Grey Matter Russian Roulette: A Collection of iZombie Oneshots

Case #10043 (or The one with Miss Cries-a-lot)

Fandom: iZombie

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Liv Moore/Ravi Chakrabarti

Summary: He sighs, stepping into the room, grabbing hold of his lab coat as he does, "I see brain of the week is a real Debbie Downer, haven't had one of those yet." "Yeah," she says, "She's a real barrel of laughs."

Author's Note: The lack of iZombie and Ravioli fic was making me sad, so I've resorted to writing my own. I'm still getting a feel for the characters but I hope this isn't too terrible because I've got the iZombie bug and would really love to write more for them.

Case #10043, MW

Cause of Death: Massive internal haemorrhage

Twenty-two year old Marcia Williams breathes her last under the screech of rubber tyres going seventy miles per hour.

She doesn't see it coming.

And the driver doesn't stop.

She dies bleeding out in the middle of the road, panicked strangers swarming around her, uselessly flapping about and screaming incoherent orders.

Her eyes slip close and never open again.

Marcia Williams dies completely alone.

And all Liv is left with is nothing but random memories triggered by the most unexpected of things and a personality trait that marinates in her insecurities and loves to ruminate on her failures. Her complete inability to help Clive solve this particular case takes front and centre stage.

She sits there on the cold steel stool and stares at the remains of the corpse that supplied her last meal.

It's a strange mix of emotions.

Sadness for the woman in front of her who never really got to live a life. Still studying, always pushing for more from herself, still waiting for her life to happen. And it's all intricately wrapped up with those same feelings projected back on herself.

Her failed relationship with Major. Her failed relationship with her brother. Her mother.

Her promising career in medicine. Also a failure.

It's a lot of failures.

It's no wonder the morose expression on her face has Ravi stopping short as soon he steps into the morgue.

"Why do I have this sudden urge to hide all the scalpels and sharp objects?" he asks, frown furrowing his brow.

Liv doesn't even bother to look up, continues to stare at the discoloured, rigor mortis stricken body lying there on the table.

"I wouldn't bother. I'd probably fail at killing myself too."

She can see him shake his head from the corner of her vision, doesn't see the expression on his face though, but can imagine it just as well.

He sighs, stepping into the room, grabbing hold of his lab coat as he does, "I see brain of the week is a real Debbie Downer, haven't had one of those yet."

"Yeah," she says, "She's a real barrel of laughs."

"Hmm yes, we have had an abundance of smiles these last few days, haven't we?"

He's being sarcastic, she knows he is. Reason tells her he's trying to get her to crack a smile of some sort, and really how hard is it?

A lot hard, apparently, because its like her own brain's been overwritten by the brain of Marcia Williams and her motor memory is completely failing her. Cranial nerve VII is malfunctioning horribly and her tear ducts are working over time in it's place.

It's with a complete sense of horror and humiliation that the first tear drop spills over her bottom eyelid and rolls down her cheek.

She's mortified, and can do nothing to stop the self-berating. "I'm sorry," she says, barely stopping the words from coming out in a pitiful wail, "I don't mean to bring you and everyone around me down all the time. I don't know what's wrong with me! And god! Why do I keep crying? There's nothing to even cry about! Pathetic. I'm so freakin' pathetic!"

"Hey now," Ravi says, rushing forward towards her, a look of sheer alarm on his face at the sight of her emotional meltdown. He never did do brilliantly with tears.

Although that's not completely true, a voice chirps up somewhere in the back of her mind. It brings forward memories of another British man, cold night air, a silently mouthed farewell disguised as a confession of love, and the ringing in her ears as a gunshot echoed into the darkness. She remembers breaking down in this very same place as she learned that outrunning her grief was an impossible feat, and it had been Ravi who had wrapped her in his arms then and started the healing process.

He stops in front of her, effectively cutting off her view of the body on the autopsy table, and for that she's grateful.

It's not doing her any good staring at that lifeless face for hours on end.

He has to crouch down to meet her gaze and its a long way down for him. She forgets how tall he is sometimes.

"Hey," he says again, voice firm and unwavering, "You are not pathetic, Olivia Moore. I will not stand for that kind of talk in my workplace."

If he's trying to play the 'I'm the boss' card, he ruins it with his fingers curling around hers, grip tight and so very warm against her deathly cold skin.

"I expect all my employees-"

"Employee. One employee," she interrupts with a sniffle.

"-I expect my one employee to be a beacon of positivity and enthusiasm-"

The sniffles turn into a snort, and Ravi actually looks offended.

It's smart, though. Playing on this week's alter ego's need to overachieve and do well in everything, be it work, study, relationships, just life in general. She thinks it's that ridiculous strive for perfection that endlessly feeds the insecurities, feeds the monster that constantly snarls in her ear and taunts that she's just not good enough.

"Sorry," she mutters, but he's no longer paying attention. His eyes have widened, sparkling bright just as they do when some new, usually insane, idea has popped into his head out of nowhere.

"Sooo," he says, standing up and pulling her to her feet as he does, "New rule. Every time you start to think something bad about yourself, you shout out something you like instead!"

She looks up at him, knows the expression on her face is one of incredulity and reads a lot like 'Seriously?'

Because, what are they? In kindergarten or something?

"What?" he asks, hands letting go of hers and spreading out wide in front of him, "It's brilliant. You know, I fancied myself a bit of a psychiatrist in med school, but then I realised I actually preferred dissecting brains a little more literally."

She purses her lips, and barely nods out a "Hmm." And then because she can't help herself, "Yeah and the thousands of people suffering with depression thank you for it."

His head snaps back down to her and he narrows his eyes and mutters, "Mean."

"Actually, I'm a rather compassionate individual, I think."

It takes a second for it to sink in. Just what's happened. But then Ravi's shit-eating grin looms over her and she's shaking her head, lips upturned in a smile, "Nicely done, boss. Nicely done."

His hands come up then, cradling her cheeks, thumbs pressing against either side of her mouth as if to hold up her smile.

And it works a treat because that same smile freezes on her face. Not that he notices. No, he's too busy congratulating himself with a self-satisfied smirk of his own, and a cocky, "I like to think so."

She's not sure he realises what it is he's doing. He definitely has no idea that when he steps away, his hands fall too with the slightest caress of his thumbs against her cheeks, and it sends an unexpected spark of warmth through her.

She doesn't get time to think about it too hard though, because he's turning away already, heading straight for the freezers and ordering her about;

"Now get back to work," he says.

She gives him a mock salute behind his back.

He doesn't notice that either, doesn't notice the widening smile.

She thinks back on all her relationships then, and realises.

Maybe she isn't a complete failure after all.

A/N 2: Oh goodness, the cheese. It stinks. I APOLOGISE.