Summary: With his neatly pressed pants and his crooked bow tie.
Pairing: None.
Unconvincing
Derek had never really worked out how to be, in their relationship, convincing. Actually for a doctor he was pathetically unconvincing.
I love you.
He held her hands on their wedding day, smiles and all, and had said, three times in a row, I Love You. The actual problem, she knew, wasn't that Derek didn't love her and it wasn't even that he didn't love her enough, because really, a tiny bit of love would have been more than enough for her. It was that he didn't really understand love.
If she had known on their wedding day that it would take him eleven years to work out what love really was, what it meant, then she liked to think she would have left him standing at the altar. With his neatly pressed pants and his crooked bow tie. Knowing that she could move on and that he would survive.
But it had been to long now, too long for her to move on. Yet long enough for him to survive it seemed.
They had walked into the hospital once, holding hands, and they weren't getting married or anything. But they were something. Tiny, untouchable beings of love, entirely convinced of the fact they had something.
She wished them the worst.