Scratch, a grey's anatomy fanfic

Title: Scratch

Author: Kerry

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: If I owned Patrick Dempsey do you think I'd be wasting time on the computer?

Author's Note: This starts right before Mark appears and continues after. The timeline jumps a lot.

"There's just one thing that

I need to say

Before I close my eyes and walk

Away"

Prologue

You know it's a bad idea before the thought ever really enters your head. You're a doctor for God's sakes.

But all you can see is a face that doesn't want you and all you can hear is a voice that died trying to save you.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Except for the metal resting in your hand. Burning against your skin.

You know it's a bad idea.

You just don't care.

The first time it hurts so much tears stream down your face.

The second time you don't feel anything at all.

You can see the blade, pressing against your arm, the blood, pouring from the cut. You just can't feel it.

You sleep for the first time in three weeks.

You tell yourself you won't do it again.

Hide the scars.

No one has to know.

Except that you can't forget

It's another week before you touch the blade again.

You loose a patient. You can't remember the last time you felt anything but pain.

And then the blade is pressing against your flesh, digging into your veins. And you can't remember the last time you felt anything at all.

Chapter 1

You know you should hate him, but he's looking at you with those eyes, and all you can think is that it's been so long since anyone's really touched you.

Too long.

And he's smiling at you, in a way that you haven't been smiled at since your heart was shattered into a thousand pieces, and, suddenly, none of it matters anymore. You don't care whose heart you break.

As long as it's not yours.

So when he reaches for your hand you don't stop him. You follow him into the night air, forcing every doubt into the back of your mind. He whispers your name, and you feel the heat course through your system. Suddenly, you are exhausted. Every spark of anger you've been digging your nails into the past months is gone. You are left only with sadness.

Overwhelming sadness.

You wonder if he will notice, that the name on your lips is not the one in your heart. You don't think he will. You're not even sure if you will. Because, standing there, under the black moon, it's easy to tell yourself that you won't regret this. That you won't wake up alone.

You almost believe it.

You've always been good at lying to yourself. And he's standing there, looking at you like every hope he's ever had depends on your next move.

Maybe it does.

So you reach forward and tangle your hands in his hair and push your tongue in his mouth.

He moans your name.

You don't know how long it takes you to get to your bed or how he finds your keys in between the kissing and the hands.

Oh god, the hands.

You think you remember a different set of hands, warm and gentle, slowly teasing you, but it's been a million years since they were on your skin, and you think it could be a dream.

It would be so much easier if it was a dream.

He's gentler than you thought he would be. But there's an urgency in his kisses that you can't quite meet. The smell of cologne on your pillow is stopping you, throwing you back a million years before.

You tell him to stop.

"Meredith." His mouth is on yours and you moan again, small pathetic noises that distract you. "Don't you ever just want someone to touch you. Don't you ever just get tired of being lonely."

It's not a question.

He knows what you'll say.

"We can't do this." You pretend to ignore the desire in your voice. It surges forward when his hand brushes your breast. It feels so good to be touched. He jumps when you reach forward and crush his mouth to yours.

"They'll never forgive us for this." You can't tell if he's trying to convince you our warn you.

You pull him to you again.

"I don't care."

You lie awake hours after he had faded. His hand is still wrapped around your waist and you can already see the hickeys on his neck. There will be no hiding from this tomorrow.

But here, now, it is not the touching or the heat that is destroying you. It is the scent that has wiped away every trace of Derek from your bed. You clutch your pillow until the gentle rays of morning stretch across your ivory skin, desperate for the smallest lingering hint that he was ever really there.

You don't even notice the tears.

When you wake up he is there. He reaches over and wipes the tears from your eyes.

You lunge at him.

You don't remember how it happens. All you know is that he's there again, pushing you against the wall, heat coursing through every inch of your body.

He traces his hand down your arm and stops.

"Meredith, what is this?" His finger runs along the scars. There are so many of them now.

"It's nothing."

He stares at you.

"Really, Mark, I'm fine." You'll say anything then, anything to get him to stop looking at you.

So you push yourself against him again.

He pushes back.

Last night was soft and gentle, a mixture of want and comfort.

Today is pure heat.

Your back is against the wall, his tongue ravaging your mouth. It's all desire and need.

You need so much.

He is sleeping again.

