Lightning Strikes Twice - Part 27
Title: Lightning Strikes Twice
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Duh. (Mer/Der)
Rating: M
Timeline: Post Time After Time.
Yay! Finally got this done :) The next part is nearing the finishing stages too, so hopefully it will only be a day or two before I can finalize it. No week long wait, unless something happens that I don't foresee.
~~~~~
"Son of a bitch!" Meredith hissed as she slammed her foot down on the brakes of Sarah's silver Lexus RX.
Derek swallowed, head spinning as he put his hand out on the dash to steady himself. "Uh," he said. "You needed to turn right there..."
"I know!" she yelled. Meredith glared at him as she wheeled around and checked her blind spots, inching the car forward. "Nobody will fucking let me in. God damn it," she snarled before she let loose a string of obscenities colorful enough to make even him blush. Traffic crawled around them in a crush of cars, all inching along in a slow but constant flow. A steady chorus of horns and voices and exhaust and tires fell around them in a jittery, energetic verse. Buildings towered up around them in the epitome of urban jungle, creating a nice shade against the sun that was, though comforting, not quite dim enough for him to want to try taking his sunglasses off.
"Mere," he said, swallowing as she gunned the engine and zipped up a foot, only to slam on the brakes again when a taxi pulled out in front of her. She flipped the driver off, who returned her gesture in a blasé shrugging motion with not one but both hands, and then someone in the next car over, who had nothing to do with the incident, flipped everyone off just because. His eyes widened, and he couldn't help but let loose an amused cough despite the growing discomfort of the stop and start and stop and start. She was...
Really, really cute when she was pissed. Her lower lip jutted out, giving her an adorable pouting expression only made more adorable when she blew out a breath in frustration, sending several loose bangs flying into disarray. Her lithe, surgeon's fingers flexed around the steering wheel, squick, squick, squeaking against the leather guard so tightly her knuckles were turning a bloodless shell color. The car jerked as Meredith inched up and tried to scoot over into the lane she wanted again only to get denied as another taxi tore through.
"What the fuck! I'm signaling!" she screeched as she lifted both hands off the wheel to flail them helplessly in the air. She growled, actually growled. Despite her ability to snore loudly enough to make the walls vibrate, he was still amazed by the noise she was capable of projecting at unsuspecting victims.
"Mere, breathe," Derek said, trying desperately not to laugh.
"I am breathing!" she belted.
"Mere..."
"DOES ANYONE HERE KNOW HOW TO FUCKING DRIVE?" she shouted, panting, panting, panting. Her fingers were back on the steering wheel, squick, squick, squeaking as her gaze darted from mirror to mirror to mirror in a frantic, twitchy way that made it look almost like she was trying to score at whack-a-mole or something. There? There? There? No... THERE! She jammed on the accelerator again, only to brake a nanosecond later to avoid a pizza boy on a bicycle.
"Mere..."
"What!" she yelled. She turned to him, panting, her face a ruddy, cherry color.
"No one will let you in, Mere. You sort of have to just... Go."
"Just go..."
"Yes, go. Signal and go. You won't get hit."
"You expect me to just... shove this vehicle, which, might I add, is the size of a fucking boat, into the inch between this guy's bumper and the next?" she said, gesturing to the pair of taxies running alongside them at a mirrored pace to their own.
Derek looked down into the backseat of the rear taxi. A businessman sat yapping on his cell phone, laptop unfurled, briefcase torn open with papers sprawled everywhere in organized disarray. Derek let his gaze travel up to the front taxi. A woman stared out the window, gazing with an open mouth at the up, up, up of the building currently shading them. Derek grinned. Tourist. Very easy to pick out.
"Yes," he said, taking a short breath as he glanced back at Meredith. "Just go."
"This is your sister's car, you know."
"Just go, Mere. Trust me."
"Fine," she snapped. She signaled, and as soon as there was an inch gap for her to take advantage of, she slammed on the accelerator, the car groaned and jittered under the strain, and then everything swung forward as she steered to the right. Derek pinched his nose with his fingers and swallowed as everything spun up around him again in a kaleidoscope of color and noise.
"Hey, that worked," she said as the car settled into the slow pace of the right lane and they continued along.
"Yeah," Derek said, thunking his head against the window. "As adorable as you cursing and gesturing enough to be your own obscenity thesaurus is... People just don't care here, Mere. You have to decide where you're going and... just go."
"Just go," she repeated with a little nod. "Right. Do the follow through thing."
The rest of the way to the Algonquin was a little less traumatic, and by the time she was pulling up in front of the hotel, his stomach had settled again, and he felt a little less like he was going to lose everything onto Sarah's immaculate dashboard. She grinned triumphantly as the bellhop pulled open the passenger door for him.
"So," she said. "I park over there?" She pointed to the sign for the underground lot just behind them.
"Yes, but you have to drive around again since it's one way. Just park and meet me back in front of the hotel. We'll hail a cab."
She frowned. "But I just got the hang of driving."
"Yeah, well, parking is another thing entirely. Cabs will work much better for this, Mere. Trust me."
She shrugged. "You're the expert."
He wandered around the car to the trunk and pulled out all their bags, flashing Meredith a grin as he caught her staring at him in the rearview mirror. She looked so utterly tiny behind the steering wheel of the big Lexus, tiny and cute. And beautiful. And brave, so brave for even trying to drive in that mess. Driving in the city was sort of an art. And she was his. All his. As his hands left the handle of the very last bag, he found himself standing there, staring dumbly through the window of the trunk, burning with longing. He tried to swallow the heat away, blinking behind his sunglasses.
Meredith didn't seem to notice his scrutiny. She'd started fumbling with something in the cup holder and had bent over. His. This felt so... He felt a vague flash of rightness that strummed him like a guitar string from the tips of his toes to the space just behind his heart, where it paused and grew like a warm, solid thing. Maybe this would become a yearly routine, coming up to New York to see his family. He grinned stupidly as Meredith tapped the brakes and then inched forward. He stared, just stared, until she accelerated and disappeared around the corner.
The bellhop helped him lug everything from the curb to a luggage dolly. Derek walked into the dim, narrow foyer and proceeded to the concierge desk. Matilda's little cat bed was in a small hallway to the right, but, while hair-filled, the bed was not occupied.
He arranged to leave their bags in the coat closet until check-in time with the concierge, a tall, sticky, leggy blonde caked with makeup and elegant jewelry. She wore thick cat-eye glasses and her hair had been swept up into a twist with the ends hanging out in a waterfall of spill. He'd seen Addison wear it like that quite a few times, but hell if he knew what the style was called.
