All Along The Watchtower - Part 19B
Title: All Along The Watchtower
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mer/Der
Rating: M
Summary: S6 continuation. Immediately post Sanctuary / Death and All His Friends.
All Along The Watchtower - Part 19B
By the time he finished with Dr. Wyatt and picked up his Paxil prescription from Gregory Wallace at the hospital pharmacy, nearly four hours had passed. 8:00 PM had come and gone, and 9:00 PM had knocked. He felt tired and sick and nervous. His throat still hurt from the abuse of the last week. And he just wanted to go home, except home would be empty.
He needed to find Meredith. Just for a moment. He'd promised he would. And he needed to see if Richard was around because he didn't know when he would be back anymore. He didn't know anything. And Richard needed to know he would be in charge for a while longer. Derek hadn't spoken to Richard in weeks. Meredith had done all the work, and that wasn't fair to her.
Derek closed his eyes. They burned with exhaustion, and his sense of the hallway seemed to wobble. The rumble of a stretcher rolling past at the hands of an orderly dragged him back into focus. He sighed, and he tried to relax his stiff muscles. Everything ached from tension to the point that ibuprofen wasn't really helping. He kept moving.
Richard was in Derek's office. A dim light illuminated the small desk with sharp yellow tones, but darkness gripped the rest of the office. Shadows stretched in the room, muted by the bright white light in the hospital beyond the glass windows. Derek glanced at his watch and shook his head. 9:00 PM on the nose on a Saturday, and there Richard was. Working. His undivided attention on the paperwork in front of him. His pen scribbled as he signed something.
Derek rapped his knuckles on the open door. “Richard,” he said. His voice cracked, and his throat hurt. He sounded sort of like he'd had strep throat. Or like he had when he'd been recovering from pneumonia.
“Derek,” Richard said without looking up. He flipped to the next paper in his stack and scribbled more with his pen. Then he froze. The heavy sheaf of papers collapsed with a slap, and Richard stared at him. “Derek!” he said. He pushed back his chair and stood as Derek moved toward the desk. “You want to tell me why my star neurosurgeon disappeared for a week after showing up for a day, just a day, and all I got was a cryptic message from Meredith about the flu?”
“I'm not here to work,” Derek said. “And I'm not your neurosurgeon.”
“Not here to...” Richard shook his head, and his look creased into a frustrated glare. “What do you mean, you're not here to work? You certainly don't look like you have the flu.”
“I... can't,” Derek said. He collapsed into the chair across from Richard, who didn't sit. His former boss remained a tower of incredulity on the other side of the desk. “I need more time off.”
“Well, you can't have more time off,” said Richard. “You've taken almost three months already if you include this week.”
“You're not my boss anymore, Richard,” Derek snapped, and then he closed his eyes as regret filled him. God, he was tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I was going to... tell the Board. Jennings. I have a letter from...” He swallowed. The recommendation letter Dr. Wyatt had typed for him felt heavy in his pocket, like a slab of iron. They wouldn't make him work after reading it. “I have a letter.”
“I can't force you to take time off,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“I thought...”
“I can't force you to take time off,” Dr. Wyatt repeated. “I know you were worried about that, and I want to assure you because of privacy laws that I'm in no position to force you not to go back, or to tell your superiors what you've told me about your drug problem, but I'd really like you to take time off. In fact, I urge it. You're not in any shape to work right now. Not in such a high stress position.”
He closed his eyes. “I don't want to go back,” he said as he thought of all the people. The strangers. The bustle. The pressure. The now, now, now of it all. His collapse on the catwalk in front of everybody. The mountains of budgetary paperwork he'd suffered through within hours of returning in an official capacity. The parts he didn't despise scared him to death.
“Good,” Dr. Wyatt said. “That's a healthy decision.”
“But I've already taken all my disability leave,” he'd said. “There's nothing left.”
She nodded. “Let me write a letter of recommendation for you. I can make it as vague or as specific as you want. You can show it to your boss, and that should give you a bit of breathing room.”
He nodded, silent.
“Then why are you even here?” Richard demanded.
“I can't work right now. I'm not in any... condition to work. I'll take an unpaid leave of absence if I have to,” Derek said.
“How long?”
“A few more weeks.” At least.
“Weeks?”
Derek nodded.
It is my professional opinion that Dr. Shepherd cannot fulfill his duties without considerable danger to his psychological well-being, the letter said. That was it. It didn't mention post traumatic stress, or drugs, or anything. It just made it clear that making Derek work would be a disaster in the long run. The Board wouldn't be happy, but they couldn't afford to have a high profile surgeon suffer a nervous breakdown on the job. Not ever, but especially not after everything else that had happened to tarnish Seattle Grace's reputation. He'd already had a panic attack on the catwalk in full view. A year before, he'd gone a drunken binge and nearly quit after Jen had died on his table. The Board would read the letter and believe it.
Derek Shepherd was a flight risk.
Richard's eyes narrowed. “You could do that,” he said.
He sat in his chair, which creaked. Derek followed his mentor's gaze to Derek's hands, shaking at the edge of the desk as he clutched the bag containing his new prescription. Derek licked his lip and stuffed his hands in his lap with the bag, out of view. He fiddled with the bag. It crinkled. One moment passed. Two. Richard's gaze softened, and the space between them seemed to cool as the older man switched modes from frustrated boss to something else.
“Derek, tell me what's going on,” Richard said.
Derek looked at his lap. The stonewashed denim of his jeans looked dark indigo in the dim light. “Meredith is preg...” He cleared his throat when his voice failed. “Pregnant.”
Richard's expression lit up like a sparkling bouquet of firecrackers, and a smile tore across his face. “Really? That's wonderful!” he said as he launched forward. The sudden movement to shake Derek's hand, or clap him on the back, or... something, made Derek flinch and roll back in his chair. He lost his grip on the bag containing his prescription, and the bottle spilled and rolled onto Richard's desk. The bag fluttered to the floor. Derek's heart throbbed, and he panted. His blood rushed in his ears. Tension coiled as Richard fell silent and watched Derek put himself back together. Slowly.
“Pathetic,” said Mr. Clark.
Derek pulled his shaky fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry. I...”
“Not a problem,” said Richard, his gaze suspicious.
Derek moved to pick up his pill bottle. He met Richard's hand midair. Richard cleared his throat. Derek took the bottle from Richard's warm grasp.
“When is she due?” Richard asked as Derek fumbled for the bag on the floor and stuffed the bottle away out of sight. If Richard had seen what the pills were for, he made no indication.
“We don't know yet,” Derek said. “We just found out yesterday.”
“Is that what this is about?” Richard said. “Can I help?”
“No, I... If I had a scalpel right now... I wouldn't mean to, but I'd kill someone. I can't be this way if I'm supposed to be a dad.” A noise crashed in the hallway, and Derek flinched again. A startled exclamation stuck in his throat. He couldn't stop himself from reacting to anything anymore. His heart raced as he looked over his shoulder to see what had happened. Just the janitor passing with a cart and a mop. That was all. Frustration coiled in his gut.
“Derek...” Richard said, his voice low. Concerned. “You weren't out with the flu, were you?”
“No,” Derek said as he resettled himself in the chair. “No, I'm...” His eyes burned. “I'm a bit of a mess,” he admitted. He didn't know why. Like he'd been abraded, and rubbed raw, and he had no fortitude anymore to not spill himself to the first person who asked a prying question. At least this was Richard. Someone who'd been his friend. Not as much lately, but...
“He'll think you're a hypocrite if he finds out,” said Gary Clark. “You practically got him canned for the same problem. And then you took his job like a shark.”
“Is it the shooting?” Richard said.
