A/N: For those of you who don't follow the progress on new updates in my livejournal: at the end of the week, I will have family members coming to stay for about a month. Combined with the new job, I have no idea how much time/privacy I will have over the next few weeks to write. I will do my best to keep up with weekly updates, but I'm making no guarantees. Just wanted to give you warning, so that if I do disappear for a little longer than normal, you don't think I've abandoned this story--and of course, you can check in at the livejournal. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, so if you have a moment, please consider leaving a note with your thoughts.
Derek liked to pretend that he was a patient man. Pretend, because in his most honest moments, he knew that he was often most decidedly not patient—especially when it came to Meredith. He tried. He tried to be patient for her, because it was what she wanted—needed—and he had a hard time denying her anything she asked of him, but it was hard. It was hard not to touch her freely, to not brush his fingers against her wrist when they talked, to resist the near constant impulse to kiss her, to remember that even if he needed to be near her like he needed air, all that attention made her feel suffocated. It was hard, not being able to actively show her, remind her, how much he loved her. But he was trying. Trying to wait for her. And Meredith was trying, too.
He'd still been enjoying the contentment and hope that her overnight visit had given him when he'd arrived at work Sunday afternoon. He'd known that she'd be working, and he'd quickly located her name on the OR board. Even though he'd had patients to check on, he'd slipped up to the gallery to observe her surgery for a few minutes; she hadn't noticed him, and he hadn't seen her again until hours later, when he'd visited all his patients, made an effort to dent the stacks of paperwork on his desk, and packed up to go home. It had been nearly seven o'clock, and he'd found her curled up in a chair in the second-floor waiting area, a paper cup of tepid coffee in one hand and her eyes, heavily hooded with fatigue, focused on the chart in her lap.
"Anything good?" he'd asked as he approached her chair.
She'd looked up sharply and offered a hesitant smile. "Broken arm. Kid fell of a horse this morning. Compound fracture of the radius."
"So nothing exciting," he'd concluded. "How are you feeling?"
"Ask me in a few minutes when the coffee kicks in," she'd replied dryly.
"You should try to get some sleep," he'd suggested. "Things should quiet down later tonight, unless traumas come in."
She'd nodded. "I will. I might have to fight for my on-call room, though. I've seen one of the fifth-year OB residents eyeing it."
"You could take her," Derek had said confidently. "Or, if you want, you can crash in my office."
She'd quirked an eyebrow at him. "Your office?"
"Yeah. I'm on my way home; it'll be empty. Nice and quiet. All yours if you want it," he'd reached into his coat pocket for his keys and unhooked the ring holding his office key. She'd eyed it hesitantly, and he'd sighed and dangled it over her hand. "Just take the key, Meredith. It won't hurt my feelings if you don't use my office, but at least you'll have it if you want it."
She'd pocketed it with a soft smile and they'd said goodbye, but Derek was still pleasantly surprised to arrive at work Monday morning and find Meredith curled up on his office couch. Her head rested on a pillow she'd filched from a supply closet or unattended on-call room, and he recognized her blanket as the lab coat he'd left hanging on the back of the door after seeing his patients the afternoon before. Her own lab coat, he noticed, was folded neatly over the back of his chair, and the key to his office rested on his keyboard. Derek crept around the office in the dark, unpacking his briefcase and hanging his coat while praying not to wake her. He didn't know how long she'd been there, but on a forty-eight hour shift, there was no such thing as a long enough nap. She'd have to be up soon for rounds, but for now, he'd let her sleep as long as he could.
When the clock on the wall hit six-thirty, Derek looked at her and sighed regretfully. He couldn't let her sleep any longer. He perched on the edge of the couch and reached out to smooth her hair off her face. "Meredith?" he murmured softly. "Meredith, wake up." She stirred slightly, whimpering in protest and throwing an arm over her face. "Come on, Mere," he persisted, guiding her arm back to her side and rubbing her shoulder. "You've got to get up. Meredith—" He stopped abruptly as her eyes fluttered open and she gasped a short breath. Derek ran his hand over her hair again and smiled warmly. "Hey," he whispered.
"Hi," her voice was raspy and hoarse from lack of use, and she rubbed the back of one hand over her eyes sleepily.
He couldn't help but grin as he watched her. This was what he'd missed, what he'd wanted the other morning. He loved watching her sleep, but even more, he loved being the first thing she saw when she woke up. "Good morning."
She blinked at him and squinted at her watch. In the dark, she couldn't make out the numbers, so she let her arm fall back to her side. "What time is it?" she groaned.
"A little after six-thirty," Derek replied. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Mm, yeah," she yawned. "I came in here about one-fifteen…"
"Five hours," Derek nodded. "That's pretty good." It was better than pretty good—it was almost unheard of for a night on-call. Then again, she'd officially switched to plastics duty at midnight, and he imagined that there weren't too many emergency nose jobs to perform at that hour. "Easy night?"
She shut her eyes and turned away from him, settling on her side with her face pressed against the back of the couch. "Yeah."
Derek reached across her body to grip her shoulder and roll her back toward him gently. "Sit up," he said, "I brought you coffee. I saw Mark pull up when I was coming in, and as soon as he gets to his office, he'll be paging you. You want to be awake before then."
"Can't you pull some strings and get me a few more hours to sleep?" Meredith mumbled as she pulled his lab coat over her face.
"Mm, no," Derek smirked. She wasn't usually this difficult to wake, but he was enjoying the challenge. "I wish I could. What time is your shift over?"
He wedged one hand between her side and the couch cushions and held her hand with the other; she groaned as he carefully pulled her up into a sitting position. "Six." Her head fell against him so that her forehead rested on his shoulder, forcing him to support her dead weight with one hand on her back and the other behind her neck.
