"I made a promise to Ellis to watch out for Meredith. Believe me, Derek, this position will not leave room for her."
Derek frowned as he remembered the conversation. It had left a bad taste in his mouth that the scotch still couldn't erase. Any kind of perspective had escaped him. The anger at Webber consuming him all week was finally receding.
Smiling as her hand continued to rest on his thigh, Derek shifted, hoping to dislodge it. The brunette had been flirting with him for the last half hour. Derek responded to her running chatter, smiling now and then but not really keeping track of the conversation or her alcohol consumption. He had come to Joe's to sit and drink. And think about Meredith. Once again, she had kept him at arms length this week. Susan died, and Thatcher slapped her, sending Meredith running. Away from him.
After his fourth scotch, Derek found himself accepting her offer to buy him a drink.
Finally he grabbed her hand and moved it to the bar top. The woman pouted.
Derek found brief comfort in being just a guy in a bar, drinking, and thinking about his girlfriend. "I'm just a girl in a bar" crossed Derek's mind in hazy remembrance as he sipped his fifth glass of scotch.
Her movements filled the air with an expensive, heavy scent. Derek found himself thinking about lavender and how he missed it.
Derek despised the space that had sprung up between them, and needed to find a way to bridge it. With Susan's death, though he knew she wouldn't admit it, Meredith lost another mother. And Thatcher. Derek frowned as he thought of Meredith's father. Grief was expected, understandable and acceptable. Slapping Meredith was not. It was probably a good thing Meredith didn't ask him to accompany her to the funeral. Grief-stricken or not, he would have set Thatcher straight.
Derek's phone vibrates. Fumbling, he glances at its screen. All the alcohol consumed this evening made small print impossible to read. Silencing the call, he returned to his drink, planning a trip to the bathroom to get rid of all the scotch and listen to any messages.
The sound of glasses roughly set on the bar top roused Derek from his tipsy musings.
"Thank you for my refill." The woman leaned forward to whisper into Derek's ear. Her lips lightly brushed his ear as she spoke, and Derek vaguely noted the contact without any real interest. God, he wished he could focus. Time to go home. Time to have Joe call a cab.
Derek looked at the fresh drinks and then to Joe.
"Compliments of Meredith." Joe ground out.
The scotch-induced fog slightly lifted as Derek stared at Joe. It took a little effort to wrap his soaked brain cells around the word. "Meredith?"
Both men ignored the "who's Meredith?" uttered by the dark-haired woman as she grabbed the fresh drink.
Joe nodded in the direction of the door as its chimed sounded.
Derek abruptly stood up and stared, catching a glimpse of Cristina's black curly hair before the door slammed shut. "Shit!" the woman muttered as Derek's quick movement knocked the drink from her hand, drenching her slinky black silk top.
Derek started to move towards the exit as Joe reached across the bar and grabbed his sleeve.
"You saved my life once Doc, so let me return the favor. I don't want to see you back in here tonight." Joe nodded towards the wet, confused-looking woman.
Jerking his arm free, Derek moved quickly through the crowd and to the door. Not quite walking a straight line, Derek bumped into bodies as he forced this way forward. A sense of dread rapidly filled Derek as he pushed on the door. A rush of cool air hit his skin, bringing a sense of focus.