As much as I wish I owned Grey's, I don't. So don't sue me. And I'm all for MerDer, I just thought of a good angsty story for her when I listened to this song.
And I wish I could write songs like Imogen Heap. 3 enjoy.
Where are we
Where are we? What the hell is going on?
The rain was splashing across her face, but she didn't care. At least in the rain, no one could see her crying. His face was burned on the inside of her eyelids, and no amount of crying or wishing would wash it away.
The dust has only just begun to form,
Crop circles in the carpet, sinking, feeling.
How could he have not told her he was married? Wasn't that something that you generally told someone that you met at a bar? Well, maybe not if you were looking for a one night stand to forget something. But when the one night stand happened to turn into your boss, wasn't that something that bosses who slept with their students should disclose?
Spin me round again and rub my eyes.
This can't be happening.
If she didn't care so much about him, she wouldn't feel this way. She wouldn't feel as though her heart was splitting in two. She wouldn't be wishing, for some twisted reason that he would come outside into the pouring rain and hold her close to his warm chest.
When busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy.
Why does it always rain in Seattle? Seriously. It never fails. And then the damn ferry boats. Why did everything remind her of Derek? Of Addison? She had seen Addison that night at the hospital. Isabella freakin' Rossellini. She couldn't compete with that. For now, she would have to be content to let the rain wash over her.
Why was no one looking for her?
Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines.
All those years
They were here first.
The hands on her shoulders weren't a girl. They weren't the strong, no nonsense hands of Cristina. They weren't the comforting, overly sympathetic touch of Izzie. They weren't Alex either, the very non-descript, I'm here for you, but don't abuse it type. Definitely not George's tentative, loving touch either. They were Derek's hands. She spun around, tears mingled with rain staining her cheeks.
Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung before.
The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this
still life.
"Meredith…" She stopped him with a hand. "Don't. You didn't tell me you were married. Why not? Why aren't you fighting for me? You're leaving with her, and that's the end. I'm just the girl that your wife will forever hate for sleeping with her husband. So just don't, just, stop trying to be so perfect. If you wouldn't look at me like that, then I wouldn't care so much." Her breaths were gasps, each word choked between a sob. Derek's eyes were full of hurt and regret, but what did that help now? She sank down on the wet bench in front of her.
Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines. (Oh, you won't catch me around here)
Blood and tears,
They were here first.
She was a surgeon. Surgeons are tough, no nonsense type people, like her mother. Her mother wanted her to be extraordinary. And had she become that? Or had she let her emotions for a doctor cloud her goal? Whether or not he had left, she wasn't sure. She had sat on the bench for what seemed forever, the rain softly showering her, turning her periwinkle scrubs to a deeper indigo.
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did.
He didn't get a say anymore. She would make up her own mind, she wouldn't let Derek cloud her judgment anymore. He was married.
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that it's all for the best? Ah of course it is.
Technically, what Derek had done had been the right thing, going back to his wife. She had been, after all, the girl from the bar. He wasn't supposed to be her boss, and she wasn't supposed to fall for him. She hadn't fallen for him, had she?
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that it's just what we need? And you decided this.
"Meredith…" He was still there. She spun around. "Go away. Go back to your wife. I'm sure she's waiting patiently for you in the lobby. Go back to your life, Derek. Stop invading mine."
"Meredith… please… Can we talk about this?"
"Go, Derek."
Mmm what you say?
What did you say?
The next morning, Meredith walked into work, head held high. She would rise above, as Bailey would say. She was better than this, and she could let Derek be, Mr. Shepherd, and let Addison be Mrs. Shepherd, since that's how it should be, was, and would be.
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
He caught her in the elevator. He always did that. She was leaning against the back when he got on. She glanced up just in time to see him board the elevator. She silently cursed her heart for leaping into her throat so willingly. He waited until everyone else was off until he turned to face her.
Speak no feeling, no I don't believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.
"Since you can't walk away from me in here, I'm just going to put it out there. I didn't tell you that I was married, because as far as I'm concerned, I'm not anymore. I left New York, left my wife and as far as you need to know, I'm not married. Can we please talk about this?"
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
Speak no feeling, no I don't believe you.
She looked at him as he talked, almost past him. Her expression was one of partial anger, partial disbelief. "Dr. Shepherd. You're married. It doesn't matter if you think you are or not. She's here, you're here, she's wearing a ring and calling you her husband. That makes you married." The number '4' lit up above the door. "Excuse me, Dr. Shepherd."
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
The days would go by, the sun rising and setting as it should. She would carry on being Meredith Grey, daughter of Ellis Grey. And she would be great. The silent tears behind her eyes would never see the light of day. Derek wouldn't get to her. She was Meredith Grey. She would be, extraordinary.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
