Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy or any of the characters. They all belong to Shonda and all the nice people over at ABC.
Author's Note: I'm really sorry this chapter is so late in coming. I've had a hectic week, and a nasty case of something that resembles writer's block with this chapter. I'm not a big fan of the way it turned out. I actually don't really like it, but it's some sort of filler/builder, and I need to move on with the plot so… here it is. I hope you find something in it to enjoy. Thank you all so much for all your amazing reviews. Seriously, they never fail to blow me away. So thanks a lot. It's great to get to read what you guys have to say about this. Read on!
Chapter 7
"When I've almost had enough,
Something about you draws me back again.
When I've almost given up,
Something about you pulls me in."
Falling – Mindy Smith
There was a strange intimacy to the way she blended with the raging storm, a quiet rhythm with no real tune. The sound of her heart mimicked the tempo of a tribal melody, drumming hypnotically in her ears, meshing with the incessant pounding of the rain and the thump of her boots colliding with the muddy ground. Essentially, she felt shielded by the ease through which she slithered past the rain, but she was afraid. She knew he was following her. She could even intimate that he felt even more strongly connected to the elements than she did because the rain brought back angry flashes that refused to become lucid. On that conviction, she never looked back as her arms sliced through the air, growing noticeably heavier with the generous spill of water. By the time she'd covered the clearing between the cabin and the forest, she was gulping at the scarce oxygen greedily until her lungs felt like they were burning.
She didn't have time to hesitate before darting right into the thick web of tangled wooden limbs and ancient trees. She came to a sudden halt, startled by the darkness, willing herself to keep moving, but her eyes blinked rapidly, desperately trying to adjust. Panic hovered on the brink of her rationality, slowly creeping in to take over. The faint slump of his footfalls grew closer, spurring her into the game of predator and prey. Instinctively, she dashed forward, dropping her drenched coat when the torn edge caught on a random stalk and it became too heavy to carry around. She didn't think about blindly navigating through unfamiliar territory, secretly taking comfort in the fact that if her fears of the forest itself and the rain were realized, Derek would be there. Her forearms acted as shields from the awkwardly jutting branches. Bursts of adrenaline kept her surging, but she knew she wasn't going to get far. He was getting closer, the sound of his footsteps now almost as loud as the rain but faster and stronger. She dropped her arms to her sides and ran heedlessly, grimacing in pain when her forehead was cruelly slapped by a fort wooden branch. In the dark maze, she felt his body collide with hers from behind, his arms catching her around the waist like bands of steel. The momentum of his weight crashing into hers sent their entwined forms to the ground, but she didn't suffer the impact of their fall. His shoulder bit into the ground forcefully, and his arms tightened around her. Meredith didn't dwell on it. She flailed her free arms frantically, fighting the excruciating hold he had on her, landing effective kicks with the heels of her shoes against his shins.
"Damn it, stop!" he grunted furiously and rolled her away from his soaked body to the ground, pinning her beneath him.
She thrashed like a frightened animal fighting for the instinct of survival. When she raised her knee to slam it into his groin, he hissed a low expletive and hooked one hard thigh over both hers, holding them down. She gasped for breath under the pressure of his body sprawled across hers, the struggle dying out of her a slow painful death like a fish ripped out of the ocean slowly realizing its painful demise. They stayed like that for a stretch of time she couldn't define. It was surreal. It could have been a minute or hours or an eternity. He was bent over her like a human shield, his wet dark tresses of hair dripping on her face, but she couldn't see him. His form was shadowed in the cloak of darkness. She was shivering and panting, her hair plastered to her skull, her chest heaving against his. A clap of thunder rattled the giant trees, followed by a flash of lightening that lit his rugged face, which was drawn close to hers, hanging in exhaustion. His breathing was as hard and rough as hers, and his eyes narrowed in an emotion that resembled concern. When the black sheath returned a short moment later, she knew that was ridiculous, but he murmured another curse as he shifted, keeping her nailed to the ground with his heavy bulk.
It was over.