The concierge flashed white, perfect teeth at him as the bellhop lugged his bags back into the coatroom. Her name badge read Samantha. "Do you need any assistance with anything? Finding tickets to a show? Directions? Arranging transportation?" she asked, her voice polite and cheerful.
He smiled, said no, and turned to move back out onto the street once he had received luggage claim tags and tipped the bellhop. Derek stepped out onto the sidewalk and sighed as he glanced around. Meredith hadn't reappeared from the underground lot yet. He hoped she hadn't had too much trouble parking. It was a bit of a tight squeeze if he remembered right, and Sarah's SUV was a bit on the large side.
He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and closed his eyes. The street where the Algonquin was situated wasn't an overly busy one, but, still, it was fairly close to Times Square. The air was laden with the low-pitched rush of movement, cars, people, the breeze... all a hum that easily faded from awareness when you weren't listening, but was deafening if you focused on it. The noise throbbed like a breathing thing against the back of his skull. He inhaled, slow and steady. The scents of pavement, vehicle exhaust, oil, a hint of trash, and food like pretzels, stale beer, and hot dogs ran against his nostrils. He winced as a vehicle with a failing muffler crawled past and tore him from his daze.
For a moment, he just stared. He hadn't been to Manhattan since he'd fled from Addison to his new job at Seattle Grace. He hadn't been back, and he certainly hadn't looked back, either. Not once.
He recognized the space directly across the street as the spot where he'd sat in his car as the rain spattered down, sat and stared and wished that everything would just... stop. Stop being so loud and painful and bright. He'd sat in the dark in the car, wishing Addison and Mark would stop thrusting before his eyes, flickering in the glowing, meandering trails of water streaming down his windshield.
I'm gonna go. You stay. I'll get my clothes in the morning.
He'd wandered in his car, driving up and down street after nameless street aimlessly as the windshield wipers blasted away, making the car rock back and forth with the force of their motion. He'd driven, driven, driven, ending up eventually in Times Square under the crush of lights and noise and flagrant billboards, only to realize that he would find no comfort there that night. Times Square had been where he went with Mark. They'd liked the scattering of hole-in-the-wall pubs. Mark had liked cruising for hapless tourists, and Times Square was a tourist magnet. Mark.
Derek had eventually moped with his car into the side streets, farther from the lights, and he'd happened across the hotel. The Algonquin. He'd not really paid attention before, had never really heard of it, but he'd been in a daze, and he'd sat staring at it from his car until the bright sign in front had blurred. Hotel. Needed to sleep. Needed to die. Needed to drink.
He'd eventually gotten out of the car, walked through the rain, and gone in to ask if they had a room. He hadn't known if it was a good hotel or a bad one, luxury or standard or dive. They'd looked at him oddly when he'd walked in with no reservation, but they'd checked. One room due to a last minute cancellation. They'd told him he was very lucky. He'd stared at the counter, unable to respond to that, feeling nauseated and ready to collapse. But he'd taken it. Taken the room, ordered up a whole bottle of scotch, and the rest of the night had been a blur. He didn't get drunk often, but when he did, he made it count. The next morning, he'd barely been able to move enough to call in sick. And then he'd made an honest man out of himself, and he had been. Sick.
He stared at the spot where he'd parked his car that night, thinking it might spark some darker, ugly piece of himself. Now, his eyes kept wandering to the place Meredith had pulled up to the curb, and the spot from that night... The spot. It just didn't seem so... Big. Anymore. There was no gloomy spark. Nothing momentous.
And the city smelled. It had never used to smell. Not to him. A brief flash of his trailer hit him, from the morning after he'd slept there for the first time. He'd walked out onto the deck and breathed in the cold, gray, wet air. His mood had been a dark one, but he would never forget that smell. Water. Earth. Mingled. He'd gone back inside and listened to the breeze and the drizzly rain for hours. Tap, tap, tap on his roof. Not a person, not a car for at least a mile in any direction, more possibly. It hadn't been quiet, sitting there in the trailer, listening to the rain thundering on his roof. But, yet, it had been. So very quiet.
A taxi drove past, slowing down as the driver eyeballed him. He sped up when Derek didn't show any interest, only to come to a piercing, screeching halt as someone darted across the street. Derek watched a woman in a skirt and stilettos plink, plink, plink across the street, glaring daggers at the cabbie.
The vague hint of lavender curled around him, and when a warm hand slid up under his sweater, under his shirt, he smiled, not even having to turn to know who it was. Meredith leaned up against his back and ran her palm along his stomach. "Hey," she said. "Where were you?"
He turned around and frowned. "I've been here the whole time," he said.
"No," she grinned. "I mean, where were you in your head? I must have said your name at least four times."
"Oh," he said. "Just thinking. It feels different."
"What feels different?"
"Being here."
"Oh. Different how?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I can't put my finger on it."
She stared at him seriously before leaning up onto her toes to kiss him deeply, sensuously. Her lips ran along the edges of his own, and then he was welcoming her into his mouth. A groan wound out of his chest and mingled with the squeaky, higher-pitched moan she often gifted him with. He clutched at the small of her back, pulling her up and closer, grinding. They pulled back, panting.
"So, what's first?" she said, grinning.
"First stop is only a couple blocks from here," he said. "We can just walk."
"What is it?" she asked.
He gave her what he hoped was a look that resembled smirky and seductive. "Not telling."
She raised an eyebrow. "Okay," she said warily, but she followed when he started moving down the street.
As they wandered closer to Times Square, the waves of people started breaking against them like water on rocks as he and Meredith fought the flow. Meredith grasped his hand as he pulled her through the crowd. "How the hell did you live here?" she said with amazed wonder as he dodged and weaved expertly through the crush of life.
He shrugged, gritting his teeth as a man in a business suit slammed into his shoulder, muttered something, and continued. "You get used to it," he said noncommittally as he searched the awnings of the stores for the name that he wanted.
Sarah had suggested this shop as the place to buy unique but gorgeous jewelry. She'd told him it would be perfect, especially given that he and Meredith were only staying a few blocks away, and had assured him that, unlike a lot of vendors in the diamond district, the owner was straight up, wouldn't try any of the classic diamond scams, and was just a genuinely friendly person to do business with. He'd made her show him at least four examples of things she'd bought there, and she'd been right. There was something just... charming about it all. He looked, looked, looked. It had to be somewhere on this block, assuming Sarah had given him the right street address...
