love in the time of science - chapter seven
Happy New Year! I always love how January 1st feels. Just so fresh and clean somehow. I hope everyone had a good New Year's Eve. I had to work until 1am, so I missed out on all the wild celebrating this year. But, on the brightside, my job is very, very low-key, so I was able to get the latest chapter of LitToS finished. And here it is, in honor of the New Year!
Title: Love in the Time of Science
Author: Morgen
Summary: Love. Tragedy. The things we’ve left unsaid. This is their story. Set after episode 5.05.
Disclaimer: I am not famous. I do not own TV shows. I am a poor college student with a laptop and a serious procrastination habit.
Rating: Written for grownups.
The sun was rising, and she wished it wouldn’t. Everything looked different by daylight. The sky was turning pale pink outside, and it slipped its glow in through the half opened blinds. She could see the bed she’d left and Derek fast asleep on his stomach, an arm slung out over her side of the bed as if he meant to hold her. Meredith watched the gentle rise and fall of his back and smiled to herself. It was a relief not to see the worry she had put in his eyes; he looked peaceful with his hair disheveled and his face pressed to the pillow. But the sun was rising, and he would wake. She stifled a yawn and looked away. Their clothes were still scattered on the floor, his shirt lying right next to her sweatpants. The towel he’d wrapped her in was hidden just out of eyesight; she’d passed it earlier when she had tiptoed to her robe. When dawn had been nothing more than some distant, unsettling prospect and the sound of Derek’s slow steady breathing had kept her company in the silent darkness. Meredith fought off another yawn and tightened the belt on her robe. Her eyes felt too dry, her eyelids too heavy. If she got up now and slipped back into bed, she could have a good fifteen minutes of sleep before the alarm went off. Derek could wake up with her in his arms and worry a little less than he would if he found her still sitting in the chair by the window. And maybe, just maybe the morning would feel normal. Groggy and too early and just like it was supposed to be. But there was a wakefulness that had followed her all through the night, paying her exhaustion no heed. Her mind was wild and alive with thoughts. Her mother had slit her wrists, and now Derek knew. She had no clue what came next.
She glanced longingly back at him, but gravity seemed to be too much; she couldn’t bring herself to get up and climb into bed beside Derek. She watched the clock instead. Fifteen minutes until the alarm went off had somehow already whittled down to thirteen, and she was no closer to knowing how to act. Four years of college and four years of med school under her belt, and she had never pulled a more unsuccessful all nighter. Meredith bowed her head and yawned again. She could be okay with this. She had to be okay with it, there really wasn’t any other option. Her fingers slid purposefully up her neck, pressing flat against her carotid artery as she imagined the sharp edged surety of a scalpel’s slice. It would’ve taken seconds to die. She felt her pulse fluttering against her fingertips like a caged bird trying to fly. It would’ve taken seconds. Meredith pulled her hand away from her neck and stared at her wrist. Her mother hadn’t really wanted to die. That was what therapy said. She remembered how happy she’d felt when she had told Dr. Wyatt. Almost vindicated in a way. Her mother hadn’t really wanted to die; she’d done the right thing when she called 911. She would love to still feel so happy. Her mother had wanted Richard, not death. She told herself again and again until the words became a mantra and the bed slid out of focus.
She wasted her fifteen minutes, and when the alarm finally went off, she was still curled up in the armchair. Meredith shook herself out of her daze, cursing softly. It was too late to consider a wild lunge for the alarm clock. Derek was already awake and rolling over to shut it off himself. The beeping stopped and he groaned, yawning into his hands as he rubbed them over his face. His hair jutted out at odd angles and there was a groggy confusion to the way he moved. Too soon, it fell away, and Meredith winced when he looked at her. His eyes were dark with concern and his usual sleepy morning smile was a frown.
He coughed and his voice grumbled out from somewhere low in his throat. “Please tell me you haven’t been sitting there all night.”
She smiled uncertainly and avoided his eyes, toying with the tie to her robe. There was no good answer to that.
“Meredith…” he pressed.
“Good morning,” she tried, her voice quiet.
Derek propped himself up on an elbow, ignoring her offering. “Did you sleep at all?”
She sighed and uncurled herself from the armchair. This was why she should have laid down beside him again before the alarm went off; he wasn’t going to let it go. Meredith shuffled towards him, perching on the edge of the bed. She could still try anyway. “How did you sleep?” she asked sweetly, reaching out to flatten an errant curl and smooth it towards his scalp.
“Don’t do that,” he said, catching her hand and kissing her wrist. She wished he was just talking about his hair. “Did you sleep?”
She looked at the headboard, her knees, the pillows, and finally, reluctantly, his eyes. He didn’t miss the tiny shake of her head, and she watched the worry roll in like storm clouds across his face.
“You could’ve woke me up,” said Derek.
“Again?”
“Of course again.”
Meredith frowned. “Would good would that have done? Then both of us would be tired and crabby.” He shook his head as if to say her worries were silly, inconsequential little things, he’d gladly be tired and crabby with her. She thought maybe he really would, and that was strange too.
“Is that how you are this morning?” he asked.
“Is that what?”
“Tired and crabby. Is that how you feel?”
A yawn nearly cracked her jaw in two, and she turned away, covering her mouth with her hand. She swung her leg back and forth off the edge of the bed, scuffing her big toe against the carpet. “I guess so,” she mumbled. It certainly seemed logical after a night with no sleep. She could act tired and crabby if that would bring them a step closer to normal. Her real feelings were too hard to explain. It was like she was groping around in her purse in the dark, trying to identify things just by touch only every time she managed to grab onto something, she couldn’t name what she felt to save her life.
“Okay,” said Derek. She felt his arm snake around her waist and, next thing she knew, she was toppling towards him. The mattress was soft beneath her, but she stiffened and hugged her chest. “Now give me the real answer. How bad is it today?”
She recognized the question. He’d asked it of her before in the days following her mother’s death. They asked it of their patients every day. How bad is it today? It. The pain. The problem. The thing that’s wrong with you. He knew things now. He knew the it that was wrong with her, and somehow, inexplicably, he seemed to want to stick around. It should feel wonderful, but it just felt confusing.
“It’s okay,” said Meredith. It was a wishful promise to herself as much as it was an answer to his question. Her mother had wanted Richard, not death, and so it was okay, wasn’t it? She managed something that felt like a smile and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I really am just tired. I’ll be okay.” He brushed a hand over her hair before settling it palm to cheek against her face.
“You’re exhausted, Mer.” His thumb stroked the skin beneath her eyes, and she could imagine the dark circles there. She hadn’t dared so much as a single glance in a mirror yet, but the hours of crying and the sleepless night couldn’t have painted a very pretty picture. “And you don’t have to try to be okay about this overnight,” he said quietly, still petting her skin. He sounded sad and very earnest. “This is something it’s okay to not be okay about. Last night was hard on you.”
“No,” she said swiftly as his words sent her heart racing. “I have to be okay.” She felt suddenly flushed and overheated. She hoped like hell she wasn’t blushing. Last night had been hard on her, yes, but the morning was starting to feel harder still in a different way. It was difficult to accept how completely he’d seen her come apart. Embarrassing if she thought about it even a little. He’d had to pick out her pajamas for her like she was a child. He’d seen her cry and shake and overreact. And she’d told him things she didn’t begin to know how to discuss by the light of day. They were lying face to face like they always did, but the familiar felt strange and new and foreign. She hated that she wasn’t even sure how to look in his eyes anymore. Meredith rolled away from his touch and glanced at the clock for a way out. It didn’t let her down. “I have to be at the hospital for pre-rounds in forty minutes,” she said as she scrambled back up into a sitting position. “I don’t have time to be not okay. I should already be in the shower.”
