So, this chapter took a little longer to finish than I'd thought it would. It's also quite a bit longer than I thought it would be. These two facts may or may not be connected... Anyway, this is chapter two. It's from Derek's perspective this time, which, while I find him very fun and adventuresome to write, always manages to drive me a little bit crazy. It is very hard to pretend to think like a boy. Or a man. Sorry, Derek. You're a man. So yeah, this is the next chapter. It picks up the next day. And thank you again for the many kind welcome backs I received. It's so very nice to feel welcome. And I'm very glad to hear people are enjoying the story so far. Hopefully this update won't disappoint. And, speaking of the update, here it is! Enjoy.
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Derek leaned against the counter of the nurses' station, scanning the chart in his hands while failing to register a single word. He cast another glance down the hall to his left. Nurses and orderlies were bustling quickly by in both directions. A man in a hospital gown was making a slow trek towards an open door, clinging to his IV pole like it was the only real thing left in the world. Derek forced himself to turn back to the chart, and took a long swig of the coffee he had set on the counter. He wasn't looking for her. Not really. He drummed his pen against the counter and leaned forward to get a better view of the other corridor that emptied into the open space surrounding the nurses' station. He saw lab coats and scrubs and a woman struggling under the weight of several dozen yellow roses. The intercom crackled for a moment, and then a smooth, feminine voice began to page a Dr. Jansen. The hospital hummed with constant noise, never sleeping. She could be anywhere.
He shook his head, annoyed with himself. The last thing Meredith needed was a babysitter. He heaved a sigh, scrawling his signature across the chart before passing it back to a nurse. A glance at his watch told him he had twenty minutes until he was wanted in surgery. He had things to do other than wait around aimlessly, hoping for a glimpse of her. She'd seemed herself when she woke up that morning – haggard and tired from the hours she had spent on the bathroom floor – but herself. She'd yawned into her coffee mug all the way to work and she hadn't said much, but she was fine. The diary had stayed on the bedside table when she stumbled into the bathroom, and neither of them had said a word about the night before. He was being ridiculous, but ever since she'd toyed with not breathing the morning of the ferry disaster, that ancient old bathtub had taken on a sinister flair in his memories. He wished he had found her reading Ellis's diary in any other room of the house. Anywhere but there.
He was staring aimlessly down at the ground when her voice reached his ears. It cut straight through the din like the high, clear note of a bell ringing out. He looked up to see her walking down the hall, a stack of charts in her arms and her interns trailing behind her. She was talking to them as they navigated the busy hallway, her voice hoarse but efficient.
"No, run to the lab, please," she said to a female intern whose name he admittedly still didn't know. "See if Ms. Porter's results are in. Page me if they are." She turned to the intern on her left, passing off two of the charts in her arms. "Go ahead and discharge Mr. Huckley and Mrs. Branch, and then head down to the pit." She pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand and let her eyes flutter shut, trundling down the hallway without the slightest regard for where she was placing her feet. When Meredith looked up again she finally caught sight of him and flashed him a tiny smile. She walked over to the nurses' station, coming to a halt right beside him. "Hey," she said.
"Hey," echoed Derek. Up close her exhaustion was palpable. "You okay?"
"Mmm…" Her laughter was dry and self-deprecating. She yawned into her hands. "Never let me get that little sleep again. I feel like the waking dead." Derek nodded. "Plus, withdrawals," she added as she picked up his coffee cup and took a long sip.
"Withdrawals?"
"From the crack-diary," she said matter-of-factly.
"Right, right. The crack-diary." He tried not to look as anxious as he felt. "How's that going?"
Meredith shrugged and shook her head, still nursing his coffee. "I left it at home in an effort to preserve my sanity." She glanced down at his empty hands, one eyebrow quirking like a question mark. "What are you up to?"
"Killing time." He checked his watch again, "I've got a cordotomy in fifteen minutes. Your ever delightful best friend should be prepping him right now." He hoped that didn't sound too harsh; working with Cristina Yang was taxing. She had a way of looking at him as if she was barely tolerating his presence in the OR even though he was the attending. If the sudden twitch at the corners of Meredith's mouth meant anything, it had sounded every bit as sarcastic out loud as it had inside his head.
"Cute. Very cute," she said. "That reminds me, I'm supposed to be tracking down your best friend."
"He's not my best friend." The statement rose up unbidden from somewhere deep down and unexamined. But once he heard the words out loud he knew they were true.
