Author's Note: This chapter would not have been written without Alanis Morisette's song of the same title. It's kind of like Derek Christopher Shepherd's theme song.

On a totally different note, thanks for all of the wonderful responses to "Light of Some Kind." And, for those who haven't read it yet…shameless plug, lol. ;)

Suggested listening: "Wake Up (Acoustic)" by Alanis Morisette

WAKE UP

The Emerald City Bar was crowded as usual, filled to the brim with blondes and brunettes and redheads, all decked out in street clothes and sipping cautiously on mixed drinks as they giggled in groups and pretended not to watch the door. Normally, Mark would've been happy to mingle with the myriad of women until he found a suitable companion for the evening, but not tonight. Tonight, Mark was on a mission.

"You want your usual?" he called gruffly over his shoulder.

Derek glanced at his watch and heaved an impatient sigh. "Mark…"

The plastic surgeon knew better than to wait for an answer. "I'll be right back."

He'd spent two weeks trying to get Derek alone—hanging around outside of his office, accosting him in the cafeteria, sidling up beside him in crowded staff meeting and leaning over for a word. Nothing had worked. For reasons beyond Mark's comprehension, Derek's new scrub nurse was always in the vicinity, waiting and ready to offer a smile and some kind of candy. Just this morning, she'd greeted him with an outstretched Starburst.

I fucking hate Starbursts.

"Dr Sloan!" Joe greeted with a jovial grin. "What can I get you tonight? Double scotch, single malt?"

Mark's infamous smirk surfaced as he reached over to shake hands with the bartender. "Make it two tonight, Joe. And an extra set of darts, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." The bartender's gaze flitted immediately to a small table by the dartboard where Derek was settling in. "Where's the brunette tonight?"

Mark's rugged features darkened considerably. "Surgery. Rounds. Who cares?"

A sly, knowing smile slid across Joe's face. "Not a fan, huh?" he teased.

Mark shrugged.

Joe poured scotch into two tumblers and slid them onto the bar with the requested darts. His brow furrowed in concern as he leaned over and tilted his chin towards Derek. "Are they serious?" he asked lowly.

Mark chuckled dryly. "I'm about to find out."

Joe shook his head in amusement and turned to serve another set of customers. Mark headed carefully towards the corner Derek had chosen to occupy and set the drinks on the table with a decisive clatter.

"Next round's on you," he smirked.

Derek arched a doubtful eyebrow. "There's not going to be a next round," he countered pointedly.

Mark dropped the extra darts in front of Derek with a wry smile. "If I win, there will be."

Derek rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Mark…"

"What? Afraid I'm gonna kick your ass?"

Derek sucked in a breath and leveled Mark with a long-suffering look of disapproval before exhaling on a hiss. "I get first throw," he insisted as he pushed himself into a standing position.

Mark bit his lip to keep the triumphant smile at bay. "Fine."

They stood in silence for a moment while Derek took aim and Mark sipped absently at his scotch. As soon as Derek had hurled the first dart, Mark cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"So…" he began gruffly, "you and the scrub nurse…"

Derek tensed noticeably. "Her name is Rose."

"Right. Rose." Mark rolled his eyes. "So you and Rose are getting pretty serious, huh?"

Derek's jaw tightened as he hurled his second dart at the back wall. "We're dating."

"Dating," Mark repeated doubtfully.

Derek shot his friend a warning look, and Mark threw his arms up in surrender.

"Just asking, man," he insisted with wide eyes. He waited until Derek had turned around again to deliver his next question. "What happened to Meredith?"

Derek's third dart glanced off the wall and fell to the floor with a metallic thud. "Why do you care?" he retorted tightly. "You're the one who told me to date."

"I didn't tell you to date nurses," Mark cracked.

Derek didn't return his grin.

Mark heaved a sigh. "Look, man, that's what I do. I'm the antagonist. I goad you. I drink with you. I call you a pussy, you call me a dick…it's the way we operate, you know? All in fun."

Derek's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you said it yourself," he argued. "Meredith jerked me around."

Mark strode towards the wall and retrieved Derek's wayward attempts at a bullseye. When he returned, his expression was both solemn and apologetic. "Derek…I was just trying to be a friend, okay? I haven't been a very good friend to you in the past. I was trying to be supportive."

Derek narrowed his eyes ever so slightly in Mark's direction. "So you don't actually dislike her."