“A hot shower,” said Derek. If he’d meant it as some dark and morbid joke, it would’ve been okay. She knew how to respond to things like that. But she looked at the deep lines of concern creasing his brow and all the worry welled up in his eyes, and she knew it wasn’t a joke. He was completely serious. Some part of him actually thought she might be headed off for a repeat performance of last night’s cold, depressing shower. Meredith hunched her shoulders defensively and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Derek. A hot shower,” she snapped.
He sighed wearily and scooted backwards, leaning against the headboard. “Don’t do this,” he said. “Don’t shut me out. Shut the rest of the world out if you have to, but not me.” The sheet cut low across his abdomen, and she studied it instead of his face. She wanted to curl up against his bare chest and pretend the only part of last night there was to remember was the really great sex. Her heart twinged with something she thought might be guilt, but he knew things about her now, and she’d never be able to take her secrets back. She couldn’t unsay them. She tried to meet his eyes and had to look away. If this was what actual intimacy was, was it supposed to feel so unsettling?
“We can talk about it later, okay?” she said, thrusting the words out like an olive branch. Later. Once she’d figured out how to be okay with just how much she’d let him see. How to look into his eyes and not want to blush or cringe or both. She rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom without waiting for his answer.
He joined her as she was wrapping a towel like a turban around her hair, finished with the five minute shower she’d perfected during her intern year. Steam hung in the air and the mirror was fogged over, but Meredith swallowed the sarcastic commentary on just how hot her shower had been when he handed her a mug full of coffee. He wouldn’t find it funny anyway.
“Thanks,” she murmured, breathing in the familiar, welcome aroma before taking a cautionary sip.
“Careful,” said Derek. “It’s pretty hot.”
“Mmm,” she said. It was, but it was so, so delicious. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking a moment to try and shake off the exhaustion.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” said Derek. She nodded, setting the mug down on the sink and searching for his eyes in the mirror. It was too fogged over to find them, and she turned around instead.
“Yeah?”
“You could call in sick today,” he said. He didn’t even bother to make it a question, and she bristled at the decisiveness in his voice.
“Why on earth would I call in sick today?”
“Last night was hard,” he said, touching her shoulder. She pursed her lips and waited. The unrelenting rhythm of go, go, go she had slipped into upon realizing she had exactly forty minutes to make it from a robe in her bedroom to collecting her interns at the hospital had reduced the memory of the previous night to the sort of dull residual ache she had plenty of experience functioning with. But one sentence from Derek was enough to send it flaring up again in full force like a troubled sore. She felt the beginnings of a headache starting up behind her eyes, and all of her internal organs seemed to be trembling; she was as stable as a cheap cup of hospital jello. Meredith yawned again, and her headache ratcheted up from tentative to definite. “And you didn’t get any sleep,” added Derek.
She shrugged and turned back around, opening the medicine cabinet. “I’m a surgeon. No sleep is hardly a novel experience,” she said. It was supposed to sound comforting, but it came out sharp and irritated. She blamed the headache. “Give me another cup of coffee, and I’ll be good to go,” she said, snatching the Tylenol from where it sat on the shelf between a bottle of the ridiculously expensive imported mousse Derek used on his hair and her birth control pills. She stared at the open cabinet for a long, bleary-eyed moment before remembering to grab her pills as well. She punched one out and swallowed it quickly. The last thing she needed was a surprise pregnancy.
“I know you’re used to no sleep,” said Derek, shuffling closer and placing his hands on her shoulders. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I’m just saying that, all things considered, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take today off.”
“Why?” Meredith demanded, wrestling with the Tylenol bottle. She gave it an angry shake. The two little arrows were perfectly aligned, and the damned cap still wasn’t coming off. “You don’t think I can do my job?”
“I think you have a lot to deal with,” said Derek. The fog had cleared from the mirror enough for her to see his face, and the usual sparkle in his blue eyes had gone dark. Meeting his gaze felt too much like staring into troubled waters. “Your mother tried to kill herself. You have a right to some time.”
She looked away, turning her attention to the stubborn bottle of Tylenol. “My mother slit her wrists when I was five,” she said tersely. “I’ve been dealing with what she did for most of my life now. I don’t need a day to myself to think about it.”
“I could stay home too,” he offered.
“Oh yeah? So we can do this all day?” Meredith rolled her eyes and gave a determined yank on the Tylenol bottle. The cap came flying off, and white pills scattered everywhere, cascading down the sink bowl and over the bathroom floor. “Fuck,” she said, dropping the nearly emptied bottle into the sink as well. She leaned forward, her forehead coming to rest against the mirror. “Fucking… fuck,” she muttered, bumping her head against the glass. Her headache was a beast behind her eyes, and she scraped three pills out of the basin, washing them down with a gulp of coffee. That probably qualified as disgusting, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Derek had already seen her start sobbing while naked and dripping wet. Witnessing her less than sterile dealings with a bottle of Tylenol seemed inconsequential after that, like comparing mountains to molehills. Or was it making mountains out of molehills? The comparing was with apples and oranges, right? Some fruit thing… Whatever. She picked up the emptied Tylenol bottle and started dropping the spilt pills back in. They made little pinging sounds as they hit the plastic, and she found it irritating.
“Hey, it’s okay,” soothed Derek. “Take a breath, Mer. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to stay home given what you’ve been through.”
Meredith whirled around, glaring at him. “I’m over it, alright?” she said. “Stop worrying. I’m good.” Tylenol stuck to the bottoms of her bare feet, and it felt like her brain was bashing itself repeatedly against her skull. She unwound the towel from her head and started finger combing the tangles from her hair. Derek just stood there watching her, radiating something that felt an awful lot like disappointment. She sucked in a breath and frowned to stave off the guilt. That was the way it always seemed to work; he got disappointed and she got guilty. Like she was to blame for being dedicated to her job; she couldn’t begin to figure out how that made her the failure. “Don’t you have a shower to be taking or something?” she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“Meredith!” snapped Derek. Her name came out harsh and exasperated. His tone startled her, and her hand froze halfway through her hair. She could see his frustration in the way he clenched his jaw. He got that way at work sometimes, usually when an intern did something incredibly stupid like forget to pick up a critical batch of tests from the lab for one of his patients. He wasn’t supposed to get that way with her though. Not over this. Not when he was the one with the incredibly stupid idea that she stay home from work. Meredith folded her arms over her chest and watched as he raked a hand back through his hair, exhaling loudly. When he spoke again, his voice was somewhat gentler. “You read what I can really only describe as your mother’s suicide note last night,” said Derek. “Don’t tell me it didn’t affect you. That’s just insulting my intelligence.”
She stared at him, lips pursed together and her hands on her hips. The Tylenol trapped under her feet was driving her crazy, and her head was still pounding. All she wanted was for him to drop his incredibly stupid idea. To just let something go for once. She wanted to shut the diary out of her thoughts so that she could concentrate on work and have a chance of making it through the day in one piece. That was all she wanted, but the concern pooled behind his eyes was wrecking havoc on her resolve. She caved and brushed her fingers lightly over his forearm.