"He's not? I thought you two were friends again."
"We are, but he's not my…" He hesitated, staring at Meredith. She was watching him expectantly, green eyes wide and serious. If anyone fit the bill of best friend these days, it was her, but she still had her person. "We're not you and Cristina," he said at last.
She nodded but didn't speak. When she was silent, he could see the exhaustion that clung to her more clearly. It fell in layers over her shoulders, making her slouch as if the pull of gravity was just too much. It muted the sparkle in her eyes and left them solemn. She yawned again, and all he wanted was to gather her in his arms and let her sleep. He settled for bumping his shoulder against hers in an attempt to make her smile. "What are you up to with Sloan today? Saving the world one facelift at a time?"
Meredith rolled her eyes. "Something like that. I don't know. Honestly, if I can just get through the day without dropping anything on the ground again, I'll be fine." The sudden bitterness to her voice set off warning bells inside his head. She took a final sip of his coffee and held it out to him. Derek ignored the cup to wrap his finger and thumb around her wrist, holding her lightly hostage.
"Meredith…"
Her gaze flicked to his hand, but she made no mention of it. "I should go," she said. She tugged against him, but his fingers kept her there.
"You're a good surgeon," he said quietly.
She stared up at him with hollow eyes, vacant and faraway. They didn't get that look that often anymore, but every time they did his skin felt cold and clammy. Those were the eyes that had drowned in the bay.
"Right. We'll see," she said and her voice had an edge like broken glass. "Look, I've gotta go." She set the coffee down on the counter and wriggled out of his grasp. The smile she gave him did nothing for the emptiness behind her eyes. He watched her walk away and tried to shake off the layer of unease that coated his mind like scum on a pond. He had a cordotomy to get to.
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Someone had left the TV on in the lounge, and he hadn't bothered to turn it off. From the looks of it, a soap opera was underway. Derek glanced at it every now and then, amusing himself with the never ending hysterics of heavily made-up blond women. But mostly he kept his eyes on the thick stack of paperwork spread out over the table in front of him. He had a crick in his neck courtesy of the cordotomy, and he rubbed at it absently now and then. A half eaten tuna sandwich sat to the side on its cellophane wrapper, the bread already starting to turn soggy. He couldn't decide which was less appetizing: the sandwich or the towering mountain of paperwork. He rolled his head slowly from left to right, still working on the tension in his neck. What he really wanted was to page Meredith to the nearest on call room and let her wring the tension from him like water from a sponge. He closed his eyes, seeing her in front of him shrugging out of her scrubs. She'd pull her hair from its ponytail and let it spill over her shoulders to graze the tops of her breasts. Her legs would twine around him, her skin warm and smooth and slick, and she'd gasp his name when she came, her voice hissing past his ear. In that moment, she would be a secret that only he knew.
Derek shook his head roughly, wincing as he jerked his aching neck. The sudden twinge of pain helped more than anything else to scrape the sight of her from the backs of his eyelids. He coughed and looked around awkwardly, self-conscious as if someone else had seen her naked behind his closed eyes. A woman's voice cried out from the TV, the vent in the ceiling hummed, but the room was empty save for him. Derek blinked hard. The papers were still waiting for him. If he was going to get anywhere he had to concentrate on things that weren't Meredith without a shirt on, but when he didn't think of her naked he thought of her staring at him with that emptiness in her eyes, dripping exhaustion from every limb. With a voice like broken glass. She was fine. His next surgery was two hours away, and he'd been neglecting the administrative side of his job more than usual lately. Tedious as it was, there was no good excuse to get him away from the stack of papers requiring his signature, his approval, his time. Meredith was fine. He sighed and picked up his pen.
He'd fallen into a rhythm, and was a good fourth of the way through the stack, when the door to the lounge swung open with a whoosh. Derek looked up in time to see Mark collapse onto the nearest sofa.
"Hey," muttered Mark, his eyes closed.
Derek nodded. "Hey." He signed another form.
That reminds me, I'm supposed to be tracking down your best friend.
Mark was his friend. Not his best friend anymore, but…not that far off. He could ask. He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. "How's Meredith doing?"
"Isn't that what I ask you?" said Mark. He sounded vaguely confused, but not enough to warrant opening his eyes.
"She's working with you today, right?"
"Yeah."
