[Many thanks to those who added U to their alert list. Once again, I don't own any piece of GA. Just borrowing the characters for my own use since Shonda doesn't know what to do with them. I do thank her for creating them, though.]
Ch. 14 - Home Sweet Home
Mark unlocked the tall oak door, and gestured for Derek to enter. "I've always admired your taste in women and real estate." He paused, rethinking his statement. "Scratch that, not all your women. Those post-Meredith women were scary." Mark exaggerated his shudder, but not by much. Punching in the code to disable the security system he walked, with an air of familiarity, into the living room.
"What about the pre-Meredith women?" Derek paused before following Mark across the threshold. He had dreaded this moment. Walking into a house he apparently owned but had no memory of. During the drive over from the lodge he strained, without success, to recognize a foothill, a tree or a neighboring house. Right now his memory was a black hole the width and depth of the Grand Canyon. And only scattered glimpses of his marriage clung to the rim, somehow avoiding the rest of his life hiding at the bottom.
"Great racks, and they could string a few sentences together."
"When did you worry about conversation with a woman?" Derek chuckled at Mark's dry statement, and thought back to the press clippings. He had cut an embarrassingly wide path through the feminine upper echelon of New York society. The numerous faces had failed to dredge up any hint of his past. But they did foster a surprise touch of sadness at the number of bodies. What could he have been trying to accomplish, other than quantity? The pattern turbo-charged post-Meredith. Had it been to forget or compensate? Well, he had finally accomplished the former.
"I didn't," Mark shut the heavy door. "And neither did you. The ability to string together a few words wasn't a requirement. Legs and boobs were." Mark led Derek through the small foyer and into the living room.
"So this is…?" The place looked around 5,000 square feet. Cozy. Smaller than his penthouse back in Manhattan.
"Was. A marital asset. Well, one of them. Now it's just an asset."
His gaze darkened to indigo as it traveled about the room. Derek could easily picture Meredith here. The casually unpretentious style suited her. But the size didn't. "I picked this out, didn't I?"
Mark slowly set his keys on the coffee table, fearing any sudden movement would make this memory moment a falsehood. "Yeah. She wanted something smaller, but this was the only French Country house in the Valley, and you said she loved French Country."
More importantly, the house had reminded him of their honeymoon. He focused on the thought as it sputtered through the back of his mind. Derek drew comfort from its brief appearance. He drew hope.
"You remember that?" Mark noted how the frown on Derek's face contrasted with the release of tension from his shoulders. "Buying the house?"
"Sort of."
Mark moved about the space turning on lights. The obvious quality of the furnishings didn't detract from the stated comfort of the room. Sun Valley wasn't all that different from Vail in terms of wealth and the merchants catering to it. "Do you remember Meredith's reaction to this place?"
Instinctively, Derek knew she loved this house. And it wasn't a comforting thought. He trailed Mark as he worked the lights and opened curtains. "Did she come back here?"
Mark shook his head. "You told me to evict her and sell the house. Which was an interesting proposition considering you gave her the house and it was in her name."
"I did? Why would I do that to her?"
"Because she walked out and refused to come back to New York. She wanted you to come out here, and talk. You wanted her back in New York, and were dead set positive taking the house would do it."
"But it didn't." Derek stated the obvious.
"It didn't. From what I could tell, Mer never came back here. She went straight to the Karevs from the airport. Michael offered to buy the house for her but she turned him down."
The reference to his father threw Derek. Why would he offer to buy this house for Meredith? Again, he instinctively knew Meredith would never accept a gift of this magnitude. Not from someone other than her husband. "So who owns it now?"
"You do."
"I do? But you said I told you to sell it."
"We fought over it. I'd never do that to her, but you insisted. You threatened to fire me if I didn't do it." Mark didn't bother pointing out that Meredith avoided the house ever since, saying the subject was too painful. She had readily signed it back to Derek and Mark hid the property in a seldom-used Sheperd corporation. "I let you think the place was sold, and held onto it for when you came to your senses. You never did. I thought your habit of carrying grudges wouldn't extend to Meredith, but I was wrong."
"I hold grudges?" Derek walked into the center of the room, avidly studying its features. He knew it was wishful thinking, but Meredith's presence filled the room. The soft texture of the light cream walls complimented the neutral tone of the couch and the worn blue area rug covering the oak floor. The fireplace drew his interest. It looked well used. Did he and Meredith sit together on the couch, with the lights dimmed, watching the flames? He had a feeling the answer was 'yes.'
Mark struggled not to point out how his public exhibition of post-Meredith women underscored his vindictive grudge carrying, and took a seat on the couch. Derek's study the fireplace made him curious. "That's an understatement."
"An understatement?"
"Yeah. Understatement of the millennium." Mark pulled his ringing cell phone from his pocket. A glance at the display had him moving towards the kitchen. "Excuse me. I need to take this."
Nodding, Derek turned and noticed the kitchen divided from the living room by a breakfast bar. Mark had stopped before a second fireplace, which anchored the far end of the kitchen, listening intently to his caller. And an intimate table for two sat waiting for occupants. Thoughts of dinners by firelight made him grow warm, but were the thoughts real or wishful thinking? The entire living area exuded warmth. It was Meredith. How could he take this away from her? Why would she leave him? Derek seated himself at the breakfast bar.
Mark's animated conversation ended and he joined Derek at the breakfast bar. Setting his phone on the dark marble counter top, he rested both hands on the counter's edge. His fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm. "Did anything else come to mind?"
"Where are Meredith's things?" Derek's fingers sought out his scar as it began to ache again.
"Her friends came and packed up her belongings." Mark reached for his abandoned phone, sending it into a short spin. The call left him restless with a touch of fear thrown in. His caller was not one to make empty threats. Little Sloan could end up as Dead Sloan.
"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
"I did."
"When?"
"In the report I kept telling you to read. " Mark answered, checking the time on his cell phone. "You ready to read it now?"
"Maybe" Derek shrugged. But he doubted he would ever crack open its cover. Hope made him believe reliving his history was better than reading about it. Meredith was his history. He had to find a way to make her relive it with him.
Mark took a deep breath. "Listen Derek. Contrary to what Eleanor says, I think facing your past will help bring it back. And since Meredith is part of your past, you need her for do this. Sitting and waiting for it to come to you won't cut it. Won't do it. You need be proactive about your recovery. So do as she asks and sign the damn papers."
Derek half listened to Mark's speech. Not well prepared, but not bad for speaking off the cuff. His courtroom speaking skills occasionally came in handy. "I actually agree about being proactive and Meredith. I'm ignoring what you said about the papers. But why are you still going on about it?"
"Because Meredith is…"
"Willing to do it only if you sign the damn papers or so help me I will knock your memory into place when I kick your ass back to New York."
[Thanks for reading!]