Title:
Chasing Infinity
Author: Grand Delusions
Rating:
T
Spoiler: Losing My Religion, and just for fun, the
ABC Character Blogs and Character Bios are considered
canon
Disclaimer: They're not mine, if only, if
only…
Keywords: Meredith/Derek, Addison/Mark,
Cristina/Burke, George/Callie, Izzie/Alex
Summary:
Post-Season 2 Drama following all major characters "In life and in
love we all chase after that unreachable horizon. Whether we realize
it or not, we're always chasing after infinity."
Author's
Note: This is a post-Season 2 drama featuring all the major
characters from GA. The story's timeline and plot lines have been
set and a lot of old (and new) issues will be dealt with. So if
you're up for it, jump onto the emotional rollercoaster. I think it
will be an exciting trip.
This chapter involves how all the
characters deal with the events of the finale. And frankly,
everyone's a mess! But my personal favorite is Meredith's
reaction to the realization of what she's done, because it's such
a coping mechanism. And God love her, she is a filthy whore— I say
this with love (and a bit of humor).
As always, if there's
something you love or hate; if something doesn't make sense; or you
think there's something stylistically that doesn't fit, I'd
love to hear how I can improve in a review. And I'd love to hear if
you're reading anyway. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and
enjoy!
-o-
"And
we are talking about forever here."
--Meredith Grey, Losing My
Religion
-o-
Chasing Infinity
-o-
Chapter 1
-o-
In life and in love we all chase after that unreachable horizon. We run after it. We each even have our own special names for it: forever… eternity… infinity.
As humans it's hard to grasp that idea of limitless space and unbound time. Infinity is a scary concept. As doctors we are trained to deal with the finite: organs bound by tissue; time confined to hours, minutes, and seconds; lives that we all know will eventually end. Medicine knows its limit, and infinity starts where those boundaries we know so well— stop.
It's easy to distract ourselves from the weight of forever by concentrating on the bounds of daily life. So we travel one day at a time with eternity looming before us. And every morning we wake up and go through life: making plans, taking action, and looking ahead towards the future— chasing after something beyond today. Whether we realize it or not, we're always chasing after infinity…
-o-
Meredith let out a sigh of relief as she closed the backdoor, depositing her purse and keys on the counter and allowing Izzie's shoes to drop from her hand to the ground.
One…
Two…
They landed with a dull thud against the floor, the pink wrap fluttering behind. She slumped back against the wood-paneled door, waiting for her racing pulse to slow.
'What the hell have I done?' she asked herself.
Breathing deeply, her eyes swept across the cluttered kitchen, taking in the dirty dishes, toppled piles of textbooks and medical journals, and scattered shoes. Tucking stray hair behind her ears, Meredith bent down, tugging off her shoes and kicking them to the growing mass of assorted footwear before walking towards the sink. Methodically she reached out and threw the faucet hard to the left.
Spray and steam hit her arms, stinging and then rapidly cooling. The hissing of the burning water announced her atonement, and reminded her of her sins... singing them loudly in the empty space.
Meredith watched the steam float to the ceiling as she reached for a sponge, dish soap, and a dirty plate. The amber liquid slid down the slick surface of the plate as she emptied half the bottle on the single dish. Her hands turned a deep pink while she furiously scrubbed the dried food from the dish, finally sliding it onto the counter.
The plate was clean. But was she?
Would she ever be?
The water burned and her eyes watered from the pain. But she reached for a second plate and thrust her hands under the faucet again, working on the caked-on layers of crusted food, trying desperately to clean it. Trying to make herself clean…
A third plate, and a fourth, and then a bowl…
Eventually the white hot pain turned to an unbearable chill, and Meredith watched her hands grow red under the constant cascade of freezing liquid fire. But the heat and cold didn't burn away her imperfections, and she felt as filthy as when she had fled the hospital and used the pitiful excuse of tending to a friend as a reason to ignore her own disasters.
When a stack of wet, slick, polished dishes emerged from lines of dried, filthy ones, her numb hands reached for the valve.
The water stopped, and the steam melted away.
Meredith stood at the sink, studying her dark red hands, feeling the numbness dissolve, giving way to a sharp tingling, slicing through her hands with each quiver of a finger. In the sudden quiet she thought she heard a muffled crying, and assumed Izzie was sobbing hysterically behind the closed door of her room. She was glad she the screams sounded like faint whimpers from down below. Trying not hard enough to care about another's universe while she witnessed the silent destruction of her own.