It seems wrong to you, that this man who has offered you so much warmth has hurt so many people.

Has hurt you.

And all you can see is a face that doesn't want you and all you can hear is a voice that died trying to save you.

You barely make it to the sink before the vomit escapes you.

You grab the blade and make three small cuts.

One for the past. One for the present. One for the future.

May it end soon.

He leaves three hours later.

You drive him to the airport, and he spends the entire time looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Trying to decide just how much trouble you're in.

He shouldn't bother.

You'll be fine.

You're always fine.

You hug him before he gets on the plane.

He pulls you to him and shoves his tongue in your mouth. He kisses you until your knees go weak and you think you just might leave with him, if he asks.

He doesn't.

"Goodbye, Mark."

"Goodbye, Meredith." He glances to your arm. "Take care of yourself."

You smile.

"I always do."

You don't even think it's a lie.

Chapter 2

You spend the next day trying to avoid Derek.

You won't be able to hide what happened. You're not even sure how to try.

So when he corners you in the elevator and asks you how you are you blurt it out without even thinking. "I slept with Mark."

He won't look at you.

You pretend not to care.

Five hours later you're cowering in the woman's rest room, dragging a scalpel against your arm.

You can feel the pain slowly seeping out of the wounds.

You wonder how you ever survived without this.

It's been a week since Dylan died and you still can't sleep.

All you see is the look on his face as you handed him the bomb.

Hope.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks, Alex. That's sweet."

You glare at him.

He laughs. "Seriously, Grey. You look like you've lost weight. And there wasn't a whole lot there to loose."

You try to remember the last time you ate a real meal.

You can't.

"It's nothing. I'm just tired." You wonder when you got so good at lying.

"Meredith…"

You wonder when you stopped caring.

"I'm fine, Alex. Really." You smile and it doesn't reach your eyes. Not even close.

He kisses your forehead without saying that he doesn't believe you.

It doesn't matter.

You already know.

"Dr. Grey."

He hasn't called you Meredith since you told him about Mark.

"Dr. Shepherd."

You try to convince yourself it doesn't hurt.

You're not very successful.

"I need you to run some labs for Mr. Walderson, I'm a little worried about his EKG."

Your entire relationship has shriveled until you have nothing to talk about but labs and EKGs.

You finger the scars hidden under your dark blue shirt.

"Right away Dr. Shepherd."

"You really need to eat something."

Izzie's been mothering you for weeks.

You ignore her.

"Meredith, please-"

"Izzie, I'm fine. I have it under control."

You spend the next twenty minutes in the bathroom, carving lines in your wrist with a razor.

You've started keeping a blade in your purse, hidden in your lipstick box.

Just in case.

Chapter 3

It takes another two weeks for Derek to look at you without cringing.

You can't tell if it's forgiveness or apathy.

He's not telling you.

And you're not sure you even want to know.

It happens in the elevator.

It shouldn't surprise you.

Your most significant moments have almost all happened in the elevator.

You don't even like them.

You're standing against the wall, staring at the floor. Wondering when things got so bad.

You don't even notice when the doors open.

And then he's there, standing in the elevator.

You're not sure you remember how to breathe.

"Dr. Shepherd." Your voice is shaking.

"Meredith." The doors open. He leaves.

And that's all it takes.

One word and your shaking all over, barely able to control your desires.

You fall into the closest room and make four small scratches against your forearm.

It's the first time the bleeding scares you.

George is starting to ask you why you never where short-sleeves anymore.

You tell him to mind his own business.

You're leaning against the back of the elevator when he comes in. You feel a strange sense of déjà vu.

It takes three seconds before he's reaching forward, grabbing the emergency stop button.

He's on you before you realize it.

Your back is against the wall and he's leaning into you until you can feel every breathe he takes.

He learns forward and nuzzles your face.

You gasp.

"Meredith." His lips are against your ear, blowing heat through your system with every intake of air.

It's been forever since he touched you.

"Meredith."

You love the sound of your name on his lips. It's all passion and heat and desire.

But mostly it's just passion.

His lips make their way down your neck, kissing and biting and licking. You reach for the rail but grab him instead.

"I can't stop picturing him with you. Kissing you. Touching you."

He's an inch away now. Hesitating.

"Derek."

That's all it takes.

