A/N: It's here! I've spent so much time writing and planning for this fic, and it's finally here! Welcome to How Far We've Come! :) Let me try to introduce this fic as best as I can. It starts of with me re-doing 7x11, Disarmed. Although I liked the episode, I didn't like some of the MD scenes, so I changed it up! This is about Meredith and Derek's road to recovery, and I can't wait to see how it plays out.
It focuses on them, of course, their desire to start a family, and how they get over the traumatic event that has happened to them. Filled with plenty of drama and romance, I hope you guys do enjoy this fic and come back for more. It's both Meredith and Derek centric, seeing from both of their point of view, letting you hopefully relate to both of them. :) Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy, and thank you for reading, of course!
"There has to be more to the story," Meredith snapped, crossing her arms over her chest tightly and pursing her lips.
"There's not," Derek replied icily, his words chopped between each syllable. "I already told you there's not, Meredith." Meredith rolled her eyes and looked down at the tents of smooth, flowing sheets that rippled across their bed. Derek had been expressing some sort of false connoisseurship having to do with Cristina lately: He had been acting like it came with some sort of don't ask, don't tell, policy. Meredith was done tolerating it.
"Derek!" She exclaimed, and the own power of her voice surprised her. He craned his neck over to her, scanning her up and down, his eyes wide in a vehemence of annoyance. She dipped her vocals lower, softening her demands, hoping that it would soften Derek as well, that it would melt him like butter. "Derek, please. I just want a few details, that's all."
His lips grew tight and he let out a sigh of exhaustion, drawing his hand down his face and sighing over dramatically. "I told you already," He answered simply, whirling around to pierce her with his stare. "End of story." His voice was clear, steady, cut as sharply as glass.
Meredith sighed, staring at the sheets, her eyes picking out every little seam that traveled across the mounds of fabric, trying to distract herself from the strings of taut tension that hung between them. It seemed as though, ever since Mr. Clark and his rampage that tore their lives in two, lines of connection that once kept them close and inseparable had stretched and stretched, until it finally became a frayed rope. Words got lost in the jumble, things went unsaid: And Meredith hated it.
She fluttered her eyes into a blink and leaned her head against the headboard, straying her eyes to the window, her face solemn and as cold as stone: "I'm ovulating," She whispered, not sure what she was trying to do with the words. Her lips trembled.
Derek stared at her, rolling his eyes in bewilderment. In the middle of an argument, and she wanted to try to create a life? He exhaled sharply, enunciating the exasperated sigh, pursing his lips to keep himself from saying something he'd regret later. He shuffled out of his shirt, but then paused, sighing again, "Well, are we going to do this or not?" He asked plaintively, tapping his foot in impatience.
She shut her eyes and leaned back, crossing her hands over her stomach and sighing. "No," She said gently.
"You just said~"
"Derek, stop. This is supposed to be fun. You're treating it like a chore. So my answer is no, okay?" She said briskly, mimicking his unwelcome tone from before. End of story. She rubbed her eyes, exhausted and beaten down.
"Fine!" He huffed, yanking his shirt from the floor and furiously looping the buttons into their matching holes. His fingers shook, his innards boiled. He had to keep it in. He had to keep everything in. "I'm going to work," He forced. He yanked his hands through his scalp and looked frantically for his coat, which was supposedly mixed somewhere within the messy shuffle of the room. Meredith turned her body, swiveling towards the window, and she bit her quivering lip.
"Whatever," She whispered distantly, gazing at the window and wrapping her hands around the pillow. She heard Derek mutter an insincere goodbye and the door slammed, the chilling reminder of the pieces that had broken between them, and she clasped her arms tighter, pretending the comforting cushion was Derek instead of some stupid inanimate object.
XXX
Derek was tired, exhausted, slowly crumbling beneath his every glance in the mirror. Something about him was missing, and even he saw it. When he looked at his fuzzy reflection, he wasn't the same Derek as he had been months before everything had happen, months before he had gone from the hero to the victim. Maybe in some ways he was still the hero- that's what Meredith had been telling him- but he also knew that if he had never existed, none of anything would have ever happened.
