Reminder: I don't in any way, shape, or fourm own Grey's (pity isn't it) or any other song/song title used in this fic so...enjoy!

Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

VIII: If You Can't Leave It Be, Might As Well Make It Bleed

What you've found sure upsets you
Never saw it coming did you?
Its easy to be surprised with both your eyes sewn closed
Handled with great precision, another thoughtless execution

He felt ill, physically and emotionally, his head rife with unshed sentiments; stomach constricted and unruly ebony ringlets in a visible state of ailment. The emotional precipice of the tedious situation willing him to wretch the irrational thoughts from both his body and mind.

He'd fled, drowning himself within his insecurities, a bottle, drained of its amber contents ineptly flanking him. Shirt agape and trousers line with discord, the heavy remnants of liquor, to hurriedly consumed, tainting his wanton lips. Every beat, every breath, proving to be nothing more then a whispered declaration of his unfaltering feelings for her, his intern, his mistress.

You're the subject of this exhibition
A willing cadaver, a willing cadaver.
Scalpel, sutured.
Made whole again.

A low shudder emanated from his body, physique writhing beneath the mere recollection of her touch, her scent, her body, lush and warm beneath his palms. He burrowed deeper, feigning sleep, trying his damndest to deter the hollow cadence of his wife's clambering stilettos.

"Derek, I know you're awake." Her words hollow and implicit; body deftly pacing the confined space, breath heavy and intrusive. "Do you want to tell me what the hell your little episode was about earlier this evening?" Silence resounded, Derek ineptly burying his unruly fall of ringlets beneath the downy sheath of an adjacent pillow. He wanted no part in the conversation that was to inevitably follow. Eyes reluctantly fluttering agape, inwardly contemplating the reason he'd callously left his wife amongst other ebony sheathed, sullen faced onlookers at Denny Duquette's melancholy memorial.

These cuts are leaving creases
Trace the scars, fit the pieces
Tell your story, you don't need to say a word.

It was a simple, blameless answer, Meredith. She was the single reason he'd fled, the engulfing want and heedless jealously he fell prey to every time she was near, asphyxiating his sanity. He loved her with an intensity he was neither able to control nor willing to describe, listless emotions causing his soul to ache and body to throb. Meredith, his breathless intern, in the arms of another man proved far the human for the presumptuous neurosurgeon to withstand.

"What do you want from me Addison?" His words deft and insipid muffled against the tepid sheets; listless body feebly attempting to erect his head atop the pillows.

Call off the cavalry, can't save a wretch like me.
Clean this with kerosene.

"Damnit Derek! I want you to care!" The words spilling like venom from her lips. A slow bated sigh berating the sullen silence as Derek fumbled effortlessly to a sitting position. "I slept with your best friend Derek, and you walk away, like it meant nothing." The words hollow, mechanical as they tainted the air. "But Meredith Grey does as much as talks to a man, and it throws you in to a blind rage." A soft guttural sigh piques on her lips, her words precise. "I've tried Derek, tried to convince myself that somewhere, somehow, you still love me. Tried to rationalize the past seven months, tried to give you the goddamn time you need to get over your precious little intern. What more do I need to do, how much more do you need me to sacrifice?" An eloquent silence prevailed, apathetic husband and fuming wife wordlessly acquiescing to the others futile remarks. "Do I need to dye my hair blond and parade around as you little intern? Then will you notice me? Then will you care?" A horse whimper berated the air, Derek's fingers numbly attempting to quell his disarrayed tresses.

If you can't leave it be might as well make it bleed.
Scalpel, sutured.
Made whole again.

Shallow and bated, a breath shuddered from his lips, body quaking beneath the weight of Addison's lingering accusations. "This is uncalled for Addison." His voice low and lined with acute distrust, the quintessential tone he took with her whenever he was unwilling to discuss their martial woes. "Uncalled for Derek? Uncalled for? Seriously?" She was enraged, leaving her husband to placidly clamber to his feet, garnering deft proximity.

Your wires are frayed, can't fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand and fight
There's something better wrong with you

"I never lied to you Addison; never lead you to believe otherwise…" His voice involuntarily faltered, intonation lowering to a lovelorn confession. "I told you I loved her Addison, right from the start. I told you where my heart and intentions differed. I tried, waited for this feeling to pass. It didn't. It hasn't." He swallowed, acutely, the well of emotions tediously quelling within his inebriated physique. "I can't help it, I can't change it, don't you think I would if I could. Goddamnit Addison you're my wife, don't you think I want to look at you the way I look at her? This…feeling…is so far beyond my control that it's frightening!" He stalled a forlorn pity prevalent within his soul-weary gaze, breathless and flushed from the exertion of his words.

Your pulse is anemic, you're tired of the fire
You're bruising too easy and falling behind
And no one is waiting for you.

"See Derek that wasn't so hard was it? Why couldn't you have told me that seven months ago, before all of this!" She reiterated, watching her husband blearily falter atop his hesitant feet.

"Because I was trying Addie, because we were trying. Do you honestly believe that I thought that everything was going to end up like this? Would I be standing before you now, if seven months ago I knew things weren't going to change? No Addie, I wouldn't." A spiteful bought of laughter broke her lips, eyes widening in blatant incredulity.

Call off your quarantine, can't save the rest from me
Clean this with kerosene.

"That's right, because if seven months ago you knew that nothing was going to change, you'd be in bed with Meredith Grey right now. Which is why, I bet, your really regretting your decision at the moment?"

Pride, the hardest thing to swallow, and yet Derek Shepherd did it without remorse. He was tired of fighting, of tediously executing the same argument until it was void of purpose, until they found another cause to quarrel over. "This conversations over Addison." His words forlorn and distant; inebriated body stumbling with deft footfalls back to his bed.

"Fine Derek, this is over."

If you can't leave it be might as well make it bleed.
Scalpel, Sutured.
Made whole again.

So, sorry for the delay!I got busy! So R&R and I hope you enjoy(ed)!