As promised, Derek waited on the bench outside of Seattle Grace with nothing but two cups of coffee and the burning desire to make Meredith his again. The morning was a bit chilly and he put on his black trench coat while he sipped at his beverage. He was glad that he hadn't made it home—didn't want to deal with Addison in the confines of their very small trailer. He hadn't seen much of her that day, considering that they had been on opposite shifts–and it suited him just fine. The last conversation they had hadn't been kind.

He felt almost sick to his stomach as he played and replayed the past twenty-four hours in his mind. He'd never thought that when he was able to make love to Meredith again that she wouldn't speak to him after. He had counted on the fact that he knew she still loved him, still needed him. He could always tell by the longing look on her face—the way that when she spoke to him there was so much more behind it—so many things that she wanted to say but didn't.

Knowing that he hadn't made it any easier on her for the past few months made him feel like a grade 'a'shmuck and he seriously wondered how he had come to the conclusion that he should give it another shot with Addison. It was like going back to instant coffee after having perked. It just wouldn't do and it really couldn't compare to the real thing. Meredith was the real thing.

He looked up as Cristina Yang approached him. She didn't look happy and she folded her arms as she stopped in front of him. He never could see what Preston saw in the curly haired intern. She wore a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of blue jeans with flip flops. Prestigious doctor indeed—although he had to give credit where it was due—she was going to make one hell of a good surgeon. He nodded and attempted a smile. "Dr. Yang."

She didn't bother with pleasantries but did flash him an impatient smile. "Derek." She squinted her beady eyes and bit down on her lower lip.

He raised his eyebrow. "We're on a first name basis today, are we?" He asked. It always amused him how when dealing with Meredith's friends he was only referred to by his Christian name when they were angry with him for whatever injustice he had caused. "Well," He said grandly, as he lifted the coffee to his lips. "What can I do for you, Cristina?"

She snorted softly. Apparently she didn't like him using her first name. Well, too damn bad. "Oh–you don't mind if I use your first name, do you?" He asked, not really caring if she did or not—but she was fun to torment, especially when you could see the frustration course through her veins and out the top of her head like smoke.

"Cut the crap." She snapped. "What do you think you're doing with my friend—and in the on-call room none the less? It took her eight months to stop crying the last time you ditched her and went back to your wife."

"I don't see how that's really any of your business." He stated flatly. He took another sip and looked at her over the rim, his blue eyes razor sharp. "But I'm not going to hurt her again if that's what you're thinking." He offered.

She scoffed. "Right." She shook her head. "You know, it's just like you to do something this—this—stupid—and especially since she was finally getting over you. But you can't stand to see her happy. You can't take the thought that someone else might. You're selfish, Derek."

"You're probably right about that." He agreed, although not whole-heartedly. "But it's different this time, Cristina." He held up his right hand. "I swear it."

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Your promises don't mean jack squat to me." She pointed at him. "Don't hurt her again."

"Understood."

"Down girl."

Derek looked up and Cristina turned around to see Meredith standing behind them. The muscles in his lip twitched, wanted to smile at the sight of her. She wore her blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a long white sweater draped over her shoulders and her hair was down. His fingers itched to feel it, to have it all around him—on his chest, his back, his stomach. The very sight of her was hot and demanding to him. She had her arm in a sling, which she cradled tenderly. She addressed Derek. "Don't worry, she doesn't bite." And then to Cristina. "What are you doing?"

Cristina rolled her eyes and looked down at the ground. "Nothing. We were just—coming to a mutual understanding, weren't we Dr. Shepard?"

He had to fight not to roll his own eyes. Back to professional titles. Fine.

He cleared his throat. "Right. Dr. Yang and I were having a little chat but it's over now, isn't it?"

"Yup." She patted Meredith on the arm. "He's all yours."

Meredith sighed. "Thanks—I think."

Cristina walked away, leaving them alone, and leaving Meredith nervous. She didn't want to talk to him—didn't want to see him—but couldn't lie to herself. The truth was that she had been excited and scared for the rest of her shift. He always did this to her–always took her up high and then let her fall—and the worst part was that she fell for it time and time again.

"What do you want?" She asked softly, accepting the coffee in her right hand and sitting down carefully on the bench beside him.

"I want to talk. I need to talk to you about last night." He began. "I still can't believe you didn't—you didn't----"he stopped mid sentence, not wanting to say it.