"When's your appointment with the therapist?" he asked as he slid one hand slowly up her back, tracing her spine with his fingertips. He hadn't forgotten about her next session, and he hoped that he'd get an answer to all the thinking she'd supposedly been doing over the weekend, once she'd talked to the therapist. He'd promised her that he'd be patient, and he was determined not to push her, not to ask her—but it didn't stop him from wondering what was going on in her head and hoping that she'd clue him in soon.
"Seven," she replied. "Until eight."
"Meredith, you're going to be exhausted," he shook his head. The movement made her head fall from his shoulder; she reluctantly leaned back and looked up to meet his eyes.
"I know," she sighed. "It's okay, though. I'll probably go to bed as soon I get home tonight." She paused and her forehead creased with the extreme effort required to concentrate on anything other than her fatigue. "Did you say something about coffee?"
Derek laughed and stood up to return to his desk. He grabbed a plain brown bag and one of the two cups he'd bought on his way to the hospital. "Here," he handed the bag to her after she'd stabilized the coffee between her knees, "I got this, too. It was there when I got your coffee and I thought I might get hungry later, but if you want it—"
"Liar," she interrupted as she peeked into the bag.
He tried to restrain a smirk from betraying him. "What?" he said innocently.
"You're lying!" she cried. "This is not a cafeteria muffin. This is from the bakery two blocks over."
He couldn't hold back the grin anymore, not when she was smiling like she was and her eyes were shining with happiness. "Is it still your favorite?" he asked.
"Yes," she nodded and removed the giant blueberry muffin from the bag. "But you shouldn't have; bribery will get you nothing."
"It's not bribery. It's making sure you have something on your stomach so you don't pass out today," Derek corrected her.
"I don't need you to take care of me," Meredith insisted, even as she broke off a piece with her fingers and popped it into her mouth.
"I know," Derek smiled. "But that doesn't mean I can't try every once in a while. If you don't want the muffin, I can throw it away—"
She glared at him and shielded the food with her free hand. "Don't you dare."
"I wouldn't," he assured her. He frowned slightly at the crumbs beginning to accumulate on his lab coat and took her food away with one hand—earning a muffled yelp of protest (her mouth was too full to speak)—before he could yank away his coat and return her breakfast to her lap. "Go ahead, eat and drink before Mark pages you," he suggested. "I've got some paperwork to do, but you won't bother me if you stay in here."
Now that she was awake, he could turn on the overhead light, and he did so on his way to his chair. He was aware of Meredith just feet away, picking at her breakfast and sipping her coffee, but he right now—he didn't feel the need to smother her with his attention. She was here. She'd slept in his office—stolen his lab coat and wrinkled it (not that he minded too much, if it meant that he'd be catching whiffs of lavender the rest of the day)—and she was here. It was something. It wasn't everything he wanted for them, but it was a start, and for this morning, it was enough. He'd take more if she offered it, but if she didn't—this was enough for the moment.
He flipped through the ever-growing stack of paperwork on his desk, sorting them into piles based on priority. The medical journals went into the "take home and ready eventually" queue, while the time cards he'd neglected to sign Friday—the chaos of Lacey Brennan and Meredith had more than distracted him from the administrative aspects of his job—needed to be taken care of immediately and sent down to HR. His emails were slightly easier to sort through—three reminders from his sisters about the arrangements for his flight home, the latest correspondence from an old colleague in New York, an email requesting a consult from Mercy West, plus a half-dozen advertisements that had managed to slip through the hospital's spam filters. He decided to tackle the emails first—HR wouldn't open until eight anyway—and started on a response to Mercy West.
After a few minutes, Meredith's voice, hesitant and soft, tore his attention away from the computer. "I have been thinking," she offered. "About everything."
Derek looked up and smiled weakly. "I wasn't going to ask." He hoped that she didn't really think he'd brought her breakfast as a bribe. He'd agreed to give her time, and he'd intended to keep his word.
"I just—I didn't want you to think that I wasn't," Meredith started babbling in that endearing way of hers. "Because I am. I don't know anything definitely yet, but I have been thinking. I wanted you to know that."
"Thank you for telling me," he said. He wanted to know what, exactly, she'd been thinking, but he didn't want her to be uncomfortable, to feel pressured to give him an answer. She was nervous enough as it is; she'd come to him when she was ready, and he had to accept that, even if the ambiguity of that timeline drove him crazy. He'd be okay if she took a while to decide; he didn't like it—because he wasn't typically a patient person—but he'd be okay. He'd rather wait and have her than make her choose now and have her decision not be the one he wanted. The waiting was infuriating, but Meredith was worth it. Anything was worth the effort to have his life with her back.
He'd just turned back to his email when Meredith stood up and moved to his desk, placing her coffee on the corner. He sensed her standing behind his chair as he finished his reply to Mercy West with a suggested time for a preliminary phone consult. "Are you looking forward to this weekend?" she asked softly.
"This weekend?" he repeated, furrowing his brow as he pressed the send button.
"Going home," Meredith clarified. "Seeing your family?"
"Oh—yeah," he sighed and spun his chair around to face her. It took everything he had not to grab her waist and pull her into his lap. "It'll be good to see everyone again."
"Are you still going to be gone a week?" she asked.
"Yeah. Going to miss me?" he grinned. She'd made a good effort at trying to make her question sound like polite conversation, but she couldn't slip that past him. Unless he'd read her completely wrong—and he was sure he hadn't--she wasn't happy about him being away for so long. Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, confirming his suspicions.
She refused to acknowledge that he'd caught her, and instead held out the remaining half of the muffin. "Do you want some?"
"A bite," he nodded. "Thanks."