Derek nodded. His voice was gone.
“He wanted you. And he was upset,” Richard said. Derek squeezed his eyes shut. Richard had spoken to... Richard had... Derek rocked in his chair. He couldn't think about this. He couldn't think about anything. A gunshot ricocheted in his head. The room snapped into endless white. He tumbled backward, and he hit the ground. Pain. He couldn't breathe. “What happened to you, Derek? What did he do?” Richard prodded, pulling Derek back. Derek blinked, and the sprawling white bled away.
“I made a mistake by unplugging his wife, and he shot me,” Derek snapped. “He shot everyone.”
“Mr. Clark was a sick man, Derek,” Richard said. “His wife's living will was very clear. You didn't make a mistake. And his wife was my patient. Not yours.”
Derek shook his head. “I need to go. You just... You have your job for a while. I wanted to warn... tell you.” He stood, and the room spun around his head like a carousel, and he almost toppled. He was tired. And stressed. And he couldn't...
A warm hand cupped his shoulder and pushed him back into the chair. The light at the desk went out, and the room sank into comforting, cold darkness. “Why don't you relax for a minute?” Richard said. “I'll see if I can find Meredith for you.”
Derek said nothing as Richard closed the office door behind him with a soft thud. Derek closed his eyes, and exhaustion pulled him into a doze in moments, despite the tension, despite everything. His sense of the room waned to nothing.
He lay in the dark in the bed, propped to the side by pillows. He clawed at the sheets. He couldn't move. His chest hurt, and it was dark. Pitch. His throat hurt like he'd been yelling.
“Derek, you're dreaming,” Meredith murmured. Her hand wandered over his shaking bicep. She snuggled closer as sleep abandoned him.
He made a noise. This wasn't the hospital. It was too dark. He tried to remember where he was. The house. The bedroom. He'd been home for a night. He couldn't breathe or move as he listened to the odd sounds of the house settling and civilization beyond the window. Rain thundered on the roof, and wet cars swished past on the street outside.
“S'okay, go back to sleep,” Meredith said against his skin. “Bad dream.”
He clenched his jaw. “Meredith,” he said. He sounded wrecked. Breathy.
She twitched and snapped awake as he clutched her. “What's wrong?” she said. She raised her head and stared at him. He couldn't see her face, but he felt her there. Eye-to-eye in the darkness. Worried.
“Meredith,” he repeated.
She brushed his face with her hand. “It's okay. You're okay,” she said. “Do you need something?”
He swallowed. His breaths arrived as wheezy pants. His eyes watered as he tried to force himself to inflate. An elephant had stepped on him. “My chest,” he said. “Hurts.”
“Not your back?”
He shook his head. “Chest.”
She nodded, sniffling. “Let me get your pills,” she said, and she rolled away. The jingle of the bottle hit his ears.
“Hey,” Meredith said, her voice low and whisper-y, and she brought the world back. He opened his eyes, and light bisected the darkness. He blinked. Her blurry shape resolved in front of him. She smiled. Her palm touched his face. “How are you doing?” she said.
“Meredith,” he murmured. He swallowed and wiped the sleep from his eyes, except it wouldn't go away. Exhaustion weighed him down. The prescription bag fell from his lap as he shifted, trying to become aware. She kissed him.
“How did it go with Dr. Wyatt?” Meredith said. She wore her periwinkle scrubs and a white undershirt, and she looked... fresh. For once. Not beset by worry. Glowing.
He pulled her against him, and he rested with his face in her hair. Breathing. Her body was warm. She wrapped her arms around him, and they hovered in silence for a long time.
“You're pregnant,” he said, his voice tired, as he rubbed her arms with his palms.
“I am,” she said.
A wide smile stretched across her face and lit her up like one of his young nieces on Christmas morning. Uncle Derek, he remembered Mary saying, with her big brown eyes wide like bowling balls as she stared at the lighted tree, Santa came! The last Christmas he'd visited his family. Years ago. Addison had still been asleep. Mary had tugged on his pajamas with her tiny hands and dragged him down the steps to join the other kids who'd woken early. He'd been the first adult sentient that morning. 4:00 AM. The tree had glowed in the dark living room like a bonfire, and shiny presents had sprawled for what seemed like miles.
His heart squeezed when the words changed in his head. Dad. Daddy. Daddy, look! Santa came! A lump formed in his throat, and he tightened his grip around Meredith.
“I told her,” he said.
Meredith ran her fingers through his hair. “Everything?”
He sighed. “Most things.”
“It's a start,” she said. “Are you going back to see her again?”
“Every day this week except tomorrow.”
Dr. Wyatt had penciled him in for 1:00 PM, every weekday until the end of creation, actually. She'd insisted he see her every day until they started making some progress. The thought of it, of putting himself on display for a stranger again and again and again, made him tired, and he became acutely aware of all his aches and pains. His eyelids drooped.
“That's good,” Meredith said. “That's...” She brushed his face with her hand. “I love you.”
He gave her a weak smile. Ditto, he said with his eyes, but didn't speak it. “I'm really tired,” he said.
She nodded. “I know. I know you are. Thank you for going to see her.”
“Yeah.”
He gripped her shoulder and struggled to stand. His back unfurled, but not without protest, and he couldn't stop the wince that crept across his face, or the soft, muttered groan that fell from his lips. He stood in her space, breathing the soft scent of lavender, as the aching receded. She bent down. Something crinkled. She'd picked up his prescription. She looked at it. Her eyebrows raised as she pulled the bottle from the bag and stared at the instructions.
“That's a really big dose,” she said.
“Apparently, I'm messed up enough to warrant one,” he snapped, raw and hurting. He swallowed, and he looked away. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm tired.”
“It's okay,” she said, which made him feel worse. It wasn't okay that he yelled at her for no reason. It never had been.
They moved slowly to the office doorway. Richard stood on the far side of the hall, his arms crossed. He looked at the ceiling, surreptitious, but obviously waiting for his office to clear out. Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose. He took the prescription away from Meredith and sighed. He leaned into her.
“I need to go home,” he said, his voice soft against her ear. Her loose hair brushed the side of his face, and he breathed her in, once, twice, before he added, “I'll take it at home.”
“That's fine,” she said. “I'll drive you.”
He shook his head. “I can get a taxi.”
“Are you sure?”
“You need to work, Mere.”
She sighed but didn't argue. She stood, her arms wrapped around his back, and they hovered in the office doorway for minute after minute. She stroked his back, and he listened to the rasp, rasp, rasp in the quiet hall. This late on a Saturday, the catwalk and office complexes in the surrounding areas were often empty, and not many people walked to and fro. She kissed his throat, and then the stroking motions stopped. Her fingers scrunched his t-shirt.
“Let's go somewhere,” she said.
He lifted his head. “Hmm? Now?”
“Next weekend,” she said. “You need to get out of the house and relax. We both need it. It'll be good. We've been talking about our future first couple-y vacation. Why not?”
“Meredith--”
She splayed a palm against his chest. “Don't say it,” she said, interrupting him. “If I smash two thirty-six-hour shifts together with a small break between, I can hit my eighty hour cap by Friday afternoon. We'll have the whole weekend.”
He stared at her. Her gray eyes sparkled in the dim light. Her lips pressed into a flat line, and her nose scrunched. Her determined face. He'd seen it a lot lately. When she'd told him he couldn't stay home alone for his withdrawal. When she'd told him he needed to see somebody. He swallowed. The ache in his head that her presence had tempered returned with roaring force. He was too tired to argue when he knew he would never win.
He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“I'll think of someplace we can go,” she said. “You relax this week.”
