Down for Love
By greyeyedgirl
Chapter 9: In The Wake of The Storm
The black material looked itchy. That was Cristina Yang's first thought when she rolled out of bed and saw her boyfriend putting on a suit. Burke was not looking at her, oblivious to the end of her splendor, as he rummaged through a drawer for a tie.
Cristina sat up, keeping her eyes glued on him. She glanced over at the clock, wondering. "Hi," she said quietly.
Burke turned, the navy tie wrapped loosely around his neck, lying limply. "Good morning."
Cristina looked back at the clock. "It's early."
Burke was silent as he sat down next to her on the bed. His body was stiff.
Cristina watched him carefully. "Burke," she said softly.
He turned to look at her.
There were two tiny lines etched into her forehead, and she leaned forward quickly to kiss him. "This isn't your fault."
Burke shook. She was good at doing that, at shaking him. He'd never met someone who made his breathing quicken and stir with each individual sentence.
There were drops hanging at the side of his eyes, tiny crystals against his skin. "I can't go," he said hoarsely.
Cristina took her hand and rested it lightly onto his leg. "Burke," she murmured.
He stirred lightly, his head pounding. Cristina took his hand.
He rested his head sideways against her shoulder, as she moved her hand so it was in his.
Meredith had always loved the comfort of bed. The pillows were soooo soft, and the blanket just laid warmly over her body, letting her rest in peace.
She'd always been funny that way. She could lay awake in bed for hours at a time, not speaking to anyone or even taking the blanket off. Just...resting, as thoughts rolled lazily through her mind. Sometimes she'd just sleep.
She remembered hazily the summer her mother had sent her away to sleep-away camp, a few weeks before she'd started seventh grade. Each bunk had been divided into two teams, cleverly dubbed "Pepsi" and "Coke," and you earned points for participation. The most points were earned by the kids who woke up at 5:30, changing quickly into their bathing suits in order to go running into the freezing lake, merging their heads underwater. "Polar bearing." The friend she had made there, Jasmine, had dragged Meredith (literally, across the floor) into the bathroom, laughing. "Come on!"
Meredith had stared at her vaguely, before shaking her hair and, her voice hoarse, replying, "You'll find me in my bunk."
She'd banged her leg climbing back into bed.
And now, about 15 years later, the quote came back to her. "I'll be in bed," she mumbled to herself.
"No." The voice startled her, and Meredith sat up. Izzie stood in her doorway, still in the sweats she had slept in, with make-up she had obviously not bothered to wash off the night before remaining reluctantly on her face.
Izzie climbed into her bed, not bothered by the fact that Meredith didn't make room for her. "I know," Izzie said, slowly and hoarsely, "That this is going to be hard. The-" Her voice broke, and she wiped her eyes impatiently. She continued, her words coming out with the air of someone who hadn't slept in several days, "The hardest thing you are ever going to have to do." She looked at Meredith solemnly, her brown eyes alight. "But you have to." Meredith kept her gaze averted, before climbing back under the covers, knocking Izzie off of the bed.
The night before, it had rained. A stillness still hung in the air, the aftermath of a storm. The funeral home stood up right and cautious, surrounded by cars. Meredith walked in in silence, Izzie holding her on one side, George on the other, his arm draped loosely on her shoulder. The air should have felt chilly, but Meredith could not feel the cold drowning her skin. She couldn't feel anything. The haze, that ugly fog, was falling over her again.
Cristina and Burke stood just inside, each in dark clothing. Burke's face was stoic. Cristina shot him occasional glances, a few lines forming on her pretty face. Her hair hung loosely down her shoulders, cooperating for this solemn day.
The door in the back opened, and a shade of dark red entered, contrasting with the black all around. Addison's head was bowed as she made her way to a seat.
Meredith looked around, barely comprehending what was going on. She caught sight of several little girls, each with dark curly hair and large blue-ish green eyes. A few boys, their ages varied, were near them. All of them were silent, and most of their faces were stained from tears. Somewhere deep inside her, something jogged her memory. Derek's voice, carrying out in the night. Nine nieces. Five nephews. Meredith turned away.
And there was Addison.
