Lightning Strikes Twice - Part 50A

[ariaadagio]

Title: Lightning Strikes Twice
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Duh. (Mer/Der)
Rating: M
Timeline: Post Time After Time.

Yay!  Well, I'm in an super big hurry right now, so you all get this first by a full workday.  Hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~

The bathroom in Derek's trailer was woefully small.  Meredith wilted over her knees, sitting on the fuzzy blue toilet cover, the little stick clutched in her hands between her ankles, and her head nearly brushed the far wall.  Twelve inches of clearance.  Maybe.  Bad for people who were freaking out and needed to curl up on bathroom floors.  That was one thing she would miss.  A bathroom needed a good floor and a big tub.  Not that she was freaking out.

She scrunched up her toes, staring at the indicator window intently, as though that would make the results happen faster.  The soft, shaggy threads of the blue floor mat caught in the grip of her toes.  She shuffled her feet, watching as she plowed through the weave, feeling the yarn grow harsh against her skin as it scraped instead of lightly caressed.  Her focus traded between the rug and the indicator, back and forth, back and forth.  The stick blurred in and out.

Three minutes.  The line would show up in three minutes.  The line.  Because two lines was bad.  Bad, bad, bad.  She inhaled softly.

Derek thumped past the door.  The floor underneath her feet vibrated through the carpet, and she clutched the test so hard it began to hurt.  This was the last one.  Four weeks of negatives.  She'd been taking them every other day as soon as she'd hit the fourteen-day point past unprotected sex act number one.  Shower sex.

This was the last one.  Four weeks of negatives was enough, she'd decided.  Conception at two to three days after sex, detection as early as eight days after conception...  Really, this was overkill.  But Derek humored her.  And it wasn't like she hadn't bought enough tests to do this.  It wasn't like--

He knocked softly, but the noise might as well have been a cannon.  She pitched forward, startled, and reached out to catch herself against the wall, only to end up scrabbling against the fluffy blue hand towel and the shiny metal rack.  She felt a little like a cornered sardine in a can.  She panted, wincing as the thump of her hand plowing forward onto the wall through the towel reverberated in the small space.  And she clutched.

Clutched.

Two minutes.

"Mere, I put your clothing boxes by the closet for you to sort," Derek murmured.  His voice caught, hesitant, unconfident, and strangely not like Derek at all.  "Your other stuff is on the table.  I'm finished."

"Okay," she replied.  "I'll be out in a sec."

For a moment, silence twisted the space between them into a tense, writhing mess, and she could feel him standing there, his head pressed against the door, silent, breathing.  "Are you okay, Mere?" he asked.

"Sure," she insisted.  "Sure, I'm okay."

Another long silence filled the air.  "Okay," he replied, his voice low and lost and tired.  His footsteps receded.  She exhaled in a rush that ached deep into her straining diaphragm and closed her eyes.  A hot splotch of sunlight landed on her from the tiny strip window at the top of the wall.  She didn't know what had possessed her to do this now.  To take the last one now.

Derek knew she was waiting for the results of one last test to proclaim herself not pregnant, and he was being really great about it, despite the fact that she realized every new test she took sparked a little glimmer of hope in his eyes that she subsequently crushed.  Negative.  Negative, negative, negative.  No matter how many she took and how much less likely it became that there would be a positive, he'd get that little glimmer, and then he'd lose it.  He'd shrug it off with a smile, a smile that he did mean, a smile that said he was happy for her and for them and with their future, but she knew he wasn't exactly fine with it, no matter how much he said he didn't want her to be pregnant.

He knew there was one more to go.  He just didn't know she'd chosen to take said last test while he was busy lugging in all her crap from the car.  She wasn't really sure why she'd done it, either.  But she'd carried in her toiletry bag and just...  Bam.  She'd had to pee and...