“Look,” she sighed. “I read it, yeah. And you’re right. You don’t know how much I wish she hadn’t done it.” She squeezed the last of the excess water from her hair and let the damp strands fall back against the nape of her neck. “I have to keep getting ready,” she added, hanging her towel up on its hook. Meredith walked back into their bedroom and left the door open for him to follow. She draped her robe over the bed and fished around in a drawer for a clean bra and panties. Her back was turned, but she started talking again when she heard the door click shut. Her mother had wanted Richard, not death. She could go through that again for him. Maybe it would help them both. “You don’t have to worry though,” she said gently. “I’m okay with it. She didn’t really want to die.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Derek. He sounded bewildered.
Meredith turned around, hopping a little as she pulled on a pair of jeans. “She slit her wrists, Derek.”
“I know.”
“She slit her wrists,” she said again, speaking slowly, trying to drive the point home. She waited for the realization to slide across his face the way it had for her. It didn’t.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “She slit her wrists.”
“But that’s the thing!” said Meredith, shaking her head. She disappeared into her closet and grabbed the first sweater she spotted. There was something distinctly disappointing about his inability to grasp the significance of her words. She sighed and reemerged from the closet, pulling the sweater on over her head. “She was a surgeon,” she said, trying to explain. To communicate and use her words. Dr. Wyatt would be proud. But even though Derek nodded, he kept staring at her as if she was a particularly dire CT scan. His eyes were dark, more black than blue. “She was an excellent surgeon,” she said.
Derek nodded again. “Yeah.”
“An extraordinary surgeon.”
“I know,” he said.
“So why would she slit her wrists if she really wanted to die?” said Meredith. “She was an excellent, extraordinary surgeon; she knew all about death. She knew what would guarantee success and what wouldn’t.” She dropped to her knees, fishing under the bed for her boots. “Her carotid artery,” she called out. “That would’ve taken seconds.” She heard the bedsprings groan and, when she scooted back out from beneath the bed, Derek was sitting there in front of her. He was leaning forward, his hands clasped together and his eyebrows knit into a single dismal line.
“You think she would’ve cut her carotid artery if…” he began.
“If she really wanted to die? Yes,” said Meredith emphatically, jamming her foot into her boot harder than necessary. “Slit wrists are for gloomy adolescents who don’t know any better. Ellis Grey knew better.”
“Meredith, I’m not sure that-”
“No,” said Meredith, pulling on her other boot. “I’m right. I know my mother.”
Derek shook his head. “But why?” he asked. “Why else would she put herself through that? Put you through that?”
Meredith stood up, the corners of her mouth twitching into a dry smile. She had an answer for that. “Richard,” she said simply. It was always Richard. “You read what she wrote. You know how miserable she was without him. She wanted him back.” She looked down at Derek, expecting him to nod or smile or show some sign of understanding. All she saw was concern and a sort of devastated sadness that made her feel like she was naked again, crying in the shower. Meredith shifted uncomfortably, switching her weight from foot to foot. Derek stared at her, unspeaking. “Well go on,” she said at last. He blinked, still mute. “You’re obviously thinking something, so just say it.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, looking down at the floor for a long moment before meeting her eyes again. “I don’t know that she was necessarily thinking like a surgeon when she slit her wrists,” he said. His voice was low and cautious like footsteps over thin ice. Meredith gave a sharp shake of her head, something tensing in her gut.
“My mother always thought like a surgeon,” she said. “Always. And she didn’t want to die!” Her voice escalated until she was shocked by the sound, and she took a step back from him, surprised to feel her heart pounding wildly against her chest.
“Okay,” said Derek quickly. Too quickly. “She didn’t want to die. You’re right, Mer. You’re right.” Meredith frowned, her eyes narrowing. His tone was wrong. He was placating her like a child. He was actually placating her. She bit her lip and looked away. Condescending ass.
“I have to get to work,” she said stiffly.
Derek ignored her comment and reached out for her hands, pulling her back to him. She stepped reluctantly into the space between his legs, her kneecaps bumping against the mattress. “You should stay,” he said, staring up at her. His eyes were solemn and unsettling. When she said nothing, he wound his arms around her waist and rested his head against her stomach. “Stay home,” he murmured, holding her too tightly. “For me.”
Meredith settled her hands over the crown of his head, combing her fingers through his hair. She couldn’t explain how the tables had turned so abruptly, but suddenly it was she who was comforting him. “I can’t,” she said, still stroking his hair.
“Even though you’re not okay…” The words rumbled against her stomach, quieter than a whisper as if he spoke them to himself. Her hands stilled and she stood stiff as a board in his arms, saying nothing back. Slowly, Derek straightened up a little, loosening his hold on her. “You know technically I’m your boss, and I don’t want you working today,” he said quietly, no trace of a joke to his words.
Disbelief washed over her, cold and slimy and devastating. Meredith slithered out of his arms. “You did not just say that.”
Derek sighed and reached for her hand again, but she pulled it away. “Meredith…”
“No. Do you want to know how much you’d know about me and my mother if you were just my boss?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Because you wouldn’t know anything, Derek. Not a damn thing. I told you about it because you’re my boyfriend, and if you think you can just turn around and use that against me-”
“I’m not using it against you!” said Derek. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Then stop trying,” said Meredith coldly. “Because you are about to do an incredibly stupid thing. You can’t be both for this.”
“I am both,” said Derek. “Don’t be unreasonable.”
“Right…” Meredith’s laughter was hollow and short-lived; she was the one being unreasonable even though he was the one eyeing her back for the best place to stick the knife. Her headache was back with a vengeance, and she felt like crying. “If you use the fact that you’re my Attending to force me to stay home today, please do not think that I will have anything else to say to you.” She watched the shock roll in across his face and bit down hard on her tongue to keep from dissolving into a weepy, confused mess. She didn’t understand. The ground beneath her feet no longer seemed to be a given. Half of her wanted desperately for him to hold her, and the other half was still fighting the urge to slap him across the face. “Pick one,” she choked out. “Who are you, Derek? My boss or my boyfriend?”
He looked down and picked up her hand in his. She watched as he turned it so her palm was up, his fingertips skating over the lines of her hand. She felt numb, so faraway from the feel of his skin against hers. It was a distant thing, and she was frightened. When Derek finally looked up again, his eyes glistened. “You know who I am,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at the hospital. You’re gonna be late for pre-rounds.”
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she heard it come out in a loud whoosh. “Yeah,” she agreed. He gave a tiny, resigned nod and let go of her hand. It fell limply to her side. The silence was roaring, and Meredith didn’t move. He was staring at her with moist eyes, dark as bruises, and the only thing she could read in them was fear. Derek was afraid, and she didn’t understand. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
His smile was fleeting, dying before it stirred anything but the farthest corners of his mouth. “Drive carefully,” he said.
Meredith nodded and headed for the door, leaving Derek sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
She made it to the hospital without hitting a single red light, although she skated by on two that were just barely still yellow. It got her there with enough minutes to spare to wait in line at the coffee cart in the lobby, trading a few crumpled bills for her third coffee of the morning. She sipped it on her way to the locker room, finally feeling almost awake enough to qualify as normal. Or what would be normal if it weren’t for the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated fighting with him.
George was already in the locker room, but Meredith barely registered his friendly good morning. She thought of nothing save Derek as she peeled off her street clothes and dug out her scrubs. He was forcing her to feel too many things all at once. It was disorienting at best, like trying to color a picture using every freaking crayon in the box at the same time; anger lay right next to love and on top fear and guilt and frustration, while a squiggle of confusion ran across the whole page. The colors blurred together, turning ugly and muddled. The mess consumed her, and she didn’t remember she’d left things weird with Cristina too until she pulled her scrub top down over her head to find herself staring at her best friend.