Except she was pregnant. And if she intended to work eighty hours in the space of five days... where would she find the time to plan and arrange a trip? That wasn't healthy even for somebody who wasn't pregnant. “Meredith, you--”
“Maybe wine country?” she interrupted. A small smile tugged at her lips. “First impulses are usually good.”
“Maybe,” he said.
She cradled her womb. “Forty-eight hours. Uninterrupted.” Sex, she didn't say, but she'd seen the Paxil. She'd commented on it. She knew what it did. Didn't she? He felt sick as she continued, “Though, sampling the wine would be out.”
“It would,” he replied. “But, Meredith--”
Richard cleared his throat, and Derek flinched. Just a bit. He'd forgotten they had an audience. “I have a cabin on Lake Cushman,” Richard said. “It's fully stocked, and I never use it anymore.” Derek and Meredith turned to stare at him. Meredith's eyebrows raised. Richard broke eye contact and shook his head in bashful apology. “I... uh...” He cleared his throat again. “I overheard.”
“You have a cabin?” Meredith said.
Derek closed his eyes as he listened to the excitement drip into Meredith's tone. He wouldn't win. Not when she sounded like that. He fingered the bag, and it crinkled. Mood killer in a bottle.
“I bought it on a whim when Adele kicked me out again,” Richard said. “When I was drinking.”
“Oh,” replied Meredith. Silence followed.
“It's a bit of a bachelor pad, but it's quiet,” Richard added. “It's got a beautiful view of the lake. And it's free. I can bring you the keys tomorrow.”
“That would be really nice, Chief,” Meredith said.
“Listen, I, uh...” Richard swallowed. He glanced at his watch. “I'm headed home.” He looked at Derek. “Did you need a ride?”
“I was going to grab a taxi,” Derek said.
“Well, I'm happy to take you,” Richard said.
Derek shrugged. One the one hand, it meant he didn't have to wait for a taxi or help the driver navigate. On the other, it meant he would have to ride home with Richard. “If you're sure,” Derek said, trying not to sound too wary. He figured he sounded more tired than anything else. He rubbed his burning eyes.
“Oh, this will be swell,” said Mr. Clark.
“No trouble at all,” replied Richard, oblivious. “Let me just grab my coat and hat.”
Meredith turned to Derek. They shuffled out of the doorway to allow Richard to pass and then leaned against the wall by the door. She brushed her fingers through his hair, and he pulled her into his arms. “I'll see you tomorrow when I get home, okay?” she said. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Meredith...” Richard said as he exited the office and pulled shut the door, his briefcase, coat, and hat in hand. “I wanted to say congratulations.”
Meredith glanced at Derek. He gave her a thin smile. They'd decided to tell whoever was pertinent at the time, since most of her friends already seemed to know, anyway. Or, at least, that's what he'd thought they'd decided. “I told him,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, and he relaxed when no anger swelled in her sparkling gaze. She just seemed... pleased. Thrilled. Her hands absently went to her belly, and he couldn't help the smile that ignited on his face as he watched her do something so small and simple. She turned to Richard. Her cheeks flushed, but Derek thought it made her look beautiful. Not embarrassed. “Thanks. I'm...” She made a small shrugging motion and bit her lip in a gesture that was purely Meredith. The Meredith he loved. “Thanks.”
They said their goodbyes and parted. Derek, clutching his prescription bag, followed Richard to the parking lot as fast as his tired body would allow, which wasn't fast, though Richard said nothing about the stilted pace of their departure. The older man had a jaunty step. His coat folded down over his leather briefcase, and he held his hat tucked under his arm. The weather outside was fairly balmy, though damp, as summer stretched its remaining muscles. The street lights buzzed and reflected on the dark, wet pavement. The staff lot was quiet, mostly.
The soft purr of a car prowling past made Derek look up and assess. The vehicle kept moving into the dark, away, and he would have relaxed, except looking up made him realize how dark it was. How solitary. His pupils strained to adjust as he stared beyond row after row of cars. His heart squeezed as he looked at all the places where one could hide with a gun. Parked cars became malevolent. Unlit headlamps and front grills became glaring faces. Each vehicle could hide the crouching body of a person. Easily.
A cool breeze ruffled his hair and his shirt. Richard whistled as they walked. At least he didn't make small talk. Derek forced himself to move despite the disquiet snarling in his head and pressing on his chest. They walked between a pair of parked cars. Nervous energy made his steps shaky.
They'd almost made it to Richard's car when the air around Derek lit like a supernova. Cacophony burst in his ears, unexpected after the muted almost-silence, and Derek slammed into the parked car on his left. His fingers slipped on the wet paint as his eardrums curdled with the horrible noise. His innards dropped out from his body, and his knees wobbled. He fought the urge to curl up into a ball or explode into a sprint as the blaring horn kept going, and going, and another horn joined it, a rapid blast of noise, until Derek's chest hurt and everything hurt, and he wanted to run, except he had no idea where to, because the painful light and the muted colors flashed and confused everything.
Through the blur, several feet away to the right, the headlights of a car speared the intersection, blocked in part by a shadow and glowing tail lights and a blinking yellow turn signal. As fast as the honking had started, it stopped. He blinked against the bright glare of the oncoming car. Having settled their quarrel, the first car slid through the intersection. The second turned left and moved perpendicular. Derek tensed as the first car rumbled in front of him as it moved down the parking lot's aisle, and then faded into the distance. The parking lot darkened and quieted.
Derek's heart throbbed. He swallowed. A hand touched his shoulder, and he made an embarrassing noise. Not a word. Just fear. Solid, abject, unabated. “Stop,” he managed, his voice throaty and miserable as he made his stand against his nerves, but Gary Clark, who'd been silent for so long, began to laugh and laugh and laugh. The hand that had touched him lifted away.
“You're a hoot to watch, you know,” said Mr. Clark. “It's better than cable.”
And then all Derek could hear was laughing and more laughing, and he tried to curl away, but a solid wall of metal blocked him on one side. Shadows lurched around him. He couldn't breathe, and he--
“Derek!” Richard shouted in Derek's ear, and the shock was enough to snap reality back into place. Derek stood in the dark parking lot, trembling against a beige Impala. He turned. He felt nauseous, and he fought the urge to let the threat of Richard's imposing figure slip into his thighs and his knees and his toes and make him move backward. It didn't work. Derek stumbled. His back hit the parked car with a thunk, and he couldn't speak. His throat closed.
“Derek,” said Richard, his voice softer. He backed away, and he raised his hands so they both were visible. Pink palms hovered in the darkness.
“I'm sorry,” Derek croaked. He blinked, and then he was crying. In front of his fucking former boss. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. Useless. Nothing helped. He was useless. He tried to remember all the things Dr. Wyatt had told him about panic attacks, but they flew from his grasp like a scattering flock of birds, and he couldn't think about anything other than the fact that the parking lot was really dark. Tenebrous. Shadows stretched and then seemed to coil and gather. Somebody was hiding out there somewhere. He knew it.
“It's okay,” Richard said, soft, slow. He pointed to his car, parked three spaces down, and hit his key fob with his thumb. The car chirped, and the headlights turned on. The keys jingled. “Move when you're ready. It's okay.”
Derek forced himself to shuffle toward Richard's car. Forced. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He settled into the soft leather seat of Richard's sedan and pulled the seatbelt over his lap. He swallowed. He swallowed again. Nothing would stop the sick feeling quivering in his stomach that he was being stalked. He locked the car door beside him, and he sat there. Shaking.
He flinched when Richard settled into the car, and he flinched when Richard slammed shut his door. The walls closed in. Derek tried to think about the rules. What Dr. Wyatt had said. His heart pounded in his chest. And then he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think, and he was dying. In the seat. Dying. He clawed at his throat.
