AN: You're wonderful. You're amazing. You're appreciated! Thank you for the reviews of my last chapter. Nothing makes me happier. Seriously.
Onto the State Dinner...
I had expected to work the morning of the State Dinner, maybe even into the afternoon, but as soon as Richard saw me in the morning, he sent me right back home. "Your mother will be there soon and the two of you are going to get your hair done." I was shocked because 1) my mother never gets her hair "done" and 2) my mother never takes time off from working for something so trivial. I had planned to just curl my hair in my own bathroom, but that plan was nixed the second my mother showed up at my front door.
The two of us have been spending our entire day getting made up and my mother keeps telling everyone we're going to the White House. Having spent an entire week at the White House, I have to admit it doesn't sound so fancy.
My mother genuinely seems excited. Back when I was young, she was all about cutting, but as time's gone on, her focus has shifted and it's been about medical politics. She does research and writes books, gives lectures and travels the world. She acts as the face of surgery without actually performing as many. I try to ask her why the shift, but she can never give me an answer. I've stopped asking.
I have to admit, it feels nice not having to work in my mother's shadow any longer. She's still the most brilliant mind in surgery, but her name is no longer on the surgical board. I am the only Grey cutting these days.
Once my hair is done, I hope to maybe head home, but the next stop is our makeup. I can't believe my mother is concerned about my face. Once that's done, we pick up our dresses. This was the one part I sort of agreed on. I couldn't just wear any old dress, so I did pick one out specifically for the event. My mother chose a knee-length dark blue dress that suits her very well. I went black with a floor-length gown with a low neckline and sturdy straps. I love the dress and it glides around me perfectly.
By the time I'm dropped off, it's nearly six and I'm being picked up at seven. Alex is sitting on the couch drinking a beer. He looks over at me and does a double-take. He gives me a long whistle. "Damn Grey, you look hot."
I checked myself before I left the salon and the hairdresser blew my hair out and gave me long, loose curls. I had planned the same sort of look, but it never would have worked this well. The makeup artist has gone heavy on the eyeliner and dark eye shadow so my eyes are smoky. My lips are nude and my cheeks are slightly pink.
Alex, on the other hand, looks schlepy on the couch.
"You know the car comes in an hour."
He nods and takes another pull of beer. "Are you afraid I won't be ready? I was born ready, Grey."
"We'll see about that. I'm going to get dressed."
In actuality, I spend almost forty minutes checking on my patients through an app the hospital implemented a few years ago. I had a surgery scheduled for the morning which was covered by another doctor, so I check in on that patient first. To my relief, the surgery went well. I don't really pay attention to the time, but I receive a call a little while later letting me know my car would arrive in fifteen minutes. I jump up and start actually getting ready.
Alex is waiting by the front door when I walk down the stairs. He looks handsome in a black tux. I take the arm he offers me. "You look beautiful," he says.
"So do you," I reply and we share a smile. Alex is as close to me as a brother. He's been my rock through my internship, residency, fellowship, and now attending position. Cristina has also been my rock, but with us there's a competition that Alex and I have never had.
The car that waits outside for us is a freaking Bentley, which makes Alex nearly die on the spot. He drools over the exterior, talking up the driver who I suspect is actually Secret Service, and then once we're inside, he keeps talking about the leather. Boys, I think.
I don't admit it, but I'm nervous. I know there's a red carpet and an announcer will say our names as we arrive. Then we stop for pictures before stepping in line to greet the President. I have to admit I'm nervous for that, too, because it'll be so public. I'm used to seeing the President without anyone around. Alex doesn't seem nervous at all. He's excited. He had this wild idea that he'll make some multi-millionaire woman fall in love with him. Considering he works all the time and never takes vacation, I don't see why he'd even need that. Plus he makes nearly a million a year as it is.
We pull up to the White House and wait in the taxiing line. An agent walks up to our window and asks for ID, checks the list, and sends us along. This happens three more times and then we're exiting the car. Alex gives me his arm and we walk into the White House.
