Meredith and her spine grow up
Somewhere around the time her house becomes quarters for George’s interns, Meredith finally says enough. The phone bill is astronomical and someone tries to have DSL installed. These aren’t her persons, with their strange slang and irreverent “royally inbred” jokes. She wants them out.
Does it by degrees, while phasing in a different personality. Cuts her hair into a strawberry blonde bob with pale pink streaks like her childhood goth. She demands rent. Upfront. Charges the going Seattle rate and smiles when Alex complains. He patently ignores the changes to her hair.
“No dated your sis discount?” a whiny grunt as he throws an arm over her shoulder like the friend he’s become.
“Shut up,” she snaps, hiding a smile behind her eyes because he really doesn’t count. The locusts leave and she cleans her couch. Sure that there are more than enough DNA samples to call the Center for Disease Control.
She pops bubblegum during staff meetings and watches the Chief scowl. He’s her father now. Hands down. Trading one alcoholic for another because he teaches her old school, eyes closed with soft firm words that tell her he’ll catch her if she falls. She never does anymore. Sutures lined up. Patient closed. She’s still trouble. Becoming the hotshot her mother was and loving every minute of it because he’s so damn proud. The only daughter he’s got when she wheedles for more surgery hours. From time to time he flinches when she does something different and new. She laughs, and sometimes shows him how.
Mark smiles at her. Still her dirty ex-mistress friend. She wears high heels meeting him at Joe’s to drink and ends up wearing them to bed. Sober. Giggling. Home for a moment. Self-destructive on a whim. Adolescent and enjoying it. They talk therapy shop and Shepherd scars, both He and She. It helps. Because he loves her hair, her smile, her skin. It’s enough to know that she’ll never go backwards again. He buys her 212 Sexy because it’s so New York and her and them. She never smells like lavender again. They break up because he falls utterly hopelessly in love with someone else… or so he thinks. She kind of wants to see what his therapist bills him.
Lexie is not her best friend. But she looks after George and Meredith is grateful for that. They start having brunch every now and then. Far from the hospital. Talk about Susan because she is all they have left. Thatcher went on a bender and never came back. Meredith stares at her, scares the girl shitless with her scowls. They have nothing in common but medicine and she’s better at that. When she feels generous they sit on the swing on her front porch but don’t talk. They have boundaries. Her dark eyes are Thatcher’s, slapping her for murder. Nothing else seems to matter.
Clinical trials progress. More survivors than deaths. Dr. Shepherd is never Derek and when he says he misses ferryboats, she reminds him that she never did that with him. The specter of Addison rises again and she reviews post-op notes succinctly without a tremor. They did adultery, drowning and insults but never got around to trust. She misses him. Never denies herself that weight. Briefly, ever so briefly she toys with the idea of cheesecake, but sanity wins. Her hand on his cheek is delicate. Full of forgiveness. Loving him is her favourite mistake. She suggests he fucks Rose on a ferryboat, create new memories instead of reveling in the old. He blinks. Her mouth has gone foul but she loves it. Every last piece of herself and she only got this way without him.
Cristina loves her. Absolutely adores the new her. Kisses her one night and bitches about Hahn and Burke and love. Meredith responds in kind. Blames Callie for the idea popping into both their heads. It’s a one night role reversal, Meredith comforting Cristina in a way they’d never done. A moment of weakness they promptly try to forget and mostly succeed. They stop hugging. Meredith doesn’t need it and Cristina never liked it so they compete for surgeries and play darts and every so once in awhile kiss each other’s cheeks when something is wrong. It’s the only kind of love they can handle for now.
When she and Izzie finally do talk, after the baking incident that nearly burned down the house, it’s civil. Meredith fucked George first, but Izzie fucked him up worse so they call a truce and hold his birthday party in her backyard, no interns allowed. Izzie bakes the cake and Meredith buys an apple pie and vanilla ice cream. They make it all Honey Homemaker with red and white checked picnic tablecloths and enough alcohol to secure Cristina’s attendance. While George coughs over too many candles, Izzie quietly says she’ll move out, holding off on theatrics because Meredith holds the knife for cutting the cake. They’ve had fights enough.
He knocks her back into the wall. She laughs because they’re finally freaking alone. It only took nine months; after more than a year of therapy to figure this part out. Merry sports a navel ring dangling with a dolphin the changing colour of her eyes. Barefoot with black toenails, she giggles when his hands search her scalp for lumps. Still blonde and pink but there’s no blood and she’s not fragile anymore. He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips. It is the sweetest first kiss because she’s ready and committed and he never has to know because she does: his mouth a wet trail of wishes coming true in their wake. Alex looks up from the four-leaf clover that covers her appendix scar with surprise.
“Do you actually believe in good luck?” he mumbles, tonguing each green leaf with small darting licks as she groans.
“Shut up,” and he’s teasing, because with him it’s still that easy. She pushes him over the arm of the couch. Grins at his muttered curse. She makes her own joy and pain and she’s going to give it all to him, again and again and again.
Somewhere around the fifth year of residency, her house becomes home. His old room is now the gym. She does yoga in Izzie’s room. Her hair is blonde brown again and the others come over. Cristina with tequila and Izzie with cupcakes. George does the microwave popcorn. They watch her mother’s old tapes and try not to think about how interconnected they are by sex and surgery and emotional scars. It doesn’t always work. This is her family. She's actually living now.
