A/N: Oh my gosh. This chapter proved to be so much bigger than I anticipated. Twenty and one-fourth pages in Word. I have been working so hard on this since Sunday, and I thought it would never be finished. This is a week after the last chapter--it's the Ellis memorial fund-raiser. Lots of things happen here. Because this chapter turned out SO long (roughly 8,000 words), there's no way I'm going to be able to knock out another update before I leave for Alaska early Friday morning. I figure, though, that if I'm about to abandon you for the next two weeks, it's a good peace offering if I leave an extra-long chapter to tide you over? Please stick with me--don't think I've abandoned the story when I don't update for a while. I'm not giving up on this story--just playing in Alaska on my graduation trip. I'm going to try to START the next part tomorrow, so it will at least be partially written when I get back on June 3. It will likely be June 4 or 5 before I update again. So...in the next two weeks, what can you do for me? Reviews are love (long reviews are greater love). I was so thrilled with all the positive feedback I got last time--I'd love to have that happen again. This is also a perfect time for those of you who are still lurking and not commenting to let me know what you like/love/don't like/hate...I'll be gone TWO WEEKS. That's two weeks for you to find 30 seconds to leave me a comment and make my day. I think 8,000 of my words and hours of my time for 30 seconds of your time is a fair trade, yes? Thanks again--hope you enjoy this update, and I apologize again for typos (I've only proofread once...21 pages is a lot at 12:30 AM.) See you all in two weeks!
Of all the ways that Meredith would prefer not to spend a Friday night, putting on a formal dress and attending a hospital-sanctioned slap in her mother's face definitely ranked among the worst, second only to its alternative: staying home with Izzie, who had taken over the kitchen to experiment with a new cake recipe. She was considering switching the rankings—at least she'd get chocolate out of the deal if she stayed with Izzie, and that was better than standing around while the hospital essentially whored out her mother's memory for donations. She had absolutely no desire to hear Webber reminisce on Ellis's work over the PA and express, on behalf of everyone, what a profound loss her illness and death had been to the medical profession and the world. She wasn't interested in engaging in awkward conversations with physicians she'd never met (or hadn't seen since she was eight years old) who felt the need to tell her exactly how they'd known her mother and recount in minute detail every procedure they'd seen her perform. She had managed to win one battle, by refusing to provide family photographs for what Larry Jennings and the other board members called a "pictorial tribute" of Ellis's life, but she was sure they'd assemble some cheesy slideshow of photos from old newspapers and medical journals if they were determined enough. Really, there was absolutely nothing that promised to redeem the evening in her mind.
Not that Derek hadn't tried. He must have tried to convince her to go with him another four or five times over the past week, and he wasn't above one last, eleventh-hour appeal, either. She'd arrived home from work to get ready and had just stepped out of the shower when the flowers arrived, complete with a note: Call and give me the word, and I can pick you up at eight. She had to give him credit for his persistence, even though it wasn't going to pay off. She tried to convince herself that she was merely trying to avoid giving the hospital gossip chain new fodder, but she knew that she was probably just a little bit afraid, too. Talking to Derek was one thing. Working with Derek was fine. Derek sending her flowers? A little uncomfortable, but flattering just the same. Going on a date (platonic as he tried to make it sound) with Derek? Inviting trouble. Not a smart idea.
"Meredith?" Izzie called from downstairs. "It's almost seven forty-five. When do you have to leave?"
"Damn it," Meredith muttered under her breath. "Now!" she yelled back to Izzie as she fumbled on her dresser for another bobby pin. Her elbow bumped the vase of lilies delivered that afternoon, and they swayed dangerously before she grabbed them and steadied the base, pushing them away from the edge. In the process, the pieces of her hair that she'd carefully pinned up fell, leaving the loose waves to frame her face again. She studied her reflection for a moment before giving in. "Screw it." She'd wear her hair down. She liked it better down anyway.
She made it to the Archfield with a minute to spare and hurried to the ballroom the hospital had rented, hoping she wouldn't stumble over the heels she wasn't accustomed to wearing or trip on her dress and tear the delicate chiffon. She wished that she knew how do this ultra-girly thing a little better. She could handle shorter, more casual dresses, especially when she was trying to attract attention to herself, but when it came to formal eveningwear and picking a dress that wasn't most likely to pick up a guy in a bar, she didn't have quite as much experience. She'd skipped the high school dances and prom phase in her teenage years. Izzie had helped her pick out the dress for tonight, assuring her that the seafoam green would make her eyes look "incredible." As if Meredith cared about that. She only cared that it wasn't cut too low in the back, and the front, though a V, still fell within anyone's standard of respectable. Derek was going to be there, after all. She didn't need to give him any ideas about taking that dress off of her in the hotel bathroom or booking a room for the night. Not that she'd let him, if he tried. At least, she hoped she wouldn't. That hope—and not certainty—was exactly why she was determined to not give him anything to look at, so that she wouldn't find herself in a position to test her resolve.