Cristina had halted in the doorway, already dressed for the day’s work, as her gaze glossed over George to settle on Meredith. “Hello Meredith,” she said. It sounded stilted and far too formal.
Their conversation from the night before came flooding back on top of everything else, and Meredith couldn’t manage a smile. “Hey,” she said.
Cristina took a single step into the room and stopped. The distance between them could’ve fit a gurney. Maybe two. Her eyes narrowed skeptically as she studied Meredith. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
Meredith shook her head. “Nothing.” Everything. I don’t know.
“Right…” said Cristina, smothering the single syllable in sarcasm.
Meredith sighed and turned away to grab her pager. She didn’t know what to say. How to say it. She found herself taking much longer than necessary to fasten the pager to her scrubs, but the longer she kept her head bowed and her eyes averted, the harder it was to turn around again. She felt alone. Painfully, exquisitely alone as if loneliness had crystallized into this bitter object she could touch and hold in her hands. She wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter; she wanted to tell Cristina everything and have her understand. She could taste her secrets on the tip of her tongue, poised ready to pour out in a babbling, incoherent mess, when Cristina turned abruptly and walked out of the room without another word. Meredith looked up in time to watch the door swing shut.
“What was that?” asked George.
Meredith whirled around. She’d forgotten he was even in the room. “Don’t ask,” she said, dropping down to sit on the bench. The headache that had never quite gone away came pounding back like a sledgehammer to her skull, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing in sharply.
“Do you feel okay?” he pressed. “You look pretty miserable.”
“I feel fine,” she said flatly.
“Okay, well,” he shrugged into his lab coat, “if you need anything…”
She was halfway to shaking her head, hating that she was once again on the receiving end of the Poor Meredith look. Not to mention how much she hated that there actually was a look all her friends seemed to share, as if she was pathetic often enough to warrant her own facial shorthand. Poor Meredith. Poor dark and twisty Meredith. Something’s always wrong with her. She pushed the thought away, attempting to stop the pity party inside her mind. The morning was a mess, and so she clung to the one thing that still felt solid and unshakeable. She was a surgeon. She was here today to save lives. “Say something surgical!” she blurted out, looking up hopefully at George. He just blinked at her, his mouth gaping open a little. “Please,” she insisted.
“Uh… Well, okay.” If he found her request odd, he shrugged it off quickly. “I guess there’s always… Oh!” A look of sudden realization crossed his face, and he smiled warmly. “Good luck today!” Meredith could only frown back, feeling as lost as if he was speaking a foreign language. “I didn’t realize it was starting so soon, but I was in the elevator with one of the nurses from admitting, and she was saying-”
“What?” interrupted Meredith. “Good luck? What are you talking about?”
“Sorry.” George grimaced a little. “I know you two don’t need good luck. You’ve already had success, but it’s the thing to say, right?”
“We’ve had success,” she echoed. Comprehension crept slowly up her spine like a spreading chill. They’d had success, alright. They’d danced their freaking victory dance. Naked. More than once.
But, he would’ve said something. Something…
Meredith stared up at George, gripping the edge of the bench hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “What exactly are you talking about, George?”
“The clinical trial,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Grass is green. Seattle is rainy. The clinical trial is underway. “Your first patient was admitted last night,” George added when she stayed silent, his tone dipping towards confused.
She looked down, searching out the ground beneath her feet. It was still there, and that felt astonishing. “Last night?” she asked.
“That’s just what I heard.” He shuffled back and forth a few steps, the corners of his mouth curving into an uncertain little frown. “The nurse, she… I could be wrong.”
“No, you’re probably… You’re probably right.” Meredith leaned forward to grab her coffee from where it rested in her cubby, taking a long sip. It was already lukewarm at best. Her shoulders slumped, and she kicked at the ground with the toe of her shoe.
She could feel George studying her. “You’re still on that, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment, sounding more puzzled than anything else.
“I’m…” Five minutes ago, she would’ve had an automatic yes for him. She clutched her coffee cup a little tighter. She didn’t know what she had now. “I think so. I don’t know.”
“Shepherd hasn’t said anything?”
Meredith swallowed another mouthful of tepid coffee and shook her head. “No.”
“Oh…” George sat down next to her, fidgeting with the sleeves of his lab coat. “Maybe he doesn’t know yet? The nurse didn’t say when the patient got here. Just that it was last night. It could’ve been late.” His eyes were kind and curious when she met them, and she realized she couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had talked alone about anything remotely significant.
She gave him a weak smile, feeling very far away. “Yeah. Maybe.” Friendships drifted like floes of ice.
“Or maybe he wants to surprise you with it later,” continued George eagerly, as if the search for the reason behind Derek’s silence was something fun. A good way to pass the time.
“Yeah.” Meredith snorted. “Maybe.” George’s eyebrows knit together at that, and she could tell he was on the verge of another question. She suddenly wanted nothing so much as she wanted the conversation to be over and done. “I’m sure it’s just…whatever,” she said quickly. “It’s not a big deal.” She shrugged and tried to pretend the words didn’t hurt. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Definitely,” agreed George, smiling at her. “I’m sure you’re still on it. Shepherd wouldn’t kick you off of anything.” She smiled back, but it felt forced. Friendships drifted. He didn’t know. “Good luck with the surgery,” he said again as he stood up.
“Yeah, yeah.” She nodded. “Thanks.”
He mumbled something that may have been where he was going, but she’d already stopped listening. Meredith stared at the ground as the door swung shut, leaving her alone in the locker room. Her coffee was cold, but she drained the cup. She needed to get up and gather her interns, but Derek stuck like a splinter inside her mind.
Us. Together, Mer. We’re gonna do this.
The clinical trial was her baby. Their baby.
You could call in sick today.
You know technically I’m your boss, and I don’t want you working today.
Stay home. For me.
Meredith didn’t know what to think. She sat on the bench and felt like she was falling.
-----
So, this chapter is pretty much the aftermath of what happened between Meredith and Derek the night before. Meredith spent the night reliving what was probably the worst experience of her childhood, and that kept her very caught up in the moment in terms of her and Derek. But now she’s had some time to calm down and reflect on what happened, and well…she’s not really sure what she feels. She spilled her most carefully guarded secrets to Derek and fell apart in front of him, and it changed things. It brought them closer, but now she’s kind of embarrassed. She’s kind of shy. She can’t just roll over and kiss him good morning like everything’s normal and exactly how it used to be because it feels so different to her. But she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do instead. She has zero experience with things like this to go off of, so she’s flailing a little. And Derek, he’s just worrying about her. Because she was a wreck last night and she didn’t sleep at all and then she suddenly starts talking adamantly about how her mother didn’t want to kill herself. He’s not sure what to think, but he’s worried. And he’s really not being an ass when he tries to get her to stay home. He has his reasons, but he hasn’t shared them because he thinks Mer has more than enough to deal with without adding this to the mix. Things are troubling Derek though, and he’s just trying to protect her. But then he crosses the line and implies that Meredith should stay home because he’s her boss and that’s what he wants. And just, no. That would create a huge imbalance of power in their relationship, and I think Mer is right to get so upset over that. He’s honestly just trying to look out for her, but it doesn’t feel like that to her at all. She trusted him enough to tell him about her mother’s suicide attempt, and now she feels as if he’s using that against her in a way. So yeah, that’s about it. Thanks so much for reading, and happy New Year everyone!!!
