A/N- Okay, first things first… I am SO sorry for the long wait on this one! I had finals at school and then it was Christmas and I went through a funk where I just didn't want to write at all but now we're back! And the good news is, Chapter 30 should be coming VERY soon after this one. This chapter is told entirely from Meredith's POV as she begins her psychiatric treatment. Hope you enjoy!

Thus far in her career at Seattle Grace, Meredith had never stepped foot onto any of the actual psychiatric units. She had escorted patients into the lobby, consulted with nurses and receptionists, and visited Lexie in the dining area, but the last time that Meredith had walked around an actual mental health facility was when she had been a medical student at Dartmouth, sure beyond doubt that she would never choose to specialize in the subject of psychiatry.

It turned out that the psych ward, at least the Adult Intermediate Unit at Seattle Grace, was nothing like the stereotypical institutions in movies. The nurses did not wear white gowns or hats; they donned ordinary, pastel scrubs. Most of the patients did not talk to themselves or behave violently. The unit was large, spacious, with comfortable chairs and a television. The rooms were rather bland, containing nothing more than two, standard, block beds and thin mattresses, but Meredith did not have to worry about an annoying roommate. She was considered a VIP, being a hospital employee, and given a private space.

Due to her unrelenting hangover, Meredith slept most of that first day in psych. She answered a few questions that the nurses asked her, all standard: Can you rate your anxiety for me on a scale from zero to ten? What about your depression? Are you having any thoughts about hurting yourself or anyone else? Can you see or hear anything that's not there?

And Meredith ate a cup of strawberry yogurt for dinner. She was not especially hungry, but Meredith knew the drill. The sooner that she consumed food and acted like a normal human being, the sooner she would be discharged.

Early the next morning, Meredith awoke to find a young tech in grey scrubs standing above her bed. "Good morning, Meredith. My name's Kayla; I'll be one of your techs today. Do you mind if I check your vitals real quick?"

"Um… no, I guess that's fine," Meredith yawned. She was not used to being addressed by anything other than Dr. Grey at Seattle Grace.

Kayla wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Meredith's arm and then stuck a thermometer in her mouth. "So… did you sleep well?"

Meredith was unable to speak, with the thermometer between her lips. Why was it that people always asked questions at the worst possible moment? Meredith's dentist did the same thing; he inquired about medical school and residency when his patient's mouth was wide open.

Once the machine buzzed and Meredith learned that her temperature was 97.9 degrees fahrenheit, she swallowed back her spit and replied, "Yeah, I slept fine. What time is it? Did they drug me last night?"

"It's almost 8:00. I can go ask your nurse about your current list of medications but she did ask me to tell you that breakfast is about to be served," Kayla said. "And the doctor is here, too; she'll meet with you after you eat."

"Okay… but I'm a doctor…" Meredith had no clue why she said that. The type of doctor that was coming to see her was in all likelihood, a psychiatrist, but it was strange to hear Kayla refer to someone else as the doctor in Meredith's presence.

"Yes, I know that, Meredith, but you aren't your own doctor. Your doctor, it looks like… is Dr. Wyatt."

"Oh… right," Meredith said; she had forgotten that Wyatt also treated inpatients at Seattle Grace. "Hey, by the way, has anyone called up here for me? My husband or my dad? Or any of my friends?"

"Not that I know of but my shift just started," Kayla confessed. "Er… I'll go ask the nurse about that, too."

Kayla left, along with the bulky, portable vitals machine and Meredith figured that it was as good a time as ever to get up. It was 8:00, much later than Meredith typically roused, and it would look good if she was doing something other than sleeping. Excessive sleep was a prime symptom of depression.

Moving slowly, thanks to the slight concussion her father had inflicted upon her, Meredith rolled out of bed and walked onto the unit. Several of the other patients were already awake, drinking coffee and watching television. Meredith poured herself a cup and found an empty chair. Seated next to her was a woman that appeared to be in her mid-twenties; the bottom half of her hair was bright pink.

Meredith had not intended to make conversation but the pink-haired woman smiled at her, softly. "Hey. Are you new?"

"I got here yesterday morning, I think, but I've just been asleep," Meredith said.

"Nice. The drugs they give here are awesome, aren't they? I'm Shelby, by the way."