He blinked and stared at his pager, which continued to blink red. He took tapping steps down the shiny, polished floors of Seattle Grace Hospital, his black shoes a blurry contrast against the shining flooring. He kept his head down, something he tended to do in the hospital lately: With his head down, no one could make eye contact, therefore, no one could blame him.
Hey, there's the guy that Gary was after.
He clasped his hand around the railing as he cascaded down slowly, gliding down the staircase and flowing towards the bottom of the stairs. There seemed to be quite a commotion, staff members huddled around one of the waiting areas, staring up at a television. He reached up with a shaking hand to fiddle with his tie, shifting it to confirm it was straight. Image was key.
He spotted Meredith's dark, wavy hair from the top of the staircase, and it was somewhat bowed down to something. Some inevitable force that pressed on her. Walking through the hospital and glancing at other doctors, it seemed as if they all had something hanging on them, something that clawed at them with the threat to explode from the inside out. He tightened his grip on the railing.
He felt bad about what had happened that morning, about his snapping and ruthless doggedness for her and her problems. Actually, all he really wanted to do was talk: Talk about what had happened, let himself free to her, surrendering himself and shielding her. But, the problem with that was precisely the solution as well: If he did talk to her, actually talk to her, he was exposed, raw and open for the world to see the real mess that Gary Clark made him.
When he arrived at his destination, landing at the bottom of the staircase, he followed fellow staff members gaze up to the thick television in the corner. It hummed and buzzed with age and the lack of much need upgrades, but there was a fuzzy new report. Hotshot news reporters reiterated the same information again and again, repeating until the words burned into Derek's brain.
Shooting at a college… At least a dozen…No, at least twenty victims.
His knees shook beneath him. Flashbacks wrecked him, sending him into a spinning abyss like the many times before when his mind forced him to repeat what had happened that day. Fear exhilarated him, and he could practically hear his heart pound with an echo in his ears. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, and then crossed them again: Fidgeting ruthlessly, he had no idea what to do. He didn't feel like it was really him: He felt like he was looking down on himself, watching what a poor, pathetic character he had become.
He heard his colleague's sniffles and cries trickle around him, and his own lip quivered. All he could do was duck his head down and stare at the floor. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, but it was keeping him from seeing the wreck left in the wake of destruction that flowed all around him. His heart cracked in his chest, and he shut his eyes, trying in a feeble attempt to block out everything that ever hurt him. Suddenly the broken story that was his life seemed much more real than it had before, and now other people were having to live through it as well. His chest tightened, and his breathing suddenly became a chore rather than a motion.
"Derek?" He felt a warm hand touch his arm, friction buzzing against his white coat. He blinked away any threatening emotions from his eyes and looked up, "What?" He said, too alert, too sudden. Meredith's wide eyes looked up at him, focusing on every little crease that displayed on his face. He recoiled slightly. How was he supposed to act after he what he had done that morning?
"Are you okay?" She said softly, her words running and coating his cracking heart, fixing his state of stupor slowly. He felt his emotions go soft, and he tightened his lips. His voice was throaty and deep, not like himself. His eyes were buttery and inconsolable, something that made Meredith feel unsteady on her own feet.
"Fine," He responded, dryly and unconvincing. Meredith let her hand drift away slowly, and Derek looked down at the ground. The chief, at the front of the room, was making some firm commands of some sort. Derek was too dizzy to notice.
Meredith looked away, not sure herself of what she was supposed to do. She wished she could just wrap him up in an unbreakable seal of impunity, but she knew that wasn't possible. She bit her lip and people rushed around her, smashing her shoulders and running in a million different directions. She looked up once again, and Derek was gone, drifting and getting lost in the crowd the swam and carried everyone along the current with them. The frayed rope between them snagged and ripped.
XXX
"You know what? He's being dumb. He's being dumb and stupid and inconsiderate and all those other words that describe someone who doesn't even bother to make time for his wife anymore!" Meredith exclaimed, her words tumbling out of her mouth faster than what she could process in her mind. She ran her hands through her hair and stomped her foot automatically, huffing and sending her eyes up into a towering roll. Alex, sitting behind the desk in front of her, looked up from the papery chart he was leafing through.