Title: Love in the Time of Science
Author: Morgen
Summary: Love. Tragedy. The things we’ve left unsaid. This is their story. Set after episode 5.05.
Disclaimer: I am not famous. I do not own TV shows. I am a poor college student with a laptop and a serious procrastination habit.
Rating: Written for grownups.
The sun was rising, and she wished it wouldn’t. Everything looked different by daylight. The sky was turning pale pink outside, and it slipped its glow in through the half opened blinds. She could see the bed she’d left and Derek fast asleep on his stomach, an arm slung out over her side of the bed as if he meant to hold her. Meredith watched the gentle rise and fall of his back and smiled to herself. It was a relief not to see the worry she had put in his eyes; he looked peaceful with his hair disheveled and his face pressed to the pillow. But the sun was rising, and he would wake. She stifled a yawn and looked away. Their clothes were still scattered on the floor, his shirt lying right next to her sweatpants. The towel he’d wrapped her in was hidden just out of eyesight; she’d passed it earlier when she had tiptoed to her robe. When dawn had been nothing more than some distant, unsettling prospect and the sound of Derek’s slow steady breathing had kept her company in the silent darkness. Meredith fought off another yawn and tightened the belt on her robe. Her eyes felt too dry, her eyelids too heavy. If she got up now and slipped back into bed, she could have a good fifteen minutes of sleep before the alarm went off. Derek could wake up with her in his arms and worry a little less than he would if he found her still sitting in the chair by the window. And maybe, just maybe the morning would feel normal. Groggy and too early and just like it was supposed to be. But there was a wakefulness that had followed her all through the night, paying her exhaustion no heed. Her mind was wild and alive with thoughts. Her mother had slit her wrists, and now Derek knew. She had no clue what came next.
She glanced longingly back at him, but gravity seemed to be too much; she couldn’t bring herself to get up and climb into bed beside Derek. She watched the clock instead. Fifteen minutes until the alarm went off had somehow already whittled down to thirteen, and she was no closer to knowing how to act. Four years of college and four years of med school under her belt, and she had never pulled a more unsuccessful all nighter. Meredith bowed her head and yawned again. She could be okay with this. She had to be okay with it, there really wasn’t any other option. Her fingers slid purposefully up her neck, pressing flat against her carotid artery as she imagined the sharp edged surety of a scalpel’s slice. It would’ve taken seconds to die. She felt her pulse fluttering against her fingertips like a caged bird trying to fly. It would’ve taken seconds. Meredith pulled her hand away from her neck and stared at her wrist. Her mother hadn’t really wanted to die. That was what therapy said. She remembered how happy she’d felt when she had told Dr. Wyatt. Almost vindicated in a way. Her mother hadn’t really wanted to die; she’d done the right thing when she called 911. She would love to still feel so happy. Her mother had wanted Richard, not death. She told herself again and again until the words became a mantra and the bed slid out of focus.
She wasted her fifteen minutes, and when the alarm finally went off, she was still curled up in the armchair. Meredith shook herself out of her daze, cursing softly. It was too late to consider a wild lunge for the alarm clock. Derek was already awake and rolling over to shut it off himself. The beeping stopped and he groaned, yawning into his hands as he rubbed them over his face. His hair jutted out at odd angles and there was a groggy confusion to the way he moved. Too soon, it fell away, and Meredith winced when he looked at her. His eyes were dark with concern and his usual sleepy morning smile was a frown.
He coughed and his voice grumbled out from somewhere low in his throat. “Please tell me you haven’t been sitting there all night.”
She smiled uncertainly and avoided his eyes, toying with the tie to her robe. There was no good answer to that.
“Meredith…” he pressed.
“Good morning,” she tried, her voice quiet.
Derek propped himself up on an elbow, ignoring her offering. “Did you sleep at all?”
She sighed and uncurled herself from the armchair. This was why she should have laid down beside him again before the alarm went off; he wasn’t going to let it go. Meredith shuffled towards him, perching on the edge of the bed. She could still try anyway. “How did you sleep?” she asked sweetly, reaching out to flatten an errant curl and smooth it towards his scalp.
“Don’t do that,” he said, catching her hand and kissing her wrist. She wished he was just talking about his hair. “Did you sleep?”
She looked at the headboard, her knees, the pillows, and finally, reluctantly, his eyes. He didn’t miss the tiny shake of her head, and she watched the worry roll in like storm clouds across his face.
“You could’ve woke me up,” said Derek.
“Again?”
“Of course again.”
Meredith frowned. “Would good would that have done? Then both of us would be tired and crabby.” He shook his head as if to say her worries were silly, inconsequential little things, he’d gladly be tired and crabby with her. She thought maybe he really would, and that was strange too.
“Is that how you are this morning?” he asked.
“Is that what?”
“Tired and crabby. Is that how you feel?”
A yawn nearly cracked her jaw in two, and she turned away, covering her mouth with her hand. She swung her leg back and forth off the edge of the bed, scuffing her big toe against the carpet. “I guess so,” she mumbled. It certainly seemed logical after a night with no sleep. She could act tired and crabby if that would bring them a step closer to normal. Her real feelings were too hard to explain. It was like she was groping around in her purse in the dark, trying to identify things just by touch only every time she managed to grab onto something, she couldn’t name what she felt to save her life.
“Okay,” said Derek. She felt his arm snake around her waist and, next thing she knew, she was toppling towards him. The mattress was soft beneath her, but she stiffened and hugged her chest. “Now give me the real answer. How bad is it today?”
She recognized the question. He’d asked it of her before in the days following her mother’s death. They asked it of their patients every day. How bad is it today? It. The pain. The problem. The thing that’s wrong with you. He knew things now. He knew the it that was wrong with her, and somehow, inexplicably, he seemed to want to stick around. It should feel wonderful, but it just felt confusing.
“It’s okay,” said Meredith. It was a wishful promise to herself as much as it was an answer to his question. Her mother had wanted Richard, not death, and so it was okay, wasn’t it? She managed something that felt like a smile and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I really am just tired. I’ll be okay.” He brushed a hand over her hair before settling it palm to cheek against her face.
“You’re exhausted, Mer.” His thumb stroked the skin beneath her eyes, and she could imagine the dark circles there. She hadn’t dared so much as a single glance in a mirror yet, but the hours of crying and the sleepless night couldn’t have painted a very pretty picture. “And you don’t have to try to be okay about this overnight,” he said quietly, still petting her skin. He sounded sad and very earnest. “This is something it’s okay to not be okay about. Last night was hard on you.”
“No,” she said swiftly as his words sent her heart racing. “I have to be okay.” She felt suddenly flushed and overheated. She hoped like hell she wasn’t blushing. Last night had been hard on her, yes, but the morning was starting to feel harder still in a different way. It was difficult to accept how completely he’d seen her come apart. Embarrassing if she thought about it even a little. He’d had to pick out her pajamas for her like she was a child. He’d seen her cry and shake and overreact. And she’d told him things she didn’t begin to know how to discuss by the light of day. They were lying face to face like they always did, but the familiar felt strange and new and foreign. She hated that she wasn’t even sure how to look in his eyes anymore. Meredith rolled away from his touch and glanced at the clock for a way out. It didn’t let her down. “I have to be at the hospital for pre-rounds in forty minutes,” she said as she scrambled back up into a sitting position. “I don’t have time to be not okay. I should already be in the shower.”
