Miracle Drug Part 1, 'There isn't much time,', a grey's anatomy fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy, et al.

Author's Note: There is nothing I can say about this ficlet at this time other than – it's deep and memorable and spiritual – and perhaps made from the essence of what makes Derek Shepherd tick. And so as the clock ticks on and on and he waits and waits, his greatest wish would be that time would stop and he could go back ... go back to where it all started.

This story is short, choppy and rudimentary ... yet somehow whimsical and deep and full of hope. Take a listen to the song, really listen … U2's lyrics and rhythm and tempo are just perfect for this story.

Miracle Drug

Lyrics for U2's "Miracle Drug":

I want a trip inside your head
Spend the day there...
To hear the things you haven't said
And see what you might see

I wanna hear you when you call
Do you feel anything at all?
I wanna see your thoughts take shape
And walk right out

Freedom has a scent
Like the top of a new born baby's head

The songs are in your eyes
I see them when you smile
I've seen enough I'm not giving up
On a miracle drug

Of science and the human heart
There is no limit
There is no failure here sweetheart
Just when you quit...

I am you and you are mine
Love makes no sense of space
And time...will disappear
Love and logic keep us clear
Reason is on our side, love...

The songs are in your eyes
I see them when you smile
I've had enough of romantic love
I'd give it up, yeah, I'd give it up
For a miracle, a miracle drug, a miracle drug

God I need your help tonight

Beneath the noise
Below the din
I hear your voice
It's whispering
In science and in medicine
"I was a stranger
You took me in"

The songs are in your eyes
I see them when you smile
I've had enough of romantic love
Yeah, I'd give it up, yeah, I'd give it up
For a miracle, miracle drug

Miracle, miracle drug

###

Miracle Drug – Part 1 – 'There isn't much time …,'

He blinked. And then he waited. He waited and waited. Waited to be saved.

The old trick didn't work. And everything was just how he left it.

There were no games of nighttime subterfuge; no warm blankets to hide beneath.

His heart sank akin to an anchor. A shoal of darkness, a foreboding shadow shrouded him – he swallowed, acidic residue burned his throat, his vitriol nerve-endings screamed in silent protest – he was cold down to his bone marrow, freezing on the inside, his body shook like the last leaf on a vine … the last of autumn about to fall … into the austerity of winter.

He swallowed again, the habit forming now – his raw throat burned, acid filled his mouth – but he swallowed anyway mindlessly trying to dampen his throat – water, warm like a bath, he needed water … but there was no way he could move so he swallowed instead, closing his eyes for a brief moment instead, tick, tick went the clock – he opened his eyes – everything was just as he left it.

Cold. Bleak. Scary. Unfathomable. Sickening. Jarring. Humbling. Horrifying.

He blinked. And then he waited. He waited and waited. Waited to be saved.

The old trick didn't work. And everything was just how he left it.

His mother was still crying. His feet were still freezing. The fluorescent lights were still magnifying. His father was still in surgery. His life was still hanging in the balance.

Weightless tears pooled in the shallow wells of his eyes – he looked away from his mother to let them fall in peace; somewhere in the vast privacy of the moment – focusing instead on the activity in the waiting room, his wet, yet dry eyes landing on the Nurses' Station … their lives seemingly unfettered by all that was happening to his and yet, they were in the thick of it.

For they were the quintessential 'good guys', they were their last hope … hiding out inside a beacon of their own making.

They were both angels and heroes swathed in pristine white lab coats … shiny stethoscopes and ballpoint pens and medical jargon, their weapons of choice.

They were miracle makers … and somehow the new Gods to whom he had started praying to from the moment they were ushered inside this safe haven … 'please, please, please', he chanted and prayed and prayed and chanted.

'Please, please, please' he cried even louder now, pleading deep inside of himself as fat tears stung his eyes and fell down his tired face like sheets of hot acid rain – droplets of salt water imprinting onto his denim-clad thighs now – splat, splat, splat, he sniffled and that otherwise tiny, private noise suddenly sounded like cracking thunder.