"Why are you telling me this again?" He asked, a cocky smirk crawling across his cheeks.
"Because," She huffed, eyeing him. "Because my husband is too freaking preoccupied with his new best friend, who used to be my best friend, who isn't anymore because she can't apologize for once in her life…" She rolled her eyes with emphasis and crossed her arms across her chest tightly, squeezing her ribs. "…And she blames me for everything. Everything, Alex."
"If she wants to blame someone," He chuckled, "She can blame Mr. Clark." He noticed the imminent drop in Meredith's expression and frowned. "Sorry. Sorry."
Meredith hated it. If only her own best friend could say those words for once, if only her husband could be that caring and concise with his words. She smiled softly at him, and then looked down at her fingers, which scrabbled across the counter, "It's not a big deal. I should go down to the pit or something, and see what my I-am-too-concerned-with-everyone-except-you husband is paging me for." She muttered. Alex chuckled dryly, looking up at her with a trace of concern crossed between his eyebrows. "What?" She demanded, suddenly defensive. Alex held up his hands in the effigy of surrender.
"Nothing. It's just… Is everything alright with you and Shepherd?" Meredith frowned. "I mean, marriage wise. Are you okay, or whatever?" He tried. He was trying to fill the void she had etched in her heart, and she was grateful. She looked at him with kind eyes.
"Thanks for caring. Really, it's nice to have that." She clenched her fists together and gritted her teeth, "We're fine. It's just… a rough patch. We're actually trying for a baby. And…yeah. We're fine. Completely fine." Everyone's fine.
"Whatever," He tossed lightly, snapping the chart shut and standing up. He brushed invisible dust particles off his thighs and smirked at her. "Well, go to the pit already. You're stalling."
"Am not," She glared, hissing through his teeth. She took a step back, and then paused to look at a nurse that was huddled over, helping a patient from a wheelchair. "Need any help?" She asked sweetly, but the nurse shooed her away, obviously from stress and adrenaline. Meredith looked up at Alex, "I am NOT stalling."
"You're stalling from seeing McDreamy. I get it," He chuckled, grabbing another chart from the pile. Meredith rolled her eyes for the third time in that conversation.
"I. Am. Not. Stalling," She demanded, and Alex just chuckled. She shoved loose bangs from her eyes and spun on her heels, leaving the scene: But not before she heard Alex shout to her again.
"Stalling!" He called, laughing to himself. Meredith stomped forward, and she only slowed her pace a bit.
XXX
Derek was sick of listening to Richard mutter about emotions and how they were not to be ashamed, and then backfire and demand how they needed to keep themselves in check and be doctors to the people who needed them. To make themselves available when tragedy strikes, which is what doctors are supposed to do.
Well, did Derek have the doctors he needed when he was hurt, bleeding out on the catwalk? Did Meredith have the doctors she needed when she had her miscarriage? Maybe, if they did, they would have been okay. Maybe Meredith would still be carrying their child, maybe… Derek tangled his fingers into tight balls of fists, tapping his feet to the distant rhythm of ambulance sirens. He clenched his teeth. Maybe.
The ambulance screamed as it pulled up, with one immediately behind it, wailing into the otherwise quiet morning. Derek snapped his surgical gloves just as Meredith ran up beside him, avoiding his eyes, huffing and out of breath. She smoothed her flyaway hair down, and suddenly Derek just wanted to hug her. He just wanted to hug her and make this day better, but if he hugged her, would he let his guard down? Would he sob? Would he break down? He couldn't make her carry the burden of how broken he really was.
He ran up to an ambulance where the paramedic rambled into his ear something about head injury and falling from some high point that damaged him. He wrapped his hands around the stretcher as Owen Hunt noticed him suck in a trembling breath, letting his eyes flutter shut and creak open again. His words were distant, as if they were coming from a cliff rather than just across a stretcher. "Are you okay?"