His gaze stopped on a small shop with a red awning. There it was. Rings and Things. A corny name. He probably never would have given the place a second glance had Sarah not been so emphatic.
He darted for it, cutting diagonally across the sidewalk, pushing through a crowd of obvious tourists armed with cameras and wide stares, and pulled Meredith through the door before she had a chance to register the name on the awning. A hush fell over them as the little bell on the door rang and then left them in a calm, musty, cool silence.
The store was well lit and larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Rows and rows of illuminated glass cases ran down the length of the store in artistic zig zags.
Meredith glanced around, a confused look dragging her mouth down into the cutest little frown as he pushed his sunglasses back and blinked, adjusting to the lighting, which was bright, but not too bad. "Derek, what's..." Her voice trailed away into silence.
He turned and smiled. "You never said if you wanted a ring or not."
"A ring?"
"Yes," he began patiently. "You know, for the engagement?"
"But..." she stuttered, and he began to wonder if he'd perhaps been too presumptuous. He hadn't wanted to pressure her into anything, but Sarah had been so adamant that this was the perfect store, and he'd figured, while they were there... Why not? He darted his gaze from Meredith to the glass cases lined with sparkling jewelry of all kinds and sizes and back to Meredith. She looked like she was going into shock, which he most certainly hadn't intended.
He pulled her close. "Do you want a ring, Mere?"
Her eyes widened. "I..."
A tall, thin, wrinkled man wearing black slacks and a yellow shirt that made him look sunny and welcoming came out from behind the register area where he'd been kneeling. He had a naturally cheerful, ruddy face, and when he smiled and brushed back the wisps of his swan-white hair against his balding scalp, Derek couldn't help but feel the urge to grin back.
"Hello, I'm Eamon," the man said, a slight, slight accent from... somewhere in the British Isles... lengthening his vowels and warping the words enough to make him sound even more charming. "Welcome. May I help you? An anniversary gift, perhaps, for your lovely lady?"
Derek looked at Meredith, who was still standing there gaping. Her lips slowly relaxed to form a vague, cute grin, as though she, too, had felt this man's infectious cheer. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it, closed it, and then looked at Derek, her eyes pleading for some sort of explanation. He frowned, trying to gauge what her mood was. Oh, he could tell she was freaking out. But... Was she freaking out about the ring? Freaking out about picking a ring? Freaking out about... Something else? And somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice said, anniversary. They would have anniversaries soon. Anniversaries with Meredith sounded like...
Bliss.
He cleared his throat, trying to shake the cobwebs of euphoric daydreaming away, put his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed it gently as he looked at the cheerful shopkeeper. "She's trying to decide if she wants an engagement ring."
Eamon grinned. "Everyone wants a ring," he said. He walked up to Meredith and pulled her left hand up to his chest level, inspecting it with a smooth, sensual touch that would have made Derek twist with jealously, had the man been, oh, about twenty-five years younger. "Beautiful. A ring would only make it more so. What general style were you thinking?"
"I don't..." Meredith swallowed. "I... There're styles? Rings have styles? I thought they were just... Round."
Derek watched as Eamon guided her to a stool across from one of the lit cabinets. A huge panel of ring after ring after ring, gold ones, silver ones, diamonds of all shapes and sizes, stared back from under the glass, gleaming, sparkling. Panel after panel of rings. There must have been at least one-hundred rings. And that was just in that particular case. More lined the glass panel one closer and one farther away from them in the zigzag, and Derek suspected more were being kept off display. Meredith sat meekly as Eamon gestured before him.
"Oh, yes," Eamon said, as if it were the most fascinating subject in the world. Derek folded his arms across his chest and leaned, crossing his legs at the ankles, settling in for a long wait, far enough away to give Meredith enough space, but close enough to remind her he was still there if she needed him. Space was probably good. He really didn't want to pressure her. And he certainly didn't want her doing this for him. That wasn't what this was about at all.
Eamon pulled out a tray of rings and pulled up a simple gold one with one tiny diamond set at the end. "You could get a classic solitaire. Oh, that would look lovely on your finger," he said as he held the ring up to her lithe, arcing finger. Derek had never noticed, but she looked like a piano player. He'd never seen her play, never seen her indicate she could, but... Piano player. She looked like one. He smiled. There was still a lot of her to unwrap, still a lot of things he didn't know. But he wasn't worried.
He watched her as she stared, her lips parting slightly, just enough to let a thin sheet of air slip through. Her eyes widened in an adorable look of amazement, and then narrowed into careful focus, like she did when she was about to clip something off during surgery. She took the little ring from Eamon and rolled it slightly between her thumb and her index finger, staring, breathing, contemplating for several long, longing moments before she handed it back.
Eamon put the little ring back on the countertop after a quick polish with one of his jewelry rags and pulled out another example, this time with three diamonds set in a row, the largest one in the middle. "There are also side stones like this, see?" he said, handing it to Meredith to inspect. She stared, quiet, unassuming.
Derek collapsed from his lean to his elbows on one of the glass panels. He cradled his face in his hands and just... watched, unable to stop himself from smiling. This was the woman he was going to have anniversaries with. And this store... He loved it already, just for the undivided, reverential attention Meredith was receiving.
A thump came from the back of the store. Eamon looked up for a moment and called, "Justin, just stack things, don't bowl with them."
"I'm not bowling!" came a mutter through the wall. Another thump, followed by a cascade of them provided his exclamation point. Derek searched the back wall of the store with his gaze and eventually noticed a little swing-door partially concealed by shelving.
Eamon looked back to Meredith and winked, his green eyes sparkling. "I think Justin lives in denial. Don't you? Anyway, let's see." Meredith giggled. He resumed his focus on the task at hand and began to cycle through more examples. "You can get gold, white-gold, you can get platinum, or something else like silver," he explained, pulling out gleaming rings from each of the metal categories he'd mentioned. Meredith slowly fingered each one, biting her lip in that way she did when she focused really hard on something. Her bangs fell down over her forehead as she leaned.
Eamon pulled out more rings. "Do you want a diamond? Or cubic zirconia, perhaps, if you feel uncomfortable wearing something so expensive? Some young ladies are afraid they'll lose a diamond. If you decide on a diamond, of course, there are different colors. And, naturally, there are different cuts. There are many, many choices, as you can see, now, I'm certain."
Derek smiled, entranced as Meredith stared at the options laid out in front of her on the table. She pawed lightly at the glass, pondering, thinking. Her gaze settled on a little platinum solitaire Eamon had pulled out to demonstrate the color of the metal. It was a pretty ring. The diamond was small, unpretentious, a round brilliant cut, and... Beautiful. Even when it was sitting out of the display lights to the side.
