A/N: I originally wrote this to help explain why I'm not yet DeLuca's biggest fan. (Not that there's anything malicious happening necessarily... just... something.) You can choose to read it that way, and/or just as an exploration of Maggie's neuroses and Meredith's issues and their sisterhood. The ending is ambiguous for exactly that reason.
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I wonder how much time we spend sitting on toilets, Maggie wondered to distract herself from the pain. (It was better now, but yeah, still there.) Weeks? Months? What about after we let hot interns give us UTIs and a dozen little bottles of juice? Is there some kind of record for the most times a woman's peed in an evening? Because I think I'm breaking it. What is this, number eight? Nine? I don't know; everything's a blur. A blur of toilet paper and burning pain and horrible, horrible regret.
On the shelf, her phone let out a long buzz. DeLuca, of course, informing her he had her test results.
Okay, I don't regret all of it. He really seems like a good guy. Uncomplicated, and sweet, and very, very attractive.
She flushed the toilet, hoping passionately that it was the last time she'd have to hear that swirling sound tonight, then washed her hands extra-thoroughly. If anything, this had all made her even more cautious about hygiene.
She checked her phone. The text wasn't from DeLuca after all. It was from Alex.
She scrolled up to the top of his long message and started reading. After the first sentence, she felt herself involuntarily leaning against the closed bathroom door for support. She slowly slid down the door until she was sitting, her back pressed against the door and one hand pressed against her mouth, as she finished reading the text. She read it again, letting every word sink in as she realized what they'd all gone through while she was off chugging cranberry juice in a paper gown.
I should've waited until tomorrow to get tested. I should've just done whatever Amelia said. "Woman up." God, Meredith was sitting right there, and I ran off to go accuse DeLuca of being a diseased slut. What the hell is wrong with me?
She went back downstairs to find the house empty and silent. The dishes were washed and the food put away, but she spotted a single forgotten wine glass in a corner. She picked it up and went to the kitchen to wash it. While she was wiping down the counter, a movement in her peripheral vision startled her.
Meredith wandered into the kitchen and got a glass out of the cabinet. Maggie moved out of the way to let her fill the glass from the sink. She didn't acknowledge Maggie at all as she slowly drank the water and set the glass down on the counter.
Maggie picked up the glass to wash it, too.
"Meredith, I am so sorry…" she started.
"Don't. I don't want to hear it," Meredith replied in that sort of dismissive, heard-it-all-before tone .
"I should've been here for you," Maggie continued, totally unable to just leave it at that.
"Can we not do this? For once, can we just let it go?" She looked weary, and drunk, and just barely held together.
So Maggie forced herself to swallow her concerns.
"Where the hell were you though?" Meredith asked.
"Oh, uh, the hospital." She couldn't blame Meredith for not paying attention to her earlier. "I was getting an STI test. And antibiotics."
Meredith didn't say anything. So Maggie kept up the conversation.
"Turns out I just have a raging UTI. But DeLuca- Andrew- was very nice about it. He brought me juice." She was… was she bragging?
"So this is, like, a thing now." It wasn't quite a question, nor exactly a statement.
"I don't know," Maggie replied honestly. But hopefully. Definitely hopefully.
"Well who is this intern, anyway? I've barely even heard of him. What's his deal?" The rapid-fire questions surprised Maggie. It seemed like Meredith needed to focus on herself for now.
"Meredith, you don't have to…"
"Do the big sister thing? I do, because I'm worried. What do you know about him?"
Maggie could tell she wasn't going to get out of this.
"I… well… he's sweet. And he's very good in bed, but bad at getting second dates, and he doesn't hate kids. Probably."
"So, nothing."
"He said I could ask him anything about his history. He's an open book."
"No, he's letting himself lie by omission." Meredith rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly.
"What?"
"He's got some dark secret. Everyone does. And when it all comes out, he can just say you never asked."
"I… why would you think that?" It hurt a little.
"Oh! Ask him if he's married!" Meredith's eyes lit up.
"Married?"
"I mean, that's how we got here, isn't it?" Meredith gestured around at the kitchen, a smirk forming on her lips. "Derek told me his favorite band, and his favorite color, but he never. told. me. he. was. married." She pointed to emphasize each word, like she was conducting an invisible orchestra. "And if he'd just freaking told me, then I would've walked away right then, and we'd never have gotten married, or had the kids, and he'd have just gone to D.C. the first time, and he'd never have been in that damn accident, and that damn woman would never have killed him!" Her words had changed from mischievous to harsh and insistent.
"Meredith," Maggie pleaded softly. "You can't think like that."
Meredith was staring at a point off in the distance somewhere.
"She didn't even tell Callie. It's like, you never think to ask someone 'Hey, by any chance, did you ever kill one of my friends?' You don't think you'd have to ask. You assume they'd bring it up as soon as they figured out who you are. Just like you think they'd bring up their marriage. Or their secret love child."
Maggie shot her sister a warning look. She did not appreciate that Meredith was classifying her existence on the same level as negligently killing someone.
"There's always something they don't tell you," Meredith concluded.
"How did you get to be more neurotic than me?" asked Maggie.
"Tequila," she replied frankly. "Lots of tequila."
"Yeah, on that note, let's get you up to bed." Maggie put her hands on Meredith's shoulders, gently steering her to walk toward the stairs. She followed her sister up the stairs, watched her get into bed, and carefully closed the door. Maggie knew that what had just happened was only putting off whatever was coming when Meredith sobered up. And then she'd have to do the big sister thing.
But for now she was alone in the hallway. And now that she had nobody to take care of and no stray dishes to wash, there was nothing keeping her mind from wandering.
He's not married. I'm sure he's not married. But what if there IS something he's hiding. I mean, is it fair to ask him to spill his secrets when we've only known each other for like two days? It's not like I'm planning on telling him about Richard and Ellis any time soon. But that's not really his business. If this affects me, if there's something I should know before I let myself get too carried away by his swoopy hair, then I have a right to know.
…Right?
With no sisters around to talk out her neuroses with, this was a decision for her and her alone to make.
She retrieved her phone from the bathroom floor and sent a text to DeLuca's number.
Hi there. On second thought, maybe I do want to know.
A reply came almost immediately.
Ask away.
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A/N: Part of this is that Meredith is Really Drunk, and part of it is that she's using jokes to cover up the awful pain. Which, as Maggie observes, will segue nicely into whatever it is she's doing in 12x06.