"So how's she doing?" Whatever hold he had on casual was apparently now gone because Mark finally opened his eyes and pushed himself up into a slouch.
"Fine." He shrugged. "Why?"
Derek stared down at his sandwich, crumpling it up in its cellophane. It wasn't edible. "No reason," he muttered. She was fine, whole and healed and all the wonderful things she had promised him, but it was the little things that ate away at him. Stupid little things that he couldn't admit to her like the way she looked when she stepped out of the shower, her hair sopping wet and plastered around her face. That still got to him sometimes. Or the way she could be smiling at him one moment, but then something would roll in over her eyes and, next thing he knew, she'd be a million miles away. And that damn bathtub. It seemed it was her sanctuary, the place she went at three am to bring Ellis back from the dead.
That's not a bath. I know what a bath looks like.
He'd never call it a sanctuary. It was forever the place she first drowned.
"Just, take it easy on her today," he said.
Mark leaned forward, eager and curious, delighted each time he was let in. "Why?"
"No reason," said Derek a little too quickly. "She's tired. Long night."
Mark's eyebrows wiggled. "Goin' at it 'til the break of dawn, huh?" His grin was devilish, "She is gonna love you covering for her."
"That's why you don't mention it to her," snapped Derek. "And it wasn't sex." His hand slapped down against the table, and he shook his head. This was why Mark wasn't his best friend anymore. He'd almost forgot, but this was why. "Forget it," he said roughly. "Just forget I said anything."
"Hey, I'm sorry," said Mark, holding up his hands. "What'd I do?"
Derek shook his head and signed another form. "Nothing," he muttered. The crick in his neck sunk his mood, and he scowled at Mark for a long moment as his fingers worked their way along his spine. The other man sat on the couch, his face an open book as it always was. Mark meant no harm. Sure, he had more than his fair share of moments of blinding stupidity, but he never meant any harm by it. Not really. It's what made it hard to hate him. Derek dragged a hand back through his hair. "I don't know. Something's bothering her."
"So ask her about it," suggested Mark. He smiled knowingly. "Chicks love to talk about their feelings."
"I have," snapped Derek, suddenly irritated. "She says things, we talk, but I can't just…" He couldn't ask. Not the heart of it. Not the real question. He couldn't say it to her. He felt frustrated and snarled on the inside, like a hairball choking a drain. "What do I say?" he mused bitterly. "Honey, are you feeling a little crazy today?" A harsh bark of laughter punctuated his words. "I can't say that."
Mark was silent, and the weight of what he'd said echoed and echoed inside his head. Crazy. The guilt crept in. "She's not crazy," he added quickly. "I never thought she was. But before…things were so bad for her before." He stared down at the scattered forms and files in front of him, talking to himself more than Mark, talking to erase the guilt and explain it away. "She's better now, but sometimes there are moments. Little things. They remind me of how she used to be, and I don't think… I don't want to close my eyes only to find her right back where she was before because she used to be…" Empty. A shell. A ghost. Broken from the inside out. "She was just so damn…"
"Depressed?" Mark's voice broke the room in two and jerked Derek's head up. "She was fucking depressed, man."
"Don't diagnose her," he snapped. "You're not a shrink."
"I'm just saying what I saw," said Mark quietly. "That many deaths in a row? It'd screw with anyone's head."
Derek sighed. Mark didn't get it. It wasn't just the deaths. They were part of it, but there was more. Ellis's death and Susan's…they followed her own. Their deaths hadn't stopped her from swimming; the water in the well ran deeper than that. He stood up abruptly, pushing his papers into a messy pile. He'd drive himself crazy dwelling on that day.
"She's fine," he said. He gathered up what was left of his sandwich, and tossed it into the trash in a long, clean arc. "She could just use some cheering up."
Mark grinned like a kid with candy. "Sex always cheers me up," he suggested. "Helps me cheer up a lot of nurses too."
"Right. That's charming, Mark."
"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
Derek snorted. "I did." He thought of Rose, and his smile felt dry and humorless as it stretched across his face. "It didn't work."
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The rest of the day passed quickly in surgery, the back part of Derek's brain humming constantly with ideas for cheering Meredith up. Something simple and low-key that they could do tonight. Something to keep her away from the pull of Ellis's diary and the constant crush of the hospital for an hour or two. Something that would just let her relax. By the time the sun had set and he'd changed back into his street clothes, he had an idea. He loitered by the elevators, waiting for her.
