Title: Stranded
Summary: A lot can change in six months. Now on separate sides of the country, Meredith struggles with guilt and loneliness' as Derek struggles to find his way back to her. Mer/Der.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, if only, if only…
Author's Note: "Shades of Grey" is still in progress, but since it's guided by the series, and since I was coming very close to taking liberties with the characters and doing something that would not be sticking with the TV plot, I can't update it until we get some new episodes. I really have no idea if I will take liberties this summer or if I'll shelf it until the fall. Anyway, that's why there is this new one before that old one is finished. Please read and review! Reviews are, as always, loved and cherished, as are those who wrote them. :D

Stranded
"It's coming over you
Like it's coming over me
Crashing like a tidal wave
That drags me out to sea"
-Plumb

-o-

Stranded

-o-

Meredith:

-o-

"You okay, Mer?" the voice broke Meredith's concentration. She turned to see George inching towards her, his face etched in concern as the leaves crackled beneath his feet.

"Yeah," she sighed, returning her hallow eyes back to the sight before her.

Izzie watched as Callie, slightly tugging on George's arm, leading him away. He cast a worried look at Meredith as the woman dragged him off, silently pleading for Izzie to do something. Callie threw a disdainful look at Izzie, shaking her head as she and George walked to their car.

Slumping her shoulders with a sigh, she picked up her purse, and turned back to Meredith. Her back was facing Izzie, and she trembled. Izzie couldn't tell if it was from the cool breeze or the emotional weight she was feeling. She didn't know, but she didn't feel as though she knew much of anything these days.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked tentatively, receiving a shrug in response. She looked over at Christina, needing some sort of instruction, but Christina's confused reaction proved she was just as unfamiliar with this territory. Izzie stood awkwardly, absently fiddling with the buttons on her coat. After an eternity she swung her purse over the shoulder. "I'll see you at home," Izzie whispered, walking away, leaving Meredith and Christina alone on the empty hill in the cemetery.

Thunder echoed in the distance, and Christina glared up at the offending sky. Small drops of rain began to fall, pattering against the ancient stones littering the grounds. Opening the umbrella she hadn't planned on bringing until Burke reminded her that they were, of course, living in Seattle, Christina walked over to Meredith and held it over her head. The two of them stood uncomfortably under the small shelter.

"You gonna be okay?" Christina asked. That's what you're supposed to ask, isn't it?

"Yeah," she mumbled, given the expected response. Her voice was uneven, and her eyes were etched in red, showing just now not okay she was.

"Are you lying to me?" Christina pressed.

"No," Meredith lied.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

The rain grew to a steady downpour, while Christina and Meredith stood huddled under the small black umbrella.

"I just thought she had more time, you know? I was never there. I always—I always thought there'd be more time. And then I was never there, I abandoned her just… just like she abandoned me. I mean, she was a bad mom, but I was a bad daughter. This is the longest time I've been with her in ages. I just thought I could be there later…" Meredith rambled, tears forming in her eyes.

Christina pursed her lips, wondering how she was supposed to be a best friend in this situation. "You couldn't have known. And it's not your fault."

"I guess," Meredith sniffed. "But now I'm completely alone."

"You still have your father," Christina reminded her.

Meredith snorted in response, staring at the grave before her.

Christina, shocked, turned to look at her best friend. "You didn't tell him?" she asked.

"Why bother?" Meredith retorted. "I haven't spoken to him in six months. Not since…" she trailed off. "And it's not like he's really my father anyway."

Christina wrapped a fumbling arm around Meredith, hugging her slightly, clumsily trying to comfort her. "Common," she told her, "let's go."

But, Meredith resisted, "You can go. I'm going to stay for awhile."

Christina stared in disbelief, feeling the same helpless confusion Izzie's face mirrored minutes prior. Her attempts to have Meredith take hold of the umbrella failed as her friend's arms remained dead at her side. Eventually giving up, Christina shook her head, turning to go.

As Christina left, Meredith stood unmoving over her mother's grave. Rain soaked through the thin material of her black dress, her shoes sinking into the growing puddle of mud. Lifting her head towards the grey clouds, the tears mixed with rain and slid down her face as she choked back sobs. She cried for her mother, for her father, for him, for herself, for everything. The sobs rang out, but were quelled by the storm overhead. Wrapping her arms around herself, she lost all sense of time as the rain continued to fall on the lone figure cloaked in black.

-o-

Derek:

-o-

Derek sighed as he rifled through the morning papers scattered across the kitchen table. "New York Post," "New York Times," "New York Daily News…" Absentmindedly grabbing one, he slid into his chair, taking a sip from his coffee mug that boldly proclaimed "World's Best Husband," a peasant from his wife that he wasn't sure was intended to be genuine or ironic. He skimmed the headlines with glazed over eyes, reading, but not remembering. It wasn't a habit for the purpose of gleaning information, it was simply a routine.

Outside the sounds of the morning commute filtered up to the window of their Manhattan home. What was once a familiar and comforting noise now sounding stark and foreign. He knew it would be hard to be back, he hadn't planned on it being unbearable…

"I'm from New York—genetically engineered to hate everywhere, except Manhattan."

Taking another drink of coffee, his concentration stopped when he saw one headline: "FBI Cracks Down on Illegal Shipping to Seattle Ports."

How long had he been back here? Counting backwards on his fingers, he paused. Had it really been four months? It felt so much longer.

Staring at the grainy image of an impounded barge, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to a different time, on a different ocean when his world consisted of tequila and ferryboats. He hadn't even realized he was smiling. It was the first time he'd smiled when he wasn't at the hospital in the past four months.

"Something funny, babe?" Addison questioned as she adjusted her earring.

"Hm?" he was startled out of his trance. "Oh, I, uh—nothing really." He fumbled around trying to cast the paper aside.

But she was by his side inspecting the paper before he could rid himself of the offending article.

"Oh," was all she said. But he knew she had seen it, and he knew she knew the flurry of images 'Seattle' brought to his mind. Her hard voice seemed to echo in the room, making him all the more aware of his guilt.

"We have a meeting with Dr. Parker tomorrow," she reminded him as she walked over to the fridge. "I checked the schedule, so I know you have the day off."

"Glad to see you're still checking up on me," he tersely responded.

"I'm just telling you in case you try to tell me you can't make it because you have a surgery… again," she answered as she drew the box of orange juice out, slamming the refrigerator door for emphasis.

Derek prayed she would just drop it, as he stole another sip of coffee, but God seemed to be ignoring him recently, or for at least the past five months, since Addison had insisted that they needed to come back to New York…

"Derek, I thought we moved back here so we would work on our marriage."

"Moving back here was me working on our marriage!" he shot back.

She drew out a long angry breath, glaring at him, "You're still... you're still-" she stammered.

"I'm still what?" he challenged her, daring her to admit it, wanting her to finally realize—say it out loud so the hovering thought could be birthed with words and be a living concept, an irreconcilable problem no amount of marriage counseling and therapy could resolve, but it would never exist if it was never uttered aloud.. Then they could just be done.

"Nothing," she sighed as she reached for a cup and shook the box of juice before pouring herself a glass. In the corner of her mind she imagined herself mixing her drink with vodka in honor of the man who had screwed up her happiness so completely, but was still the only one who could give it back to her, if only he'd try.

Derek frowned as he picked up the paper again, hoping the headlines would provide some means of escape; frustrated he was sitting in a kitchen in New York City, and wanting to be sitting at the counter of a trailer he sold long ago across from a sarcastic blonde who existed in another life that he could only hope to reclaim.