grey's ficlets
Reposting two other fics from the Grey's drabble-a-thon:
Title: Working On My Backwards Walk
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post "Death And All Of His Friends". They call this regression.
It starts slowly enough that it’s barely noticeable.
The baby goes unacknowledged. She tells Cristina it was a false positive. Everyone else that was in the OR was too distracted, memories returning in fragments, and so they never ask. April misses work the first week back, so what she does or doesn’t know doesn’t amount to a whole lot.
It isn’t easy to forget, but with two recovering gunshot victims in her house, along with one mostly freaked out half sister, and a more grueling work schedule - yet another result of so many injuries and so much death -- on top of all that it’s fairly easy to avoid dealing with.
After that, there’s the drinking. She spends late nights in the bar with Cristina, still confused over the Owen and Teddy situation, the fact that Owen claims he already made his choice notwithstanding, and, later, late nights with Alex at home when he stops trying to mix pain medication with alcohol (and, yes, once when he didn’t) and just drops the vicodin altogether. Between the three of them, they empty half of her liquor cabinet in a too short amount of time, and it’s not long before she’s plying Lexie with the stuff, if only to get her to stop with the constant apologies and barrage of excuses; supposedly, according to her, this whole thing is her fault, and there’s no version of Meredith in the then or the now that knows how to fix that.
“Just like old times,” Cristina half-laughs around the rim of her glass, and Meredith’s stomach twists funny.
Her and Derek fight a lot after. They have setbacks that have nothing at all to do with wounds that take forever to heal. He can’t grapple with no longer being Chief, has a hard time adjusting, still has issues with Richard at the helm - six months sober, ten by the time things get really heated, or not - and she still defends him. The blueprints for the house end up in a drawer next to the bed and every time he brings it up, she counters with not knowing what to do with the house and the fact that she can’t just sell it and kick Alex and Lexie out.
It gets ugly. There’s a straight week in February where he stays nights in his trailer and she cleans house without actually getting rid of anything; Izzie’s stuff stays in Izzie’s old room and there’s still George’s stuff in the attic, the stuff that his mother didn’t collect, and she talks about repainting the living room.
She talks about staying in place, a lot. Planning for the future just doesn’t make as much sense, in her mind, when she’s seen where the plans of those who died got them. She’s sure Reed and Charles had them. She’s sure all of those doctors turned nameless bodies in the morgue had them too. Hell, it’s not just the shooting. She’s sure Alex had plans for him and Izzie, voiced or not, and now he fucks her sister and pretends that this is going somewhere good fast.
Dr. Wyatt - because god knows they were all herded into her office at some point after the shooting - calls it regression. Meredith shakes her head and reminds her of all the good her advice did for Owen, all the good it’s surely done for the stricken people who walk these halls on a daily basis.
Meredith likes what she has here and now. She’d rather not fight for the concepts of more or better when it might not get her anywhere at all.
Title: Take A Hit Of This And Let's Make It Last
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: April. Possibly one-sided Derek/April.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post "Death And All Of His Friends". It feels like her fault. And not just Reed. Derek too. It all feels like her fault.
April lingers on the periphery of his hospital room for a straight week.
There are always excuses. Seattle Grace is a crime scene. Her friends are here, the few she has. Her best friend is dead and it’s this or moping in her small apartment, and she’s already out of tissues, soon to be out of her mind if she stays alone with her thoughts for too long.
She never sets foot in the room though.
There are excuses for that too. Most of them don’t need repeating.
He goes home the same day the hospital reopens. Blood has been scrubbed from the floors, bullets dug out of the walls, plastered and painted over in the same glaring white. It doesn’t stop a shiver from going through her in the scrub room or keep her stomach from twisting into knots at the mere thought of setting foot on the same floor where she found Reed’s body.
She thinks she can still smell the blood, the stench of death, and she wishes she’d told Reed what she read before, about telling personal details, putting a face on the victim as a means of keeping yourself safe. She wishes Reed wasn’t so much brash. She wishes she’d been there with her.