"Hey," called Meredith. Her voice shook him from his thoughts, and he looked up to find her at the end of the hall. A smile flickered across her face like a candle caught in the wind, struggling not to be snuffed out. "You ready to go?" She looked tired; her face was ever paler than it had been in the morning, as if the day had stripped the last vestiges of color from her skin. Her smile just barely made it to the corners of her eyes.
Derek shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, fingers gripping the seams for support. He could cheer her up. He cocked his head and smiled at her. Charming, that was the goal. "Go out with me," he said.
A frown blossomed on Meredith's brow. "What? To Joe's?"
"No, not to Joe's. To dinner. Go out with me." He took a step closer but her frown only deepened. Maybe it was simple confusion. They weren't the sort who dated. Dates had been commonplace with Rose. They'd been abundant in the beginning with Addison. But with Meredith, their actual dates could be counted on one hand. It wasn't their thing. Or, going by the jut of Meredith's chin, it wasn't her thing.
"You mean like on a date?" she asked, the hint of laughter making her voice warm and melodic, even if it was mocking. Her eyes were wide and sparkling with amusement.
"Yes."
"You want to buy me dinner?" She sidled up to him just as the elevator opened, wearing an incredulous grin that hid her exhaustion and made him want to kiss her right there. He took advantage of the moment and grabbed her around the waist, half walking and half carrying her into the elevator with him.
The doors slid shut, sealing them briefly from the rest of the world. Derek pressed her up against the far wall, bracing himself with one arm as he leaned towards her. The space between them bled away and their hips bumped together as their lips touched. She kissed him back, harder than he would have guessed from the weariness she wore like a cloak. Her fingernails raked across his scalp, and the air in the elevator crackled like a live wire. This was what they did best. This was how he knew her best. When they pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed. Not much, but enough to bring a hint of color back to her face. She looked less like a ghost. "I want to buy you dinner," he agreed.
She giggled again, tilting her face towards his like a flower courts the sun. "That's very sweet, Derek, but you don't have to buy me a steak to get laid."
"I don't want to get laid," he said automatically. Meredith's eyebrows shot straight up, and he cringed as she pulled away from him ever so slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but it left him feeling cold. Cold and stupid. He gave a rapid shake of his head. "I mean, I do. I really do, but, that's not the point here." The words sounded awkward, even to him, and Meredith crossed her arms over her chest. "I just want to take you to dinner. No catch."
"No catch," she echoed, sounding for all the world like she didn't believe him.
"None," he said solemnly. The elevator opened for them, and he slipped an arm around her as they walked out. "It'd just be you and me, food and wine. No roommates, no—"
"So this is a roommate thing?" she said, cutting him off. She was frowning again, worn down and weary. The glow he had conjured up in the elevator vanished as they hit the night air. He touched her shoulder cautiously and she sighed, "You really don't like them?"
"This isn't a roommate thing," he said. Meredith just stared at him. "I wasn't even going to bring them up. I like them fine, and you're not ready for them to move out."
"No, I'm not."
"See?" Derek smiled at her. "I knew that." He let go of her to unlock the car, and Meredith regarded him with narrowed eyes.
"You knew that," she said slowly.
She was silent as they climbed into the car. Only the soft click of seatbelts being buckled and the jingle of his keys kept him company, and he was about to give up on the idea and just drive them home when Meredith made what he was sure had to be the strangest noise he had ever heard. It was rife with exasperation and started out a little like a sigh, but it soon twisted with confusion and flailed in the air.
Her hand came down against her thigh with a smack. "Then what?" she snapped, cutting the sound short before he could question it. "If this isn't an attempt to get rid of Alex and Izzie, and this isn't an attempt to seduce me, then what is it? Because we just spent all day at the hospital, and I have exactly ten hours and," she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, "twelve minutes before I have to come back, and I'm exhausted, and suddenly you want to do some fancy dinner thing. And how fancy are we talking here, anyway, because my shirt's wrinkled, my jeans have a hole in them, and the whole picture is just highly unpresentable."
"Meredith…"
She barreled on as if she hadn't heard him, her voice growing louder. "We can do it, if you want, because you are dating the new and improved Meredith who does things like fancy dinner whatevers with her boyfriend."