“Breathe in,” Richard said from far away. “Listen to me. Breathe in, and hold it.”
Derek breathed.
“Now, let it out,” said Richard.
Derek exhaled.
“In.”
Derek closed his eyes.
The most important thing you can do for yourself during a panic attack is breathe, Dr. Wyatt had said. Focus on yourself. Breathe in. Hold it for three. Breathe out over three seconds. Okay? Keep doing that as long as you feel like you need it.
Derek collapsed over his knees and kept breathing. He lost track of Richard as Dr. Wyatt's voice filled his head. Stop and replace the panic thought. Think about something you know you like instead of what's scaring you.
Derek scrunched his fingers in his hair. Meredith. Pregnant. Meredith was pregnant. He needed to be able to do this. Pickles and ice cream, he imagined her demanding at 3:00 AM. She would tug on his shirt in the middle of the night. He'd roll over and mumble something. Derek, she'd say more insistently. Derek, I really want pickles, and we don't have any. She would be swollen with their child. A boy or a girl. He would be thrilled with either one. The spears, not the little circles. And they should be extra crunchy! she would command. And he would take pity on her and drag himself to the supermarket in the middle of the night. Again. Because she'd asked, and it was his fault she was suffering, anyway. Well, half his fault. But he would do it.
When he came back to himself in the car, he felt... better. Exhausted. Beaten. Hurting. But better. Not scared. He blinked when he realized it'd actually worked. He'd stopped panicking on his own, and he'd only had to get to step two of seven. He cleared his throat as he unfurled his body and relaxed shakily in the seat.
“You weren't like this on Monday,” Richard said.
“I know I wasn't like this on Monday,” Derek snapped. He'd been fucking high. Now, he had nothing, and every little thing was making him feel like crawling into bed and never getting out again. He stared at the bag by his feet containing the Paxil.
I really think it will make you feel better, Dr. Wyatt had said.
A lump formed in his throat. He hoped so. He couldn't live like this. He couldn't do this anymore.
“Sorry,” said Richard as Derek stared out the window through a blur of tears.
Derek wiped his face, but he said nothing. As they went over the last speed bump before the main street, he pressed his face against the cool glass. He didn't want to think anymore. Exhaustion won. His eyelids drooped, and he hovered somewhere less than half-awake, but not quite unaware. Cars swished past on the wet road, repetitive. Hypnotic. He blinked once. Twice. The blur beyond his eyelashes became unimportant, and he closed his eyes.
“So, what should we name her?” Meredith said as they sat at the table in the kitchen.
Derek nursed a small bowl of cereal mixed with peach yogurt. He crunched through another bite as he looked up. He swallowed. Sunlight fell through the windows. The bright light made the ends of her hair glow, and she looked warm. Happy.
“Her?” he said.
“The baby.”
“It's a her?”
Meredith shrugged. “I think so.”
He leaned on his elbows and grinned at her. “Oh, you do?”
She nodded. “I do. So, what name?”
“I thought you liked Anne.”
“I do,” she said. “But do you? Maybe, we should get a name book since this is more relevant, now.”
“I like Anne,” he said.
He took another bite of cereal. He swallowed. She sat across from him with a glass of apple juice. Her soft skin glowed, and her eyes were... happy. Just happy. He leaned back in his chair, and he couldn't stop the smile that overwhelmed him. His body ached. He felt like shit. Tired. Spent. And yet... None of it mattered, and he'd never felt better.
“What?” she said in a soft voice.
“Just you,” he said. He finished another bite of his cereal. His stomach behaved instead of churned.
“What about me?”
“Everything.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Is this a good everything?”
He nodded. “It's a perfect everything. You're perfect.”
“I'll be fat in a few months,” she countered.
He shrugged. “No, you won't. You'll be pregnant.”
“Smooth.”
He winked. “I try. We should get a name book, though.”
“I keep thinking there's a name out there I don't know about that's better.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And we have eight or more months to kill, don't we?”
She grinned and cocked her head to the side as she stared at him. “We do.”
“Plus, we need a fallback,” he said.
“A fallback?”
“In case you're not psychic, and it's a boy. We should have a plan for that.”
She giggled. “I'm telling you, it's a girl.”
“Would you be upset if it's a boy?”
“Nope,” she said. “But it's a girl, anyway.”
He finished his cereal. The entire bowl. He dropped his spoon into the bowl and rested on his hands. He couldn't stop watching her. She really did have a glow. Something... Otherworldly. Whenever he looked at her. Perfect. “I love you, Meredith. I really do.”
“Derek,” a soft male voice whispered. Derek twitched. “Derek?”
“Hmm.”
“We're here,” Richard said.
Derek opened his eyes and wiped his face with his hands. Richard had parked along the curb in front of the house where Mark liked to park his Mustang when he visited. Home. Derek was home. He stared at the dark, wet walk, the small flight of steps, the deck with the swing, and then the house beyond. Every window was dark - Lexie, Alex, and Meredith were all at work -- but the light in front of the house was lit as if welcoming him home. Meredith. She must have flipped the switch before they'd left that afternoon. He gazed at the door, and longing so profound it ached swept through him. He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted to crawl under the covers, where it was safe and warm, and he could sleep.
“Thank you,” Derek said as he released his seatbelt. He coughed as he cleared his throat.
“It's no problem,” Richard said.
Derek pushed open the door of the car. Deep, energetic barking began. Once, twice, and then a staccato of earnest welcome. Dad, dad, dad, he imagined Samantha saying as she danced at the front door. Oh, boy! You're back! Can we play?
“You got a dog?” Richard said.
“Yeah,” Derek said as he fumbled with his seatbelt.
“I love dogs.”
Derek paused, his fingers on the latch. The seatbelt popped out and rolled back into the holder. Won't you introduce me? Richard hadn't said it, but...
“Richard, I'm...” Derek swallowed. He wanted to hibernate, and he needed to take the first fucking pill. He needed to be safe. For an hour. Two. He couldn't take this much longer. “I'm really tired.”
“Let me come in,” Richard said. “You can go to bed.”
Derek closed his eyes. “Richard...”
“I just want to help.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you need it,” Richard said. “You seem like you need company. Just somebody in the house. I won't bother you.”
“Adele--”
“Won't mind if I'm helping a friend. It's the extra work she hates.”
Friend. Derek's fingers clenched. “I nearly got you fired.”
“I nearly got me fired,” Richard said. Derek faced him. Their eyes met, and Richard didn't blink in the dark of the car. “I'm an alcoholic,” he said. “People got hurt. I took advantage of Meredith. Thank you for stepping in. I know that wasn't easy.”
“You're...” Derek swallowed. “Welcome.”
His mentor - his friend - nodded. A small nod. As if to say he considered the matter closed and done with. No hard feelings. “Now,” Richard said. “Let me meet this dog of yours.”
Derek grimaced as he climbed out of the car. “Her name is Samantha.”
Richard glanced down the walk at the house. Samantha hadn't stopped barking. “She sounds big.”
“She is big,” Derek said. “She's just a gregarious clown, though.”
“When did you get her?”
“About two weeks ago,” Derek said. “We're... building a family.”
Richard smiled. The car chirped as he locked it. “I can see that,” he said.
They ambled up the walk. Derek turned the key in the lock and was immediately greeted by a hundred pounds of slobbering dog. Finally. Something that didn't make his heart want to burst in his chest. He was kissed. Again, again, again. His tension unraveled. Just a little. He couldn't help but laugh as he pushed Samantha out of the way so they could get into the house and he could disable the threatening security alarm.