His secret was out … he knew this much when his mother rested her cold hand over the tiny, wet circles his tears had left behind. He looked down, scrutinizing her hand, his father's coagulated blood still wedged into her cuticles – dried, cracked, deep crimson – his blood … his … blood … his … heart gave out.

He blinked. And then he waited. He waited and waited. Waited to be saved.

And then by some miracle … the angels came, the doctors. And with their arrival, a new energy swarmed into the waiting room, alighted like a flock of wild birds – the axis of that energy residing somewhere between horror and hope – his mother stood as if attached to a pulley, her watery eyes fixed on the doctor in the middle; just a man, but in this moment, her last hope.

Stunned by the energy, he watched from his seat, still immobilized, still unable to do more than move his eyes a fraction of a inch at a time, for he was scared, all of sudden scared of the world and all of the people surrounding them – except for those who resided here – those angels, the ones with the power to do something, the ones swathed in white.

And so he recoiled and also rejoiced while the miracle workers worked their miracles and counseled his steadfast mother while she cried and cried until she suddenly thanked them.

For it would seem his father was saved – for now – and although relief consumed him, he could already see the black veil cross over his beloved mother's face – shrouding her bright, dancing and happy eyes along with her flushed cheeks – for what would turn out to be forever.

He blinked and then he waited, blinking desperately one last time, berating himself to will it to be true, to will it all to be a nightmare from which he could just blink and wake up from.

His chest hurt as he watched the veil darken over his mother's face – the doctors explaining his father's precarious state – saying things like, 'there isn't much time … there is time, but not that much time … a gift, mere minutes, maybe hours left'.

He swallowed hard again, bile rose in his throat – his chest hurt – he found his hand pressing against his weakened heart, 'is this what it felt like' he wondered, what his father felt like … empty, vulnerable, open, wounded, a rude fissure down the middle of his heart where he would come to bleed … to death. Is this what it felt like?

Blink!

He screamed, commanding his wet-dry eyes to listen to his desperate pleas, his empty anger pinging around the waiting room and beyond with nowhere to go … blink! 'Save yourself!' Blink!

Blink!

It was just a nightmare, it had to be – if he blinked everything would be back to the way it always was – his parents would be asleep down the hall, his sisters also asleep, their rooms flanking his – all he had to do was blink and he could make it all disappear and save himself!

Blink!

His stomach heaved, fresh bile pooled in his mouth, he swallowed hard … his heart rattling around in his chest with this small spark of clarity he managed to find amidst the dark cold: the waiting was over and so was the blinking … and so was the saving.

His mother's eyes told him this much, suddenly a shade darker from the veil of uncertainty that shrouded the very core of being – she told him without words that this was no nightmare – she told him with her blank horrified stare … no, no … this was their reality … this was his reality and there was no one to save him.

And in that moment he knew she was also gone – that the mother he knew would forever be changed – she was gone, her life changed within a single split-second, tick, tick went the clock … and she was lost. So lost as he watched her crumble before his eyes – finally standing just in time to catch her as she braced herself against the window in the deep, dark pocket of the waiting room – the waiting and the hope for being saved were over … and so was life as he knew it … and it was all gone with a blink … the blink of an eye.

Blink!

His heart stopped beating; literally giving out on him before it began to race again and therein he realized that the reality of his nightmare had only just begun again. He screamed inside, crying out for help; his heart on fire, yet his blood still flowing cold – murky, dark, frigid, salty – his blue veins still waterlogged, besieged by his pounding heartache and bewildered struggle.

His silent cries shaking his voice like a tremor now; he was lost, imbalanced, thrown off kilter as if another bomb had exploded – his eyes burned, misting akin to dry ice, he was breaking apart on the inside, disappearing into nothingness – he shook his head on these tiny, frail admissions of truth wherein he woke up from his long blank stare and forced himself back into the heart-wrenching tragedy of the moment.

Tears stung his gateways, a swarm of violent bees, prick, prick, prick!

He blinked hard; his eyes swept his familiar surroundings now although he felt like a fish out of water, helplessly drowning on dry land!