And, as he watched Meredith's face light up with amazement when her gaze stayed on it, he could tell. She didn't seem to know it yet, but he could tell, just from the way her eyes flared, the way her lips curled in the vaguest smile, the slight twitch of the finger nearest to it... That was the moment he was certain he'd been right. She wanted a ring. He'd wondered. She wasn't much of a jewelry person. But that moment cemented it.
"Diamonds come in colors?" Meredith asked, her voice quiet. Her nostrils flared, and her breaths were quiet and shallow. She was overwhelmed, but Derek resisted the urge to butt in and hug her.
"Oh, yes," said Eamon. "What size ring do you wear?"
"Size?"
"Your finger size."
Meredith frowned. "I don't know... I've always just bought what fits off the display case."
Eamon clucked his tongue. "All right," he said with a smile. "I can see this will be a session for the books. One moment while I get my tools."
"Tools?" Meredith said. "You need tools for selling a ring?"
"To size your finger, examine settings, yes," Eamon explained patiently. "Just a second." He walked to the back of the store and started rummaging through a bin, glancing up at them every few moments or so.
Meredith turned to Derek, eyes flaring with... Panic. Derek swallowed. He'd been so sure earlier that she was... No, he was sure. But she was Meredith. Of course she wouldn't just... let herself have something like this.
"Derek..." she said, a small, tiny voice that made him want to wrap her up in his arms.
"What?"
"What's going on?"
"Well," he said, grinning as he remembered her brief, unadulterated look of delight over the little platinum ring. "It looks like you're picking out a ring."
"But... But..."
He finally gave in and moved closer to her, picked her hands up and gently caressed her knuckles. Eamon was right. She would look... exquisite with a diamond perched on her finger. Not that she didn't look exquisite already, but...
"Do you want a ring, Mere?" he asked quietly. As much as he knew she wanted one, she still didn't. And there was no way in hell he was going to make a mess of this. "If you don't want a ring, we can leave. This wasn't to pressure you."
Her gaze darted to the case underneath her fingertips. She ran her hand over the glass, drifting her touch across choice after choice. She swallowed. "I don't know."
"Well, then why don't you see if there's anything you like," he said. "And if there is, you can get it, and if there isn't, we'll continue on with our tour."
"I don't have to get anything?" she said.
"We don't even have to stay here if you don't want to, Mere."
Eamon cleared his throat as he returned with a small tool bag and a circular, metal karabiner holding examples of each ring size. "All right, I'm ready," he said jovially as he resumed his seat behind the case where Meredith sat. "Are you ready?"
Meredith looked between Eamon and Derek, the most painful, helpless look on her face. Derek smiled, trying to ignore the bite of heartache he felt at her uncertainty. "Up to you, Mere," he said, his voice low and soothing. He watched a string of emotions march across her face. She was embarrassed, and pleased, and scared, and longing, and... It was the oddest set of dichotomies he'd ever seen.
He briefly flashed back to the look on he face when he'd bought her the scrub cap. Just a little gift, barely a dent worthy of notice on his credit card. And she'd acted like it was the most special thing anyone had ever given her. Just a little scrub cap.
A biting sliver of anger ran him through like a sword, and when he thought about it, the wound deepened into a larger well of pain. She wasn't used to gifts. That much was clear from the sheer hesitancy on her face, the way she delighted over the smallest things, but lorded over them with guilt at having received them. It was adorable, and it made him sad all at once.
He'd never really gotten a chance to romance her. Their relationship had been... Very... They just hadn't really done much gift giving. The starts and stops had ruined the flow from casual to passionate, long-lasting love. There'd been no romance period. Just the jump from flirty to done deal, broken up by a bunch of longing, look but don't touch moments that he'd failed dismally at.
"Okay," she finally said, tearing him back from his mental tangent. He grinned at her.
"Do you have a price range I should be aware of?" Eamon asked.
Meredith halted mid breath, and Derek tried not to visibly wince. If there was one thing that was going to spook her off of it, that was it. "Oh," she stuttered. "Um..."
"No," Derek said, interrupting before she could stutter too much. "Whatever she wants."
She snapped her head around to look at him again. "Derek..." she hissed.
"Well, all right then," Eamon said with a grin.
"But, Derek," Meredith said again, her teeth gritted.
Derek frowned. "Can we have just a minute?" he said, directing his words toward Eamon.
"Certainly," Eamon replied, and the old man moved off to polish some items in a nearby case.
Derek pulled Meredith's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Meredith," he said, kissing her index finger. "Whatever." Middle. "You want." Ring finger. "Is fine." Pinky.
Her fingers flexed, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. "You're sure?" she said, her words brushing softly against the light weave of his sweater. He ran a hand through her hair and rocked her. She swayed in the stool where she sat, utterly pliant, and it made him sad how frail she was acting when he knew how strong she really was.
"This is for you, Mere," he said. "I'm sure."
"But..."
"Meredith," he said, interrupting her. He ran a hand down her back and just swayed as he spoke softly in her ear. "You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me in my life. I mean it. If you want a ring, you can have a ring. Whatever ring you want. Whatever setting you want. Whatever metal you want. Whatever gem or gems you want. Whatever cut you want. All you should care about is whether it makes you happy to wear it. And, Meredith, if you don't want a ring? That's okay, too. I just want you to have what you want..."
"I..."
"No pressure, Meredith," he said, kissing the top of her head as his whole body started to ache for her. Ache over the fact that she was still so uncertain. "Do you want to go do something else?"
"I..." she said, swallowing. She pulled away from him to look at the glittering rings in the case again. She ran her fingers up and down the edges, up and down, up and down in an almost longing, petting motion. She wanted one. He bit his lip, watching her, tensing, unwilling to shove her into something she didn't think she was ready for. She'd said yes. He would wait however long she wanted. She'd said yes.
And that meant more to him than anything.
She stared absently at the case, looked back up at him. He tried to keep his expression neutral. Tried. Tried. Tried. Was pretty sure he'd failed. He wanted her. He wanted her forever. It was hard to make that go away.
She turned back to the ring case.
"Ten," she said, stopping to clear her throat with an awkward, panty breath. "Ten minutes."
"All right then," he said, low and soothing. He backed away from her, giving her space again, resumed his lean several feet away, and said, "We're ready."