"Of course not. I never disliked her." The vivid image of Meredith on morphine flitted across his field of vision, and he laughed out loud at the memory. "Hell, we're the only two members of the Dirty Mistresses Club," he chuckled. "I can't dislike her. I just wasn't sure she was good for you."

"But now you are," Derek finished doubtfully.

Mark shrugged and took aim, considering the question. "She never got to go trick-or-treating." The statement was punctuated by the sound of the dart striking the center of the board.

Derek's lips parted in confusion as a crease formed in his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We're cut from the same cloth." Mark shrugged again as he gulped from his tumbler. "It makes sense now."

Derek felt his face flush with budding anger. "What makes sense now?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Her behavior, man." He tossed a second dart at the board and grinned broadly when it pricked the bullseye. After winking cockily at a pretty girl across the room, he turned his attention back to Derek and pursed his lips.

"Look, what you do with chicks is your business. I just think it's kind of counterproductive to be dating this Rose chick when you're still hung up on Grey."

Derek gritted his teeth and grabbed a fistful of darts from the table. "I'm not still hung up on Meredith," he bit out tersely.

Mark bit his lip to keep from laughing at Derek's obvious agitation. "Sure you are. Love of your life, and all that jazz."

"I was wrong," Derek snapped. He directed his scowl to the back wall as he hurled one of his darts at the board. Much to his chagrin, it landed a few inches to the left of his intended target.

"Really," Mark deadpanned, his tone clearly conveying his skepticism. "And what led you to that brilliant conclusion?"

"I called her bluff," Derek answered simply. "I showed her the plans for our house, and she couldn't handle it."

Mark's eyes widened. "You what?"

"House plans," Derek enunciated slowly, as though he was talking to a two-year-old. "I showed her the plans I'd had drawn up. You saw them too, remember?"

Mark blinked once. Twice. "You showed her plans for your house," he repeated blankly.

"Our house," Derek corrected. "It was going to be her house too."

The plastic surgeon swallowed visibly. "Did you tell her that?"

"Of course!"

Mark rolled his eyes skyward and slammed his palm into his forehead. "You're such a moron."

Derek's lips parted in offense. "Why? Because I knew she wasn't ready? Because I was sick of being jerked around and tried to DO something about it?"

Mark waved his hand dismissively, warding off Derek's temper and his growing headache all at once. "Shut up," he grumbled. "Let me get this straight. She tells you she doesn't want you to see other people, that she wants exclusivity in the sex and mockery thing—which, by the way, is a pretty fucking good arrangement if you ask me…"

"I didn't," Derek interrupted curtly.

"Whatever. You're telling me that you're back together for less than twenty-four hours, and you spring house plans on her? House plans for the house you two are supposed to share in your fuckin' happily ever after? That's what your big blow-out in the hallway was about?" Mark winced as the next gulp of scotch burned its way down his throat and dipped his chin incredulously at his friend. "Not to sound like an intern, Shep, but…seriously?"

"It was a grand gesture of faith!" Derek argued angrily. "I was showing her that, despite her ambivalence, I've made forever a priority!"

"Right," Mark volleyed doubtfully. "By flirting with a girl in a bar, kissing a scrub nurse, and…drawing up house plans. Makes perfect sense."

Derek let out an indignant snort. "Kissing Rose had nothing to do with Meredith."

"Kissing Rose had everything to do with Meredith," Mark argued calmly, "just like dating Rose has everything to do with Meredith. You're baiting her."

Derek scowled. "No, I'm done with her."

"Right." Mark snorted. "Look. Derek, you fucked up, okay? You lied to the damaged, commitment-phobic chick with issues, and when she finally got herself well enough to feel a little bit brave, you smacked her in the face with this 'forever' fairy tale."

"It was romantic!" Derek insisted loudly. "Girls love fairytales."

"Yeah, girls, maybe," Mark snorted. "Grey's a woman, Derek. She's got life experience, and she's not an optimistic person. For her to tell you that she wants to be more than fuck buddies is a big thing. I know you can't wait for a second chance at marriage, but I bet Grey's doing well to believe that there are actually people out there who won't fuck her over…which makes it really inconvenient that you keep pulling this shit." He shook his head incredulously and shuddered. "I mean, shit, man…drawing up plans for a house with someone when you aren't even technically together? That's, like, borderline stalker behavior."

It was Derek's turn to shake his head in disbelief. "You're wrong. Rose would have appreciated the gesture."

"Whatever," Mark muttered, draining his tumbler. "If Rose is as smart as you say she is, she'll dump your ass within the week."

