Fic: Post 'An honest mistake'
Title: Facts about tequila
Pairing: Derek character, Derek/Meredith
Rating: R but really only for language
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not received for fictitious works.
A/N: So I wrote this after 5x16 but didn't finish it cause I got distracted. Now I'm bored and waiting for 5x17 to download so I thought why not. I hate to leave Derek hanging after all.
The first time Derek tasted tequila was in med school. He was sat at a table with some girls whose names he couldn't remember. The student union bar was so busy everyone bought three drinks at a time and Derek had three pints of cider lined up in a perfect horizontal stretch of fizzy gold in front of him, just ready for the drinking.
He'd sat at the table with the girls because he was trying this new thing. This new thing Mark had suggested and it was called socialising. Ugh. It sounded like a dirty word in Derek's ears. Sounded like it involved getting too close to people he wanted to back away from, having to make polite conversation when he'd rather be at home dreaming...even studying...anything else other than this.
But he was trying. He wasn't pulling a disgusted face when the brunette (the noisiest of the three) leaned in closer to him and asked him questions. He managed to keep his face polite and friendly even as her elbow nudged his arm uncomfortably and her hand waved dangerously close to his line of drinks. Derek put his arm around the glasses forming a protective wall around them.
"Actually, I'm training to be a doctor."
He waited for the reaction that inevitably followed this revelation and got it. The brunette, voice pitched high with excitement and almost screaming leant towards her friends.
"Did you hear that guys? He's training to be a doctor!"
The blonde glanced at him for a second then away again. Derek had been trying to get her to talk to him at the bar and she'd favoured him with a few words in reply before staring straight ahead at the queue as if she could make the masses of people part in front of her. She probably could, thought Derek, if she realised how many men were looking at her. But she seemed totally oblivious to it, totally bored with the whole place and Derek wondered why she was putting herself through an ordeal she obviously didn't enjoy. But then he could say the same about himself.
"Oh really." the blonde said, more to her friend than to him. "Then why is he drinking three pints?"
The scorn in her voice hung heavy and Derek looked to see what she was drinking that was so sophisticated. A small shot glass of tequila glimmered on the table, her long fingers wrapped around it in a protective way that Derek recognised. Suddenly she lifted the glass to her mouth, gave him another withering glance and downed it, all in one. Then she shuddered as if the alcohol had poisoned her, but did not make a face of disgust. It was as if she knew the role she was meant to be playing, drink the shots, dance, act like you're having a good time. She did not have any patience left for finding out if Derek was worth talking to. The three pints of cider had spoken loud enough for her to dismiss him as a shallow boy only looking for one thing.
Derek picked up one of his drinks and took a large obnoxious gulp. He could play his part too, he could act like he didn't care and that he didn't think she was pretty enough or interesting enough to talk to again.
Then the red-head who he hadn't really looked at before surprised him by turning to him, her eyes sparking with a smile that was conspiritorial.
"Me too."
That was the night Derek met Addison. She bought him a shot of mezcal and he never asked why he never met her friend the blonde girl ever again.
------------------------------------------------
The second time he tasted tequila was the night he met Meredith.
He was on his third Scotch of the night and had no intention of stopping. He liked drinking Scotch. It made him feel...different, more man-of-the-world, philosophical and more 'I don't give a fuck' than the wine and champagne that Addison insisted they drink at all those social functions he resented, at all those awkward candlelit dinners for two. Addison would have hated the fact he was drinking Scotch. So all the more reason to drink it then, cheers!
Derek savoured the bitter tang and the honey golden colour that was reflected in Meredith's hair when he looked up. Of course, then he didn't know her name, he didn't know she would change his life. What strange reasoning it was. To talk to a girl at the bar because her hair shone like barley soaked in pure spring water and take her home because she was drinking tequila. That drink which reminded him of a time when he had all his life in front of him, ready for the screwing up and he just hadn't realised it. He'd thought he was in a bad place that night, drinking three pints of cider. But looking back, there were so many choices he could have made, he had been free. Now, this time, he was determined to appreciate his position.
When he kissed her, he could taste fruit and surprisingly, chocolate.It was neat, straight up, forget the lime and the salt and it burnt him so sweetly, he was addicted, he wanted more.
-----------------------------------------------------
Now, sitting on Meredith's couch, in supposed to be their house, he tasted tequila for the third time.
He'd never drunk with such intent before. The cider had been showing off, experimenting, the Scotch had been nostalgia and self-expression. The tequila was a wish for oblivion.
He didn't care the drink was as old as the Aztecs. He wasn't interested in history anymore. History was about judgement and he knew that if he was weighed in the balances he would be found wanting. He killed people when he was meant to be their saviour. How fucked up was that?
