Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews...it really means a lot... :D This chapter is a bit lighter...I hope you like it. -Marci

Her head is pounding. She hasn't even opened her eyes, but her head is freaking killing her. It feels like she has the world's worst hangover without having had anything to drink. She keeps her eyes tightly closed, hoping that it will alleviate some of the pain, but it doesn't. Why is her head hurting so damn bad?

Then it hits her. She spent most of the evening sobbing. That explains the headache. That also explains why she feels as if her eyes are glued together. She wants to groan, but her throat feels as if she has swallowed razors. Razors. She begged him to let her cut, but he didn't. He let her hit him and scream at him and cry all over him, but he didn't let her cut.

It is with this realization that she finally becomes aware of the heavy arm draped over her abdomen and the body that is pressed against hers, holding her tight. She can hear the low murmur of the television in the otherwise quiet room.

"Hey," he whispers huskily as he pulls her body closer to his, her uneven breathing letting him know that she is awake.

"Hey," she whispers somewhat strangled as she debates whether or not she should turn and face him. She doesn't really want to. She doesn't want to see his eyes, his eyes that are so amazing and wonderful. She fears the way those previously amazing eyes will look at her after her confession. She doesn't know if she can stand to have him look at her that way.

"How are you?" he asks as she feels his lips brush against her ear. She can hear the concern in her voice.

"Fine," she answers simply.

"I'll let you get away with that answer. For now," he tells her as he runs his fingers along her arm.

She squeezes her eyes shut as she turns in his arms. His hands run slowly up and down her back. She sighs. "Can we just…not talk about it…please?" she begs as she grips his shirt in her fists, her eyes still closed. She can feel the pounding of his heart against her hands as he leans down and rests his chin on her head.

"Okay," he whispers reluctantly. "For now." They rest in silence for several minutes until she hears him sigh. "On a scale of one to ten…how bad is it?"

She buries her head deeper into his chest, his scent providing some comfort. "An eight," she answers quietly.

"I can work with an eight," he says quietly as his hand slowly trails down her side before moving to the bare skin of her lower back. He begins to rub lazy circles with his rough hands.

"Hmm…" she sighs as one of her hands moves to his back.

"Hmmm?" he asks with a small smile as he feels her noticeably relax in his arms.

"Relaxing," she mutters as her legs become entangled with his.

"Good," he breathes as he continues his motions.

"What are you watching?" she asks after a minute, still not wanting to open her eyes.

"The match between Portugal and China," he responds in a warm voice. "Which you would know if you opened your eyes," he adds with a slight chuckle.

"Don't wanna," she mutters as she buries her face deeper into his chest.

"And why is that?"

"Because…"

"Because why?" he asks with furrowed brow.

"I'm…scared," she whispers.

He pulls slightly back from her as he attempts to get a good look at her face. "What are you scared of?" he asks as he runs a finger gently over her closed eyelids.

"That…," she takes a deep breath, "That you will look at me differently," she finally whispers.

She hears the sharp intake of breath before she feels his hand under her chin. "Open your eyes," he whispers in a somewhat hurt voice.

Her heart flutters at the tone of his voice. "I…"

"Please…just open your eyes," he whispers as he runs his finger along her jaw line.

She slowly opens her eyes, unsure of the sight she will be met with. She is surprised to find his eyes filled with tears as he looks at her with a look that is foreign to her. It is not one of disgust. It is not one of anger. It is one of adoration.

She feels the breath knocked out of her as if she has been punched in the stomach. The look is unexpected. "Oh," she whispers.

He leans forward and brushes his lips slowly across hers. "I told you we didn't have to talk about it, but I'm going to say this. You, Meredith Grey, are the strongest person I have ever met. The things you have been through would destroy any other human being, but they have made you into an excellent, strong, and beautiful woman. As much as I hate everything you have been through, I…admire you for surviving," he whispers as he looks deep into her now crying eyes.

She nods silently before nodding towards the television. "Who's winning?" she asks in a strained voice.

Derek chuckles softly at her ability to shift the subject away from herself. "Portugal," he answers as they shift their bodies so that they can comfortably watch the television.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course," she answers lightly.

"Mmhmm," he answers simply as his eyes watch her instead of the screen.

"I mean," she says as she stares at the screen, "they do have Ronaldo."

Derek pulls slightly away from her. "And what does that mean?"

She shrugs. "He is ranked as the top player in the country right now. Of course his team can be expected to beat China, who currently has no topped ranked players that I know of," she answers matter-of-factly.

"Hmmm…" Derek answers as he leans back against the headboard and stares at the television screen. "Do you think he's a better player than me?" he asks after a minute.

She giggles as she looks up at him. "Seriously?" He looks at her and she can tell he is serious. "Fine," she says as she rolls her eyes. "You want the truth?" she asks.

"Of course," he answers simply as Ronaldo scores a goal for Portugal, something that only increases the frown on his face.

"I think that Ronaldo likes to dive, and that makes him less…attractive as a player. You, on the other hand, you don't like to go down. You don't take dives and you don't try to put on an act for the ref. However, Ronaldo has amazing skill. He plays for one of the best teams in the world and against some of the top teams and while I think that US soccer is improving, it still isn't up to par with the rest of the world, which serves to the detriment of some of the players," she answers.

"I see," he says as he glances down at her. "So, are you saying I would be a better player if I played for someone like Manchester United or Chelsea?" he asks.

"It's possible, but I'm also saying that it is difficult to measure your talent against his because the arenas are so different. This World Cup will be huge in determining the answer, but it will also depend on how well the rest of the team plays," she says as the game comes to an end.

"Okay then," he answers simply as they sit up.

"Okay?" she asks with an arched eyebrow.

"Thanks for being honest with me," he tells her with a small smile.

"You're not mad?" she asks as she bites down on her bottom lip.

He chuckles as he laces his fingers through hers. "Of course not. It's refreshing to have someone who isn't afraid to tell me the truth," he says with a small shrug.

She nods as they get up from the bed, her stomach growling loudly as she stands.

"Hungry?" he asks her with a chuckle.

She giggles as she nods her head.

"How about we order some room service?" he asks with a smile.

"That sounds great," she says with a smile as they walk into the living room.

He can't help but marvel at her amazing strength as she flips through the channels of the television. Her earlier admissions hang heavy in the air, but he knows that those are clouds that can only be dissipated with time and, with regards to Meredith Grey, he has all the time in the world.