[AUTHOR'S NOTE: There's this Matchbox Twenty song called "Could I Be You." It's absolutely beautiful, and breathtaking, and painful in such a real, authentic, Grey's Anatomy kind of way. From the very beginning of the first verse—"something is wrong with the sum of us"—that song was all I could hear each time I sat down to write this chapter. I deleted a few scenes before posting this, because I'm not sure they're really necessary and they were driving me nuts. This is the end result. (Also, it means that I have, in fact, started writing the next chapter already.)
I'm sorry for the delay on this one, and I'm sorry it's not quite as epic in length as the previous two, but I hope you enjoy it just the same. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the kind words in the reviews and for the love you send when you click the "favorite" button. When writer's block threatens to be a pain in the butt, you pull me through in a big way, and I'm so grateful that you're still on this journey with me.]
COULD I BE YOU
DAY 8
Meredith Grey tugged the keys from the Jeep's ignition, ceasing the gentle purr of its engine. She leaned back against the seat and pressed the knuckles of her good hand into her eye socket.
"Dr. Grey wasn't a quick fuck for me."
She tugged the car door open and slid slowly, gingerly to the edge of the seat.
"It wasn't a sordid, hot-for-teacher scenario in which I allowed myself to be wooed and sated by some insipid little intern just because she smiled at me over her notepad during rounds."
With a heavy sigh and careful attention to her screaming ribs, she edged herself off the car seat and into a standing position.
"It was real and exquisite and beautiful, and neither one of us asked for it."
Once erect, she nudged the Jeep's door closed with her hip. The slam shattered the silence like a gunshot.
"I chose her before I ever knew she worked here."
She shuffled wearily along the path, listening for the chirp of crickets or the distant voices of her neighbors or even the muted call of an owl from one of the tree's larger branches. Anything but the incessant echo of Derek's voice in the darkest corners of her mind.
"In our first hour of conversation, she managed to shed light on one of the darkest times in my life."
She pressed her cast into her side and climbed the steps with deep, measured breaths.
"We might be in a rocky place, and the entire hospital might find that appropriate fodder for its horrendous gossip culture, but Meredith Grey is one of the best people I've ever known. You don't get to cheapen that just because you don't approve."
She paused at the top step to take stock of her aching limbs.
Meredith had a terrible memory. She forgot all kinds of things on a regular basis—what she'd eaten, when she'd eaten, how many drinks she'd had, the names of the men who hit on her. Occasionally, she forgot important details of the medical procedures she'd learned. She couldn't, for the life of her, understand why she couldn't forget a single word of Derek's tirade. I mean, this is when the shitty memory should start to work in my favor, right?
Her answer was the vivid recollection of a perfunctory shout through the closed lounge door.
"I loved Meredith Grey!"
With as much ire as she could muster, Meredith shoved her key in the lock and pushed the front door open. A few awkward steps forward revealed three very tired doctors fighting sleep on her disheveled couch.
"You're late," Cristina muttered disdainfully. "We were about to call Bailey."
Meredith's brow knit in confusion. "Bailey?" she repeated. "When someone's missing, aren't you supposed to call the cops?"
"I've met the cops," Lexie admitted with wide eyes. "Bailey seems more effective."
"She yelled at me today," Izzie confessed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. When she caught Meredith's searching gaze, her expression grew sheepish. "Sorry, do you want to sit on the couch? I can move."
"The chair's fine," Meredith murmured, sinking into the cushions and tucking a throw pillow against her abdomen. "Why are we all sitting in the dark?"
Lexie stared at the cluttered coffee table as though it held the answers to all the mysteries of the universe."I think Alex Karev is giving me surgeries."
Izzie folded her arms uncomfortably across her chest. "I think I have a date with Sloan."
Meredith raised her eyebrows expectantly at Cristina, who set her lips in a thin line and buried her hands in her unruly hair.
"I think Shepherd just gave me my dignity back," Cristina spat, like the very taste of the words was appalling. "He also gave you ice cream," she offered to Meredith. "Some strawberry-marshmallow-swirl nonsense. I put it in the freezer with the rest."
Meredith disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a pint of strawberry ice cream and four spoons.
