Author's Note: I have been having this crazy need to write angsty Meredith, but it's been killing me. Because in any of my fics, she's supposed to be happy. Or atleast content. But no, I have to listen to music that makes me think depressive, which in turn makes me think of MerDer. Which, makes me think of how badly things got left at the end of season three. Why can't they ever be happy in a finale? I mean, seriously? Season one, Addy showed up. Season two was the whole McBattle. Season three was Derek being honest, but Mer being her usual self, clamming up inside. Sure, she was helping Cristina. But still.

Anyway, I decided to write this. Because somehow, even though it's mostly Meredith musing in all her angst, I guess it's therapeutic in a way. Leave a review, please!

My fingers tap loudly against the bar top, creating a slow, steady rhythm. If I weren't bent on drowning myself in tequila tonight, I'd probably be more annoyed at myself for committing the nervous act. It's obvious-I'm nervous, I'm jittery. But why?

Derek.

I close my eyes, remembering his blue-eyed, all knowing stare. We could have gone a week without talking, I'd run into him, and somehow he'd instantly be able to tell if I was okay. If I was hurting, sad-or an occasional flicker of happiness. He'd be there. He'd smile, leaning against the door, and he'd freaking smile. His eyes would shine in this arrogant way that somehow made him even more attractive and he'd-

I down another shot, trying to push Derek out of my mind. I've got to. I have to. Derek and I are...well, we're over. At least I guess we are. Are we?

He said I was the one. He said that I was it for him, that I truly mattered to him. All I had to do was say that I felt the same, and I'd be with McDreamy forever. There I was, ready to go to Cristina's happily ever after and I was getting an offer for my own.

But where did he get off? First he's all knight in shining whatever when he rescued me from the water. Then he realizes suddenly that he can't breathe for me anymore. So I think we'll be okay-we'll work our way through it. Until he says he met a girl at a bar-and I remember. Not too long ago was I just a girl at a bar. Not too long ago was I not suddenly the great love of Derek Shepherd's life. I was just a girl. Just a girl that he used, manipulated in all his handsomeness to get a good time.

A good time turned into a year. One crazy, long, emotionally draining year. For the longest time, I was caught in the "I'm dating my boss" phase. Sure, we'd sneak around. But once the secret was out, there wasn't much use. But there were so many things I didn't know about him. So many it turns out, that he hid a wife.

A wife. A wife who I was supposed to end up hating, yet couldn't find a single bone in my body that did. Sure, things are still awkward when Addison and I get stuck together on cases, but we work it out. We worked it out, rather. It turns out she left. She left, and I haven't thought until now how Derek must be taking it.

Is he sad? Angry? Confused? Or maybe he didn't react at all. Mark's probably the one who's reacting. Mark is probably the one who is trying to hunt her down at this very moment, desperate to get in some last word. I don't know what it was about them-how they always seemed to find each other. Still, they seemed like poison. Anytime they were together, it couldn't be good.

Setting the shot glass back on the bar, I fumble with it clumsily with my fingers. Staring at my hands, I think of how plain they are. They're simple. Small. Tiny even. Somehow, these hands are supposed to help. They are supposed to save lives. To sew people back together when they're broken. If they are so freaking gift giving, why can't I sew me back together?

That wouldn't work. That wouldn't work because doctors are never good patients. They know too much, and will always try and sneak a look at their chart when you're not looking. Complain, whine, sigh dramatically. It's probably best that I'm not at the hospital right now, because if I was, I probably wouldn't be of much help. I'm Meredith Grey, compulsive screwer-upper. Okay, well, that's not a word. Words. Whatever.

I reach my glass foward, a signal to Joe that I want more. I want more, and more until I can't feel it anymore. I can't say exactly what it is, but I know that it's there. It has always been there-watching, studying. Waiting for me to make a mistake. It's guilt. Guilt for messing up, for not saying anything to Derek, or for even being here in the first place. I'm supposed to be happy when I come here, or at least leave happy. I didn't realize it until now, but we haven't been here in ages. Me, Cristina, Alex, Izzie and everybody I mean. We should come in here more often. But then again, that would mean hanging around each other, which is second to impossible lately.