Derek tensed, eyed him, and mustered briskly, "Nothing about this is okay." Owen stared at him momentarily, but Derek was running inside before he could say anything. Derek's own words pounded in his ears and made his brain thump as he crashed through the wave of crying people, and his heart throbbed. The pain blanketed him, and he cringed, forcing himself to look nowhere except the ground, avoiding the people who suffered through what had torn them apart months ago.
XXX
Meredith was blown away by Derek's coldness. The way he looked at her, so full of tense emotion: She was certain he was keeping something from her, although she couldn't pinpoint quite what it was. He had gone through the worst day of his life and was acting like Cristina's scars were deeper and more important than his own.
Right After
"Derek?" She said quietly, the tears blurring her vision so the person who lay before her wasn't Derek, just a person with blurred edges, surrounded by tents of crinkly hospital sheets. His eyes creaked open to a slit, for the first time since the surgery, and she bit her trembling lip. "Derek, oh, hi, Derek… You're…" She tried to force the word 'okay,' but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She just couldn't. She squeezed her eyes shut, only to be met by an array of flashbacks that slapped her. She gasped and opened them again, gazing at his broken form. His face was so pained, so scared. She felt her knees shake.
He parted his lips to let out a sigh that made her shake harder, then shut his eyes again and grimaced against the throbbing that thrummed from the core within him. She felt a few tears roll down her cheeks, leaving wet trails behind. She reached her trembling hand down to meet his, wrapping around his palm and tangling her fingers between her own. She could feel it's warmth, feel that the blood was clearly alive and rushing, so much better than when she had pressed her hand into his mangled insides to try and stop the seemingly never-ending bleeding.
Meredith lifted his hand so carefully, as if he was made of paper that would crumble beneath the warmth of her own fingertips, and shut her eyes. She pressed her lips to his hand, savoring the knowledge that he was okay. He had a bad GSW, but he was on his first step on the winding road of recovery. She pressed her forehead to the back of his hand and cried, warbling sobs erupted from that space between her throat and her mouth. "I was so scared, Derek," By now she wasn't exactly sure if he could actually hear her, but she didn't care. He was alive and breathing, and that was all that mattered. "Derek, Derek, Derek," She repeated, turning the word into a prayer and a sob and everything in between. "I love you, I love you," She repeated, choking, her eyes clasped shut. She hoped he could still make out her words.
His lips opened, then closed, and then opened one more time, and his eyelids fluttered. He spoke for the first time. Well, not for the first time ever, but for the first time since he had been born again, since the event happened, since he woke up from the most frightening experience he had ever had: "I love you too."
"Grey? Grey!" A distant voice smashed her flashback and she blinked, letting the chart she had clasped between her fingers clatter to the floor. She stumbled and bent over, leaning to pick it up, fumbling to grasp it off the slick floor. By the time she stood up her hair flung over her shoulder, and she panted.
"What? What?"
"You're needed in surgery, with Doctor Shepherd, you know," She chimed. Meredith muttered a curse and dragged her fingers through her chunky strands of dark blonde hair, sighing. "Actually, you were needed five minutes ago." Meredith glared at her.
"And now you tell me?"
"Well," The nurse said, her voice shaking. She grabbed the chart out of Meredith's hand, "Not everyone can be as stable as you on this day, Dr. Grey." She whirled around and stomped away, clearly shaken and on the verge of tears. Meredith gulped, and her throat was thick. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout, thrash, and throw the tantrum she never got to throw. WHAT? Am I not damaged? Just because I have been holding everybody else up, I'm fine? But she couldn't. She gritted her teeth and she walked.
Three Days After
"Derek?" She hummed. Her voice was laced with sleep and her eyelids were heavy. She wrapped her hands around the arms of the chair and leaned back as best she could, sighing and letting her chest collapse, folding beneath her. "Derek?" She repeated, blinking one eye open in anticipation for a response. She was exhausted, but there was something she had to know.
"Hmm…?" His sigh was so papery and thin that she could barely identify it as a word. She sighed, picking up her hand and rubbing her temples between her fingers.