"Meredith…"
"All I'm saying is that I would like to know the catch now, beforehand, instead of having it sprung on me later. And don't say there isn't a catch because there is always a catch. You are the master of catches, mister forty-eight uninterrupted hours." She grumbled the last bit in a voice only a few decibels louder than a whisper, and he couldn't decide if she was ribbing him or sharing or attempting something somewhere in between the two. At any rate, it was novel. They didn't talk about before, about the sex and mockery, about the exquisite torture of trying to hold onto her when she had been as elusive as a wisp of smoke. There were no long conversations about Rose. Part of being happy and healthy in the here and now seemed to hinge on not delving too deeply down into the dark months that lay behind them. It said that somewhere in the unwritten rules of their relationship, the ones they had wordlessly agreed upon every day in a thousand little ways. For her sake. He'd thought the silence had been for her. But now she alluded to the wine country, and something twisted in his gut. He didn't know what to say back.
He finally settled for her name, and the three syllables rang out over the faint hum of the engine, "Meredith."
"What?" Meredith sank down in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, and fixed him with a very intense stare that fell just short of glaring.
Derek thumped his thumbs against the steering wheel, beating out a shaky, syncopated rhythm. It was too late to switch on the radio without looking like an asshole, but the silence was grating. He suddenly felt as tired as she had looked all day. "We don't have to go to dinner," he said at last. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." He pressed down on the break pedal, slowing them to a halt as the light turned red. She sat half in shadow and half in light, a streetlamp flooding the far side of her face in a wash of gold. He turned towards her, but the armrest between them was insurmountable. Derek cleared his throat. "I thought it could be fun to do something different for a change. Just us. But we don't have to. We'll go home."
"Green light," said Meredith flatly. Derek jerked his attention back to the road. The car behind them leaned on its horn. He pressed down on the gas and they lurched forward in a sudden spurt of speed. Time started to feel strange. It prickled against his skin, ticking off the seconds with an abstract sort of pain. Meredith was silent and beautiful and infuriating beside him. Some things never change. He stared straight ahead and tried not to care.
And then her hand was on his thigh and he was flooded with warmth. "I want steak," she said decisively.
Derek glanced over at her before turning back to watch the road. Her fingers fluttered against his leg, and there was comfort in her touch. "What?" he asked.
"I want steak, and I know we don't have any in the fridge. We're going to have to go to a restaurant." When he glanced back at her a second time she was smiling.
"Mer, it's okay. You don't have to—"
"I want to," she cut him off. "It'll be fun." He watched her pull the sun visor down out of the corner of his eye. She leaned forward, studying her reflection in the tiny rectangular mirror. "Just nowhere fancy," she added as she yanked her ponytail out and teased her fingers through her hair. "I look like crap."
Derek smiled and changed lanes. She was gorgeous.
It was drizzling when he pulled into the half empty lot behind the restaurant. The sign out front had proclaimed it to be Vince's Steakhouse. He'd never been there before, but if Meredith wanted steak, he was going to find her a steak. The car doors slammed shut and Derek pocketed his keys, about to make a quick dash to the entrance. But Meredith threw her head back towards the inky black sky, letting the raindrops land on her upturned face. She breathed in deeply as if the rain made her glad. He could only stare. This was the part of her that fascinated him. This was the part he was never sure he'd fully understand. Humans are roughly sixty percent water, but Meredith…she was more than that. She was water in too many ways.
"Let's go," he said at last, placing his hand on the small of her back. She looked down from the sky with a faint smile in her eyes, and let him shepherd her into the restaurant. The place had its fair share of character; the lighting was dim and yellow, and stubby candles flickered on each table from deep within votives of cloudy green glass. They were led to a booth tucked away in a far corner with seats of rust-colored leather and a tabletop of dark, heavily polished wood. Old black and white photographs tinted with age hung from the walls in thick black frames. Meredith rubbed her hands together over the scant warmth of the flickering candle and beamed at him when he wordlessly began to offer her his jacket.
"Nah, I'm good," she said with a shake of her head. She leaned forward conspiratorially, her elbows propping her up over the table. "So, what is this place?"
"Huh?"
"How'd you find it? Tell me the story."
"Oh. I've never been here before," he admitted. "But, you said you wanted steak, and this is a steakhouse. It should be able to meet all your steak related needs." He felt a rush of relief when she laughed out loud, shaking her head at him.
"So if this place is horrible, you're going to blame it on my needs?" she asked.
"Something like that," he agreed, and Meredith laughed again. He savored her smile.
