So, if they had to bring in the whole afterlife thing (which was, IMHO, kind of cheesy), they did well with it. Overall, though, I thought it was a pretty good episode/trio of episodes. I really love how, at the end of the episode, all of the characters are in completely different places in their lives, so I guess this is just like me writing a drabble for each storyline and sticking them all together. I think I got everyone… (crosses fingers) I don't own Grey's, it belongs to lots of people, but, sadly, I am not one of them. Title from a lyric in Unkle Bob's song "Swan", used in 3x17 (end). Please review this when you're done, even if you think it should be burned and buried like bad divorce ring JuJu – it's my first Grey's fic, so I'm interested in how it goes over.
I See YouI.
She can feel him when she closes her eyes. So faintly, so softly, but she knows that he is there. And even when she cannot feel him, when she can barely even recall the memory of his hands on her skin, she knows that he is nearby. She believes that he is always close because she believes in the good. She believes that there is a reason he is gone, even if she cannot understand what that reason is.
She believes that, so long as she can always feel him, she has to move on. Because eating the entire contents of the fridge, butter and all, is no way to live her life. And because she never wants to make another muffin again. She is young and a surgeon, and … and Denny knew her. Truly knew her. She is lucky to have had that so young. She is lucky to have had that at all. And she believes that she could find that again in a person, if only she could walk away.
She can feel him in this moment. So close, but far too far away. She smiles to herself, she breathes in, and she takes her first step. She breathes, and she walks, and she believes that she will be alright.
She believes in the good.
II.
It wouldn't be enough. To feel him so briefly… it wouldn't be enough. And, for the first time, she can't imagine life without him lying next to her at night, even when she's on this stiff hospital bed and he could be at home on the comfortable mattress.
"It is enough," she whispers. "This is enough."
He stares at her for a moment, dredging up the painful memories that he had spent so long trying to forget, and he smiles at her, kissing her cheek. His fingers are tangled in her hair, which still contains the faint scent of the disaster site, of smoke and of blood, but she can breathe easily now. Because there is a point. There is.
He is the point.
Because he's more fun to wake up to than a bottle of tequila, and because he was willing to walk away. To be the bigger man, the better man. And she knows now that she made the right choice, that the other man could not have been her knight in shining whatever. Only him.
It is enough.
III.
They are married. They are married and they love each other. She keeps him strong when he might have been weak before. He makes her smile, even when he's embarrassing her in the OR. And despite the tremendous odds against it, he knows that they can work. Because they love each other.
And because, when he's with her, he forgets that he is a member of the Dead Dad's Club, and because he can't imagine what life would be like if he lost her, too.
She's the woman who can talk cars with his brothers while he stands awkwardly trying to prove that he is a doctor, and who can explain things to them that he can't. She would rather eat fried chicken in front of the television than go to a restaurant, she embraces the trashy… she's not too proud to marry the help.
She's a guy's girl, and he loves her. He loves her just the way she is.
IV.
He never looked at her like that. He never laid on the hospital bed with her when she had gotten pneumonia seven years ago, and, as she's painfully come to realized, he never loved her as much as he loved the woman he's caressing now. And maybe she never loved him enough, either. Just like maybe Guinevere had never loved Arthur, and just like how it wasn't Guinevere's fault that Arthur and Lancelot were nearly brothers.
She doesn't hate the woman on the other side of the glass. She is compassionate despite her past; she is intelligent. As much as she would never admit it, she is perfect for the man that, even now, she still sometimes thinks of as her husband. And, try as she might, she can't bring herself to love her Lancelot the way she loved her Arthur. She can't concentrate on the fact that she's just bought herself sixty days, however. She can't concentrate on anything.
Because her intern would notice if she went missing, which was just the thing she needed to hear.
V.
She's her person. And he's her fiancé. But he can't be her fiancé until she tells her person, and so, at the end of this insane day, she can't help but blurt out the words the moment her person mumbles a coherent syllable. Because… because she's her person.
And telling her makes it real.
And seeing her here, awake and alive and herself, almost makes her feel sober, and like she might laugh one day about her ridiculous shopping spree. Even when the only thing she can manage to work out of her mouth is "ouch", she makes things better.
She can't imagine life without hearing about her McLoveLife and her McCrap, and she wraps her arms around her friend.
"You know this constitutes as hugging," she mumbles.
"Shut up. You're my person."
VI.
He misses the sound of her voice and the light of her eyes. He can't quite grasp the concept that he will never come to this room again, nor any other, and speak to her. Or that he will never feel his hands, her lips, on his in the moments when she relives her residency. Their residency.
Their glory days.
He strokes her hair for the last time and thinks to himself that he should authorize the purchase of better conditioner for patients. Her fine hair is so coarse and brittle, just like its owner. He knows they could have had a great life. That he could be sitting there now with a wedding band on his finger, and, even though she would still be lying there, she would have known that he was hers and he would not be waiting for a divorce to come through while his retirement took affect.
And he would never have dyed his hair for the ladies.