"Dr. Grey, glad to see you made it," Webber and Larry Jennings met her immediately inside the ballroom, and the Chief stared her down with a warning eye. "We were getting concerned that our guest of honor would be late."
Guest of honor. She hated that; being here was definitely not an honor. A punishment, maybe. Being the guest of honor—solely because she was Ellis's progeny—made it sound like she was happy to attend, and absolutely nothing could be further from the truth. She forced a weak smile. "Just…hit some traffic."
"No worries," Jennings assured her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Now, Dr. Grey, we've put you at the head table by Dr. Brooks from the Mayo Clinic and Dr. Reinhardt from the U.N. They worked with your mother extensively, as I'm sure you remember, and expressed a special interest in being able to speak with you this evening..."
Meredith only half-listened as he ran down the list of expected attendees and reviewed the program of the night's events. As soon as he finished talking, she plucked a flute of champagne from a nearby tray and took a strong sip. This evening would probably be a hell of a lot easier—and these people much more bearable—if she had a little alcohol first. Within fifteen minutes of her own arrival, guests began to filter into the ballroom, making their way through Jennings and the other trustees, Webber, and eventually Meredith, who blissfully only had to endure about thirty seconds of small talk with each person in order to move on to the next in line. She'd just ended her introduction to her twentieth person—a short, robust man with a receding hairline who'd apparently been in Ellis's fellowship program in Boston—when she turned and jumped slightly in surprise.
"Good evening, Dr. Grey," Derek said warmly. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
She stared at him, dumbfounded, for a moment. He looked…amazing…in his tux, and he'd shaved recently, and his eyes were looking at her like... "Hi," she said softly, hoping that her face wasn't flushing and betraying her thoughts. "Dr. Shepherd," she added quickly, remembering that things needed to stay professional.
He leaned in, so close that his breath rustled her hair, and murmured in her ear, "You look beautiful." There was no hope of not blushing after that, but before she could string words together into a coherent response, he grinned at her and kept walking, leaving her to deal with the tall, frigid-looking woman behind him. She watched him leave helplessly, suddenly wanting nothing more than for him to stay with her and save her from this agonizing receiving line. As guests continued to file in and demand her attention, she snuck glances every few minutes at Derek, who had the enviable ability to fit in anywhere…or at least did a much better job of pretending than she could. Occasionally, he'd meet her eyes and smile reassuringly, but gave no indication that he'd read her cues to rescue her.
Finally, everyone had arrived, and Meredith downed the last of her champagne on her way to her chair. She sat down between two of the most esteemed doctors on staff at the two of the most prestigious institutions in the country, and all she could think about was going home. Cristina would be appalled; this was the sort of thing she'd love, being able to soak up the presence of the medical greats in hope of absorbing some of their genius by osmosis. Meredith wasn't oblivious to what an honor meeting these doctors should be, but under the circumstances, they were the last people she really wanted to have to engage with in pointless conversation. Thankfully, after they'd offered their condolences to her over her mother's death, they more or less talked to each other about their memories of Ellis and their current work while they ate. Meredith barely noticed the small orchestra playing background dinner music, and did her best to tune out the voices around her. She picked at her chicken and tasted the steamed vegetables on her plate, but largely found that she had little appetite for anything the evening had to offer. Whatever desire to eat she did have soured as soon as a representative from the board made the announcement to socialize freely while the tables were cleared and dessert was prepared.
Without food to otherwise occupy their mouths, the men surrounding her immediately turned their attention to Meredith. Reinhardt looked at Meredith's barely-touched plate and chortled. "Your mother was a light eater, too," he told her. "I asked her to dinner once; I think she agreed to go for the sole purpose of cutting me down over dessert. She was a formidable woman, your mother."
Meredith forced a weak smile. "My mother didn't place much importance on romantic relationship. She felt they distracted her from her work."
"I don't remember her ever taking a night off during her time at Mayo," Dr. Brooks agreed. "Her love was her work…and her family, too, of course, Dr. Grey."
"Dr. Grey," interjected Dr. Weil, a pediatric surgeon her mother had worked with at Massachusetts General. "I hope you'll forgive such a personal question, but I and a number of your mother's colleagues in Boston were surprised by the lack of a memorial service. Is there a place where we can pay our respects, while we're in town?"
Meredith felt her stomach churn. She didn't want to be here at all. "My um, my mother didn't want any services," she explained. "She requested to be cremated in her will; her ashes were…scattered at sea." It wasn't a complete lie, and the truth would probably earn her more than a few odd stares. It seemed like a good story to stick with, for now.