Their waitress sidled up to the booth, menus in hand. She was tall and reedy, her hair hacked into short spikes and bleached platinum. "I'm Anna," she announced in a voice that sounded far too smooth and mature for the faint echoes of childhood that still clung to her in places. "I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
They ordered wine and took their menus, and the silence that followed as they scanned them was surprisingly pleasant after the car ride. "So," said Meredith, peering at him over the top of her menu. "On a scale of one to ten, how horrible is it if we came here for my steak related needs and I don't order steak?"
"Hmmm…" Derek pressed his lips together, pretending to be deep in thought. "Thirty-four. Definitely a thirty-four."
Meredith exhaled heavily, sending the hair that framed her face fluttering outward. "But I want a cheeseburger," she said, her mouth curving up into a smile that he felt in the tips of his toes. "I need a cheeseburger."
He tilted his head to the side and stared at her. "You have many needs."
"Yes," she said, matching his intensity. "I do." She wound her leg around his under the table. He lost his train of thought and drank her in, falling into the endless warmth of her gaze. She didn't seem so tired now. She didn't.
When Anna came back carrying their drinks, he was still staring at Meredith like some sort of lovesick fool. She laughed at him for ordering salad, and her eyes were taunting when she asked for a cheeseburger with fries. They fell right back into their usual banter while they waited for their food, and, when it came, Meredith bit into her cheeseburger like it was her last meal. The conversation halted as they started to eat, and the silence slowly turned solemn. The candlelight hid it some, but the tiredness she shook off with her smile came creeping back like the tide encroaching on the shore. He blamed the diary.
Derek cleared his throat, "So, tonight…you're not planning another marathon reading session, are you?"
The handful of french-fries that had been on their way to her mouth halted their journey abruptly. She held them poised in midair, her gaze ticking from them to him. "Oh. I'm too tired for that," she said. She stuffed her mouth with the fries and stared down at her plate, chewing far more violently then necessary.
"Mer?" he asked. When she looked up again, her eyes were a little more distant than they had been. She wasn't millions of miles away drowning in the bay, but that first familiar layer of separation had rolled in across her face. He speared a piece of lettuce with his fork, silently debating the finer points of a thousand questions. It was always a bit of a guessing game when it came to mentioning Ellis. He wanted to be there. He wanted to help. But it was her war to wage, not his. "Are you…" he began tentatively, setting his fork down on his plate, the lettuce still skewered on the silver tines. "Are you okay reading it?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Her voice was flat – a challenge. "She's just my mother."
"Except she's not just your mother," said Derek. He reached across the table and caught her hand with his, weaving their fingers together so she couldn't pull away. "We both know that."
Meredith glared down at their entwined hands, but she didn't try to wriggle free from his grasp. Her lips moved slightly, as if she was trying to work up the courage to speak and was playing it all out silently before adding her voice. She sighed and the sound was a quiet, fluttering thing.
"I spent half the day thinking I should just go home and burn it," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. "Just set it on fire and never have to find out what she's said about me. But, the other half of the day, I'll I could think about was reading it. I should face the past."
The last sentence wavered like a question, but she didn't look to him for the answer. She just lifted her cheeseburger with her free hand, and took another gaping bite. Derek rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles. This was his fault. He was the one who had found the diary. He was the one who had dug up her past. He should have something to suggest, but, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't stand in her shoes for this. There was no point of comparison. If it was his mother's diary, he wouldn't be sitting there with fear in his eyes. He knew exactly what he would find; memories of when he and his sisters were all little and their father was alive, memories so brilliantly colored with happiness that they would transport him back through time, then there would be the cold grief that surrounded his father's death, clouds of loss and heartache and misery, but underneath it all, his mother's determination and her love for him and his sisters. They would be okay because her children would be happy and loved despite their loss; she would allow for no other possibility. Her love for him would pour off the page. There was no doubt in his mind. There was no point of comparison.
"Derek," said Meredith. Her voice broke through his thoughts and he nodded. "Stop looking at me like that."
He started to smile. "Like what?"
"Like I'm an MRI. Like I'm some brain you're about to cut into." His smile faltered.
"I'm not—"
"You are, which is pathetic because I'm your girlfriend, and we're in a restaurant on a date. And there are candles. You should be looking at me like you're trying to guess what color panties I have on."