The thick wooden door leading to the hallway swung open and George trudged into the kitchen, Izzie's sobs echoing behind him.
His skin was pale and hair askew. Dark rims edged his eyes; he aged years in the minutes since she watched him walk out of the hospital. He barely acknowledged his roommate—simply nodding at her as he walked around her in route to the refrigerator.
Meredith watched him as he grabbed a beer, taking a long gulp as he wearily lowered himself down at the table. His dark-rimmed eyes met Meredith's.
"Do you need one?" he offered, holding up the bottle, hospitable even in a crisis.
She shook her head, mutely walking to the door George had just entered, marching towards the staircase, Izzie's cries growing louder with each step.
-o-
Addison quietly closed the door behind her, the fabric of her dress rustling despite her best efforts to maintain the hallowed silence of the hospital at night. Inwardly she cringed at the sound of her heels clicking across the sterile linoleum as she crossed the hall to the nurse's station. The few feet seemed like an endless wasteland.
Richard leaned against the counter; arms crossed, tense and worried, like everyone in the hospital seemed to be after all that had happened. But Addison realized that even when he looked anxious he still held up the mask of professionalism. He was still sharp, still the Chief. She wished she keep that hard façade, but hers was crumbling. She wondered how long it would be before the inevitable avalanche.
"She's asleep," she reported. "And we're keeping her overnight for observation. But like I said before, Richard, even with the best case, Camille doesn't have months. She has weeks."
Richard clenched his jaw and looked away, slowly nodding. The reality of the situation finally sank in. The hush of the hospital at night left no distractions from truth. The unspoken hanging ominously overhead: Camille was no best case scenario.
Were any of them, at this point?
"Thank you, Addison," Richard murmured, slowly turning away.
She followed him to the row of plastic chairs lining the wall, mirroring his actions as he slowly lowered himself down.
Addison crossed her legs and smoothed out the crimson folds of her dress. A tense, sad smile crossed her mouth, and she laughed quietly to herself as she stared at the dress and recalled all thoughts and motivations that had fluttered across her brain when she had chosen the dress: He had always said she looked stunning in red.
And she had.
She always did.
But tonight he didn't even look at her.
She began fiddling a loose wisp of hair that had fallen free from the braid, angry and ashamed.
What a night.
Richard turned his head to face her. "I won't keep you," he told her, twisting his gold wedding ring as he moved is focus to the opposing wall, "I'm sure you need to get home."
"I'm not going home," she hissed, waiting for him to convince her otherwise, half expecting her former teacher to list all the reasons she couldn't react that way. But the seconds passed and he said nothing, so she charged recklessly on.
"Something… happened tonight," she whispered, trying desperately to give voice to the feeling that birthed a thousand suspicions and theories that churned around her stormy mind. "They both disappear, and then he won't even look at me when she's there," she seethed, the bitter words spilling uncontrollably from her lips.
Richard's eyes widened slightly at the confession, but he didn't speak, nor did he seem all that surprised. Neither was she, unfortunately. But that didn't make reality any easier to endure.
'Reality,' she thought cynically, 'the most bitter pill to swallow.'
"They both figured it out," she continued, acknowledging the unthinkable. "So I'm not going home tonight. I'm not going home to that," she insisted, running her fingers along the smooth fabric of her dress while her mentor nodded in silence.
Addison watched as an on-call resident passed by, holding a cup full of coffee in her right hand, trying to survive another late night shift while juggling charts with the left. The squeaking sneakers faded off as she rushed away.
"Remember back in New York when Derek and I were your students?" Addison suddenly blurted out, but feeling childish and self-conscious as the words hung in the air. Why bring up something that was so far gone?
Richard once again nodded, staring straight ahead. He continued to twist at the metal ring, nostalgic for a time when everything seemed so simple.
"You two were the best residents I have ever trained. Competitive—top of your game. You never let anyone beat you, and that's why you're the best," he praised, smiling warmly, more for her benefit of hearing it than reveling in his own accomplishments of raising them to such prestigious levels. "Why do you think I worked so hard to get you both out here?"