They were moving into the trailer.  Moving in.  Not permanently, yet.  They were planning to spend nights and days when she was off work there.  Derek would stay at her mother's house the rest of the time.  Derek couldn't drive, and him being out in the middle of nowhere at the trailer alone was not really conducive to her having peace of mind when she was at work.  Not that she'd said anything about it.  Mother hen.  Bad.  Bad, and she knew he hated it.  No, he'd actually been the one to suggest the back-and-forth schedule, though he'd disguised it as letting her decide if she would really like to live out there before they fully committed.  She'd let him think she didn't realize he was trying to save her some worry, all the while dripping with relief that he hadn't insisted or argued with her that he'd be fine alone.

The point was that they were moving into the trailer.  It felt like a new chapter or something.  A new... something.  And she desperately wanted to close out the old one.

She wasn't an intern anymore.  She was happily, publicly engaged.  She had a borrowed-mom who called her on the phone and discussed plans with her.  Wedding plans.  She had a fake-mom who made dinner dates with her and didn't pressure her to get to know Thatcher, though she was thinking about trying harder on that front.  And Derek...

Derek had gotten better in leaps.

He only had to take one nap a day instead of two or three.  He had a thick carpet of hair that she loved to run her hands through.  Despite it being short, it seemed to make him feel a lot better that he didn't have to wear the cap to hide the scar.  He rarely had any headaches, though, every once in a while, he'd get an awful one that laid him up in bed for a while.  But those were seldom.

He lifted things, like heavy boxes crammed full of her junk.  And her.  He made a point of lifting her a lot.  In the shower, up the steps, and in a casual, spinny way that made her laugh sometimes when they were out on walks.  He lifted things, and his movement had grown fluid and sure again.  His strides had stretched over time, from walk to walk to walk, until what had been hesitant and stilted, looking more like a strain than healthy exercise, returned to the smooth, athletic grace she hadn't realized she'd been missing.

She caught him reading books more and more often.  He had to do it in short spurts, but he could read, his focus was improving, and it reflected in his whole demeanor.  His temper had evened out, and his tendency toward rapid mood swings seemed to have died with his ever-expanding freedom and improved well being, which was a serious relief to her.  She'd been praying he hadn't developed some sort of mood disorder, and his slow return to equilibrium seemed like a big indication that his problems had been related to the situation, and not to screwed up chemical production.

His eyes were the best things, though.  The thirst and thrill for life his gaze had always seemed to reflect prior to the ferry accident had returned in full, and she often found herself staring at him, grinning ear to ear until he'd turn to find himself the object of her scrutiny, quirk a grin back at her, and ask, "What?" in that low, playful, dirty tone he reserved for sex and other naughty things.

She blinked herself back into the tiny bathroom.  She'd been daydreaming, caught in the comforting lilt of his sexy laughter and the ghosts of his fathomless stare.  Something tight in her chest loosened, and she leaned back against the seat with a sigh.

She had it bad, all right.

Her gaze slipped down onto the pregnancy test in her hand, but the fact that it was one stripe for negative instead of two stripes for pregnant barely even registered at that point.  Because everything was great, and she was already thrilled.  The only extra thing that the test brought her was relief.  She and Derek would have time to be just Derek and Meredith for at least a little while.

She really did have it bad.  Really, really, really.

She grinned and stood on wobbly legs, grasped the door latch, and shifted out into the hallway.

"Derek, I-" she began, breathless, pregnancy test in hand, only to halt.  "Oh."

It was as though he had stood at the foot of the bed, decided he was tired, and fallen forward into sleep before his body had even hit the mattress.  The only detail that suggested he had planned this particular slumber was the placement of his shoes, which were shoved in the corner of the room by a stack of her boxes, far enough away from his feet to suggest they hadn't simply fallen there.

He lay flat on top of the bedspread, his head turned to the side.  His fingers curled, and his palms faced the ceiling by his hips.  A v-shaped sweat stain, starting at his shoulders and tapering off at the small of his back where the slope of his muscles and spine became a valley, darkened his indigo shirt into a dusky, post-twilight color.  His lips were slightly parted, and the deep, even sounds of his breaths fell against the bedspread, ruffling the hollow bulge in the fabric by his mouth with each exhalation.  Rivulets of sweat dotted his brow by his hairline, damp and prominent, and the more than half-inch of hair that time had managed to return to him had gathered into a darkened, wet forest of short spikes.  His face, mostly slack with the innocence of sleep, twitched and ticked at the corners of his lips.  His eyelids fluttered.

