Captain Crash & The Beauty Queen From Mars - Part 2
Title: Captain Crash & The Beauty Queen From Mars
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mer/Der
Rating: T
Summary: Post S4 finale. What happened after Derek left to breakup with Rose?
Way, way, way, WAY behind on my feedback replies. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to post, and thanks for being patient with me while my life blew up in my face. I promise I'll get back to everyone individually as soon as possible. Thanks for reading this story. It was fun to write and play connect-the-dots instead of create-the-dots, for once :)
Captain Crash & The Beauty Queen From Mars - Part 2
The lockup consisted of two medium-sized rooms arrayed with six benches each. Three benches lined the center of each room. One bench lined each non-barred side of each cell. A wide hallway divided the two lockups. Vague sunlight streamed through the barred windows on Derek's side. A fat drunk humming “Henry the 8th” rested on his side by the window behind Derek. The click, click, click behind Meredith's back told her the hooker she'd been sequestered with paced. The hooker's stilettos hit the hard floor as she walked.
Meredith sighed as she shifted on the bench. She sat on the edge closest to the bars, closest to Derek, who was stuck in the opposite cell. They'd been separated. She didn't want to be separated. She wanted to be over there. Actually, she didn't want to be in a cell, period, but that was a different argument.
Her back hurt. She shifted. Her clothes felt yucky, and she wanted a shower. At least Officer Glasscock had allowed them to get fully dressed before arresting them. That had been a nice concession. She bit her lip, recalling Derek's red-faced glower as he'd stepped out of the car and finally had a chance to zip up his pants. He'd been quiet and broody since the click of the handcuffs sliding into place had hit his ears, and he'd said all of three words during in-processing when they'd been fingerprinted.
“This isn't really what I pictured when I said twenty-four hours of supervision,” Meredith said.
Derek sighed. “Me either.”
He paced back and forth along the line of bars. He wiped his face with his hands and yawned when he reached the opposite corner of the cell. Then he turned and lumbered back in her direction. Back and forth. Back and forth. Just like the way the upset jaguar at the zoo always paced. His gait did almost have a leonine quality to it. Dark bags circled underneath his eyes. Every once in a while, he'd pinch his shoulders and perform a brief self-massage of his trapezius muscles, like he was tense, or... like whiplash was setting in, and he realized he was hurting, or...
“Are you okay?” she said.
He didn't stop. “I'm fine,” he said.
She watched him switch back. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wondered how many calories he was burning. A lot, for sure. Had he never been arrested before? She rubbed her arm. Derek followed the rules. He'd probably been on the honor roll in school, gotten awards for perfect attendance, made the valedictorian speech for senior graduation, and done all the crap associated with being a nerd.
“This isn't a big deal, you know,” Meredith said. “They'll let us out soon. Probably later in the morning when the judge is free to arraign us or whatever. I bet we'll be out by lunch.” And, with luck, having some great sex. But she didn't say that part.
Derek stopped, turned, and grabbed the bars. He stared at her, a tense smile tugging at his lips. “And you would know this, how?”
Meredith remembered back in high school when she'd toilet papered a house with some slightly tipsy friends. They'd driven around town in a big van, nabbing signs and parking cones and other lawn decorations from all over the city. Somehow, Shannon McGillicuty, the class valedictorian, had gotten dragged along. Are you sure this is the best idea? Shannon had moaned as they'd driven the van up to the principle's house. That would be Derek, Meredith decided. Shannon. Barfing over breaking the law.
“I've...” Meredith said. “I may have done things. At one point in time.”
“Hmm.” His hint of a smile never turned into a full one. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark, unblinking, and she couldn't pinpoint what his expression meant. The last quiver of mirth on his lips wavered and died. The pacing resumed.
She sighed. “Seriously, Derek, sit down,” she said. “You're making me nervous.”
“You and me both,” muttered the hooker.
Meredith turned and looked at the woman. She was a tall, lanky creature with an anorexic look to her. She had red, stringy hair. Dark, ruined mascara blotched her eyes. She wore a halter top that didn't really cover her black, lacy bra underneath, a short vinyl miniskirt, and long stiletto boots that stopped above her knees.
“You're pacing, too,” Meredith said.
The hooker shrugged. “Strutting,” she said. “It's a job skill.” Her heels plink, plink, plinked against the concrete floor as she continued pacing. Her skirt squeaked as she swayed her hips.
Meredith rolled her eyes and turned back to Derek. He flopped onto the bench across from her and sighed. “Sorry,” he said. He leaned over his knees, and pinched the bridge of his nose like he was suffering.
“How's your head?” she said.
He looked up. His dark eyes flashed with impatience. “It's just a bump, Meredith,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice.
“Sorry,” she said. “I... Sorry.”
He'd been nice about it since she'd found him sitting on the curb with a bloody handkerchief. Almost perfect, really. Calm. Accommodating. This was the first time he'd seemed like he didn't appreciate being asked. She frowned. People with brain injuries sometimes acted nasty. Overly anxious. Or...
The drunk lying on the bench behind Derek rolled, and a loud, slurred verse of his toneless song coiled in the air. Derek cringed, and he resumed stroking the sides of his nose as though he thought his head would burst. He inhaled. He pressed the flat of his palms against his knees. He stood. He continued his monotonous pacing. She'd never seen him like this.
“Seriously,” she said. “Derek, what's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong,” he said.
“Something's wrong.”
He stopped in front of her. “Nothing's wrong, Meredith,” he snapped.
The hooker snorted. “He's probably on PCP or something.”
“You're like a tripwire,” Meredith insisted, ignoring the hooker. “Are you really sure it's just a bump?”
Derek took a deep breath. “I'm really sure it's just a bump, Meredith,” he said, his tone tight with stress and not relaxed and smirk-y like it should be.
He gripped the bars, and his fingers clenched. She watched the color drain from his knuckles, and she wished she were closer than ten feet away. If she were closer, she could touch him, maybe determine if he was hiding symptoms like tremors. And she could wrap her arms around him. And then maybe the time wouldn't crawl like a freaking snail because at least she'd have her arms wrapped around him, which would make this place seem a little less awful.
Her jail cell smelled like urine and bleach. The benches had no backs. She felt icky and gross and un-showered. And she was stuck with a strutting hooker. Years ago, she wouldn't have cared. The experience would have been a badge of honor. An ordeal for the sake of posterity, so that she could regale anyone unfortunate enough to be her child in the future with war stories from her youth.
Except this wasn't years ago. This was today. She'd missed Derek for weeks. She should be having lusty, groan-y makeup sex with him right this moment. She should be touching his body, sliding her palms up his naked skin. She should be toiling with the wisps of hair dusting his pectorals. She should be listening to his moans, and his gasps, and watching his eyes sparkle in the dark. She should be experiencing all the things that she knew were perfect about him. The imperfect bits like his nasty temper weren't supposed to show up the day after they'd made up.
God, she wanted to touch him. She stood, and she approached the bars. She mirrored his hands-on-bars position and stared.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I just...” She picked at a paint chip on the bar. The fleck of beige crumbled in her hands. She scraped the indent left behind with her nail. Why was he doing this when he was clearly not okay? “Any whiplash?”
He sighed. “Meredith...”
Her heart sank at his glower. “It's starting again, isn't it?” she said.
“What's starting again?”
“The part where we just don't work.”
“No. No. No,” he said, his said his voice increasing in volume with each iteration of the word. The bars rattled. He pressed his face into the gap between the bars, as if he wanted to get closer to her, too, and the desperate look in his eyes slayed her. She tightened her grip. He shook his head. “We work,” he said. “We... I just...”
“Then tell me what's wrong,” she said. “Maybe this isn't your head, or whiplash, but I'm stuck over here, and you're stuck over there, and all I have is what I can see. And what I see is clearly wrong.”
The hooker approached the bars. She frowned, and she tossed back unhealthy locks of split-end-y red hair. She blinked. She peered at Derek with bloodshot green eyes, and she nodded after a moment of assessment. “I gotta say, honey. I'm gonna have to side with the waif on this one.”
“I'm not a waif!” Meredith said.
“She's not a waif,” Derek agreed.
“Sweetheart,” said the hooker as she eyed Meredith up and down, “You weigh less than me.”
“Look,” said Meredith. “What do I call you?”
The hooker shifted, and she brought an index finger to her lips as she attempted a sultry pout. “Anything you want.”
“What's your name?” Meredith said.
The woman shrugged. “Ashley.”
“Well, Ashley,” said Meredith, and she pointed to the far bench, “Could you maybe go sit over there?”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Just trying to help you out.” She swayed on her hips, and she plink, plink, plinked over to the corner where Meredith had pointed.
The distant rumble and bustle of the police precinct beyond the hallway door impinged. The drunk in Derek's cell had at least stopped singing and started mouth-breathing, the maybe-precursor to snoring. Ashley sat at the far end of Meredith's cell, picking at a scuff on the heel of her boot. Meredith didn't understand why they'd let the woman into a cell with those things. The heels could kill somebody. Meredith shook her head, and she turned back to Derek, who leaned against the bars and watched her with a brooding look.
“Well?” Meredith said. “What's wrong?”
He swallowed. “I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What other shoe?”
“I crashed my car,” he said. “We got arrested.”
“How is that a shoe?”
He blinked and looked away. He wiped at his face again, and she saw a distinct sheen of water forming over his eyes. Like he was choked up, or... God, was he crying? Not yet. But... Panic burbled in her chest. Moodiness like that was definitely a sign of head injury. Nonsensical thoughts like that were a sign of head injury, too.
“Derek,” she said. She clenched the bars. “I'm serious. If you feel weird, you need to tell somebody.”
She flinched when he jammed the flat of his palm against the bars. They rattled. “Damn it, Meredith,” he barked, and he pulled tense fingers through his hair.
“Simmer down in there!” called the guard from around the corner.
The chastising only seemed to incense Derek more. He launched from the bars and paced again. “I don't. Have. A concussion,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then tell me what you do have,” Meredith said.
“We've only been back together for a few hours,” he said on one pass. He turned. He paced back the way he'd come. “And I crashed my car, and we got arrested.” Back and forth.
“Yeah,” said Meredith. “And?”
He stopped, and he looked at her. “I figured you'd bolt again,” he said. “I mean you can't, now, because we're locked in here, but...”
She swallowed. Something sharp pricked the backs of her eyes. “What?”
“I'm sorry,” he blurted.
“Sorry... for...”
“Please,” he said. “I know you don't trust me, and I know you don't love me as much as I love you. Just don't go anywhere. I can't do this again. When I said you're the love of my life, I meant it, and I can't...” She stood there, her mouth hanging open, stunned. He took a twisted, shaky breath and blew it out. “I'll do whatever you want, as slowly as you want to go, for as long as you want to do that,” he said. “You win. I'm sorry for before. Just...” He wiped at his eyes. They were watery but not spilling. “Give me a chance. Please, Meredith.”
