The sound of his car door pangs through the vicinity. An echo thrums as the place is virtually free of any human life forms. Alive humans that is. A few crows or what he assumes to be fly above in a symmetrical circle. The clouds are murky and remind him of Elliot Bay. They're sad, mourning, grieving. A perfect description of the emotions he was feeling in this moment. Although it was no surprise, he felt this way every time he crossed over that iron fence.
A mist of his breath forms adjacent from his fathomless irises, an immediate response from the brisk chill in the air. He shoves his bare hands into the furnace of his jacket pockets, instantly warming in the suffocating wool. His dark shoes trudge through the damp grass; more turf than anything. It's just as absent and damaged as everything else fixated in this place. A tinge of regret pricks his heart strings. Why had he come out here? His subconscious very well knew that making the journey out here only brought heartache. The adventure down to that damn tombstone simply made everything more complicated for him. He fell directly back into that pit of despair and depression.
Albeit, alongside the regret came with the boatload of guilt. He'd shoved this off for months. Most always he made time to come out here, even on his worst days. His schedule was consistently hectic and obscure. He obtained not even an inch rhythm. He knows in his heart there could have been more effort on his part. Even if the visitations were merely a few minutes in length. There was something he could've done.
His cerulean orbs fixate on a few people making the trail down to their own loved ones. They're mourning, donned in black, an array of vivid colors bunched in a bouquet pressed carefully to their chests. Everyone obliviously assumes the dead can sense flowers placed over their graves. He shouldn't judge. He'd been one of them.
The primary year of her death, he'd brought brought tulips every week. It was a corny cliche she would've resented, but it brought him closure. It provided serenity for his mind even if it didn't bring her back to this world.
Three hundred sixty five days was enough to commemorate her memory with frilly flowers. These days he only comes out to jump start a conversation. Truth be told, he's always been a tad too chatty. Although, what can one expect? He comes from a family of four very talkative sisters. The kind of women who speak a million miles a minute. He'd simply adopted that attribute without even trying. She used to ascribe consistently over it.
"You're so freaking chatty! You just babble and babble and babble. How have your lips not fallen off yet from overuse?"
It feels like a lifetime ago she'd said something of the sorts. In retrospect it's been so languorous he's practically lost count of the years, months, weeks, days, hours. Then again who keeps track of minuscule details like those? Perhaps it has been that long since she's even uttered a word. Not that she's saying much these days. At least now when he sparks a divulgence she isn't going to retort with a snarky comment. She hasn't done that in a while do to the blatant fact she's dead.
The sky is a dreary grey. Overcast blankets the tiny radiation of sunlight. The sun tries with every ounce of might it holds to peek through. Ironically the world knows it's a glum day just as well as he does. There is no glimmer in cemeteries. It's a dull abode. Some place dreadful no one ever seeks solace to. Somehow he still finds himself wound up here.
The thick stormy clouds above his head are an ode to his darkened mood. It's a frothy contrast. Normally he feels somewhat light whilst paying a visit to his once beloved. She was his elixir and every so often she still fills that gaping hole in his heart when life throws him an absurd amount of curve balls without warning. She'd been the color in his black and white universe. Paying his respects always came with a few tears varying from his unexpected visits. But normally he was never this bent out of shape when it came to seeing her.
His cross trainers scuff as he trudges down the line of nearly alined rows and clusters of various tombstones. Every single one is complex. Different from the one set parallel. Hers has always been at the very end of the line. Sitting distantly by itself. He figured she wouldn't have wanted anything extravagant. She was simplistic in the most outrageous way. Shiny grey makes direct contact with his optics. Hers is the regulated popsicle shape that people witness in movies and television programs.
In loving memory is engraved at the beginning. Underneath her name and the years she walked this earth. Her time was limited and she wasn't deserving of it. Why do the best ones always get the short end of the stick? A few years ago he would've been fuming with raging anger. Bolstering with a variety of rhetorical questions to absolutely no one. He never received the answers he desired but he forbore. For a while things had been that way. He couldn't dilute that feeling of consistent anger always wafting through his veins. She deserved more. Something better and he hadn't been there. He wasn't there to protect her from the wrath and cruelty of this world.