Cristina snorted incredulously. "Oh, you're going to eat it now?"
"Derek said he loved me," Meredith recited dully. "It's ice cream time."
"Probably should've grabbed one of the bigger containers," Lexie mused fearfully.
"Derek said he loved you?!" Izzie reached for a spoon with a frown. "Shouldn't you be excited? Or at least a little less frown-y?"
"He didn't say it to me," Meredith grumbled. "He said it to Dr. Hahn."
"Are they close?" Izzie mumbled through a mouthful of strawberry. "I didn't realize they were close."
"They're not close," Cristina deadpanned. "He basically stole me off her service today."
"They were arguing about it in the attendings' lounge," Meredith admitted. "Derek was being all high-and-mighty about you, and Hahn got snarky, and then she mentioned me, and he…said the thing that he said."
"That he loved you," Izzie emphasized with wide eyes.
Meredith winced. "Yeah…he didn't say it so much as he yelled it." She shared a strange glance with Cristina. "He defended you, and…then he defended me. Which is stupid, really, because he was yelling things that were the exact opposite of that two weeks ago."
"But you were…hurt," Lexie offered gingerly. "Maybe what happened to you made him realize how much he'd loved you all this time, and…"
Meredith inhaled sharply. "Too many romance novels, Lex."
"No kidding," Cristina grumbled. "That's so cliche, it makes me want to hurl."
"But he defended you too!" Lexie argued. "Shouldn't he get points for that?"
"No." After their bonding moment in the O.R. earlier, Cristina was no longer convinced that Derek was the spawn of Satan. She wasn't quite ready to start calling him McDreamy again, though.
"Sloan did say he misses you," Izzie remarked wryly.
Meredith arched an eyebrow. "Oh, did he? What else did Sloan say?"
A crimson flush dotted Izzie's cheeks, even in the dark. "He's…nice," she admitted awkwardly. "And kind of funny. And he's really not that horny when you actually spend enough time with him."
"Kind of like Alex isn't that much of an ass when he's offering me surgeries?" Lexie offered.
"Or how Derek seems like he's not that much of an asshole when he goes around defending Meredith's honor?" Izzie retorted.
"I told you," Meredith deadpanned. "It's ice cream time."
Cristina snorted. "Sounds like tequila time to me."
Meredith plunged a spoon into the soft pink surface of the ice cream and studied the pink and white ribbons with mild curiosity. "The last time I went in search of tequila, I wound up in the hospital."
"But you weren't actually drinking tequila," Lexie pointed out thoughtfully, retrieving a bite of her own from the outstretched container.
Meredith shot her a look that could've scorched the Siberian tundra.
Cristina shrugged and reached for a spoon. "Ice cream time it is."
George was thankful to be working. He was thankful for the opportunity to hold a scalpel. He was thankful that he wasn't being forced to stand across from Shepherd, pretending to like the guy and engaging in awkward discussions about Shepherd's social transgressions and the potential for reparation. He was not, however, thankful to be stuck in a lab, watching skin cells grow.
Sure, it was cool that Dr. Sloan could grow a skin flap. It was also cool that the skin flaps would soon be used to repair the wounds of burn victims. Still, between passing dishes to Dr. Sloan and watching as the latter studied mitosis and miosis under a microscope, George was fairly certain that he'd gotten the short end of the surgical stick…again.
"Is something going on between you and Stevens?"
George looked up from the array of Petri dishes in surprise. "What? No!" He paused for a moment, considering his answer. "I mean, there was. Kind of. I mean, we've always been best friends. You know, Izzie and George, and then…" His nose wrinkled. "Then my dad died, and we had amazing, drunken…" His eyes widened horrifically when he remembered his audience, and he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Um…why do you ask?"
"I'd like to take her out," Dr. Sloan admitted, poking gently at a skin flap in one of the dishes.
George's lip curled. He knew the girls called Dr. Sloan "McSteamy." The older man was tall, intimidating, jacked, and ruggedly handsome. He was also whip-smart, impatient, and kind of a jerk. A bitter, fraternal feeling of protectiveness bit George's insides.
"Don't, um…don't mess with Izzie."
Way to go, O'Malley. I'm sure he's really scared now.