He recognized it for what it was; her silent plea to stop talking about the diary. Sex always was her favorite way to change the subject. He let it go, and his eyes dropped from her face to dip lower, lingering over the way her breasts pulled at her shirt, straining the fabric ever so slightly. The table hid the rest of her body, but he could imagine. Oh, could he imagine. Black? Red? Some printed pattern thing? The possibilities were endless. He raked his eyes up and down her body, and when he finally let his gaze lock with hers again her eyes were bright and hypnotizing, her cheeks ever so slightly pink.
"That was inappropriate," she said, but her voice was low and breathy and it made her words a lie.
Derek just grinned, his chest swelling with pride. "Black. They're black, aren't they?"
Meredith looked down at her plate. "Shut up."
"Ahh," he crowed, leaning back and rubbing his hands together. "I'm right."
She raised an eyebrow, tossing him a glance from over her shoulder. "You're right," she said. She glowed in the candlelight. He had cheered her up.
He would never guess she was the same woman who sat huddled on the bathroom floor at three in the morning if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. She had two sides to herself; the golden girl from back before Addison, the one who had saved him with a smile and drove him out of his mind night after night, and the other one, the one he didn't like to name, who was made of glass but sunk like lead, filled to the brim with secrets and sorrow. He had known one and then the other. The strange overlap of the two that she'd become was equal parts comforting and disconcerting. She was still smiling, popping fries into her mouth and licking the leftover ketchup from her fingertips. She looked happy.
Depressed.
She was fucking depressed, man.
"Are you happy?" The question came spilling out before he could stop it.
Meredith blinked and pursed her lips, "Hmm?"
"Are you happy?" he repeated. The words felt treacherous and his hands turned clammy. He wiped them on his jeans under the table.
"Yeah." She shrugged, tilting her head from side to side. "I know I made a big deal out of going out to eat, but this was fun." She dipped another fry into the swirl of ketchup on her plate and grinned at him. "And it sure beats leftover pizza."
"No. That's not what I meant. I want to know…" He stared down at his plate. It was porcelain. White. Like that freaking bathtub. The words he wanted to say felt like putty on his tongue. The seconds ticked on, and he could feel Meredith grow tense across from him. She was silent as the grave, and he stared at his plate some more. Anna appeared out of nowhere, a tall, pale wisp at his elbow.
"How is everything?" she asked. "Good, I hope."
"Yeah, it's good," said Meredith. He forced himself to look up, and when he did he saw the confusion etched across her brow.
"Very good," he said stiffly. "Meredith, did you want dessert?" She was chewing on her lower lip, and she gave a tiny shake of her head. "Okay, I'll take the check then, when you get a chance."
"Right away," said Anna. She leaned forward and picked up his empty plate. Meredith's had a smattering of fries left on it, and Anna's hand hovered uncertainly. "Are you still working on that?"
Meredith just shook her head, nudging it away with her fingers. "No. I'm done."
"Great!" Anna scooped up the plate. "I'll be right back with that check then."
Neither of them said a word as the waitress pivoted on her heel and walked away. Meredith was looking at him expectantly. She didn't seem annoyed, just curious and a little uncertain. "Go on," she said quietly.
He sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "Are you happy?" He said it again, trying to give the word all the meaning it held in his mind. "Generally speaking, I mean. You're happy, right?"
"Yes, of course." She laughed, and the sound was nervous and shivering. Or maybe he just thought it was. She was still smiling though, and that was something. "Generally speaking, I am." He nodded. She twined a strand of her hair around her finger, coiling it tight. "What's this about, Derek?"
You can say anything to me.
He swallowed hard. "Would you tell me if you weren't happy?" Like before. If you wanted to die. If it happened again.
"I think you can tell when I'm in a bad mood," she said carefully. Derek smoothed his hand over the tabletop, watching it instead of her. She didn't get it. Or she didn't really want to understand. Her hand clamped down over his, stilling the back and forth motion of his palm. He looked up. "I'll spell it out for you the next time I'm feeling pissy, if that's what you really want." She said it with a grin, teasing him, but something about her seemed faraway again and he thought in a flash that she understood the real question. She just wouldn't play along for him.
He couldn't make himself ask the real question, and she wasn't about to answer it if he didn't spell it out first.
But she was sitting there, smiling at him and holding his hand. They ate dinner together now in restaurants with candlelight and wine and carefully prepared rolls of silverware. A few months ago she wouldn't even sit with him in the cafeteria. He paid the check and held her close all the way back to the car. It was progress.