Now, now he isn't so mad. From time to time he'll get this twisting feeling in his abdomen that makes it incredibly hard to focus. He's trying to be gracious for the time he'd been given with her rather than selfishly asking for more. Every person put on this earth has or had some sort of purpose. She wasn't delivered enough time most definitely but served her purpose nonetheless. Brooding never seemed to get him very far anyhow. For a while it always felt as though he was stuck in time. He couldn't move forward no matter how hard he tried to rip himself from the funk he was trapped in.
Things are physically better now. Most always his excursions to her grave aren't for pining purposes. He doesn't come here to grieve anymore. He hasn't done that in what feels like forever and it's not simply from the fact he hasn't carved out a time slot in his schedule to make an appearance. He couldn't remember the last time he physically mourned over her loss. Maybe that's an incentive he's been able to find some kind of median. A middle ground in which he's no longer terribly miserable every moment.
The forefinger attached to his left hand curls around the tiny silk inside his coat pocket, hooking it as a mechanism to keep his sanity. It's weird, for him at least. Why does he have to be nervous about communicating with a dead woman? She isn't going to retaliate. He's more so talking to himself. The news in itself is something he should be euphoric over and somehow the only feeling sifting within is one of guilt.
"Hey." His mouth is moving faster than his brain. He practically blurts the monosyllabic word without haste even when he's shaking in his shoes, literally. The feeling of his tongue slipping over his chapped lower lip is comforting in some strange way. He's always been a nervous person, even when others define him as an arrogant man with little to no imperfections. McDreamy they call him. What she called him.
Internally he finds that a load of bull shit. He's just as messed up as anyone else in this world. She always knew that. Respected it even. There were moments they brawled in heated arguments. She'd pull the flawless card on him and it would only fuel the fire. Somehow even their worst of disputes held passion he was sure no one else could attain in a lifetime of life. Albeit, deep down she was certain there was nothing perfect about him. Everyone has their quirks. He misses her brutal honesty. He misses a lot of things about her.
"First, I wanted to say I was sorry." He rocks evenly on the balls of his feet. "It's been too long since I've seen you. I'd lie and say life has been a little crazy; which it has. But it's never a good enough excuse for you. You've always deserved better than that load of crap." His small snicker is an oxymoron. Who laughs in a place of despair? She had that effect on him. Dead or alive. "Anyways I kind of have something to tell you." The biggest understatement of the year.
He shuffles forward. The sight of her grave still inexplicably painful even after the recovery he's made. Someone must've stopped by and planted flowers on the soil a while ago. The dead roses are confusing for him. She hated the flower. She described them as stupid and romantic chick-flick corny. Roses were the definition of fairytales which in fact almost never come true. He'd thought they lived in a fairytale. Stupid hopeless romantic.
"Then again, I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I think it's why I haven't been stopping by. Even though I know this is what you would've wanted for me. You perhaps may've encouraged this just as much." The wind whispers vaguely in the background. It whips his droopy curls from his forehead. "You always worried I'd be alone. Before you knew I was madly in love with one woman. Someone that took you by surprise." But was ultimately secretly ecstatic over. That woman being you.
A grin perks. It's a combustion of emotions. He can't decipher how he feels. The news in itself is wonderful. A level of happiness he was scared of never attaining again. When she passed, a piece of him went with her. Like a missing soul or something morbid of the sorts. He's gradually rebuilt that part of himself. It's not a carbon copy by any means. He's structured differently now as a matter of fact. Like a cheap off brand of who was. Looks similar, functions nearly the same, but not quite right.
His teeth chatter in response to the cool temperature. Winters in Seattle are more brutal than people like to give credit for. "I miss you. I may be lacking in visits and it may not show but I do. I've learned to forgive what happened because no amount of anger could bring you back to this world. You were an addition to my life that I'll never forget. Someone that when I met I never figured we'd end up the way we did." The smile broadens. "I have faith that you're okay. In a place that brings all the joy you deserved. I'm aware life wasn't a piece of cake on your part. It's like the world just wanted revenge on you for no good reason at all."
It's no lie she got treated like crap. The universe was a prime candidate for shucking bad karma in her direction. She received the worst for practically nothing. There wasn't a bad bone in her body. Even when she relished pretending she wasn't a nurturing or caring person. He knew the truth. Whether she liked it or not.