Dr. Sloan glanced up with arched eyebrows, and George couldn't help but think that the plastic surgeon looked much less intimidating when he was sitting down and donning magnifying goggles. "I don't want to 'mess with her,'" Sloan insisted, his tone dark with offense. "I want to date her."
"Date," George repeated doubtfully. "Like, take-her-to-an-on-call-room date?"
"Like, go-to-a-nice-restaurant-and-get-the-fuck-out-of-Seattle-Grace date," Sloan retorted. He snorted indignantly. "Why does no one in this hospital think I'm capable of a serious relationship?"
George cocked his head suspiciously. "Weren't the nurses boycotting your surgeries a few weeks ago?"
"I said some inappropriate things," Sloan conceded gruffly. "I was in a bad place."
"Weren't they mounting a sexual harassment case?"
Dr. Sloan set down the scalpel, removed his goggles, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Man, news travels fast in this place."
George's lips formed a thin line. "Look, Izzie's been through a lot lately. She doesn't need…"
Dr. Sloan stood up, and the legs of his chair screamed across the floor in protest. "Didn't you sleep with her?"
George's eyes widened again. "Um…what?"
"And you slept with Meredith too, right? When she was 'going through a hard time'?"
George wasn't sure he appreciated the air quotations. He definitely didn't appreciate the implications.
Dr. Sloan arched a menacing eyebrow. "Seems to me like your glass house isn't the safest place from which to be throwing stones, O'Malley."
George had the grace the blush.
"Look," Dr. Sloan continued, "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not looking for a warm, blonde body. I genuinely like Stevens. She's funny. She's compassionate. She doesn't take my shit."
George opened his mouth to respond, but Sloan stopped him with a firm index finger.
"I'm not judging you, O'Malley. It's been a rough year for a lot of people. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't stepping on your toes. So you and Stevens…everything's clear?"
George bit his lip. "We're just friends."
Dr. Sloan smiled tightly. "Excellent. If you stop having sex with the women in your life who are really just looking for sympathy, maybe you and I can be friends, too." He punctuated the statement with a firm nod before directing his attention back to the dish. "Now, what can you tell me about growing skin cells?"
DAY 9
"Dr. Yang! Are you ready?"
Cristina's glare was glacial as she glanced up belligerently from her breakfast. "Ready for what?"
Dr. Shepherd's manic grin throbbed in time to the pounding of her skull. "Meningioma with calcifications that are in the process of causing hyperostosis."
Cristina's eyes widened appreciatively as she took the outstretched chart. "That's a thickening of the skull," she mused in shock. "You have a tumor that's grown so much that it's caused the skull to thicken?"
"Not me personally," Shepherd corrected, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously in the fluorescent light of the hallway. "My patient. Our patient."
She placed her hand under her chin to hold her jaw closed. "You're offering me a calcified meningioma?"
"I'm offering to let you help me remove one," Dr. Shepherd countered gleefully. "As a rule, I try not to give people tumors."
He actually had the gall to wink at her.
"No," Cristina muttered in disgust. "You give them diabetes instead."
His expression soured ever so slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Ice cream?" she grumbled. "How much of that do you think Meredith needs, anyway?"
He had the grace to blush. "I, um…"
"Don't answer that," she muttered. "Tell me more about this tumor."
"Read the chart," Derek retorted. "We scrub in at 11 AM. I expect you to round on her immediately for a pre-op evaluation."
She began to pore over the chart, her eyes far more voracious than her mouth. Breakfast lay forgotten at the far edge of the table.
A few minutes passed. When she noticed that Dr. Shepherd was still standing uncomfortably close to her, Cristina looked up expectantly.
"What?"
Derek shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. "Did she like it?"
"Pretty sure no one likes a tumor," Cristina retorted.
"Not the meningioma," Derek countered. "I mean Meredith." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did she like the ice cream?"
Cristina arched a lethal eyebrow. "You know what she wouldn't like? You asking every single person in this hospital for some sort of update."
Derek wanted to plead. He wanted to forget everything he'd ever heard about patient confidentiality and dignity and beg. He wanted to borrow a tactic from his nieces and nephews and wrap himself around Cristina's leg until she agreed to tell him something. Anything.