“A hot shower,” said Derek. If he’d meant it as some dark and morbid joke, it would’ve been okay. She knew how to respond to things like that. But she looked at the deep lines of concern creasing his brow and all the worry welled up in his eyes, and she knew it wasn’t a joke. He was completely serious. Some part of him actually thought she might be headed off for a repeat performance of last night’s cold, depressing shower. Meredith hunched her shoulders defensively and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Derek. A hot shower,” she snapped.
He sighed wearily and scooted backwards, leaning against the headboard. “Don’t do this,” he said. “Don’t shut me out. Shut the rest of the world out if you have to, but not me.” The sheet cut low across his abdomen, and she studied it instead of his face. She wanted to curl up against his bare chest and pretend the only part of last night there was to remember was the really great sex. Her heart twinged with something she thought might be guilt, but he knew things about her now, and she’d never be able to take her secrets back. She couldn’t unsay them. She tried to meet his eyes and had to look away. If this was what actual intimacy was, was it supposed to feel so unsettling?
“We can talk about it later, okay?” she said, thrusting the words out like an olive branch. Later. Once she’d figured out how to be okay with just how much she’d let him see. How to look into his eyes and not want to blush or cringe or both. She rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom without waiting for his answer.
He joined her as she was wrapping a towel like a turban around her hair, finished with the five minute shower she’d perfected during her intern year. Steam hung in the air and the mirror was fogged over, but Meredith swallowed the sarcastic commentary on just how hot her shower had been when he handed her a mug full of coffee. He wouldn’t find it funny anyway.
“Thanks,” she murmured, breathing in the familiar, welcome aroma before taking a cautionary sip.
“Careful,” said Derek. “It’s pretty hot.”
“Mmm,” she said. It was, but it was so, so delicious. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking a moment to try and shake off the exhaustion.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” said Derek. She nodded, setting the mug down on the sink and searching for his eyes in the mirror. It was too fogged over to find them, and she turned around instead.
“Yeah?”
“You could call in sick today,” he said. He didn’t even bother to make it a question, and she bristled at the decisiveness in his voice.
“Why on earth would I call in sick today?”
“Last night was hard,” he said, touching her shoulder. She pursed her lips and waited. The unrelenting rhythm of go, go, go she had slipped into upon realizing she had exactly forty minutes to make it from a robe in her bedroom to collecting her interns at the hospital had reduced the memory of the previous night to the sort of dull residual ache she had plenty of experience functioning with. But one sentence from Derek was enough to send it flaring up again in full force like a troubled sore. She felt the beginnings of a headache starting up behind her eyes, and all of her internal organs seemed to be trembling; she was as stable as a cheap cup of hospital jello. Meredith yawned again, and her headache ratcheted up from tentative to definite. “And you didn’t get any sleep,” added Derek.
She shrugged and turned back around, opening the medicine cabinet. “I’m a surgeon. No sleep is hardly a novel experience,” she said. It was supposed to sound comforting, but it came out sharp and irritated. She blamed the headache. “Give me another cup of coffee, and I’ll be good to go,” she said, snatching the Tylenol from where it sat on the shelf between a bottle of the ridiculously expensive imported mousse Derek used on his hair and her birth control pills. She stared at the open cabinet for a long, bleary-eyed moment before remembering to grab her pills as well. She punched one out and swallowed it quickly. The last thing she needed was a surprise pregnancy.
“I know you’re used to no sleep,” said Derek, shuffling closer and placing his hands on her shoulders. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I’m just saying that, all things considered, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take today off.”
“Why?” Meredith demanded, wrestling with the Tylenol bottle. She gave it an angry shake. The two little arrows were perfectly aligned, and the damned cap still wasn’t coming off. “You don’t think I can do my job?”
“I think you have a lot to deal with,” said Derek. The fog had cleared from the mirror enough for her to see his face, and the usual sparkle in his blue eyes had gone dark. Meeting his gaze felt too much like staring into troubled waters. “Your mother tried to kill herself. You have a right to some time.”
She looked away, turning her attention to the stubborn bottle of Tylenol. “My mother slit her wrists when I was five,” she said tersely. “I’ve been dealing with what she did for most of my life now. I don’t need a day to myself to think about it.”
“I could stay home too,” he offered.
“Oh yeah? So we can do this all day?” Meredith rolled her eyes and gave a determined yank on the Tylenol bottle. The cap came flying off, and white pills scattered everywhere, cascading down the sink bowl and over the bathroom floor. “Fuck,” she said, dropping the nearly emptied bottle into the sink as well. She leaned forward, her forehead coming to rest against the mirror. “Fucking… fuck,” she muttered, bumping her head against the glass. Her headache was a beast behind her eyes, and she scraped three pills out of the basin, washing them down with a gulp of coffee. That probably qualified as disgusting, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Derek had already seen her start sobbing while naked and dripping wet. Witnessing her less than sterile dealings with a bottle of Tylenol seemed inconsequential after that, like comparing mountains to molehills. Or was it making mountains out of molehills? The comparing was with apples and oranges, right? Some fruit thing… Whatever. She picked up the emptied Tylenol bottle and started dropping the spilt pills back in. They made little pinging sounds as they hit the plastic, and she found it irritating.
“Hey, it’s okay,” soothed Derek. “Take a breath, Mer. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to stay home given what you’ve been through.”
Meredith whirled around, glaring at him. “I’m over it, alright?” she said. “Stop worrying. I’m good.” Tylenol stuck to the bottoms of her bare feet, and it felt like her brain was bashing itself repeatedly against her skull. She unwound the towel from her head and started finger combing the tangles from her hair. Derek just stood there watching her, radiating something that felt an awful lot like disappointment. She sucked in a breath and frowned to stave off the guilt. That was the way it always seemed to work; he got disappointed and she got guilty. Like she was to blame for being dedicated to her job; she couldn’t begin to figure out how that made her the failure. “Don’t you have a shower to be taking or something?” she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“Meredith!” snapped Derek. Her name came out harsh and exasperated. His tone startled her, and her hand froze halfway through her hair. She could see his frustration in the way he clenched his jaw. He got that way at work sometimes, usually when an intern did something incredibly stupid like forget to pick up a critical batch of tests from the lab for one of his patients. He wasn’t supposed to get that way with her though. Not over this. Not when he was the one with the incredibly stupid idea that she stay home from work. Meredith folded her arms over her chest and watched as he raked a hand back through his hair, exhaling loudly. When he spoke again, his voice was somewhat gentler. “You read what I can really only describe as your mother’s suicide note last night,” said Derek. “Don’t tell me it didn’t affect you. That’s just insulting my intelligence.”
She stared at him, lips pursed together and her hands on her hips. The Tylenol trapped under her feet was driving her crazy, and her head was still pounding. All she wanted was for him to drop his incredibly stupid idea. To just let something go for once. She wanted to shut the diary out of her thoughts so that she could concentrate on work and have a chance of making it through the day in one piece. That was all she wanted, but the concern pooled behind his eyes was wrecking havoc on her resolve. She caved and brushed her fingers lightly over his forearm.