Izzie won't talk to George. George won't talk to Izzie. Alex won't talk to George, but Izzie wants him to because she can't. Izzie saw me talking to George earlier, so now I'm pretty sure she isn't talking to me. Cristina-well, Cristina is my person. She was always the one I could count on, the one I could lean on. When life really sucked, she was always there with a good bottle of tequila, and snappy remarks. I'd talk, I'd complain, and Cristina would listen. Cristina would listen and she'd give me advice. She'd tell me McDreamy was being a McAss, and to just forget about it. Or she'd say that I was McBoring, so McBoring that it made her McVomit.

Cristina would know what to do. Cristina would know, but she isn't here. She isn't here because right now she has her own problems. She has her own problems and for now is lying to herself about it. She's taken on extra hours at the hospital, trying to avoid going home to an empty apartment. I'm the only one that knows, but she hasn't actually gone home in three days. She's holed up in one of the on-call rooms, sleeping for five or so hours at a time, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Everyone else thinks she's just trying to impress everyone and prove herself as a resident, but I see it. She's faking, and soon, she'll break.

I can't help but wish I'll be there. I want to be there. It's what a person does, right? I didn't know that there was rules to this whole being someone's person thing, but I guess I'm slowly learning. I am learning and I know that Cristina will need me like I needed her. Still, she's Cristina, so she has to work through it in her own way.

Does that mean I have to work through this in my own way? How am I supposed to get over it? How do I get over the guy who said he'd never leave-who said he was the one, but only if I said so? How am I supposed to react to that?

Downing another shot, I close my eyes. I should be happy. I should be thankful for what Derek taught me, and move on. The problem is that I can't. That I don't know how. That I wouldn't know where to begin. Why?

He's Derek.

He is Derek, which makes it close to if not impossible. There must be some sort of thing he was born with that makes him-well, him.

Double scotch, single malt. Fly-fishing. Trailers, but he'll build someday. Blue eyes, Black hair. Rain. New York. Flanell sheets. The Sun Also Rises. Neuro.

It's so hard to think of something and it not somehow be linked back to Derek. Six degrees of seperation is somehow shrunken down to two. It's crazy, right? I should just turn around, watch for the next guy that walks through the door, flirt, and call it a night. Maybe he'll call, maybe he won't. So much for down, dreary, depressed Meredith. Hello, carefree, new and improved Meredith.

I laugh, partly because it's funny, and partly because of the alcohol I have already drank. I should stop. I should shove my glass away, warning Joe to never pour me another ever again. It would be easy. Just walk away, and start a new life.

But that's the thing. Nothing is new anymore. No matter what you try, you're going to run into something that's old. And why is it that people always say new and imroved? If it's new, how is it it's already improved?

Derek would have an answer. He'd smirk, saying some sarcastic answer while he stared at me. I didn't realize it until after we unofficially broke up-but he did stare a lot. I could always tell. I guess it was some sort of radar, but I could always feel his eyes-slowly staring, almost like he was trying hard to memorize every feature about me. He wouldn't speak, he'd just stand there. He'd stand there all regally, eyes focused and-

And I feel it. Sighing, I lower my head, laying it against the cool feeling of the bar. It's right now that I wish I could disappear. I wish I could just vanish-wash away, never to be seen. I wish I could be invisible, because even that could beat what's about to happen. I count to five, slowly breathing in and out before I feel him sit on my left. He doesn't say a word, but I know it's him.

He's staring at me. He's staring at me, and he's wondering what he should say. He's wondering what he's supposed to say. We haven't spoken a single word in the past two days, and for a second I believe that it's been killing him, too. I can't look at him. I can't look at Derek, because he'll look at me, and he'll pull me back in. I will find myself wanting him to say my name, to smile at me with those eyes, to kiss me, holding onto me the way he does. I miss it. I miss the feel of his stubble against my cheek at night, it almost seemed like a security blanket.

For a minute there, I think he left. I think maybe he decided to just give up, to walk away. Instead, I hear him sigh, and I can picture him sending Joe a desperate look. It's then that I feel my grip loosen on the shot glass, and I'm sure it's Derek handing it back to Joe. I take the minute to count how many shots I've had, and I realize that I'm not sure.