The line ahead of us is pretty long, so I just fidget the whole time. I hadn't realized the State Dinner wasn't just an introduction for the new President, but actually a way for the President to host another head of state from another country. We're handed a program and I see the British flag beside the American. The President is hosting the Prime Minister of England.
Alex says exactly what I'm thinking, "I wish it had been the Queen."
We finally make it to the front of the line. I have no idea what the announcer will say, but I already see the cameras poised. An attendant motions us on.
"Presenting Doctor Alexander Karev of Georgetown University Hospital, attending of pediatric surgery, and Doctor Meredith Grey, attending of general surgery at Georgetown University Hospital and the doctor who saved the President's life just five short weeks ago."
I blush and the room erupts in cheers. I offer a small smile.
By the time we're out of the room, I'm nearly sweating. "I sound like a chump next to the savior of the President."
"Oh shut up. You're a pediatric surgeon. That'll melt hearts."
"True," Alex agrees.
I can see the President right ahead of us with his mother to his right and his sisters standing in order besides their mother. They all look so similar with their dark hair and blue eyes. The President looks good in his tuxedo with the flag pin on his lapel. I actually haven't seen him in two weeks, so it's a bit of a reunion tonight. I walk down the line ahead of Alex and shake hands with members of the President's cabinet. I meet the Vice President and the Speaker of the House. I also notice SSA Grant standing beside the President. He nods at me.
And then I'm standing in front of him. His smile is so big; I've never seen him look so happy or healthy in person before. "Mr. President," I say and offer my hand. So far he's been shaking hands, so I expect that, but when he steps forward to kiss both of my cheeks, I'm a little thrown off. I don't think I show it, though. I reach up and squeeze his bicep and smile into the kisses. I see the flashbulbs of the cameras and take a respectful step back.
"I am so glad you're here."
"I'm happy to be here," I admit. I shift the attention to Alex. "Mr. President, this is my co-worker and good friend Alex Karev. He's—"
"A pediatric surgeon," the President supplies. He holds out his hand. "So nice to meet you. You're doing fine work at the hospital."
Alex shakes his hand, "Thank you, sir."
"Thank you both for coming tonight. I hope you have a nice time."
And we're done. We head into the main room which is ornate, but finely dressed with white linens, gold-trimmed plates, and the finest crystal I've ever seen. Alex is like a kid in a candy shop. He's over-the-moon excited. "I can't believe I just met the President. How do you hang out with him all the time? Don't you get freaked out by the stuff he knows about you?"
I think about the folder in the box in my closet. I still haven't told anyone about that. "We hardly hang out all the time."
Alex grabs two glasses of champagne from the passing tray and hands me one. Neither of us are much for drinking champagne, but it does feel like the right occasion. "To us," he says.
I tap my glass to his, "Here here," I say and take a sip.
Alex and I mill about for the next thirty minutes. We're greeted by dignitaries and members of the President's cabinet. Eventually the Shepherd family, minus the President, enter the room and find me in the crowd. I'm hugged and thanked and my cheeks are kissed multiple times. Carolyn won't release me, but she's easily charmed by Alex who offers to lead her around the room. I almost feel like we're starring in some bizarre 1800s Austen novel.
The lights are dimmed and then returned to normal, which I take it to mean find your seats. I'm surprised to find Alex and I sitting at the Shepherd's table, which seems a bit too familiar for how long I've known the family. Alex seems thrilled to be sitting among the beautiful Shepherd women. The band strikes up and people begin to stand because the President and the Prime Minister are in the room. We give them a round of applause and both diplomats wave to the crowd.
The crowd settles and dinner arrives along with fantastic wine. I'm happy that I'm amongst people I sort of know because making small talk, like I hear from the tables around me, sounds tedious. I learn more about the Shepherd women: Kate is a psychologist and all her sisters give her shit for it, claiming she's not a "real" doctor; Nancy works as an OBGYN; Lizzie is an ophthalmologist; and Amelia is a surgical resident. She and Alex hit it off quickly and begin discussing surgery.
I spend a lot of time with Carolyn, who despite the loss of her husband due to a bullet and her son nearly dying just five weeks ago also due to gun violence, seems happier than most. She is curious and asks me a lot about my upbringing. I always use the same line when people question how my mother juggled both a successful career and a small child: "My mother did the best she could for both me and her patients. I never felt neglected." Of course it's a lie.