"You know, I was thinking the other day about the Harper Avery awards," Dr. Weil continued, "They used to have the ceremony this time of year, and I think it was fifteen years ago this week that Ellis won her first."
It was. Meredith remembered it in vivid detail. She'd been thirteen, left with a babysitter in Seattle for a week while her mother flew to Baltimore for the ceremony. The babysitter was some med student Ellis had found through the university, who obviously hoped that staying with Meredith would give her an advantage when she applied for her internship at Seattle Grace. She'd actually been a nice girl, considering the circumstances. It had to have been fairly awkward when the teenage girl you'd known for only four days came to you crying because she'd just gotten her first period; maybe as awkward as being that teenage girl who had to ask the babysitter what to do because her mother hadn't been willing to bother with her teary cross-country phone call.
"For god's sake, Meredith, why are you calling me about this? I gave you a book about this two years ago and explained it to you very thoroughly. I'm about to be presented with a very prestigious award that I've worked extremely hard for—I don't have time to deal with this. You know that what's happening is perfectly natural and normal. If you're hurting, get the ibuprofen from the nightstand in my bedroom and take two, and if you still have questions, we'll talk when I get home in a few days. Now go find Catherine and ask her to take you to the pharmacy to get what you need. I'm sure she's more than capable of handling this situation—that's what she's being paid for, after all."
"Dr. Grey?"
Meredith shook her head and tuned back in to Dr. Weil. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm afraid I didn't hear your question."
"I asked whether you were in possession of Ellis's awards?" Dr. Weil repeated.
Meredith thought she remembered stumbling across the two plaques in a box of her mother's possessions, next to her framed degrees. She was pretty sure they were in the attic. "They're in storage."
"Oh, Dr. Grey, you should have them out and on the wall," Dr. Weil said in a saccharine tone designed to thinly veil her reproach. "Those are something to be proud of—your mother's life work…"
Meredith faked a smile and bit her tongue before she said something the hospital would regret.
"Excuse me, Dr. Weil." Meredith twisted around in her chair and wondered if she'd ever been so happy to hear Derek's voice.
"Derek Shepherd," he introduced himself, extending a hand over Meredith's shoulder. "Head of Neurosurgery at Seattle Grace. My sister completed her internship under you about fifteen years ago. Maggie MacLean?"
"Yes," Dr. Weil smiled warmly. "I remember Maggie well. A promising young surgeon—where is she operating now?"
"She's not cutting anymore, actually," Derek replied. "Her second child was born in '95 and she joined a private pediatric practice. It allows her more time with her girls than surgery did."
"Well, that's a loss for the surgical field, but I'm glad she's found a balance she enjoys," Dr. Weil nodded. "Please give her my regards when you speak to her."
"I will," Derek assured her. "Actually, I was wondering if I might steal Dr. Grey for a few minutes?"
"Well, uh, yes, of course—" Dr. Weil said, looking questioningly from Meredith to Derek.
He'd already turned his attention to Meredith, offering her his hand with a soft smile. "Dr. Grey, may I have this dance?"
Her jaw dropped and her heart skipped a beat. Dancing. Derek. That meant…closeness, and touching. But…not taking his hand meant being left at the table and further subjection to the torture of forced conversation. He had her between a rock and a hard place, and damn him, it was probably intentional. Her teeth pressed into her lower lip punishingly as she glanced from Derek to the doctors around her, weighing her options. There wasn't any way she could win.
"Go ahead, Dr. Grey, we can finish our conversation later," one of the men—Reinhardt or Brooks, she couldn't tell—encouraged.
"Come on, Dr. Grey," Derek murmured, his eyes sparkling.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly, carefully placed her hand in Derek's outstretched palm. It was the first time they'd touched, really touched, in a month, and the contact sent a shiver down her spine as Derek helped her up from her seat. He led her silently to the dance floor, where a handful of other couples were taking advantage of the orchestra to float elegantly to the music. Couples, she corrected herself. Not other couples, because she and Derek weren't a couple.
He turned to face her and guided her hand to his shoulder before placing both of his lightly on her sides. Her whole body was trembling, and she was thankful she'd barely touched her dinner. There was a strong chance she might throw up at any second. "Derek, what are you doing?" she hissed.
He smirked; it infuriated her. "Dancing with you."
"Derek—" she protested.
He ignored her objections, instead asking, "What is this, Meredith? Seventh grade?" He gently pressed her closer to him, and she adjusted, reluctantly slipping her arms around his neck, rather than keeping her palms firmly against his shoulders, as she took a step into him. She was careful to keep space between them, even though Derek was now well past the comfort zone she'd have liked for them.
"Derek. You don't dance in public," she reminded him.
"Mm," he hummed as they swayed slowly. "For you I do."
She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Why?"