"Meredith."

"Nice to meet you. My grandma's name is Meredith," Shelby remarked. "So why are you here? No offense, but I'm guessing your boyfriend or someone was beating the shit out of you?"

Why would Shelby assume something like that? Meredith shook her head, prepared to defend her amazing husband and then she remembered the black eye. Of course, domestic violence would be high on Shelby's assumption list.

"Oh, um… no, my dad did that. My husband is amazing… I mean, I'm kinda pissed at him right now because he locked me up in here but for the most part… yeah, my husband is amazing."

"And why'd he do that? Cause you were gonna kill yourself?"

"No," Meredith said and shrugged. This discussion was extremely awkward. "It's… it's a long story."

Thankfully, Shelby did not press for further details. "I gotcha. That's why I'm here. I got drunk and took a bunch of pills. My mom found my suicide note and went all ballistic."

Finding your daughter's suicide note is a pretty good reason to freak-out, Meredith thought to herself but she kept this comment inside. She just nodded, robotically. "Well, uh… it sounds like it's good you're here."

"It's nice to get away for a while and to get lots of drugs for sleep but I don't feel like these places ever help long-term," Shelby said. "What do I know, though? I'm a crazy, 26-year-old that still lives with her parents. I'm pretty much a hopeless case."

"You're not a hopeless case. Trust me, I've seen hopeless cases. You're not hopeless," Meredith said.

Shelby smirked. "What are you, a doctor?"

"Yes, I'm a doctor that's in the psych ward," Meredith joked. It was not technically a lie, but Shelby clearly took it as a joke and laughed.

Just then, the breakfast cart arrived so Meredith and Shelby both got up and followed the other patients into the dining room. Meredith had refused to fill out a menu upon admission so one of the nurses had ordered a house tray for her; the meal she received consisted of a veggie omelet, turkey sausage, peach slices, and a cinnamon roll. There were no knives, only plastic sporks. Meredith picked one up and started on her omelet.

Shelby had made other friends in treatment so she chatted away with them as she ate. Meredith stayed mostly silent. Halfway through her breakfast, Meredith was approached by a tall, African American woman in green scrubs… one of the psych nurses.

"Hello, there. Are you Meredith?"

Meredith washed down her omelet with a sip of apple juice. "I am…"

"Perfect. My name is Crystal and I'll be your nurse today. How are you feeling? Could you rate your anxiety for me on a scale of zero to ten, ten being the highest?"

"Um… six," Meredith said. The main reason she was feeling nervous at the moment was Derek. She had not heard from him since yesterday morning. Was Alex taking care of him, like promised? Was Zola confused about where her mother had gone? Had Cristina learned about Meredith's breakdown?

"Okay, and how about your depression?"

"I think that's a six, too."

"Are you having any thoughts about hurting yourself or anyone else?"

"No, and I never was… I'm depressed and I've got PTSD; I'll admit that but I was never suicidal or homicidal."

"Alright, Meredith… alright," Crystal said and made some notes on the piece of paper she was carrying. "And are you seeing or hearing anything that isn't there?"

"No," Meredith sighed.

"Okay, then… I'll leave you alone to finish your breakfast. Once you're done, let me know and I'll take you across the hall to Dr. Wyatt's office."

That was going to be an interesting conversation. The last time Meredith had seen her therapist, she had what seemed like a breakthrough session. Meredith had confessed to taking care of everyone else, rather than herself… and then less than one day later, Meredith drank herself into a stupor, was assaulted by her dad, and committed to inpatient psych.

To put off the torture as long as possible, Meredith took her time eating. She consumed a full meal for the first time since the plane crash, even swallowing every last bit of her cinnamon roll. It reminded her of the goodies that Izzie used to bake before she got cancer… before George died… before the shooting and the plane crash…

Eventually, when Meredith could procrastinate no longer, she returned her empty tray to the cart and notified Crystal that she was finished. The nurse did as she had previously explained and walked Meredith across the hall to Dr. Wyatt's office. The psychiatrist's door was ajar.

"Dr. Wyatt?" Crystal called. "I've got Ms. Meredith here to see you."

"Thank you," Wyatt said and approached the doorway, a sad smile on her face. "Well, Meredith… I have to say that you've looked better."