Instead, he managed a terse nod and a poor excuse for a smile. "I'll see you at 11."
Mark Sloan sat in his office, surrounded by paperwork. He had insurance forms to file. Both Karev and O'Malley had left charts for him to review. Somewhere in the pile, Meredith's file demanded details about the treatment he'd given her more superficial wounds.
He had plenty of actual work to do; he just couldn't do it. Not when he was three pages deep into a fruitless Yelp search for Seattle's best date night restaurants.
Gone was his confidence from a few evenings prior. He was a veritable tangle of nerves and insecurities, reduced to doubt and fear by the judgmental gleam of Addison's eye that hung like a portrait in his memory.
Needless to say, the unexpected knock on his door was a welcome respite.
"Come in!"
His eyes widened incredulously when Meredith Grey slipped in, dressed casually in jeans and a lilac sweater with glossy, honey-blonde waves dusting her shoulder. "Dr. Sloan," she murmured slyly by way of greeting, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"Dr. Grey," he returned, trying like hell to mask the fraternal surge of protectiveness that swelled as she stepped tentatively forward. "Welcome back to the land of the depressingly professional. You look nice."
"Good to know," Meredith grinned. "Getting this sweater over my cast was a bitch."
"Worth the effort," Sloan admitted softly. "You look good, Grey. Almost like you're back to normal."
Meredith reached the armchair across from him and took a seat. Mark noticed with no small sense of relief that her movements were less stilted than they had been the last time he'd seen her. "Actually, that's kind of why I'm here. I wanted to talk to you about returning to work."
Mark leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You're really feeling that much better?"
"I'm good," Meredith affirmed. "Great, even."
Mark dipped his chin pointedly.
"What?" Meredith muttered defensively. "I'm fine!"
"As your fellow Dirty Mistress," Mark volleyed dryly, "I'm tempted to call bullshit on that."
"It's not bullshit!"
Mark leaned forward and pressed his chin onto steepled hands. "I asked Stevens on a date a few days ago, but it's fine. I'm fine. Not nervous at all."
Meredith arched a doubtful eyebrow. "Is that why you're ignoring your paperwork to sift through restaurants that some stupid search engine recommended for you?"
A slow, knowing smile crept across Mark's face, and Meredith acknowledged that she'd been had. Humbled and overwhelmed by the kinship she'd begun to feel with Mark, she inhaled sharply and suffered a sigh.
"Getting attacked? It made me feel weak." She shook her head incredulously. "I always thought that avoidance was the weakest thing about me, but it turns out that, even when I'm not drinking, I'm not strong enough to defend myself against some asshole with an agenda." She let out a tiny snort that could've been a hollow laugh. "But you know what the worst thing is? Recovery makes me feel useless. Before, when I felt like 'dark and twisty' was written on my forehead, I could still practice medicine. This week, my fellow surgeons have been babysitting me. Like I'm five. Or incapacitated, or…" She took another deep, audible breath. "Mark, you guys have been taking care of me like I used to take care of my mother. Do you have any idea how much that sucks? I feel worthless."
Mark's expression softened ever so slightly. "Grey, you're not…"
"I know that," Meredith growled. "You know how I know that? I can watch my mother's surgical tapes and anticipate her approach before she calls a single shot. I can listen to Cristina and Izzie and Alex talk about their cases and envision the entire procedure. I know how to save lives. I know how to put a scalpel in someone and cut out the dark and twisty. I might not be able to defend myself in a dark alley, but I can fucking solve a surgical problem."
Her chest heaved with the force of her outburst. He watched the lilac ribbing of her sweater lift and fall in the sudden silence.
"I can't be useless anymore. It's not productive, it's not fun, and it sure as hell isn't helping me do any spiritual healing."
"So you want to come back to work," Mark finished.
Meredith nodded firmly. "I want to come back to work."
"Okay."
Meredith raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Okay?"
"Okay," Mark repeated. "You think I wanted to sit alone in my apartment after Addison went to L.A.? I get it." He reached out to take the permission slip Meredith had extended toward him. "Besides, you're safer here. If anyone tries to take you out, you've got a lot more than a pen at your disposal." He chuckled lightly. "Hell, Shep might even make good on his threats to take 'em out."