“I... I...” she stuttered.
Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. He'd said he loved her before, even in the middle of telling her to put him out of his misery, but she'd never heard him say it with such painful resignation. Like he knew his situation was hopeless, and he was clawing for anything. Anything to hold onto to keep from drowning. She bit her lip. She didn't have any idea how to respond to the panicked desperation in his words, his eyes, his soul.
When she didn't speak, he nodded, and the look on his face crumpled. He panted, his breaths screwing tight in his chest. He pushed his back against the wall. His body thudded against the brick. He wedged himself between the bench on the wall and the bars, and he slid to the floor. She watched his profile collapse, and her heart squeezed in her chest.
“Derek, I...”
“It's fine,” he said, his voice rough. He swallowed. And he sniffed. “Don't worry about it.”
“Don't worry about it?” she said. “But you just said--”
“I know what I said,” he snapped. He dared a glance at her, and then he looked away. “I shouldn't have.”
“Oh, he's got it bad for you, sweetheart,” said Ashley.
Derek's face reddened.
“You stay over there,” Meredith said. “And be quiet.”
The hooker held up her hands in surrender, and resumed fiddling with her boots.
Meredith collapsed to her knees by the bars. The chill of the floor seeped through her pants into her skin. He was so close, and yet so far. Ten feet. It might as well have been a mile. She couldn't touch him. Derek was a tactile person. The distance enforced on them during this conversation would not be good. God, she wanted to be over there. She wanted to be over there right now. She'd never seen...
“Derek, you...” She took a breath. “Why would you think I would run away because we were arrested?” she said. But she knew the answer.
A wry laugh fell from his lips. “It's what you do, Meredith.”
She couldn't deny his assertion. She couldn't do anything. She looked at the floor as all of Dr. Wyatt's words whirled in her head. People run away from this line between life and death, Dr. Wyatt had said. You seem to stand on it and wait for a strong wind to sway you one way or the other. The realization that Meredith did the same thing with Derek slipped a knife in her gut.
“When things get difficult, you bolt,” he said.
When Meredith had first met Derek, he'd been flirty, and arrogant, and sure of his attractiveness. You took advantage of me, and now you want to forget about it? He'd told her what he wanted. He'd gotten in her face again and again and again about it until she'd relented and gone on a date. Wanna take advantage again? Say, Friday night? The contrast between the Derek of then and the Derek of now made her throat thicken with a lump the size of Cleveland. Her fault. She'd run away again and again, and she'd made him gun-shy. Insecure. He said please and sorry and he begged. He'd looked at her house of candles, and he'd taken the leap without yelling at her about trust like she had with him.
Her realization of her own hypocrisy made her gut roil. She shook her head. Reflexive anger simmered. She wasn't the only bad guy, damn it. He wasn't blameless. He'd... He'd... “What else am I supposed to do when you toss out threats and ultimatums like popcorn?”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “I don't make threats.”
“I love you, but I can't breathe for you?” she said. He looked away. “I met a woman last night? Put me out of my misery? What if I meet someone else? Love me and the house I'm building, or else?”
“Meredith, I...”
She glared. “Ass. It's not all my fault.” She turned to her side, shoved into the wall in a mirror position to his, and crossed her arms over her chest. Except it felt wrong. It felt wrong to be yelling at him. This time. Addison had been all him. All freaking him. But this time... A breath shuddered in her chest. She swept her hands against her eyes and sniffed.
But Derek wasn't ready to give up on the relationship, and you were, Dr. Wyatt had said.
Derek didn't respond. He stared into space. The exterior door of the lockup buzzed, and a uniformed policeman came through. The officer's keys jingled. Meredith looked at at the guard with hope. Would they be arraigned, now? Would they finally be able to go home?
The blonde officer didn't look at her or Ashley. He walked to the door of Derek's cell and unlocked it. “Larry, your wife is here,” said the officer.
The drunk on the bench rolled to a sitting position. His hair frizzed in all directions. A ruddy tone made the skin of his cheeks and his bulbous nose seem like busted tomatoes. “Oh, good,” he said, his voice thick and slurred. “I thought I'd be stuck in here with Sid and Nancy all day.”
“What?” Meredith said. “We are so not Sid and Nancy.”
“I don't know,” said Ashley. “You have the whole self-destructive, star-crossed thing going on.”
“We do not!” Meredith hissed.
Larry smirked as the policeman led him away. “Yeah, good luck with that,” Larry said. The policeman locked all the doors behind them, leaving the two jail cells in silence once more.
Meredith looked at Derek. “We are not Sid and Nancy.” She looked at Ashley. “We are not!”
Ashley snickered. “You tell yourself that, sweetheart,” said Ashley. “But you're both in jail. You clearly have issues. What are you two in for? Drugs? That'd be pretty Sid and Nancy.”
“Public lewdness!” Meredith said.
“Yeah,” Ashley said. “That's much better.”
“Every relationship has issues!” Meredith said. “At least we were arrested for having sex. There's worse things to be arrested for.”
Ashley nodded. “I agree. They keep arresting me for having sex, too.”
Meredith jabbed her thumb at Derek. “He didn't pay me.”
Ashley grinned as she looked at Derek. She licked her lips and grinned like she was staring at a juicy rack of lamb. Her expression looked ghastly on her pale, haggard face. “Sweetheart, I wouldn't charge him, either.”
“Are you calling me a whore?” Meredith said.
“Well, you eat like one,” said Ashley.
“Stop it,” Derek said.
Ashley pouted. “Prince Charming to the rescue, I suppose.”
Derek pressed against the bars. “Why don't you mind your own business?” he said, his gaze dark and glinting. “She never did anything to you.”
“Ooh,” said Ashley. “The pretty ones always have tempers.”
“Give him a break,” Meredith said. “He hasn't slept, and he hit his head.”
Ashley looked back and forth between them. A small smile curled over her lips. “Fine,” she said. She folded her arms over her chest, crossed her long, spindly legs, and looked away.
Meredith resettled and sighed. She blinked, and she breathed, and she tried to force the anger out of herself. Fury burbled underneath her skin as though her body had been placed on a cauldron to boil. As she breathed out, she pressed her diaphragm and chest as far as they would go. The room fuzzed a bit. She let herself inhale. She repeated the process for a long time. She and Derek were not Sid and Nancy. Not even close. They couldn't be. Could they?
Except they were fighting in jail instead of having some really great makeup sex, and...
“You never talk to me,” Derek said.
Her lips parted. “I talk to you all the time,“ Meredith said.
“But not about--”
“Oh, I'd love to hear this,” Meredith said. She glared.
He looked like she'd slapped him. His mouth opened and closed. She wasn't being fair. She knew it. She'd asked him what was wrong. She'd poked and prodded. He took a deep breath. “When I'm with you, I feel like I'm alone,” he said.
“I'm there,” she protested. “I've been there.”
From the look on his face, he didn't agree. He swallowed. “You wanted to know what was wrong,” he said. Like he hated her for pulling him into this. Hated.
“Well, I'm sorry I'm not your perfect Stepford wife who wants your perfect house and 2.4 of your perfect chatty babies or whatever,” she said. What was she doing? Oh, god, what was she doing? Her hands shook. Stop it. Stop messing--
“But I don't want a perfect Stepford wife,” he said. He stared at her with an endless, pleading gaze. “I want you.”
“Except when I don't do what you want,” she countered.
He huffed a frustrated sigh. “You're twisting everything all around.”
“I'm telling you what I'm hearing,” she said.
“Then you're not listening to what I'm saying,” he snapped.
“I'm listening!” she yelled, and she stood. She gripped the bars. “I listen!”
“Yeah,” said Ashley. “You're doing a bang up job of that, now.”
Derek whipped to his feet. Both him and Meredith turned and said, “Shut up!” in unison.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Well, at least you're in sync, now.”
“I said simmer down!” said the guard around the corner.
Meredith sighed as she turned away from the woman. They needed to get out of here. They needed to go home, and talk, and really, really... She turned back to Derek. Dark, twisting emotions pillaged what was left of the calm in his expression. He looked distraught. Like he would burst. He wasn't crying. Hadn't cried. But his eyes had a glistening sheen to them, and red rimmed his eyelids, like he was ready to fall apart, and barely anything held him together.
“Derek,” Meredith said.
“You asked me what was wrong,” he said, accused. He walked away from the bars and sat in the far corner by the back, facing away. He didn't say another word.
Great.
Meredith bit her lip. Little bells of panic went off. She felt like she'd ruined something. Wrecked... Something. And she didn't know what. “Derek, I don't...” But she lost the words. She didn't have any idea what to say anymore.
She pressed her face against the bars and sniffed. The room blurred. This wasn't how anything was supposed to go. This was all wrong.
You stand back, waiting for him to fail, so you can say, “Ah hah! Now, I quit.”
Ashley stood. Her skirt squeaked. She strode to the bars and wrapped thin, arcing fingers around them. “Guard?” she called. “Guard!” After a long, silent minute, Ashley rattled the bars. “Guard!” she belted.
For an eternity, Meredith assumed that Ashley had been ignored, but was proven wrong when the external door buzzed. The blonde police officer strode in with a sigh, keys jingling. Meredith watched him pass. His little gold nameplate said Marx. Officer Marx.
He came to a stop in front of Ashley, several feet back from the bars. He turned to face her. “What is it, now?” he said.
Ashley pointed to Meredith. “I can't stand this woman. Put her somewhere else.”
“What?” said Meredith. Cold panic froze her innards. Did they have another lockup somewhere? “No. No, I need to be here!” If they took her away before she could figure out what to do about Derek...
Officer Marx frowned. “This isn't social hour. Deal with it.”
Ashley batted her eyes, and she sniffed. “Look, I...” She blinked, and a tear pulsed down her cheek. She flicked away a long strand of loose hair. Her boots clicked as she shifted closer to the bars. “I just lost my mother. I want to be alone, but she won't stop talking. She's insulting me and my profession.”
Officer Marx snorted, but Ashley continued. She pointed at Derek's cell. “Please. Put her over there. I'm begging you.”
“We don't do co-ed lockups,” Marx said.
“But she's so mean!”
Meredith stared dumbly at the pair of them.
Ashley dropped her gaze as she sniffled. She peered to the left at Meredith, a glare on her face. As she made a show of wiping her face, she mouthed, “Work with me,” behind her hand. A vague thrill of hope spiraled into Meredith's chest. When Ashley looked back up at Officer Marx, a fresh sprawl of tears glossed her cheeks. “Please, I can't stand this another minute. It's abusive is what it is.”
“You're a dirty, dirty... whore,” Meredith said. “I...” She struggled for vehemence when, at the moment, she felt nothing but gratitude. “I hate you.”
“See?” Ashley said. “She's nasty to me, and I... My mother...” She sniffed. “I can't.”