"Excuse me," Derek countered in offense. "I'm a neurosurgeon. I'm mature, financially secure, and romantic. Rose is lucky to have me."

Mark rolled his eyes for the countless time that evening. "Derek, man, I say this with love, okay? You're a whiny, passive-aggressive bitch. And you're selfish. And, let's face it—coming from me, that's saying something."

"So what're you saying?" Derek snapped. "I should leave Rose and go back to playing the daisy game with Meredith?

Mark leaned his elbows on the table and bent forward until he was a mere foot and a half away from his friend. Green met blue in a blaze of confidence as the plastic surgeon moved to speak. "I'm saying that, sooner or later, Grey's going to stop giving you second chances and find herself a guy who respects her pace."

Derek let out another incredulous snort. "Pace?" he scoffed. "She has no pace! That was the problem, Mark. She never wants to move forward!"

Mark heaved an exasperated sigh and paused to hurl another dart at the board. Bullseye. Again. Who in their right mind would argue with that?

He dipped his chin pointedly in Derek's direction. "Look, Derek…correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't she tell you she didn't want you to see other people? That she didn't want to lose you?"

Derek blew out an angry stream of air. "What's your point?"

"She went from unattached sex and mockery to exclusivity," Mark explained nonchalantly. "Sure sounds like forward movement to me."

Derek began shaking his head before Mark had even completed the sentence. "It doesn't matter," he insisted emphatically. "It's not enough."

For the first time all night, there was an irritable tightness in Mark's characteristic smirk. "It never is," he agreed dryly, his voice low with barely-concealed aggravation. "With you, it's never enough."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Izzie leaned her head wearily against the doorframe and watched as Meredith scribbled on charts at the nurses' station a few yards away. When she heard the telltale squeak of tennis shoes behind her, she folded her arms and emitted a tiny snort of disbelief.

"She is so not fine."

"She says she is," came the surly retort.

Izzie dipped her chin pointedly in Cristina's direction. "Yeah, but…it's Meredith. And Derek. And the way she's acting…it's just not normal."

Cristina rolled her eyes in annoyance and snapped her own patient's chart shut. "Why, because she's not lying on the bathroom floor in a prom dress?"

"Okay, seriously? That was uncalled for."

Cristina shrugged. "I'm just saying. She looks fine. She says she's fine. Maybe she really is fine."

Izzie arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

Cristina's jaw tightened. "I believe she's fine now. I didn't say she'd always be fine." She inhaled sharply and fixed Izzie with a glare. "Look, sometimes people aren't ready to be 'not fine.' Sometimes, people need time to…process, or whatever."

Izzie pursed her lips together and dropped her gaze uncomfortably to the floor. She had the distinct impression that they were no longer talking about Meredith. "Cristina, I…"

"You're hovering," Alex offered, sidling up behind them. "It's what you do."

"Yeah, when she's not channeling the muffin man," Cristina retorted. She directed her attention back to Izzie. "Is that what this is about? You're afraid Meredith's going to start baking?"

"Meredith's baking?" George hissed incredulously, his eyes darting anxiously from one resident to the next. "But…Meredith can't even boil water."

"She makes coffee every morning," Alex shrugged.

"Yeah," Izzie snorted, "with a machine."

Cristina shot Izzie a disgusted glance. "Don't you use a machine to make waffles?"

Izzie retaliated with a withering glare. "So not the same thing."

"She's right," Meredith murmured from the nurse's station. "It's not the same thing." She slid two charts back onto the rack and wandered towards her friends with a satisfied smirk. "Waffles have a mix," she continued matter-of-factly. "You have to mix things. I tried to make them once, but I mixed incorrectly, or something." She gave a noncommittal shrug and glanced up at her friends through hooded eyes. "So no," she concluded pointedly, "I'm not going to start baking. It's like I keep telling you people. I'm fine."

Alex snorted. "You do know you've robbed that word of any and all meaning, right?"

Meredith scowled, and Izzie sighed.

"Meredith… Look, no one expects you to be fine."

"Clearly," Meredith remarked, arching a skeptical eyebrow as she caught each roommate's gaze in turn.

Izzie swallowed forcefully and continued, undeterred. "And if you need to cry, or…"

"Or lie on the bathroom floor for awhile," Cristina interjected with a smirk.

"…then that's okay," Izzie concluded through gritted teeth.

Meredith glanced from one girl to the other and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

"Look, guys," she chuckled. "I appreciate the offer. I do. But…I'm really, seriously fine."

