What You're Wishing For

[drownondryland]

We all have something we're wishing for - something we dream of or work towards. A change for the future we covet. It's the story we tell ourselves when we say things are going to get better. We imagine all the ways our lives could improve, if only we were a little luckier or tried a little harder, if only the universe went our way just this once.

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[daretodo]

"Just the usual checkup, Doc," I say with mostly feigned exasperation, flashing her a lopsided smile as I shuffle into the clinic. Having lived in this windowless shoebox for nearly three nonconsecutive months, I don't particularly like my weekly visits, necessary as I understand them to be. In an effort to keep things positive, though, I don't come in empty handed, setting down a cup of coffee and some sort of mystery pastry I pilfered from the kitchen on the desk in offering. My logic in this is pretty simple, albeit knowingly flawed. If she's in a good enough mood, maybe my anticipated sentence --that is, recovery time -- will be lessened, and save for a miracle cure for Stark, there's not much else I want more right now.

Perennially nosy all the same, however, I crane my neck to get a better look at what she was scribbling over, eyebrows arching when I catch a glimpse of a model in a neon green wedding dress. "Pretty sure I saw one of those in the clothes box once."

[drownondryland]

"And you didn't save it for me?" Meredith deadpans, fluttering her lashes. She nods toward the magazine and shrugs a shoulder, nose wrinkling slightly. "It's like a coloring book. I don't actually - I take what it'll give me." All the same, privately she counts this as a victory in the fight against herself. Sure, all she's doing is alternating between four colors and staying inside the lines, but as childish as this may be, it has to be mature of her to take the damn thing instead of throwing it across the room. It's all a matter of baby steps. "These are for me?"

[daretodo]

"Only if you give me good news," I say, though I quickly shake my head, rolling my eyes at myself. Bribing people has never much been my style, regardless of what that saying about desperate times calling for desperate measures likes to sell to the downtrodden. "Yeah, no, they're for you. That'd be pretty lousy of me, taking it back now. Don'tcha know pastry's serious business? You don't renege on that sort of thing."

[drownondryland]

"Well, thank you." Pushing aside her magazines, Meredith gets up to find Peter's chart. It's not like she doesn't already know its contents practically by heart, so she barely glances at it once she has it, more intent on finding something to write with that doesn't use green or orange ink. "I'm not sure I'll have news you want to hear," she continues, "and I could use pastry, so that's very much appreciated." After all, she's still not doing so great herself, in spite of her best efforts to rest and to keep that fact under wraps, and she wasn't hurt half so badly as he was. "How've you been feeling?"

[daretodo]

There's an aspect to these weekly checkups that always strikes me as vaguely scandalous. I mean, here I am, a happily married man, about to strip half-naked so my wife's best friend can prod around my chest for a few minutes. Maybe there's nothing going on between us, but it's a little strange. Fingers already fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, I walk over towards one of the empty beds, considering how best to answer the question.

How've I been feeling? Well, I haven't slept more than a couple of hours in the past three days, my ribs still ache whenever I dare take in too deep of a breath, I'm about as nauseated as a pregnant lady all the freaking time, and I'm pretty sure my libido's declared independence from the aches and pains of the rest of my body, because the damn thing just doesn't seem to care anymore, acting of its own accord whenever Mary Jane's nearby.

In spite of this laundry list of complaints, though, there's really one thing I can tell Meredith, all but chirping, "Great!"

[drownondryland]

"Uh huh," Meredith says, brow arching, "tell me another." Strictly based on his behavior, she'd buy it, but medical training, the fact that she's sure he just wants the go ahead to be okay again and the fact that her side's killing her from her unwillingness to say when at home as soon as she ought to all make it pretty clear he's a liar. A good one, but still. As with any patient, though, whatever her own experiences, all she has to go on is what he and his body tell her.

She nods to the bed, slipping her stethoscope from around her neck. "Having any trouble breathing? Does it still hurt?"

[daretodo]

Careful to keep my back turned to her to hide a wince, I shrug out of my shirt, dropping it on the bed before I hop up to take a seat next to it. A little over a month later, and my chest's in a lot better shape than it was directly following the yacht incident. Already my burns from Stark's repulsor blast have largely healed, leaving behind minimal scarring that I'm sure will fade entirely given enough time. Less nice are the twin scars on my back and chest from being impaled, both still long and jagged, like I'm some sort of modern day Frankenstein's monster. Though the stitches were removed a while back by this point, there's no doubt I'll be stuck with these marks for months yet, a more permanent reminder of my reckless sense of responsibility. Fortunately, the majority of my bruises have either disappeared or turned that delightful yellow color that looks like baby vomit -- small favors, right

[drownondryland]

"Every little bit counts," Meredith says lightly, looking over the remaining visible damage. He's coming along about as well as she can expect, at least, which is certainly something. "And you are definitely improving, Peter. You're looking much better, but I still expect you to take baby steps here. No point in rushing." Not that she's ever listened to her own advice, throwing herself back into her life the way she has. She tries to hold back sometimes, mostly when her friends are around to scold, but it's difficult to make herself bother until a pang reminds her she's pushing it.

Pressing the stethoscope to his chest, she glances up. "Take a breath for me," she says. "Careful."

[daretodo]

Taking a breath as instructed, I flash Meredith a distinctly irked glance -- it's not her fault I'm in this position, I know it isn't, but the only thing I'm careful about is making sure I don't let any of the pain show on my face when my ribs ache in protest of one of my more necessary bodily functions.