The door to Derek's office swung open suddenly, heralding Mark's entrance. He strode inside with his usual confident swagger, but stopped abruptly when he saw Meredith. He looked from Derek to Meredith and back to Derek again, trying to process the scene. "Am I interrupting?" he asked.
"No," Derek and Meredith replied in unison.
"Good," Mark nodded. "Grey, glad you're here. I need pre-op done on my patient in 2712. I want to be cutting in an hour, sharp."
Meredith frowned apologetically at Derek and took her lab coat from the back of his chair. "I have to go," she said as she shrugged the coat onto her shoulders. "Thank you for breakfast." She grabbed her coffee and quickly slipped past Mark and into the hallway.
Mark craned his head to watch her leave, and then turned back to Derek. "Did you learn nothing in medical school? Why are you letting her have caffeine?" he sniped.
Derek didn't bother toning down the annoyance in his voice. "Because she's on the last twelve of a forty-eight and she's tired."
"And pregnant," Mark stressed.
Derek shot up from his chair and peered into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw no sign that Meredith—or anyone else--was still within earshot. "Shut up before someone hears you!" he hissed at Mark as he shut the door.
"Oh, sorry. Are you waiting until her second trimester to tell people?" Mark asked. "I'll be more discreet."
"She's not pregnant, you idiot," Derek growled. "What do you want?"
"I can't just come visit?" Mark grinned cockily.
"No, you can't," Derek muttered darkly. Not when it meant interfering with his time with Meredith; she'd been here a minute ago, and then Mark showed up and ordered her away. Derek should have been able to have a few more minutes with her, and now, she was gone and Mark was spewing his ridiculous pregnancy conspiracy theories again.
"I was going to ask if you'd take Kate's Christmas present with you when you go home," Mark said. "You are going home for Christmas, right?"
Some of Derek's ire ebbed, replaced by surprise. "You got my mother a gift?"
"I always have," Mark shrugged. "So will you do it?"
"Yeah, just bring it here to the office and I'll make sure she gets it," Derek agreed.
He'd forgotten—maybe intentionally—how close Mark had always been to Derek's mother. Mark's own mother had spent every holiday season going to parties, and Mark had always wound up sharing in the simple, familiar Christmas traditions of the Shepherd family. Kate hadn't given a second thought to bringing Mark into the fold like a second son, even giving him his own stocking to hang on the Shepherds' fireplace mantle. Mark had started giving Kate gifts on his first Christmas with the Shepherds, and she'd gushed over the presents he'd bought with his allowance money as though they were diamonds from Tiffany. Kate still kept the picture frame he'd given her that first Christmas on display in her home, and she updated it every year with a recent picture of Derek and Mark. Derek realized that last year had been the first time they hadn't all been together in thirty-something years, and wondered if the frame still held the photo from that last Christmas, if the Derek and Mark in that photo were still frozen in time, happy and completely oblivious to the fact that in just a few months, Mark would sleep with Addison, and their decades-long friendship would be rocked to the foundation. Derek wondered if his mother would update the frame with a picture of him alone this year, or preserve the image of what he and Mark had once been.
"All right then—off to make the world one face prettier," Mark announced, unaware of Derek's thoughts. "Don't worry about Meredith—I'll make sure she doesn't push herself too hard," he added with a smirk. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to my godson."
Derek hadn't missed Mark's comment, but he let him leave without arguing. It wasn't worth it, and he didn't have the energy to deal with Mark when he was in fully-pompous mode. He hated that Meredith had to spend the rest of her day dealing with Mark; hopefully she was feeling more patient than Derek was—for Mark's sake.
After over four hours in surgery assisting Mark's facelift, Meredith was a lot of things. Tired, yes. Hungry—definitely. Patient—not exactly. After making sure that Mrs. Blackshear was settled into recovery, Meredith hurried to the cafeteria to grab a quick bite to eat before the next surgery Sloan had on the board. She owed Derek, big time. She wouldn't have eaten this morning, left to her own devices, but if he hadn't brought her breakfast, there was no way she'd still be standing. If she thought she could get away with stealing another quick nap in Derek's office, she'd do it in a heartbeat, but for now, she'd settle for food.
The downside to arriving at the cafeteria at one o'clock was that most of the staff managed to hit for the noon lunch wave, and the food that remained after they'd picked over it wasn't always the best. On the other hand, it did mean that the cafeteria was almost empty, so Meredith wouldn't have to deal with talking to people when she felt anything but chatty. She paid for a sandwich, a salad, and a bottle of water, and carried her tray to an isolated corner of the cafeteria. The hunger pains subsided as she made short work of her lunch, but she still ached from the mental and physical exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours.
She blamed it on Derek. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since their morning at the trailer—which was fine, to an extent, because she had promised that she'd think about where they stood with each other—but at the same time, she had a job, and she needed sleep, and it was hard to devote the necessary attention to those things when Derek occupied most of her thoughts. She was glad that aside from those few minutes in the waiting area last night, and then their twenty minutes that morning, that she hadn't seen Derek much in the past few days. When she was with him—when she was waking up to him and talking to him and he was being thoughtful and dreamy and not pushing her for a stronger commitment—it was easy to forget how complicated life with him could be. It was vital that she take the time away from him to weigh her options, decide whether they could make a go of things now, what it would take to make it work. Wanting it to work wasn't a question—she'd never been more sure of anything in her life—rather, it was a matter of whether now was the time most conducive to success. She'd asked him for a few days to figure things out, but even though she knew he'd give her more time if she asked, she was tired of thinking things to death. She knew—thought she knew—what she wanted to do; it was just a matter of finding the courage to admit her certainty and make another leap of faith. The first one had paid off, but Meredith wouldn't be Meredith if she didn't drag her feet to the edge of the next cliff.