"You haven't…" Her voice dipped low, "You haven't talked about it." She opened both her eyes and stared at him, waiting. "I mean, you haven't really told me the whole…thing." He stared up at the ceiling, unblinking, biting his lip. "But I mean, if you're too upset, that's okay too. I get that," She said, and then hesitated. Dr. Wyatt had told her specifically not to let him avoid the subject. She sat up, and the chair creaked with her weight. Derek visually tensed, clenching his teeth. She waited for anything from him, silently begging him for some sort of hint as to what was going on in his head.
"All those people…" He began, and then stopped, staring upwards, frozen. His hands clenched the twisted pieces of sheets with all the strength he could gather, and he shut his eyes, his expression ridden with pain.
She decided to take a different approach. Derek wasn't one to let down his pride, or let his feelings explode out of him. And, he had had plenty of time to process it, so he was bound to have some sort of feeling that came with it. She knotted her fingers together until they were numb. Maybe, if she tried confronting him with the subject, concise and to the point, right then and there. Maybe, if she could just force herself to get up the courage to actually do that, they'd get somewhere. She pursed her lips and leaned forward a bit, rubbing her eyes and whispering, "It wasn't your fault, Derek." The words were so profound and true, she had to bite her lip to keep herself from apologizing. Don't say your sorry, take ownership for what you're thinking, say what you need to say.
She waited. He picked up an arm loosely, with little strength, and dropped it on his eyes, rubbing them roughly. Meredith tensed in her seat, waiting with dry anticipation. Please, say something, Derek. Please. Anything. Any words at all.
"That's what… That's what everyone is telling me," He said weakly, his hand still covering his face.
"Because it's true, Derek." She said softly.
He didn't seem to hear her, but his voice grew slightly in intensity, "Those people, Meredith. Because… because he came looking for me, they're all…" His voice broke, and with it went Meredith's heart. She sucked in her breath and wished she could take away the pain.
"Derek…" She tried, but her words were completely helpless. He was lost in his own thoughts.
"Because of me," He whispered, and dropped his hand from his face. It fell from his side limply and he stared upward, biting his lip. Meredith could see a spare tear trickling down his cheek in slow motion. She choked on her own breath and forced herself to stand up on shaking legs, moving towards him. "Because of me. Because of me," He moaned, and before she knew it, he was crying. She tried to gather him in her arms, but they just weren't big enough to hold him and his heavy heart.
"So, do you think this surgery will work?" Meredith said firmly to Derek, who was finishing prepping the husband on the table. The lights dimmed except for the few that shined down, glaring at them. Derek had his surgical gear on, including those cute little brain surgeon goggles that made Meredith putty in his hands. His face was cold today, with a hard edge she hadn't seen in a while. It seemed like the only way to talk to him was through medical jargon.
His voice was intense and serious, "I hope." He softened for a moment, and then flashed his eyes up to her, "I hope," He repeated, a deeper meaning in the words than displayed. She looked down. Her heart hurt.
Two Weeks After
"Meredith, you're going to have to talk to me sooner or later." Meredith picked up her pace, despite the feet that trampled, running behind her. "Meredith Grey, stop now, do not make me follow you!" But Meredith did make Cristina follow her, until she reached her bathroom and shut the door behind her. She pressed her back to it, only to be flung against the bathtub by Cristina forcing the door open. She slid to the floor, sweeping her palms against the icy tiles.
"You're going to wake Derek up," She muttered sharply, glaring up at Cristina who pressed the door until it shut.
"He sleeps enough already," Meredith rolled her eyes, looking down at the ground. The bathroom was cold, and goose bumps traveled up her arms. "Now, you're going to tell me what's going on, or I'm going to go wake up McDreamy and make him talk to you." Meredith crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. I'll go wake him and his body of achy chest issues, and I'll~"
"Shut up, Cristina!" She scowled, staring up at her, daring her to disagree. "You don't know anything."
"Or do I?" She snickered. "You haven't been acting like yourself this whole time, and you're just~"
"NO ONE has been acting like themselves!" Meredith shouted back, surprised at the intensity and anger dripping from her words. Cristina didn't have a comeback for that. "Derek has panic attacks, Lexie can't sleep, Dr. Bailey cries three times a day, and you won't step back in the hospital. Neither can I, Cristina. So why are you coming in here, demanding I tell you about problems that everyone has?" She demanded, infuriated. She shivered, hugging herself.