He dreamed.

She glanced around.  Four big boxes sat stacked on the dining table.  Big, heavy boxes that he'd lugged inside for her.  No wonder he'd collapsed.  She'd packed a lot.  She'd been a packrat.  Well, not really a packrat.  She was pretty sure she wouldn't ever be moving back to the house.  A house, maybe.  On a certain beautiful lake.  But not her mother's house.  And, once she'd started trying to put her life into boxes?  Her life had seemed a whole.  Lot.  Bigger.  They were going to be making a lot of use of Derek's luggage compartments, she was fairly sure.

He'd teased her.  We're only sleeping at the trailer every other night at most.  Do you really need to bring your entire sock collection?

Yes.  My feet.  They get cold.

I can warm your feet.

You can, she'd replied with a grin.

Then he'd peered inside box number two and pulled out picture frame after picture frame.  Knickknacks?  Meredith, I didn't even know you owned knickknacks.

Maybe it's a new thing, she'd said.  It could be.  I want it to be.

He'd slipped off the protective towel and flipped over the first silver frame to find himself staring back through smudged glass.  She'd gotten the New York pictures printed.  Not the naughty ones.  The Times Square ones.  And...

Oh, he'd said softly.  He'd turned and pulled her into an embrace.  Well, I guess we can find a spot for them.

Her phone shrieked, tearing her from daydream number two, and she nearly dropped the test as she squeaked and tripped backward in surprise.  She thumped into the wall.  Derek moved and made a groaning noise, but he didn't rise from his slumber.  Instead, his hands found his pillow, and he burrowed underneath.

The second ring spurred her into action.  For a moment, she stood by her purse on the sofa, staring at the pregnancy test.  She didn't want to put it down, but... After a few comical, jerky motions, she managed to free her phone from her huge tote.  She stared at Derek, but aside from a snuffling breath that shuddered through his whole torso, he didn't move again.  She bit her lip, hoping he hadn't worn himself out too badly doing the moving thing.  That was another thing that had slowly corrected itself.  He usually slept lightly, to the point that he'd had to resume using his earplugs to stay in the same bed with her overnight without going insane.

She retreated outside onto the deck beside his trailer.  The door slammed behind her, and she winced, waiting for Derek to thump up like a sleepy, lumbering beast and ask about the racket, but the innards of the trailer remained still and silent.  She imagined him groaning again, burrowing under another pillow, and receding further into slumber.

She flipped the phone open before ring number three was more than a chirp.  "What?" she hissed into the receiver.

"Am I interrupting sex?" Cristina replied.

"What?" Meredith said, collapsing onto one of Derek's deck chairs.  It was covered in pollen dust and dirt after months of neglect.  The armrests felt gritty against her elbows.  "No, you're not interrupting sex..."

Wind spread fingers through the grass in front of the deck, and the trees around the clearing swayed.  The soft rustle of leaves, a cadre of chirping birds, and the noise of surrounding wildlife wrapped around her.  In the shade of the trailer, the air was cool and comfortable and breezy, but the atmosphere was clear, and the sky was cloudless that day.  Out by the car and away from shelter, her skin had felt like it was baking when she'd braved the sunshine to drag inside the duffel bag she'd filled with her bathroom things.

"Wow," Cristina said.  "Seriously?  No sex?"

"No sex, Cristina."

The sound of a harsh breath buffeted Meredith's ear, and she winced.  "You moved into McDreamy's trailer of lust in the middle of nowhere, and you're not having sex?" Cristina asked.  "Meredith, the thing has got to have, what?  Like fourteen square feet?  And I bet half of it is bed."

Meredith frowned.  If it was that small, why did she feel like she could breathe again?  Because it wasn't small.  The trailer was small.  But the situation?  The whole thing?