“Look,” she sighed. “I read it, yeah. And you’re right. You don’t know how much I wish she hadn’t done it.” She squeezed the last of the excess water from her hair and let the damp strands fall back against the nape of her neck. “I have to keep getting ready,” she added, hanging her towel up on its hook. Meredith walked back into their bedroom and left the door open for him to follow. She draped her robe over the bed and fished around in a drawer for a clean bra and panties. Her back was turned, but she started talking again when she heard the door click shut. Her mother had wanted Richard, not death. She could go through that again for him. Maybe it would help them both. “You don’t have to worry though,” she said gently. “I’m okay with it. She didn’t really want to die.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Derek. He sounded bewildered.
Meredith turned around, hopping a little as she pulled on a pair of jeans. “She slit her wrists, Derek.”
“I know.”
“She slit her wrists,” she said again, speaking slowly, trying to drive the point home. She waited for the realization to slide across his face the way it had for her. It didn’t.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “She slit her wrists.”
“But that’s the thing!” said Meredith, shaking her head. She disappeared into her closet and grabbed the first sweater she spotted. There was something distinctly disappointing about his inability to grasp the significance of her words. She sighed and reemerged from the closet, pulling the sweater on over her head. “She was a surgeon,” she said, trying to explain. To communicate and use her words. Dr. Wyatt would be proud. But even though Derek nodded, he kept staring at her as if she was a particularly dire CT scan. His eyes were dark, more black than blue. “She was an excellent surgeon,” she said.
Derek nodded again. “Yeah.”
“An extraordinary surgeon.”
“I know,” he said.
“So why would she slit her wrists if she really wanted to die?” said Meredith. “She was an excellent, extraordinary surgeon; she knew all about death. She knew what would guarantee success and what wouldn’t.” She dropped to her knees, fishing under the bed for her boots. “Her carotid artery,” she called out. “That would’ve taken seconds.” She heard the bedsprings groan and, when she scooted back out from beneath the bed, Derek was sitting there in front of her. He was leaning forward, his hands clasped together and his eyebrows knit into a single dismal line.
“You think she would’ve cut her carotid artery if…” he began.
“If she really wanted to die? Yes,” said Meredith emphatically, jamming her foot into her boot harder than necessary. “Slit wrists are for gloomy adolescents who don’t know any better. Ellis Grey knew better.”
“Meredith, I’m not sure that-”
“No,” said Meredith, pulling on her other boot. “I’m right. I know my mother.”
Derek shook his head. “But why?” he asked. “Why else would she put herself through that? Put you through that?”
Meredith stood up, the corners of her mouth twitching into a dry smile. She had an answer for that. “Richard,” she said simply. It was always Richard. “You read what she wrote. You know how miserable she was without him. She wanted him back.” She looked down at Derek, expecting him to nod or smile or show some sign of understanding. All she saw was concern and a sort of devastated sadness that made her feel like she was naked again, crying in the shower. Meredith shifted uncomfortably, switching her weight from foot to foot. Derek stared at her, unspeaking. “Well go on,” she said at last. He blinked, still mute. “You’re obviously thinking something, so just say it.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, looking down at the floor for a long moment before meeting her eyes again. “I don’t know that she was necessarily thinking like a surgeon when she slit her wrists,” he said. His voice was low and cautious like footsteps over thin ice. Meredith gave a sharp shake of her head, something tensing in her gut.
“My mother always thought like a surgeon,” she said. “Always. And she didn’t want to die!” Her voice escalated until she was shocked by the sound, and she took a step back from him, surprised to feel her heart pounding wildly against her chest.
“Okay,” said Derek quickly. Too quickly. “She didn’t want to die. You’re right, Mer. You’re right.” Meredith frowned, her eyes narrowing. His tone was wrong. He was placating her like a child. He was actually placating her. She bit her lip and looked away. Condescending ass.
“I have to get to work,” she said stiffly.
Derek ignored her comment and reached out for her hands, pulling her back to him. She stepped reluctantly into the space between his legs, her kneecaps bumping against the mattress. “You should stay,” he said, staring up at her. His eyes were solemn and unsettling. When she said nothing, he wound his arms around her waist and rested his head against her stomach. “Stay home,” he murmured, holding her too tightly. “For me.”
Meredith settled her hands over the crown of his head, combing her fingers through his hair. She couldn’t explain how the tables had turned so abruptly, but suddenly it was she who was comforting him. “I can’t,” she said, still stroking his hair.
“Even though you’re not okay…” The words rumbled against her stomach, quieter than a whisper as if he spoke them to himself. Her hands stilled and she stood stiff as a board in his arms, saying nothing back. Slowly, Derek straightened up a little, loosening his hold on her. “You know technically I’m your boss, and I don’t want you working today,” he said quietly, no trace of a joke to his words.
Disbelief washed over her, cold and slimy and devastating. Meredith slithered out of his arms. “You did not just say that.”
Derek sighed and reached for her hand again, but she pulled it away. “Meredith…”
“No. Do you want to know how much you’d know about me and my mother if you were just my boss?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Because you wouldn’t know anything, Derek. Not a damn thing. I told you about it because you’re my boyfriend, and if you think you can just turn around and use that against me-”
“I’m not using it against you!” said Derek. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Then stop trying,” said Meredith coldly. “Because you are about to do an incredibly stupid thing. You can’t be both for this.”
“I am both,” said Derek. “Don’t be unreasonable.”
“Right…” Meredith’s laughter was hollow and short-lived; she was the one being unreasonable even though he was the one eyeing her back for the best place to stick the knife. Her headache was back with a vengeance, and she felt like crying. “If you use the fact that you’re my Attending to force me to stay home today, please do not think that I will have anything else to say to you.” She watched the shock roll in across his face and bit down hard on her tongue to keep from dissolving into a weepy, confused mess. She didn’t understand. The ground beneath her feet no longer seemed to be a given. Half of her wanted desperately for him to hold her, and the other half was still fighting the urge to slap him across the face. “Pick one,” she choked out. “Who are you, Derek? My boss or my boyfriend?”
He looked down and picked up her hand in his. She watched as he turned it so her palm was up, his fingertips skating over the lines of her hand. She felt numb, so faraway from the feel of his skin against hers. It was a distant thing, and she was frightened. When Derek finally looked up again, his eyes glistened. “You know who I am,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at the hospital. You’re gonna be late for pre-rounds.”
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she heard it come out in a loud whoosh. “Yeah,” she agreed. He gave a tiny, resigned nod and let go of her hand. It fell limply to her side. The silence was roaring, and Meredith didn’t move. He was staring at her with moist eyes, dark as bruises, and the only thing she could read in them was fear. Derek was afraid, and she didn’t understand. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
His smile was fleeting, dying before it stirred anything but the farthest corners of his mouth. “Drive carefully,” he said.
Meredith nodded and headed for the door, leaving Derek sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
She made it to the hospital without hitting a single red light, although she skated by on two that were just barely still yellow. It got her there with enough minutes to spare to wait in line at the coffee cart in the lobby, trading a few crumpled bills for her third coffee of the morning. She sipped it on her way to the locker room, finally feeling almost awake enough to qualify as normal. Or what would be normal if it weren’t for the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated fighting with him.
George was already in the locker room, but Meredith barely registered his friendly good morning. She thought of nothing save Derek as she peeled off her street clothes and dug out her scrubs. He was forcing her to feel too many things all at once. It was disorienting at best, like trying to color a picture using every freaking crayon in the box at the same time; anger lay right next to love and on top fear and guilt and frustration, while a squiggle of confusion ran across the whole page. The colors blurred together, turning ugly and muddled. The mess consumed her, and she didn’t remember she’d left things weird with Cristina too until she pulled her scrub top down over her head to find herself staring at her best friend.