"Because you looked completely miserable sitting over there," he replied frankly. "And you wanted to dance."
"I did? And when did I tell you that?" she asked.
"You didn't have to," he said, his voice soft, barely above a murmur. "I know you. You're the little girl who dreamed of being Cinderella at the ball even though your mother told you fairytales were childish and foolish. Am I right?"
"Mm," she replied, unable to stop an amused smirk from appearing on her lips. "Are you supposed to be my Prince Charming then?"
"I think I've made enough mistakes with you that I can no longer claim the charming part," he admitted with a shake of his head. "But I can still dance with you and save you from the big bad doctors."
"You're mixing up fairy tales, Derek," she pointed out. Even if he was right about her non-fanciful childhood, she was pretty sure big bad wolves had never crossed paths with Cinderella. "I'm usually the one who does things like that."
"Mm. When you do it, it's cute," he grinned. "I find it adorable, actually."
His hands slid around her waist and up, his fingertips brushing her bare back and sending chills through her body. She tensed against the pressure his palms exerted on her body, pushing her further into him. "Derek—hands," she warned.
He returned his hands to her hips immediately; he probably hadn't even realized that their position had shifted. "Sorry," he murmured. "I know, I promised, no feeling you up."
She smiled softly in an attempt to reassure him. She could feel his hands shaking slightly as they rested against her body; he was just as nervous as she was, though she couldn't completely rule out the dancing itself as the cause of his anxiety. "So why are we really dancing?" she asked after a brief silence.
He exhaled slowly. "I'm trying to show you," he admitted. "Give you something to believe in. I know it's not much, but—I thought, maybe…" He paused and grinned playfully. "And it did give you an escape from the rest of your dinner group."
"Well—thank you for that," she replied. She recognized the ending chords as the orchestra finished their song and looked up at Derek with a reluctant frown. "I guess I should get back though—"
"You don't have to," Derek protested, tightening his hands around her waist to keep her from pulling away. "You can keep dancing with me," he suggested hopefully.
"I don't know—" Meredith hesitated.
"Come on, Mere," his eyes were dark, pleading with her to stay. "One more dance, and then if you want to go I won't say anything."
"Okay," she sighed, allowing Derek to resume the lead as the orchestra picked up. She had to actively remind herself not to let her hands move, to not let her fingers to travel the few inches up Derek's neck to tangle in his curls, to not let herself get too comfortable with his hands on her, because now that she was over the initial shock, it felt…not awful. Okay, it felt…really, really nice. Familiar. Safe. And she couldn't let Derek lure her into illusions of safety again. She looked up at him and smiled softly. "Even if she would have hated this whole thing…I have to give the Chief credit. My mother loved this music."
"Your mother liked something that wasn't surgical?" Derek replied, incredulous.
"Funny man," she gave him a wry smirk. "She liked classical music, the standards. She was one of those moms who made me listen to classical music, except that she did it way before anyone thought there were benefits to it."
"I'm sure she loved the way that worked out when you started picking out your own music in the 80s. I mean seriously, Mere…Duran Duran?" he teased.
"The Clash?" she retorted.
"Watch it, woman," he growled playfully. "You don't want to go there."
"You started it," she reminded him with a pouty lower lip.
He laughed. "You're the one who brought up music."
"Well, you're the one who wanted to dance with me," she argued.
He grinned. "Then let's dance."
Meredith peeked over his shoulder and saw the other couples leaving the dance floor, making their way back to their seats. She saw Webber approaching the microphone and unknowingly dug her nails into the back of Derek's neck. He winced in discomfort, and she immediately stopped, pulling back to look up at him. "I think I have to go back to my table. Look--"
He followed her eyes to Webber and relinquished his hold on her hips with a disappointed sigh. "Do you want to go back?"
She glanced at the long table she'd been seated at, where the vultures her mother had worked with remained. The last thing she wanted was to rejoin them while they picked apart the carcass of her mother's memory. "No," she admitted.
"Then don't," Derek suggested, taking her hand in his. "Come sit with me at my table. There's an open seat right next to mine."
She met his eyes; he looked so hopeful, so desperate…he wanted her with him, and…Derek was infinitely better company than stuffy surgeons she'd never met. She probably shouldn't, though—she was already much too content with how her hand felt enclosed in Derek's—but…she didn't want to leave him. "Okay," she gave in.
He smiled, pleased, and led her back to his table, where he pulled out her chair and helped her sit down. Almost immediately, a waiter appeared to place a chilled plate topped with a generous slice of cheesecake in front of each person at the table. As Derek slid her chair in, Meredith chanced a quick look at Webber, who was glaring at her and Derek crossly.
"I don't think the Chief is happy that I'm messing up his seating chart," Meredith said quietly.