His lips are against yours, crushing you against him. You melt into him, desperate for more.

It's hot and desperate and needy.

It's perfect.

It's home.

You wonder if he's missed this as much as you have. If he lies awake at night, dreaming of your hands on his skin, tracing every curve of muscle until he comes screaming your name.

You doubt it.

You let yourself fantasize for three whole minutes.

And then the real Dr. Shepherd steps onto the elevator and you have to convince yourself that throwing him against the wall and taking him right here would be a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

"Derek."

"Meredith."

He doesn't look at you.

You close your eyes so the tears can't escape.

"I wish you didn't hate me."

You whisper the words as you walk off the elevator.

You're not even sure if he heard you.

You hear him, faintly, as the doors squeeze shut. "I don't."

But you think you could have imagined it.

A week after the elevator he smiles at you for the first time since Mark.

You go three days without touching a blade. You feel like you're walking on air.

Then you see him kissing his wife and you come crashing down to earth, blade in hand.

Two weeks later Alex threatens to go to the Chief if you don't start eating.

You roll your eyes.

So he threatens to go to Derek instead and you spend the next thirty minutes forcing a bowl of Cheerios down your throat.

It feels like ash in your throat, but you choke it down anyway.

He doesn't even smile.

The minute he leaves you're bent over your toilet, finger down your throat.

You throw up twice before you pick up the blade.

It takes seven cuts before the numbness starts to come.

You can't remember any joy you've ever felt. But you can't remember any pain either.

You think that's a fair trade.

You don't notice when the darkness starts to consume you.

You wake up three hours later.

Alone.

Chapter 4

Alex eats every lunch with you for the next two weeks.

He doesn't connect that you leave for the bathroom every time.

It's been eight months since he left you and you're still in love with him.

You try not to let that bother you.

You hear the voices on your way to the OR.

George and Derek.

Fighting.

You stop without realizing it.

"Well maybe if you weren't so busy with your wife, you would have noticed that something is wrong."

"My wife is none of your concern, Dr. O'Malley-"

"But Meredith is!" He pauses.

You hold your breath.

"Look, I know that you chose your wife, and that's fine. Whatever. But Meredith's my friend, ok. I care about her. And something's wrong. She's not eating. She won't talk to us. She doesn't smile."

"And you're what, looking for an apology?"

"No. Look, I'm not blaming you. You had something to do with it, yeah, but her life has sucked the last couple of years. There's more going on here than just you."

They're silent.

When he finally speaks, he sounds shattered.

"I broke her heart, didn't I. I mean, I knew I hurt her, but I really broke her heart."

"Yeah, Dr. Shepherd. You did."

He corners you in the OR two days later.

"Meredith, what's going on."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You can't look at him.

"Meredith-"

"Nothing's going on, Dr. Shepherd. I'm fine."

You turn and walk away before he can say anything else.

You ignore the tears in your eyes.

Alex is waiting for you when you get home.

You push past him.

George and Izzie are in the kitchen.

You don't have to look to know that Christina's waiting in the bedroom.

You stand there for exactly ten seconds before you hit the ground.

You wake up in your own bed, all four of your friends surrounding you.

Alex notices you're awake first.

Then all hell breaks loose.

"I'm calling the Chief, right now-"

"George, please don't call the Chief, I'm fine."

"Meredith, fine people do not pass out in their kitchens!"

"Christina, don't yell at her!"

"Don't tell me what to do Evil Spawn!"

"You guys, come on!"

You close your eyes and pray to fall unconscious again.

It doesn't work.

You spend the next three hours convincing them that it was exhaustion that made you pass out.

They force you to take the next day off and spend three weeks going everywhere with you.

Izzie eats every meal with you.

George sleeps in your room.

Alex is assigned to every case you're on.

Christina drives you home every night.

You spend fifteen minutes in the shower, throwing up what little you've eaten and scratching away at your arm.

They don't notice.

Chapter 6

"Mere, what's going on, if it's about Shepherd-"

"It's not about Derek."

They all think you're getting better.

Believe you when you say you're working on it.

Except Alex.

"I'd kick his ass, if I thought I'd get away with it."

You laugh through your tears.

And you realize you can't remember the last time you were ever happy.

You think Christina might have mentioned something to Burke.

Every time you see him he's staring at you with a concerned look.