"Of course you are," Cristina shrugged. "You chose dignity over domestic hell. Sanity over Stepfordville. 'Tis better not to be married, and all that crap." She waved a hand in dismissal, and Izzie's brow furrowed in concern.

"Cristina," she began tentatively, "are you…?"

"I'm fine," Cristina snapped. "This is about Meredith."

"Except it's not about Meredith," Meredith countered patiently, "because Meredith is fine."

"Really?" Alex prodded gruffly. "Because I think you're full of shit."

"It certainly wouldn't make her the only one…" Izzie sang pointedly.

Alex shot her a glare.

"You know," George began haltingly, "if you're not fine, it's okay. I mean, Shepherd…he's with Rose. All the time. Cuddling in the corner and laughing in the hallways, and…"

Cristina's eyes flashed warningly. "Aren't you supposed to be fraternizing with the other interns, Bambi?"

"He's got a point," Izzie agreed mournfully. "They have been awfully affectionate in the hallways." She directed a sympathetic gaze towards Meredith. "That can't be easy, Mere."

Meredith's calm, collected expression darkened considerably. "It's fine," she muttered. "I'm fine. Seriously."

"But it's been two weeks," Izzie stressed.

Cristina shoved Izzie aside and rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Yes. Thank you. I'm sure she knows."

"No, she's right," Meredith sighed. "It's been two weeks, and he's happy. Clearly, I wasn't what he wanted. And you know what? That's fine. I'm fine. Seriously. I'm done falling apart over Derek."

"But…"

Meredith shot Izzie a pointed glare. "I'm also done having this discussion," she deadpanned.

Izzie swallowed her protests with a tentative nod. "Well," she mumbled guiltily, "I have interns to teach. Come on, George." She reached an arm out and snagged her friend by the elbow.

"But…Izzie, Meredith is my resident," George murmured in confusion.

Izzie rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his arm as she led him away.

Alex watched them go with a smirk before grabbing a few charts from the rack. "I have to go round up my crackheads and check on my pregnant patient," he explained over his shoulder, "but let me know if you want to hit up Joe's after work."

Meredith acknowledged the offer with a nod and a wave as Alex strode down the hallway.

"Okay, they're gone," Cristina deadpanned. "You can drop the act now."

Meredith's eyes widened incredulously. "Seriously?" she cried. "Not you too!"

"Oh, come on," Cristina retorted, "I'm your person, okay? You can feed the others that bullshit about being 'fine,' but I know you, and I know McDreamy, and I know what it feels like to be dumped for your lack of domesticity."

Meredith's brow furrowed suspiciously, and Cristina rolled her eyes.

"I didn't say I wanted to talk about it," she snapped.

"Okay…"

Cristina folded her arms pointedly. "Look, you're the talker. You moan, and you bitch, and you mope, and then we go drinking. It's what we do."

The corners of Meredith's mouth curved upwards in a determined smile. "Not anymore," she enunciated proudly, lifting her chin in defiance. "I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm growing."

"Right," Cristina muttered doubtfully, "because you're fine."

Meredith inhaled deeply and expelled a heavy sigh before scanning the hallway for any curious ears. Satisfied, she returned her gaze to Cristina and lowered her voice.

"Cristina," she leveled lowly, "he didn't want me, okay? Not really." She pursed her lips and dipped her chin meaningfully. "I don't want someone who doesn't want me."

Cristina leaned against the nurses' desk and lowered her voice in kind. "I get that. Okay? Trust me, I do. But that realization—however stupid and important it seems—it doesn't make you fine."

"Cristina…" Meredith tilted her head ever so slightly. "If you need to go drinking, we can go drinking."

Cristina backed away immediately and gave her head an emphatic shake. "I don't need to go drinking. Maybe you need to go drinking, but…"

Meredith's eyes narrowed defiantly. "I don't need to go drinking." The statement was punctuated with a terse smile.

"Really? Not even if I told you that I caught Shepherd and the nurse making out on the elevator this morning?"

Meredith inhaled sharply, quickly, and held the breath for a moment before exhaling.

"Not even then."

Cristina's eyebrows rose in appreciation as she gave Meredith an approving once-over. "Impressive," she murmured. "I might actually believe you."

Meredith rolled her eyes skyward. "Finally!"

The left corner of Cristina's mouth curled in a smirk. "We're still going to Joe's tonight," she called over her shoulder as she headed down the hall.

Meredith shook her head amusedly. "Fine with me."