Derek twisted his head in a completely unsubtle motion to see what she meant. He turned back to her and squeezed her hand once. "Forget it. You showed up, that's more than he should have ever asked of you. You don't owe it to anyone to make yourself miserable. I'll tell you a secret, if you want."
Her curiosity was piqued. "What?"
He leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially. "I made my RSVP for myself and a guest. Just so there'd be an empty seat if you needed an escape and wanted me to rescue you."
She didn't know what to say, but fortunately—or unfortunately—Webber had started to talk over the PA system. "Distinguished colleagues and guests, allow me to welcome you once again to tonight's celebration of the life of one of our most influential and talented friends and coworkers, taken from us far too soon…"
Meredith tried to stifle a groan, making it come out more like a low growl. "She didn't want a funeral, and he's up there giving her a freaking eulogy…"
She felt Derek's hand cover hers gently, his fingers curling under her palm as his thumb rubbed soothingly over her knuckles. "Don't listen to him," he murmured. "Just eat your cheesecake."
She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth and took her hand away to reach for a fork. The cheesecake was amazing, rich and full and…heavenly distracting. Between the delicious taste in her mouth, and Derek's surprisingly comforting presence by her side, she was able to ignore most of what Webber said about her mother's work, life, and legacy. After she'd finished her own cheesecake, she eyed Derek's—he'd only taken a few bites before quitting. Derek was all about treating himself in moderation when it came to food. She met his eyes questioningly, and he shook his head with an amused smirk as he handed the plate to her. She attacked what was left of Derek's dessert happily, and was halfway through when a sudden round of applause signaled that Webber had finished talking.
"I can believe you've eaten almost two slices of cheesecake," Derek gawked. "Where do you fit it?"
"You ate half of yours," Meredith defended herself. "And I didn't eat dinner."
"Mm," Derek nodded, as if that justified her indulgence. "Good. Skip the protein and fiber, go straight for the saturated fat. That's always my plan, too."
She ignored him and poked at what remained of his cheesecake thoughtfully before taking another bite. "My mother loved this," she said softly.
"Cheesecake?" Derek guessed. He was usually much better at following her seemingly random jumps from thought to thought. She had to give him credit though—he was out of practice.
"Mm," she nodded as she swallowed. "It's one of the good memories I have of her. She introduced me to cheesecake when I was little—like four or five. When I was in elementary school, she'd bribe me with cheesecake to forgive her when she missed something at school or my birthday or whatever…" She trailed off and rolled her eyes at his sympathetic frown. "I know, your mom never missed anything."
"No, she did," Derek replied. "Rarely, but she did. It was hard for her, raising all five of us alone. She tried her best, but sometimes she couldn't be everywhere at once."
"At least she tried," Meredith shrugged. She looked at the last bite of cheesecake and her stomach turned, threatening to revolt if she tried to force it down. She sighed and dropped the fork, clattering onto the plate.
"Do you want to dance with me again?" Derek asked suddenly.
She met his eyes and smiled playfully, holding out her hand. He grinned and stood up first, taking her hand and leading her back out onto the floor. They resumed their previous position, Meredith's hands clasping behind his neck and his hands finding their accustomed place on her hips. Meredith fought a mental battle with herself. It shouldn't feel this familiar, this right—they weren't together. She'd warned herself against letting him win her over tonight. But—it did feel right, and Derek—he was the one thing keeping her sane tonight. She wanted this, wanted to pretend that for a night, they were okay. Wanted to…but she couldn't…couldn't let herself give in completely…
She leaned back against his embrace and he acquiesced, giving her a little more space between them. "When do you leave for New York?" she asked, desperate for something innocuous to talk about, something to take their minds off of their hands touching each other.
"Two weeks from tomorrow," he answered. "My sisters decided not to tell my mom that I'm coming home; we're going to surprise her."
"I'm sure she'll be happy," Meredith smiled. From the little she knew about Derek's mother, she was sure happy was an understatement. Elated would be more like it. After all, Derek was the only son, and he'd been gone a few years. Parents were supposed to find prolonged separation from their children completely unbearable…or so she imagined. Her parents had never seemed to mind too much.
"She will," Derek nodded. He paused for a few seconds before adding,"I took the whole week off, so I can be there for New Year's, too. I figure I've been gone for so long, it might help my case if I'm there for a week."
Meredith forgot to breathe for a moment. A week. He was going to be gone a week? She wouldn't see him at the hospital for an entire week? She'd been prepared for a few days, but a week? She supposed the better question was why it should affect her in any way. They weren't together. Derek wasn't leaving her. He wasn't with her. It shouldn't matter how long he wanted to stay away. "How is your sister? Julie?"
He looked at her quizzically before responding. Damn; he knew something was off, knew that something had thrown her. "She's okay. I talked to her a few days ago."
