-1Hi guys! This is my first foray into Grey's fanfic and completely unedited, so be gentle, please! And enjoy!

You. Your Life. Your Last Day.

Your life has become like your job; an endless series of routine procedures.

You wake up alone and it's something you've grown used to. At first it was because your wife had done the unthinkable and you needed more space than the guest bed could offer, you'd needed half a continent. You slowly became accustomed to the extra inches of mattress, began to appreciate the space. You'd never had such room to move within the confines of your marriage.

You cherish these first few moments of the day now that Addison is back in your life, back in your bed. She is not a morning person in the sense that she loves the fresh air or the birds chirping or anything so poetic. She's simply a busy woman who likes to make use of each daylight hour. So while the sound of softly running water trickles through the trailer's pipes, you shift under the sheets and try to recall a dream which has left you with just an impression of soft skin and the scent of lavender.

You shake yourself out of your stupor when the water cuts off. Addison will dry her hair and dress while you make the coffee and peruse the sports section, then she will toast bagels and scan the headlines as you shower and toss on your favorite jeans. You know all of these things as surely as you know the day, the color of the sky, your middle name. Your life has become like your job; an endless series of routine procedures.

You offer to drive, just like you do every day, but you both know that the morning shift is Addison's. She likes to be in control, wants to be sure that you'll both get to work on time, and only by being behind the wheel can she be positive it will happen. She frowns on spontaneity, on the reckless grin you might shoot her before veering off on a detour to check out a new exhibit in a museum or an estate sale advertised in the paper.

You clock in, exchange the necessary barbs with Burke. There is a certain territorialism that comes with being a doctor and ever since you stepped on his terrain, you've been public enemy number one. Lucky for you he's got his hands full with Yang, otherwise you might have to seriously worry about him going to the Chief and getting your ass relocated. Lucky, too, that he seems to respect you as much as you respect him.

You see Meredith and don't allow yourself to acknowledge that it is the bright spot of your day. She says, I have a feeling, and you don't allow yourself to say, Me, too, and it's that you belong to me and I am not complete without you. Instead, you say, It'll pass, and you don't allow yourself to laugh as you walk away because yours has yet to fade and it's been months.

You go about your day like it is any other. It is and then, suddenly, abruptly, it is not. Your boss' husband is dying on your table, your wife is telling you the baby could be lost as well, and there is - literally - a ticking bomb just a few rooms down.

You go into doctor mode, you shut down your instincts (which, for future record, are screaming for you to run, to take cover, to forget years of training and the fact that you thrive off adrenaline and just get the hell out of dodge), you refuse to evacuate with the rest. Lives are on the line here, you argue, and yours is not any more important.

You hear Yang's words and freeze before they've even really processed. It's Meredith, the girl with the bomb is Meredith. It's Meredith, your Meredith, and she's not yours at all, but you'd like her to be. The stopping of your patient's heart mirrors your own, but his is okay, his can be fixed if the proper steps are taken. There are no guidelines for how you should proceed, there is only a bomb in the hands of a girl you love and your wife's arms around you, her voice in your ear as she chants, Thank God, you're all right, we're okay, everything is fine.

You drive home because you always do and Addison shoots you worried looks out of the corner of her eyes. You watch the road intently and pay careful attention to the traffic laws you normally brush off as suggestions. You add an extra second to each stop sign - 1, 2, 3, 4 - and then nose forward, you apply pressure to the brakes approaching even green lights and the smallest of downward slopes.

You nuke leftovers for dinner, brushing off Addison's suggestions of going out on the town, an idea that would usually be yours. The Chinese is cold and you barely taste it, are barely even aware that you're still functioning. You watch reruns of I Love Lucy and Golden Girls and force out a chuckle every time Addison does and when she drops off to sleep, you get up and find your shoes and drive away.

You pound on the front door of a house you've never belonged in and apologize profusely to Izzie, whose eyes make it clear you're still not that welcome. She lets in you in anyway, perhaps out of pity, perhaps because (you'd like to think) she knows Meredith would want to see you.

You almost died today, you tell her, and you both wince at the honesty of the statement. What she doesn't know, what you bite your tongue until it bleeds not to tell her, is that if that had happened, you would have died too. Or you might as well have. You would've been ruined. But you can't force those words out past the lump that forms in your throat at even the thought of losing her.

You see that she is opening her mouth, struggling to get words out, and it hits you that you don't want to know whatever it is she's trying to say. You don't want to hear her voice trembling with fear, don't want to look at how she's still shivering. You don't want to think that it was almost the last day of her life and yours, too, by default. You just want to hold her, run your fingers through her hair, trace her lips with your tongue.

You take a breath, gather your courage, and grab her, fusing your lips together. She is surprised, and as soft as you remember her, and completely willing, and you ... you are home. You are where you've wanted to be since leaving Addison the first time. You are waking up next to her tomorrow morning and smiling, shifting under the covers and tangling your legs together as the sun rises. You are showering together, and she is brewing coffee she doesn't drink because you like it, and you are holding hands on the drive to work, elbows resting on the gearshift between you.

This is the last day of your life. The last day you will be married to a woman you no longer know, the last day you will pretend not to feel what grabs at your insides and squeezes your heart whenever Meredith walks by. This is the last day of your life and you are finally ready to live.