A/N - Alright, finally finished this chapter. It feels as if I've been writing it forever. It was a tricky chapter for me to write, the whole thing feels too much like filler to me. However, it is very necessary filler. Ch. 4 wouldn't work without this stuff, and Ch. 4...well, I'm excited for Ch. 4! Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to review. Reviews seriously make writing this so much fun, and I'm completely flattered that you guys are enjoying the story. So, read away and please share any comments you may have!
-----
Meredith
I've done plenty of stupid things in my life. That's pretty much a given. So, there's a lot of stiff competition for the title of Stupidest Thing Meredith Grey Has Ever Done. Now, last night didn't earn the title, but it definitely made it onto the Top 10 list. Actually, I think it might even be Top 5 material, which (considering that I've just recently had to adjust the list to accommodate dirty prom sex) pretty much says all that needs to be said about last night.
You see, sleep is good for surgeons. Well, sleep is good for everyone, but it's especially good for the people who cut other people open on a daily basis. Other living people. Living people tend to enjoy staying alive, so it helps to have a surgeon who is able to concentrate. And not be exhausted. Massive amounts of tequila followed by several hours draped over a toilet bowl, well…not so good for surgeons. And last night, which was technically this morning by the time I finally curled up on the bathroom floor, I spent a grand total of roughly fifty-two minutes sleeping. And that's a generous estimate.
Sleep deprived and hung over? Why yes, I am. However, that alone is not why last night was one of the stupidest things I've ever done. I'm usually quite good at working while sleep deprived and hung over. It's a necessary skill when the man you love turns out to have a wife, and then ends up choosing her over you. However, I said I am usually good at it. Usually. Apparently, usually doesn't include today because I am actually sitting on the floor at work. Not in the locker room or a gallery, or anywhere that might come close to making sense. No, I'm actually sitting on the floor of the elevator, curled up in a ball with my head pressed against my knees.
And that? Is stupid.
I don't remember why I sat down on the floor in the first place, but I know I really should get up already. The elevators in this hospital tend to work like magnets, drawing everyone I absolutely don't want to see towards me. And the list of people I don't want to see while I'm sitting on the floor with my head in my hands includes just about everyone who works here.
I really am going to get up. It can't be that hard, I just need to straighten my legs. Somehow manage to stand.
Or…I could just sit like this for a little bit longer. Just for one more floor. Honestly, I don't see the point in wasting the effort on trying to look presentable when the elevator is still perfectly empty. I reach around, moaning as I rub the back of my aching neck. Stupid, stupid tequila. Yeah…I'm just going to stay like this for a little bit longer. Maybe just until I get to my floor.
Or, you know, until the elevator doors spring unexpectedly apart and I realize just why I really should have stood up two floors ago. I groan, tilting my head to the side to get a glimpse of who is stepping through the open doors.
Red hair, three inch heels, ridiculously long legs. Yep, pretty much the last person I could possibly want to see.
She's standing there all absolutely perfect looking (as usual) and I'm huddled over on the floor, looking like the visual depiction of just how scary and damaged I am inside. If only Finn could see me now. Maybe he would finally get it. Maybe then, he would cancel our dinner plans and I could spend tonight curled up in a little ball, trying to ignore the constant throbbing in my head. Because seriously, right now that sounds like a lot more fun then spaghetti, or chicken-something-or-other, or whatever it was he promised to cook for me tonight.
Addison clears her throat. "Dr. Grey," she begins, a polite frown on her face. "Are you alright?" I blink and start to stammer a reply. The elevator doors have closed again, and somehow I'm still sitting on the floor. (See, this moment right now is why last night makes it onto the list.)
"Yes…" I manage to say as I leap to my feet. Whoa…standing up fast was not a good idea. I have to brace myself against the wall to keep from slipping straight back down, as I remember just why I was sitting on the floor in the first place.
Pain. And lots of it.