"Good," was all Meredith could manage. She didn't care much about talking anymore. She needed to regain control of herself, calm her breathing, calm her pulse, because he could surely feel her blood racing through her veins under his hands. It was ridiculous for her to react this way. She and Derek were not together. Not together. Deep breath. Air in, air out. He wasn't leaving her. They weren't together. Except for pretending, tonight. She was pretending. She didn't know what he was doing. But she…she was definitely letting herself make a huge mistake by pretending that they were okay, that the security she felt right now wasn't an illusion, that she wouldn't wake up the next morning as alone as ever.
She didn't realize how badly she was shaking until she felt Derek's thumbs tracing slow, soft circles on her hips to calm her. "Mere," he breathed, his eyes flooded with concern. "What is it?"
Her green eyes flickered to his and she made herself smile, hoping it would reassure him as she shook her head, trying to brush it off like nothing. "You were right." She hated the ways words tumbled from her mouth when she was nervous and emotional, cascading, babbling, usually an incoherent mess of thoughts that only Derek ever seemed able to string together into something that made an ounce of sense. She took a deep breath and tried to choose her phrasing carefully.
"About my mother and fairytales. I wasn't allowed to read them. My dad read them to me when I was little, and I had a babysitter in Boston who would let me watch Disney movies as long as I promised not to tell my mother—but my mother said that they would give me unrealistic expectations and illusions about love and relationships and gender roles."
He frowned; she could tell he didn't know how to handle this yet. "My sisters turned out okay—they're all doctors," he offered.
"Mm, but Maggie is peds, right?" Meredith continued. "And Nancy's an OB, and Julie is a GP. My mother would say that those are all soft specialties—traditionally acceptable for women. The princess thing made them settle for weaker options, rather than inspiring them to aim for something hardcore, like surgery."
He shook his head in disbelief. "I bet you never played with Judy dolls either, huh?"
"I wanted them," Meredith confessed, "but she told me that they were anatomically impossible and would skew my perception of women's bodies and encourage me to be focused on the frivolity of my physical appearance rather than my mind."
He snorted at that; the fact that he could find humor in it made her feel a little better—but only a little. "What were you allowed to play with, Mere?"
"I read a lot. Drew pictures," she shrugged. "Whatever was quiet and wouldn't make a mess in my mother's office at the hospital. When I got older, I was allowed to stay home by myself and I learned to play with tequila."
"I'm sorry." He understood now. This was an Ellis thing. A them thing. An abandonment thing. A dissolution of faith thing.
"It's okay," she said, even though it wasn't.
"When did it start?" His voice was soft, gentle, supporting. He wanted her to trust him, to talk to him. He wanted to listen. "The tequila, and the boys?"
"The tequila started when I was sixteen," she replied. "The sleeping around didn't start until college." She was sure the second part surprised him. It surprised most people that she'd been a college freshman before she lost her virginity; they assumed she'd been at it much longer, but really—she'd just made a valiant effort at catching up on lost time.
"Your mother didn't know about the tequila?"
"She worked a lot, and there were plenty of other things I gave her to worry about," Meredith shook her head and smiled wryly. "That was my dressing in black and pink hair phase."
"I'd kill to see pictures of you like that," he grinned. She could tell he was trying to get her mind off the negative, get her to focus on something…slightly happier.
"They're in the attic somewhere," she said. "Her big fight with me back then was over my grades. I was smart, but I didn't care…she was determined that I wasn't going to screw up my chances of getting into a good school. As long as I kept my GPA up, she picked her other battles carefully." She stopped and took a deep breath. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and she wasn't sure she had the energy to fight them back.
"She wasn't…I mean…she tried, you know?" Meredith laughed uneasily; she hadn't expected to deal with her mother tonight. She'd thought that being angry about the event would keep her from actually remembering her mother, but she'd surprised herself with the memories that resurfaced, despite her best efforts to quell them into dormancy. "She didn't ever want a kid, but she had me, and she tried—"
"She just didn't know how to be a mother to you," Derek soothed. "Your personality is so different from hers…your experiences made your needs different. She didn't know how to be the mother you needed—"
"Yeah," Meredith agreed, sniffling softly. He made sense; he was saying things she'd thought herself, but even from him, they held little comfort.
"Mere, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to make you upset—"
"It's okay," she assured him, her voice barely more than a whimper and not at all convincing. "I just…I hate that I'm never going to know her as an adult, you know? That I'm never going to hear her tell me that she's proud of me, that I did something right—and I don't know that she ever would have been able to bring herself to say it anyway, but there's just no chance now…" she was falling apart now, and her words were quickly disintegrating into that unintelligible mush.
Derek slid one hand up her back, resting between her shoulder blades, as he brought the other to her face. He brushed away the tears staining thin trails down her face, and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. "I know," he whispered. "I understand."