Carolyn sees right through me. "I take it you have a good relationship now?"
I think about pushing the line, but decide against it. "I understand better now."
She nods. "You seem to be a very understanding, patient woman." I take a sip of wine to mull it over. I've never considered myself either of those things. "I know my son is very difficult when he's in pain, but you seemed to have been the perfect person to save him."
"He really saved himself," I say. I'm tired of being the President's savior. "I removed a bullet, but he worked to get better faster. He was determined."
"He always has been," she says and glances across the room at the President. He's laughing with the Prime Minister, but it's as if he feels our eyes on him because he glances our way. "That's how he became President," she says.
"Yes, well, it might be the hardest job in the world. I don't envy him."
"Your job isn't one for someone undetermined."
I nod. "True."
The music strikes up again and the President and Prime Minister stand. The Prime Minister turns to his wife and extends his hand. The President walks to our table and I can't help but notice he's staring at me. I feel my stomach drop. But he reaches out for his mother's hand when he arrives. "Will you dance with me?" he asks.
Carolyn takes his hand. "I'd be honored."
They're both so damn charming.
The couples dance on the large partitioned floor in the middle of the room. With the Prime Minister, you can see the love he has for his wife—it's passionate and carnal—but with the President and his mother, it's loving and sweet. He dips her and she bursts out laughing. The crowd is loving it. Eventually more couples are called to the dance floor. The Shepherd women stand as men, presumably their husbands arrive, and take their hands. Amelia remains sitting beside Alex and I nudge him and then nod to the dance floor. He offers his hand to Amelia and the two head up to dance.
I don't mind being alone at the table, but I do notice some eyes wandering to me. I hope no one asks me to dance.
As the song ends, the President leads his mother back to the table. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. "You look too beautiful tonight to be sitting alone," he winks at me and then says to his mother, "I'm purposing leaving you alone so some older gentleman can sweep you off your feet."
She rolls her eyes. "Never going to happen, sweetheart."
The President still has his hand outstretched and I've yet to take it. He scowls at me. "Are you honestly going to leave me hanging?"
I glance at Carolyn and she smiles at me. I sigh and take the President's hand. He leads me out to the dance floor and I notice a few people glancing our way. I wonder if he's used to the constant attention by now. The band is in the middle of a song, but the President doesn't falter at all. He wraps his arm around my back and offers me his other hand. I cup my hand over his and rest the other on his shoulder. "I'm not a great dancer," I admit.
"I am," he says with a healthy dose of confidence and begins dancing with me in circles.
"Is there a special class you have to attend to get you to Presidential level dancing?"
He laughs and I see flashbulbs going off. There are at least a half-dozen photographers documenting the event. "Yes, it's called I went to private school in Manhattan and learning to waltz was one of the classes."
"Well as someone who has never once waltzed in her life, be gentle."
"You're doing beautifully."
I smile and look away into the crowd, watching as people enjoy a drink and conversation with those around them. It feels like such a strange world I've been plopped into for the evening. The President continues to dance me across the floor and I'm aware of how close we are. Closer than he was with his mother. I'm not pressed up against him or anything, but I am very aware of his tuxedo jacket brushing against the front of my dress.
I take a second to glance up at him, feeling only a little insecure with his face so close to mine. He catches me and smiles. "When you think of me, do you call me Derek or the President in your head?"
After a moment of deliberation, I say, "The President."
"But you called me Derek."
"Only once."
He nods. "You shouldn't think of me as the President."
"Why not? That's who you are."
"Yes," he agrees, "but I don't think of you as the doctor. Or a doctor. You're more than just your profession, aren't you?"
Honestly, I'm not much more than job, but that's the way of a doctor. A surgeon. We live, breathe, and exist on surgery. On cutting. If I weren't a surgeon, I have no idea who I'd be or what my identity would be. And for some reason, I think the President might understand that. "Sure, I'm more than my profession, but I'm also identified as my profession. Like you."
