No idea why I wrote this. I was really pissed off, and writing helps me calm down... and this just came out. Don't hate me for it. It's not what I want to happen or anything. It's just the result of me being really mad.
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My hand is on a bomb.
I'm really not sure how it got there.
But it's there.
On a bomb.
That could detonate at any moment.
…
I had a feeling I might die today.
I should be thinking of my mother right now.
My father.
My family.
But I'm not.
And I'm not even thinking about Izzie or Cristina or George.
I'm thinking of Derek.
I can't remember the last time we kissed.
…
It really sucks that one of my hands is holding onto a bomb and my other is squeezing a bag.
I have no hands left to wipe the tears that are clogging up my eyes and my nose.
I can see Cristina on the other side of the glass.
I kind of half wish Derek was there instead.
I look down at my wrist. On the other end of my wrist is the hand. The hand that is saving the entire floor's life. The hand that I never got to wash. The hand that had a glove hastily thrown on it once Hannah started panicking.
My hand is on a bomb.Insidea glove. Which covers the hand that is saving everyone's lives.
For some reason I start crying harder.
"Mer?"
Derek is at the door.
Derek is at the door. The door that separates me from the rest of the world.
I don't say anything.
I can't say anything.
"Mer? Are you okay?"
"No."
"Why did you do it?"
His voice is thick and I finally look up at him. He's crying too.
I've never seen him cry.
"I—I had a feeling."
"It didn't pass?"
"No."
"Do you want to die?"
I don't say anything.
I don't say anything, because I don't know.
"Mer?"
"I don't know."
"You don't want to die."
"I don't know."
"If you die—If you die, I can't live."
"Derek, shut up."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Fine."
"I didn't pick her because I loved her."
"Derek I have my hand on a highly unstable homemade explosive. I'm supposed to be comforted by the fact that I get a vest to save me from an explosion that will take out at least the three surrounding OR's. At the moment, I don't care why you picked her."
"I want you to know now."
"Go away Derek. Get away from this OR."
"No."
"Derek!" I shriek. I've never been a shrieker. But I don't want him to die.
"Mer, I came in here to be with you."
"I came in here to get away from you."
"Is that why you did it?"
"Yes."
He's silent.
"Derek?"
"Meredith, why did—"
"Shut up for a minute."
He does, and I'm surprised.
"Derek I love you. I love you in so many ways that when I wake up and you aren't next to me, I feel like a part of me dies. And today, for the first time, I couldn't remember the last time we kissed. And for the first time, I actually thought I was going to die."
He's still crying, and so am I, but he has free hands to wipe his tears away.
"I don't want to die. But I can't go on living like this. I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts."
He still isn't saying anything, but he's standing right next to me now.
"So before I die, I want you to know. I love you."
"You're not going to die."
"I am."
He knows it. I can tell by the look on his face. And the way he's talking.
"I love you too Meredith. So you can't die. Because if you die, I'm coming with you."
As he's bending down to kiss me, he bumps my wrist. My hand moves, the organs move, and the explosive moves.
…
Being pink mist really does suck.