She was ripped from her thoughts by the loud slam of a plastic tray against her table and a loud huff as Cristina sat down across from her. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"I just got out of surgery," Meredith replied.
Cristina popped the clear plastic lid off of her salad and harpooned her fork into it. "I've been trying to find you since I got here at five."
Meredith would have asked why she'd been at the hospital at five in the morning, if she'd been talking to anyone else, but this was Cristina. It was more of a surprise that she'd gone home at all. "I was sleeping."
"Where, on the roof?" Cristina demanded. "I checked the on call rooms, the tunnels—"
"Derek's office," Meredith admitted, immediately bracing herself for the abrasive reaction sure to follow.
Cristina sat back and looked at her in dismay. "Oh god, don't tell me you're screwing him again."
"I'm not!" Meredith cried defensively.
"Then what are you doing spending the night in his office?" Cristina asked skeptically.
"He offered it to me. More privacy than an on-call room," Meredith shrugged. "So what did you need when you were scouring the halls for me?"
As quickly as that, Cristina's interest in Meredith's sleeping arrangements disappeared. "Hahn's shutting me down again," she groaned. "This is the third week in a row that I've been scheduled for cardio and she's changed the rotation. I'm on gynie, Meredith--freaking baby catchers! I just got out of a c-section while Izzie was scrubbing in for Hahn's transplant. Seriously? Has no one told her that Izzie and transplant patients don't play well together? That was my transplant, Meredith…"
"Go to the Chief," Meredith suggested simply as she took the last bite of her sandwich.
"I'm not going to the Chief," Cristina scoffed. "I'm not in kindergarten. I don't tattle because someone's not sharing her crayons."
"She's not just hoarding her own crayons, Cristina. She's being a bully, and she won't let anyone share with you," Meredith replied. "Cristina, you've already declared your specialty. You declared it before anyone else in our year. She can't not teach you, and she can't not let you on her rotation. She has to at least let you work with some of the other cardio residents."
"The other residents aren't Erica Hahn, Meredith!" Cristina argued. "Hahn is…she's Hahn. She's one of the best, and I deserve to learn from the best—"
"Then go to the Chief!" Meredith repeated; she was tired, and her voice revealed more of her exasperation than she intended. "I don't know what else to tell you, Cristina. You're right, what she's doing isn't fair, but whining to me isn't going to change anything. If you're asking me for help, all I can tell you is to take it up with the Chief. It's not tattling if it's ensuring your professional future, Cristina. If you want to specialize in cardio, then be the cutthroat surgeon you are and do what it takes, and quit making up excuses for why you won't confront Hahn."
Cristina tilted her head and looked at Meredith pensively. "I am cutthroat," she agreed after a moment's consideration. "I'm hardcore. I kick playground bully ass."
"Yes, you do," Meredith laughed, happy to see a hint of the old Cristina finally reappearing.
"Do you want to go to Joe's tonight?" Cristina asked, apparently content with the potential resolution to her troubles with Hahn.
"I can't," Meredith shook her head. "I have—a thing." As well as it had gone with Meredith told Derek about therapy, she doubted Cristina would be as supportive. After all, Meredith herself had scorned therapy until she'd started seeing Dr. Hadden. Pysch was crap. Meredith might not think so anymore, but Cristina—Cristina would, and Meredith would prefer not to deal with the mocking that would inevitably ensue.
"Please," Cristina scoffed. "You never do anything anymore. You sit at home and mope and act like an old woman. You didn't even come out with us Friday night. I was stuck drinking with everyone else and your stalker sister while you sat at home picking up your needlepoint again."
Meredith let the comment about Lexie slide; she'd actually found her half-sister tolerable since Thanksgiving, though that might be partially due to the fact that Cristina had largely assigned Lexie to cases that kept her away from Meredith. "It was knitting," Meredith corrected, "and I wasn't at home. I was at Derek's."
It was the wrong thing to say, and Meredith regretted it instantly. "You spent the weekend with Shepherd?" Cristina cried.
Meredith shook her head. "Not the weekend—just Friday night."
"You are sleeping with him again—" Cristina laughed scornfully.
"I am not—we just talked," Meredith protested. Whatever patience she'd had left after spending two days in the hospital was quickly being used up in the effort not to go off on her friend. Why was it so hard to believe that she could spend time with Derek without sex playing a factor? There was more to them than sex, and Cristina of all people should know how much Derek meant to Meredith, since she'd spent as much time on her honeymoon criticizing Meredith for pining after Derek as she had denying that she herself missed Burke.
"Yeah," Cristina rolled her eyes in disbelief. "You mean he screwed you in front of all the furry woodland creatures until you scared them away with your screaming orgasms."
"Cristina!" Meredith snapped. "I am not sleeping with him."
If she noticed the anger in Meredith's voice, Cristina ignored it. "Seriously, Meredith, I think this is even sadder than the needlepoint--"
"Derek and I are getting back together," Meredith blurted. That shut Cristina up, and drained the color from Meredith face. She hadn't meant to say it, but nothing else seemed to be getting through to Cristina. "At least, I think we are. Soon."
Cristina's face fell, and her tone turned from mocking to incredulous. "You're kidding, right?"
"No. We've been talking," Meredith replied. "We're starting to work through things."
Cristina sat silently for a long moment, her lips drawn into a thin line, before she shook her head at Meredith in pity. "I really thought you were more intelligent than that."
Meredith had had enough; that was the final straw. "Shut up," she growled. Cristina opened her mouth to say something, but Meredith cut her off. "No, shut up. I'm trying to be happy, Cristina. I know you hate that he makes me happy, but he does. I'm not saying that we're not royally screwed up, because we are, but we want to be together, we want to make it work, and as my friend—my best friend—I'd think you'd be a little happier for me!"