Eamon smiled, Derek resettled back into his lean a few paces away, and Meredith watched as ring after ring was paraded before her in a sparkling march.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Duh. (Mer/Der)
Rating: M
Timeline: Post Time After Time.
Yay! Finally got this done :) The next part is nearing the finishing stages too, so hopefully it will only be a day or two before I can finalize it. No week long wait, unless something happens that I don't foresee.
~~~~~
"Son of a bitch!" Meredith hissed as she slammed her foot down on the brakes of Sarah's silver Lexus RX.
Derek swallowed, head spinning as he put his hand out on the dash to steady himself. "Uh," he said. "You needed to turn right there..."
"I know!" she yelled. Meredith glared at him as she wheeled around and checked her blind spots, inching the car forward. "Nobody will fucking let me in. God damn it," she snarled before she let loose a string of obscenities colorful enough to make even him blush. Traffic crawled around them in a crush of cars, all inching along in a slow but constant flow. A steady chorus of horns and voices and exhaust and tires fell around them in a jittery, energetic verse. Buildings towered up around them in the epitome of urban jungle, creating a nice shade against the sun that was, though comforting, not quite dim enough for him to want to try taking his sunglasses off.
"Mere," he said, swallowing as she gunned the engine and zipped up a foot, only to slam on the brakes again when a taxi pulled out in front of her. She flipped the driver off, who returned her gesture in a blasé shrugging motion with not one but both hands, and then someone in the next car over, who had nothing to do with the incident, flipped everyone off just because. His eyes widened, and he couldn't help but let loose an amused cough despite the growing discomfort of the stop and start and stop and start. She was...
Really, really cute when she was pissed. Her lower lip jutted out, giving her an adorable pouting expression only made more adorable when she blew out a breath in frustration, sending several loose bangs flying into disarray. Her lithe, surgeon's fingers flexed around the steering wheel, squick, squick, squeaking against the leather guard so tightly her knuckles were turning a bloodless shell color. The car jerked as Meredith inched up and tried to scoot over into the lane she wanted again only to get denied as another taxi tore through.
"What the fuck! I'm signaling!" she screeched as she lifted both hands off the wheel to flail them helplessly in the air. She growled, actually growled. Despite her ability to snore loudly enough to make the walls vibrate, he was still amazed by the noise she was capable of projecting at unsuspecting victims.
"Mere, breathe," Derek said, trying desperately not to laugh.
"I am breathing!" she belted.
"Mere..."
"DOES ANYONE HERE KNOW HOW TO FUCKING DRIVE?" she shouted, panting, panting, panting. Her fingers were back on the steering wheel, squick, squick, squeaking as her gaze darted from mirror to mirror to mirror in a frantic, twitchy way that made it look almost like she was trying to score at whack-a-mole or something. There? There? There? No... THERE! She jammed on the accelerator again, only to brake a nanosecond later to avoid a pizza boy on a bicycle.
"Mere..."
"What!" she yelled. She turned to him, panting, her face a ruddy, cherry color.
"No one will let you in, Mere. You sort of have to just... Go."
"Just go..."
"Yes, go. Signal and go. You won't get hit."
"You expect me to just... shove this vehicle, which, might I add, is the size of a fucking boat, into the inch between this guy's bumper and the next?" she said, gesturing to the pair of taxies running alongside them at a mirrored pace to their own.
Derek looked down into the backseat of the rear taxi. A businessman sat yapping on his cell phone, laptop unfurled, briefcase torn open with papers sprawled everywhere in organized disarray. Derek let his gaze travel up to the front taxi. A woman stared out the window, gazing with an open mouth at the up, up, up of the building currently shading them. Derek grinned. Tourist. Very easy to pick out.
"Yes," he said, taking a short breath as he glanced back at Meredith. "Just go."
"This is your sister's car, you know."
"Just go, Mere. Trust me."
"Fine," she snapped. She signaled, and as soon as there was an inch gap for her to take advantage of, she slammed on the accelerator, the car groaned and jittered under the strain, and then everything swung forward as she steered to the right. Derek pinched his nose with his fingers and swallowed as everything spun up around him again in a kaleidoscope of color and noise.
"Hey, that worked," she said as the car settled into the slow pace of the right lane and they continued along.
"Yeah," Derek said, thunking his head against the window. "As adorable as you cursing and gesturing enough to be your own obscenity thesaurus is... People just don't care here, Mere. You have to decide where you're going and... just go."
"Just go," she repeated with a little nod. "Right. Do the follow through thing."
The rest of the way to the Algonquin was a little less traumatic, and by the time she was pulling up in front of the hotel, his stomach had settled again, and he felt a little less like he was going to lose everything onto Sarah's immaculate dashboard. She grinned triumphantly as the bellhop pulled open the passenger door for him.
"So," she said. "I park over there?" She pointed to the sign for the underground lot just behind them.
"Yes, but you have to drive around again since it's one way. Just park and meet me back in front of the hotel. We'll hail a cab."
She frowned. "But I just got the hang of driving."
"Yeah, well, parking is another thing entirely. Cabs will work much better for this, Mere. Trust me."
She shrugged. "You're the expert."
He wandered around the car to the trunk and pulled out all their bags, flashing Meredith a grin as he caught her staring at him in the rearview mirror. She looked so utterly tiny behind the steering wheel of the big Lexus, tiny and cute. And beautiful. And brave, so brave for even trying to drive in that mess. Driving in the city was sort of an art. And she was his. All his. As his hands left the handle of the very last bag, he found himself standing there, staring dumbly through the window of the trunk, burning with longing. He tried to swallow the heat away, blinking behind his sunglasses.
Meredith didn't seem to notice his scrutiny. She'd started fumbling with something in the cup holder and had bent over. His. This felt so... He felt a vague flash of rightness that strummed him like a guitar string from the tips of his toes to the space just behind his heart, where it paused and grew like a warm, solid thing. Maybe this would become a yearly routine, coming up to New York to see his family. He grinned stupidly as Meredith tapped the brakes and then inched forward. He stared, just stared, until she accelerated and disappeared around the corner.
The bellhop helped him lug everything from the curb to a luggage dolly. Derek walked into the dim, narrow foyer and proceeded to the concierge desk. Matilda's little cat bed was in a small hallway to the right, but, while hair-filled, the bed was not occupied.
He arranged to leave their bags in the coat closet until check-in time with the concierge, a tall, sticky, leggy blonde caked with makeup and elegant jewelry. She wore thick cat-eye glasses and her hair had been swept up into a twist with the ends hanging out in a waterfall of spill. He'd seen Addison wear it like that quite a few times, but hell if he knew what the style was called.
