruin somebody else's. I couldn't imagine how it would feel to be the reason that my friend's family is dead. So yeah. I pity you, Izzie Stevens."

Cassie took a few steps closer, so only about a foot of space was in between them. Looking straight into the blonde's eyes.

"Cassie, I—"

"You think you knew him?" she scoffed. "You didn't know shit. I knew him, Izzie. He was my family, not yours. And you killed him. You were selfish, and cowardly, and egomaniacal, and you killed him."

Izzie let out a sob. "I am so sorry, Cassie."

"I don't care!" Cassie screamed, making her flinch. "I don't care that you're sorry, or that you're hurting, or that the man who you manipulated into loving you is six feet under. I don't care. I'm glad that you feel guilty. In fact, if it were up to me, you would be damn near suicidal right now."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You're a murderer, Isobel. And despite how much I would love to kill you, despite the fact that you deserve it, I won't. Because you already have enough pain to last a lifetime. And I hope, more than anything, that you feel that pain until the day you die."

She turned on her heel and went up to her room, leaving Izzie sobbing in the kitchen, alone.