Meredith attempted to smile in return; her lips could not quite form the motion. Half of her face was bruised and swollen, thanks to Thatcher. Instead of her usual surgical scrubs, Meredith was wearing uncomfortable, paper scrubs that had been dyed a hideous shade of neon blue. No shoes were permitted in the psych ward, with the exception of staff, so Meredith donned standard, yellow hospital booties on her feet.

"Come on in, sweetie," Wyatt instructed.

Meredith followed her therapist inside and curled into the arm of her favorite couch.

Wyatt took her usual spot in the chair but she did not position a legal pad on her lap like normal. "First off, let me say that I don't know everything that happened yesterday morning but I am very glad that you're alright, relatively speaking."

Relatively speaking… it was better than everyone assuming Meredith was fine. She nodded, shortly.

There was an awkward pause; neither doctor uttered a word and then Wyatt sighed. "Alright, Meredith. Let's just get right down to it, okay? Were you attempting to end your life when you drank all that tequila?"

"No."

Wyatt stared her down. "Really?"

"Really. Everyone keeps asking that and I wasn't trying to kill myself," Meredith argued. "I was… I don't know what I was doing but it wasn't that. I was just… trying to cope, I guess."

"By drinking yourself into oblivion when we had already discussed healthier coping mechanisms?"

Meredith knew it was wrong and she was genuinely ashamed. Her voice, which had previously been declaring strong and steady words, came out soft and wobbly. "I… I didn't know… I… you wouldn't give me anymore meds and… I… I never meant to hurt Derek. He has to know that. I… I know I hurt him and… that was the last thing I meant to do."

"Why did you feel the need to drink all that tequila, Meredith? What happened after our last session?"

"I thought the whole hospital heard about that. We… my dad and I… we put on quite a show in the ICU, apparently."

"I've heard bits and pieces but I would like to hear it from your perspective. Just tell me as much as you feel able."

Meredith turned her head away from Wyatt and focused on the colorful fish tank in the corner of her office. For some reason, the aquatic creatures swimming gently though the turquoise water always acted as a calming influence.

"Um… when I left our last session… I got a page from Mark… my friend, Mark Sloan, one of the other doctors that was in the plane crash. He paged me 911 to Lexie's ICU room and… and I thought she was dying so… I ran down there."

"And what happened in Lexie's ICU room?"

One of the brightest fish in the tank, a glowing, purple one, had stopped swimming. It was stationary, resting against the edge of the tank. Meredith wondered if it was dying.

"Meredith?" Wyatt prompted.

"Lexie's team of doctors told us it was time to start thinking about… life support… how long we want to… keep her on life support. It's… it's my dad's decision. He's her healthcare proxy but… we all weighed in and… I gave my opinion. Let's just say that… my dad… he didn't like my opinion."

"What was your opinion?"

Meredith blinked several times in a row, rapidly. There was wetness pooling in her eyes and it was far too soon to get dramatic. "That… we shouldn't keep her on life support. I mean… that's not what I would want… to die in slow motion."

"But your family didn't agree with you?" Wyatt assumed.

"Look… I… I'm sorry," Meredith sighed. "I… I don't want to go there. I don't want to talk about this. If it was that easy to talk about it, I would have done that instead of drinking tequila."

Wyatt nodded, slowly, the crease between her eyebrows thickening in consideration. "You don't have to apologize to me. I know you are currently feeling things that the human brain was never intended to process. Would you like to talk about your feelings regarding your father?"

"No. In my experience, talking about it only makes it worse," Meredith said. "When I talk about it… I don't know; the thoughts keep coming and things get darker."

"And what happens when you don't talk about it? When you drown out your problems in a bottle of tequila?"

Meredith thought about the way that her relationship with Derek had derailed towards the end of her intern year, because she refused to cope with her past trauma. "I… I don't know. That never seems to turn out good either."

"Exactly. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, Meredith," Wyatt explained. "But you've never been in therapy for a long period of time before. You went for a few months a few years ago… and then you ignored all my calls after the shooting. I hoped that was because you were not at work that day and simply unaffected by the trauma but after what happened with Derek, I know that's not true."

"So what are you saying? I'm stuck with you forever?"