Another shot and he could feel Meredith leaning against him. He didn't know what she wanted, he wasn't in the mood for conversation. He didn't want her to reassure him, or have to be the one to say it was ok.
He could barely feel his right hand anymore, the ice had numbed it. It made him smile, because neither tequila, nor Scotch, nor cider needed ice to be drinkable. He was really out of place in this whole equation. He watched the fingers of his left hand, bloody and scratched as well, (had he been fighting with both hands, like a cornered animal?) gripped the tequila bottle and sent the liquid sloshing into his and Meredith's glasses. So she was coming down with him then, after all.
He glared at the bottle. The peeling 'Diablo' label striking him as kinda ironic. Drink this and you become the devil, or drink this to keep the devil at bay. Either could work fine for him. The back of the bottle gave a short history of tequila and its making process. Meredith was still at his side, and the silence was tense between them, maybe he could talk to her if he tried. Derek took a ragged breath, the tequila had left his mouth wet but his throat was dry and scratchy. He allowed the weight of Meredith against his side and began to read to her:
"Tequila is produced by removing the heart of the agave plant..." Derek winced, it seemed a brutal process, and so appropriate.
"They take it apart Meredith. That's what I did to Jen. I split her into tiny pieces, discarded all the parts I thought weren't useful. I was so selfish...we were..."
He trailed off, vaguely aware of Meredith's eyes, huge and concerned on his face. It was too much, she was pulling at his heart and he couldn't take it. Why couldn't she leave him alone? He wanted to be whole and useless forever.
But Meredith seemed intent on dissecting him, finding something priceless within the beaten up shell of his body. She could see right through his skin to his heart, and she found goodness there.
"Derek." Her voice was clean and vibrant to his ears. She was like a young green shoot...he didn't deserve her.
But when she said "Look at me" it was a command he couldn't ignore. It was there own special language, holding more magic than elvish. It was soaked with history and stolen moments in elevators and kisses in the stairwell.
He obeyed, looking at her, trying to find some trace of what he'd been searching for all those years ago in the bar, trying to feel again the freedom.
"Derek.." She held his gaze, bluer than the agave plant but swimming with unshed tears. "There's something else, you should know, about tequila..."
Derek made a scathing noise in his throat. He didn't care about the facts anymore. All that mattered was his feelings, things he'd ignored for years when he was busy saving the world and it's brain. Now it was time to free them, even if they came out with their claws bared, ripping him apart on the way.
But Meredith was still talking, like she thought, crazily, that he could let himself feel and still be a happy man, a surgeon. He knew he should tell her that if they had crappy babies it was at least half his fault. He'd cheated, he hadn't told her he wasn't perfect. Well, it was all coming to light now and there was nothing he could do to stop it, or stop her running away from him.
"In Mexico..." She was saying, Derek shook his head. He didn't want to go to Mexico. He'd come too far already,all across the country from the opposite coast. He was exhausted and he didn't want to leave Seattle and it's pathetic fallacy of rain.
"...scientists have made tequila into diamonds."
"Diamonds?" Derek grunted. Her voice was like liquid on his skin, sliding and soothing. He let himself be pulled into the undertow of it.
"they heat it into vapour, then it changes, turns into carbon. I'm not sure of the science of it. But it becomes diamonds Derek."
Derek looked at the bottle on the table and the glass in his hand, wondering and still a little sceptical "We're drinking diamonds?"
He heard her laugh beside him, a sound running out like spilt spirit. She moved closer to him, her sugar scented breath on his ear.
"They even use the crystals to make surgical instruments."
Derek thought of the ring still in his jacket pocket, discarded somewhere. Did Meredith like diamonds he wondered, or would she prefer a ten-blade wrapped in velvet?
He turned himself, with some effort, ignoring the grating in his muscles and the pain in his head and brushed his mouth against Meredith's. She kissed him back, needy and fresh and pure, despite all the devil she'd been drinking. It made Derek hopeful. Maybe he could have her when he was like this, without the evil consequences. Maybe he wouldn't even have a bad head in the morning.
The courage surged in his veins and he kissed her harder, pushing her back against the couch because she deserved some softness too. Meredith scrambled against him, pressing herself so close he could feel her hipbone against his stomach and he let out a noise that must have been a groan.
She was whimpering, all stories about tequila forgotten now and it made him smile, bitter and tiger bright to know he was the one who could do that to her brain. At least he still had that control left. Then Meredith pressed herself up against him again and his thoughts shattered like glass.
Derek loved tequila and hated it too, the same way he felt about himself and even Meredith sometimes.It came silver or gold, rested or old...he'd had all those things too, in his life and he knew he should be grateful. He let himself get drunk in her and hoped the morning would bring not a hangover, but something shining like diamonds.