The concierge flashed white, perfect teeth at him as the bellhop lugged his bags back into the coatroom. Her name badge read Samantha. "Do you need any assistance with anything? Finding tickets to a show? Directions? Arranging transportation?" she asked, her voice polite and cheerful.
He smiled, said no, and turned to move back out onto the street once he had received luggage claim tags and tipped the bellhop. Derek stepped out onto the sidewalk and sighed as he glanced around. Meredith hadn't reappeared from the underground lot yet. He hoped she hadn't had too much trouble parking. It was a bit of a tight squeeze if he remembered right, and Sarah's SUV was a bit on the large side.
He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and closed his eyes. The street where the Algonquin was situated wasn't an overly busy one, but, still, it was fairly close to Times Square. The air was laden with the low-pitched rush of movement, cars, people, the breeze... all a hum that easily faded from awareness when you weren't listening, but was deafening if you focused on it. The noise throbbed like a breathing thing against the back of his skull. He inhaled, slow and steady. The scents of pavement, vehicle exhaust, oil, a hint of trash, and food like pretzels, stale beer, and hot dogs ran against his nostrils. He winced as a vehicle with a failing muffler crawled past and tore him from his daze.
For a moment, he just stared. He hadn't been to Manhattan since he'd fled from Addison to his new job at Seattle Grace. He hadn't been back, and he certainly hadn't looked back, either. Not once.
He recognized the space directly across the street as the spot where he'd sat in his car as the rain spattered down, sat and stared and wished that everything would just... stop. Stop being so loud and painful and bright. He'd sat in the dark in the car, wishing Addison and Mark would stop thrusting before his eyes, flickering in the glowing, meandering trails of water streaming down his windshield.
I'm gonna go. You stay. I'll get my clothes in the morning.
He'd wandered in his car, driving up and down street after nameless street aimlessly as the windshield wipers blasted away, making the car rock back and forth with the force of their motion. He'd driven, driven, driven, ending up eventually in Times Square under the crush of lights and noise and flagrant billboards, only to realize that he would find no comfort there that night. Times Square had been where he went with Mark. They'd liked the scattering of hole-in-the-wall pubs. Mark had liked cruising for hapless tourists, and Times Square was a tourist magnet. Mark.
Derek had eventually moped with his car into the side streets, farther from the lights, and he'd happened across the hotel. The Algonquin. He'd not really paid attention before, had never really heard of it, but he'd been in a daze, and he'd sat staring at it from his car until the bright sign in front had blurred. Hotel. Needed to sleep. Needed to die. Needed to drink.
He'd eventually gotten out of the car, walked through the rain, and gone in to ask if they had a room. He hadn't known if it was a good hotel or a bad one, luxury or standard or dive. They'd looked at him oddly when he'd walked in with no reservation, but they'd checked. One room due to a last minute cancellation. They'd told him he was very lucky. He'd stared at the counter, unable to respond to that, feeling nauseated and ready to collapse. But he'd taken it. Taken the room, ordered up a whole bottle of scotch, and the rest of the night had been a blur. He didn't get drunk often, but when he did, he made it count. The next morning, he'd barely been able to move enough to call in sick. And then he'd made an honest man out of himself, and he had been. Sick.
He stared at the spot where he'd parked his car that night, thinking it might spark some darker, ugly piece of himself. Now, his eyes kept wandering to the place Meredith had pulled up to the curb, and the spot from that night... The spot. It just didn't seem so... Big. Anymore. There was no gloomy spark. Nothing momentous.
And the city smelled. It had never used to smell. Not to him. A brief flash of his trailer hit him, from the morning after he'd slept there for the first time. He'd walked out onto the deck and breathed in the cold, gray, wet air. His mood had been a dark one, but he would never forget that smell. Water. Earth. Mingled. He'd gone back inside and listened to the breeze and the drizzly rain for hours. Tap, tap, tap on his roof. Not a person, not a car for at least a mile in any direction, more possibly. It hadn't been quiet, sitting there in the trailer, listening to the rain thundering on his roof. But, yet, it had been. So very quiet.
A taxi drove past, slowing down as the driver eyeballed him. He sped up when Derek didn't show any interest, only to come to a piercing, screeching halt as someone darted across the street. Derek watched a woman in a skirt and stilettos plink, plink, plink across the street, glaring daggers at the cabbie.
The vague hint of lavender curled around him, and when a warm hand slid up under his sweater, under his shirt, he smiled, not even having to turn to know who it was. Meredith leaned up against his back and ran her palm along his stomach. "Hey," she said. "Where were you?"
He turned around and frowned. "I've been here the whole time," he said.
"No," she grinned. "I mean, where were you in your head? I must have said your name at least four times."
"Oh," he said. "Just thinking. It feels different."
"What feels different?"
"Being here."
"Oh. Different how?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I can't put my finger on it."
She stared at him seriously before leaning up onto her toes to kiss him deeply, sensuously. Her lips ran along the edges of his own, and then he was welcoming her into his mouth. A groan wound out of his chest and mingled with the squeaky, higher-pitched moan she often gifted him with. He clutched at the small of her back, pulling her up and closer, grinding. They pulled back, panting.
"So, what's first?" she said, grinning.
"First stop is only a couple blocks from here," he said. "We can just walk."
"What is it?" she asked.
He gave her what he hoped was a look that resembled smirky and seductive. "Not telling."
She raised an eyebrow. "Okay," she said warily, but she followed when he started moving down the street.
As they wandered closer to Times Square, the waves of people started breaking against them like water on rocks as he and Meredith fought the flow. Meredith grasped his hand as he pulled her through the crowd. "How the hell did you live here?" she said with amazed wonder as he dodged and weaved expertly through the crush of life.
He shrugged, gritting his teeth as a man in a business suit slammed into his shoulder, muttered something, and continued. "You get used to it," he said noncommittally as he searched the awnings of the stores for the name that he wanted.
Sarah had suggested this shop as the place to buy unique but gorgeous jewelry. She'd told him it would be perfect, especially given that he and Meredith were only staying a few blocks away, and had assured him that, unlike a lot of vendors in the diamond district, the owner was straight up, wouldn't try any of the classic diamond scams, and was just a genuinely friendly person to do business with. He'd made her show him at least four examples of things she'd bought there, and she'd been right. There was something just... charming about it all. He looked, looked, looked. It had to be somewhere on this block, assuming Sarah had given him the right street address...