Addison's fingers dug into the red material, crumpling the dress in her closing fists. Anger overcame depression. Then guilt overcame anger.
"I never told him," she admitted softly.
"Told him what?"
"About why I stayed," Addison uncurled her fists, listening to the falling rustle of fabric break the distant drone of footsteps and murmuring voices. "I let him think that I stayed to save our marriage," she explained, lifting her watering eyes to stare into the lights. She blinked back tears and released a shaky breath, struggling to maintain composure.
She waited for him to respond, waited for him chide her, berate her, or even grieve with her. But he was too weighted down with his own personal demons and the stillness rang all around her, pulsating with the unspoken accusations.
"I didn't even miss him until I saw him with her. And when I saw him all happy and with her, it…" she trailed off, shaking her head in frustration. "It didn't matter I had done the same and moved on, all that mattered was that I win. Because I watchedhim with her, and she was my competition and I… I couldn't let her beat me," she clasped her hands tight together in her lap, wondering if this was a conversation she should be having with her husband instead of her boss.
But both she and Derek suffered from shifting desires to discuss or avoid addressing the state of their marriage. And since neither wanted to tackle the web of problems at the same time, and since Addison needed to speak, she continued speaking; finally giving a voice to all the feelings and frustrations she had bottled up for months while blindly working alone to save something she hadn't realized she wanted until it was too far gone to be revived.
"I thought we were happy in New York, before…" her voice faded away, the unsaid name reaching through the silence, reverberating in both their minds. "But I don't remember what it is to be happy with him anymore," she whispered, allowing herself to mourn the inevitable, the pain seeping in.
Richard closed his hand over her clasped hands, shutting away his own personal regrets in the corners of his mind to comfort his former student the best he knew how; wondering how one cheating husband should comfort the inconsolable wife of another.
'This must be what heartbreak feels like,' she thought as a lone tear slid down her cheek, plummeting to her dress and shattering into a dark red stain against the rumpled fabric.
-o-
Alex pulled his neck hard to the right, then the left, listening to the faint popping of joints temporarily masking the tears and shouts. He learned back against the wall, stretching his stiff legs out in front of him, watching the closed door shake with hysterical sobs and cries.
"Hey," Meredith uttered as she padded up the stairs into the hallway.
Alex jerked his head in a greeting, but he continued to stare at the door leading to Izzie's room.
Meredith trudged over to him and leaned back against the wall. Her legs gave out from under her and she slowly slid down the wall, landing in a heap next to him.
"I thought you'd be in there with her," she revealed, picking at her dress distractedly.
"Yeah, well," he huffed, "she said she wanted to be alone. She didn't want me there." His voice stayed tense and level while he fought for control. His bleary eyes betrayed just how deep the hurt ran.
"She felt guilty having me there since…" Alex trailed off, not needed to elaborate. All the interns knew how he felt about Denny.
Meredith glanced at Alex, taking in his crumpled tux and red eyes. He looked nothing like the flippant playboy she knew. He even looked worse than when the fear of leaving the program hung over his head for weeks.
"It's good that you're here," she assured him, pulling herself up and turning to retreat to the safety of her own room.
"Are you going to sleep on the couch?" she asked, pausing to look at him.
Alex shook his head, pulling up his knees and bowing his head in exhaustion. "I'll stay here in case she needs me," he said, his voice rough and broken.
Meredith nodded and crossed the hall to her room, and Alex watched as she disappeared into her own sanctuary, then he pulled his eyes back to Izzie's door. Praying she would open the door, he tried to picture the scene beyond the oak paneling: Izzie shattered and limp on the bed, face wet and red as mascara stained her cheeks with uneven, black lines, hair wild and elegant, looking like a queen even in despair…
Alex didn't hear Meredith returning to the hall until he heard a soft thump against the floorboards. Glancing over, he saw Meredith walking back towards her room and the feather pillow on the floor next to him.
-o-
Cristina gripped Burke's hand harder as his trembling, outstretched fingers shook uncontrollably. Swallowing a heavy lump in her throat, she watched him, his face screwed up in concentration as he willed his body to submit authority to his mind.
Pulling his hand out of hers, his hand collapsed into a pained fist.
"What do I do, Cristina?" he finally asked, his voice splintering with every word. "What do I do if I can't fix this?"