“Well,” said Officer Marx. “I guess I could move you...”
“Oh, yes,” said Ashley. She gazed at the far cell. Derek still had his back turned. Meredith had no idea if he was even listening. Ashley licked her lips as she wiped at her tears. “He looks good enough to eat. Sex is like bonbons when it comes to grief.”
Officer Marx swallowed. “Or her,” he said. He gestured at Meredith. “Come on,” he said with a glum sigh. Meredith stepped toward the door. He unlocked it with his key and frogmarched her across the hall to Derek's cell. “If you cause any problems, I will make sure you stay in here the whole day,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “And keep the racket down, for crying out loud.”
“Do you know when we'll be arraigned?” Meredith said.
Officer Marx shrugged as he slid the door shut and locked Meredith in with Derek. “Maybe another hour or two.” He seemed unsympathetic. And unspecific. She couldn't bring herself to care.
Officer Marx left them there. The exterior door rattled as he closed it, and they were alone again. Just the three of them. Ashley's waterworks ceased in seconds. She rolled her eyes, and she went to sit on the far bench. Her heels plinked as she moved.
“Thank you,” said Meredith.
Ashley shrugged. “The subtle approach clearly wasn't working with you two.”
Meredith blinked. Ashley smiled, and then she waved Meredith away with a flick of her bony hand. Meredith swallowed. Derek hadn't turned, hadn't even acknowledged her presence.
Meredith walked toward him. His lips set in a grim line. He stared at the corner of the cell with a dark, churning gaze.
She sat down on the bench next to him. Her shoulder brushed his back. He didn't lean into her. She twisted, and she touched him, palm to shoulder blade. He took a long, weary breath.
“Hey,” she said.
He said nothing.
She straddled the bench and pinched his trapezius muscles the way he'd been doing when he'd paced. She massaged, and she bit her lip when she realized how unyielding his body was being. How tense.
“I'm sorry I make you feel alone,” she said, trying to offer the first olive branch.
“You're sorry,” he said. “But you don't know why.”
She sighed. “I really don't, Derek. I'm not good at this. I'm not good at relationships.”
He stared at his knees, and he didn't turn around. “I wasn't trying to threaten you when I said those things,” he said.
“Well, then, what were you trying to do, Derek? Help me understand.”
She couldn't see his face, only the side; she was too far behind him. His temples fluttered as he clenched his jaw. Over and over. His grip worked at his pant legs by his knees. He rocked in his seat. Just a little. She wouldn't have seen it or felt it had she not been plastered against his back.
“I'm stuck in sort of a catch twenty-two,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Why?”
“Because when I tell you these things, you get scared or angry, and you bolt. But if I don't answer the question, I'm being dodgy, and you don't trust me.”
She kissed the nape of his neck. She ran her fingers through his mussed hair. “Well, I can't run right now without becoming a fugitive of the law or whatever.”
He loosed a stilted chuckle. He turned on the bench. She shifted to accommodate him. He rested hip-to-hip with her, but he still stared at the floor. Not at her. And her throat ached when she realized, again, just how badly she'd messed him up. Unwittingly. She'd never understood before how much she affected him. She'd moaned and wailed and whined about him breaking her. He'd been a silent victim in thousands of pieces on the floor without her batting an eyelash.
“I want you to want me,” he said. “I don't need a house or chatty babies or a dog or a picket fence or any of the things you seem to think I want unconditionally. I just want a woman who wants me.” He swallowed, and he looked at her. His dark eyes churned with upset. “Except somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you, and you just...” He shrugged. “You don't. And now I'm...” His voice fell away. He shook his head, and he stared into space, like he was trying to tell the world no, no, no, and his words fell on deaf ears.
“What do you mean I don't?” she said.
“Love me,” he said. “I didn't sign the divorce papers, and I ruined it. You've never forgiven me for Addison. This is my fault.”
The distress and conviction in his gaze made her heart twist. “I forgave you everything, Derek. That's why we're even talking right now. And I do love you,” she said. The words came easily in light of how badly he seemed to need to hear them, and it was only then that she realized she hadn't said them ever again to him. Not since the first time.
He sucked in a breath like she'd stabbed him. “Meredith...”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Derek, I love you,” she said. “I always have. In a really, really big, pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window way. That never changed, even when I wanted it to.”
He looked at the floor, swallowing and swallowing again, like he couldn't hold himself in if he spoke. He cleared his throat, but his voice seemed shaky when he spoke. “You haven't said that to me in a long time,” he said.
“I thought...” she said. She didn't know what she'd thought. She hadn't said the words. She'd been afraid. Petrified. And she'd ruined his sense of self-worth in the process. She kissed him because it seemed like the right thing to do. Her lips brushed his temple where his hair started. She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him. She could do this. She could be what he needed if she tried. This was still fixable. The realization scared the crap out of her. “Never mind what I thought,” she said. “I wasn't fair to you.”
She'd been a flighty, hypocritical freak.
“You weren't?” he said. He blinked. And he stared at her like she'd been replaced with a pod person.
Her guilt compounded as she nodded. “You're right.”
“I am?”
“You've been there for me,” she said. “I wasn't there for you. I ran away. I'm sorry.”
“I'm...” He blinked at her again, flummoxed.
“I really want to fix this with you,” she said.
His eyes closed. His body shivered. His breaths tightened. “You do?”
“I do, yes,” she told him. “I saw a therapist, Derek. I'm whole and healed because I saw a therapist. She made me realize some things.” Belatedly.
“Wh...” he began, and then he lost his words in a gust of breath. He shook his head. He didn't speak, but he looked like he wanted to say something. To ask her. But he couldn't.
“I do bolt,” she said as she read his racing thoughts. “I totally bolt. And it's not your fault. It's my fault for letting my crappy life win, and that's not on you. Stop beating yourself up or whatever.”
He stared at her.
“I don't want to bolt anymore, Derek. I want to try. I saw a therapist because I want the happily ever after with you. I want it really badly. And I'm sorry I messed it up by running.”
She kissed him again. His body wavered with her touch. He was pliant in her arms. Staring. His breaths fell from him, soft and low and quick. He blinked again. Like he was in shock.
“I promise I'll try not to run,” she said.
He turned into her embrace. A huge, shaky breath poured out of him. He made a noise. Deep in his throat. Like a moan, but not quite. “Meredith,” he said. He pushed his face against her neck, and he breathed against her like he needed her body to live. His arms slipped around her torso, and he pulled her tight against him. Her chest tightened. Her ribs constricted. He rested, face in her hair, silent, for minutes. She let him be, let him do what he needed.
“I'll try, Derek,” she repeated. “I'll really, really try. And If I do run, you have my permission to chase me. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise I'll try not to push you,” he said. He swallowed, and then he added in a hoarse whisper, “I'm sorry I pushed.”
“It's okay,” she said, and she realized she meant it. She really meant it. It was okay. He'd pushed her because she ran and never told him she loved him. It was a vicious cycle that they needed to break. She had to break it. She closed her eyes and let his warmth relax away her fear. A sense of safety wrapped around her like a blanket. He always made her feel safe and perfect when he held her. Perfect despite her mountain of horrible, freaky flaws.
She shifted. He pulled away a few inches, and she pressed her ear against his chest. He settled his chin against her head. She listened to him breathe. He'd calmed down a bit.
“If you push me, I'll push back,” she decided. “I won't run.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice soft. He rubbed her back with the flat of his warm palm.
“I love you,” she said. Just for the hell of it. One more time. His body turned to putty in her arms. She tilted her head and kissed his throat. “So much, Derek. I mean it. Even if I don't say it, I mean it.”
He inhaled and exhaled. Her hair fluttered with the force of his breath at her scalp. “I love you, too,” he said, like he'd been waiting to say those words in that precise combination forever. His body shuddered, and he pressed his lips against the top of her head. He kissed her, and then he stilled.
She rested her hand on his shirt over his navel. “I'm glad we have that settled,” she said with a definitive nod, and he laughed. Really laughed. The sound of it made her muscles turn to Jell-O. Even though they were in a jail in a cell on a horrible, uncomfortable bench that smelled like urine, she didn't want to move.
“Me, too,” he said.
The soft sound of clapping broke Meredith from her trance. She looked up from Derek's chest. Ashley stood at the bars of the other cell, her green eyes watering over. Black smears of mascara ran down her cheeks. She sniffed. “Oh, I knew you guys could do it,” she said.
“I thought you said we were Sid and Nancy,” Derek said.
Ashley waved her hand and snorted. “Oh, hush. You needed a little jump start.”
“Right,” Derek said. “I suppose you're just a romantic at heart?”
She shrugged. “Hey, it gives me hope,” she said. “That Julia Roberts movie inspired me to be a better person.” Her bra strap fell off her shoulder, and she fixed it.
“Sure,” Derek said, and he nodded, though he didn't sound convinced.
Before Ashley could respond, the exterior door of the prison opened. The man who walked through was not Officer Marx. He was a big man. Not fat. Just big. And very tall. Maybe six foot three. He had a buzz cut and a pocked, rugged complexion that spoke of bad acne as a kid. A brown, bushy mustache covered his upper lip. “Derek Shepherd?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Derek said as the officer came to a stop beyond the bars.
“Well, damn, it is you.”
“I'm me, yes,” Derek said. He looked at Meredith. She shrugged. He looked back at the man.
“I'm Captain Shelby,” the big policeman said, his voice gruff. “One of my boys flipped his car in pursuit of a suspect last year. You performed life-saving surgery.”
Derek blinked. For a moment, his face remained blank. Meredith couldn't recall a surgery like that with Derek involved, but she watched recognition crawl across his face after moments. “Broken skull,” he said. “Epidural hematoma. Sergeant Dan... Motley?”
Captain Shelby grinned. “That's my man. He has four kids, a wife, and three dogs who are very grateful. He's off today, or he would say so himself.”
“I'm glad I could help,” Derek said.
Captain Shelby approached the lockup door. “I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I had no idea you were stuck in here until the paperwork hit my desk.” He turned his key, and the jail cell opened with a moan. “You're free to go.”
“You're just letting us go?” Derek said.
“Yes,” Captain Shelby said. “Your papers fell into the shredder. I don't know how it happened.”
“Hers, too?” Derek asked.
The captain nodded.
“Seriously?” Meredith said.
Derek jabbed her with his elbow. “She means thank you,” he said.
“Of course I mean thank you,” Meredith said. “I just...”
Captain Shelby winked. “Keep it in the bedroom next time. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said. He stood, and Meredith followed. Meredith bit her lip as they stepped out of the jail cell. She sort of wanted to ask about Ashley.
Ashley waved them off. “I rack up priors like baseball cards. They wouldn't let me out.”
“Thank you,” Meredith said.
“Whatever.” Ashley shrugged.
Derek's hand rested at the small of Meredith's back. Captain Shelby ushered them out of the lockup area. A police officer waited with their coats, Derek's wallet, and Meredith's purse. They were out of the precinct in less than ten minutes.