Drowning, spiraling with shame in mind, body and spirit now despite his best intentions to tread water … to survive … to be saved!

He shivered on the truth; for wasn't he was supposed to be the savior? The last hope?

He felt sick again, bile rose higher and higher, stinging his throat with acid; he blinked and then he waited – daring himself to wake up now, struggling to do just that as he opened his eyes wider – forcing himself back into the present where his new nightmare had surpassed the old and ultimately became his reality.

And then he blinked. And then he waited. Waited to be saved. Except that he already knew the old trick wouldn't work. For everything was just how he left it. He was exactly where he was … blinking … waiting … waiting to be saved.

"Who you here for?" asked a man sitting nearby, his voice soft and raw; he was lost too.

He looked up and stared at the stranger for a beat, grounding himself inside the moment. His head spun and he shivered somewhere deep inside, still frozen … his mind still vacillating between the two vivid nightmares.

"What?" he asked; his brow knitted with confusion.

"I'm waiting on my wife, car hit her," he shook his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that, on the ferry?' he asked, his eyes soft and wet, but dry. "She was run over on the ferry," he said quietly, staring down and away. "They haven't said much," he admitted grimly. "Hard as hell to get any of these people to talk to ya," he muttered, pressing his lips together.

He watched him for a beat before he looked away, focusing on the activity moving all around them. He turned back to the man. "Yeah, I'm, uh … my girlfriend was there too," he admitted, his heart shaking like a leaf as he made the nightmare his reality. "And I don't know...," he shook his head – blue, cold, alone, lifeless, blue, blue – his heart shook too. "I don't know what's gonna happen …," he breathed, his chest tight with regret, pinch, pinch, pinch.

"It's out of our hands," the man said evenly. "It's up to the doctors now," he commiserated gently.

"Yeah. Yeah," he muttered, the irony slapping him in the face – blink, blink, wake up, wake up, please, please, please – a dawn of recognition once again pinching his heart low and deep.

"What's her name?" the man inquired with genuine interest, his voice soft and low.

"Meredith," Derek breathed, a reflexive smile etched along his face as he turned back to find the kind man's eyes.

His steady smile drained from his face and he pressed his lips together, his heart raged on and on inside, pounding into his eardrums – 'It's not 'Jane Doe', it's Meredith Grey! It's Meredith!' – his warbled call lingered – 'It's Meredith' – came his voice again, rattling around in his mind with nowhere to go – 'It's Meredith' – he husked, her name stuck in his throat and in his mind where she was still blue and still cold and still anchored with salt water.

"I'll put her in my prayers," the man offered with that same soft tone.

He locked his eyes with the stranger's and pressed his lips together. "Thanks," he replied before looking away again, somehow sucker-punched by the idea of praying, really praying … for anyone at all … for his beloved Meredith.

His aching heart trapped now somewhere between the past and present – he leaned forward, bracing himself on his knees – for the truth was, he hadn't thought about his faith in a long while … for all of the praying he did that night his father perished kind of exceeded the limit of what he was willing to put his faith in … until he met Meredith and asked her for hers.

And all the while, for all of these years before this one – he never really blinked again –– never really allowed himself to fully invest in the idea of his faith … except that ironically, it would turn out that he would become the last hope for many – the miracle maker, the tie breaker – the one who could give the gift of time.

Yes, it was those doctors, the ones who held his hope in the palms of their hands that night oh so long ago – they set the pace, they changed the course of his life, they made him believe in the power of medicine and of the meaning of time – and even if they didn't save his father in the end, they did change who he was destined to become and therein he still believed in a handful of whimsical ideas ... ideas of …

Hopeful optimism …

True love and soul mates …

Beating the odds …

All things scientific …

And …

Medical miracles …

The miracles and power of his faith in medicine – and so as he turned back to the man to ask him more about his wife – Derek Shepherd knew that within the foreseeable future he would enter the vast, lonely hospital chapel and give his heart and soul away in prayers for Meredith Grey, 'please, please, please', he chanted silently, 'blink, blink, blink, someone save me … someone save us' was all he could dare to muster.

Miracle Drug – Part 2 to follow.