Both of them froze in the wake of his admission. When Meredith finally spoke, her voice was deathly calm.
"What does that mean?"
Mark cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nothing."
"Tell me," Meredith ground out, "or I'll tell Izzie she makes you nervous enough to sift through a hundred and thirty-three restaurants."
Mark narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, but Meredith's glare was fire to his ice.
"Stevens told me that Derek paid penis guy a visit during his stay here," Mark admitted reluctantly. "Apparently, he went into the guy's room late at night and threatened to take him out if he ever came near you again."
Meredith's facial features didn't even twitch. "You're lying."
"I'm not," Mark countered. "When I confronted him about it, he told me that he'd gone in there to keep your friends from doing something stupid, but the second he was alone with that asshole, he wanted to kill him."
Meredith pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. "I don't believe you."
"I told him it was stupid," Mark continued, "that he could've gotten suspended or even fired for threatening a patient. Asked him what the hell he was thinking. You know what he said?"
Meredith winced.
"He said he wasn't. Said he was consumed by rage, that he was lucky he walked out of there without doing any physical harm."
"I loved Meredith Grey!"
She felt the rush of air through her nostrils and studied the files stacked haphazardly on Mark's desk. She was surprised to see one bearing her name sticking out towards the top.
"We might be in a rocky place, and the entire hospital might find that appropriate fodder for its horrendous gossip culture, but Meredith Grey is one of the best people I've ever known. You don't get to cheapen that just because you don't approve."
Before she knew quite what had happened, her fingers had found purchase on the forest green cardstock and were rifling through the papers therein.
"This is my file," she murmured.
Mark heaved a sigh. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. "Look, Grey…"
"This is my updated file," she added thoughtfully, scanning the report of her attack with blessed detachment.
"Yes."
Meredith gave a single, curt nod and passed the entire thing back to Mark with a look of steely determination. "I want you to give this to Derek." She paused to consider the implication. "Well, not this, exactly, but a copy."
"What?" Sloan exploded. "No! Are you kidding me? Not only would that be a HUGE violation of patient confidentiality, but…" You said you felt naked in front of him. Naked.
"Hear me out," Meredith argued, holding up her good hand in protest. "He's asking about me, right? He's going around the hospital, harassing my friends and threatening patients and freaking spilling his guts to Dr. Hahn, and…"
"Spilling his guts to Dr. Hahn?" Mark repeated incredulously.
"I don't want to talk about it," Meredith deadpanned.
Suddenly, Mark knew exactly how he was going to strike up his next conversation with the enchanting Dr. Stevens.
"He's desperate for information. He's worked himself into some stupid freaking state of nobility where he thinks…" Meredith trailed off and shook her head incredulously. "I don't even know what he thinks, but I want it to stop. If he has the information he wants, maybe he'll stop."
Mark arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You think he's doing all of this because he wants information about you?"
Meredith arched an identical brow. "Alex told me he slept outside my hospital room because no one would tell him anything."
Mark rolled his eyes. "Grey…"
"It won't be a HIPAA violation, okay? I'll sign whatever form I have to sign. Just…give him the file. Answer his questions. Maybe he'll leave me the hell alone."
Mark stood when she stood, towering over her just so he could continue to look her in the eye. "We both know that's not going to happen."
Meredith snorted. "I'm not sure I know much of anything anymore."
Mark glanced back at his fruitless Yelp search. He understood that feeling.
She was halfway to the door when she suddenly glanced over her shoulder, a curious expression on her face. "Hey, Mark?"
He heaved a sigh. "Meredith?"
"Izzie likes pizza." She paused for a moment and shot him a fragile smile. "She's also been talking about trying the desserts at Hot Cakes for a long, long time. Like, since we all moved here."
Something gnarled inside of him started to relax.
"Don't worry about finding the perfect restaurant. Izzie likes you."
Before he could respond, the door slammed shut behind her.
Mark collapsed gratefully into his chair and reached for the massive file with Meredith's name on the tab. Apparently, he had a medical report to copy.
"Am I a good guy?"