~*~.
Does it by degrees, while phasing in a different personality. Cuts her hair into a strawberry blonde bob with pale pink streaks like her childhood goth. She demands rent. Upfront. Charges the going Seattle rate and smiles when Alex complains. He patently ignores the changes to her hair.
“No dated your sis discount?” a whiny grunt as he throws an arm over her shoulder like the friend he’s become.
“Shut up,” she snaps, hiding a smile behind her eyes because he really doesn’t count. The locusts leave and she cleans her couch. Sure that there are more than enough DNA samples to call the Center for Disease Control.
She pops bubblegum during staff meetings and watches the Chief scowl. He’s her father now. Hands down. Trading one alcoholic for another because he teaches her old school, eyes closed with soft firm words that tell her he’ll catch her if she falls. She never does anymore. Sutures lined up. Patient closed. She’s still trouble. Becoming the hotshot her mother was and loving every minute of it because he’s so damn proud. The only daughter he’s got when she wheedles for more surgery hours. From time to time he flinches when she does something different and new. She laughs, and sometimes shows him how.
Mark smiles at her. Still her dirty ex-mistress friend. She wears high heels meeting him at Joe’s to drink and ends up wearing them to bed. Sober. Giggling. Home for a moment. Self-destructive on a whim. Adolescent and enjoying it. They talk therapy shop and Shepherd scars, both He and She. It helps. Because he loves her hair, her smile, her skin. It’s enough to know that she’ll never go backwards again. He buys her 212 Sexy because it’s so New York and her and them. She never smells like lavender again. They break up because he falls utterly hopelessly in love with someone else… or so he thinks. She kind of wants to see what his therapist bills him.
Lexie is not her best friend. But she looks after George and Meredith is grateful for that. They start having brunch every now and then. Far from the hospital. Talk about Susan because she is all they have left. Thatcher went on a bender and never came back. Meredith stares at her, scares the girl shitless with her scowls. They have nothing in common but medicine and she’s better at that. When she feels generous they sit on the swing on her front porch but don’t talk. They have boundaries. Her dark eyes are Thatcher’s, slapping her for murder. Nothing else seems to matter.
Clinical trials progress. More survivors than deaths. Dr. Shepherd is never Derek and when he says he misses ferryboats, she reminds him that she never did that with him. The specter of Addison rises again and she reviews post-op notes succinctly without a tremor. They did adultery, drowning and insults but never got around to trust. She misses him. Never denies herself that weight. Briefly, ever so briefly she toys with the idea of cheesecake, but sanity wins. Her hand on his cheek is delicate. Full of forgiveness. Loving him is her favourite mistake. She suggests he fucks Rose on a ferryboat, create new memories instead of reveling in the old. He blinks. Her mouth has gone foul but she loves it. Every last piece of herself and she only got this way without him.
Cristina loves her. Absolutely adores the new her. Kisses her one night and bitches about Hahn and Burke and love. Meredith responds in kind. Blames Callie for the idea popping into both their heads. It’s a one night role reversal, Meredith comforting Cristina in a way they’d never done. A moment of weakness they promptly try to forget and mostly succeed. They stop hugging. Meredith doesn’t need it and Cristina never liked it so they compete for surgeries and play darts and every so once in awhile kiss each other’s cheeks when something is wrong. It’s the only kind of love they can handle for now.
When she and Izzie finally do talk, after the baking incident that nearly burned down the house, it’s civil. Meredith fucked George first, but Izzie fucked him up worse so they call a truce and hold his birthday party in her backyard, no interns allowed. Izzie bakes the cake and Meredith buys an apple pie and vanilla ice cream. They make it all Honey Homemaker with red and white checked picnic tablecloths and enough alcohol to secure Cristina’s attendance. While George coughs over too many candles, Izzie quietly says she’ll move out, holding off on theatrics because Meredith holds the knife for cutting the cake. They’ve had fights enough.
He knocks her back into the wall. She laughs because they’re finally freaking alone. It only took nine months; after more than a year of therapy to figure this part out. Merry sports a navel ring dangling with a dolphin the changing colour of her eyes. Barefoot with black toenails, she giggles when his hands search her scalp for lumps. Still blonde and pink but there’s no blood and she’s not fragile anymore. He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips. It is the sweetest first kiss because she’s ready and committed and he never has to know because she does: his mouth a wet trail of wishes coming true in their wake. Alex looks up from the four-leaf clover that covers her appendix scar with surprise.
“Do you actually believe in good luck?” he mumbles, tonguing each green leaf with small darting licks as she groans.
“Shut up,” and he’s teasing, because with him it’s still that easy. She pushes him over the arm of the couch. Grins at his muttered curse. She makes her own joy and pain and she’s going to give it all to him, again and again and again.
Somewhere around the fifth year of residency, her house becomes home. His old room is now the gym. She does yoga in Izzie’s room. Her hair is blonde brown again and the others come over. Cristina with tequila and Izzie with cupcakes. George does the microwave popcorn. They watch her mother’s old tapes and try not to think about how interconnected they are by sex and surgery and emotional scars. It doesn’t always work. This is her family. She's actually living now.
~*~.