Through her own tears, she caught the sadness in his voice. She knew they were talking about his dad as well as her mother now. "You're always making me cry lately," she observed with a bitter laugh as he wiped away the next few drops to run down her face.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "Do you want to go sit down?"
"No," she shook her head quickly. She didn't want to sit down. She didn't want to be anywhere else, because even it was just pretending, she needed to feel safe and okay right now. She needed to believe that for this moment, she wasn't alone. She smiled weakly. "I'm okay here."
He didn't look completely convinced, but he let his hand fall from her face and drew her close again. "Okay."
As they started to move again, Meredith impulsively stepped into him and laid her head on his shoulder. She heard his breath hitch in his chest, and for a split-second, he froze, unsure of whether to believe what had just happened. Meredith was just as surprised; every self-preservation instinct in her head screamed at her to stop, to think about what she was doing, to get away now before she fooled herself into thinking anything had changed and setting herself up to be hurt again. She pushed them aside, telling herself again that Derek was keeping her sane tonight, and she could handle entertaining the fantasy for the moment because she knew the reality, that they weren't together, that this was ending when the clock struck midnight.
Derek's voice in her ear brought her out of her internal debate. "You know we're giving the rumor mill something to run with right now."
She lifted her head just enough to see the Chief and a couple of other doctors she recognized from the hospital watching them, casting furtive glances before turning to one another with hushed voices. She nestled her head against him again. "I don't care."
"Me either,' he replied. She recognized that his hands were nowhere near the established safe zones. One was around her waist, and the other was on her back, his fingers splayed across her skin. She felt him breathe against her, and when he spoke, the vibrations resounded through his body into hers. She knew what this felt like—and she'd missed it. She missed him holding her; she missed feeling safe in his arms. She didn't miss the terror and uncertainty that came when she left them, so she had no intention of letting him end this any time soon. He held her and danced with her while she cried the rest of her tears into the collar of his jacket, occasionally taking one hand from around his neck to dry her face. She lost track of how long they danced, but she knew he carried her through song after song after song, never hinting that he was tired—and she knew he must be—but staying with her as long as she wanted. She wanted it to keep going; she felt safe, and content, and right with him, and she didn't want that to go away. She didn't want the night to end and send her back to a world when Derek made her feel very unsafe, and wasn't always so charming, and wasn't hers.
At least a half-hour must have passed before Derek brought one hand to her hair, running his fingers through her loose waves slowly. "Mere?" he murmured, waiting for the throaty hum that had become her only response to his attempts at conversation. "Are you ready to get out of here?"
She raised her head to look around; the room had cleared out considerably. Maybe only a dozen people were left, including the Chief and Larry Jennings, who were talking eagerly with Dr. Reinhardt. She thought about Derek's hands on her, holding her, protecting her…shielding her from the rest of her life. She wasn't ready to give that up, but she couldn't keep fooling herself. They weren't together. Pretending like this was probably going to get her in trouble with her therapist. A mentally stable and healthy woman trying to get over a man probably shouldn't spend a whole evening dancing with him and dreaming that they weren't broken up. She should quit now, before she got herself hurt. "Yeah, I think so."
"Come on, I'll walk you out to your car," he offered.
She lowered her arms from his neck and stepped back to protest. "You don't have to—"
"Do that," he finished with a soft smile. It was her smile. The one he only gave her. The one that made her feel like he thought she was the only woman in the world, like he absolutely adored her. "I know. But I want to. It's late, and I want to make sure you get to your car safely."
"I can take care of myself," she insisted, even as he walked with her to the coat check to retrieve her purse.
"With your tiny ineffectual fists? Mm," he teased. He took his coat from the clerk and held it out to Meredith. "Here, put this on. It'll be cold outside. What were you thinking, leaving home without a coat?"
"I was running late," she replied as he draped his coat over her shoulders. "Thank you."
As they stepped outside, she felt Derek's fingers brush hers as he reached for her hand. Her stomach flip-flopped; she wanted to let him, wanted to hang on for just these last few moments, but she had to make the break somewhere. Give herself a reality check. She folded her arms over her chest, hoping he'd believe that she was cold and not realize that she was trying to avoid his touch.
"Thank you, for dancing with me tonight," he said as they crossed the parking lot to her Jeep. A thin layer of ice had formed on the windshield. "I hope it wasn't a completely wasted night for you."
"No—it helped," Meredith admitted. "You, I mean. You helped. It um…it wasn't nearly as awful as I'd expected. I think I have you to thank for that."
