Catch
Summary: Because you have to fall hard if you want to be caught. Season 2 MerDer. A night at Joe's brings our favorite couple together once again. Angsty.
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Jose is my friend. We go back. Wayyyyy back. Back to when my hair was short and stringy and pink (before the lavender and coffee and hospital-sterile) and smelled like cigarettes and the back alley behind my high school's gym.
Back to when the alcohol thing was about trying to spite one Dr. Ellis Grey, not forget a Dr. Derek Shepard.
Yup, Jose's been with me for a while—he stuck with Rebel Meredith in high school and waited around to see her to become Party Flirt Meredith in college. He remained constant when boyfriends and girlfriends and mothers and goldfish and fathers didn't, greeting Finding-Herself Meredith on her post-college trek through Europe and her solo roadtrip through Mexico. He waited out long dry spots when Focused Meredith pretended she wanted nothing to do with him in med school. But now Lonely-and-Confused/I'd-Like-to-Chop-Off-Derek-Shepard's-Penis/Please-God-Just-Help-Me-Get-Through-Today/Talk-to-Herself-in-the-Third-Person Meredith has brought herself full circle, made the waiting and the long friendship worthwhile. Now I sit at Joe's and do my best to ignore the little voice in my head that reminds me that Jose's really not that great of a pal as I down my sixth shot of the hour.
I'm on my eighth when Joe speaks up. Joe is normally the best kind of bartender—nice, unassuming, always ready to lend an open and non-judgmental ear. The kind of bartender who learns everyone's "usual" fast and is easy to get to know and trust. To ramble out your sorrows to and consider a friend.
The problem with having bartenders for friends is that they usually draw the red flag on your drinking before the sorrow-drowning's complete, money in the bank or not. So when I give Joe the "one-more" sign, he shakes his head.
"I don't know, Meredith. Maybe you should let the last eight settle. Or call someone—drinking alone's not that fun anyway."
"Mumph."
"Can I call someone for you? Christina maybe? Or Izzy?"
"They'res all shifting. On their shifs. Shifts." The words are soft in my mouth and from the recesses of my fuzzy brain the little (anti-Jose from the get-go) voice shouts that maybe I should listen.
"Why aren't you at the hospital, too?" He asks, and a teeny, only almost-sober part of my brain tells me he's trying to keep my mind off tequila, but the much bigger drunk part of my brain is too stumbly-mumbly sloshed to pay attention.
"Ha. Haha. Hahaha." He's got a funny look on his face and I belatedly realize that I've forgotten how to laugh and instead have just said the words 'ha ha" repeatedly.
"It's my mother's birthday." I offer, and give no further explanation. After another five minutes of badgering and keeping my speech relatively slur-free he gives me another shot and then heads to the back.
"Here's to you, mom," I say to no one at all, and the liquid scalds my insides as it goes down.
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I'm not sure how much longer I'm there before Derek shows up, but it's got to have been a while because I'm back to the slurring.
He makes his presence known with a, "double-scotch, single malt" order to Joe and I don't even lift my head (I've placed it on the cool surface of the bar table because it's suddenly become a little too heavy for my neck).
"Mer," he starts, and I'm briefly surprised that it's not Meredith or Dr. Grey, "I think it's time to get you home." I blink. Despite the drunkenness, it occurs to me to be surprised that he's entirely skipped the awkward, fake pleasantries that have consumed our interactions of late.
"I…I…I—" And the prize goes to Meredith Grey for doing the impossible and somehow managing to stutter on a monosyllabic pronoun.
"I had no idea it was this bad."
Derek sounds upset. Upset's no fun, so I start to respond, but it seems that Derek's not really talking to me anyways but over my head and across the counter.
He continues, "You should have called me earlier. Or stopped her, or something. How many has she had?"
"Nine. And I tried to get her to call her other intern friends, but she said that they're all on their shifts. She got the day off because it's her mother's birthday, or something. Anyways it didn't really get this bad until about ten minutes ago, and I called you right away."
"You let her have nine? For god's sake she can't weigh more than 110. No, I know, I'm not blaming you. I've just never seen her like this. Mer? Mer? Can you open your eyes and talk to me?"
Derek's face swims into view as I open my eyes, then quickly close them again because the world won't stay still.
"Dizzy." I mumble.
"God, maybe I should take her across the street. This looks like it could be the early symptoms of alcohol poisoning."
Drunk or not, over my head or not, his words register and I somehow summon the strength to open my eyes a slit and protest. "No. No hospital. 'm ohhh kayyyy. I just need things to stop spinning."
I lifted my head from the (cool comforting wood of the) bar to prove it.
And immediately regretted it. The quickly goes from bright and spinny to dark and splotchy, and I don't even have to good sense to put my hand over my mouth or lean over the side before I realize I'm vomiting all over the counter and floor.
"Oh god. So sorry Joe," the words come out as a cough, and before I know it the world's shifting under me and strong firm, familiar arms are taking me away, out towards the door, and the—"
"NO! Please Derk! Don't take me to the hops..hosps…hospital. You cant. Please!" The words come out in a jumble and suddenly I'm crying and can't seem to stop. I hate him for letting him see me like this; for being a sick, hysterical mess that's fallen apart in his arms. Having him take me to SGH would be too much, let a few too many people know just how not-fine I really am. "Can't letem see me like his. I can't—no. Please dint take me."
"Meredith, you can't walk. You can barely speak. And I doubt the last shot you took has even hit you yet. You've had way more alcohol than your body can handle. At the very least, we need to get you on a saline IV to re-hydrate you."
"Plees. Just get. Me to. Bathroom. Now!" The nausea hits again but somehow he manages to get me to the toilet in time and I splatter the rest of the half-sandwich I had hours ago into its porcelain bowls.
"See," I say, when the world feels a little clearer. "'m throwinup. No poisning. 'm fine.
"Humph." He says, and for the first time, it registers that, despite the fact that he's holding me in his (warm safe) arms and rubbing my back, he seems angry. I close my eyes.
After what seems like hours, he speaks again.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Mer?" He asks, and this time it's only sadness that seeps into his voice.
"Don't call me Mer." I manage without slurring too badly. He doesn't say anything, but his arms tense and then slacken around my waist. When my head feels a little clearer, I speak.
"Why do I do this? You ask why? We'd never be like this if I were sober. Never talk. We'd never. Be here. Derek. Maybe it's just my way of getting you back. Even just for a few minutes."
It's true, but it's not the real reason we're here, and I briefly suspect he knows it, but I mumble on anyway.
"It's pathetic, I know. Let's all look at big pathetic Meredith, sitting here with the adultering DOCter Shepard. Who's she's pathetically still in love with. Over the pathetic toilet. That's a lot of path—" I can't even finish the dumb pathetic statement before I'm leaning over the toilet again.
I make the mistake of shifting in his arms, turning to see his face. Looking up at the pained, hurt look he's giving me is almost a little too much for me to handle. "Don't take me to Seattle Grace," I mumble, before the darkness overcomes me.
Jose is my friend. It's just never been very nice to me.
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TBC
AN: Hmmm. This is my first real attempt to jump back into the fanfic game after being away for years. I submitted a GA story to ffn last spring, but wasn't very happy with it, so I chose not to continue it and wrote this instead. As always, comments, good or bad, are greatly appreciated. Also, keep your eyes out for part II (of 2) in the near future—it's about 80 complete but I'll finish it a lot quicker if I feel obligated by reviews to do so.
-T-