A rushing wave of dizziness pours over me, and I know my fingers are clutching obviously at the railing that runs halfway down the wall, but I can't help it. I'm trying not to fall over here. I squint, struggling to focus, but the elevator is growing painfully bright. What the hell is wrong with the light bulbs? I blink several times, rubbing a hand across my aching bleary eyes, as I try to protect them from the excess light. I don't know why Addison doesn't seem to be bothered by it. I mean, seriously, the room is growing so bright that I can't even make out the walls anymore. Everything is just white. The maintenance people really need to do something about the damn light bulbs because the elevator doesn't even look like an elevator anymore. The light is so blindingly white that everything around me has just gone blank.
"Meredith."
This is bad. Empty blank whiteness and knees that really feel like they're about to buckle. Yeah, this is seriously bad. I hope the floor still exists somewhere down there.
"Meredith…"
That's my name. I think someone's saying my name. Someone might also have their hand on my shoulder but I'm not sure. I don't know how they could see through all the white in here to find it. "Meredith," insists the voice. Yep, someone's definitely saying my name.
I blink again, and suddenly the light starts to dim. I can see a vague shape standing in front of me, and as I focus on it, normal colors come rushing back until suddenly I'm standing on the elevator again, with Addison frowning at me as she grips my arm. Addison. Right…she got on the elevator. How did I manage to forget about that?
"Are you sure?" I hear Addison ask. I just stare at her blankly. Am I sure of what? A minute ago, the elevator turned abnormally bright and I could barely keep from falling down. That makes me pretty certain that if it weren't for the fact that the I'm pressed up against the wall of the elevator, I'd already be laying flat on my back on the floor. So no, right now I'm not too sure of anything.
But I can't tell Addison that.
Surgical interns generally don't want their attending to know when they've just spent the night trying (and nearly succeeding) to drink Joe out of business on an empty stomach, and then used up the remainder of the evening throwing up into a toilet instead of sleeping. And when said attending is the wife of the man the intern just had dirty prom sex with? Well then, the feeling is only intensified. So instead, I just smile awkwardly at Addison. The splintering feeling in my head seems to be dulling slightly, but I still feel sore, exhausted and unbelievably thirsty. Seriously, my throat feels as if it's been lined with sandpaper. I wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask Addison for a sip of the coffee she's holding? Probably…but no worse then sleeping with her husband at the prom. I shouldn't mention that though. I should just keep my mouth shut. Maybe try and figure out if I can stand without the support of the wall behind me.
"Meredith?"
"What? Huh?"
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks slowly, her voice sounding very skeptical. Crap. I still have to answer her. Well, I guess I'm okay. I'm standing up on my own now, that's got to be a good sign.
"Yeah, of course," I say quickly. "Thanks, I was…umm, I was just thinking. Lost in thought and all that…" I shrug, giving her what I hope looks like a bright and casual smile. I'm sure it doesn't though. I think it's much more of an I'm-not-okay-I-almost-fainted-oh-and-I-screwed-your-husband type grimace. I should be mortified. I think I am. It was hard to tell before, what with all the blanking out and head-splitting pain. But now, that's all fading to a nice dull ache, and yep…I'm definitely feeling mortified here. Mortified and guilty. Damn…why couldn't it be Cristina in the elevator with me? Or George? Or even Alex actually?
I suppose this is what I get for cheating on Finn with Derek. Total humiliation in an elevator next to his perfect wife. She seriously is perfect. I really have no idea what Derek sees in me when he's already married to a woman who can pull of that skirt.
"Right," says Addison. Great…judging by her narrowed eyes and suddenly icy tone, she's just caught me staring at her.
I look away quickly, focusing on the lights above the door. One more floor to go and then I can get off, which is a very good thing because the silence is starting to get rather strained in here. If only I wasn't such a dirty mistress. Addison and I used to be almost friends, and now we're acting like strangers, and both staring very deliberately straight ahead. I'm starting to think that actually fainting might have been less awkward then this. I wonder if she even knows what happened with Derek and I…she's got to realize that something's different. That everything has changed…
But before I can do anything else incredibly stupid (like ask her if she knows) the elevator doors slide open. I would like to say that I walk calmly out of the elevator and down the hall. However, what I really do is stagger from the elevator over to the nurses' station, so that I can lean against the counter until my head once again stops spinning. Now if I could just find where they hide all the water in this hospital, I could drink it and hopefully cure the horrible sandpapery feeling in my throat. And then, maybe lay down in an on-call room for a quick little nap.