“Down, Sam,” he said, and she backed away, but her stumpy tail wagged, welcoming him home.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mer/Der
Rating: M
Summary: S6 continuation. Immediately post Sanctuary / Death and All His Friends.
All Along The Watchtower - Part 19B
By the time he finished with Dr. Wyatt and picked up his Paxil prescription from Gregory Wallace at the hospital pharmacy, nearly four hours had passed. 8:00 PM had come and gone, and 9:00 PM had knocked. He felt tired and sick and nervous. His throat still hurt from the abuse of the last week. And he just wanted to go home, except home would be empty.
He needed to find Meredith. Just for a moment. He'd promised he would. And he needed to see if Richard was around because he didn't know when he would be back anymore. He didn't know anything. And Richard needed to know he would be in charge for a while longer. Derek hadn't spoken to Richard in weeks. Meredith had done all the work, and that wasn't fair to her.
Derek closed his eyes. They burned with exhaustion, and his sense of the hallway seemed to wobble. The rumble of a stretcher rolling past at the hands of an orderly dragged him back into focus. He sighed, and he tried to relax his stiff muscles. Everything ached from tension to the point that ibuprofen wasn't really helping. He kept moving.
Richard was in Derek's office. A dim light illuminated the small desk with sharp yellow tones, but darkness gripped the rest of the office. Shadows stretched in the room, muted by the bright white light in the hospital beyond the glass windows. Derek glanced at his watch and shook his head. 9:00 PM on the nose on a Saturday, and there Richard was. Working. His undivided attention on the paperwork in front of him. His pen scribbled as he signed something.
Derek rapped his knuckles on the open door. “Richard,” he said. His voice cracked, and his throat hurt. He sounded sort of like he'd had strep throat. Or like he had when he'd been recovering from pneumonia.
“Derek,” Richard said without looking up. He flipped to the next paper in his stack and scribbled more with his pen. Then he froze. The heavy sheaf of papers collapsed with a slap, and Richard stared at him. “Derek!” he said. He pushed back his chair and stood as Derek moved toward the desk. “You want to tell me why my star neurosurgeon disappeared for a week after showing up for a day, just a day, and all I got was a cryptic message from Meredith about the flu?”
“I'm not here to work,” Derek said. “And I'm not your neurosurgeon.”
“Not here to...” Richard shook his head, and his look creased into a frustrated glare. “What do you mean, you're not here to work? You certainly don't look like you have the flu.”
“I... can't,” Derek said. He collapsed into the chair across from Richard, who didn't sit. His former boss remained a tower of incredulity on the other side of the desk. “I need more time off.”
“Well, you can't have more time off,” said Richard. “You've taken almost three months already if you include this week.”
“You're not my boss anymore, Richard,” Derek snapped, and then he closed his eyes as regret filled him. God, he was tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I was going to... tell the Board. Jennings. I have a letter from...” He swallowed. The recommendation letter Dr. Wyatt had typed for him felt heavy in his pocket, like a slab of iron. They wouldn't make him work after reading it. “I have a letter.”
“I can't force you to take time off,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“I thought...”
“I can't force you to take time off,” Dr. Wyatt repeated. “I know you were worried about that, and I want to assure you because of privacy laws that I'm in no position to force you not to go back, or to tell your superiors what you've told me about your drug problem, but I'd really like you to take time off. In fact, I urge it. You're not in any shape to work right now. Not in such a high stress position.”
He closed his eyes. “I don't want to go back,” he said as he thought of all the people. The strangers. The bustle. The pressure. The now, now, now of it all. His collapse on the catwalk in front of everybody. The mountains of budgetary paperwork he'd suffered through within hours of returning in an official capacity. The parts he didn't despise scared him to death.
“Good,” Dr. Wyatt said. “That's a healthy decision.”
“But I've already taken all my disability leave,” he'd said. “There's nothing left.”
She nodded. “Let me write a letter of recommendation for you. I can make it as vague or as specific as you want. You can show it to your boss, and that should give you a bit of breathing room.”
He nodded, silent.
“Then why are you even here?” Richard demanded.
“I can't work right now. I'm not in any... condition to work. I'll take an unpaid leave of absence if I have to,” Derek said.
“How long?”
“A few more weeks.” At least.
“Weeks?”
Derek nodded.
It is my professional opinion that Dr. Shepherd cannot fulfill his duties without considerable danger to his psychological well-being, the letter said. That was it. It didn't mention post traumatic stress, or drugs, or anything. It just made it clear that making Derek work would be a disaster in the long run. The Board wouldn't be happy, but they couldn't afford to have a high profile surgeon suffer a nervous breakdown on the job. Not ever, but especially not after everything else that had happened to tarnish Seattle Grace's reputation. He'd already had a panic attack on the catwalk in full view. A year before, he'd gone a drunken binge and nearly quit after Jen had died on his table. The Board would read the letter and believe it.
Derek Shepherd was a flight risk.
Richard's eyes narrowed. “You could do that,” he said.
He sat in his chair, which creaked. Derek followed his mentor's gaze to Derek's hands, shaking at the edge of the desk as he clutched the bag containing his new prescription. Derek licked his lip and stuffed his hands in his lap with the bag, out of view. He fiddled with the bag. It crinkled. One moment passed. Two. Richard's gaze softened, and the space between them seemed to cool as the older man switched modes from frustrated boss to something else.
“Derek, tell me what's going on,” Richard said.
Derek looked at his lap. The stonewashed denim of his jeans looked dark indigo in the dim light. “Meredith is preg...” He cleared his throat when his voice failed. “Pregnant.”
Richard's expression lit up like a sparkling bouquet of firecrackers, and a smile tore across his face. “Really? That's wonderful!” he said as he launched forward. The sudden movement to shake Derek's hand, or clap him on the back, or... something, made Derek flinch and roll back in his chair. He lost his grip on the bag containing his prescription, and the bottle spilled and rolled onto Richard's desk. The bag fluttered to the floor. Derek's heart throbbed, and he panted. His blood rushed in his ears. Tension coiled as Richard fell silent and watched Derek put himself back together. Slowly.
“Pathetic,” said Mr. Clark.
Derek pulled his shaky fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry. I...”
“Not a problem,” said Richard, his gaze suspicious.
Derek moved to pick up his pill bottle. He met Richard's hand midair. Richard cleared his throat. Derek took the bottle from Richard's warm grasp.
“When is she due?” Richard asked as Derek fumbled for the bag on the floor and stuffed the bottle away out of sight. If Richard had seen what the pills were for, he made no indication.
“We don't know yet,” Derek said. “We just found out yesterday.”
“Is that what this is about?” Richard said. “Can I help?”
“No, I... If I had a scalpel right now... I wouldn't mean to, but I'd kill someone. I can't be this way if I'm supposed to be a dad.” A noise crashed in the hallway, and Derek flinched again. A startled exclamation stuck in his throat. He couldn't stop himself from reacting to anything anymore. His heart raced as he looked over his shoulder to see what had happened. Just the janitor passing with a cart and a mop. That was all. Frustration coiled in his gut.
“Derek...” Richard said, his voice low. Concerned. “You weren't out with the flu, were you?”
“No,” Derek said as he resettled himself in the chair. “No, I'm...” His eyes burned. “I'm a bit of a mess,” he admitted. He didn't know why. Like he'd been abraded, and rubbed raw, and he had no fortitude anymore to not spill himself to the first person who asked a prying question. At least this was Richard. Someone who'd been his friend. Not as much lately, but...
“He'll think you're a hypocrite if he finds out,” said Gary Clark. “You practically got him canned for the same problem. And then you took his job like a shark.”
“Is it the shooting?” Richard said.
Derek nodded. His voice was gone.