"Oh, and if Burke showed up, you'd be pushing me back to him?" Cristina retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.
"You and Burke are not me and Derek!" Meredith hissed. "We've been through things together that you—"
"Oh, you want to go there?" Cristina scoffed. "Remind me when Derek got shot and you covered up for him and risked both your jobs?"
"Remind me when Burke pulled your dead body off the bottom of the ocean!" Meredith shot back. "Cristina, it's not about who's more screwed up—if you wanted to get back together with Burke, yes, I'd be worried, but if you told me that it was what you really wanted, that he made you happy and you loved him and you were trying to be adults and work through your problems, then I would support you, because I'm your person, and that's what I'm supposed to do!"
"I can't do that. I can't sit back and let him trample all over you because you're stupid enough to take him back—" Cristina argued.
"He makes me happy, Cristina," Meredith cried, her voice and hands shaking with anger. "I deserve to be happy. And it's different this time—we've both been working on things—"
"Whatever," Cristina rolled her eyes. "Just don't call me to haul your ass out of bed when he dumps you again."
"I won't—he won't," Meredith pushed her chair back and stood up, throwing her trash onto her tray. "You know--at least I'm making an effort to move on with my life and not pretending that I don't miss Derek, which is a hell of a lot more than you can say."
She stormed off, pausing only to drop off her trash, and didn't look back as she left the cafeteria. She was still fuming when she found herself on the post-op recovery wing, but she managed to calm herself down slightly before she retrieved the chart from the nurse's station and checked in on their facelift patient from that morning. The woman had woken up from the anesthesia, and aside from some mild discomfort, didn't appear to be suffering any ill effects from the surgery. Meredith forced a smile when she left the patient's room, and when she stopped at the nurse's station to make a few notes on the chart, she took a deep breath and noticed that her hands were no longer shaking. That was good; she couldn't go into surgery with trembling hands, which was more than she could say for the man Cristina seemed so determined to keep on a pedestal. How dare she criticize Meredith for not only admitting that Derek wasn't so McDreamy, but embracing him anyway, flaws and all, and trying to work through their issues like an adult? At least she was speaking to Derek, talking about their problems—sort of—instead of agreeing to marry him days after ending a silence strike. At least Meredith had taken a step and gone to therapy, instead of continuing to bottle everything up and pretending that she was perfectly okay with being left at the altar. At least--
"Grey!" Mark Sloan's booming voice carried down the hall, alerting her to his approach.
"Dr. Sloan," she acknowledged without looking up at him.
"Checking on my patient?" he said, noticing the chart in her hands. "Good. Excellent work this morning, too, Grey."
"Thank you," Meredith replied curtly. She wasn't necessarily being nice—Mark had been tolerable today, and she'd had to deal with him in much less pleasant demeanors—but right now, she'd almost prefer the sulking, sullen Mark Sloan to the overly friendly, chatty version standing next to her. Cheery and bright were not attributes she could handle at the moment.
"You're grouchy," Mark observed with an amused chuckle. "Derek must be having tons of fun with that. The mood swings."
Meredith looked up sharply. "What?"
"Did he tell you my vote?" Mark continued, oblivious to the warning note in her voice. "Like I told Derek, I definitely think my godson should be called Mark, but I've been thinking, and I've decided that 'Sloan' would make a pretty good middle name, too. Mark Sloan Shepherd--sounds good, doesn't it?"
"What are you talking about?" Meredith asked, curling her fingers into a fist around her pen. Godson?
"Oh right, you're not telling anyone yet," Mark winked. "Relax, I'm not going to tell anyone your secret. I'll pretend to be as surprised as everyone else when you hit your second trimester—"
Meredith's jaw dropped in shock, and the anger she'd just started to suppress boiled up with an even greater intensity. "My what?"
"Come on," Mark grinned. "Quit being coy, Grey. Derek and I have been talking about the baby for weeks. I know; you don't have to hide it from me."
"Derek things I'm pregnant?" she bristled.
Mark's grin faded. "You're not?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "No. I'm not." She turned on her heel and stalked away in the direction of Derek's office. Baby. Godson. Mood swings. Of all the stupid, ridiculous things she'd ever heard about herself in the halls of the hospital, this one topped them all. If Derek valued his life at all, he wouldn't be in his office, because as soon as she found him, she was going to kill him.
Derek had had a largely uneventful day. He'd caught about half an hour of Meredith's surgery from the gallery before he had to scrub in for a craniotomy of his own, and then he'd had lunch in his office in preparation for his phone consult with Mercy West. After speaking with the other hospital's Head of Neurosurgery, they'd arranged to have the patient in question transferred that evening, and after they'd hung up, Derek had set about completing the paperwork for the transfer. He had a surgery scheduled for late afternoon, but the remainder of his day, barring any traumas coming into the ER, was blocked off for office hours. It wasn't an exciting day, but Derek was determined to make it a productive one, and intended to work his way through several of the piles of paperwork on his desk.
He hadn't planned for the door to his office to be flung open with such a force that it hit the wall as Meredith stormed into his office. She was shaking violently, her eyes dark with fury, and Derek felt his stomach turn. "Meredith!" he cried, frowning in concern. "Meredith, what is it?"
"I need you to tell me why I was just told that Mark Sloan Shepherd would be an excellent name for my baby," she demanded.
Derek's face blanched; this was not good. If Derek made it out of this, Mark Sloan was a dead man. "Shit," he muttered. "Meredith—"
"Don't 'Meredith' me," she snapped. "I need you to tell me why the hell Mark Sloan is giving me suggestions for baby names."
"Meredith," he tried again as he rose from his desk to calm her.
