The back seat is cramped, lonely. I inch forward, resting a forearm on each side of me and moving my face to rest between Christina and Burke.
"Can you call Derek?"
My voice surprises me. I sound timid, small; like I'm back to when I was eight and watching my dad walk out our front door, knowing that he wasn't coming back.
"Of course," Burke assures, tearing his eyes away from the road for a second to look at me, "We'll let him take you home but let us know how it goes, okay?"
"Okay," I say in my best glass-half-empty voice.
"You'll be fine," Christina states firmly from the passenger seat, never looking away from the passing landscape, "You are fine."
We pull in to the Virginia Mason parking lot and the car groans as all three of its' passengers climb out simultaneously. The building is stone, a cold gray/blue that isn't helping my mood. As we go through the doors, flashes of white coats and machines slice through my memory. I hesitate filling out the papers, the pen hovering over the line that says 'state medical history'. Burke places a comforting hand over my shoulder and the spell is broken. I write neatly and the words stare back at me, cold and black.
Multiple Myeloma.
--
When I walk into the lobby an hour later, Derek is standing there behind Christina and Burke looking slightly baffled. Seeing him sends a familiar shiver of doubt coursing through me although I know that this time I have to tell him. I have to avoid letting history repeat itself. This time, I won't be alone, shuttering in the corner of the bathroom, gripping a pillow. This time I'll have someone to hold my hair back when I'm kneeling over the porcelain.
My face is blank, the news not entirely processed as I give a subtle thumbs down to the couple. Derek notices and he looks even more confused. Burke steps forward, encasing me in a tight hug, followed by Christina. She searches my eyes after she lets me go, silently telling me to call her. I nod. Then they leave me and Derek, standing awkwardly in the middle of the hospital lobby.
"Why am I here?"
"Because I want you to be here."
"Yes, but why am I here?"
I sigh, motioning for him to lead the way out to the parking lot. When he doesn't move I go without him, pushing on the heavy glass of the door and breathing in a strangled breath of cold air. Reluctantly, he jogs to catch up with my quick, angry pace.
When we reach his car, each slipping in, he avoids my eyes.
"I have cancer."
The three words rush out, tangled and revolting. I feel sick.
Derek, who has had his fingers on the keys and the keys in the ignition, turns slowly to face me.
"What?"
His deathly calm voice fills the car, his fingers still limply grasping the keys. Silence fills the car; I don't want to repeat the words. The words that haven't been true for three years. The words that followed me here.
"You heard me."
"No, I don't think I did. Because what I heard doesn't make sense. What I heard is completely wrong. What I heard is that you have cancer."
"Multiple Myeloma…it came back."
"Back," he spits out, the word sharp.
"Before I left….about a month before, I found out I had cancer. I didn't tell you because-"
"Because you were selfish."
"No! Because telling you would…telling you would make it real, somehow. I couldn't deal with everyone pitying me, feeling sorry for me. I could handle it on my own."
Derek is breathing heavier now, his hand is shaking.
"I wouldn't have pitied you."
"Yes, you would have," I insist, feeling a sense of déjà vu. I had this conversation two days ago with Christina.
"Not if you'd asked me not to. Is that why you left?"
"No. Yes. Well, partly. I already told you the other reasons."
"Why couldn't you have told me?"
I wince at the hurt underlying his words.
"I was going to but…"
"I know. You didn't want me to pity you."
"And you had a wife," I point out, almost cruelly.
He sighs, surprising me. I thought he'd try to argue with me. We sit there, the silence separating us, dividing us. I don't know how long we're in the parking lot. The grey is getting darker, heavier. Grudgingly Derek turns the key, his grip on the steering wheel turning his fingers an unnatural color of white.
The house seems colder as Derek helps my out of my coat and hangs it on the rack. I feel like I'm reliving what happened three years ago, like at any moment someone will come up to me and tell me my mother died.
I feel like running to New York.
I lower myself to the bottom stair, my feet spread out in front of me. Cancer. My lips upturn into an ironic smile and Derek frowns at me.
"I thought my life could get no worse," I reply to his scowl and his face falls, crumpling into a look of denial, a look of disbelief.
"Your life shouldn't get worse."
"Too late."
"You're undergoing treatment, right? Like last time?"
I ignore him, I'm still processing.
"Will I be fighting this forever?" I finally say, barely audible.
"No. And even if by some crazy chance you are, I'll be fighting with you. You'll be okay."
I glance up to the mirror across from me and I'm surprised to see my eyes well up, but I refuse to let the tears fall. I feel arms cover mine and I'm reminded of the snow, of endless gray and white. His arms are comforting; they make me feel like I can get through this, like I can win over this disease just like I did three years ago.
My choice is clear now, now that Derek knows. I would stay in Seattle; I wouldn't switch doctors like before. I wouldn't move across the country. I would do chemo, radiation, whatever it takes. I would tell Izzie, Alex, Addison, Mark, George. I would let everyone know and deal with the pitying glances. I would deal with their good intentions. I would deal with them because then I would have their support. Then I wouldn't be alone.
AN: Angst, angst, angst. I assume you've already read this so let me know how it was. Review!