Wyatt chuckled. "Not necessarily forever… but you've been through two significant traumatic events in the span of two years. It takes time to heal. And that brings me back to my original point… had you been honest with me about your anxiety from the beginning… I wouldn't have asked you to describe everything that happened in the woods in great detail… not during our first session. Actually, with so many of your loved ones still in the hospital, that probably would have been unsafe. I just wanted you to give an inch… to take baby steps… to say something other than I'm fine for the hundredth time."

"You wouldn't have given me medicine. I know you're a stickler about drugs," Meredith said.

"No, Meredith," Wyatt said and shook her head. "I am not a stickler about drugs. If I was, that would not make me a very good psychiatrist. The truth is, I just don't like prescribing addictive drugs such as clonazepam or alprazolam for long periods of time. That does more harm to the body than good. For a few short weeks after you've been in a plane crash, though? Yes, had you been willing to have a proper conversation with me, I would have been willing to give you something for the anxiety."

Unless Meredith was mistaken, Wyatt was attempting to help her patient feel better but her words were having the opposite effect. All Wyatt was doing was reinforcing the fact that Meredith had screwed things up, per usual.

"I get it, okay?!" Meredith snapped before she could help it. "I screwed up. I handled this whole situation horribly and I hurt my husband in the process. What am I supposed to do now?"

"I don't know. No one can answer that question except for you, Meredith but in my opinion… you're supposed to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? I… I don't…"

"Forgive yourself for not doing more for the other plane crash victims, even though I'm sure that there was nothing more you could have done. Forgive yourself for lying to Derek. Forgive yourself for whatever shortcomings you have concerning your father."

Meredith thought back to the fight… not the one in the ICU, and not the one in the conference room yesterday; Meredith could not recall anything from that meeting. Her mind flashed back to waking up in the emergency room… the pain in Derek's eyes…

I do get to judge you when you're… I don't know, forging prescriptions and lying to me. You could have lost your medical license… you should have lost your medical license several times already but… but dammit, I thought you'd learned.

The tears were back, flooding Meredith's eyes and cascading down her face before she could stop them. Her chest was heaving with fear and shame. She shook her head in a vain attempt to rid her emotions, yet nothing was working. "I… I can't forgive myself for what I did to… to Derek. I've… he's struggling, too, and I… I was trying to… to protect him but… I've hurt him so many times and… I… I don't know how we're… we're gonna get past this."

"Did Derek say something to you? Did he say something about not wanting to work through this?"

"N-No, he… he said he would never leave me but… but I don't know. H-He's said that before…"

"And has he left you before?" Wyatt pressed.

Meredith thought back to her intern year. Derek had initially chosen Addison. He had technically left her but Meredith was not angry about that. They had moved past it. Derek would not be Derek if he did not try and make it work with his wife.

Once the marriage fell apart, Derek and Meredith reunited and then fizzled out when Meredith refused to deal with her luggage. There was a drowning, a brief fling with a scrub nurse, a lot of therapy, and a clinical trial which ultimately brought them back together among a house of candles. Never once, in all of that mess, though, was Derek the one to call it quits. Meredith had always broken up with him due to her lack of trust.

They had been on the brink in early 2012. Meredith had made another mistake, and to this day, she was conflicted about the shades of grey and right and wrong. But she knew she had hurt Derek then, when she tampered with his Alzheimer's trial. Derek had been furious, and Meredith would not have blamed him if he fled the rocky waters.

But he did not leave her. Derek had remained faithful, throughout the storms.

"I… um…" Meredith trailed off. She waited for Wyatt to ask more questions, to prod her for an explanation, yet Wyatt did no such thing.

She took a deep breath. "We're going to have another session tomorrow, Meredith. I can sense that this is a lot for you to process, at the moment, and we'll talk more tomorrow. Tomorrow's session is going to be special, though. We're going to include Derek in this discussion."

The thought of bringing Derek into Wyatt's office, of being in therapy with him, made Meredith's stomach rise to her throat. "I… why?! Does he know this?!"

"Derek is right down the hall as we speak, having his own therapy session with Dr. Rehmani," Wyatt said and Meredith jumped up, off the couch.