She slammed her eyes shut against the cold, dreary reality, going completely limp beneath him.
Her broken sob sounded far.
----
She moaned pitifully, slowly being lured out of a deep entranced grogginess that held a temptation of its own. Although she was being attacked by a vicious pain, there was a peculiar kind of bliss to the muddled confusion. She didn't know who she was, or where she was, but she felt the undeniable presence of another human being, the rustle of a quiet movement, the hypnotic rhythm of a steady breath. For a moment she reveled in it, succumbing to the luxury of ignorant bliss, unable to push aside the feeling that whatever awaited her was horrible.
It didn't last long.
The sudden feeling of awareness began in her aching muscles that felt sore and strained from exertion, and then she felt the stiff barely used mattress against her back. Reality struck true to its form, crashing with a stifling force that made her gasp aloud.
She heard herself just as she heard the low masculine voice mutter a quiet apology.
She didn't know who she was, but she knew she was back in Derek's cabin, in her bed. He was hovering above her, his firm fingers fastened to her jaw, holding her head still. She panicked briefly when she realized that the source of the stinging pain was her head and that turning it away was made impossible by his unfaltering hold.
"Careful, don't move," he murmured.
She didn't have much of a choice. Under his instructions, she kept still, wincing when the sharp point of a needle plunged into the taut skin at the line of her hair. She pried her eyes open forcefully, ignoring the dull ache that throbbed in her temple, and blinked to adjust to the pale lamplight. His image came into focus gradually, turning from a complete blur to a vivid contour enhanced by thick ebony locks, a furrowed brow, and narrowed blue eyes. He was leaning towards her from the chair positioned by the bed, and he was holding a needle to her forehead.
The needle penetrated another pore.
"I'm sorry," Derek apologized earnestly, pausing to evaluate his work. He seemed pleased because he gave himself a slight nod before returning to the task at hand, which she realized was stitching up her forehead. She must have cut the wound open during her daring dash to freedom. It didn't really hurt. His touch was light, the needle warm, his fingertips on her chin distracting, but her head felt open. The rush of frustrated breath that left his lips landed on her cheek in a hot puff. "The first time I did this, you were unconscious. You're not that lucky this time, and I don't have any anesthesia," he continued conversationally. Strangely enough, she understood the numbing effects of anesthesia. A couple of random, foreign brand names popped into her mind, but she couldn't concentrate on them long enough to decipher anything useful. "Are you feeling okay? You've been running a fever," he told her, a touch of worry coloring his usually empty voice.
She stared at him silently because it wasn't awkward to do so when he was so close. His concern brought back the first of last night's fuzzy memories.
"Meredith, don't cry. I'm sorry," he whispered fiercely, his large hands achingly gentle as they cupped her shoulders and lifted her off the ground, pressing her against his crouching form through layers of soaking soiled cotton. She let him hold her under the torrents of rain. Through green leaves cast in somber gray, fat droplets of ice-cold water splattered in tiny explosions on their intertwined bodies until Derek pulled away. "Did I hurt you?" he asked urgently, cradling her trembling chin with his palm. Her sobs had become soft cries that didn't fade as she shook her head in vigorous denial.
"Meredith," he tried again, smoothing his thumb tenderly over the completed sutures. "How do you feel?"
She tried to swallow, but the soreness in her throat made it almost impossible to breathe after that. Tears gathered in her eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"My throat," she croaked, turning her face away from him as a tear slid down her cheek. The back of his hand felt cool against her forehead. Her breath hitched when it was replaced by his lips. He pressed them to her feverish skin briefly, a professional gesture that felt utterly personal and sent her senses into haywire.
He straightened to his full height, one hand rubbing his neck wearily. "I can't tell if it's an infection. I'll fix you something hot," he said decisively, but she caught a sliver of panic in his indigo eyes. Last night, those eyes had grown dark and stormy as the angry sky, an endless blue that almost glittered like onyx, burning into her with such tangible concern. It had only made her cry harder. She'd placed her cheek on his shoulder obediently when he pulled her into his arms and opted to carry her all the way back to the deserted cabin.
