Title: All Through the Night
Author: Grand Delusions
Rating: T:
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. If only, if only…
Spoiler: Post Season 2
Keywords: Meredith/Derek, Affair, POV-Derek
Author's Note: And then there were two, but this is it for this scenario—no more after this one… seriously. I strongly recommend you read "Twilight of Innocence" first, if you have not done so already. Don't worry people; I can't see it happening in the show either. Additional A/N at the end.
Summary: The first night is sleepless. He made the first move, but you can't make it stop. The second night is exhaustion… Companion piece to "Twilight of Innocence" from Meredith this time.

-o-

All Through the Night

-o-

The first night is sleepless…

You toss and turn for hours in bed. The sheets snake around your legs, rough cotton tangling against flesh. A thin layer of sweat beads, covering your body.

You feel dirty and used.

The smell of sweat and sex surrounds you.

You feel sick because you wanted it.

You feel sick because you enjoyed it.

Whore…

Meredith and Derek: the filthy whore and the married attending…

Running off for some cheap tryst in an exam room.

You roll over again and one thought stays fixed in your mind:

This time you knew he was married.

You can't sleep. Rest is as elusive as absolution.

Resigned, you flop back onto your back—how ironic, you note sarcastically. You desperately try to erase the guilt from your mind.

But he was looking at you, and you couldn't breathe.

He made the first move.

You try to quell the voice inside your mind reminding you that you didn't pull away…

You tried to make it stop, you insist. He called you a whore, and he doesn't get to make that call. And you're with Finn who has plans. Finn, who you left with, but even he can guess just why he simply took you home, and didn't get lucky after prom night regardless of previous insinuations…

And the carousel keeps turning and you just want to throw yourself off…

But you can't make it stop.

It never stops.

Burying your head under a pillow, you vainly attempt to block out the flurry of thoughts… anything to turn off the spinning wheels in your mind… anything for an hour or two of sleep.

But now he made you a whore, rather than simply calling you one.

And you loved every minute of it because you love him. You can't just turn that off despite how much you try…

You're back to square one: the pathetic intern in love with the man you can't have. The man who won't leave his wife because he has obligations.

The man you love, but love isn't enough.

It's never enough, is it?

So you wait all night for sleep to come, memorizing the places he touched and the kisses he rained down upon your flesh, and the secret way he drives you insane with love or lust… you can't tell anymore which it is.

This last time will have to be enough for you…

It has to stop.

When your alarm clock sounds you realize with regret that your eyes never slid shut.

-o-

The second night is exhaustion…

It's been days since the prom. Days since you left with Finn, turning your back on Derek and everything he meant to you.

Maybe you're self-loathing, maybe you're trying to take a stand.

But it's all exhausting and you're so very tired.

The day you scrub in on a craniotomy you know you can't stand strong anymore.

All through the surgery, his eyes bore into yours and you feel your face grow hot and flushed. He's looking again, and your knees grow weak and heart races with anticipation…

As you feel his hand clasp around your wrist, your brain warns you to run, and fast. Instead you follow him, feigning ignorance— pretending not to know what is coming… to not know what it means when he looks at you like that.

Half-hearted protests escape your lips, and then his lips mold against your own. You think you tell him to stop, but you can't remember anything as his tongue slips into your mouth and your fingers thread through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and you wonder if it's apologizing for the past, the present, or the future…

As though he's aware of how evil you both are. How could he not be, though?

Later you yell. You pout and protest that he can't keep doing this, before storming away.

As you drop down onto a gurney in an abandoned corridor, you slam your eyelids shut, waiting for sleep. Praying for rest to finally come.

The pit of guilt in your stomach is growing and you don't know if it's the action or your enjoyment makes the pain worse.

Again sleep refuses to come.

-o-

The third night is fury…

Exhaustion and delirium etches your face, and heavy bags hang under your eyes.

As you stare at the ceiling of the on-call room, the sudden stillness of the hospital plunges you into the darkness of your own mind.

But your thoughts turn to him… always to him.

As you try to grapple with reality and discover his rationale, you grow angry and furious. Regardless of your participation and willingness, he used you, and he has no right. He's the one with a wife.

Fury bubbles inside of you and again chilling realization that you face the threat another sleepless night finally drives you from the small room.

Cornering him, you allow yourself to lose control. Angry, bitter words tumble from your lips— words laced with sarcasm and pain. And you promise that this time will be different, you will stand your ground and you will not give in.

No matter how much you want to.

But he's looking at you, and you can't breathe with him looking at you. When you pause for air you feel him forcing you against the row of lockers. Your back is cold against the unforgiving metal and columns of hinges dig into your back.

This time you fight back, angrily thrashing against him. But his arms encircle your waist and his hair tickles your forehead as he pulls you closer.

You're furious and angry, but the hundreds of reasons why not are outshined by the single reason why. And all the carefully constructed phrases fall to pieces and your fingers tug at the elastic waistband of his scrubs.

As he leads you across the room, you willingly follow, angry and loathing and passionate and lustful.

You know you should stop.

You know you should regret this.

You'll never be able to find a peaceful night's rest again.

But he pulls your ponytail, fingers tugging locks of golden hair, and as you throw his shirt to the floor you decide you don't care if you never sleep again.

-o-

The fourth night is the beginning of the end…

Derek smoothes out the wrinkles in his scrubs, while you rest your weight against a nearby table, watching—exhausted, but too tired to even consider sleep.