“He wanted you. And he was upset,” Richard said. Derek squeezed his eyes shut. Richard had spoken to... Richard had... Derek rocked in his chair. He couldn't think about this. He couldn't think about anything. A gunshot ricocheted in his head. The room snapped into endless white. He tumbled backward, and he hit the ground. Pain. He couldn't breathe. “What happened to you, Derek? What did he do?” Richard prodded, pulling Derek back. Derek blinked, and the sprawling white bled away.
“I made a mistake by unplugging his wife, and he shot me,” Derek snapped. “He shot everyone.”
“Mr. Clark was a sick man, Derek,” Richard said. “His wife's living will was very clear. You didn't make a mistake. And his wife was my patient. Not yours.”
Derek shook his head. “I need to go. You just... You have your job for a while. I wanted to warn... tell you.” He stood, and the room spun around his head like a carousel, and he almost toppled. He was tired. And stressed. And he couldn't...
A warm hand cupped his shoulder and pushed him back into the chair. The light at the desk went out, and the room sank into comforting, cold darkness. “Why don't you relax for a minute?” Richard said. “I'll see if I can find Meredith for you.”
Derek said nothing as Richard closed the office door behind him with a soft thud. Derek closed his eyes, and exhaustion pulled him into a doze in moments, despite the tension, despite everything. His sense of the room waned to nothing.
He lay in the dark in the bed, propped to the side by pillows. He clawed at the sheets. He couldn't move. His chest hurt, and it was dark. Pitch. His throat hurt like he'd been yelling.
“Derek, you're dreaming,” Meredith murmured. Her hand wandered over his shaking bicep. She snuggled closer as sleep abandoned him.
He made a noise. This wasn't the hospital. It was too dark. He tried to remember where he was. The house. The bedroom. He'd been home for a night. He couldn't breathe or move as he listened to the odd sounds of the house settling and civilization beyond the window. Rain thundered on the roof, and wet cars swished past on the street outside.
“S'okay, go back to sleep,” Meredith said against his skin. “Bad dream.”
He clenched his jaw. “Meredith,” he said. He sounded wrecked. Breathy.
She twitched and snapped awake as he clutched her. “What's wrong?” she said. She raised her head and stared at him. He couldn't see her face, but he felt her there. Eye-to-eye in the darkness. Worried.
“Meredith,” he repeated.
She brushed his face with her hand. “It's okay. You're okay,” she said. “Do you need something?”
He swallowed. His breaths arrived as wheezy pants. His eyes watered as he tried to force himself to inflate. An elephant had stepped on him. “My chest,” he said. “Hurts.”
“Not your back?”
He shook his head. “Chest.”
She nodded, sniffling. “Let me get your pills,” she said, and she rolled away. The jingle of the bottle hit his ears.
“Hey,” Meredith said, her voice low and whisper-y, and she brought the world back. He opened his eyes, and light bisected the darkness. He blinked. Her blurry shape resolved in front of him. She smiled. Her palm touched his face. “How are you doing?” she said.
“Meredith,” he murmured. He swallowed and wiped the sleep from his eyes, except it wouldn't go away. Exhaustion weighed him down. The prescription bag fell from his lap as he shifted, trying to become aware. She kissed him.
“How did it go with Dr. Wyatt?” Meredith said. She wore her periwinkle scrubs and a white undershirt, and she looked... fresh. For once. Not beset by worry. Glowing.
He pulled her against him, and he rested with his face in her hair. Breathing. Her body was warm. She wrapped her arms around him, and they hovered in silence for a long time.
“You're pregnant,” he said, his voice tired, as he rubbed her arms with his palms.
“I am,” she said.
A wide smile stretched across her face and lit her up like one of his young nieces on Christmas morning. Uncle Derek, he remembered Mary saying, with her big brown eyes wide like bowling balls as she stared at the lighted tree, Santa came! The last Christmas he'd visited his family. Years ago. Addison had still been asleep. Mary had tugged on his pajamas with her tiny hands and dragged him down the steps to join the other kids who'd woken early. He'd been the first adult sentient that morning. 4:00 AM. The tree had glowed in the dark living room like a bonfire, and shiny presents had sprawled for what seemed like miles.
His heart squeezed when the words changed in his head. Dad. Daddy. Daddy, look! Santa came! A lump formed in his throat, and he tightened his grip around Meredith.
“I told her,” he said.
Meredith ran her fingers through his hair. “Everything?”
He sighed. “Most things.”
“It's a start,” she said. “Are you going back to see her again?”
“Every day this week except tomorrow.”
Dr. Wyatt had penciled him in for 1:00 PM, every weekday until the end of creation, actually. She'd insisted he see her every day until they started making some progress. The thought of it, of putting himself on display for a stranger again and again and again, made him tired, and he became acutely aware of all his aches and pains. His eyelids drooped.
“That's good,” Meredith said. “That's...” She brushed his face with her hand. “I love you.”
He gave her a weak smile. Ditto, he said with his eyes, but didn't speak it. “I'm really tired,” he said.
She nodded. “I know. I know you are. Thank you for going to see her.”
“Yeah.”
He gripped her shoulder and struggled to stand. His back unfurled, but not without protest, and he couldn't stop the wince that crept across his face, or the soft, muttered groan that fell from his lips. He stood in her space, breathing the soft scent of lavender, as the aching receded. She bent down. Something crinkled. She'd picked up his prescription. She looked at it. Her eyebrows raised as she pulled the bottle from the bag and stared at the instructions.
“That's a really big dose,” she said.
“Apparently, I'm messed up enough to warrant one,” he snapped, raw and hurting. He swallowed, and he looked away. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm tired.”
“It's okay,” she said, which made him feel worse. It wasn't okay that he yelled at her for no reason. It never had been.
They moved slowly to the office doorway. Richard stood on the far side of the hall, his arms crossed. He looked at the ceiling, surreptitious, but obviously waiting for his office to clear out. Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose. He took the prescription away from Meredith and sighed. He leaned into her.
“I need to go home,” he said, his voice soft against her ear. Her loose hair brushed the side of his face, and he breathed her in, once, twice, before he added, “I'll take it at home.”
“That's fine,” she said. “I'll drive you.”
He shook his head. “I can get a taxi.”
“Are you sure?”
“You need to work, Mere.”
She sighed but didn't argue. She stood, her arms wrapped around his back, and they hovered in the office doorway for minute after minute. She stroked his back, and he listened to the rasp, rasp, rasp in the quiet hall. This late on a Saturday, the catwalk and office complexes in the surrounding areas were often empty, and not many people walked to and fro. She kissed his throat, and then the stroking motions stopped. Her fingers scrunched his t-shirt.
“Let's go somewhere,” she said.
He lifted his head. “Hmm? Now?”
“Next weekend,” she said. “You need to get out of the house and relax. We both need it. It'll be good. We've been talking about our future first couple-y vacation. Why not?”
“Meredith--”
She splayed a palm against his chest. “Don't say it,” she said, interrupting him. “If I smash two thirty-six-hour shifts together with a small break between, I can hit my eighty hour cap by Friday afternoon. We'll have the whole weekend.”
He stared at her. Her gray eyes sparkled in the dim light. Her lips pressed into a flat line, and her nose scrunched. Her determined face. He'd seen it a lot lately. When she'd told him he couldn't stay home alone for his withdrawal. When she'd told him he needed to see somebody. He swallowed. The ache in his head that her presence had tempered returned with roaring force. He was too tired to argue when he knew he would never win.
He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“I'll think of someplace we can go,” she said. “You relax this week.”
