Thatcher Grey stands slightly hunched over, staring at Derek, he sways a little on his feet and has to reach his hand out to steady himself against the wall. Derek cringes and feels nearly perverse for not helping the older man better balance himself, but then again, acknowledging that Thatcher has brought this inebriated state upon himself, he starts to feel justified in his unmoving stance.

"Where did... Meredith go?" Thatcher slurs, blinking his bloodshot eyes slowly.

"It's nice to see you, Thatcher," Derek says cheerfully, smiling and ignoring his question. Maybe if he just pretends that Meredith wasn't just in the hallway a few minutes ago, Thatcher will forget also, and then he will leave.

"I'm looking for Meredith."

"How have you been?" Derek tries again to get Thatcher to jump onto a different train of thought.

Thatcher pushes himself off of the wall and stumbles a step or two before righting himself. "Where is Meredith? I need to see... She was just right here..." he trails off as he points his finger to the vacant spot behind Derek where Meredith once stood. A very confused expression clouds his features as he tries to fit all of the pieces together in his brain, but nothing is computing.

Derek takes a cautious step forward. "Meredith is busy right now."

Narrowing his hazy eyes, Thatcher tries to straighten his posture. "But, I came to see Meredith! I need to see her!" He raises his voice and a few nurses look up from behind the desk.

Derek reaches out and takes Thatcher by the elbow. It takes great control for him to remain gentle because he doesn't want to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway. Not only would that be bad for the sick patients nearby, but he knows without a doubt that it will be highly detrimental to Meredith's already fragile state. She doesn't need this type of embarrassment on top of everything else, no matter how badly Derek wants to punch Thatcher Grey so hard right now that is knocks him sober.

"Meredith is with a patient right now, so why don't we have a seat in the lounge." Derek suggests calmly. "We can have a cup of coffee... or two... while we wait for her."

Without waiting for Thatcher to agree, Derek is pulling him toward the lounge area. Once inside, he all but shoves Thatcher into one of the plastic chairs placed at the round table in the center of the room. Sitting himself into the chair across from Thatcher, Derek folds his arms across his chest, glaring at the man hunched over before him. There are a million thoughts swirling in Derek's mind-most of them very angry thoughts-and it is taking all of his willpower not to lunge across the table and strangle the drunk out of his pathetic body. With a clenched jaw, his nostrils flaring, Derek sucks in a deep breath and then leans forward to place his forearms on the edge of the table. He locks his fingers together and holds them securely in place so that he is not tempted to react violently.

"What are you doing here?" He asks cautiously through gritted teeth.

Thatcher doesn't respond. His brow furrows slightly and he shakes his head at his own thoughts.

Derek sighs. "Are you trying to make her life miserable?" He accuses, the bottled up anger slowly leaking into his voice. "Is that why you're here?"

Silence.

Derek sits back, frustrated. He unclenches his fingers and runs them through his hair, then he swipes at his face with his palms. His arms fold themselves in front of him again as he assesses the droopy man across from him. Thatcher sighs and shakes his head again.

"Are you going to answer me, or just sit there?" Derek barks, eyes narrowing.

Looking up at him with watery eyes, Thatcher shrugs and lets out a grunt like it doesn't matter to him whether he speaks or not. He rests his chin in his palm and just stares at Derek, his brow furrowing like he's trying to focus his eyes.

"Answer me!" Derek finally yells as his palm comes down hard against the table. Thatcher's body jerks in surprise and his eyes widen. His mouth opens, but all he can do is stutter in the silence that follows.

"I... uh... I"

"Derek?" A feminine voice cuts through the tension.

Derek's head whips around to the left where Meredith is standing in the now opened doorway. Her eyes are a mixture of confusion and fright as she stares back at him. Derek's angry expression shifts to apologetic as he starts to stand up.

"Meredith, I-"

"Meredith!" Thatcher cuts him off, stumbling up out of his own chair.

Meredith's eyes move to her drunk father who is trying, without much success, to move forward towards her. He trips over his own feet and nearly falls, but at the last minute, he rights himself and walks forward again.

"Thatcher." She sighs, looking at him with pity.

"You weren't... home. I went... but you weren't... home." He slurs. "You were supposed to... Lexie said that you..." He trails off, not able to complete a full thought. "I'm hungry."

Derek's anger boils over again at Tatcher's words. It irritates him to the upmost degree that Thatcher is able to get drunk on his own, yet he can't manage to fix himself a decent meal. And suddenly, that's supposed to be Meredith's fault. Again.

"I had to work late." Meredith tells him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise to him." Derek tells her, giving her an incredulous look.

"Not now, Derek." She says to him. "Please." She begs.

Derek sighs in defeat as he shakes his head at her. When is this going to end? he asks her with worried eyes. "I guess this means our plans have changed." He says as Meredith's arm links around Thatcher's to support his unstable legs.

"I can't." She whispers, her tiny body dragging Thatcher out into the hallway. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Derek replies wearily, "me, too."

He watches with sorrow as Meredith guides a very drunk Thatcher down the hall, the light in her eyes-any chance he thought he had to get closer to her-fading as they disappear around the corner.