They stood on the sidewalk out front. A police car chirped as it drove by. People bustled. Sunlight slanted onto the pavement, and Meredith squinted in the harsh light of freedom. Dozens of puffy clouds filled the blue sky, and the air smelled earthy and wet, but the good weather would hold on for at least another few hours. She knew from experience. Chilly wind blew through her hair, and she pulled against his body. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder, and she leaned into the warmth.
“I think I've never been more happy that you're a complete rock star at your job than I am right now,” she said.
“As long as you're only happy and not surprised,” he said.
She grinned. “And you're so modest, too.”
Derek shrugged and yawned. He tried to cover it with a palm against his face, but his whole body went rigid. She saw the flash of his teeth behind his hand. His eyes watered and squeezed shut. When he closed his mouth, he blinked, like he didn't really see anything. He barely had time to recover before another yawn rolled through his body. His weight on her shoulder increased, like he lost himself for a moment.
“You're crashing,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Where's your car?”
“Umm,” she said. She looked at her feet. She'd stuffed the papers in her purse on the way out of the precinct. He hadn't seen them. “Sort of impounded. I have to pick it up from the lot.”
Another jaw-cracking yawn rolled through him. He blinked. Tears fell down his face as he struggled to pull enough oxygen into his body to stay awake. “Can we get it later?” he said.
“Sure,” she said. “My place?”
“Wherever you want, Meredith,” he said in an echo of before. “I'm just happy it's with you.”
She blinked as he leaned against her. His eyelids drooped, and the dark circles under his eyes almost gave him a raccoonish look. But he was a cute raccoon. With a thick carpet of stubble, messy, uneven hair, a split-open forehead, and a pale face of exhaustion that rivaled alabaster. Well, more like a refugee raccoon, she supposed. She kissed him. For the first time, she knew he was hers. Her raccoon. Forever. As long as she wasn't an idiot.
Her fingers scrunched his wool coat. She would stop running. She would stop. She had to stop. “I'll call a taxi,” she said. She fumbled with her purse.
“Kay,” he muttered listlessly.
He stood beside her, staring at nothing while she called for a taxi. His chin tilted toward his chest. She wondered if he was even processing his surroundings anymore. A horn blared as a car tried to pull from the curb into traffic. The sound jarred him, and he flinched, blinking furiously.
She hung up her phone and stuffed it back into her purse. “It'll be here soon,” she said. She rubbed his arm. “They said five or ten minutes.”
“S'ok,” he said. “My eighth wind will hit soon.”
She snickered. “Sure it will.”
“Mmm,” he said. She watched, fascinated, as he ran through all his standard I'm-dying-but-I-need-to-finish-this-surgery techniques. He shook his head, and he used every ounce of his willpower to force wakefulness back into his expression. He shifted on the balls of his feet, and he blinked. He stretched his arms and flexed his fingers. He rolled his neck. When he finished, he looked a bit more alive, but not much.
“So, we're officially not criminals,” he said.
“Nope,” she said. “I'm sort of glad.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You sounded indifferent before.”
“We would have been fine except for the part where we had to explain to the Chief why we suddenly had rap sheets for public indecency.”
“Oh,” Derek said. “Yeah, there's that.”
She bumped her hip against him and smiled. “Plus, you looked a little panicky.”
He frowned. “I was not.”
“Admit it,” she said. “You wilt at the prospect of breaking the law.”
“Hey,” he said. He kissed her. “It took two to break that law, and I was definitely one of two.”
“Touche or whatever,” she said.
“Besides,” he said. “If I'm going to break the law, that's the way to do it. More law-breaking, I say.”
“You realize we're two for two on getting caught? We're pretty crappy miscreants.”
“Best three out of five?” he said. “Some things take a lot of practice.”
“But what if we fail on try three?”
“Such a pessimist,” he said.
“Realist,” she said. “The universe hates us.”
“I don't know,” he said. “Me and the universe are getting along right now, I think.”
She snorted. “Derek, your car is scrap. And we just got out of jail.”
He looked at her. “But Beth's alive, and I'm with you.”
Simple. To the point.
She blinked as she watched his expression. Intensity morphed into a twinkle-eyed smile. He leaned into her space and kissed her once, twice. She swallowed as he pulled away. He seemed lighter despite his exhaustion. More springy than he'd been mere hours ago, even before they'd been arrested.
“I'm just saying don't rule out future delinquency,” he said.
“I'll keep that in mind,” she said.
He nodded. “You do that.”
The yellow-and-black streak of a passing taxi caught her attention. She held up her hand and took a step. The taxi's brake lights flashed deep red, and the car pulled to the curb. They walked to meet it.
“613 Harper Lane,” she told the driver as she settled on the foamy seat next to Derek. The cabin smelled like someone had dumped a bottle of Pine-Sol on the floor mats, and she wrinkled her nose, but at least the cab ride would be quick. She would live. “It's in Queen Anne Hill,” she continued. The driver nodded as she slammed her door shut and buckled her seat belt.
Derek blinked once. Twice. His head tilted forward as the car crept away from the curb. She heard a thunk as his forehead hit the window. His cheek slipped along the glass with a squeak. Before the cab reached cruising speed, his breaths evened. Fog crawled along the window, tracing his exhalations. She watched him sleep as the taxi driver took them perilously down the 99, cursing and weaving. Derek didn't budge. As they pulled up to the house, she paid the driver using hushed tones, and then she brushed Derek's shoulder.
“We're at my place,” she said. “Derek?”
He twitched. “Hmm?”
“Wake up for a few minutes,” she told him.
“Kay,” he said. He wiped his face with his hands and blinked. He peered muzzily at her, and then at his surroundings. The sight of her house seemed to push some energy into his laggard brain. He scrabbled against the slippery leather seats, but he managed to get free of the car without too much trouble. He followed her, silent, as she strode up the front walk. She unlocked the door. He lumbered up the stairs on autopilot while she set her purse down and shut the door.
She caught up to him as he entered her bedroom. On the threshold, he stopped, and a bout of sentience slammed into him. He blinked, and he stared at her bedroom as though he didn't know it well. Silence hovered in the house. A dog barked outside. The roar of a passing car vibrated along the walls.
“What?” she said.
“Should I be on the sofa?” he said. “We didn't really talk about--”
“I thought we were just being,” she said.
“We are, I just...”
Didn't want to push. She read the words on his face, though he didn't say them. She melted. He'd never slept on the couch unless they'd had sex on it. He really was trying. Even half dead with exhaustion and ready to collapse on command.
She gripped his shoulders and squeezed. “The bed is fine,” she said. She gave him a nudge. His sudden tension leaked away, and he stepped onto the area rug by the bed. The floorboards groaned with his weight.
He shuffled to his side of the bed, and she smiled. His side. His. He hadn't had a side in her bed in a long time. She watched as he slipped off his coat. He didn't even bother to hang it up. He let it fall into a heap on the floor. He took off his black sweater next, and he unbuttoned his blue shirt. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Nothing that told her he hadn't done this in front of her in a long freaking time. He'd come home.
“Do you want me to put out clean sheets?” she said.
“I don't care,” he said.
“Do you want some ibuprofen?” she said. She pulled a fresh t-shirt from the closet.
“Um,” he said. He pulled a hand back through his messy hair. “I'm fine right now. Thanks.”
She inhaled as his shirt slipped to the floor, revealing lean but toned shoulders and arms. A sleek, pale back. Muscles that slid underneath his skin. Muscles she wanted to touch. But he didn't make jokes about free shows or stripping. He didn't smile. He didn't do anything but stare at the bed like he wanted to fall into it. He kicked off his leather shoes. He reached for the buckle on his belt.
She went to her drawer and pulled out a familiar pair of fuzzy gray pajama bottoms. They were way too big for her, but she'd found if she pulled the drawstrings tight and folded up the ankle cuffs, they were functional. She'd slept in them from time to time. They'd helped. Sometimes, at night, when she'd needed something safe. They'd helped.
Her breaths sped as she turned back to the bed and saw his profile, lean, toned, and nude save for his boxer briefs. He had a thin body. Long legs. A tapering torso. She stared at his lines, and a tremor ran through her body. Hers. As long as she wasn't stupid.
“Here,” she said, as she closed the space between them. Warmth radiated from his naked skin.
He looked at her. “What?” he said, nonplussed.
“These are yours,” she said.
He took the bundle from her. Their hands brushed. A sleepy smile overtook him. “I was wondering where these were.”
“I kept them.”
“Thief,” he said as he pulled them on.
“Just call me Bonnie,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Bonnie?”
“You know,” she said. She rubbed his arm. “And Clyde?”
He smirked, and then he kissed her. “We're not Bonnie and Clyde,” he said.
“You're the one who wanted to break the law some more.”
“I'm more a fan of nudity than I am larceny,” he said. “Besides, you said we were crappy miscreants.”
“Well,” Meredith said. “They did die, didn't they? That's pretty crappy of them.” The tired glaze on his face creased into a frown, and she grinned, sheepish. “Okay, yeah. Bad metaphor or whatever.”
“I'll forget you said that one,” he said. He tied the drawstrings on his pajama pants, and he sat on the bed. He yawned. The mattress creaked with his weight. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Missed this,” he said. He stretched out on his back and pulled the sheets over his body. He closed his eyes half way, and his breaths rasped with the deep undertones sleep in moments, though he didn't sleep. Not quite. Not yet.
She stripped to her underwear and put on the t-shirt she'd liberated from the closet. He watched with a silent gaze. His eyelids hung low over his eyes. The vague blue twinkle and the small curl of his lips told her he liked the view, but again, he didn't make comments.
She followed him under the covers. She pushed against his warm body and melded along his length. She kissed his bare chest. The scent of his body soothed her. He kissed her hair.
“If we're not Sid and Nancy, and we're not Bonnie and Clyde,” she said, “Then who are we?”
“Just us, I suppose,” he said.
“Just us,” she agreed. “Just being?” She blinked as a yawn tore through her.
His chest rose and fell with a sigh. He stroked her arm. “Just being.”
He met her gaze for a long moment. Muted sunshine slanted through the window, making his face pale and haggard against the dark swath of his hair and stubble. The wound under his hairline had scabbed in a crusty red line, and a big bump had formed like an egg underneath his skin. His hair stuck up in clumps. He looked like he'd been thrashed and beaten and left for dead. Except he smiled. A wide, refreshing smile that made her smile, too. Not an ounce of stress creased his features.
“In a few hours, I want my sex and kissing,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Deal,” she said.
His eyes shut, and he didn't open them again. She watched him sleep for several minutes before the sight of him blurred. The room fuzzed away. For a long time, she stayed aware of his arms wrapped around her. The heat of his skin against her. The reassuring scent of his body by her side, marking her sheets, and making her home feel like home again.