Except she was pregnant. And if she intended to work eighty hours in the space of five days... where would she find the time to plan and arrange a trip? That wasn't healthy even for somebody who wasn't pregnant. “Meredith, you--”
“Maybe wine country?” she interrupted. A small smile tugged at her lips. “First impulses are usually good.”
“Maybe,” he said.
She cradled her womb. “Forty-eight hours. Uninterrupted.” Sex, she didn't say, but she'd seen the Paxil. She'd commented on it. She knew what it did. Didn't she? He felt sick as she continued, “Though, sampling the wine would be out.”
“It would,” he replied. “But, Meredith--”
Richard cleared his throat, and Derek flinched. Just a bit. He'd forgotten they had an audience. “I have a cabin on Lake Cushman,” Richard said. “It's fully stocked, and I never use it anymore.” Derek and Meredith turned to stare at him. Meredith's eyebrows raised. Richard broke eye contact and shook his head in bashful apology. “I... uh...” He cleared his throat again. “I overheard.”
“You have a cabin?” Meredith said.
Derek closed his eyes as he listened to the excitement drip into Meredith's tone. He wouldn't win. Not when she sounded like that. He fingered the bag, and it crinkled. Mood killer in a bottle.
“I bought it on a whim when Adele kicked me out again,” Richard said. “When I was drinking.”
“Oh,” replied Meredith. Silence followed.
“It's a bit of a bachelor pad, but it's quiet,” Richard added. “It's got a beautiful view of the lake. And it's free. I can bring you the keys tomorrow.”
“That would be really nice, Chief,” Meredith said.
“Listen, I, uh...” Richard swallowed. He glanced at his watch. “I'm headed home.” He looked at Derek. “Did you need a ride?”
“I was going to grab a taxi,” Derek said.
“Well, I'm happy to take you,” Richard said.
Derek shrugged. One the one hand, it meant he didn't have to wait for a taxi or help the driver navigate. On the other, it meant he would have to ride home with Richard. “If you're sure,” Derek said, trying not to sound too wary. He figured he sounded more tired than anything else. He rubbed his burning eyes.
“Oh, this will be swell,” said Mr. Clark.
“No trouble at all,” replied Richard, oblivious. “Let me just grab my coat and hat.”
Meredith turned to Derek. They shuffled out of the doorway to allow Richard to pass and then leaned against the wall by the door. She brushed her fingers through his hair, and he pulled her into his arms. “I'll see you tomorrow when I get home, okay?” she said. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Meredith...” Richard said as he exited the office and pulled shut the door, his briefcase, coat, and hat in hand. “I wanted to say congratulations.”
Meredith glanced at Derek. He gave her a thin smile. They'd decided to tell whoever was pertinent at the time, since most of her friends already seemed to know, anyway. Or, at least, that's what he'd thought they'd decided. “I told him,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, and he relaxed when no anger swelled in her sparkling gaze. She just seemed... pleased. Thrilled. Her hands absently went to her belly, and he couldn't help the smile that ignited on his face as he watched her do something so small and simple. She turned to Richard. Her cheeks flushed, but Derek thought it made her look beautiful. Not embarrassed. “Thanks. I'm...” She made a small shrugging motion and bit her lip in a gesture that was purely Meredith. The Meredith he loved. “Thanks.”
They said their goodbyes and parted. Derek, clutching his prescription bag, followed Richard to the parking lot as fast as his tired body would allow, which wasn't fast, though Richard said nothing about the stilted pace of their departure. The older man had a jaunty step. His coat folded down over his leather briefcase, and he held his hat tucked under his arm. The weather outside was fairly balmy, though damp, as summer stretched its remaining muscles. The street lights buzzed and reflected on the dark, wet pavement. The staff lot was quiet, mostly.
The soft purr of a car prowling past made Derek look up and assess. The vehicle kept moving into the dark, away, and he would have relaxed, except looking up made him realize how dark it was. How solitary. His pupils strained to adjust as he stared beyond row after row of cars. His heart squeezed as he looked at all the places where one could hide with a gun. Parked cars became malevolent. Unlit headlamps and front grills became glaring faces. Each vehicle could hide the crouching body of a person. Easily.
A cool breeze ruffled his hair and his shirt. Richard whistled as they walked. At least he didn't make small talk. Derek forced himself to move despite the disquiet snarling in his head and pressing on his chest. They walked between a pair of parked cars. Nervous energy made his steps shaky.
They'd almost made it to Richard's car when the air around Derek lit like a supernova. Cacophony burst in his ears, unexpected after the muted almost-silence, and Derek slammed into the parked car on his left. His fingers slipped on the wet paint as his eardrums curdled with the horrible noise. His innards dropped out from his body, and his knees wobbled. He fought the urge to curl up into a ball or explode into a sprint as the blaring horn kept going, and going, and another horn joined it, a rapid blast of noise, until Derek's chest hurt and everything hurt, and he wanted to run, except he had no idea where to, because the painful light and the muted colors flashed and confused everything.
Through the blur, several feet away to the right, the headlights of a car speared the intersection, blocked in part by a shadow and glowing tail lights and a blinking yellow turn signal. As fast as the honking had started, it stopped. He blinked against the bright glare of the oncoming car. Having settled their quarrel, the first car slid through the intersection. The second turned left and moved perpendicular. Derek tensed as the first car rumbled in front of him as it moved down the parking lot's aisle, and then faded into the distance. The parking lot darkened and quieted.
Derek's heart throbbed. He swallowed. A hand touched his shoulder, and he made an embarrassing noise. Not a word. Just fear. Solid, abject, unabated. “Stop,” he managed, his voice throaty and miserable as he made his stand against his nerves, but Gary Clark, who'd been silent for so long, began to laugh and laugh and laugh. The hand that had touched him lifted away.
“You're a hoot to watch, you know,” said Mr. Clark. “It's better than cable.”
And then all Derek could hear was laughing and more laughing, and he tried to curl away, but a solid wall of metal blocked him on one side. Shadows lurched around him. He couldn't breathe, and he--
“Derek!” Richard shouted in Derek's ear, and the shock was enough to snap reality back into place. Derek stood in the dark parking lot, trembling against a beige Impala. He turned. He felt nauseous, and he fought the urge to let the threat of Richard's imposing figure slip into his thighs and his knees and his toes and make him move backward. It didn't work. Derek stumbled. His back hit the parked car with a thunk, and he couldn't speak. His throat closed.
“Derek,” said Richard, his voice softer. He backed away, and he raised his hands so they both were visible. Pink palms hovered in the darkness.
“I'm sorry,” Derek croaked. He blinked, and then he was crying. In front of his fucking former boss. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. Useless. Nothing helped. He was useless. He tried to remember all the things Dr. Wyatt had told him about panic attacks, but they flew from his grasp like a scattering flock of birds, and he couldn't think about anything other than the fact that the parking lot was really dark. Tenebrous. Shadows stretched and then seemed to coil and gather. Somebody was hiding out there somewhere. He knew it.
“It's okay,” Richard said, soft, slow. He pointed to his car, parked three spaces down, and hit his key fob with his thumb. The car chirped, and the headlights turned on. The keys jingled. “Move when you're ready. It's okay.”
Derek forced himself to shuffle toward Richard's car. Forced. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He settled into the soft leather seat of Richard's sedan and pulled the seatbelt over his lap. He swallowed. He swallowed again. Nothing would stop the sick feeling quivering in his stomach that he was being stalked. He locked the car door beside him, and he sat there. Shaking.
He flinched when Richard settled into the car, and he flinched when Richard slammed shut his door. The walls closed in. Derek tried to think about the rules. What Dr. Wyatt had said. His heart pounded in his chest. And then he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think, and he was dying. In the seat. Dying. He clawed at his throat.