Derek was here. Derek was only a few doors down. Meredith needed to see him and apologize. She had no idea how she was going to do this; Meredith's thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions, but she needed to see Derek. Unfortunately, Meredith could not take so much as one step in the direction of the doorway before her vision went blurry as a result of her concussion. She attempted to steady herself and ended up tumbling back onto the couch.

Wyatt's face was unreadable. Somehow, the shrinks always managed to keep the most neutral of expressions, regardless of the circumstances. "Now is not the time, Meredith. You'll see him tomorrow."

"H-He hasn't talked to me yet! He hasn't called and… I have to see him!" Meredith cried.

"And you will see him tomorrow. It will be just you, me, and Derek. Rehmani and I have talked; we agree that that's best. I have an assignment for you to complete today, too, before our session with Derek."

An assignment? Meredith had not even started the list of ten words that Wyatt had instructed her to write two days ago. Now there was more homework that Meredith had to finish before tomorrow?

"I want you to compose a letter to Derek," Wyatt instructed. "I know your thoughts probably feel a little like scrambled eggs right now and when your brain feels like that, the words you want to say don't always come out clearly. Write a letter to Derek tonight and tell him as much or as little as you'd like. He's going to do the same for you, and tomorrow, you will read those letters to one another."

"What if I say no?" Meredith asked. She could see the benefits, therapeutically, but writing a letter to Derek would be beyond emotionally tasking. Meredith was breathless and exhausted from this heavy conversation.

Wyatt shrugged. "That would ultimately be your choice, but repairing things with Derek seems awfully important to you. I've seen this exercise work wonders for a number of couples before that were convinced divorce was the only option. I strongly urge you to give it a try, Meredith. Give it a try for Derek."

"For Derek," Meredith repeated.

"For Derek," Wyatt confirmed. "Now let's wrap things up for today, alright?"

"Do we have any idea when I might get to go home?" Meredith asked.

"I can't give you an exact date yet but it shouldn't be too far into the future. You would tell me if you were having any suicidal or homicidal thoughts, correct?"

Meredith nodded. "Yeah… it's not like that. I don't know how to explain it but… it's not like that."

"Okay, then," Wyatt agreed. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and withdrew her prescription pad. "I am going to start you on some basic antidepressants, Meredith. Despite your long history of depression, it appears that you've never actually taken antidepressants. You don't have any drug allergies, correct?"

"No, nothing that I know of," Meredith said, thinking of Lexie and her dozens of allergies.

"Alright… let's start you on 100 milligrams of Sertraline, also known as Zoloft; I'm sure you're familiar," Wyatt decided. "And then we'll add in fifty milligrams of Hydroxyzine HCL, or Atarax for anxiety. It's less addictive than Clonazepam but effective, all the same. Is that okay with you, Dr. Grey?"

"That… that sounds fine to me," Meredith said. "And then I guess I'll be here a few more days to see how my body reacts to the medication?"

"Yes… that is the standard order. You know as well as I do that sometimes psychiatric medications can have the opposite effect… make your mental health take a turn for the worse."

Meredith agreed. She bid farewell to Dr. Wyatt, and accompanied a psych tech back across the hall. For a split second, she considered sprinting down the corridor and bursting into Rehmani's office to confront her husband but if Meredith wanted to get discharged anytime soon, elopement would not be the wisest choice.

Group was in session when Meredith returned to the Adult Intermediate Unit. She was encouraged by her nurse, Crystal, to attend, and maybe doing so would help Meredith go home sooner but she had her limits. She had just survived an hour of emotional uncovering with Wyatt. Meredith needed a break before submitting herself to further torture.

Wyatt was a good shrink. Meredith had come to that conclusion. Therapy with her was not fun, but was therapy supposed to be enjoyable? Wyatt had a special talent and it exceeded any of Meredith's gifts. She could translate scrambled eggs into actual, comprehensible thoughts.

Meredith's brain was still filled with scrambled eggs at the moment. Perhaps this was on account of her concussion or the images threatening to intrude from her hippocampus… crushing Derek's hand with a rock… feeding Jerry's body to the wolves… watching Lexie's body grow weaker by the day…

She trudged back to her private bedroom. The psychiatric staff had left a blank composition book and a golf pencil on the bed, in case Meredith desired to do any journaling. Keeping a diary was lame, in Meredith's opinion, but the paper was going to serve her well.