Cristina rolled her eyes and flipped the page of her neurology textbook. "Do good guys cheat on wives they shouldn't have married?"
Alex shrugged. "Are killer robots really going to take out the earth?"
George's forehead crinkled in confusion. "What?"
"Sorry," Alex murmured sarcastically around a mouthful of Chex mix, "I thought we were all asking stupid, pointless questions."
Cristina smacked him without looking up. "Be nice. Bambi's having a quarter-life conscience crisis."
"I get that," Alex grumbled. "It doesn't mean I have to entertain it."
"Yeah, you're right," George retorted. "There's absolutely no reason we should still be calling you Evil Spawn. How insensitive of us."
Alex heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes skyward. "Look," he began tersely, "we've all done stupid things."
"Like sleeping with Izzie," Cristina supplied dryly. "Oh, wait. I didn't do that. That was just you two."
Alex shot her a glare. "I thought you were studying for your meningioma extraction with Shepherd?"
"I can multitask."
With no small amount of irritation, Alex turned on the gurney so that he was facing George. "Like I was saying," he began pointedly, "we all screw up, man. It doesn't make you a bad guy."
George leaned forward so he could see Cristina's surly expression over Alex's shoulder. "Is that true?"
"That one mistake doesn't define you?" Cristina shrugged. "Sure. I mean, I slept with Burke. That was clearly a mistake, but I try not to let it define me."
An uncomfortable silence settled momentarily in the tunnel.
"I made a lot more than one mistake," George sighed finally. "I made a freaking avalanche of mistakes. Callie, Izzie, the intern exam…"
"So do what everyone else does in an avalanche," Cristina grumbled. "Bury them and move on."
"Is that what you did with Burke?"
Cristina met the scalding inquiry with the barely noticeable arch of a single brow. "I'm studying for neurosurgery," she replied tersely.
"So what?" Alex retorted.
Cristina flipped the page with slow, methodical fingers. "So I'm attempting to go with the flow, or whatever. The altar of cardio is closed, so I'm…adjusting." She lifted her chin defiantly. "If I can change, Bambi, so can you."
George's gaze drifted back to Alex, who shook his head. "Dude. Don't look at me like that. Once an asshole, always an asshole, right?"
"You're giving Lexipedia surgeries because you like her," Cristina taunted knowingly. "No one escapes the winds of change, Evil Spawn."
Alex's features contorted in a grimace. "I'm not giving her surgeries."
"You're letting her scrub in with you. It's the surgical equivalent of you and Lexie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-…"
"Shut up, Yang," Alex growled. "People are gonna hear you!"
"Who cares?" Cristina shot back. "Lexie's already figured you out. She was talking about it last night."
For a moment, terror overtook his stubborn sense of self-preservation.
"Oh, relax," Cristina grumbled. "She thinks it's sweet. Which is disgusting in and of itself, really." She turned her pointed gaze to George. "Look, the point is that, apparently, you're not irredeemable until you're dead. So…get over yourself and go be redeemable, or whatever."
George wrinkled his nose. "You know, you're kinda starting to sound like Meredith."
Cristina rolled her eyes and snapped her textbook shut. "Fuck this. I have to go meet Shepherd."
"Not helping your case!" George yelled at her retreating figure.
"Dude," Alex started thoughtfully, "we've been down here for at least an hour."
"Yeah," George sighed, "we should probably get back to work before Bailey finds us."
"Not that," Alex muttered. "Yang mentioned that she was on Shepherd's service, but she didn't bitch about it once. She didn't even bitch about Shepherd being Shepherd."
"She also willingly said stuff about Burke," George pointed out. "Maybe she's just having a weird day."
Alex snorted. "Or maybe you're not the only one Yang thinks is redeemable."
"Dr. Hahn?"
Erica Hahn glanced to her left in sloth-like alarm. "Dr. Grey," she returned dryly. "This is a scrub room, and you're in street clothes. What's wrong with this picture?"
"You're finished with your surgery, and I'll only be a minute," Meredith countered. "I saw your aortic valve replacement from the gallery, by the way. It was an honor to watch."
The words were bile in her mouth, but Dr. Hahn looked appropriately flattered. "What can I do for you, Dr. Grey?"