His gaze stopped on a small shop with a red awning. There it was. Rings and Things. A corny name. He probably never would have given the place a second glance had Sarah not been so emphatic.
He darted for it, cutting diagonally across the sidewalk, pushing through a crowd of obvious tourists armed with cameras and wide stares, and pulled Meredith through the door before she had a chance to register the name on the awning. A hush fell over them as the little bell on the door rang and then left them in a calm, musty, cool silence.
The store was well lit and larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Rows and rows of illuminated glass cases ran down the length of the store in artistic zig zags.
Meredith glanced around, a confused look dragging her mouth down into the cutest little frown as he pushed his sunglasses back and blinked, adjusting to the lighting, which was bright, but not too bad. "Derek, what's..." Her voice trailed away into silence.
He turned and smiled. "You never said if you wanted a ring or not."
"A ring?"
"Yes," he began patiently. "You know, for the engagement?"
"But..." she stuttered, and he began to wonder if he'd perhaps been too presumptuous. He hadn't wanted to pressure her into anything, but Sarah had been so adamant that this was the perfect store, and he'd figured, while they were there... Why not? He darted his gaze from Meredith to the glass cases lined with sparkling jewelry of all kinds and sizes and back to Meredith. She looked like she was going into shock, which he most certainly hadn't intended.
He pulled her close. "Do you want a ring, Mere?"
Her eyes widened. "I..."
A tall, thin, wrinkled man wearing black slacks and a yellow shirt that made him look sunny and welcoming came out from behind the register area where he'd been kneeling. He had a naturally cheerful, ruddy face, and when he smiled and brushed back the wisps of his swan-white hair against his balding scalp, Derek couldn't help but feel the urge to grin back.
"Hello, I'm Eamon," the man said, a slight, slight accent from... somewhere in the British Isles... lengthening his vowels and warping the words enough to make him sound even more charming. "Welcome. May I help you? An anniversary gift, perhaps, for your lovely lady?"
Derek looked at Meredith, who was still standing there gaping. Her lips slowly relaxed to form a vague, cute grin, as though she, too, had felt this man's infectious cheer. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it, closed it, and then looked at Derek, her eyes pleading for some sort of explanation. He frowned, trying to gauge what her mood was. Oh, he could tell she was freaking out. But... Was she freaking out about the ring? Freaking out about picking a ring? Freaking out about... Something else? And somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice said, anniversary. They would have anniversaries soon. Anniversaries with Meredith sounded like...
Bliss.
He cleared his throat, trying to shake the cobwebs of euphoric daydreaming away, put his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed it gently as he looked at the cheerful shopkeeper. "She's trying to decide if she wants an engagement ring."
Eamon grinned. "Everyone wants a ring," he said. He walked up to Meredith and pulled her left hand up to his chest level, inspecting it with a smooth, sensual touch that would have made Derek twist with jealously, had the man been, oh, about twenty-five years younger. "Beautiful. A ring would only make it more so. What general style were you thinking?"
"I don't..." Meredith swallowed. "I... There're styles? Rings have styles? I thought they were just... Round."
Derek watched as Eamon guided her to a stool across from one of the lit cabinets. A huge panel of ring after ring after ring, gold ones, silver ones, diamonds of all shapes and sizes, stared back from under the glass, gleaming, sparkling. Panel after panel of rings. There must have been at least one-hundred rings. And that was just in that particular case. More lined the glass panel one closer and one farther away from them in the zigzag, and Derek suspected more were being kept off display. Meredith sat meekly as Eamon gestured before him.
"Oh, yes," Eamon said, as if it were the most fascinating subject in the world. Derek folded his arms across his chest and leaned, crossing his legs at the ankles, settling in for a long wait, far enough away to give Meredith enough space, but close enough to remind her he was still there if she needed him. Space was probably good. He really didn't want to pressure her. And he certainly didn't want her doing this for him. That wasn't what this was about at all.
Eamon pulled out a tray of rings and pulled up a simple gold one with one tiny diamond set at the end. "You could get a classic solitaire. Oh, that would look lovely on your finger," he said as he held the ring up to her lithe, arcing finger. Derek had never noticed, but she looked like a piano player. He'd never seen her play, never seen her indicate she could, but... Piano player. She looked like one. He smiled. There was still a lot of her to unwrap, still a lot of things he didn't know. But he wasn't worried.
He watched her as she stared, her lips parting slightly, just enough to let a thin sheet of air slip through. Her eyes widened in an adorable look of amazement, and then narrowed into careful focus, like she did when she was about to clip something off during surgery. She took the little ring from Eamon and rolled it slightly between her thumb and her index finger, staring, breathing, contemplating for several long, longing moments before she handed it back.
Eamon put the little ring back on the countertop after a quick polish with one of his jewelry rags and pulled out another example, this time with three diamonds set in a row, the largest one in the middle. "There are also side stones like this, see?" he said, handing it to Meredith to inspect. She stared, quiet, unassuming.
Derek collapsed from his lean to his elbows on one of the glass panels. He cradled his face in his hands and just... watched, unable to stop himself from smiling. This was the woman he was going to have anniversaries with. And this store... He loved it already, just for the undivided, reverential attention Meredith was receiving.
A thump came from the back of the store. Eamon looked up for a moment and called, "Justin, just stack things, don't bowl with them."
"I'm not bowling!" came a mutter through the wall. Another thump, followed by a cascade of them provided his exclamation point. Derek searched the back wall of the store with his gaze and eventually noticed a little swing-door partially concealed by shelving.
Eamon looked back to Meredith and winked, his green eyes sparkling. "I think Justin lives in denial. Don't you? Anyway, let's see." Meredith giggled. He resumed his focus on the task at hand and began to cycle through more examples. "You can get gold, white-gold, you can get platinum, or something else like silver," he explained, pulling out gleaming rings from each of the metal categories he'd mentioned. Meredith slowly fingered each one, biting her lip in that way she did when she focused really hard on something. Her bangs fell down over her forehead as she leaned.
Eamon pulled out more rings. "Do you want a diamond? Or cubic zirconia, perhaps, if you feel uncomfortable wearing something so expensive? Some young ladies are afraid they'll lose a diamond. If you decide on a diamond, of course, there are different colors. And, naturally, there are different cuts. There are many, many choices, as you can see, now, I'm certain."
Derek smiled, entranced as Meredith stared at the options laid out in front of her on the table. She pawed lightly at the glass, pondering, thinking. Her gaze settled on a little platinum solitaire Eamon had pulled out to demonstrate the color of the metal. It was a pretty ring. The diamond was small, unpretentious, a round brilliant cut, and... Beautiful. Even when it was sitting out of the display lights to the side.