Shortly after, she slipped into dreams along with him.
~FIN~
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mer/Der
Rating: T
Summary: Post S4 finale. What happened after Derek left to breakup with Rose?
Way, way, way, WAY behind on my feedback replies. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to post, and thanks for being patient with me while my life blew up in my face. I promise I'll get back to everyone individually as soon as possible. Thanks for reading this story. It was fun to write and play connect-the-dots instead of create-the-dots, for once :)
Captain Crash & The Beauty Queen From Mars - Part 2
The lockup consisted of two medium-sized rooms arrayed with six benches each. Three benches lined the center of each room. One bench lined each non-barred side of each cell. A wide hallway divided the two lockups. Vague sunlight streamed through the barred windows on Derek's side. A fat drunk humming “Henry the 8th” rested on his side by the window behind Derek. The click, click, click behind Meredith's back told her the hooker she'd been sequestered with paced. The hooker's stilettos hit the hard floor as she walked.
Meredith sighed as she shifted on the bench. She sat on the edge closest to the bars, closest to Derek, who was stuck in the opposite cell. They'd been separated. She didn't want to be separated. She wanted to be over there. Actually, she didn't want to be in a cell, period, but that was a different argument.
Her back hurt. She shifted. Her clothes felt yucky, and she wanted a shower. At least Officer Glasscock had allowed them to get fully dressed before arresting them. That had been a nice concession. She bit her lip, recalling Derek's red-faced glower as he'd stepped out of the car and finally had a chance to zip up his pants. He'd been quiet and broody since the click of the handcuffs sliding into place had hit his ears, and he'd said all of three words during in-processing when they'd been fingerprinted.
“This isn't really what I pictured when I said twenty-four hours of supervision,” Meredith said.
Derek sighed. “Me either.”
He paced back and forth along the line of bars. He wiped his face with his hands and yawned when he reached the opposite corner of the cell. Then he turned and lumbered back in her direction. Back and forth. Back and forth. Just like the way the upset jaguar at the zoo always paced. His gait did almost have a leonine quality to it. Dark bags circled underneath his eyes. Every once in a while, he'd pinch his shoulders and perform a brief self-massage of his trapezius muscles, like he was tense, or... like whiplash was setting in, and he realized he was hurting, or...
“Are you okay?” she said.
He didn't stop. “I'm fine,” he said.
She watched him switch back. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wondered how many calories he was burning. A lot, for sure. Had he never been arrested before? She rubbed her arm. Derek followed the rules. He'd probably been on the honor roll in school, gotten awards for perfect attendance, made the valedictorian speech for senior graduation, and done all the crap associated with being a nerd.
“This isn't a big deal, you know,” Meredith said. “They'll let us out soon. Probably later in the morning when the judge is free to arraign us or whatever. I bet we'll be out by lunch.” And, with luck, having some great sex. But she didn't say that part.
Derek stopped, turned, and grabbed the bars. He stared at her, a tense smile tugging at his lips. “And you would know this, how?”
Meredith remembered back in high school when she'd toilet papered a house with some slightly tipsy friends. They'd driven around town in a big van, nabbing signs and parking cones and other lawn decorations from all over the city. Somehow, Shannon McGillicuty, the class valedictorian, had gotten dragged along. Are you sure this is the best idea? Shannon had moaned as they'd driven the van up to the principle's house. That would be Derek, Meredith decided. Shannon. Barfing over breaking the law.
“I've...” Meredith said. “I may have done things. At one point in time.”
“Hmm.” His hint of a smile never turned into a full one. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark, unblinking, and she couldn't pinpoint what his expression meant. The last quiver of mirth on his lips wavered and died. The pacing resumed.
She sighed. “Seriously, Derek, sit down,” she said. “You're making me nervous.”
“You and me both,” muttered the hooker.
Meredith turned and looked at the woman. She was a tall, lanky creature with an anorexic look to her. She had red, stringy hair. Dark, ruined mascara blotched her eyes. She wore a halter top that didn't really cover her black, lacy bra underneath, a short vinyl miniskirt, and long stiletto boots that stopped above her knees.
“You're pacing, too,” Meredith said.
The hooker shrugged. “Strutting,” she said. “It's a job skill.” Her heels plink, plink, plinked against the concrete floor as she continued pacing. Her skirt squeaked as she swayed her hips.
Meredith rolled her eyes and turned back to Derek. He flopped onto the bench across from her and sighed. “Sorry,” he said. He leaned over his knees, and pinched the bridge of his nose like he was suffering.
“How's your head?” she said.
He looked up. His dark eyes flashed with impatience. “It's just a bump, Meredith,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice.
“Sorry,” she said. “I... Sorry.”
He'd been nice about it since she'd found him sitting on the curb with a bloody handkerchief. Almost perfect, really. Calm. Accommodating. This was the first time he'd seemed like he didn't appreciate being asked. She frowned. People with brain injuries sometimes acted nasty. Overly anxious. Or...
The drunk lying on the bench behind Derek rolled, and a loud, slurred verse of his toneless song coiled in the air. Derek cringed, and he resumed stroking the sides of his nose as though he thought his head would burst. He inhaled. He pressed the flat of his palms against his knees. He stood. He continued his monotonous pacing. She'd never seen him like this.
“Seriously,” she said. “Derek, what's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong,” he said.
“Something's wrong.”
He stopped in front of her. “Nothing's wrong, Meredith,” he snapped.
The hooker snorted. “He's probably on PCP or something.”
“You're like a tripwire,” Meredith insisted, ignoring the hooker. “Are you really sure it's just a bump?”
Derek took a deep breath. “I'm really sure it's just a bump, Meredith,” he said, his tone tight with stress and not relaxed and smirk-y like it should be.
He gripped the bars, and his fingers clenched. She watched the color drain from his knuckles, and she wished she were closer than ten feet away. If she were closer, she could touch him, maybe determine if he was hiding symptoms like tremors. And she could wrap her arms around him. And then maybe the time wouldn't crawl like a freaking snail because at least she'd have her arms wrapped around him, which would make this place seem a little less awful.
Her jail cell smelled like urine and bleach. The benches had no backs. She felt icky and gross and un-showered. And she was stuck with a strutting hooker. Years ago, she wouldn't have cared. The experience would have been a badge of honor. An ordeal for the sake of posterity, so that she could regale anyone unfortunate enough to be her child in the future with war stories from her youth.
Except this wasn't years ago. This was today. She'd missed Derek for weeks. She should be having lusty, groan-y makeup sex with him right this moment. She should be touching his body, sliding her palms up his naked skin. She should be toiling with the wisps of hair dusting his pectorals. She should be listening to his moans, and his gasps, and watching his eyes sparkle in the dark. She should be experiencing all the things that she knew were perfect about him. The imperfect bits like his nasty temper weren't supposed to show up the day after they'd made up.
God, she wanted to touch him. She stood, and she approached the bars. She mirrored his hands-on-bars position and stared.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I just...” She picked at a paint chip on the bar. The fleck of beige crumbled in her hands. She scraped the indent left behind with her nail. Why was he doing this when he was clearly not okay? “Any whiplash?”
He sighed. “Meredith...”
Her heart sank at his glower. “It's starting again, isn't it?” she said.
“What's starting again?”
“The part where we just don't work.”
“No. No. No,” he said, his said his voice increasing in volume with each iteration of the word. The bars rattled. He pressed his face into the gap between the bars, as if he wanted to get closer to her, too, and the desperate look in his eyes slayed her. She tightened her grip. He shook his head. “We work,” he said. “We... I just...”
“Then tell me what's wrong,” she said. “Maybe this isn't your head, or whiplash, but I'm stuck over here, and you're stuck over there, and all I have is what I can see. And what I see is clearly wrong.”
The hooker approached the bars. She frowned, and she tossed back unhealthy locks of split-end-y red hair. She blinked. She peered at Derek with bloodshot green eyes, and she nodded after a moment of assessment. “I gotta say, honey. I'm gonna have to side with the waif on this one.”
“I'm not a waif!” Meredith said.
“She's not a waif,” Derek agreed.
“Sweetheart,” said the hooker as she eyed Meredith up and down, “You weigh less than me.”
“Look,” said Meredith. “What do I call you?”
The hooker shifted, and she brought an index finger to her lips as she attempted a sultry pout. “Anything you want.”
“What's your name?” Meredith said.
The woman shrugged. “Ashley.”
“Well, Ashley,” said Meredith, and she pointed to the far bench, “Could you maybe go sit over there?”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Just trying to help you out.” She swayed on her hips, and she plink, plink, plinked over to the corner where Meredith had pointed.
The distant rumble and bustle of the police precinct beyond the hallway door impinged. The drunk in Derek's cell had at least stopped singing and started mouth-breathing, the maybe-precursor to snoring. Ashley sat at the far end of Meredith's cell, picking at a scuff on the heel of her boot. Meredith didn't understand why they'd let the woman into a cell with those things. The heels could kill somebody. Meredith shook her head, and she turned back to Derek, who leaned against the bars and watched her with a brooding look.
“Well?” Meredith said. “What's wrong?”
He swallowed. “I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What other shoe?”
“I crashed my car,” he said. “We got arrested.”
“How is that a shoe?”
He blinked and looked away. He wiped at his face again, and she saw a distinct sheen of water forming over his eyes. Like he was choked up, or... God, was he crying? Not yet. But... Panic burbled in her chest. Moodiness like that was definitely a sign of head injury. Nonsensical thoughts like that were a sign of head injury, too.
“Derek,” she said. She clenched the bars. “I'm serious. If you feel weird, you need to tell somebody.”
She flinched when he jammed the flat of his palm against the bars. They rattled. “Damn it, Meredith,” he barked, and he pulled tense fingers through his hair.
“Simmer down in there!” called the guard from around the corner.
The chastising only seemed to incense Derek more. He launched from the bars and paced again. “I don't. Have. A concussion,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then tell me what you do have,” Meredith said.
“We've only been back together for a few hours,” he said on one pass. He turned. He paced back the way he'd come. “And I crashed my car, and we got arrested.” Back and forth.
“Yeah,” said Meredith. “And?”
He stopped, and he looked at her. “I figured you'd bolt again,” he said. “I mean you can't, now, because we're locked in here, but...”
She swallowed. Something sharp pricked the backs of her eyes. “What?”
“I'm sorry,” he blurted.
“Sorry... for...”
“Please,” he said. “I know you don't trust me, and I know you don't love me as much as I love you. Just don't go anywhere. I can't do this again. When I said you're the love of my life, I meant it, and I can't...” She stood there, her mouth hanging open, stunned. He took a twisted, shaky breath and blew it out. “I'll do whatever you want, as slowly as you want to go, for as long as you want to do that,” he said. “You win. I'm sorry for before. Just...” He wiped at his eyes. They were watery but not spilling. “Give me a chance. Please, Meredith.”
