Lately I just can't seem to believe
Discard my friends to change the scenery
It meant the world to hold a bruising faith
But now it's just a matter of grace

Derek left about three hours ago. I convinced him to, telling him that I needed to break the news to George and Izzie alone. He left reluctantly, sticking around to ask me a million different questions just to stall his exit. A flare of warmth spread through me, knowing that he still cares.

I hear the creaking of a door and whispering voices, voices barely carried over to the kitchen where I'm sitting silently, my hands clasped in front of me. I have to remind myself that it's this or loneliness as they kick of their shoes; four dull thuds. Izzie flips a switch, flooding the room with light and temporarily blinding me. They rush over to me, eyes wide.

"What's wrong?"

"It's McDreamy, isn't it?"

"We can take him."

"No, George. I can take him. You would just…." She shrugs, searching for a word, "die."

I cringe, the finality of the word catching me off guard. My eyes close, willing myself to calm down. This had happened before, after all.

"I have cancer," the words escape my lips the same way they did earlier in the day, and I wonder how many times I'll have say those words, how many times I'll have to watch my friends' faces fall. They're reactions are similar to Derek's, although less emotionally draining. We stay up half the night talking, and then eventually joking. They climb into bed with me, George to my left, Izzie to my right, just like we used to. It feels so comfortable, so familiar, that I feel my eyes well again. Soon, we're all crying, shoulders shaking, laughing at each other through our own uncontrollable tears. It's different then the sullen, emotional moment with Derek. It's liberating.

My nose starts to bleed again the next morning and I have to disentangle myself from George and Izzie to scamper down the hall for toilet paper. Groggily Izzie follows me into the bathroom, handing me a box of Kleenex to replace the wad of toilet paper I've been holding up to my face. Her eyes are only half open and her hair is sticking out in all directions. After handing me the box she turns and trudges back to my room and pulls the cover over her frame, snuggling up to George.

My meeting with Mark is today. More explanations, consolations, tears. I feel like my life is moving in a cycle, like I have so many people to tell. I wish they had all met me in the lobby of Seattle Grace so that I could've just gotten it over with, so that I would've only had to have said the word once.

When I get to the hospital, Addison's standing behind Mark, looking over his shoulder and putting a hand on his arm. She notices me first, giving me an almost-smile and gesturing for me to sit down. The meeting goes quickly; I tell them, feeling strange when he gives me the job, like he's giving it to me because I'm sick. He surprises me when I turn to leave, pulling me into a tight hug and telling me to take care of myself. I leave his office stunned, worrying about both work and treatment now. Treatment starts three days from now, only three days to adjust before I'm thrown into hazy, pain-filled days that run together. Work starts four days after that, and I'm not looking forward to working under George. 'It's unethical,' I think to myself, 'we interned together for God's sakes.'

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't even realize that I've run into something solid, papers flying.

"I am so sorry!" I say, bending to pick up the scattered medical forms.

"I may forgive you," a familiar voice teases, and I lift my head up to meet sad cobalt eyes.

"You better. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm coming back to work!" I gush, hardly able to contain my excitement, "I get to do surgeries, and I get to present and do sutures-"

"Okay, I'll stop you at sutures. You won't want to be doing them after awhile."

"Maybe. But I'm back! It's good to have something back the way it was, you know?"

"Yeah," he answers seriously, giving me the feeling that we're not talking about the same thing anymore, "I do."

He's giving me the McDreamy look and I can't help it, I imagine that it's three years ago and wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer. His eyes are wide as my lips meet his. I pull away first, gasping for air and wondering what the hell I'm doing.

"Let's go to the pier," he says, and I smile, awkwardness forgotten.

"Let's."

--

The pier's quiet, deserted. Nobody comes here in February, nobody except us. It seems personal, somehow as personal as our conversation yesterday. I'm bundled in mittens, gloves, George's old hat with the ridiculous pom-pom, my new black coat with the Norwegian toggles. Derek still looks like a New Yorker, with his plaid scarf and leather gloves, his black leather coat. The sun's almost disappeared under the horizon, purple and orange and blue covering the sky, tinting the clouds. We don't talk, we don't need to. We don't touch, but we're close, buried in snow with our legs stretched out, arms behind our backs, supporting us. We're in one of the last snow piles left, most of them have melted away, leaving patches of frozen dead grass.

It's perfect, in a completely simple way. It's perfect in a way that my life usually isn't. It's moments like this that make me wish I didn't have cancer.

On the way home, sitting in Derek's car with the heater on full blast because of my constant sneezing, I ask a question that's been on my mind since seeing that gold plaque on the Chief's door.

"Why aren't you Chief?"

He sighs, probably because he's been expecting the question.

"Mark wanted it more than I did."

"But, before I left you talked about it constantly! You've always wanted to be Chief!"

He looks at me curiously, like he can't remember wanting Chief, like he can't remember begging Richard to consider him over Burke.

"That was before you left," he finally says stiffly, pulling into the driveway. He makes no move to get out.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"A little later. I'm going to go take a shower."

"Okay. Come by later, though."

"I will."

I shut the car door, watching as he pulls out.I hug myself to shield the wind, knowing that Derek wasn't taking a shower. He was probably going to drive around aimlessly, trying to make sense of everything that's been thrown at him the last week.

I probably need to plan a driving day.

--

George and Izzie are both inside, curled on the couch and fast asleep at four in the afternoon on their day off. I bring my pillow and comforter down to the living room, barely lugging it down the wood stairs and almost slipping at least a dozen times. I set out my make-shift bed in front of the couch. With my Kleenex box to my right and my glass of water and pill box to my left, I fall asleep below my roommates, below my friends.

AN: So this was kind of a filler chapter…but that's okay. Next chapter prolly won't be up until the weekend, I'm kind of busy.

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