"But that's beside the point. I know God is taking good care of you up there." He's never been too entirely religious. His mother was an avid participant in religious affairs. When his father died she only upped her status as a faithful woman to the catholic religion. She'd drag he along with every one of sisters to church every Sunday, but he didn't complain. It was her way of copping with the loss of her husband. It gave her peace knowing there was something bigger than herself. Something to believe in. To be cognizant someone was taking care of him when she couldn't.
As he's gotten older, he's lacked in visits to church. He doesn't pick up a bible ever and probably couldn't pick a handful of proverbs from the top of his brain without searching them up. But he believed in God. He could differentiate heaven and hell. He's never been all that spiritual but when it comes to death he likes to believe there's an afterlife people can cross over to when their time on earth has demolished. She was never too big on faith either. He blames it on her lack of parenting and little to no family. He'd never hold it against her.
"Okay so here this goes. No anesthesia. I'm just gonna rip the bandaid." His Adam's apple bobs after he takes a gulp. No anesthesia. "I'm getting married. Crazy right? I know this seems a little out of sorts. Especially after all the times I've come down here and made it obvious I never wanted to love again. You were enough for me. You always have been. It feels odd I know. I haven't told you anything about her or what she's like. You didn't even know I had someone in my life." Guilt eats at him. "I'm babbling and I feel like you. Always rambling over things you couldn't control."
He's careful to crouch. His dark wash threadbare jeans press into the dewy sod. 1984-2004. He mentally reads those numbers from her tombstone. "I proposed. In a completely cliche way you would've hated. I didn't do it like I did with you. This girl is the opposite of who you were which seems completely wrong. But we're good for each other." He heaves.
"I met her at a grief counseling circle. Which is really lame and I never told you about it. She lost her brother and I lost you. I guess that's how we bonded. You'd probably like her or maybe not. I don't know if expensive shoes were ever your forte."
Of course they weren't. She hated shit like that. She was a converse kind of girl. She wore the same navy pair every day for nearly a year after he bought them as a birthday gift. She wasn't a tomboy by any means. But she wasn't the girly kind of woman either. She was her own breed. Uniquely herself and that's why he fell so hard. A breath of fresh air.
You were like coming up for fresh air.
She pulled him out of the water.
It's like I was drowning and you saved me.
"I didn't give her your ring. That just felt..." disgusting. Wrong. Foul. Asshole-ish. He'd never in his right mind give that sacred gift to another human being for as long as he's breathing. His mother's ring was for her and nobody else. "You know what I mean. I asked her to marry me over French Toast." He rubs his palm against his skin whilst recollecting on the memory.
He'd conjured an over the top breakfast. Breakfast in bed that was. Enlisting Mark to assist with recipes. The man could cook but would never let any living soul know the actuality. He brought the tray up. She gasped in surprise. The morning bled on and he was grabbing her dainty little hand, two carrot diamond ring fixated between his fingers. His paycheck and profession allowed such an exquisite piece of jewelry.
She took the bait and poof, Derek Shepherd was a second time engaged man.
"It was kind of cliche but Mark said she'd enjoy the corniness. Her names Addison by the way. Addison Montgomery. She's a neonatal surgeon, best on the east and west coast." He grins with gusto.
Derek pauses. The minimal amount of trees lurking around the cemetery sway. Bare branches crackle in the air beyond him. His nose is an ice cube, slightly surprised it hasn't fallen off. Never in a million years could he have pictured this moment. Frankly there'd be no a reason in the world to before now. Before she'd been his endgame. There was no else because she was it. The individual he was incredibly set on spending the rest of his life. To be old, grey, senile, overlooking the view on his land.
I want to die in your arms at a hundred and ten.
She'd been right on the money over the fairytales and happy endings are crap. Life is simply a vicious playing card. One wrong move and you've lost for good.
Derek lost her.
"I want you to know I'll never obtain what I held with you ever again. Not with anyone. You were my one and only. When I was thirteen and you were six running around in your front yard with that damn doll yelling out fake organ names, I couldn't wait to get rid of you." Tears create a translucent sheen over his irises.
"Damn, you were so goddamn annoying." That triggers a chortle. It feels nice to laugh in a situation like this. "Ironically when you were sixteen and I kissed you under that tree in your backyard, inappropriate age difference or not, I never wanted you to leave. What we had was, spectacular. I love Addison but isn't all consuming. Not the way I felt for you."