“I... I...” she stuttered.
Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. He'd said he loved her before, even in the middle of telling her to put him out of his misery, but she'd never heard him say it with such painful resignation. Like he knew his situation was hopeless, and he was clawing for anything. Anything to hold onto to keep from drowning. She bit her lip. She didn't have any idea how to respond to the panicked desperation in his words, his eyes, his soul.
When she didn't speak, he nodded, and the look on his face crumpled. He panted, his breaths screwing tight in his chest. He pushed his back against the wall. His body thudded against the brick. He wedged himself between the bench on the wall and the bars, and he slid to the floor. She watched his profile collapse, and her heart squeezed in her chest.
“Derek, I...”
“It's fine,” he said, his voice rough. He swallowed. And he sniffed. “Don't worry about it.”
“Don't worry about it?” she said. “But you just said--”
“I know what I said,” he snapped. He dared a glance at her, and then he looked away. “I shouldn't have.”
“Oh, he's got it bad for you, sweetheart,” said Ashley.
Derek's face reddened.
“You stay over there,” Meredith said. “And be quiet.”
The hooker held up her hands in surrender, and resumed fiddling with her boots.
Meredith collapsed to her knees by the bars. The chill of the floor seeped through her pants into her skin. He was so close, and yet so far. Ten feet. It might as well have been a mile. She couldn't touch him. Derek was a tactile person. The distance enforced on them during this conversation would not be good. God, she wanted to be over there. She wanted to be over there right now. She'd never seen...
“Derek, you...” She took a breath. “Why would you think I would run away because we were arrested?” she said. But she knew the answer.
A wry laugh fell from his lips. “It's what you do, Meredith.”
She couldn't deny his assertion. She couldn't do anything. She looked at the floor as all of Dr. Wyatt's words whirled in her head. People run away from this line between life and death, Dr. Wyatt had said. You seem to stand on it and wait for a strong wind to sway you one way or the other. The realization that Meredith did the same thing with Derek slipped a knife in her gut.
“When things get difficult, you bolt,” he said.
When Meredith had first met Derek, he'd been flirty, and arrogant, and sure of his attractiveness. You took advantage of me, and now you want to forget about it? He'd told her what he wanted. He'd gotten in her face again and again and again about it until she'd relented and gone on a date. Wanna take advantage again? Say, Friday night? The contrast between the Derek of then and the Derek of now made her throat thicken with a lump the size of Cleveland. Her fault. She'd run away again and again, and she'd made him gun-shy. Insecure. He said please and sorry and he begged. He'd looked at her house of candles, and he'd taken the leap without yelling at her about trust like she had with him.
Her realization of her own hypocrisy made her gut roil. She shook her head. Reflexive anger simmered. She wasn't the only bad guy, damn it. He wasn't blameless. He'd... He'd... “What else am I supposed to do when you toss out threats and ultimatums like popcorn?”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “I don't make threats.”
“I love you, but I can't breathe for you?” she said. He looked away. “I met a woman last night? Put me out of my misery? What if I meet someone else? Love me and the house I'm building, or else?”
“Meredith, I...”
She glared. “Ass. It's not all my fault.” She turned to her side, shoved into the wall in a mirror position to his, and crossed her arms over her chest. Except it felt wrong. It felt wrong to be yelling at him. This time. Addison had been all him. All freaking him. But this time... A breath shuddered in her chest. She swept her hands against her eyes and sniffed.
But Derek wasn't ready to give up on the relationship, and you were, Dr. Wyatt had said.
Derek didn't respond. He stared into space. The exterior door of the lockup buzzed, and a uniformed policeman came through. The officer's keys jingled. Meredith looked at at the guard with hope. Would they be arraigned, now? Would they finally be able to go home?
The blonde officer didn't look at her or Ashley. He walked to the door of Derek's cell and unlocked it. “Larry, your wife is here,” said the officer.
The drunk on the bench rolled to a sitting position. His hair frizzed in all directions. A ruddy tone made the skin of his cheeks and his bulbous nose seem like busted tomatoes. “Oh, good,” he said, his voice thick and slurred. “I thought I'd be stuck in here with Sid and Nancy all day.”
“What?” Meredith said. “We are so not Sid and Nancy.”
“I don't know,” said Ashley. “You have the whole self-destructive, star-crossed thing going on.”
“We do not!” Meredith hissed.
Larry smirked as the policeman led him away. “Yeah, good luck with that,” Larry said. The policeman locked all the doors behind them, leaving the two jail cells in silence once more.
Meredith looked at Derek. “We are not Sid and Nancy.” She looked at Ashley. “We are not!”
Ashley snickered. “You tell yourself that, sweetheart,” said Ashley. “But you're both in jail. You clearly have issues. What are you two in for? Drugs? That'd be pretty Sid and Nancy.”
“Public lewdness!” Meredith said.
“Yeah,” Ashley said. “That's much better.”
“Every relationship has issues!” Meredith said. “At least we were arrested for having sex. There's worse things to be arrested for.”
Ashley nodded. “I agree. They keep arresting me for having sex, too.”
Meredith jabbed her thumb at Derek. “He didn't pay me.”
Ashley grinned as she looked at Derek. She licked her lips and grinned like she was staring at a juicy rack of lamb. Her expression looked ghastly on her pale, haggard face. “Sweetheart, I wouldn't charge him, either.”
“Are you calling me a whore?” Meredith said.
“Well, you eat like one,” said Ashley.
“Stop it,” Derek said.
Ashley pouted. “Prince Charming to the rescue, I suppose.”
Derek pressed against the bars. “Why don't you mind your own business?” he said, his gaze dark and glinting. “She never did anything to you.”
“Ooh,” said Ashley. “The pretty ones always have tempers.”
“Give him a break,” Meredith said. “He hasn't slept, and he hit his head.”
Ashley looked back and forth between them. A small smile curled over her lips. “Fine,” she said. She folded her arms over her chest, crossed her long, spindly legs, and looked away.
Meredith resettled and sighed. She blinked, and she breathed, and she tried to force the anger out of herself. Fury burbled underneath her skin as though her body had been placed on a cauldron to boil. As she breathed out, she pressed her diaphragm and chest as far as they would go. The room fuzzed a bit. She let herself inhale. She repeated the process for a long time. She and Derek were not Sid and Nancy. Not even close. They couldn't be. Could they?
Except they were fighting in jail instead of having some really great makeup sex, and...
“You never talk to me,” Derek said.
Her lips parted. “I talk to you all the time,“ Meredith said.
“But not about--”
“Oh, I'd love to hear this,” Meredith said. She glared.
He looked like she'd slapped him. His mouth opened and closed. She wasn't being fair. She knew it. She'd asked him what was wrong. She'd poked and prodded. He took a deep breath. “When I'm with you, I feel like I'm alone,” he said.
“I'm there,” she protested. “I've been there.”
From the look on his face, he didn't agree. He swallowed. “You wanted to know what was wrong,” he said. Like he hated her for pulling him into this. Hated.
“Well, I'm sorry I'm not your perfect Stepford wife who wants your perfect house and 2.4 of your perfect chatty babies or whatever,” she said. What was she doing? Oh, god, what was she doing? Her hands shook. Stop it. Stop messing--
“But I don't want a perfect Stepford wife,” he said. He stared at her with an endless, pleading gaze. “I want you.”
“Except when I don't do what you want,” she countered.
He huffed a frustrated sigh. “You're twisting everything all around.”
“I'm telling you what I'm hearing,” she said.
“Then you're not listening to what I'm saying,” he snapped.
“I'm listening!” she yelled, and she stood. She gripped the bars. “I listen!”
“Yeah,” said Ashley. “You're doing a bang up job of that, now.”
Derek whipped to his feet. Both him and Meredith turned and said, “Shut up!” in unison.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Well, at least you're in sync, now.”
“I said simmer down!” said the guard around the corner.
Meredith sighed as she turned away from the woman. They needed to get out of here. They needed to go home, and talk, and really, really... She turned back to Derek. Dark, twisting emotions pillaged what was left of the calm in his expression. He looked distraught. Like he would burst. He wasn't crying. Hadn't cried. But his eyes had a glistening sheen to them, and red rimmed his eyelids, like he was ready to fall apart, and barely anything held him together.
“Derek,” Meredith said.
“You asked me what was wrong,” he said, accused. He walked away from the bars and sat in the far corner by the back, facing away. He didn't say another word.
Great.
Meredith bit her lip. Little bells of panic went off. She felt like she'd ruined something. Wrecked... Something. And she didn't know what. “Derek, I don't...” But she lost the words. She didn't have any idea what to say anymore.
She pressed her face against the bars and sniffed. The room blurred. This wasn't how anything was supposed to go. This was all wrong.
You stand back, waiting for him to fail, so you can say, “Ah hah! Now, I quit.”
Ashley stood. Her skirt squeaked. She strode to the bars and wrapped thin, arcing fingers around them. “Guard?” she called. “Guard!” After a long, silent minute, Ashley rattled the bars. “Guard!” she belted.
For an eternity, Meredith assumed that Ashley had been ignored, but was proven wrong when the external door buzzed. The blonde police officer strode in with a sigh, keys jingling. Meredith watched him pass. His little gold nameplate said Marx. Officer Marx.
He came to a stop in front of Ashley, several feet back from the bars. He turned to face her. “What is it, now?” he said.
Ashley pointed to Meredith. “I can't stand this woman. Put her somewhere else.”
“What?” said Meredith. Cold panic froze her innards. Did they have another lockup somewhere? “No. No, I need to be here!” If they took her away before she could figure out what to do about Derek...
Officer Marx frowned. “This isn't social hour. Deal with it.”
Ashley batted her eyes, and she sniffed. “Look, I...” She blinked, and a tear pulsed down her cheek. She flicked away a long strand of loose hair. Her boots clicked as she shifted closer to the bars. “I just lost my mother. I want to be alone, but she won't stop talking. She's insulting me and my profession.”
Officer Marx snorted, but Ashley continued. She pointed at Derek's cell. “Please. Put her over there. I'm begging you.”
“We don't do co-ed lockups,” Marx said.
“But she's so mean!”
Meredith stared dumbly at the pair of them.
Ashley dropped her gaze as she sniffled. She peered to the left at Meredith, a glare on her face. As she made a show of wiping her face, she mouthed, “Work with me,” behind her hand. A vague thrill of hope spiraled into Meredith's chest. When Ashley looked back up at Officer Marx, a fresh sprawl of tears glossed her cheeks. “Please, I can't stand this another minute. It's abusive is what it is.”
“You're a dirty, dirty... whore,” Meredith said. “I...” She struggled for vehemence when, at the moment, she felt nothing but gratitude. “I hate you.”
“See?” Ashley said. “She's nasty to me, and I... My mother...” She sniffed. “I can't.”
“Well,” said Officer Marx. “I guess I could move you...”
