Meredith went with Derek to Mark's room, almost running to keep up with his long strides. Derek's concern and curiosity about Mark prevented him from noticing this and slowing down for her as he normally would.
This behavior was no surprise for Meredith. Though Derek had not communicated with Mark in almost five year, Meredith knew that he had once considered the man to be his brother. This baffled Meredith, for in her interactions with Mark so many years ago, he had not struck her as someone whom Derek would befriend.
The Mark who greeted them from the hospital bed when they reached his room was a world away from the arrogant surgeon who had once flirted with Meredith and been given the name McSteamy. He was alarmingly thin and pale, and it was clear to any observer that he had been fighting some ailment for quite some time.
"Hey, Shep. Long time, no see," Mark greeted them.
"Mark." Derek gave him a tight smile. "What bring you to my hospital?"
"They say I have a brain tumor. Operable."
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The next few hours were a blur of tests, charts, and labs. Meredith was assigned to the case, working almost as an intern, per Derek's request.
"Please, Meri," he had said. "I need the best for him."
How could she have refused that?
Meredith saw Derek again in the MRI room. He squeezed her hand discretely as he walked by, giving her a warm smile, filled with love. It was almost as if he had actually spoken the words.
The images came up on the screen, drawing the Shepherds out of their private world. Derek and Meredith hunched over the shoulders of the technician, squinting at the screen that portrayed Mark's brain.
"Here's his scans from a month ago."
Meredith pulled the scans out before Derek could even ask and held them beside the computer screen so they could compare.
"It's stopped growing," Meredith observed, running fingers over the image.
Derek nodded in agreement. "What else?"
Frowning, Meredith squinted harder at the high-definition computer screen. "The edges are fuzzy. You'd have to cut a lot or it'd come back. He's lucky it's benign or he'd be dead already."
"Well at this rate, I'd say he only has six to eight weeks. Unless I operate." Derek paced back and forth behind Meredith and the MRI tech.
"Do you think you can?" Meredith asked quietly.
"I don't know." His tone was sharper than it normally was when he addressed her.
Unwilling to challenge him at work, in the setting where he was her boss, Meredith didn't respond.
"I could try," Derek finally said.
"What are his odds?" Meredith poised the question she wasn't sure she wanted answered.
Derek's mouth was set in a grim line. "I won't know for sure until I get in there. But now I'd say about ten percent."
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"Ten percent, huh," Mark mused.
Meredith laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Yes."
"Or less," Derek told him. "Like I said, I can't know for sure until I'm in there. But I would need to operate this week. This thing's sucking away your blood."
Mark frowned in thought. "Well, I'm almost certain to die if I don't do the surgery. Makes those odds look pretty good."
Meredith smiled kindly. "That is true."
Derek shook his head in disagreement. "You have six to eight weeks. That's something. This operation could easily leave you with nothing."
That statement was obviously coming more from a friend than a doctor. Normally, Derek never said things like that to a patient. It bordered strongly on unwarranted advice.
"I'm aware of that. But . . ." A look of great concentration crossed Mark's face. "I'll have the operation," he finally said. "You're the best, Derek, and I'll take my chances."
"Are you sure, Mark?" Meredith asked gently.
Giving her an almost flirtatious smile, that made him look much more like the Mark she had once know, he said, "Yeah. After all, at this point, I have nothing left to lose."
"We'll do more tests and consults and you'll be scheduled some time next week," Derek informed him rather curtly.
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"Ten percent odds and he's having the surgery," Derek muttered to Meredith as they walked away from the room. "Who'd make that decision?"
Meredith looked up at him with a frown. "You would. I would. Mark is right. It's ten percent or a miracle. The ten percent is your best gamble." It seemed logical enough to her.
Scoffing, Derek said, "This isn't poker, Meredith. You don't gamble your life on ten percent. You take the eight weeks."
"Derek . . ."
Derek cut her off. "I don't want to talk about this. Stop talking or go away."
Anger flashed through Meredith, and she nearly yanked his arm off tugging him into the nearest on call room.
"What the hell is your problem?" she growled as she shut the door.
"Meredith." His eyes were filled with the same anger and frustration she was sure he saw reflected in her own. "You cannot do this at work. I'm your boss right now." He tried to step around her and out of the door.
She stood her ground. "No, right now you're not my boss, and you can't leave until you talk to me. We communicate, remember? Because everything goes to hell when we don't."
"Meredith, there is nothing to talk about. I don't agree with a patient's decision. That's it," he claimed.
Rolling her eyes, Meredith said, "You sound like me right now. And we both know this isn't just a patient, it's Mark."
Derek stared right back into her eyes. They were blue today and darkened to the shade he usually only saw during moments of passion.
"I am not going to hurt you, Meredith," he told her quite calmly. "But I am going to leave this room; now. I suggest you move."
"I won't."
It was the only answer he could have expected from his far too stubborn wife.
"Fine," he responded.
With a sigh, he took her shoulders in his hands, and attempted to move her away from the door. She would have none of it though, and forced his hands off of her, still standing in front of the door.
Unwilling to bruise her delicate skin by trying that effort with more force, Derek went for plan B. Wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug, he hoisted her up so her feet were off the ground and, despite her struggling, easily placed her on the opposite side of himself, and turned to walk out the door.
"You are not getting away that easy, Derek Shepherd," he heard her spit as he walked out of the room.
He knew, however, that she would not continue the argument in the hallway. They tried to keep their professional and private lives separate. Here he was her boss, and it got far too complicated if they didn't have that distinction. She wouldn't be bothering him, at least not until the next day when they both had the morning off.
Meredith came out of the on call room as he dropped Mark's chart off at the nurse's station. He could tell by her stance and expression that she was still angry with him. He felt a little bad for using her size against her like that. There was no question that she was tiny and he had just picked her up like she was a stubborn child.
"Is there anything else you need me for on this case, Dr. Shepherd?" Meredith asked with exaggerated professionalism.
"Just help monitor him, please. I'll assign an intern to do a higher level MRI and a PET scan. We'll wait a couple days and continue tests to watch for changes. I want to know as much a possible before I cut into this brain." He tried to tell her with his eyes that he wasn't angry with her.
Apparently, the message was either not communicated or ignored. "So basically, I'm off the case? You're replacing me with an intern?"
"I'm not replacing you with an intern, Meri . . ."
She interrupted. "Don't call me that at work."
"Dr. Shepherd," he corrected. "I'm letting an intern do intern work and I'm giving you a chance to work on finishing your fellowship. You're too good to run labs. But you will scrub in and assist. You're still on the case."
Meredith didn't respond, simply glared at him again, and stalked off to check on her patients.
Derek had to laugh. She was really too stubborn, and too cute, for her own good.
Six hours until Harry Potter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