"I'm sorry I can't let you go. I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"Don't go."
She didn't know who was more surprised by her softly uttered plea, him or her. His sharp eyes snapped back to her face after aimlessly wandering for minutes on end, and he stared at her ruthlessly, trying to see past an anticipated charade. She didn't know what to make of the look he gave her, but she overcame her own shock by attributing her strange request to the deliriums of fever.
"I'll only be a minute. Don't worry. You're going to be fine," he promised and disappeared from her bedroom before she could protest. She wasn't going to.
Golden hair pressed back into the clean white pillow, Meredith closed her eyes slowly, cautiously avoiding any movements that may disturb her battered body. The escape seemed like a dream now with the first hints of dawn peeking through the drawn shutters, mocking her with yet another clear morning. The walk back to the cottage in Derek's arms had been long, longer than it had taken to sprint across the clearing with adrenaline pumping through her veins. This time around, Derek's arms protected her from everything except the man himself, and it was an unsettling feeling. She'd felt safe, which was crazy because she'd sought to escape him. While she'd expected his treatment to be of rough anger, he'd been gentle and caring, genuinely worried. She supposed it was the doctor in him.
Do no harm.
What had been explicitly clear last night became interlaced with uncertainty. She couldn't imagine him taking someone's life in cold-blooded murder, not after he'd saved her when he could have let her bleed to death. Being a doctor, he would have known she couldn't have gotten far with the gash on her forehead bleeding so profusely. She knew that. She didn't know how she'd gotten out of her muddy clothes, and she didn't remember if she stopped crying. That meant he must have undressed her after she'd passed out. The intimacy of the act left her breathless for a moment, her skin prickling with heat.
Derek cleared his throat as he strode into the room, accompanied by a dizzyingly delicious aroma. She reopened her eyes to find him in the chair, setting a tray with a bowl on it from which the aromatic steam rose on the cleared nightstand. She met his gaze, but he looked away too quickly.
"Chicken soup," he explained unnecessarily, gesturing towards the unadorned white bowl.
"Smells good," she whispered hoarsely. The effort made it feel as though a cat was dragging its claws down her throat. Mustering up her energy, she hefted herself against the headboard. He interfered instantly, helping her prop up the pillows, reminding her anew of the day she'd first woken up in the cabin. She sat up weakly, steadying the tray he gently slid onto her lap.
"This will break the fever," he said of the two pills loitering on the corner of the wooden tray. He gave her a glass of water to swallow them down.
"Thanks," she mouthed, sinking the spoon into the soup. She sipped at the tasty brew, letting it soothe her throat. "It's good."
"It's a mix," he offered curtly, watching her with a frown on his face. Her hand shook slightly when she returned the spoon to the bowl. She didn't understand why he retrieved the tray from her lap and reset it on the nightstand. "You should lie back," he said hurriedly, easing her back into a reclined position. He kept her head tipped upwards by an extra pillow.
"But…"
"There," he said at last, taking the bowl into his hands. He brought the half-full tablespoon to her lips, ignoring her bewildered gaze as she drank the soup. He fed her most of it patiently, with a dark scowl permanently scrawled across his brow, and she was relieved that she didn't have to carry out the tiring task herself. Her fever had broken. She could feel her skin getting misty with a fine sheen of sweat.
When he was done, he took the tray to the kitchen and came back with a blanket that he spread over the one already covering her.
"You should sleep," he advised quietly.
She felt drowsy, and his dark face looked strangely angelic in the noon sun. A paradoxical angel with cold eyes and thick dark hair. The thought almost made her smile. "Derek." Her voice seemed faraway and softly intimate. "Why did you…"
"You should sleep," he repeated, tucking the comforters snugly around her narrow shoulders.
"Derek…"
"Shhh…" His index finger touched her lips so lightly that had she not seen him, she wouldn't have felt it.
She closed her eyes submissively, giving into the seduction of slumber, drifting into the gaudy realm of dreams.
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