Big.

She glanced to the left.  The clearing wrapped around the rear of the trailer, but there were no trees to the left.  The grass dipped away, and she could see the deep blue of the lake crowning the horizon.  A large grayish bird with a long neck swooped down over the water and disappeared into the distant reeds.  She leaned back against the dirty chair with a sigh.  Her grip around the negative pregnancy test loosened, and it fell out of her hand to rest on her thigh, almost forgotten.

"Why does everyone think all Derek and I do is have sex?" Meredith said.  "Seriously.  We do stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like read," Meredith said.  "And talk.  And walk.  And... surgery.  There's always surgery.  Or, well, there will be.  Eventually.  And stuff."

"That's a really sad list, Meredith," said Cristina.  "You sound like candidates for a retirement community."

"And stuff!" Meredith insisted.  "Other stuff.  We'll do other stuff once we, you know... figure out what that stuff is."

She had a feeling that, when left to his own devices in his own element, Derek would probably find a bunch of nature-y hobbies for them to share.  He wasn't a clubber, and he didn't like a lot of the loud attractions Seattle proper had to offer.  It was as if leaving Manhattan had flipped off some sort of city love switch.  She'd never realized it before, but she wondered if perhaps him moving into her mother's house had been what'd truly stunted his starting over initiative.  They rarely had more than a day off at a time that intersected, which meant if they weren't already out in the middle of it, they probably weren't going to go out and do anything, at least not anything fun.  Now, they were.  They were out in the middle of it.  It.  Nowhere.

Which was essentially a big old blaring neon sign thing that said... Opportunity.

"I'm hobbyless," Meredith continued.  "I have no hobbies to share because I was a jobless, partying, dark-and-twisty freak, and then I was an intern with no time.  But I'm sure I'll find some, soon.  Hobbies.  I really do sort of like the whole nature thing.  It's... Nature-y.  And quiet.  Quiet is nice."  She looked out at the lake.  "Hey, maybe there's boats.  I like boats."

"Boats," Cristina said, her voice flat with disbelief.

"We're surgeons," Meredith said.  "I was an intern.  We don't have time for hobbies or whatever.  Or we didn't.  Now, we probably do, seeing as how the getting there part of the nature-y equation thing is gone.  And I'm working on the fishing thing.  I might be adding fishing to the list.  Fishing could be a new couple-y activity.  And boats.  What's it called with the little pointy boats?  Kayaking?  Or row boating.  That's less sporty, but still very boatish."

She sighed, trying to picture her and Derek in a boat on his lake at sunset or something.  It fit.  It really sort of fit.

The whole area was beautiful and earthy and...  Very Derek.  Well, very Derek 2.0.  Or would that be the return of Derek 1.0?  Whatever.  The point was, she was a little in love with it, a lot in love with him, and...

And now she lived there.  A little and a lot in love.  And it was nice.

"Right," Cristina said with a snort.

She'd enjoyed watching Derek pause when he'd gotten out of the car.  He'd leaned against the side of the door, closed his eyes, and just inhaled.  Inhaled the wet scent of grass and water and earth.  And then he'd smiled as though he were returning to a long lost friend.

Hello, life.  Nice to see you again.

He'd tossed his keys in an arc over the roof of the car to her and smiled like a little kid opening the biggest Christmas present under the tree as she'd caught them with a surprised clap.  I'll get the first box.  Will you prop open the door?

And what exactly did Cristina know about that?  She and Burke cut hearts and slept together.  Really, it was a pot kettle situation.

"Yeah, well, what do you and Burke do together that's so freaking noteworthy?" Meredith snapped.  "And why is it that you have to do something with somebody else just to enjoy their company?  I mean, really.  What the hell do we even do together, Cristina?  We jog.  Sometimes."

"We don't jog.  I don't jog."

"Well, there was that one time."

"And it was awful," Cristina said.

"Okay, well, yeah, but we jogged that one time!"

"No," Cristina said.  "We drink."