Cristina had halted in the doorway, already dressed for the day’s work, as her gaze glossed over George to settle on Meredith. “Hello Meredith,” she said. It sounded stilted and far too formal.
Their conversation from the night before came flooding back on top of everything else, and Meredith couldn’t manage a smile. “Hey,” she said.
Cristina took a single step into the room and stopped. The distance between them could’ve fit a gurney. Maybe two. Her eyes narrowed skeptically as she studied Meredith. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
Meredith shook her head. “Nothing.” Everything. I don’t know.
“Right…” said Cristina, smothering the single syllable in sarcasm.
Meredith sighed and turned away to grab her pager. She didn’t know what to say. How to say it. She found herself taking much longer than necessary to fasten the pager to her scrubs, but the longer she kept her head bowed and her eyes averted, the harder it was to turn around again. She felt alone. Painfully, exquisitely alone as if loneliness had crystallized into this bitter object she could touch and hold in her hands. She wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter; she wanted to tell Cristina everything and have her understand. She could taste her secrets on the tip of her tongue, poised ready to pour out in a babbling, incoherent mess, when Cristina turned abruptly and walked out of the room without another word. Meredith looked up in time to watch the door swing shut.
“What was that?” asked George.
Meredith whirled around. She’d forgotten he was even in the room. “Don’t ask,” she said, dropping down to sit on the bench. The headache that had never quite gone away came pounding back like a sledgehammer to her skull, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing in sharply.
“Do you feel okay?” he pressed. “You look pretty miserable.”
“I feel fine,” she said flatly.
“Okay, well,” he shrugged into his lab coat, “if you need anything…”
She was halfway to shaking her head, hating that she was once again on the receiving end of the Poor Meredith look. Not to mention how much she hated that there actually was a look all her friends seemed to share, as if she was pathetic often enough to warrant her own facial shorthand. Poor Meredith. Poor dark and twisty Meredith. Something’s always wrong with her. She pushed the thought away, attempting to stop the pity party inside her mind. The morning was a mess, and so she clung to the one thing that still felt solid and unshakeable. She was a surgeon. She was here today to save lives. “Say something surgical!” she blurted out, looking up hopefully at George. He just blinked at her, his mouth gaping open a little. “Please,” she insisted.
“Uh… Well, okay.” If he found her request odd, he shrugged it off quickly. “I guess there’s always… Oh!” A look of sudden realization crossed his face, and he smiled warmly. “Good luck today!” Meredith could only frown back, feeling as lost as if he was speaking a foreign language. “I didn’t realize it was starting so soon, but I was in the elevator with one of the nurses from admitting, and she was saying-”
“What?” interrupted Meredith. “Good luck? What are you talking about?”
“Sorry.” George grimaced a little. “I know you two don’t need good luck. You’ve already had success, but it’s the thing to say, right?”
“We’ve had success,” she echoed. Comprehension crept slowly up her spine like a spreading chill. They’d had success, alright. They’d danced their freaking victory dance. Naked. More than once.
But, he would’ve said something. Something…
Meredith stared up at George, gripping the edge of the bench hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “What exactly are you talking about, George?”
“The clinical trial,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Grass is green. Seattle is rainy. The clinical trial is underway. “Your first patient was admitted last night,” George added when she stayed silent, his tone dipping towards confused.
She looked down, searching out the ground beneath her feet. It was still there, and that felt astonishing. “Last night?” she asked.
“That’s just what I heard.” He shuffled back and forth a few steps, the corners of his mouth curving into an uncertain little frown. “The nurse, she… I could be wrong.”
“No, you’re probably… You’re probably right.” Meredith leaned forward to grab her coffee from where it rested in her cubby, taking a long sip. It was already lukewarm at best. Her shoulders slumped, and she kicked at the ground with the toe of her shoe.
She could feel George studying her. “You’re still on that, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment, sounding more puzzled than anything else.
“I’m…” Five minutes ago, she would’ve had an automatic yes for him. She clutched her coffee cup a little tighter. She didn’t know what she had now. “I think so. I don’t know.”
“Shepherd hasn’t said anything?”
Meredith swallowed another mouthful of tepid coffee and shook her head. “No.”
“Oh…” George sat down next to her, fidgeting with the sleeves of his lab coat. “Maybe he doesn’t know yet? The nurse didn’t say when the patient got here. Just that it was last night. It could’ve been late.” His eyes were kind and curious when she met them, and she realized she couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had talked alone about anything remotely significant.
She gave him a weak smile, feeling very far away. “Yeah. Maybe.” Friendships drifted like floes of ice.
“Or maybe he wants to surprise you with it later,” continued George eagerly, as if the search for the reason behind Derek’s silence was something fun. A good way to pass the time.
“Yeah.” Meredith snorted. “Maybe.” George’s eyebrows knit together at that, and she could tell he was on the verge of another question. She suddenly wanted nothing so much as she wanted the conversation to be over and done. “I’m sure it’s just…whatever,” she said quickly. “It’s not a big deal.” She shrugged and tried to pretend the words didn’t hurt. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Definitely,” agreed George, smiling at her. “I’m sure you’re still on it. Shepherd wouldn’t kick you off of anything.” She smiled back, but it felt forced. Friendships drifted. He didn’t know. “Good luck with the surgery,” he said again as he stood up.
“Yeah, yeah.” She nodded. “Thanks.”
He mumbled something that may have been where he was going, but she’d already stopped listening. Meredith stared at the ground as the door swung shut, leaving her alone in the locker room. Her coffee was cold, but she drained the cup. She needed to get up and gather her interns, but Derek stuck like a splinter inside her mind.
Us. Together, Mer. We’re gonna do this.
The clinical trial was her baby. Their baby.
You could call in sick today.
You know technically I’m your boss, and I don’t want you working today.
Stay home. For me.
Meredith didn’t know what to think. She sat on the bench and felt like she was falling.
-----
So, this chapter is pretty much the aftermath of what happened between Meredith and Derek the night before. Meredith spent the night reliving what was probably the worst experience of her childhood, and that kept her very caught up in the moment in terms of her and Derek. But now she’s had some time to calm down and reflect on what happened, and well…she’s not really sure what she feels. She spilled her most carefully guarded secrets to Derek and fell apart in front of him, and it changed things. It brought them closer, but now she’s kind of embarrassed. She’s kind of shy. She can’t just roll over and kiss him good morning like everything’s normal and exactly how it used to be because it feels so different to her. But she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do instead. She has zero experience with things like this to go off of, so she’s flailing a little. And Derek, he’s just worrying about her. Because she was a wreck last night and she didn’t sleep at all and then she suddenly starts talking adamantly about how her mother didn’t want to kill herself. He’s not sure what to think, but he’s worried. And he’s really not being an ass when he tries to get her to stay home. He has his reasons, but he hasn’t shared them because he thinks Mer has more than enough to deal with without adding this to the mix. Things are troubling Derek though, and he’s just trying to protect her. But then he crosses the line and implies that Meredith should stay home because he’s her boss and that’s what he wants. And just, no. That would create a huge imbalance of power in their relationship, and I think Mer is right to get so upset over that. He’s honestly just trying to look out for her, but it doesn’t feel like that to her at all. She trusted him enough to tell him about her mother’s suicide attempt, and now she feels as if he’s using that against her in a way. So yeah, that’s about it. Thanks so much for reading, and happy New Year everyone!!!