Her hands quivering with anxiety and heartache, Meredith opened her journal and wrote two words across the top of the first page: Dear Derek…

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Meredith took her initial doses of Zoloft and Atarax Friday evening and as a result, slept almost the rest of the night. She ate dinner, and answered the nurses' questions to avoid being kept in the hospital longer, but Meredith's body was adjusting to the new drugs and she had not truly rested peacefully since before the plane crash.

That was not to say that Meredith was recovered. Whenever the room was dark, Meredith was reminded of the forest and the way she had sprinted through it, no idea of her whereabouts, in search of Derek. There was a time in Meredith's life when she would have considered black her favorite color but those days were long gone. Nothing triggered Meredith like darkness so to keep the nightmares away, she instructed the nurses and techs on her unit to keep her bedroom lights on at all times. This was acceptable, because she had no roommate to disturb.

The nightmares still came though, during Meredith's second night on the ward. Upon waking, she did not remember exactly what had happened but the dream involved Lexie and Derek both being eaten by a pack of hungry wolves. Meredith woke-up screaming, and several nurses sprinted into her room.

"Meredith! Meredith, you need to be quiet! People are trying to sleep!"

"I'm… I'm sorry," Meredith gasped, sweat pouring from her face and neck. "I just… I had a bad dream. Can I p-please call my husband?"

One of the nurses, a tall, skinny, blonde, shook her head. "No, I'm sorry but patient phones don't come on until 7:30 in the morning. Do you want something to help you calm down?"

Meredith knew the code for that question… something was a strong antipsychotic that would knock Meredith out until morning. She was not sure what time it was now, but Meredith could not risk oversleeping and missing her session with Dr. Wyatt and Derek. And it was not like Meredith was truly psychotic. She was just plagued with anxiety, scared of everything and everyone in the world.

"I'm okay," Meredith decided and sniffed back her tears. "Is it okay if I just take a shower and calm down? I'm… all sweaty and gross."

The same blonde nurse spoke again. "No, we don't do showers until 6:00 in the morning because that could wake up other patients, too. How about I get you something to help you calm down?"

"No, you can't fool me with that like you can all the other patients. I'm a doctor, a surgeon, and I probably know more about the medications in your office than you do. It's not something to help me calm down. It's an antipsychotic. Would you mind telling me the name of it?"

"There's no reason to get smart with me," Blondie snapped. "You may be a doctor but right now, you're not practicing. You're the patient and I'm the one in charge. Do you want an Atarax or not?"

Atarax… right, Meredith had forgotten that she had that prescription for this exact purpose. Now would probably be a good time to take the pill but she hated the way that Blondie was treating her, like she was another crazy psych patient, too oblivious to do anything other than blindly accept random medications.

Since when was Meredith forbidden to take a shower?!

"Fine, just… just leave me alone."

Thanks to the drugs, Meredith dozed off again shortly later, and the next thing she knew, Kayla was back to measure Meredith's morning vitals. Everything looked relatively good; despite her emotions, Meredith's blood pressure sat nicely at 112 over 74 and her temperature was 98.1 degrees.

Perhaps because her body was adjusting to the Zoloft and Atarax, Meredith was not hungry this morning. She only managed to choke down a few bites of cold scrambled eggs, which seemed appropriate, before following Crystal across the hallway for the second consecutive day.

This time, Dr. Wyatt's office was significantly more welcoming. Already on the couch, his hand covered with a removable black brace, was Derek Shepherd. Next to him, cast on the soft beige material, was a folded piece of paper. Derek had completed his homework.

Tentatively, Meredith approached her husband. She had wanted nothing more than to see him, to talk with him, for the last two days, but now that he was here, words failed Meredith. She opened her mouth and then closed it and then opened it again.

"Mer…" Derek whispered. He stood up, yet did not move forward. It was like he was afraid to touch his wife, intimidated by her fragility.

"Hi," Meredith said.

"Hi," Derek said. "I… how are you feeling?"

"I'm… okay. I've missed you."

Derek could evidently restrain himself no longer. He rushed forward and immediately engulfed Meredith in a huge, rib-crushing hug. She gasped aloud from the pain but did not attempt to free herself from the embrace. She let her facial bruises be pressed into Derek's shoulder and resisted the urge to kiss his neck.