"True," Meredith agreed.  "We do drink.  Well, used to drink.  I'm not really sure I have a lot of reasons to be drinking anymore.  But-"

"Now that we've established how sadly little we actually have in common...  I need a drink, Meredith."

"What?" Meredith said.  "What for?"

"Mama," Cristina replied, her voice low and flat.

"Mama?"

"She glares at me all the time," Cristina said.  "You'd think I had the audacity to shoot her puppy or something."

Ellen had called Meredith a week before, and she'd had been happy to pick up the phone.  Happy.  Meredith, dear, how are you and Derek doing?

Oh, we're fine.  Dr. Weller finally cleared him to lift things and do housework, and now my whole house is clean, my lawn is mowed, my dishes are always done, and my laundry...  That man can do laundry.  It smells all mountain-y fresh just like the commercial.  Oh, and my front door isn't jammed anymore.  Which is neat, really.  I didn't think he'd be very big on the Mr. Fixit stuff after what you told me about his cooking skills.  But he is.

Ellen had chuckled.  He sounds miserable.

Oh, he totally is.  I think he's bored to tears.  I just wish there was something I could... Her voice had trailed away as the idea had struck her like a cartoon piano over a building, squashing her on the pavement below.  She'd been really, really dumb.  Really dumb.  Derek had been bored.  There hadn't been a lot he could do when he was chained to the house the way he had been.  Except...  There'd been no need for him to be chained to the house.  He could have been...  Trailer.  Stupid.  Dumb.  Really dumb.  She'd sighed, and the final word had cracked out from her vocal cords, barely escaping.  Do.

Ellen had laughed softly.  Well, I'd offer suggestions, but it sounds like you just had a flash of inspiration on your own.

I think I might have, Ellen.  Thanks.

Listen, dear, I just wanted to let you know I'm sending you a list of civil celebrants and nondenominational ministers in the area.  I wasn't sure which you'd prefer...

Meredith blinked.  "Your mother?"

"No, Burke's mother," Cristina said.  "Mama Burke.  Burke's Mama.  Meredith, I thought mama's boys were supposed to be sniveling little freaks who cry all the time.  Burke is not a sniveling little freak, but he's the worst mama's boy I've ever met."

"Um..." Meredith stuttered.

"I just want to spend my five minutes before the justice of the peace in peace.  No Mama."

"Five minutes?" Meredith asked weakly.

If there was ever a time when Meredith found herself unable to relate with her person, it was then.  Right then.  With the bad Mama thing.  And five minutes.  How did someone get married in five minutes?  It was marriage.  It was... Big.  Over the past four weeks, Meredith had come to the conclusion that, while she wasn't sure if she wanted to do the whole virginal white dress thing with a Swiss bell choir, twenty layers of cake, an organ fanfare, and doves, she was pretty sure she wanted to plan.  And make it perfect.

She wanted to take her time.

I can do slow.  I can do incredibly slow.

She shivered at the fleeting ghost of Derek's lips on the crook of her neck and lower, and then she shook the picture away.  Naughty.  Bad thoughts.

"Maybe ten," Cristina continued, oblivious to Meredith's inner tangent.  "Ten with no Mama telling me I have to wear a hideous necklace that looks like it fell off a chandelier.  And I like my eyebrows, Meredith.  I like them.  They're staying on my face.  If she comes at me with tweezers again, I'll scream.  I'll...  No.  I'll commit matricide.  Mama matricide.  Matricide, Meredith.  I'm in Hell.  I hate Mama.  Help me.  I need liquor."

"Oh..." Meredith replied, breathless.  "Okay.  Now?"

"Yes, now," Cristina said.  "Meet you at Joe's?"

Meredith stood from the chair and reached behind herself to brush off the pollen and crap that'd stuck to her knit pants, only to realize the pregnancy test was sliding to the ground.  She made a grab for it.  The phone tumbled to the deck, but she rescued the test.  She bent down and picked up the phone, panting.  Her life in her left hand.  One bar.  Her best friend in the other.

"What was that?" Cristina said.