"At least everyone else it talking about it! You haven't said a word about… it." Meredith stared daggers, daring her to say the word. "You haven't said a word about your miscarriage, and I'm worried. Okay?"
The word stung, and Meredith put her face in her hands with a deep sigh. Cristina paced the small length of the bathroom. Meredith's voice was thick with sadness, quiet and shaking: "Maybe it's because I don't know how to react. Maybe it's because I wake up in the morning with my hand on my stomach, just out of instinct, praying that the whole thing was just a mistake. Maybe it's because I was the wife of the man I thought was dead, but who is simply just sleeping downstairs right now. Maybe it's because I'm I just don't know what to do, Cristina. I don't anymore." Meredith felt tears fall from the corners of her eyes, and she swiped her hand across her face, sniffling.
A sharp moan came from down the hallway, and Meredith groaned. "Great. You woke him up."
XXX
It was the third time Meredith was going to check on the patient's wife, but she didn't care. The clock ticked away, each one more minute that clawed at her heart. She felt it was necessary to update the poor wife, staring at the same time on a different clock, probably clutching her purse through tears in her eyes. Maybe by then she was shaking so hard that the chair rattled. Or maybe she was so nervous that she was standing up from the chair, so scared that she couldn't bring herself to sit. Meredith knew that feeling: she knew that feeling so well that she couldn't wait any longer. She stepped back towards the exit to the scrub room, trying not to attract too much attention. It wasn't usual that one of the surgeons updated the family so often, but it was hard to go without updating someone in the one of the worst pains imaginable.
"Dr. Grey," Derek's voice cut through her thoughts, shattering them to her feet like glass. She shut her eyes, blinking, and then turned to him.
"Yes?" She asked innocently, tapping her feet.
"Where are you going?" He said, keeping his voice level, although she could tell it was painstakingly accusing.
"I'm going to give another update," She said, clearing her throat, glancing at the clock again. It was never too soon to remind someone that the person they loved the most was still stable.
"Another update?" He snickered. She cringed, taking another step back: His tone was so bitter, so nasty. She clenched her teeth, biting back words that fought to explode from her mouth. "I don't think that's necessary. I need you to be a surgeon in my OR." His voice was rising steadily.
"I am a surgeon," She said evenly, fighting to keep her emotions in check. "And I am here to help. But part of that job includes taking care of the patient's family, and making sure they know what's going on." She bit her lip, chewing on her cheek. Don't say something you'll regret. Don't say something you'll regret.
Don't say it.
"Dr. Grey," He snapped a little louder, flashing his gaze at her. "Stay. You came in here to help and to observe, and to become a better surgeon, and staying present in the surgery is an important part of that." A hint of sarcasm was hinged to his voice. Meredith ground her teeth together.
"His wife is alone and probably scared out of her mind. It's a scary situation to be in," She retorted fiercely, wringing her hands together unconsciously.
Do. Not. Say. It.
"I'm sure it is," He responded dryly. "But it is important that we take care of the one who is actually our patient." He said it like she wasn't a surgeon, like she didn't even understand what a patient was. She felt her tight grip on her emotions loosening, and all eyes were on her now. Hey, look, it's the married couple who can't seem to get a grip. Let's watch them fight, let's witness them abuse each other with their words.
"You know what, Derek?" She began, her voice raising slightly, her words clear and cool and crisp. He paused from his surgery, eyeing her deeply, and she took a sharp exhale. That voice that was screaming not to tell her was lost in the shuffle, and she felt something snap inside of her. "It's a horrible situation. You wouldn't know, because you weren't there. Oh wait, you were there: You just weren't the wife who tried to sacrifice herself for her husband." Tears bit at her eyes and she couldn't look at him anymore. "You weren't the wife who told the man who wanted to kill her husband to shoot her instead, because she couldn't bare to live without him. And Derek, you're not the one who had to witness her husband 'dying' on the table, in order to save his life." With that she choked on her words, spun on her heels, and hurled herself out of the OR before she started crying.