Pairing: Derek character, Derek/Meredith
Rating: R but really only for language
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not received for fictitious works.
A/N: So I wrote this after 5x16 but didn't finish it cause I got distracted. Now I'm bored and waiting for 5x17 to download so I thought why not. I hate to leave Derek hanging after all.
The first time Derek tasted tequila was in med school. He was sat at a table with some girls whose names he couldn't remember. The student union bar was so busy everyone bought three drinks at a time and Derek had three pints of cider lined up in a perfect horizontal stretch of fizzy gold in front of him, just ready for the drinking.
He'd sat at the table with the girls because he was trying this new thing. This new thing Mark had suggested and it was called socialising. Ugh. It sounded like a dirty word in Derek's ears. Sounded like it involved getting too close to people he wanted to back away from, having to make polite conversation when he'd rather be at home dreaming...even studying...anything else other than this.
But he was trying. He wasn't pulling a disgusted face when the brunette (the noisiest of the three) leaned in closer to him and asked him questions. He managed to keep his face polite and friendly even as her elbow nudged his arm uncomfortably and her hand waved dangerously close to his line of drinks. Derek put his arm around the glasses forming a protective wall around them.
"Actually, I'm training to be a doctor."
He waited for the reaction that inevitably followed this revelation and got it. The brunette, voice pitched high with excitement and almost screaming leant towards her friends.
"Did you hear that guys? He's training to be a doctor!"
The blonde glanced at him for a second then away again. Derek had been trying to get her to talk to him at the bar and she'd favoured him with a few words in reply before staring straight ahead at the queue as if she could make the masses of people part in front of her. She probably could, thought Derek, if she realised how many men were looking at her. But she seemed totally oblivious to it, totally bored with the whole place and Derek wondered why she was putting herself through an ordeal she obviously didn't enjoy. But then he could say the same about himself.
"Oh really." the blonde said, more to her friend than to him. "Then why is he drinking three pints?"
The scorn in her voice hung heavy and Derek looked to see what she was drinking that was so sophisticated. A small shot glass of tequila glimmered on the table, her long fingers wrapped around it in a protective way that Derek recognised. Suddenly she lifted the glass to her mouth, gave him another withering glance and downed it, all in one. Then she shuddered as if the alcohol had poisoned her, but did not make a face of disgust. It was as if she knew the role she was meant to be playing, drink the shots, dance, act like you're having a good time. She did not have any patience left for finding out if Derek was worth talking to. The three pints of cider had spoken loud enough for her to dismiss him as a shallow boy only looking for one thing.
Derek picked up one of his drinks and took a large obnoxious gulp. He could play his part too, he could act like he didn't care and that he didn't think she was pretty enough or interesting enough to talk to again.
Then the red-head who he hadn't really looked at before surprised him by turning to him, her eyes sparking with a smile that was conspiritorial.
"Me too."
That was the night Derek met Addison. She bought him a shot of mezcal and he never asked why he never met her friend the blonde girl ever again.
------------------------------------------------
The second time he tasted tequila was the night he met Meredith.
He was on his third Scotch of the night and had no intention of stopping. He liked drinking Scotch. It made him feel...different, more man-of-the-world, philosophical and more 'I don't give a fuck' than the wine and champagne that Addison insisted they drink at all those social functions he resented, at all those awkward candlelit dinners for two. Addison would have hated the fact he was drinking Scotch. So all the more reason to drink it then, cheers!
Derek savoured the bitter tang and the honey golden colour that was reflected in Meredith's hair when he looked up. Of course, then he didn't know her name, he didn't know she would change his life. What strange reasoning it was. To talk to a girl at the bar because her hair shone like barley soaked in pure spring water and take her home because she was drinking tequila. That drink which reminded him of a time when he had all his life in front of him, ready for the screwing up and he just hadn't realised it. He'd thought he was in a bad place that night, drinking three pints of cider. But looking back, there were so many choices he could have made, he had been free. Now, this time, he was determined to appreciate his position.
When he kissed her, he could taste fruit and surprisingly, chocolate.It was neat, straight up, forget the lime and the salt and it burnt him so sweetly, he was addicted, he wanted more.
-----------------------------------------------------
Now, sitting on Meredith's couch, in supposed to be their house, he tasted tequila for the third time.
He'd never drunk with such intent before. The cider had been showing off, experimenting, the Scotch had been nostalgia and self-expression. The tequila was a wish for oblivion.
He didn't care the drink was as old as the Aztecs. He wasn't interested in history anymore. History was about judgement and he knew that if he was weighed in the balances he would be found wanting. He killed people when he was meant to be their saviour. How fucked up was that?