"Nothing.  Look, Cristina, now is really not good.  Maybe after our next shift?"

Cristina snorted.  "Not good?  Not good!  It's tequila, Meredith.  Jose Cuervo!  You always like tequila."

"Cristina," Meredith said, taking a small, short breath of preparation.  "I'm in the middle of Derek's trailer of lust.  Well, not really in the middle, more to the side and slightly..."  She shook her head.  "Whatever.  Derek is sleeping, I'm staring at a pregnancy test trying to decide whether to cheer or... Something else."  Like explode or just wilt with relief.  "And, if I left, Derek would be stuck here because he can't drive."  Not that he'd exactly mind, but...  But... She wanted to stay.  With him.  And do stupid non-things.  "I really think I'd just like to stay at the trailer right now and do all the boring geriatric couple things you hate.  Okay?  Because... lust.  Trailer of lust.  Except I'm not feeling lusty, it's decidedly not lusty, and it's nice.  And quiet.  And my head is spinning already.  It's a non-lusty trailer of lust.  It's more... grassy.  And... Treeish or whatever.  And I don't need tequila at one in the afternoon on my day off."

For a moment, all she heard was Cristina's soft breathing on the other end of the line, and Meredith stood there panting two breaths for every one of Cristina's, staring around at all the green stuff around her.  She paced.  A swarm of birds upset from the reeds and went flying in a spiral of color into the air, screeching.  Something splashed.  They resettled, and peace fell around her again.  A breeze rustled through the clearing, and the distant water sparkled like broken glass on a blacktop.  She looked back down at the pregnancy test and huffed a breath.

Definitely a new chapter or whatever.

"Negative, huh," Cristina finally said.  "Is that the last one?"

"Yeah," Meredith said.  "I think so."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"That is good, right?" Cristina prodded cautiously.

"Yeah."

"Okay," Cristina said.  "No McBabies, then."

"No.  Not yet."

"Not yet?" Cristina exclaimed.  "God, Mere.  What has he done to you?  You used to be so...  So..."

"I don't want them now."

You want them.  You want them.  You want them.

"Emphasis on the now.  It implies there'll be a future positive.  Meredith..."

No, but yes.

Meredith sighed as she sat back down.  The chair creaked in protest at the sudden, slamming weight.  Her pants scraped against the dark, pollen-covered wood.  "You're doing a crappy job at being tolerant, Cristina."

"I..." Cristina said, but her voice cracked and fell away.  She huffed a breath.  "Fine.  Sorry.  Just don't make me godmother, or I'll hurt you."

Meredith laughed.  "I wouldn't dream of it.  And you're not my maid of honor, either.  Or my matron of honor.  Or whatever."

"Good," Cristina said.  "So long as we're clear."

"Crystal."

Cristina sighed.  "Look, Meredith, I have to run.  Mama found my hiding spot.  She's not coming to the wedding, though.  I put my foot down."

"That's... good?"

"You and me and Burke and McDreamy," Cristina said.  "My foot is down.  Her evil glaring won't change it.  Burke's pouting won't change it.  Mama or marriage.  Not both."

"Right," Meredith said.  A split second later, the line went dead, and all that was left was the sound of the leaves and the birds and the lake and everything else, blessedly silent, and yet... Not.

"Right," Meredith repeated to dead air, shaking her head.  She hoped Cristina would be happy.  She dearly hoped Cristina would be.  But...  "Right."

She stared down at the pregnancy test and stood as she flipped her phone shut.  She paused.  At the door of the trailer, she paused again, and she breathed, trying to find the scent that had had Derek so enamored as he'd leaned against the car.  No car exhaust.  Nothing stale or recycled or garbage-filled.  Just water.  And ground.  And grass.  She'd found it.

She sighed.  A grin ripped across her face, and the clean air swept back against her throat.  She pulled the door open with some judicious fumbling of her elbows and some nudging with her hip to keep her hands free.  Derek still lay at the back of the trailer, oblivious to the world, but the smile on her face didn't go away.

Definitely better than tequila.