She didn't let him finish, and beat one of her tiny, not-so-ineffectual fists against his chest. "You think I'm pregnant?"
"No, I don't," he assured her as he caught her wrist just before a second blow landed on his arm. "I know you're not—"
"But you're telling people that I'm pregnant?" she cried.
"No!" he replied firmly, grabbing her arms to steady her and to keep her from hitting him again; based on the look in her eyes, that was still a definite possibility. "It's not me, Meredith. It's Mark."
"Why does Mark think I'm pregnant?" she said desperately.
Derek sighed deeply. "Before I knew it was therapy—when I was worried about all your appointments—Mark decided that the only explanation was that you were seeing an OB," he explained. "I told him you weren't, but he wouldn't listen—"
"How long?" Meredith asked.
"What?" he replied, shaking his head in confusion.
"How long?" she repeated. "How long have I been oblivious to the rumor that I'm pregnant going around the hospital?"
"It's not going around," he promised. "Mark's actually kept it to himself. He thinks we're waiting to tell people until you're a little further along."
"Make him stop," she said petulantly. Derek lifted one hand and smoothed her hair back from her face. He wasn't in danger of being slapped anymore, but her lower lip was quivering and she looked like tears of frustration might start falling at any second.
"I'll try," he said softly. "You know, he'd be discreet about therapy. He doesn't want anyone to know that he sees a therapist—if he knew you were, he'd drop the pregnant thing. He'd keep your secret."
"No," she insisted. "I don't want anyone to know."
"Okay, then. I'll do my best to get him to stop," Derek said placatingly. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she whispered. She took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes, holding his gaze for just a second before she broke away and pushed past him. She collapsed on the couch and groaned softly as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she covered her face with her hands.
Derek followed her and took a seat by her side; there was something else going on, something on top of Mark's stupidity. "What's really wrong?" he asked gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," she mumbled into her palms.
"'No' as in you don't trust me to tell me, or 'no' as in it's not that big of a deal?" he persisted.
"No as in…I'm still mad and don't want to talk to anyone about it," she replied.
"Mad at me?" he asked hesitantly. She shook her head. "Mark?" he guessed.
"Well…yes, but no," Meredith answered.
"Okay," he murmured. He wouldn't press any further; she wasn't going to give him anything, and he didn't want to push her away. If she wanted to talk, she would, but for now…he'd just be here for her. She wouldn't still be in his office if she didn't want to be around him, he figured, so it would only be a matter of time before she opened up. He cautiously curled an arm around her shoulders, and when she reciprocated by leaning into him, he combed his fingers through her hair soothingly and waited.
After several minutes, she finally lifted her head and sighed heavily. "It's Cristina. I had a fight with Cristina."
"Cristina?" he raised an eyebrow in surprise. That was a new one; he couldn't remember offhand any time Meredith had fought with Cristina. "What happened?"
"She's…Cristina," Meredith replied vaguely.
He frowned; that didn't provide much for him to work with. He didn't know what else to say beyond, "She's your best friend, Meredith. I'm sure you'll work through it."
"I don't think you'd say that if you knew…" she muttered bitterly.
"It's about me?" he let his hand fall from her hair. "You fought with Cristina over me?" That was an even bigger shock than the fight itself; Meredith, who had consistently chosen loyalty to her friends over him, made him feel insignificant, inferior to Cristina and the others—she'd risked her friendship with Cristina for him? She'd put him first…
"Yeah," Meredith nodded. "She doesn't get it."
"Get what?" he asked.
"Why I'd even think about giving us another chance," she replied.
"She's being protective of you," Derek said. As much as he sometimes resented Cristina's closeness with Meredith, he would never deny that Cristina defended Meredith fiercely. It didn't surprise him that Cristina was critical of the undeserved opportunities that Meredith seemed to be extending him.
"How would you know?" Meredith argued. "You weren't there."
"No, I wasn't" he agreed. "But—what was it you said once? She was there for you when I wasn't. She's trying to look out for you, Meredith."
"She thinks you're going to hurt me again," Meredith told him.
A lump formed in his throat; he forced it down. Hurting her again was the last thing he ever wanted to do. "Do you think that?" he asked hesitantly; he wasn't sure he wanted to know her answer.
"I don't know what I think," she admitted.
It wasn't what he'd hoped to hear. "You'll be okay," he assured her. "We'll be okay. You and Cristina will be fine."
"You don't like Cristina," she said skeptically.
"I like Cristina well enough," he disagreed. "I didn't like coming home to find her in my place in your bed. I didn't like her having the place in your life that I thought I should have. But she's your friend. You like her."
"Most of the time," Meredith said begrudgingly.
He sighed and brushed his thumb along her cheekbone fondly as he slid his fingers into her hair again. "Just talk to her, Meredith," he advised. "You'll work things out. And if you want to talk more about it—I'm here."
"I have a therapist," she reminded him.
"I know. But I'll listen to you, too," he paused and grinned playfully. "You won't even have to pay me for it."
"Thanks," she smiled softly and glanced down at her watch. "I um—I have Mark's rhinoplasty—" she said reluctantly.
"Go," he nodded. "We can talk later." He stood up first and offered his hand to help her up. "Try not to kill Mark when you see him—I'd like that privilege myself."
She laughed lightly, and then her expression turned serious. "You know that I'm not, right?" she bit down on her lip nervously. "Pregnant. I'm not pregnant."
"I know," he assured her again.
"Do I look pregnant?" she asked, looking down as she placed a hand on her stomach as if to evaluate its flatness.
He tried not to laugh at her; she'd never struck him as the type to stress over what changes a pregnancy might make to her body. If she wasn't worried about the grilled cheese and strawberry ice cream, he'd figured a pregnancy wouldn't faze her too badly. "No, you don't look pregnant."