"I…" she began, but she had no answer; and her eyes fluttered rapidly, blinking back the fresh upwelling of tears.
"Don't think like that Burke," she gently chided, pulling his closed hand to her, rubbing soft circles with her thumbs across his smooth flesh.
His mouth opened and he took a shallow breath, but as Cristina waited for him to speak, only the faint hum of the fluorescent lights resonating in the cramped room answered back.
"Cristina?" his timid voice creaked out, grasping for hope he wasn't sure he should be searching for.
Cristina's stomach clenched and she waited for him to continue.
"Will I be alright?" His pleading eyes bore into her, and she silently wished she could be stronger for him... for her.
"You'll be fine," she promised, mustering the few remaining shards of courage she possessed.
"We'll be fine," she assured him, reluctantly releasing his hand to retrieve a nearby chair.
Sterile, fake wood legs scraped across the pale floors as she pulled the chair to his bedside, settling into uncomfortable seat beside him. Cristina reached for Burke's hand, whispering reassurances as she ran her fingers over his palm, trying to convince him that everything really would be okay.
Wondering if she could convince herself…
-o-
Callie weaved around the few scattered groups of patrons as she staggered away from the ladies' restroom. The smell of stale smoke soaked into her hair and clothing, reminding her why she avoided seedy bars like this in college.
How fitting that only George O'Malley could drive her into a place like this…
Callie slid back onto the bar stool, dumping her purse and cell phone onto the bar counter; Joe's eyes following her—full of concern.
"You feeling better?" he asked tentatively, reaching for a clean class while he watched her from the corner of his eye.
She groaned in response, her head already throbbed and felt light… disconnected. She wished she could just disconnect from the past evening…from the past two days… Everything she had tried to overcome, to block out…
So much for that.
Her hand supported the heavy weight of head, and she stared down at the reflection of the lights against the shiny bar surface. She watched the blue flickering from the television as it bounced off the thick layer of lacquer on the counter. Her head throbbed. Today had been too much, and she never did well drinking on an empty stomach.
Joe pushed a glass of water in front of her, urging her to try drinking it.
"I just threw up, Joe. I can't drink anything right now," Callie grumbled, her fingers rubbing her temples in small, methodical circles. At least the pain in her head dulled the pain in her heart.
"You should try to keep something down," the bartender encouraged.
Callie tried to piece together a sarcastic response, but the front door swung open and interrupted her thoughts. Her head whipped around to face the door, but immediately snapped back as she turned her attention back to Joe. Her shoulders tensed and Joe noticed she seemed even sicker than before when she had rushed off to the ladies' room…
Joe flicked his gaze to the entrance. Derek Shepherd stood by the door, uncomfortable and awkward, eyes trained suspiciously on Callie.
The bartender looked back to Callie, his eyebrows raised in confusion. She rolled her eyes before staring off into the corner, tangling her finger around a rebellious lock of hair. Derek seated himself at the bar, looking guilty and worried as he tugged at his collar, not looking at all like a confident, respected neurosurgeon.
Joe's head bounced back and forth between the two of them, observing the large chasm between them and noticing the sudden shift in attitudes. Then Callie's drunken ramblings from earlier came floating back into his thoughts:
"And I didn't even get to the part about finding two people having sex in an exam room…"
"So it was him," he whispered more to himself than to Callie. His suspicions were confirmed. He didn't need to guess who number two was... the proof was on Callie's face.
She glared at him through thick eyelashes, her dark eyes aflame with disgust.
"Yeah," she snorted, feverously grabbing stray bills from her purse and throwing them onto the counter. Joe watched her gather up her things, as she muttered a hurried goodbye, blathering about her schedule, and her shift starting.
Anything to escape.
She cast one last disparaging frown at Derek's back, shooting dagger from her eyes before walking out of the bar.
The look on Derek's face told Joe he felt each one.
Joe slowly made his way towards the tense, hunched over man who was nervously wringing his hands. This anxious, tired person couldn't possibly be the same laughing, good-natured doctor Joe so often saw frequenting his bar… could it?
And if tonight shook him so visibly, what state was Meredith in?
"So," Joe began, unsure of the appropriate ice breaker given all he had learned about the evening at Seattle Grace, "I hear you've had a busy night."
-o-