Derek was completely and utterly frozen, stunned blind at her words. His hands were shaking violently, that instruments trembling up and down, and his breath grew shuddery and hollow. He was stupid. And he had been blind, absorbed in everything else. This is why she had been so upset lately, this is why she was obsessed with the patient's wife. His knees shook too, and his insides churned, swishing so violently that he felt a wave of nausea slap him. "I need a minute…" He choked out, letting the instruments clatter to the OR table beside him, only before he ran out of the OR into the cool air of the scrub room. His breaths were shallow and rapid as he tried to grip on to more oxygen. He put both of his palms up to the wall and shut his eyes, leaning his body into it, panicking from the shock of everything that pounded on him, crumbling beside him, all at once.
Meredith didn't come back for the remainder of the surgery.
XXX
Derek had had time to gather his thoughts. After he had finished the surgery and gone to tell the wife the good news, he sat. He sat for a long time, planted aimlessly on the top stair of the back stairwell. He had stared at the flecks of chipping paint that peeled off the wall, stared at the dust that danced around the tiled floor, waiting for some sort of realization to happen. Nothing did happen: He realized that everything he was looking for had been right in front of him.
And now he stood, leaning against the door opening to the catwalk, looking out on Meredith as she leaned on the bar, staring out towards the group of humming students and flickering candles. She couldn't see him, and that's all he knew. She had an expression, though, a certain expression that he couldn't pinpoint. It was a mix of pain and confusion, her eyebrows scrunched together and her mouth tight and unhappy. Her hair hung limply over her shoulder. He took a step. And then another, until he was treading towards him.
But what was he going to say to her? What she had said was right. He had been ignoring her, being a jerk and blowing her off. He knew why, though. It was because he was afraid of his feelings. He hated to admit it, but it was true: The fear that, if he took a minute to talk to Meredith, he would let himself loose. That he would lose himself, a victim to his own emotions, and become the weakling who couldn't keep himself in check. That he would be too upset with everything to support his wife.
But was he even supporting her now? No. He was focusing on Cristina, which wasn't okay in the least. Meredith was his wife. And that was what mattered the most, no matter what. Maybe Cristina was showing it more, but he had this feeling that Meredith went through more trauma than any of them. She did, and she deserved more than what he was doing to-
"Derek?" A voice interrupted his thoughts, and he then realized he had glided all the way to Meredith's side. He stopped abruptly. Her voice grew flat and weary as she ran her hands through her hair, and she sighed nonchalantly, "I came here to be alone." Derek's throat was dry. He didn't know what to say. Words escaped him and his vocabulary was lacking, and the simple task of forming a word seemed impossible. Meredith rolled her eyes, "I said, I came here to be alone," She snickered, averting her eyes from him and gazing back out to the group of people holding the flickering lights in front of them. Say something, Derek told himself. Say something.
But what if he said the wrong thing? What if he didn't have any words? What if he ruined everything? But sometimes, saying something was better than saying nothing all. "No."
"Excuse me?" She snorted, not looking at him at all.
"No, Meredith," His voice shook, although he struggled to keep it even. "You've been alone for long enough, and I'm not leaving you to sit here by yourself again."
Meredith eyed him for a second, but flicked her gaze off in front of her again. "Derek, just go away," She whispered, as if the words were a strain for her to say.
"No." He said, firmer. "No. I've been ignoring you. I've been blowing you off. I've been spending more time with your best friend than you. I've been treating her wounds like they were deeper than your own. And I've been pretending like you didn't go through anything," He took a deep breath. "But Meredith, you went though more than anyone else." She looked down, biting her lip, and her breath quivered in her throat. Derek heard it. He spoke softer. "Meredith, look at me. Please, look at me."
"No," She whimpered, trembling, staring at her hands.
"Meredith." He repeated. He raised his hand and gently cupped her head beneath it, feeling her warmth that radiated from his chin. He tilted her head up to his, only to painfully meet her glassy eyes. "Meredith, I'm so sorry. I just…" He paused, gulping a wad of bile that was bobbing at the back of his throat. "I didn't know what to say. I didn't think… I've been stupid and ignorant and a jerk, and a bad husband. And you deserve better than that. Meredith, you deserve so much better." He faltered again, and his voice broke. "I'm sorry," He stuttered, tripping over his words.