It feels like her fault, somehow.
And not just Reed, either.
Derek.
It all feels like her fault.
Recovery is a long and arduous process and it’s months before she sees Derek again. It’s not like she can knock on their door. Meredith may have held her hand on the floor of that scrub room but even April knows that doesn’t make them friends. It gives them a connection but it’s a similar connection that everyone shares. It’s something they lived through. It doesn’t make her the kind of person who can knock on that door.
It’s not like she’d know what to say even if it did.
He’s back in September, in a part-time capacity, and she wastes no time in resuming her previous role. Webber’s been the temporary Chief since the shooting but he backs off quietly when Derek returns, and she figures with Derek working fewer hours he probably needs all the help he can get.
She overkills it.
People look at her funny, when she’s rushing around, walking with a purpose that isn’t entirely like her. When she follows him everywhere, like she’s his shadow. She’s heard the reference made, in the hallways, and she pretends it doesn’t bother her.
Meredith looks at her like she’s just trying to ignore it. It’s a step up from before, when she was just trying to ignore her.
Derek smiles at her, at the way she bends over backwards if she can, and it’s warm. She’s always loved his smile. The way he shows his teeth when he does. She stumbles over her words a lot, her mouth moving faster than her brain, and it makes him flash her that smile, half-amused and half-patient, and she doesn’t really make any attempt to slow down. She does blush, bright pink and half the time it’s the end of the day and her makeup’s worn off anyways - she could use the color.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like him. She’s not in the business of lying to herself about things like that.
It doesn’t mean she’s about to tell him that. Her mouth certainly doesn’t move that fast.
He pats her shoulder when she hands him a chart he needs, an automatic, passing reaction - it’s not like they lock eyes and have a moment or anything, it’s just something he does - and when April goes home at night she feels more and more okay.
Like it’s not all her fault.
Like even if it was, he at least forgives her.
If nothing else ever comes of it, at least there’s that.
Title: Working On My Backwards Walk
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post "Death And All Of His Friends". They call this regression.
It starts slowly enough that it’s barely noticeable.
The baby goes unacknowledged. She tells Cristina it was a false positive. Everyone else that was in the OR was too distracted, memories returning in fragments, and so they never ask. April misses work the first week back, so what she does or doesn’t know doesn’t amount to a whole lot.
It isn’t easy to forget, but with two recovering gunshot victims in her house, along with one mostly freaked out half sister, and a more grueling work schedule - yet another result of so many injuries and so much death -- on top of all that it’s fairly easy to avoid dealing with.
After that, there’s the drinking. She spends late nights in the bar with Cristina, still confused over the Owen and Teddy situation, the fact that Owen claims he already made his choice notwithstanding, and, later, late nights with Alex at home when he stops trying to mix pain medication with alcohol (and, yes, once when he didn’t) and just drops the vicodin altogether. Between the three of them, they empty half of her liquor cabinet in a too short amount of time, and it’s not long before she’s plying Lexie with the stuff, if only to get her to stop with the constant apologies and barrage of excuses; supposedly, according to her, this whole thing is her fault, and there’s no version of Meredith in the then or the now that knows how to fix that.
“Just like old times,” Cristina half-laughs around the rim of her glass, and Meredith’s stomach twists funny.
Her and Derek fight a lot after. They have setbacks that have nothing at all to do with wounds that take forever to heal. He can’t grapple with no longer being Chief, has a hard time adjusting, still has issues with Richard at the helm - six months sober, ten by the time things get really heated, or not - and she still defends him. The blueprints for the house end up in a drawer next to the bed and every time he brings it up, she counters with not knowing what to do with the house and the fact that she can’t just sell it and kick Alex and Lexie out.
It gets ugly. There’s a straight week in February where he stays nights in his trailer and she cleans house without actually getting rid of anything; Izzie’s stuff stays in Izzie’s old room and there’s still George’s stuff in the attic, the stuff that his mother didn’t collect, and she talks about repainting the living room.
