Author's Note: This is my first Grey's fic. It's my favorite show and I absolutely wanted to die when Denny did, and as much as I wanted him to stay in the show, he's gone–but not from my heart, nor my imagination. He's not dead in this story. This takes place continuing on from the season finale and everything else happened accept for him dying from the blood clot. He's still alive–he and Izzy are planning to be married. Its focus is the un-broken love between Derek and Meredith and the song, by Terri Clark, is the way I feel that their relationship is: Just the same, no matter what, they belong together and I don't think that they planned it, it's just the way it is. Reviews appreciated.
Just the Same: A Grey's Anatomy Story
By Cuddy Cabin
Song by Terri Clark (Because it fits)
Chapter One- One Year
Just the same: By Terri Clark
You could have walked along a back road
or on a lonely stretch of beach.
You could have sat there on a park bench,
the Sunday paper at your feet.
If you'd been waiting for a taxi,
or at a bus stop in the rain,
I would have found you,
I would have found you,
Just the same.
You know you could have been
a gambler, whose luck was runnin low.
Or just another drifter,
without a single place to go.
You could have been a broken
dreamer without a penny to your name.
I would have loved you,
I would have loved you,
just the same.
No, it really didn't matter
who you'd been or what you'd done.
Where we met or when it happened,
You'd still be the one.
There's no way to know the future,
but one thing will never change;
I'm gonna love you,
I'm gonna love you,
just the same.
I'm gonna love you,
I'm gonna love you,
Just the same.
Love is fickle; It's tempestuous and all consuming. Sometimes we believe that love will conquer all, that no matter what, the person that you give your heart to will always be there to guard it. To take care of those precious feelings and hold them in the hollow of their hand—not letting anyone else get close enough to let it get hurt–or worse–dropped. It still stings, still surprises the soul when that very same person turns around and chooses someone else above you or hands that heart back to you–unwanted.
Meredith Grey had wrestled with these very feelings for the better part of a year; Had dreamt about them, cried over them and agonized why the man she had given her heart to had handed it back—even though he loved her—and she knew it.
Knew it every time she saw him, saw the sadness etched into his exquisitely blue eyes as they followed her everywhere she went. Knew it in the way he said her name, with tenderness and the underlying passion that no longer belonged to him. She was no longer his, to make love to, to have or to hold. He had lost the right to ask about her life, to demand to know all of the little things that went on inside her head, and he had lost it when he picked his wife—even though his brain and every single part of his heart screamed at him not to–over the only great love he'd ever had.
Slowly but surely, she'd made progress over the last year. She had wonderful friends, until she'd slept with George in a moment of utter madness—and he still wasn't talking to her—an amazing home and things at the hospital were good. She still missed Doc, now that he'd gone to live with Derek and Addison in the trailer. As much as it hurt her, she knew that he'd be better off with them. He'd have room to run and play. She'd loved it there and so would Doc. The playful mutt had been the only thing left that she and Derek shared. The one thing that still tied them together, and for that she was grateful.
But when Doc got sick, she'd taken him to the vet and met Finn. She found him attractive, wonderfully warm and appealing. The trouble was that she wasn't ready to date, couldn't get herself actually wanting to date someone again. What was the point?
He'd asked her out—she'd said no. He'd asked again. She finally agreed. They'd gone to deliver a baby horse, which did turn out to be pretty romantic—as first dates went. She'd never forget the look on Derek's face when he saw her come down the stairs dressed in one of Finn's shirts—utter disappointment and then, anger. Cold, hard. Jealousy in it's greenest from. He'd called her a whore. She'd been angry–who did he think he was? He'd gone back to his wife for frig sake—was she supposed to be hanging on for the rest of her life? Waiting for him to finally decide that he wanted to be with her? Was she going to be ninty-five years old, living in a nursing home, waiting for him to declare his love for her? Not likely.
She'd gotten the message. It had been clear. It was over.
Over until the night of the prom, that is. She'd gone with Finn, dressed up in her fanciest dress and for the first time in a long time, been at ease. Finn had plans. He had plans, not dreams, not smoke billowing out of a chimney. He wanted to be with her.
Damn Derek had stared at her with those piercing blue eyes, willing her to look at him. He'd had enough. He could hardly stand to watch her with someone else–to see another man's hands on her.
She'd run all the way to the on-call room, breathless, angry, tired of him. Tired of having her heart broken a million different ways from Sunday. He'd chased, followed. And they'd fought–harsh—hot–angry. They'd never spoken to each other that way before and soon realized just how sometimes anger and sex went hand in hand.
And now? Now where was she? What was she supposed to do?
She'd done what any self-respecting lady would do; She went back to her date and pretended that nothing was wrong.
And now, here she was, at the end of the song, the end of the night—with two men calling her name, asking her to decide.
Did she go with slow and easy? With comfort and stability? All browns, earthy, safe colors that made Finn who he was? Or did she go for the fast and hard—all consuming male that made her blood pump fast—silver, glitter, flashy colors that dazzled her senseless?
"Meredith?"
She let a soft, "I'm sorry", escape her lips as she met his eyes, her own tearing up, hating herself for having to choose, for having to hurt him, for having to pick. "I really am."
Blue eyes clashed against blue, locked in a snarling angry glare. One nodded while the other looked confused as to what had just happened. Male pride reared high, hurt feelings were on the edge. Two men, tuxedo clad, both handsome, classically beautiful watched as she wiped a tear from her eye. One moved forward and offered his hand.
"Let's go."
She looked down at the floor, placed her hand in his and began to walk away–but she couldn't help but wonder if she'd just made a colossal mistake.
She'd soon find out.