Dr. Montgomery Shepherd did not say anything to her. There was no anger in her eyes as she took in Meredith, the tinted blue catching hold of the navy-ringed grey. Something was clouding in Meredith's brain, making everything blank, everything the same. A memory of Derek, blood gushing from his throat, flashed into her head. She choked.
Before he died, he had signed the divorce papers, he eyes caught on Meredith, smiling. He had kissed her afterwards. His lips has been dry, scratchy, but Meredith loved it.
She knew Addison had signed the papers too. Everything had been set. Derek and Meredith had been set for each other.
Now the divorce would never become final. She would not be remembered as the woman Derek had loved. She was nothing, nothing but a dirty mistress. A homewrecker, a life-ruiner. She was no better than her parents, her mother for cheating on her father, and her father for letting her.
She and Derek would never live together, never have that last kiss. There'd be no little girl, no Ava to get splinters or have her daddy's curly hair. No baby to cuddle with, no eyes to smile into. Derek was gone.
She wasn't aware of Cristina taking her hand and leading her away, towards the back of the room, quiet. Her breathing was rapid and unsteady, causing her body distress. Was she even breathing?
Cristina was brushing her hair out of her face, her hair that smelled like lavender from her conditioner. She was forcing her to look into her eyes, those eyes that had shared that look, their look. Meredith shook her head frantically. This could not be happening. She was never going to get out of bed again.
Cristina's hand was soft, her fingers long and intertwining. She brushed at Meredith's long cotton black dress. Meredith let her mind run, faster and faster so none of the thoughts would be able to be thought. Every moment she'd shared with Derek. Every surgery she'd ever scrubbed into. Every little shade of grey that had reached her eyes, every Seattle storm she'd stayed in bed through. No memories. No thoughts.
She remembered Derek telling her it was okay while she'd been pulling out the bomb, comforting her. No, wait. That'd only been a dream, his existence a figment of her imagination. Derek hadn't been with her that day.
Across the room, Bailey stood crying, her baby in her arms. Tucker stood with his arm around her, comforting her softly.
Derek's parents stood in front of the casket, looking down at their pale son. That wasn't Derek, though. There were no eyes to twinkle, no muscle control left to smile. No Derek inside that body, just chemicals to keep his face straight. His hair contrasted with the white pillow resting beneath his head. No, this wasn't Derek. This was left-over Derek.
A minister walked to the front of the room, a bible in hand. He began his service.
"Derek Shepherd was a great man, full of kindness, and compassion for his patients. He had a happy family, a loving wife." A tremor went through the crowd. Meredith shook from her new spot sitting next to Cristina, with Burke on Cristina's other side. "He was ripped away too early, a tragedy in which I have not seen the likes of in many years. We can only be comforted, now, by knowing he is in the hands of God, taking the compassion and love he showed to all, and spreading it out in the land of Heaven."
Meredith squeezed Cristina's hand so hard it turned red, then purple. Cristina felt Burke's body harden on her left. She grasped for his hand hanging by his chair. He was shaking as well.
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In the Wake of the Storm
The wind blew Meredith's hair around as she stood on the dock at the harbor. The ferry boat was bobbing in the water, reminding her of a child's bath toy. She drew her jacket closer around her, shivering in the deep Seattle air. The ocean looked a familiar bluish-green, so she switched back on her Gray Lens. She wasn't ready for that, yet.
A couple came giggling past her on the dock, him with shaded dark hair, her with a dirty blonde. A baby laid in her arms. Meredith turned away, watching a bird soar over the water. The air was damp and humid, and the sky was a burdening gray. She chewed on the tip of a strand of hair almost absently, reclaiming her childhood habit. She stopped. Her hair tasted like her conditioner.
A few miles away, Burke watched his girlfriend crawl into bed next to him, one of his old college t-shirts hanging down past her mid-thigh. Her legs rubbed against the pair of boxers she'd borrowed of his, and her soft hair brushed against his face as she cuddled into him.
"How are you doing?" Her voice was uncharacteristically soft and sweet. Her eyes were gentle under the defying curl that swung in its way.
Burke looked into these rendered brown orbs, feeling emotion finally cross across his face as a rush flowed through him. He brushed his forehead against hers.
"Fine," he said. "I'm fine."