Another shot and he could feel Meredith leaning against him. He didn't know what she wanted, he wasn't in the mood for conversation. He didn't want her to reassure him, or have to be the one to say it was ok.
He could barely feel his right hand anymore, the ice had numbed it. It made him smile, because neither tequila, nor Scotch, nor cider needed ice to be drinkable. He was really out of place in this whole equation. He watched the fingers of his left hand, bloody and scratched as well, (had he been fighting with both hands, like a cornered animal?) gripped the tequila bottle and sent the liquid sloshing into his and Meredith's glasses. So she was coming down with him then, after all.
He glared at the bottle. The peeling 'Diablo' label striking him as kinda ironic. Drink this and you become the devil, or drink this to keep the devil at bay. Either could work fine for him. The back of the bottle gave a short history of tequila and its making process. Meredith was still at his side, and the silence was tense between them, maybe he could talk to her if he tried. Derek took a ragged breath, the tequila had left his mouth wet but his throat was dry and scratchy. He allowed the weight of Meredith against his side and began to read to her:
"Tequila is produced by removing the heart of the agave plant..." Derek winced, it seemed a brutal process, and so appropriate.
"They take it apart Meredith. That's what I did to Jen. I split her into tiny pieces, discarded all the parts I thought weren't useful. I was so selfish...we were..."
He trailed off, vaguely aware of Meredith's eyes, huge and concerned on his face. It was too much, she was pulling at his heart and he couldn't take it. Why couldn't she leave him alone? He wanted to be whole and useless forever.
But Meredith seemed intent on dissecting him, finding something priceless within the beaten up shell of his body. She could see right through his skin to his heart, and she found goodness there.
"Derek." Her voice was clean and vibrant to his ears. She was like a young green shoot...he didn't deserve her.
But when she said "Look at me" it was a command he couldn't ignore. It was there own special language, holding more magic than elvish. It was soaked with history and stolen moments in elevators and kisses in the stairwell.
He obeyed, looking at her, trying to find some trace of what he'd been searching for all those years ago in the bar, trying to feel again the freedom.
"Derek.." She held his gaze, bluer than the agave plant but swimming with unshed tears. "There's something else, you should know, about tequila..."
Derek made a scathing noise in his throat. He didn't care about the facts anymore. All that mattered was his feelings, things he'd ignored for years when he was busy saving the world and it's brain. Now it was time to free them, even if they came out with their claws bared, ripping him apart on the way.
But Meredith was still talking, like she thought, crazily, that he could let himself feel and still be a happy man, a surgeon. He knew he should tell her that if they had crappy babies it was at least half his fault. He'd cheated, he hadn't told her he wasn't perfect. Well, it was all coming to light now and there was nothing he could do to stop it, or stop her running away from him.
"In Mexico..." She was saying, Derek shook his head. He didn't want to go to Mexico. He'd come too far already,all across the country from the opposite coast. He was exhausted and he didn't want to leave Seattle and it's pathetic fallacy of rain.
"...scientists have made tequila into diamonds."
"Diamonds?" Derek grunted. Her voice was like liquid on his skin, sliding and soothing. He let himself be pulled into the undertow of it.
"they heat it into vapour, then it changes, turns into carbon. I'm not sure of the science of it. But it becomes diamonds Derek."
Derek looked at the bottle on the table and the glass in his hand, wondering and still a little sceptical "We're drinking diamonds?"
He heard her laugh beside him, a sound running out like spilt spirit. She moved closer to him, her sugar scented breath on his ear.
"They even use the crystals to make surgical instruments."
Derek thought of the ring still in his jacket pocket, discarded somewhere. Did Meredith like diamonds he wondered, or would she prefer a ten-blade wrapped in velvet?
He turned himself, with some effort, ignoring the grating in his muscles and the pain in his head and brushed his mouth against Meredith's. She kissed him back, needy and fresh and pure, despite all the devil she'd been drinking. It made Derek hopeful. Maybe he could have her when he was like this, without the evil consequences. Maybe he wouldn't even have a bad head in the morning.
The courage surged in his veins and he kissed her harder, pushing her back against the couch because she deserved some softness too. Meredith scrambled against him, pressing herself so close he could feel her hipbone against his stomach and he let out a noise that must have been a groan.
She was whimpering, all stories about tequila forgotten now and it made him smile, bitter and tiger bright to know he was the one who could do that to her brain. At least he still had that control left. Then Meredith pressed herself up against him again and his thoughts shattered like glass.
Derek loved tequila and hated it too, the same way he felt about himself and even Meredith sometimes.It came silver or gold, rested or old...he'd had all those things too, in his life and he knew he should be grateful. He let himself get drunk in her and hoped the morning would bring not a hangover, but something shining like diamonds.