He stops you on the way to the cafeteria.

"You alright Grey?"

You don't even look at him when you walk away.

You spend the three month anniversary of Dylan's death in the bathroom, blade pressed against your arm.

One cut.

Two cuts.

Three cuts.

Nothing can numb this feeling.

This guilt.

You make it to ten cuts before everything goes black.

When you wake up three days later, you're in the hospital.

Derek is sitting in a chair next to your bed.

"Derek."

Your voice is weak.

Broken.

He's staring at your arms.

"How long?"

"What?"

He grabs your arm. You've never seen him so angry.

"How long Meredith?"

"Three months."

He leaves without saying anything else.

You can barely hear his sobs as he runs down the hall.

A week later you get a fever.

Christina stays with you the whole night, wiping the sweat from your face.

You didn't even hear her call Derek.

"How is she?"

"Dr. Shepherd. She's sleeping."

He sits next to you on the bed, brushing your bangs away.

You pretend you're asleep.

"I'm leaving Addison, you know."

Christina doesn't say anything.

"I never wanted to hurt Meredith. I loved her. I do love her. But Addison's my wife. I had to try."

"What happened?"

"I love Meredith. It was a problem."

"Yeah."

He waits.

"How bad is it, Christina?"

"I don't know anymore. I don't know."

She's crying.

"We'll help her. I'll help her. I promise. I'll find a way to fix her."

You almost believe him.

He doesn't come back for two days.

When he does, you're afraid he'll be angry again.

Instead he's crying.

"Hey, Mere."

You won't look at him.

"Meredith, talk to me."

You don't answer.

"Please."

You've missed his voice.

"I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. For everything. For Addison and for Mark and for all of it. I'm sorry and I love you. And I'm not going anywhere. So please, just talk to me. Let me help."

You finally look at him and the pain in his eyes forces every emotion from your soul.

He holds you as you cry, rocking back and forth.

Chanting.

"I was so scared. I was so scared."

And for the first time in months, so were you.

Three weeks later you're released from the hospital.

The Chief is requiring you to go to three months of therapy if you want to continue your internship.

And every knife and blade in your house is gone.

It's in the middle of a thunderstorm when you finally break.

You've gone four days without cutting and you can feel the sanity leaving you.

Slowly.

Painfully.

You get the blade out of your purse without thinking.

You hold it, trembling.

It's wrong.

You know it's wrong.

But you bring the blade to your wrist anyway.

And then you hear it.

Derek's voice.

"I was so scared."

You hold the blade in one hand and grab the phone with the other.

He gets there in less than ten minutes and you wonder about the millions of traffic laws he must have ignored.

"Meredith."

He sounds broken.

"I can't stop."

So do you.

"Meredith, it's good that you called me. I can help. Let me help."

He holds his hand out and waits.

And waits.

You're not sure how long you stand there, clutching the blade and staring at his shaking hand.

You can feel his eyes drilling into your head and you consider cutting yourself right there in front of him.

Instead, you reach forward and slowly, so painfully slowly, lay the blade in his hand.

He drops it to the floor and pulls you into his arms.

"Thank God. It's okay, Meredith. It'll be okay. I'm here. I'm here."

You stay like that for hours.

He holds you, placing gentle kisses on your forehead and cheeks.

Then he carries you to bed and holds you through the night.

And you sleep.

In the morning he is still lying next to you, wrapping you in his arms.

You can see the sun glinting off the blade.

It's so close.

You could reach it.

Could climb in and out of bed before Derek even noticed.

You think of Christina. And Alex and Izzie. George and Burke and your mother.

And Derek.

Sweet, wonderful Derek.

You close your eyes and roll to face him.

There is still so much to do.

But you can feel the pain.

You welcome it.

You're not healed yet.

But you're feeling again.

It's a start.

Derek takes you to your first therapy session.

When you get back to the house everyone is there.

Alex is behind Izzie, his arms wrapped around her. Christina is clutching Burke's hand. George is in the corner, smiling. Even Dr. Weber and Dr. Bailey are there, slouching in front of the fireplace, looking strangely uncomfortable.

And Derek is behind you, helping you stand.

It causes a strong sense of sadness to know that you had hurt these people so much.

But they're here now.

They're here with you. They love you.

And you think that, just maybe, that could be enough.