You rake your fingers through your tangled hair, futilely working to replace the mask of professionalism. And as he watches you trying to compose yourself, you wonder what it is you see in his eyes: Disgust? Desire? Guilt? Love?

It might be an appropriate time for one of those soulful conversations, the kind where the mysteries of the universe are laid bare at your feet. But neither of you have been interested in conversation for quite some time…

You wonder what all of this means. If now, you're just his dirty mistress on the side or if this is some epic of star-crossed-lovers for the ages.

Are you the hero or the villain of this tragic tale?

Does it even matter?

The drone from ancient computers fills the room, humming in your ears. And though the soft static could once have lulled you to sleep, you know rest won't be finding you tonight.

As you move to the door, his hand stills you and he kisses you. Soft. Quick. A promise of a bleak future and a sentence to blissful damnation all at once.

His lips leave yours, and with a calmness that terrifies you, you gather discarded charts and exit the darkened room.

Eyes follow you, if only in your imagination, but your steps remain even until you're past the suffocating throngs of people. Once in the safety of a deserted hallway, you break out into a run. Your sneakers squeak and chirp against the cold, impersonal tile.

Throwing yourself into the stairwell, you collapse against the concrete steps, silent sobs wrecking your body. The tears stream down, raining down on your legs and the floor beside you.

You mourn the loss of your dignity, of his integrity, of your vain attempts to move on.

As you suck in deep gulps of air you try to pinpoint what it is that controls his hold over you. If you could find it, then you could finally break free…

It has to stop.

It needs to stop.

But you don't want it to.

So you pick yourself up, frantically wiping at your eyes as you promise yourself to end it.

But your fingertips find your lips as you cling to the memories, tracing the paths of his forbidden kisses.

-o-

The fifth night is confusion…

Despite your best attempts, you're not happy. Finn doesn't make you happy, no matter how much you wish he could.

He doesn't make you laugh.

But he doesn't make you cry either… like Derek does.

So you don a forced smile as Finn kisses you on the cheek, his eyes glowing with hopes and promises.

You didn't realize how skilled a liar really you are until you watch him walk away.

And it's all you can do not do break down and confess.

But it's all over. You and Derek are over.

You can't continue being the dirty mistress. Not anymore.

But as you turn, you see Derek watching you with fire in his eyes. Angry and possessive and aflame with jealousy.

As you fumble around excuses, your mind screams that he has no right—no right at all to be angry and possessive and jealous.

But he is. And the thrill of triumph runs through you.

This is finished.

It's over.

It's done.

Still, he drags you away, and you follow willingly. You used to fight. You used to care about fixing the damage and repairing what he made you in to.

But you don't. Not anymore.

As you slam against him, you smash what fragments remain of your dignity as a person: the shards that care about honor and fidelity and the peaceful sleep of the innocent.

"He can't have you, Meredith. You're mine," he hisses in your ear.

You know he's right. And he'll never be yours.

But you'll take whatever you can get, even if it's a toxin to your soul.

He leaves, and alone again lying against a cheap mattress, you roll onto your side. Confusion swirls through your mind and guilt eats at your heart.

You try to close your eyes and find solace in slumber.

But you can't sleep.

You never sleep.

-o-

The sixth night is eternal…

He's back.

Of course… he always comes back.

You don't refuse him and you don't ask for more.

Feeling guilty enough for what you have… what you shouldn't have, but what you can't bare to give up.

You feel dirty. Always dirty…

Maybe it's weakness, maybe it's wrong, maybe it's love, but you continue down your self-destructive path to hell. Hand in hand with the man you shouldn't be with.

You wonder if you're leading him down the path to darkness or if he's the one leading you. Or maybe you're both barreling down together into the eternal embrace of the night…

You watch the full moon slowly ascending across the pitch black night sky. Faint beams of pale moonlight pierce the thin curtains, highlighting the curves of his body nestled against yours.

Of light and shadows…

His faint snoring echoes throughout the room, making you wonder for the thousandth time how he can sleep so innocently while your guilt and sins weigh against you, keeping you awake all through the night.

The methodical ticks of the clock scream through the silence and drag on like years…

As a child, you learned the stories and tales that night is always darkest before the morning dawn breaks. And hope grows anew with each new day…

So you wait with the rapt anticipation of a child, tempered by the cynical knowledge of an adult…

Waiting… always waiting…

For the sun to rise and to find hope.

To find comfort and solace in the only thing you can ever be:

A cheater…

A mistress…

A whore…

To find an escape for your miserable role in his life: his wife in only the stifling darkness of the night, a secret shut away from the world.

But his hot breath against your neck reminds you that for now he is yours… if only during the night.

And the sun won't rise for him.

Or you…

Mistresses aren't the heroines of childhood stories.

So you wait all through the night for the dawn that will never come…

-o-

el fin

-o-

A/N: Yes, that was very angsty. Partially because I love angst—it's an amazing thing. But also because this way my other one-shot turned series takes a more upbeat spin. So if you're sad, and you're angry at me for making this angsty—then wait for the sequel to "Unglued." I promise that one is much happier.

Originally I wasn't planning on writing anything past "Twilight," but when one of your favorite Grey's fanfic authors tells you to write a companion piece, well—you write that companion piece! So thanks to Fate Believer for suggesting I write this. If you haven't already, you should definitely read her stories—she is one of the best author's I have come across and her AU stories are amazing!

Thanks for reading! Please review.