She paused for a second, letting all of the harsh reality sink in. He was being sincere. He was her husband, and from the moment she looked into his tortured eyes, she knew he was telling her the truth. He really did love her, and she knew it. She looked up at him, eyes large and lip trembling. "I know. I know, Derek," She whispered, looking down. Her legs shook. "You were a jerk."
"I was," He admitted, the words burning his throat. "I wish, I wish I could make it up to you. I wish I could be a better husband." His eyes stung and he averted his gaze to the ground.
"I forgive you," She said, her voice small. "I do. I know you're trying."
"But I don't know how. I wish… I wish I could make all the pain go away, all of your pain go away. But I…" He gulped, his insides churning as he curled his fingers around the railing of the catwalk. "All that… it all happened to you, Meredith. I would give anything to make you forget it, to erase if from your brain. But I…" He gulped again, and his emotions shattered to pieces. Tears fogged his vision, "…I can't. I can't."
She sucked in her breath. He really did feel bad. Her head throbbed, thinking of what he had revealed to him hours earlier, remembering the whole scene: The fight in the OR, the staring of the witnesses, and then the release of her secret. Her voice shook and she touched his forearm lightly, feeling the tense, hot muscles, "Derek, it's okay. I know you're trying. I wish you had been there, I'm not going to lie or sugarcoat that. But Derek, I love you, and I always will. You made a mistake. And you really are trying. I can see that in your eyes."
You're a good man. I can see that in your eyes.
Derek let out an upset gasp, somewhere between a sigh and a cry, and moaned, "You went through all that. You went through all that and I haven't been there for you."
"Derek, stop," She said tearfully, grasping both of his forearms and trying to duck her head to look into his averted gaze. "It's okay, I~"
"Stop saying that!" He exclaimed, recoiling. "I was mean. I was a mean, insensitive jerk, and all while you have been hiding this. It's been bottled up inside of you and I didn't even notice…" He panted, running his hands through his hair.
"Derek, listen to me now," She ordered, grasping his forearms again. "Look at me," She snapped. He obliged dryly, blinking, trying to hide the tears. "I went through something. I did. And I'm terrified. But Derek, you went through something too: Remember that. You went through…" He looked down. "You went through something horrible. Terrible. You haven't talked about it. Do you think I don't worry about you too? You're hiding how scared you are." He shut his eyes and grimaced. "Do you think I haven't noticed that? We need to go through this together."
"I'm sorry." He whispered, looking back up at her and blinking. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of that. I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Oh, Derek…" She murmured back, her voice breaking. She stared up at him to meet his unwavering gaze. "I love you." They pulled each other into a tight embrace, holding closely, chest on chest, cries on cries. Their form fit together perfectly, as they were meant to be together. And they knew it. "We just have to…" Her voice broke, and it took her a second to realize that she was crying, too. "We have to do this together. We have to help each other. We can't just leave each other broken. Okay?" She said, her voice muffled into his shoulder. He held her tighter.
"Okay. Okay." He whispered into her hair, dusted with the scent of lavender. They stood like that for a moment, unchanging, holding each other tighter than they had in a very long time. When they pulled back, Meredith smiled softly, tears in her eyes as she sniffled. His heart cracked, but he managed to pull a shaking thumb up to her face and swipe the tears off. She looked at him, her face held by his strong hands. "You know what we're going to do?"
"What?" She asked, her voice thick.
"We're going to have a baby," He responded, and he kissed her. "We're going to start a family. The house is almost done, Meredith. And we're going to get through this. We're going to walk this road of recovery until the fear is gone. And we're going to do it together. I know we will." He kissed her again, and she sniffled into his shirt, twisting the fabric of it into her tiny palms. "How does that sound?"
"That sounds fine, Derek," She whispered back, her voice quivering. "That sounds absolutely extraordinary."
A/N: So, what did you think? Would you like me to continue? Please, if you could, let me know what you think by reviewing. Thank you for reading!