Her eyes met his again and she took a deep breath. "I was afraid," she admitted. "When Mark said that you thought I was pregnant—I was afraid that all of this—this weekend, and the last few weeks—I was afraid that you were only doing it because you thought I was pregnant. I thought maybe it wasn't about me after all, that you just wanted the baby—"
"No," he shook his head firmly; he hated that she'd doubted for a second, that still she couldn't let herself fully believe that he loved her, wanted her. "Meredith, no. I never thought you were pregnant. It's always been about you."
Some of the worry left her face, and she managed a tiny smile. "I would have told you. If I were."
"I know, Meredith," Derek nodded. "You have secrets, but that's not one you'd keep from me."
"Right," she sighed. "Okay. I should go—scrub in."
"Okay," he agreed. "Good luck at therapy tonight. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," she started to go, but stopped after the first step and turned back to him. "Derek—if we were pregnant? There's no way I'd name our child after Mark Sloan."
"Me either," he promised. She smiled once more, and he watched her leave, shutting the door only after she'd disappeared from sight.
If he'd had any doubt about the good therapy was doing her, it was gone now. Meredith would have never done this two months ago. When Meredith was stressed, she shut down. She bottled things up. Only very rarely did she actually lash out and confront him, and that was only when things had escalated to a point that she couldn't fit anything else in the bottle. He knew how tired she must be, and that made everything seem much more intense than it probably actually was, but still—she'd come to him with it. She'd found out about Mark's moronic pregnancy theory, and she'd come to him—very angry, no denying that—but asking for explanations, and then she'd admitted the real problem. Talked to him about the real problem.
Cristina. Not only had she told Cristina that she was considering giving him another chance—that alone was a good sign—but when Cristina had criticized the idea, Meredith had stood up for herself, for Derek, for them. She'd put her relationship with Derek—undefined as it was—above her friends, and that? That meant the world to him. It was all he'd needed—something to hold onto, to make him believe that she did value his presence in her life. It was something he'd begged her for before, but had never been given. But now—now he had proof. She really was thinking, really was trying—she did want to make them work. Fundamentally, she was the same woman he'd fallen in love with, but Derek couldn't deny the changes he was seeing in her. She was growing. She was trying, and against all odds, in spite of everything he'd put her through, Derek was convinced that if she'd just give in, give them one more chance, that this time, they would both in it for good.
Meredith refused to speak to Mark anymore than absolutely necessary during the rhinoplasty. Thankfully, he didn't attempt to talk to her much, either. She suspected that he was simply too embarrassed to say anything to her, and she wasn't complaining. She didn't care if he was Derek's oldest friend or her sort-of friend; right now, he was just the ass who'd thought she was pregnant, and she was still livid at him.
Mark disappeared after the surgery was complete and he and Meredith had informed her family of the successful outcome. Meredith didn't care where he'd gone; her day was finally over, and not a minute too soon. She stopped by Derek's office, hoping to apologize for her meltdown earlier, but found it empty; a quick trip to the OR board confirmed that he was in surgery. Reluctantly, she gave up on the idea of seeing him and started for the resident's lounge to change and get ready to leave. She didn't think she'd ever been so glad to leave the hospital; it had been an incredibly long day, and she was ready to get off the emotional roller coaster with a quick visit to Dr. Hadden, and then go home and pass out for a good seven or eight hours. If she didn't know that it was impossible, she'd almost think that there could be some validity to Mark's pregnancy theory, what with the emotional extremes she'd experienced in the past twelve hours. The day had started off so well with Derek, but it had quickly disintegrated after that, especially after her argument with Cristina.
She thought now, after some introspection while she should have been watching Mark reshape the tip of someone's nose, that Derek was probably right. She was tired, overly sensitive—what Cristina had said was harsh, but also very much Cristina. Meredith would have still been angry, but maybe not quite so combative, if the conversation hadn't happened when it did. She didn't want to stay angry at Cristina—like Derek had said, she was just trying to protect Meredith. Cristina didn't know—and Meredith couldn't expect her to know—how much they'd both changed since their breakup, how hard they were both trying. Derek wasn't her favorite person, but Cristina would come around, and Meredith was pretty sure that she'd already forgiven Cristina. She was her person, after all. Her family.
She was startled when she pushed open the door to the resident's lounge and found Cristina sitting inside, surrounded by a sea of medical texts. Cardio, by the look of things.
"Hey," Meredith breathed. Cristina looked up at her, and then back down without a word. Meredith rolled her eyes, "Okay, don't talk."
Cristina lifted her head again, feigning surprise, as though she'd just seen Meredith standing there. "I'm sorry, did you suddenly start listening to me again?" she said sarcastically. "Last I checked, you didn't care what I said."
"Cristina—I'm sorry I snapped at you," Meredith sighed. "I'm sorry that you don't like the idea of me and Derek again, and I know you're just trying to protect me. But I need you to be my friend and trust me when I tell you that I've been thinking about this and it is different—" she stopped when she heard Cristina mutter something under her breath. "What was that?" Meredith challenged.
"I said how can I trust that things are different when you haven't even talked to me about it?" Cristina said, raising her voice a little louder than necessary. "I don't know who you are anymore, Meredith. You don't talk to me, you never have time for anyone—we all thought you were busy, but it turns out you're just too busy for anyone but McDreamy—
"Are you jealous?" Meredith cried, incredulous. "Seriously? Cristina—I told you about Friday night, but that's the only time I've seen Derek outside of the hospital. I know I haven't been around a lot lately, but how can you say that I don't make time for you? I spent all day with you last Saturday!" She hesitated and ran a hand backward through her hair in frustration. "You're still my person, Cristina. You're my best friend, but you can't fix everything, and you shouldn't be the only person I talk to. Just because I'm talking to Derek or anyone else—it doesn't mean you're less important to me."