One. Two. Five. Seven. Maybe more. My breathing is labored, a panic suddenly washing over me. I can't breathe. I can't breathe, and it's actually scaring me. I should lift my head off of the bar, I should say I'm sorry, and end this thing.

But I can't.

I can't find the strength and I pray...I actually pray that Derek can sense what I'm thinking. I feel lonely, I feel scared. And now more than ever I want him to hold me in his arms. He doesn't have to say a word, he just has to hold me-do that thing he does when he pretends he's not smelling my hair. I think that if he does that, then everything will be okay.

"I'm sorry."

The words hit my ears, and I feel the tears begin to spill. Stop it, Mer. I think, knowing I should just pull it together.

"Come on-"Derek says, as I feel his arms wrapping around me, and for a second I wonder if he was able to read my thoughts.

"Derek, no."I say, surprising even myself. He's bracing me, and I can feel it. I can feel his arms, slowly steadying me, but I realize I don't have much strength left. "You shouldn't...you shouldn't..."I say, struggling for air, fighting back tears. "You don't have to."

"I know."Derek whispers, as if it'll be enough. "I know that I don't have to, but I want to."

I bite my tongue, slowly tasting blood as it filter into my mouth. Why? Why does Derek have to be so McDreamy? "You, you...You can't breathe for me. You don't want to breathe for me..."I say, at a loss to utter anything more.

I feel Derek's hands, one on either side of my face. And he's doing it, I can tell. He's about to make some McDreamy speech, and for a second I believe that I might really want to hear it.

"I know. I know what I said, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't-that I wouldn't breathe for you. But I realized, Mer. I realized that in that time, you were breathing for me, too. You were helping me, and now I need to help you."Derek said, and through bloodshot eyes, it looks like he's been crying.

"You don't need to do anything, Der...Der..ek."I say, finding the floor very inviting.

"I do. I do because I gave you an ultimatum. I shouldn't have given you an ultimatum. It was Cristina's day, and you were worried about her. I should have waited. I needed to tell you, but I should have waited."Derek said, saying the words I've been waiting to hear.

I nod. I can't think of anything to say, or for that matter to do.

"I went by the house. I...I rang, but noone answered. I haven't talked to you, so I figured I had no right to just go in."He said, so naturally. "I found you here."

"You found me."I say, not surprised at all. He always finds me, always knows where I'll be. I look at him, see the desperation, and I know he's sorry. I know he's sorry because I am, too. "Derek.."

"You don't have to..."He protests, but I have to say it.

"You found me. Now I...I'm...I can't..drive."I say.

"I know."Derek whispers. "I'm taking you home."

Staring sat Derek, feeling his eyes looking right through me, a feeling washes over that I didn't expect. Relief. I know that we have to talk about so many things, and that it's far from over. But a part of me feels that maybe it'll be okay someday. "You don't-"

"-have to, I know."Derek replied. "I love you, Mer. I don't...I can't stop. It's impossible. I made mistakes, you made mistakes. We all do, Meredith. But that doesn't..."Derek says, his tongue reaching to moisture his lips. "It doesn't mean that we have to be over. This could be just a drive home, or it could be me taking care of you-not because I want to or I feel obligated to...but because it's what I should do. It's what I should do because you matter to me, and I can't leave you here to get drunker than you already are."

I'm tired. I'm tired, and I feel my legs starting to give out on me, but I know that if I don't give some sort of answer to Derek I could screw this up even further than I already have. "I love you, Derek. And I'm tired. I'm tired of being this person who just...who can't be there. I want to be there. For you, for us. I've been shutting you out and I can't. I-I can't do that anymore."

Derek nods, a smile on his face. "Okay."He says, and I can feel his hand brushing hair away from my eyes. "Well then...let me take you home."

"Will you stay?"I ask, too tired to contemplate the implications of what I'm asking.

"If you want me to."Derek says, leaving it up to me. And I know then. I know that it will last this time. There will be no more breaking and regluing back together. We're Derek and Meredith, and now we'll stay that way.

"I want."I reply, swaying on my feet. "Okay?"

Derek agrees, sighing. "I'm glad I found you."

I couldn't agree more, because he did. Tired, drunk, and in need of a pillow and Derek holding me, I nod, feeling his arm assisting me towards the door. "Me too."