“Oh, yes,” said Ashley. She gazed at the far cell. Derek still had his back turned. Meredith had no idea if he was even listening. Ashley licked her lips as she wiped at her tears. “He looks good enough to eat. Sex is like bonbons when it comes to grief.”
Officer Marx swallowed. “Or her,” he said. He gestured at Meredith. “Come on,” he said with a glum sigh. Meredith stepped toward the door. He unlocked it with his key and frogmarched her across the hall to Derek's cell. “If you cause any problems, I will make sure you stay in here the whole day,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “And keep the racket down, for crying out loud.”
“Do you know when we'll be arraigned?” Meredith said.
Officer Marx shrugged as he slid the door shut and locked Meredith in with Derek. “Maybe another hour or two.” He seemed unsympathetic. And unspecific. She couldn't bring herself to care.
Officer Marx left them there. The exterior door rattled as he closed it, and they were alone again. Just the three of them. Ashley's waterworks ceased in seconds. She rolled her eyes, and she went to sit on the far bench. Her heels plinked as she moved.
“Thank you,” said Meredith.
Ashley shrugged. “The subtle approach clearly wasn't working with you two.”
Meredith blinked. Ashley smiled, and then she waved Meredith away with a flick of her bony hand. Meredith swallowed. Derek hadn't turned, hadn't even acknowledged her presence.
Meredith walked toward him. His lips set in a grim line. He stared at the corner of the cell with a dark, churning gaze.
She sat down on the bench next to him. Her shoulder brushed his back. He didn't lean into her. She twisted, and she touched him, palm to shoulder blade. He took a long, weary breath.
“Hey,” she said.
He said nothing.
She straddled the bench and pinched his trapezius muscles the way he'd been doing when he'd paced. She massaged, and she bit her lip when she realized how unyielding his body was being. How tense.
“I'm sorry I make you feel alone,” she said, trying to offer the first olive branch.
“You're sorry,” he said. “But you don't know why.”
She sighed. “I really don't, Derek. I'm not good at this. I'm not good at relationships.”
He stared at his knees, and he didn't turn around. “I wasn't trying to threaten you when I said those things,” he said.
“Well, then, what were you trying to do, Derek? Help me understand.”
She couldn't see his face, only the side; she was too far behind him. His temples fluttered as he clenched his jaw. Over and over. His grip worked at his pant legs by his knees. He rocked in his seat. Just a little. She wouldn't have seen it or felt it had she not been plastered against his back.
“I'm stuck in sort of a catch twenty-two,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Why?”
“Because when I tell you these things, you get scared or angry, and you bolt. But if I don't answer the question, I'm being dodgy, and you don't trust me.”
She kissed the nape of his neck. She ran her fingers through his mussed hair. “Well, I can't run right now without becoming a fugitive of the law or whatever.”
He loosed a stilted chuckle. He turned on the bench. She shifted to accommodate him. He rested hip-to-hip with her, but he still stared at the floor. Not at her. And her throat ached when she realized, again, just how badly she'd messed him up. Unwittingly. She'd never understood before how much she affected him. She'd moaned and wailed and whined about him breaking her. He'd been a silent victim in thousands of pieces on the floor without her batting an eyelash.
“I want you to want me,” he said. “I don't need a house or chatty babies or a dog or a picket fence or any of the things you seem to think I want unconditionally. I just want a woman who wants me.” He swallowed, and he looked at her. His dark eyes churned with upset. “Except somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you, and you just...” He shrugged. “You don't. And now I'm...” His voice fell away. He shook his head, and he stared into space, like he was trying to tell the world no, no, no, and his words fell on deaf ears.
“What do you mean I don't?” she said.
“Love me,” he said. “I didn't sign the divorce papers, and I ruined it. You've never forgiven me for Addison. This is my fault.”
The distress and conviction in his gaze made her heart twist. “I forgave you everything, Derek. That's why we're even talking right now. And I do love you,” she said. The words came easily in light of how badly he seemed to need to hear them, and it was only then that she realized she hadn't said them ever again to him. Not since the first time.
He sucked in a breath like she'd stabbed him. “Meredith...”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Derek, I love you,” she said. “I always have. In a really, really big, pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window way. That never changed, even when I wanted it to.”
He looked at the floor, swallowing and swallowing again, like he couldn't hold himself in if he spoke. He cleared his throat, but his voice seemed shaky when he spoke. “You haven't said that to me in a long time,” he said.
“I thought...” she said. She didn't know what she'd thought. She hadn't said the words. She'd been afraid. Petrified. And she'd ruined his sense of self-worth in the process. She kissed him because it seemed like the right thing to do. Her lips brushed his temple where his hair started. She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him. She could do this. She could be what he needed if she tried. This was still fixable. The realization scared the crap out of her. “Never mind what I thought,” she said. “I wasn't fair to you.”
She'd been a flighty, hypocritical freak.
“You weren't?” he said. He blinked. And he stared at her like she'd been replaced with a pod person.
Her guilt compounded as she nodded. “You're right.”
“I am?”
“You've been there for me,” she said. “I wasn't there for you. I ran away. I'm sorry.”
“I'm...” He blinked at her again, flummoxed.
“I really want to fix this with you,” she said.
His eyes closed. His body shivered. His breaths tightened. “You do?”
“I do, yes,” she told him. “I saw a therapist, Derek. I'm whole and healed because I saw a therapist. She made me realize some things.” Belatedly.
“Wh...” he began, and then he lost his words in a gust of breath. He shook his head. He didn't speak, but he looked like he wanted to say something. To ask her. But he couldn't.
“I do bolt,” she said as she read his racing thoughts. “I totally bolt. And it's not your fault. It's my fault for letting my crappy life win, and that's not on you. Stop beating yourself up or whatever.”
He stared at her.
“I don't want to bolt anymore, Derek. I want to try. I saw a therapist because I want the happily ever after with you. I want it really badly. And I'm sorry I messed it up by running.”
She kissed him again. His body wavered with her touch. He was pliant in her arms. Staring. His breaths fell from him, soft and low and quick. He blinked again. Like he was in shock.
“I promise I'll try not to run,” she said.
He turned into her embrace. A huge, shaky breath poured out of him. He made a noise. Deep in his throat. Like a moan, but not quite. “Meredith,” he said. He pushed his face against her neck, and he breathed against her like he needed her body to live. His arms slipped around her torso, and he pulled her tight against him. Her chest tightened. Her ribs constricted. He rested, face in her hair, silent, for minutes. She let him be, let him do what he needed.
“I'll try, Derek,” she repeated. “I'll really, really try. And If I do run, you have my permission to chase me. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise I'll try not to push you,” he said. He swallowed, and then he added in a hoarse whisper, “I'm sorry I pushed.”
“It's okay,” she said, and she realized she meant it. She really meant it. It was okay. He'd pushed her because she ran and never told him she loved him. It was a vicious cycle that they needed to break. She had to break it. She closed her eyes and let his warmth relax away her fear. A sense of safety wrapped around her like a blanket. He always made her feel safe and perfect when he held her. Perfect despite her mountain of horrible, freaky flaws.
She shifted. He pulled away a few inches, and she pressed her ear against his chest. He settled his chin against her head. She listened to him breathe. He'd calmed down a bit.
“If you push me, I'll push back,” she decided. “I won't run.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice soft. He rubbed her back with the flat of his warm palm.
“I love you,” she said. Just for the hell of it. One more time. His body turned to putty in her arms. She tilted her head and kissed his throat. “So much, Derek. I mean it. Even if I don't say it, I mean it.”
He inhaled and exhaled. Her hair fluttered with the force of his breath at her scalp. “I love you, too,” he said, like he'd been waiting to say those words in that precise combination forever. His body shuddered, and he pressed his lips against the top of her head. He kissed her, and then he stilled.
She rested her hand on his shirt over his navel. “I'm glad we have that settled,” she said with a definitive nod, and he laughed. Really laughed. The sound of it made her muscles turn to Jell-O. Even though they were in a jail in a cell on a horrible, uncomfortable bench that smelled like urine, she didn't want to move.
“Me, too,” he said.
The soft sound of clapping broke Meredith from her trance. She looked up from Derek's chest. Ashley stood at the bars of the other cell, her green eyes watering over. Black smears of mascara ran down her cheeks. She sniffed. “Oh, I knew you guys could do it,” she said.
“I thought you said we were Sid and Nancy,” Derek said.
Ashley waved her hand and snorted. “Oh, hush. You needed a little jump start.”
“Right,” Derek said. “I suppose you're just a romantic at heart?”
She shrugged. “Hey, it gives me hope,” she said. “That Julia Roberts movie inspired me to be a better person.” Her bra strap fell off her shoulder, and she fixed it.
“Sure,” Derek said, and he nodded, though he didn't sound convinced.
Before Ashley could respond, the exterior door of the prison opened. The man who walked through was not Officer Marx. He was a big man. Not fat. Just big. And very tall. Maybe six foot three. He had a buzz cut and a pocked, rugged complexion that spoke of bad acne as a kid. A brown, bushy mustache covered his upper lip. “Derek Shepherd?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Derek said as the officer came to a stop beyond the bars.
“Well, damn, it is you.”
“I'm me, yes,” Derek said. He looked at Meredith. She shrugged. He looked back at the man.
“I'm Captain Shelby,” the big policeman said, his voice gruff. “One of my boys flipped his car in pursuit of a suspect last year. You performed life-saving surgery.”
Derek blinked. For a moment, his face remained blank. Meredith couldn't recall a surgery like that with Derek involved, but she watched recognition crawl across his face after moments. “Broken skull,” he said. “Epidural hematoma. Sergeant Dan... Motley?”
Captain Shelby grinned. “That's my man. He has four kids, a wife, and three dogs who are very grateful. He's off today, or he would say so himself.”
“I'm glad I could help,” Derek said.
Captain Shelby approached the lockup door. “I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I had no idea you were stuck in here until the paperwork hit my desk.” He turned his key, and the jail cell opened with a moan. “You're free to go.”
“You're just letting us go?” Derek said.
“Yes,” Captain Shelby said. “Your papers fell into the shredder. I don't know how it happened.”
“Hers, too?” Derek asked.
The captain nodded.
“Seriously?” Meredith said.
Derek jabbed her with his elbow. “She means thank you,” he said.
“Of course I mean thank you,” Meredith said. “I just...”
Captain Shelby winked. “Keep it in the bedroom next time. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said. He stood, and Meredith followed. Meredith bit her lip as they stepped out of the jail cell. She sort of wanted to ask about Ashley.
Ashley waved them off. “I rack up priors like baseball cards. They wouldn't let me out.”
“Thank you,” Meredith said.
“Whatever.” Ashley shrugged.
Derek's hand rested at the small of Meredith's back. Captain Shelby ushered them out of the lockup area. A police officer waited with their coats, Derek's wallet, and Meredith's purse. They were out of the precinct in less than ten minutes.