“Breathe in,” Richard said from far away. “Listen to me. Breathe in, and hold it.”
Derek breathed.
“Now, let it out,” said Richard.
Derek exhaled.
“In.”
Derek closed his eyes.
The most important thing you can do for yourself during a panic attack is breathe, Dr. Wyatt had said. Focus on yourself. Breathe in. Hold it for three. Breathe out over three seconds. Okay? Keep doing that as long as you feel like you need it.
Derek collapsed over his knees and kept breathing. He lost track of Richard as Dr. Wyatt's voice filled his head. Stop and replace the panic thought. Think about something you know you like instead of what's scaring you.
Derek scrunched his fingers in his hair. Meredith. Pregnant. Meredith was pregnant. He needed to be able to do this. Pickles and ice cream, he imagined her demanding at 3:00 AM. She would tug on his shirt in the middle of the night. He'd roll over and mumble something. Derek, she'd say more insistently. Derek, I really want pickles, and we don't have any. She would be swollen with their child. A boy or a girl. He would be thrilled with either one. The spears, not the little circles. And they should be extra crunchy! she would command. And he would take pity on her and drag himself to the supermarket in the middle of the night. Again. Because she'd asked, and it was his fault she was suffering, anyway. Well, half his fault. But he would do it.
When he came back to himself in the car, he felt... better. Exhausted. Beaten. Hurting. But better. Not scared. He blinked when he realized it'd actually worked. He'd stopped panicking on his own, and he'd only had to get to step two of seven. He cleared his throat as he unfurled his body and relaxed shakily in the seat.
“You weren't like this on Monday,” Richard said.
“I know I wasn't like this on Monday,” Derek snapped. He'd been fucking high. Now, he had nothing, and every little thing was making him feel like crawling into bed and never getting out again. He stared at the bag by his feet containing the Paxil.
I really think it will make you feel better, Dr. Wyatt had said.
A lump formed in his throat. He hoped so. He couldn't live like this. He couldn't do this anymore.
“Sorry,” said Richard as Derek stared out the window through a blur of tears.
Derek wiped his face, but he said nothing. As they went over the last speed bump before the main street, he pressed his face against the cool glass. He didn't want to think anymore. Exhaustion won. His eyelids drooped, and he hovered somewhere less than half-awake, but not quite unaware. Cars swished past on the wet road, repetitive. Hypnotic. He blinked once. Twice. The blur beyond his eyelashes became unimportant, and he closed his eyes.
“So, what should we name her?” Meredith said as they sat at the table in the kitchen.
Derek nursed a small bowl of cereal mixed with peach yogurt. He crunched through another bite as he looked up. He swallowed. Sunlight fell through the windows. The bright light made the ends of her hair glow, and she looked warm. Happy.
“Her?” he said.
“The baby.”
“It's a her?”
Meredith shrugged. “I think so.”
He leaned on his elbows and grinned at her. “Oh, you do?”
She nodded. “I do. So, what name?”
“I thought you liked Anne.”
“I do,” she said. “But do you? Maybe, we should get a name book since this is more relevant, now.”
“I like Anne,” he said.
He took another bite of cereal. He swallowed. She sat across from him with a glass of apple juice. Her soft skin glowed, and her eyes were... happy. Just happy. He leaned back in his chair, and he couldn't stop the smile that overwhelmed him. His body ached. He felt like shit. Tired. Spent. And yet... None of it mattered, and he'd never felt better.
“What?” she said in a soft voice.
“Just you,” he said. He finished another bite of his cereal. His stomach behaved instead of churned.
“What about me?”
“Everything.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Is this a good everything?”
He nodded. “It's a perfect everything. You're perfect.”
“I'll be fat in a few months,” she countered.
He shrugged. “No, you won't. You'll be pregnant.”
“Smooth.”
He winked. “I try. We should get a name book, though.”
“I keep thinking there's a name out there I don't know about that's better.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And we have eight or more months to kill, don't we?”
She grinned and cocked her head to the side as she stared at him. “We do.”
“Plus, we need a fallback,” he said.
“A fallback?”
“In case you're not psychic, and it's a boy. We should have a plan for that.”
She giggled. “I'm telling you, it's a girl.”
“Would you be upset if it's a boy?”
“Nope,” she said. “But it's a girl, anyway.”
He finished his cereal. The entire bowl. He dropped his spoon into the bowl and rested on his hands. He couldn't stop watching her. She really did have a glow. Something... Otherworldly. Whenever he looked at her. Perfect. “I love you, Meredith. I really do.”
“Derek,” a soft male voice whispered. Derek twitched. “Derek?”
“Hmm.”
“We're here,” Richard said.
Derek opened his eyes and wiped his face with his hands. Richard had parked along the curb in front of the house where Mark liked to park his Mustang when he visited. Home. Derek was home. He stared at the dark, wet walk, the small flight of steps, the deck with the swing, and then the house beyond. Every window was dark - Lexie, Alex, and Meredith were all at work -- but the light in front of the house was lit as if welcoming him home. Meredith. She must have flipped the switch before they'd left that afternoon. He gazed at the door, and longing so profound it ached swept through him. He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted to crawl under the covers, where it was safe and warm, and he could sleep.
“Thank you,” Derek said as he released his seatbelt. He coughed as he cleared his throat.
“It's no problem,” Richard said.
Derek pushed open the door of the car. Deep, energetic barking began. Once, twice, and then a staccato of earnest welcome. Dad, dad, dad, he imagined Samantha saying as she danced at the front door. Oh, boy! You're back! Can we play?
“You got a dog?” Richard said.
“Yeah,” Derek said as he fumbled with his seatbelt.
“I love dogs.”
Derek paused, his fingers on the latch. The seatbelt popped out and rolled back into the holder. Won't you introduce me? Richard hadn't said it, but...
“Richard, I'm...” Derek swallowed. He wanted to hibernate, and he needed to take the first fucking pill. He needed to be safe. For an hour. Two. He couldn't take this much longer. “I'm really tired.”
“Let me come in,” Richard said. “You can go to bed.”
Derek closed his eyes. “Richard...”
“I just want to help.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you need it,” Richard said. “You seem like you need company. Just somebody in the house. I won't bother you.”
“Adele--”
“Won't mind if I'm helping a friend. It's the extra work she hates.”
Friend. Derek's fingers clenched. “I nearly got you fired.”
“I nearly got me fired,” Richard said. Derek faced him. Their eyes met, and Richard didn't blink in the dark of the car. “I'm an alcoholic,” he said. “People got hurt. I took advantage of Meredith. Thank you for stepping in. I know that wasn't easy.”
“You're...” Derek swallowed. “Welcome.”
His mentor - his friend - nodded. A small nod. As if to say he considered the matter closed and done with. No hard feelings. “Now,” Richard said. “Let me meet this dog of yours.”
Derek grimaced as he climbed out of the car. “Her name is Samantha.”
Richard glanced down the walk at the house. Samantha hadn't stopped barking. “She sounds big.”
“She is big,” Derek said. “She's just a gregarious clown, though.”
“When did you get her?”
“About two weeks ago,” Derek said. “We're... building a family.”
Richard smiled. The car chirped as he locked it. “I can see that,” he said.
They ambled up the walk. Derek turned the key in the lock and was immediately greeted by a hundred pounds of slobbering dog. Finally. Something that didn't make his heart want to burst in his chest. He was kissed. Again, again, again. His tension unraveled. Just a little. He couldn't help but laugh as he pushed Samantha out of the way so they could get into the house and he could disable the threatening security alarm.
“Down, Sam,” he said, and she backed away, but her stumpy tail wagged, welcoming him home.