"God, I've missed you, too," Derek breathed into her ear. "It feels wrong to… to be there with Zola and Karev and not have you there."

"Is Zola okay? Is she… does she know where… I am?"

"No… not… not exactly," Derek said. "She just… thinks you're sick and in the hospital, which I guess is the truth. She misses her mommy."

Meredith was undoubtedly unwell. This was always what she feared… that she would have a psychotic breakdown like her mother… that Meredith would traumatize Zola by slitting her wrists or overdosing on anxiety medications.

Derek's statement snapped Meredith back to reality. She was here, suffocating in the psych ward for a reason. She was trapped in an endless cycle of anxiety and guilt, a worse mother than Ellis Grey. That said a lot.

"Why don't the two of you sit down?" Wyatt suggested after an awkward beat of silence.

Meredith did as she was told, taking her usual place on the end of the couch. Derek sat down, too, several inches away from his wife. The gap, while minor, made Meredith feel like vomiting.

"Okay," Wyatt sighed. "Meredith, we know each other well so I'm not going to waste time with introductions. Dr. Shepherd, we know of each other and we'll be getting to know each other well so I hope you don't mind that I call you Derek?"

"Please."

"Great. I'm Dr. Katherine Wyatt but… like I said, I'm sure you knew that. I'm a psychiatrist with additional certifications, one of which is trauma and that's why we're here."

Wyatt had not asked a question, yet a pause still followed. Meredith stared at the floor, trying her damndest not to meet Derek's eyes. If Meredith looked into her husband's eyes, she would be reminded of all the ways she had hurt him and a panic attack would shortly ensue.

"It goes without saying that you two have survived more trauma in the past two years than most people experience in their lifetime," Wyatt continued. "What we need to do now is improve communication surrounding those traumatic events. Derek, I've taken the liberty of speaking with my colleague, Dr. Rehmani. We did not breach confidentiality; Rehmani did not inform me of anything that you told him during your sessions but we are under a mutual agreement that you could benefit from couples' trauma therapy. Are you following?"

Meredith nodded and Derek said, "Yeah, the… the shooting and the plane crash. We were in therapy after the shooting, though."

"Do you feel like the therapy with Dr. Andrew Perkins was beneficial to you?" Wyatt asked.

"I mean, we weren't in therapy for very long. I only had about three full sessions with him and then he cleared me for surgery," Meredith said.

"I had two sessions with him and I was visited by another guy when I was still in the ICU," Derek added. "I honestly don't know if it was the therapy or what… I just know I was really struggling at first, and then… once I got cleared for surgery, I didn't have any trouble operating."

"But I'm assuming, and correct me if I'm wrong, that the shooting is still something that you think about…"

"Hold on," Derek said and leaned forward, anxiously. "I'm sorry but I thought we were here because of Meredith. Meredith's sister, Lexie, is on life support in the ICU and her father knocked her unconscious. It's Meredith that I think we should focus on."

"Yeah, how is Lexie? Have there been any changes?" Meredith was speaking to her husband yet still refrained from turning in his direction.

"Not… Mark's keeping me updated but no, she's the same."

Wyatt cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention back to the task at hand. "Excuse me. I know you are anxious for updates about your sister, Meredith and trust me, we will get to Lexie. We need to stay on track, though."

"But isn't that why we're here? To talk about what happened with Meredith and her dad? That involves Lexie and that needs to be our focus," Derek pressed.

"You're jumping ahead of me," Wyatt said. "You need to take a step back and listen. Like I said, you both have a lot of unresolved trauma. We're going to talk about Meredith and her father. We're going to talk about the plane crash. We're also going to talk about the shooting. Most importantly, we're going to help the two of you better your communication with one another so that you can be honest."

"I don't lie to my wife," Derek said, flatly. "And maybe this isn't what you're used to but our marriage isn't… we're not one of those couples on the brink of divorce. I'm totally happy in my marriage."

"Really? Then why is it that you won't even look at Meredith right now?" Wyatt inquired.

Meredith's head rose before she could help herself. She, apparently, was not the only one avoiding her spouse.