"Okay, this is nauseating," Cristina groaned. "We don't do this whole hugging-talking-feelings thing."
Meredith smiled hopefully. "So we're okay?"
"Yeah," Cristina gave in. She was silent for a moment before lifting one eyebrow questioningly. "So…you and Shepherd? Again?"
"Maybe," Meredith nodded. "We've been talking about it—sort of."
"Sort of?" Cristina repeated.
"Yeah," Meredith said as she crossed the room to her cubby and took down her street clothes.
"You really want to go through this with him again?" Cristina asked.
"It's different this time," Meredith assured her. "He's…we're both trying. We have tons of stuff to work through, but—I want it to work with him."
"Okay," Cristina shrugged. She returned her attention to her books while Meredith changed. As Meredith gathered her purse to go, Cristina added, "I wouldn't do it. Give Burke another chance."
"We're different people, Cristina," Meredith said softly. "Derek's not Burke."
"Yeah," Cristina said flatly. "Sure you don't want to come to Joe's tonight? It's a victory celebration. Hahn got called to the principal's office today."
"I can't—I have a thing," Meredith reminded her. "I'm glad you talked to the Chief though."
Cristina rolled her eyes. "What kind of thing?"
"Just—a thing," Meredith said vaguely, worrying the strap of her purse through her hands.
"Does Shepherd know about this thing?" Cristina demanded.
Meredith's guilty expression gave her the only answer she needed. "He does. But you won't tell me."
"Cristina—you're still my person, but this just—it isn't something you need to know," Meredith sighed.
"Fine," Cristina muttered.
Meredith frowned; she had to do something about this jealousy thing. "Can we do drinks tomorrow night?" she suggested. "I'm off at eight."
"Can you tear yourself away from McDreamy for that long?" Cristina retorted. Meredith glared at her. "Yeah, fine," Cristina conceded quickly. "Drinks at Joe's tomorrow."
"Okay," Meredith smiled. "I'm glad we're okay."
"Yeah, yeah," Cristina waved her hand dismissively. "I'm done with this—whatever. Just go, do your special secret thing. I've got to study so I can scrub in with Hahn tomorrow."
Meredith shook her head in amusement; some things were never going to change. She took her keys from her purse and slipped quietly out of the lounge. It was already dark outside as she left the hospital and crossed the parking lot to her car; the winter chill nipped at her cheeks and nose, and she wished she were home in her warm bed. Soon, she told herself. One more stop, and then home and bed.
The waiting area at Dr. Hadden's office building was warm and comfortable, and Meredith nearly dozed off in her chair before the receptionist called her back to the therapist's office. The plush couch there was even more inviting, and the space heater plugged into the wall, aimed at Meredith's feet, didn't help her to stay awake. She felt her eyelids growing heavy and her muscles giving in, refusing to exert any more energy than they already had. She had just started to nod off when the door creaked open and Dr. Hadden's voice interrupted Meredith's attempted catnap.
"Meredith, I'm glad to see you," she said pleasantly. "I have to say, I was worried about you, the way you left Friday night. I hoped you might use the number I gave you—"
"I was okay," Meredith assured her. "I worked Saturday and Sunday nights, but Friday was—Friday…I went to Derek's."
Dr. Hadden nodded knowingly as she took her usual seat across from Meredith. "I thought that might be where you were going."
"I took a leap of faith," Meredith said. There was no sense in beating around this bush during this session; her bed was waiting, but more than that—she'd been planning what she wanted to talk about for a few days now, and she didn't want to waste a second.
"And?" Dr. Hadden replied, reaching for a pen off her desk as she flipped open her notebook.
"We talked," Meredith told her. "Really talked. It was…really good. I spent the night. I didn't mean to, but I did, and we talked more the next morning. He made me breakfast."
"That's nice," Dr. Hadden smiled encouragingly. "What did you talk about?"
"The day I drowned. What we both went through, how we felt about it," Meredith answered. "That was Friday night."
"And Saturday?" Dr. Hadden asked.
"The house Derek wanted to build us. He showed me where he wanted to build it," Meredith paused for a beat before diving into the real issue. "We talked about where we stand with each other—maybe getting back together."
"Really?" Dr. Hadden said in surprise. "Did you decide anything?"
"I told him I'd think about it," Meredith said. "That morning—everything was so perfect, and I just thought…I should wait. I thought it wouldn't be a good idea to make a hasty decision about something like that. I wanted to make sure that I was ready to try again when I'd had a few days to think and everything wasn't so recent."
"That's a very intelligent, mature thought process, Meredith," Dr. Hadden praised.
"I asked him to give me a few days," Meredith continued. "He said he would. He hasn't hinted or begged or even asked to know what I'm thinking—he's giving me the time to think."
"That's wonderful," Dr. Hadden nodded. "Would you like to pick up the discussion we started Friday night?"
"No," Meredith shook her head. "I know, it's something I need to talk about, and talking with Derek doesn't mean that I'm fixed and healed and don't need to tell you about it," she added quickly. "But just—not now, not yet. In a few minutes, but first—"
"You're more concerned about your relationship with Derek," Dr. Hadden finished. "You know I won't tell you what to do."
"I know," Meredith replied. "But I need someone to talk to about this, and that's kind of your job."
"Okay then," Dr. Hadden yielded. "So you told Derek you'd think about what to do. Have you been thinking?"
"I can't stop thinking about it," Meredith's stomach fluttered with nerves.
"Have you come to any conclusions?" Dr. Hadden asked.
Meredith felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth, and she took a deep breath. "I think so. Yes."