They stood on the sidewalk out front. A police car chirped as it drove by. People bustled. Sunlight slanted onto the pavement, and Meredith squinted in the harsh light of freedom. Dozens of puffy clouds filled the blue sky, and the air smelled earthy and wet, but the good weather would hold on for at least another few hours. She knew from experience. Chilly wind blew through her hair, and she pulled against his body. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder, and she leaned into the warmth.
“I think I've never been more happy that you're a complete rock star at your job than I am right now,” she said.
“As long as you're only happy and not surprised,” he said.
She grinned. “And you're so modest, too.”
Derek shrugged and yawned. He tried to cover it with a palm against his face, but his whole body went rigid. She saw the flash of his teeth behind his hand. His eyes watered and squeezed shut. When he closed his mouth, he blinked, like he didn't really see anything. He barely had time to recover before another yawn rolled through his body. His weight on her shoulder increased, like he lost himself for a moment.
“You're crashing,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Where's your car?”
“Umm,” she said. She looked at her feet. She'd stuffed the papers in her purse on the way out of the precinct. He hadn't seen them. “Sort of impounded. I have to pick it up from the lot.”
Another jaw-cracking yawn rolled through him. He blinked. Tears fell down his face as he struggled to pull enough oxygen into his body to stay awake. “Can we get it later?” he said.
“Sure,” she said. “My place?”
“Wherever you want, Meredith,” he said in an echo of before. “I'm just happy it's with you.”
She blinked as he leaned against her. His eyelids drooped, and the dark circles under his eyes almost gave him a raccoonish look. But he was a cute raccoon. With a thick carpet of stubble, messy, uneven hair, a split-open forehead, and a pale face of exhaustion that rivaled alabaster. Well, more like a refugee raccoon, she supposed. She kissed him. For the first time, she knew he was hers. Her raccoon. Forever. As long as she wasn't an idiot.
Her fingers scrunched his wool coat. She would stop running. She would stop. She had to stop. “I'll call a taxi,” she said. She fumbled with her purse.
“Kay,” he muttered listlessly.
He stood beside her, staring at nothing while she called for a taxi. His chin tilted toward his chest. She wondered if he was even processing his surroundings anymore. A horn blared as a car tried to pull from the curb into traffic. The sound jarred him, and he flinched, blinking furiously.
She hung up her phone and stuffed it back into her purse. “It'll be here soon,” she said. She rubbed his arm. “They said five or ten minutes.”
“S'ok,” he said. “My eighth wind will hit soon.”
She snickered. “Sure it will.”
“Mmm,” he said. She watched, fascinated, as he ran through all his standard I'm-dying-but-I-need-to-finish-this-surgery techniques. He shook his head, and he used every ounce of his willpower to force wakefulness back into his expression. He shifted on the balls of his feet, and he blinked. He stretched his arms and flexed his fingers. He rolled his neck. When he finished, he looked a bit more alive, but not much.
“So, we're officially not criminals,” he said.
“Nope,” she said. “I'm sort of glad.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You sounded indifferent before.”
“We would have been fine except for the part where we had to explain to the Chief why we suddenly had rap sheets for public indecency.”
“Oh,” Derek said. “Yeah, there's that.”
She bumped her hip against him and smiled. “Plus, you looked a little panicky.”
He frowned. “I was not.”
“Admit it,” she said. “You wilt at the prospect of breaking the law.”
“Hey,” he said. He kissed her. “It took two to break that law, and I was definitely one of two.”
“Touche or whatever,” she said.
“Besides,” he said. “If I'm going to break the law, that's the way to do it. More law-breaking, I say.”
“You realize we're two for two on getting caught? We're pretty crappy miscreants.”
“Best three out of five?” he said. “Some things take a lot of practice.”
“But what if we fail on try three?”
“Such a pessimist,” he said.
“Realist,” she said. “The universe hates us.”
“I don't know,” he said. “Me and the universe are getting along right now, I think.”
She snorted. “Derek, your car is scrap. And we just got out of jail.”
He looked at her. “But Beth's alive, and I'm with you.”
Simple. To the point.
She blinked as she watched his expression. Intensity morphed into a twinkle-eyed smile. He leaned into her space and kissed her once, twice. She swallowed as he pulled away. He seemed lighter despite his exhaustion. More springy than he'd been mere hours ago, even before they'd been arrested.
“I'm just saying don't rule out future delinquency,” he said.
“I'll keep that in mind,” she said.
He nodded. “You do that.”
The yellow-and-black streak of a passing taxi caught her attention. She held up her hand and took a step. The taxi's brake lights flashed deep red, and the car pulled to the curb. They walked to meet it.
“613 Harper Lane,” she told the driver as she settled on the foamy seat next to Derek. The cabin smelled like someone had dumped a bottle of Pine-Sol on the floor mats, and she wrinkled her nose, but at least the cab ride would be quick. She would live. “It's in Queen Anne Hill,” she continued. The driver nodded as she slammed her door shut and buckled her seat belt.
Derek blinked once. Twice. His head tilted forward as the car crept away from the curb. She heard a thunk as his forehead hit the window. His cheek slipped along the glass with a squeak. Before the cab reached cruising speed, his breaths evened. Fog crawled along the window, tracing his exhalations. She watched him sleep as the taxi driver took them perilously down the 99, cursing and weaving. Derek didn't budge. As they pulled up to the house, she paid the driver using hushed tones, and then she brushed Derek's shoulder.
“We're at my place,” she said. “Derek?”
He twitched. “Hmm?”
“Wake up for a few minutes,” she told him.
“Kay,” he said. He wiped his face with his hands and blinked. He peered muzzily at her, and then at his surroundings. The sight of her house seemed to push some energy into his laggard brain. He scrabbled against the slippery leather seats, but he managed to get free of the car without too much trouble. He followed her, silent, as she strode up the front walk. She unlocked the door. He lumbered up the stairs on autopilot while she set her purse down and shut the door.
She caught up to him as he entered her bedroom. On the threshold, he stopped, and a bout of sentience slammed into him. He blinked, and he stared at her bedroom as though he didn't know it well. Silence hovered in the house. A dog barked outside. The roar of a passing car vibrated along the walls.
“What?” she said.
“Should I be on the sofa?” he said. “We didn't really talk about--”
“I thought we were just being,” she said.
“We are, I just...”
Didn't want to push. She read the words on his face, though he didn't say them. She melted. He'd never slept on the couch unless they'd had sex on it. He really was trying. Even half dead with exhaustion and ready to collapse on command.
She gripped his shoulders and squeezed. “The bed is fine,” she said. She gave him a nudge. His sudden tension leaked away, and he stepped onto the area rug by the bed. The floorboards groaned with his weight.
He shuffled to his side of the bed, and she smiled. His side. His. He hadn't had a side in her bed in a long time. She watched as he slipped off his coat. He didn't even bother to hang it up. He let it fall into a heap on the floor. He took off his black sweater next, and he unbuttoned his blue shirt. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Nothing that told her he hadn't done this in front of her in a long freaking time. He'd come home.
“Do you want me to put out clean sheets?” she said.
“I don't care,” he said.
“Do you want some ibuprofen?” she said. She pulled a fresh t-shirt from the closet.
“Um,” he said. He pulled a hand back through his messy hair. “I'm fine right now. Thanks.”
She inhaled as his shirt slipped to the floor, revealing lean but toned shoulders and arms. A sleek, pale back. Muscles that slid underneath his skin. Muscles she wanted to touch. But he didn't make jokes about free shows or stripping. He didn't smile. He didn't do anything but stare at the bed like he wanted to fall into it. He kicked off his leather shoes. He reached for the buckle on his belt.
She went to her drawer and pulled out a familiar pair of fuzzy gray pajama bottoms. They were way too big for her, but she'd found if she pulled the drawstrings tight and folded up the ankle cuffs, they were functional. She'd slept in them from time to time. They'd helped. Sometimes, at night, when she'd needed something safe. They'd helped.
Her breaths sped as she turned back to the bed and saw his profile, lean, toned, and nude save for his boxer briefs. He had a thin body. Long legs. A tapering torso. She stared at his lines, and a tremor ran through her body. Hers. As long as she wasn't stupid.
“Here,” she said, as she closed the space between them. Warmth radiated from his naked skin.
He looked at her. “What?” he said, nonplussed.
“These are yours,” she said.
He took the bundle from her. Their hands brushed. A sleepy smile overtook him. “I was wondering where these were.”
“I kept them.”
“Thief,” he said as he pulled them on.
“Just call me Bonnie,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Bonnie?”
“You know,” she said. She rubbed his arm. “And Clyde?”
He smirked, and then he kissed her. “We're not Bonnie and Clyde,” he said.
“You're the one who wanted to break the law some more.”
“I'm more a fan of nudity than I am larceny,” he said. “Besides, you said we were crappy miscreants.”
“Well,” Meredith said. “They did die, didn't they? That's pretty crappy of them.” The tired glaze on his face creased into a frown, and she grinned, sheepish. “Okay, yeah. Bad metaphor or whatever.”
“I'll forget you said that one,” he said. He tied the drawstrings on his pajama pants, and he sat on the bed. He yawned. The mattress creaked with his weight. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Missed this,” he said. He stretched out on his back and pulled the sheets over his body. He closed his eyes half way, and his breaths rasped with the deep undertones sleep in moments, though he didn't sleep. Not quite. Not yet.
She stripped to her underwear and put on the t-shirt she'd liberated from the closet. He watched with a silent gaze. His eyelids hung low over his eyes. The vague blue twinkle and the small curl of his lips told her he liked the view, but again, he didn't make comments.
She followed him under the covers. She pushed against his warm body and melded along his length. She kissed his bare chest. The scent of his body soothed her. He kissed her hair.
“If we're not Sid and Nancy, and we're not Bonnie and Clyde,” she said, “Then who are we?”
“Just us, I suppose,” he said.
“Just us,” she agreed. “Just being?” She blinked as a yawn tore through her.
His chest rose and fell with a sigh. He stroked her arm. “Just being.”
He met her gaze for a long moment. Muted sunshine slanted through the window, making his face pale and haggard against the dark swath of his hair and stubble. The wound under his hairline had scabbed in a crusty red line, and a big bump had formed like an egg underneath his skin. His hair stuck up in clumps. He looked like he'd been thrashed and beaten and left for dead. Except he smiled. A wide, refreshing smile that made her smile, too. Not an ounce of stress creased his features.
“In a few hours, I want my sex and kissing,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Deal,” she said.
His eyes shut, and he didn't open them again. She watched him sleep for several minutes before the sight of him blurred. The room fuzzed away. For a long time, she stayed aware of his arms wrapped around her. The heat of his skin against her. The reassuring scent of his body by her side, marking her sheets, and making her home feel like home again.
Shortly after, she slipped into dreams along with him.
~FIN~