chapter twenty three

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

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. . 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.