And, as he watched Meredith's face light up with amazement when her gaze stayed on it, he could tell. She didn't seem to know it yet, but he could tell, just from the way her eyes flared, the way her lips curled in the vaguest smile, the slight twitch of the finger nearest to it... That was the moment he was certain he'd been right. She wanted a ring. He'd wondered. She wasn't much of a jewelry person. But that moment cemented it.
"Diamonds come in colors?" Meredith asked, her voice quiet. Her nostrils flared, and her breaths were quiet and shallow. She was overwhelmed, but Derek resisted the urge to butt in and hug her.
"Oh, yes," said Eamon. "What size ring do you wear?"
"Size?"
"Your finger size."
Meredith frowned. "I don't know... I've always just bought what fits off the display case."
Eamon clucked his tongue. "All right," he said with a smile. "I can see this will be a session for the books. One moment while I get my tools."
"Tools?" Meredith said. "You need tools for selling a ring?"
"To size your finger, examine settings, yes," Eamon explained patiently. "Just a second." He walked to the back of the store and started rummaging through a bin, glancing up at them every few moments or so.
Meredith turned to Derek, eyes flaring with... Panic. Derek swallowed. He'd been so sure earlier that she was... No, he was sure. But she was Meredith. Of course she wouldn't just... let herself have something like this.
"Derek..." she said, a small, tiny voice that made him want to wrap her up in his arms.
"What?"
"What's going on?"
"Well," he said, grinning as he remembered her brief, unadulterated look of delight over the little platinum ring. "It looks like you're picking out a ring."
"But... But..."
He finally gave in and moved closer to her, picked her hands up and gently caressed her knuckles. Eamon was right. She would look... exquisite with a diamond perched on her finger. Not that she didn't look exquisite already, but...
"Do you want a ring, Mere?" he asked quietly. As much as he knew she wanted one, she still didn't. And there was no way in hell he was going to make a mess of this. "If you don't want a ring, we can leave. This wasn't to pressure you."
Her gaze darted to the case underneath her fingertips. She ran her hand over the glass, drifting her touch across choice after choice. She swallowed. "I don't know."
"Well, then why don't you see if there's anything you like," he said. "And if there is, you can get it, and if there isn't, we'll continue on with our tour."
"I don't have to get anything?" she said.
"We don't even have to stay here if you don't want to, Mere."
Eamon cleared his throat as he returned with a small tool bag and a circular, metal karabiner holding examples of each ring size. "All right, I'm ready," he said jovially as he resumed his seat behind the case where Meredith sat. "Are you ready?"
Meredith looked between Eamon and Derek, the most painful, helpless look on her face. Derek smiled, trying to ignore the bite of heartache he felt at her uncertainty. "Up to you, Mere," he said, his voice low and soothing. He watched a string of emotions march across her face. She was embarrassed, and pleased, and scared, and longing, and... It was the oddest set of dichotomies he'd ever seen.
He briefly flashed back to the look on he face when he'd bought her the scrub cap. Just a little gift, barely a dent worthy of notice on his credit card. And she'd acted like it was the most special thing anyone had ever given her. Just a little scrub cap.
A biting sliver of anger ran him through like a sword, and when he thought about it, the wound deepened into a larger well of pain. She wasn't used to gifts. That much was clear from the sheer hesitancy on her face, the way she delighted over the smallest things, but lorded over them with guilt at having received them. It was adorable, and it made him sad all at once.
He'd never really gotten a chance to romance her. Their relationship had been... Very... They just hadn't really done much gift giving. The starts and stops had ruined the flow from casual to passionate, long-lasting love. There'd been no romance period. Just the jump from flirty to done deal, broken up by a bunch of longing, look but don't touch moments that he'd failed dismally at.
"Okay," she finally said, tearing him back from his mental tangent. He grinned at her.
"Do you have a price range I should be aware of?" Eamon asked.
Meredith halted mid breath, and Derek tried not to visibly wince. If there was one thing that was going to spook her off of it, that was it. "Oh," she stuttered. "Um..."
"No," Derek said, interrupting before she could stutter too much. "Whatever she wants."
She snapped her head around to look at him again. "Derek..." she hissed.
"Well, all right then," Eamon said with a grin.
"But, Derek," Meredith said again, her teeth gritted.
Derek frowned. "Can we have just a minute?" he said, directing his words toward Eamon.
"Certainly," Eamon replied, and the old man moved off to polish some items in a nearby case.
Derek pulled Meredith's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Meredith," he said, kissing her index finger. "Whatever." Middle. "You want." Ring finger. "Is fine." Pinky.
Her fingers flexed, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. "You're sure?" she said, her words brushing softly against the light weave of his sweater. He ran a hand through her hair and rocked her. She swayed in the stool where she sat, utterly pliant, and it made him sad how frail she was acting when he knew how strong she really was.
"This is for you, Mere," he said. "I'm sure."
"But..."
"Meredith," he said, interrupting her. He ran a hand down her back and just swayed as he spoke softly in her ear. "You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me in my life. I mean it. If you want a ring, you can have a ring. Whatever ring you want. Whatever setting you want. Whatever metal you want. Whatever gem or gems you want. Whatever cut you want. All you should care about is whether it makes you happy to wear it. And, Meredith, if you don't want a ring? That's okay, too. I just want you to have what you want..."
"I..."
"No pressure, Meredith," he said, kissing the top of her head as his whole body started to ache for her. Ache over the fact that she was still so uncertain. "Do you want to go do something else?"
"I..." she said, swallowing. She pulled away from him to look at the glittering rings in the case again. She ran her fingers up and down the edges, up and down, up and down in an almost longing, petting motion. She wanted one. He bit his lip, watching her, tensing, unwilling to shove her into something she didn't think she was ready for. She'd said yes. He would wait however long she wanted. She'd said yes.
And that meant more to him than anything.
She stared absently at the case, looked back up at him. He tried to keep his expression neutral. Tried. Tried. Tried. Was pretty sure he'd failed. He wanted her. He wanted her forever. It was hard to make that go away.
She turned back to the ring case.
"Ten," she said, stopping to clear her throat with an awkward, panty breath. "Ten minutes."
"All right then," he said, low and soothing. He backed away from her, giving her space again, resumed his lean several feet away, and said, "We're ready."
Eamon smiled, Derek resettled back into his lean a few paces away, and Meredith watched as ring after ring was paraded before her in a sparkling march.