"Doesn't it drive you crazy?" he asks.
"Not at all," I answer honestly. "I've chosen to be identified as my job. I like the identity it's created for me. I find comfort in everyone knowing, as soon as they hear I'm a surgeon, that I'm badass and tough and succeeding in a man's world. Not everyone can say that. There's power in certain professions. Yours especially."
The President nods and swiftly looks around the room. "Everyone is here tonight because I have the power to bring them here. I like that aspect of it. But I didn't choose to become President for the power."
"You didn't choose to become President at all. The public chose you."
"Very true. I guess my apprehension is to thrive and need the power because that scares me. Especially in my position. In yours, you need to have power in your operating room and with your patient's care, but with me, I've been given so much power which could be used for something truly terrible."
I understand what he's saying. "I don't think anyone is worried that you'll misuse your power."
"No?"
"No."
The song ends and we take a step back from each other and clap for the band. The President gives me a little bow. "I would ask you to dance again, but I think I'd get scolded by my various sisters. Let me walk you back to your table." He offers me his arm which I take and then pulls out my chair before asking his sister Kate to dance.
Eventually the speeches begin. The President stands and makes a speech about continuing a strong bond with the countries who support the United States, including England. He commands the room as he speaks, offering insight of the relationship with England and their Prime Minister. The PM seems happy by the speech, laughing and smiling throughout. Alex excuses himself for the bathroom and I look longingly after him because I have to pee, too, but thought you couldn't leave.
During the Prime Minister's speech, the crowd seems to quiet and the energy slips slowly from the room. Alex returns and the PM is still talking, so I take my chance and stand up and leave the room.
In the hallway are Secret Service Agents, one being SSA Toby who I nod to as I pass. He nods in return. I find the bathroom easily, which is mercilessly empty. I take my time peeing and then checking my hair and makeup in the mirror. I wash my hands like a surgeon, spending way too much time counting in my head. Afterwards, I thoroughly dry. I'm trying to make time move quicker so the speeches can be done. A woman walks in a minute later and I use that as my cue to leave. I step out of the bathroom and walk directly into someone.
I look up and the President is smiling at me. "You are exactly who I was looking for." He takes my hand. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
"What is happening?" I ask as he drags me along the hallway. I notice SSA Grant is following us, but he keeps a safe distance. I hold up my dress as we rush past closed doors and down the dark hallways.
Outside a closed door, the President stops, drops my hand, and places it on the door handle. "I was thinking about your first visit here and how we couldn't go into the Oval Office." I stare at the door. "I was told civilians weren't allowed in unless approved, but I decided that's bullshit. I'm the President. I have the power," he says as he leans into me and then snaps back, smirking at me. "So, are you ready?"
"To go into the Oval Office?"
He nods.
I shake my head. "Aren't there cameras? Can't we get caught?"
"Yes and no. The cameras feed to the SSA and they review the tapes. If anything is fishy, they report it. I'm talking plotting against people, warfare that hasn't been discussed with my cabinet, Watergate level stuff. But having you in my office won't be fishy. Come on."
The President opens the door and steps back to let me pass. I've seen plenty of pictures of the Oval Office, but none of them do the space justice. The Office is wide and bright, illuminated by lights on seemingly every surface. The walls are lined in gold wall paper and in the center of the room are two plush gold couches. There are built-in bookshelves lined with books and expensive-looking paintings on the wall. I read this is how the Obama administration decorated the space, but even so, it seems to fit the President.
He shuts the door behind him and walks across the room to stand next to his desk. He looks so comfortable and confident in this room. I wonder if this is how he felt when he saw me operating in the OR. "What do you think?"
I have no idea what to say. I just shake my head.
"It was overwhelming when I was first in here, too."
"It's just…such an important room. It's weird to think of all the great men who have stood in this room."
He buries his hands in his pockets. "Not all of them were great."
"No, I guess they weren't all great. But they were powerful."
"There's that word again."
I walk along the edge of the room and stare up at the paintings before moving to the books, all of which have been written by or about the Presidents before him. I run my fingers along the spines. When I turn, the President is standing a few feet behind me. He smiles softly at me.