They'd arrived at her car, and she shrugged out of his coat before opening her door. He took it as she leaned across the seat to start the engine and turned on the heat so the windshield would thaw. "I really enjoyed tonight, Mere," Derek said behind her. "Being with you…"
She faced him again and smiled hesitantly. "Yeah," she agreed. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek before sliding his hand into her hair. Her heart skipped a beat and she stopped breathing as she recognized the look in his eyes. He was about to kiss her. Her eyes widened and her mind raced; he was going to kiss her…she wanted him to kiss her…but kissing Derek was opening Pandora's box…she wasn't ready to deal…but she hadn't kissed him in a month, and she'd spent the night in his arms, and she wanted…
She turned her head at the last moment so that his kiss fell on her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip harshly until she felt his lips lift from her face. The tears that had just dried a half-hour before renewed as he pressed his forehead to hers and his breath whispered across her skin.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking with regret. "I thought—I just—tonight felt so perfect, Mere, and I just thought, maybe…"
She didn't want him to beat himself up over it. It had felt perfect. Too perfect. She'd known better…she'd known something would happen if she didn't keep her guard up. "I'm not ready," she apologized. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," he repeated adamantly. He pulled back, allowing her to see that his eyes were wet, too. "Everything good that happened tonight, I just ruined it…"
"You didn't ruin anything," she assured him. She hated seeing him like this. She hated feeling like this, torn between what she wanted so badly and what she didn't feel capable of having, and hurting them both in the process. "You're just…you're always a few steps ahead of me, Derek."
"I know," he sighed. "I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying to slow down—"
"I know. I can tell," she nodded. She could tell. Aside from the flowers and asking her out for tonight, he'd barely mentioned the idea of them, and she heard enough through the hospital gossip chain to know that he hadn't been doing anything that could even possibly be misconstrued as flirting with the nurses. He was trying to be patient, but Derek had always been the one pushing their relationship, so Derek's idea of patience...was still a little much. "But just…don't push me, okay?" she asked. "Let me come to you."
He smiled, and she thought she detected a glimmer of hope among the sadness in his eyes. "Okay. I can try. I can…I can do that."
"Okay. Thank you, again, for saving me tonight."
He took her hand and squeezed it one final time. "Anytime. Good night, Mere."
"Good night."
She climbed into her Jeep and flicked on the windshield wipers to swish away the remaining icy sludge before she backed out of her parking space. She waved once to Derek as she passed him, walking to his car, but once she was on the road, the drive home passed in a daze. Derek's kiss burned on her cheek. It wasn't enough. She knew what that kiss would have felt like on her lips, and she wanted it. She wanted to kiss him, taste him, touch him, love him again, and she couldn't let herself do it.
The enticing aroma of Izzie's freshly-baked cake filled the house when she got home. Normally, she'd head straight to the kitchen to taste-test, but now…now she didn't want to be around anyone. She'd blame it on being full from the two slices of cheesecake, if Izzie said anything to her. Safe in the sanctuary of her bedroom, she locked the door and peeled off her dress, leaving it in a crumpled pile at her feet. She tore open her dresser drawers and took out a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt and slipped them on before she could start shivering from the cold. She gave the drawer a strong shove to close it, and the dresser rattled with the force. For the second time that night, she gasped and grabbed the vase of lilies just before it crashed to the floor and shattered. As she righted the flowers on her dresser, a choked sob escaped her throat.
She sank to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest, and let the tears fall. He'd sent her flowers. He'd danced with her all night, just to keep her from being uncomfortable around strangers. He'd held her and listened to her and talked to her, and he'd kissed her, and it had all been perfect. She wanted him, damn it, she wanted him, but she couldn't…couldn't. She loved him, and he could make her so, so happy…so safe…but that was all just the fantasy, the make-believe, wasn't it? Just the fairytale—and fairytales weren't real, were they? She'd believed her mother, that true love was a myth, until she'd met Derek…and then she'd believed him…believed in him, in them. Until the illusion had broken, and after that…she hadn't known what to believe anymore. She wanted to believe in them again. She wanted to believe that the ease with which she'd slipped into his arms earlier, the security and adoration she'd felt with him…she wanted to believe that it hadn't been part of her make-believe, that it could be reality. She wanted…but she couldn't. Ugly stepsisters and wicked witches had nothing on Meredith's dark and twisty.
Her mother had always told her that fairytales never came true. And maybe for Ellis, they'd hadn't. But…Meredith wasn't Ellis. And Meredith had already learned that stepmothers weren't always evil—could be perfectly wonderful, in fact—and that the guy wasn't always completely charming—often a far cry from it—so her story didn't have to be a conventional fairytale. And if anything in Meredith's life had ever seemed like any sort of fairytale—tonight was it. Tonight, she'd believed, for just a little while, that happily ever after could still work out for her. It would be the hardest thing she'd ever done…but she'd do it. Whatever it took, even if it wasn't a fairytale ever-after ending...she would be happy.