"Grey!" Or, you know, look up and see what Bailey wants. "What took you so long?" she asks as she and two ER nurses wheel a gurney down the hall. Right…that's why I'm down here. Bailey paged me. I shake my head and straighten up hesitantly. Thankfully the room isn't fading to white this time.
"Sorry," I stammer, walking over towards the gurney.
"One week out of the OR and already my interns are forgetting that we hustle for trauma pages. Emergency surgery means immediate surgery Grey, not surgery when you finally feel it's convenient to put down your latte!" I just nod my head and take hold of the gurney. Headaches and sudden rushes of dizziness be damned, I know better then to argue with Bailey when I'm staring straight at my first opportunity to scrub in in a week. A week. That's seven days of taking patient histories and filling out post-op notes for procedures I never got to see. Seven days of delivering labs and suturing down in the pit. Seven freaking days, and right now, I'm finally staring straight down at a ruptured spleen. "Get this man over to OR 3 a little quicker then you got yourself down here, and then go scrub in," continues Bailey, as she walks away to scrub in for the surgery herself.
"Of course. Thank you Dr. Bailey!" I call to her retreating back. I hear her mutter something about her suckups as I turn my attention to the gurney. It's hard to describe just how happy I am, but trust me, I'm very happy. Because, well…it's surgery. This is seriously what I need right now. I may not show the same ruthless delight as Cristina over cutting people open, but I am a surgeon. And so was my mother. I guess that means the thrill of it is in my blood. But, most importantly, I get to escape the mess of my own life for a little while, and go fix someone else's problems. I don't have to think about how I'm messing with the Shepherds' marriage, or how I was actually sitting down in the elevator when Addison got on. I wonder if she would have just left me on the ground if I'd gone ahead and fainted? Probably not, because she's painfully nice. Seriously, her goal seems to be to make it impossible for me to hate her. It's good though…makes the guilt that much more poignant. But I'm about to forget all of that for a few hours, right along with the fact that even though I made dinner plans with Finn tonight, my body would much prefer them to be with Derek. Thank god this is Bailey's surgery and not Derek's or Addison's though, because then all that sweet forgetfulness would not be about to happen.
"Dr. Grey?"
"Huh?" I shake my head, looking up in surprise. The nurses are staring at me, looking very confused. Well good, because I'm confused too. At least we're all confused together here. Seriously, why are they staring at me?
"Are you waiting for something Dr. Grey?" asks the nurse, her voice tinged with irritation. I look down, realizing the gurney isn't moving. Crap. I did it again. I need to focus, and that would be a lot easier to do if the room didn't keep wavering.
"Yes, of course," I say quickly, tightening my grip on the back of the gurney. I lean heavily on it to help balance out the weakening feeling in my knees, as I head us towards the OR. I breathe a sigh of relief as I finally relinquish the patient to the scrub nurses, and move away to bathe my hands in soap and water. There's nothing like a good surgery to cure an unbelievably hellish hangover.
At least, that's what I've always thought.
And for a good hour, that proved to be true. Apparently, it's not true any longer though, because I'm once again ridiculously thirsty. I struggle to lick my lips, and at least ease some of the dry cracked feeling, but end up just getting an unwelcome taste of the mask tied over my face. I start to gag at the sterile papery flavor filling my mouth, but quickly turn it into a cough.
"Grey retract here," says Bailey, looking up to raise an eyebrow at my coughing. I stifle the sound and nod, moving forward to reach into the body cavity. The retractor seems to have grown much heavier since last week, because I can't remember a time that retracting felt this difficult before. Maybe the Chief spent the past week updating his surgical supplies with newer, heavier equipment, and I just didn't hear about it because I was banned from the OR. Although…I don't know why he decided to go with continually wavering operating tables. I think the old, stationary ones were much better. It's hard to retract when things keep moving.
"Grey have you forgotten how to retract?" Bailey's voice sounds far away, fading in and out. Of course I haven't forgotten how to retract. "Grey!" insists Bailey, annoyance seeping through even as everything else seems to be fading away. I think it's because of all these clothes. They're just making me too hot, covering me in a horrible prickling heat that is somehow bursting into points of color before my eyes. The room lurches suddenly beneath my feet, and I stumble forward, bumping into the person next to me. "Emily, take over for Dr. Grey." One of the scrub nurses steps around me, reaching in to take hold of the retractor.