Meredith stepped her feet together and cleared her throat. "I'd like to return to work, but I need your signature to do so."
Dr. Hahn looked vaguely impressed. "Do you feel like you've adequately recovered?"
"My ribs are still kind of sore, but…that's to be expected," Meredith replied. "I've been clear of pain medication for a week—except, you know, Tylenol. I can get dressed by myself, shower by myself, and I'm clearly moving around without help. I drove myself here this morning. I mean, I'm not going to be holding a scalpel until this cast comes off, but…I've lost enough hours of residency already. I don't want to fall behind."
"I admire your ambition," Hahn murmured appraisingly. "Where's your permission slip?"
Meredith brandished the paper like a weapon, and Hahn reached for a pen. "I take it you'll only be observing until your compound fracture is properly set?"
"Most likely," Meredith admitted, "but I'm happy to do paperwork."
"Yes, well," Dr. Hahn mused wryly, "I find myself currently at a loss for someone to do charts." She passed the form back with a terse expression that could've been a smile. "Might I offer you some unsolicited advice, Dr. Grey?"
Oh God. She's going to ask me about Derek.
Meredith swallowed forcefully. "Um…sure?"
"For the time being, you might want to stay away from Dr. Shepherd's service. I'm not sure he's…mentally stable at the moment."
Don't react. Don't react. Don't react.
"And Dr. Sloan," Hahn continued thoughtfully. "It seems there are a lot of attendings in this hospital who get unnecessarily personally involved with their protégés."
Meredith forced a neutral smile of acknowledgment. "Thanks. I'll, uh…keep that in mind."
"You should," Hahn agreed, brushing past Meredith to exit the room.
Meredith breathed a sigh of relief in the sudden silence. She had a chief of surgery to visit.
"I've gotta hand it to you, Shep. You're growing."
Derek glanced up from his wilting Caesar salad—a pathetic excuse for dinner, but the meningioma's extraction had run long, and he'd only barely managed to sneak into the cafeteria before they closed for the night. "What are you talking about?"
Mark slid into the opposite chair before Derek could voice his protest. "What you're doing with Yang? Taking her under your wing? That's some kind of penance."
Derek's features contorted in irritation. "It's not that bad," he argued, watching warily as Mark unwrapped a similarly disappointing salad. "She's a good surgeon. Keen eye for detail."
"She's also got a keen eye for personal flaws," Mark pointed out. "I'm surprised she didn't roast you in the O.R. like Karev did."
Derek wrinkled his nose at the memory. "She's a lot less sarcastic when she's got a scalpel in her hand."
"Sure," Mark agreed, "but she's also a lot more likely to stab somebody." As if for dramatic emphasis, he caught a few of the salad's crunchier pieces of lettuce with the tines of his plastic fork and took a large, decisive bite.
Derek glanced at his soggy croutons and shoved the container towards the center of the table. He thought about the vacant look in Cristina's eyes as she'd thanked him for the opportunity to be a surgeon, remembered the bright flush of her Stanford sweatshirt as she stumbled into Meredith's bedroom in the early hours of the morning.
"Yang doesn't scare me," he murmured finally.
"Really?" Mark dipped his chin pointedly. "'Cause you looked kind of terrified when she chased you down the hall the morning Grey was attacked."
Derek fingered the sharp plastic edges of the salad's to-go box. "She was looking out for her friend," he sighed. "These residents, they show up for each other. I can respect that."
"Even when they do it at your expense?"
The ghost of a smile curled Derek's lips at the corners.
"Mm," he mused. "Especially then."
Mark's eyes narrowed. "Seriously?"
Derek met Mark's gaze with sad, tired eyes. "I made promises to Meredith," he acknowledged softly. "I said things to her, important things that she needed to hear, and then…" He shook his head and raked a hand through already disheveled curls. "She deserves better. I'm glad they see that. I'm glad they're letting me know it." His punctuating chuckle was rueful. "I'm…trying. To be the better guy."
Mark considered his friend for a moment, listening to the gentle trickle of self-loathing amidst the background of idle chitchat and clanging silverware. With a heavy sigh, he reached into the folds of his briefcase.
"I have something for you."