"What about steps towards making babies?" I all but blurt out in my frustration. Immediately, I feel my face burn with embarrassment, and for a few excruciating seconds, it's all I can do to stare at her with my best impersonation of a goldfish, mouth working wordlessly. "I... did not mean to say that out loud, oh, my God, I'm so sorry, Doctor. Meredith. Mary Jane's best friend." A beat. "Kill me now, please, we have no laws on euthanasia."

[drownondryland]

Meredith brings the stethoscope back down and lets it go, trying as hard as she can not to burst out laughing. It isn't fair to him, not when he's been forced to be so patient and he's already embarrassed, but it just isn't easy, even if she colors a little herself. She's not exactly shy about sex, never has been, but this is, as he's pointed out, her best friend they're talking about.

"I still took an oath," she says after a moment, pressing her lips flat together. "I'm sorry, I - I really don't need to think about that. Ever. But, uh..." She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. Looking him in the eye isn't quite an option right now. "That's... still something you should be... cautious about. You are, you're the best judge of how much you can handle, but I would still... recommend taking it slow for a little longer. It's, uh, hard. On the ribs. And lung, I'm sure, with the, the breathing."

[daretodo]

"The excited, heavy, into my wife breathing, yes," I agree with a solemn, decisive nod, though I quickly find myself shaking my head fervently, hands coming up in a helpless effort to take away what I've only just said.

"Not that I've been into-- We haven't-- I mean, I want to, trust me, because we're newlyweds, and this... This is supposed to be the fun, happy, honeymoon period where that kind of thing is just, you know, expected, but with... With, uh, protection, 'cause we're not-- We're not ready for babies, no way, but we should definitely be ready for the pre-baby prep work. Only I can't breathe without feeling like I'm being stabbed, and I've-- I've been stabbed. For real. With sharp, pointy, stabbing kind of things. So, I mean, I know from being stabbed. And I... I know you're her best friend, and you don't want ever to think about us -- about me -- in that context, and I completely appreciate that, trust me, but I lost my best friend last month, and literally, just... Have absolutely no one to talk to, because talking to

[drownondryland]

Meredith's hands are slightly raised as if that can somehow protect her from the sheer flood of words coming at her - words which, for the most part, she neither wants nor needs to hear. Ever. "Okay," she says, drawing a deep breath before she continues. "Um, well, I'm going to try and forget you said some of that, because there are, uh, things I don't need to remember, but... I know. I know it's not fair. It's really, really not fair. You guys both deserve a lot better than this. And... okay, it's a little weird, because I talk to her - when I don't go to Sean, I go to Mary Jane. Or both. But... if you want someone to talk to, I... I can listen. I'd rather not hear about the prep work, but uh, yeah. I can listen."

It's an offer she'll probably regret even more than that deep breath, but it's hard not to empathize. Yes, she still has Mary Jane and Sean and George; no matter how many losses she suffers, she's been pretty lucky. But losing Cristina, it felt for a little while like she had no one anyway.

[daretodo]

"No, it's-- You're MJ's best friend," I say, shoving a hand back through my hair, embarrassed, still, and more than a little exasperated. I've been better, lately, since my nervous breakdown last month upon finding my house in ruins, but my recent sleep deprivation has made me jitterier than usual -- more prone, unfortunately, to severe cases of verbal diarrhea that I hope, for both our sakes, she can forget.

"I shouldn't've... The past month's just been wearing on me, is all. I'm fine. Really. You... You don't need to listen to anything that isn't medically relevant. You stay MJ's best friend. And I'll..."

Just go crazy, apparently.

[drownondryland]

"It's okay," Meredith insists, shaking her head. "I don't mind one way or another. I mean, we're all kind of stuck together anyway, right?" Still, she isn't about to push him to talk if he doesn't want to. Apparently that's just something she does with her boyfriend. Besides, there are probably plenty of other things she doesn't want to know about her best friend's husband; she already knows more than she should. "It's... been a long month for a lot of us. And you are coming along very nicely, Peter, but it is going to be a few more weeks yet. I really do wish I could give you better news than that, but with the damage your lung took, I'd play it safe a little longer."

[daretodo]

"No, it's not," I say bluntly. "Okay, I mean. It's not okay. It's wildly inappropriate. You're supposed to be in her corner. We've established that, 'cause while we're all on the same team, you're in her corner. And, I mean, bad news aside, I actually like you these days, so that's... That's something. But if I start in with the reasons I'm helping the man who nearly killed me -- a man who, I'm pretty sure, thinks I'm the most grating person he's ever met -- which also happen to be the reasons that I don't sleep, like, ever -- aka, the medically relevant part of all this...

"Then you're automatically biased. Not because my reasons are that good, maybe they aren't, but just because you'll know them. And I can't do that. I can't steal Mary Jane's best friend just 'cause the only people I really talk to are my wife and my would-be manslaughterer. So I'm fine. Save for the insomnia, the pain, and the nausea from said pain, I am fine. Thank you

[drownondryland]

It's a delicate situation, given that so many of Peter's problems, even here, seem to stem from a secret that he isn't about to discuss, or Meredith would ignore his request completely. He needs to talk to someone, that much is clear, and his options are limited and she can't help wanting to help.

"You wouldn't tell them what they need to know anyway, would you?" she asks. "It wouldn't do any good. But it's... it's important that you have someone you can talk to about this. And you're right, I'm sorry, it's... probably for the best that that not be me. But there needs to be somebody, someone you can trust. And that is me being in Mary Jane's corner, because you feeling like this, you not being able to talk to her, it's - it can't be easy for her either. Find someone to talk to, Peter. And we have to do something about this insomnia."