Derek leans forward and presses his digits over the name imprinted across the slab of grey concrete. "You'd want me to be happy. I know that more than anyone. If the tables were turned, I'd want you to move on and find exuberance in your life."
It's true. Even if the reality would've been nearly more painful than now. If he'd been the one to go before her, there's no doubt it would be an excruciating agony watching her love another man. Sometimes he's a little curious if she's found someone up above. Do people mate in the afterlife? But he wouldn't want her to be lonely. No one deserves to be held down by people they can't bring back. One simply can't live in the past. He'd learned this.
"So there's the news. The thing I've been scared to tell you because I never wanted you to think I'd forget about you and move on. I may be moving forward but you'll always be in here. In my heart." A single tear manages to escape the realms of his corneas. He'd promised himself there wouldn't be any emotional out bursts during this trip. Does one tear qualify as an absurd amount of emotional turmoil?
Thunder rumbles above. Almost a like an indication he needs to wrap things up. With a grunt and a tad of support from her grave he finds himself back on two feet. Granted, wobbly feet. "I still love you, Meredith Grey. Alive or not I'm always going to love you."
Derek twists and starts to descend down the aisle of morbid graves and lifeless souls.
In a world of unknown he can definitely be sure there's never enough time.
Right?
I think I like leaving my readers with a cliffhangers. Anyhow, hey everyone! I know this may upset a few people as this is a new story and not an update to one of my others but I have perfectly valuable explanations! *waits to be pelted by tomatoes* before I begin I do want to mention uploading this chapter was a bitch. It has traumatized me to inexplicably measures but it is here nonetheless.
Alright, for starters I've been in a serious writing drought. I've had how you'd say writers block to the fullest extent. For a while I was writing for others and not for myself. It felt like a job I didn't want to go to and at some point I had to tell myself it was okay to take a break. A lot of you were gracious in my time off. Five to six months is a lot of time without updates and those of you who stayed loyal are amazing. Of course there were the few nasty comments. Ones that were angry I couldn't deliver faster which ultimately stumped my inspiration even more.
It's definitely odd considering I had a sudden urge to write my heart out over the last week or so. When I posted those authors notes yesterday and had a ton of responses, it really warmed my heart! Definitely gave me the boost I needed to keep going.
As for my older stories, I didn't update them first because I'm not particularly happy with them. I was rather inexperienced a year ago when I wrote LTASB last January. The plot went by too fast. It has no rhythm and I hate that. The writing itself is good I won't lie but the plot is just uncoordinated. There's virtually no development. As for LPOM I just have to figure out what I want to do with it. Where it takes me next. I feel that idea is just a carbon copy of a lot of stories with that plot. I know it's still early and I can switch things up and make it original. My point is, I intend on finishing them both but you have to be patient with me.
For this story, I'm hopefully you guys are going to enjoy it. I've left a lot of unknowns in this prologue and I as a reader myself find it intriguing when writers leave me hanging for a few chapters. It's apparent I'm ready to get back into writing as I wrote this entire thing in like two hours.
A few things I want to make clear for this is that it is a MerDer story. Keep that in mind. I'm not Shonda and I'd never do to Meredith or Derek what she's done in my land unless they're both 110 and dying together. So please don't jump to conclusions. Secondly, this story will include more characters and deeper storylines. I want this to be interesting. No, it's not sad and morbid like Pick Your Poison. It's a puzzle. I like giving my readers jigsaws to work out. I'm not out to make Addison some annoying twit either. In the show, she had good development and I'm not trying to make her out to be shallow in this story. Third, you have to be patient with me in this too. Writing is a complicated thing, especially when you're jotting down more than three thousand words.
This chapter is shorter than my normal five thousand words. I simply can't do that for every chapter. Granted this is over 3,500 but it's significantly shorter for my tastes. I've had to pick and choose what I want and I've concluded shorter chapters means I'll crank them out faster and I'm hopeful it'll make all of you happier with me. On occasion I'll give lengthy chapters but it simply depends what's happening.
I think that's pretty much it. I also don't know if Derek is actually catholic I kind of picked that up from a Fanfiction I read. I also stole the French toast proposal from Ellen Pompeo (; I'd love some reviews because I'm embarrassingly thirsty for feedback. Favorite if you're on wattpad and follow if you're reading from ! I love you all so much thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking by me!