She talks about staying in place, a lot. Planning for the future just doesn’t make as much sense, in her mind, when she’s seen where the plans of those who died got them. She’s sure Reed and Charles had them. She’s sure all of those doctors turned nameless bodies in the morgue had them too. Hell, it’s not just the shooting. She’s sure Alex had plans for him and Izzie, voiced or not, and now he fucks her sister and pretends that this is going somewhere good fast.
Dr. Wyatt - because god knows they were all herded into her office at some point after the shooting - calls it regression. Meredith shakes her head and reminds her of all the good her advice did for Owen, all the good it’s surely done for the stricken people who walk these halls on a daily basis.
Meredith likes what she has here and now. She’d rather not fight for the concepts of more or better when it might not get her anywhere at all.
Title: Take A Hit Of This And Let's Make It Last
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: April. Possibly one-sided Derek/April.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post "Death And All Of His Friends". It feels like her fault. And not just Reed. Derek too. It all feels like her fault.
April lingers on the periphery of his hospital room for a straight week.
There are always excuses. Seattle Grace is a crime scene. Her friends are here, the few she has. Her best friend is dead and it’s this or moping in her small apartment, and she’s already out of tissues, soon to be out of her mind if she stays alone with her thoughts for too long.
She never sets foot in the room though.
There are excuses for that too. Most of them don’t need repeating.
He goes home the same day the hospital reopens. Blood has been scrubbed from the floors, bullets dug out of the walls, plastered and painted over in the same glaring white. It doesn’t stop a shiver from going through her in the scrub room or keep her stomach from twisting into knots at the mere thought of setting foot on the same floor where she found Reed’s body.
She thinks she can still smell the blood, the stench of death, and she wishes she’d told Reed what she read before, about telling personal details, putting a face on the victim as a means of keeping yourself safe. She wishes Reed wasn’t so much brash. She wishes she’d been there with her.
It feels like her fault, somehow.
And not just Reed, either.
Derek.
It all feels like her fault.
Recovery is a long and arduous process and it’s months before she sees Derek again. It’s not like she can knock on their door. Meredith may have held her hand on the floor of that scrub room but even April knows that doesn’t make them friends. It gives them a connection but it’s a similar connection that everyone shares. It’s something they lived through. It doesn’t make her the kind of person who can knock on that door.
It’s not like she’d know what to say even if it did.
He’s back in September, in a part-time capacity, and she wastes no time in resuming her previous role. Webber’s been the temporary Chief since the shooting but he backs off quietly when Derek returns, and she figures with Derek working fewer hours he probably needs all the help he can get.
She overkills it.
People look at her funny, when she’s rushing around, walking with a purpose that isn’t entirely like her. When she follows him everywhere, like she’s his shadow. She’s heard the reference made, in the hallways, and she pretends it doesn’t bother her.
Meredith looks at her like she’s just trying to ignore it. It’s a step up from before, when she was just trying to ignore her.
Derek smiles at her, at the way she bends over backwards if she can, and it’s warm. She’s always loved his smile. The way he shows his teeth when he does. She stumbles over her words a lot, her mouth moving faster than her brain, and it makes him flash her that smile, half-amused and half-patient, and she doesn’t really make any attempt to slow down. She does blush, bright pink and half the time it’s the end of the day and her makeup’s worn off anyways - she could use the color.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like him. She’s not in the business of lying to herself about things like that.
It doesn’t mean she’s about to tell him that. Her mouth certainly doesn’t move that fast.
He pats her shoulder when she hands him a chart he needs, an automatic, passing reaction - it’s not like they lock eyes and have a moment or anything, it’s just something he does - and when April goes home at night she feels more and more okay.
Like it’s not all her fault.
Like even if it was, he at least forgives her.
If nothing else ever comes of it, at least there’s that.