"Look," Derek sighed, impatiently. "This isn't easy for me… to… to see my wife with a black eye in paper scrubs. I never wanted her to end up here."

"You didn't?" Meredith snorted. "Then why was it that you involuntarily committed me here against my will?"

"Do you have any idea what you were like at that meeting the other day, Meredith?! You almost killed yourself! You would have killed yourself, if I hadn't done something!"

"Oh, here we go again, with you wanting to be my knight in shining whatever," Meredith said, crossing her arms, angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not suicidal?!"

"I don't know! How I'm supposed to believe anything you say right now?!" Derek shouted.

"Excuse me, are you mad at me?! You're mad at me for… for being upset that my idiotic father wants Lexie to die in slow motion?! That I didn't come home for one night and… help with Zola?!"

"I can take care of Zola and you know that's not what this is about," Derek said. "I'm mad because I… you're just…"

Finally, Wyatt intervened. "Okay, stop it. Both of you, stop it."

Meredith and Derek looked her way; Wyatt sighed. "You're running in circles. Both of you have made mistakes. Neither of you are entirely innocent. We've established that you both have frustrations. That's why Rehmani and I gave you the assignments we did… remember?"

Derek fingered the folded piece of paper sitting next to him on the couch. Meredith's note was burning a hole through the pocket of her scrubs.

"Derek, under the circumstances, I think it's best that you go first," Wyatt instructed. "Meredith, don't interrupt him while he reads. Listen to everything he says and think about everything before you respond. Are we clear?"

The married couple agreed silently and then Derek unfolded his paper, cleared his throat, and began to read in a shaky voice: "Dear Meredith… As a physician, I have published articles, essays, and clinical research for the last twenty years. Still, this simple letter to my wife is the most difficult thing I have ever written. Before we go any farther, I want you to know that this is not in any sense, a goodbye letter. Two days ago, when we sat in the Emergency Department together, you asked me if I was leaving you and I'm sorry if I ever did anything that made you think that was a possibility. Our relationship is complicated at the moment; I will readily admit to that. However, I am not someone that walks out of a relationship, not to mention, a marriage, when things get difficult. I am willing to work, to do whatever it takes to keep our family together. I cannot express in words how much I hope you feel the same.

"I have been trying to piece together the events of the last few days in my mind. It's like I am studying for an exceptionally difficult surgery. It doesn't matter how many times I run these memories through my head, though; nothing is becoming easier to understand and that frustrates me because I am accustomed to analyzing my way through anything. Unfortunately, the only conclusion that I can come to is that you do not trust me enough to let me in, to confide your problems in me. I understand why you could not trust me in the past. I understand that you could not trust anyone but I thought we had moved past that. I thought, if anything, I had reason to be distrustful based on your continuous reckless demeanor but I did trust you, Meredith, and I want to continue to trust you. You are proving that very difficult.

"I have a lot of questions. Maybe you are ready to answer them now and maybe you're not but I have to ask or the thoughts are going to eat me alive. More than anything, I want to know why you did not confide in me sooner. I want to know how you could lie to me about your clonazepam prescriptions, when you know drug abuse is a sensitive subject for me. I want to know if anything happened three nights ago, wherever you got drunk. I want to know how you got back to Seattle Grace after getting drunk. Did you call a taxi, or were you so intoxicated that you forgot driving drunk is illegal and dangerous?"

There were tears in Derek's eyes and he was visibly using all his energy to keep them inside as he read his final paragraph. "I… p-pray you will understand that all of my concerns or criticisms are said out of nothing but love. I don't know what to do… I don't know how to help you and my worst nightmare is that… one day… I'll wake-up and you'll be in the b-bathtub and I would have been… too late. I know you say you're not suicidal now but… that could change. I remember my mental state after the shooting and I know you experienced a lot more trauma than I did in the plane crash. You took such good care of me after the shooting. You were there for me, every minute of every day, even when you were secretly recovering from a miscarriage… all I want now is… is the chance to repay that favor and take care of you.

"All my love… Derek."

Please don't forget to favorite/follow and REVIEW! The second half of MerDer's therapy session will be in the next chapter which will be posted VERY soon. It was just getting too long, I think. Thank you so much for reading!

Xoxo, merderpedia :)