Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy.
The Power Of Believing.
It's the way he whispers "it's alright" that makes you believe maybe things will be alright. Maybe things will be okay. Maybe the world isn't such a dark and twisty place of hurt and sadness and… and death.
I was never a happy child. I wasn't a sad child. I wasn't disadvantaged. I wasn't depressed. I was me, Meredith Grey. That's all there was to it.
My mother was a surgeon, a good one. The best. She was Ellis Grey, the surgeon. I was her daughter. The daughter no one wanted, the daughter without a father. I have a father, Thatcher, who I don't see. He has his own family: a new wife and children. He didn't want me either.
The feeling of nothing is one you can't just forget about, or do away with. It's there, and remains there your whole life until you find what you're missing. Something to fill that empty space inside you. I am searching. I am finding. I am alone.
"Ordinary, Meredith! Ordinary!" my mother would yell at me. I never met her expectations. She never met mine. We were different people. She wanted success, I just wanted a bed time story. She wanted a title, I wanted love. She got what she wanted.
Maybe Ellis Grey was never meant to have children. Or maybe I just wasn't meant to be her child. Even if she doesn't love me, she is still my mother. I don't want her to die alone.
I crouch on the floor of the linens closet on the third floor. I can't breathe. Tears are streaming down my cheeks and staining my scrubs. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. Why was I never good enough? What did I do wrong? My mother never wanted me. She never wanted me. And here I am, on the damned floor of the linen closet, crying because I don't want her to die alone?
Why.
The door opens. I look up to see who it is. I don't want company. But it's him. He's here. His surgical instincts kick in, and he's tending to me as if I'm a patient in need. I am not in need. In need of a mother, yes, in need of a life, yes. But in need of a paper bag, no!
Before I know it, his arm is around me, calming me as he whispers, "It's okay," He doesn't mean it though. He knows as well as I do it may not be okay, but the way he's looking at me, holding me, calming me that makes me believe. Believe in the good. Believe what I'm feeling is okay. Believe I should believe. Makes me want to believe.
My breathing calms, tears stop falling. He smiles. It's a sad smile, one I haven't seen on his face before. His gentle features warm once more as his eyes linger on my lips. I can feel myself holding my breath, waiting for this…
His hand strokes away the tears on my cheek, he lets it linger there for a moment as he stares, his eyes clouded over with … something. There it is. A moment. Our souls making the connection it had so many times before. The air is thick, and for a moment I think I may need the paper bag again. Closer… no. Not now. Not here.
I look away and get up off the floor quickly before I let things get out of hand. I push him away ever so slightly. He stays behind, on the floor of the linen closet as I leave its darkness and into the brightly lit hospital hall, slamming the door behind me and going back to my rounds.
He's the reason I believe.