"Thank you for bringing me in here."
The President nods. "I didn't like the feeling of keeping this from you."
I feel my brow furrow. "Why not?"
"I know it goes against a lot of contemporary thoughts on secrecy, but I've decided I don't want to keep things from you if I can help it. Now if we're about to bomb Sudan, that I can't tell you—which, by the way, we're not—but the place I work and sit every day, I'd like you to see it."
"Why?"
"Because," he begins and leans back against his desk. "You should see the place I can't stop thinking about you." My eyes widen. He tips his head to the side. "I can't focus sometimes because I'm wondering what you're doing. My VP will ask me something two, three times before I can get my head together. It's irresponsible of me, I know, but I can't help it. I stare at that door," he motions to the one behind me, "where we've spent time together, and I wait and hope for you to show up. The last few weeks have been horrible not seeing you." He stands.
I take a step back. "Wait, Derek…"
"You called me Derek," he says with a grin.
"That's really not the point, is it?" I ask.
He doesn't step closer, thankfully. "No, it's not, but I like hearing it."
"I can't…this isn't a thing," I motion between us. "I'm your doctor."
"I'm not asking anything of you, Meredith. I just wanted you to know."
I try to run my hand through my hair, but remember the ten pounds of hairspray and curse when my fingers get stuck. I think of all the things I haven't said in the last few weeks and I know I shouldn't say them, mostly because we're probably being listened in on, but also because they could make the situation worse. A situation which can't exist. "But you are asking something of me. You're asking, without asking, for a response. It's unfair."
"I'm sorry," he says and seems genuinely sorry.
"I stand in the operating room and I think of you. I walk past the room you recovered in and I think of you. I walk the tunnels and think of you."
He breaks into a smile. "Really?"
"Stop smiling." He does so. "This can't happen. Nothing is going to happen. I'm going to go and you're not going to invite me to another dinner or event." He opens his mouth to speak. "You have a country to run and bullet wounds to heal. You have a First Lady to pick and terrorism. You have plane crashes and police brutality to deal with. And I have people to save. I have surgeries I need to focus on and patient care. I can't allow myself to be distracted."
"And that's what I am? A distraction?"
"Yes."
He takes a step closer and I take one back.
"I'm going," I say and turn to walk away. I don't make it far before the President has my hand in his. He pulls me back a little and walks to stand in my line of sight. I look away from him. "I'm going to give you three seconds to let go of me."
"Just listen to me."
I pull my hand from his and step back. "No. This is so inappropriate."
"What's inappropriate?" he asks. "Nothing has happened here."
"Plenty has happened."
"No it hasn't, but if you're going to be so upset with me, it should be because I actually did something. Because I made a move."
I cross my arms over my chest. "You've already made enough of a move."
He sighs and tips his face to the ceiling. "Nothing that's happened has at all resembled a move. This is a move," he says before erasing the space between us and catching my mouth with his.
Initially I want to push him off because of the agents and the camera and the freaking Oval Office, but as soon as contact happens, I feel my resolve sliding away. I drop my arms to my sides and his chest presses to mine while he kisses me firmly. He pulls away a millimeter before kissing me again, gentler this time. His tongue draws along my bottom lip and presses into my mouth. I open myself to him.
Derek's arms reach out and encircle my waist. I gasp into his mouth as he drags me flush against him. I reach up, tentatively at first, and place one hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder. I end up wrapping my arm around the back of his neck and running my other hand down his chest. Our tongues battle in my mouth and I'm completely breathless. He groans against my lips.
We walk backwards until my back is pressed to the wall. His hands move down my back, one wrapping completely around my waist and the other moving to my butt. I push my tongue into his mouth and then draw away slowly, tasting his bottom lip and nibbling on it as I go. I look up at him through hooded eyes. He kisses me gently and we both keep our eyes open. His hands skim up my arms and I shiver.
I reach up and touch my swollen mouth. "Oh my god," I whisper and duck under his arm.
"Meredith, wait."
I turn to him and the look in my eyes must freak him out enough to stop in his tracks. "Don't follow me," I say before I rush out of the room.