"Pick you?" It came out of her mouth like it hurt. Oh, and it did hurt. She had begged him to pick her, only to have her heart handed back stamped, 'Return to Sender' and now the shoe was on the other foot. When he had chosen his wife she didn't run back and question it, she'd accepted it as best she could. "Choose you?" She murmured softly.

It sounded so stupid, so childish in his head, but it was exactly what he was thinking. "Ya." He looked over at her but she was staring at the entrance of the hospital. "I just want to know what last night meant to you."

"Why—why do you need to know? What difference does it make?"

"It matters."

"To who, exactly? Because last time I checked, married men didn't have to ask that question."

"It matters to me—dammit, Meredith, you slept with me last night!" He put his hand on her leg and she immediately moved away. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"Fine—you want to know why?" She was irritated now. "Because I think we did enough together last night. The gossip mongers are going to be feeding on this for months."

"That wasn't talking."

"You're right. It was cheating."

"Can't we just talk about it?" He asked again, his voice husky and thick.

"I don't want to do this anymore." She said, more to herself than to him. "I have to go. Finn's waiting for me."

She saw his eyes darken, temper begin to seep into his pores at the mention of the name. "He's not the right one for you."

"No offense—but you aren't exactly the best person to decide who is good for me." She argued.

"Does he know how old you were when you learned to ride a bike?" He asked quickly. "Does he know where the scar on your lower back came from?"

She groaned. "Derek, this is pointless—"

But he wasn't finished. "Does he know that you hate eating in bed? Or that you hate horror movies?" The pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear and he was being so unfair—bringing up little intimacies that they'd shared. "Does he know you like I do? Does he make love you to like I do?" He nearly choked trying to get the words out.

But she'd had enough.

"There is no point to this discussion." She stood up and tossed the coffee into the garbage can. Her eyes filled and she tipped her head back for a second to try and gain her composure. "Derek, go home to your wife. Let's get off this merry-go-round because it doesn't stop itself and I'm tired of going around. I'm dizzy and I'm sick of this."

He jumped up and shook his head. "No. It's not over between us. You can't say that–and you're wrong about so many things." He implored. "Last night meant everything to me—it was wrong, I know that—but with you nothing feels wrong. Everything is perfect and beautiful and just the way that I like it." He put his hand over his heart and shook his head. " I'm not one bit sorry that I made love to you—I want to do it again and again for the rest of my life. I want to have children with you and grow old with you and—"

Although she wanted to, she couldn't stop the tear that trickled down her cheek. He was playing dirty, telling her things that she had waited so long to hear–and all the while he was with someone else–married to someone else.

"That's not fair—shut up!" She yelled at him, the blue in her eyes burning bright. "Just shut up, Derek! How dare you talk to me like that! How dare you! I loved you so much that my heart broke and I never thought that I would be able to even think about dating again! Just because we slept together does not give you the right to talk about me like this." She was shaking now and it broke him in two.

"Like what?" He yelled back. "Like I love you? I can't tell you that I love you?" He cried, close to tears himself.

"No!" She shook her head. "You can't! You're married, Derek!" She was sobbing so hard she could hardly get the words out. "You don't belong to me. You belong to Addison—your wife!" She started to walk away but he put his hand on her shoulder and easily stopped her.

"You're wrong."

"No—I'm not!"

"You are mine, Meredith Grey—even if you don't want to admit it or talk about—it doesn't matter!" He yelled, losing his temper in a hot passionate, desperate moment. "You will always be mine and I will always belong to you!"

"It's too late." She sobbed harshly, trying to shove him away, but he wasn't to be dissuaded.

"It's over with Addison." He blurted. "I told her that I'm in love with you and that I don't want to be with her anymore. I can't be with her anymore." A tear fell and slid down his cheek and Meredith couldn't ever remember his eyes being so bright and blue.

"You're leaving her?" She whispered. "You're actually leaving her?"

"Yes! That's what I wanted to tell you—don't you see? I want to be with you—we're finally free to be together." He studied her for a moment, cocking his head to the side, a worried frown starting to build. "What's the matter?" He asked. "Meredith—don't you want to me with me?"

She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. "I—I—have to think about it."

"What?"

She looked up at him, genuine fear and confusion written all over her face. "I have to go—I'll talk to you later."

With that, she turned and walked away.

This time, he didn't follow.