"Uh…" I stammer, opening my mouth to protest. I'm the surgical intern here after all, not her. But before I can think of a decent reply, I shiver and the words die on my lips. The room just won't stop spinning.
"Meredith Grey!"
"Yes," I hear a voice answer. It sounds weak and shaky, very far away. There's no way that's my voice.
"What's wrong Grey?"
BaileyI think that's her voice. It's equally faint and distant, but it's not trembling like the other one was. I turn my head towards the sound, trying to focus on the short blurred shape.
"Uh…sorry…I…" More of that gasping, tremulous voice.
"Johnson, help Dr. Grey sit down." And then a strong, steadying hand around my arm. Somehow, I'm moving, stumbling through a heavily darkening blur. My legs are shaking with every step, but the hand on my arm doesn't let me collapse. It just guides me safely away from the confusing hum of noise and motion.
I wonder if that's Derek's hand guiding me?
I wish it were. But no…it can't be. He would know to carry me now. He would know to hold me. He wouldn't take his hand away, leaving me with nothing but the cold uncomfortable pressure of a bench to keep me from falling down. Stupid hand. Stupid bench. I shudder, feeling suddenly cold and afraid as everything starts to fade.
I wish he were here.
I try to force my lips to say his name, but they don't want to move.
Derek…
The need for him is barely a whisper in my mind. Everything is just fading away from me. Falling away, lurching away, and slowly going black.
Derek
"Alright, get an EEG and then take Mrs. Mason down to CT," I say to George as I close the door to the patient's room, leading us back out into the hallway.
"Yes, Dr. Shepherd," replies George. I can hear him hesitate, making a soft humming noise in his throat before asking, "Do you think surgery is the best option for her?"
I start to mumble a vague reply, already distracted by going over the patient's chart once more, but something in his tone causes my head to lift back up. His question is far from abnormal, just a standard question from a curious intern, but something about it sounds too strained.
"Well there are less invasive ways to treat seizure disorders," I agree. "But I really won't be able to tell either way without the EEG." George nods as if reassured, but as he does, I zero in on just what has been bothering me all morning. There's a dark worried look in his eyes, and it doesn't disappear with my reply. Still, he picks up on the hint about the EEG, and moves to walk away. "How is Dr. Stevens?" I call before he gets far, not quite sure what prompts me to inquire. George turns back around, the worried look in his eyes deepening, and I realize the concern I was picking up on wasn't for Mrs. Mason after all. It was simply overflow from his own life.
"She's…well, she's doing the best she can," he says softly, shrugging his shoulders. "At least, I hope she is. It's hard on her," he stammers, frowning as he speaks. "She really loved him."
"Right…" I don't really know what to say, so I simply nod my head.
I always find it hard to think of Bailey's interns in terms of anything other then how they relate to Meredith, and I can't help but wonder how she's dealing with the fact that all of them seem to be cracking. As if she doesn't have enough going on already. "And how's Meredith?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
"Umm…" George says, his frown instently intensifying. "She's fine I guess. But apparently she's gone back to being Meredith again." He sounds either annoyed or disappointed over Meredith's apparent return to being herself, only I don't know him well enough to distinguish which it is. Perhaps it's some combination of the two.
"Right," I say again, despite being completely confused by his answer. She's always been Meredith. I don't know how she can return to being herself. "Keep an eye on them, Dr. O'Malley," I add as I turn and walk away down the hall. He mutters something in agreement, but he sounds more as if he's struggling to reassure himself rather then me, so I just keep walking.
I float through the day, my attention mostly caught up with my patients, but not quite. There's a frustrating little sliver in the back of my mind that refuses to think about anything but Meredith. And as I round a corner, returning from lunch to come face to face with Addison, that little sliver catapults to the forefront of my thoughts.
I haven't spoken to Addison since last night. I'd woken up early, heading for the hospital before she'd even gotten out of bed, the two of us taking separate cars to work. It's easier that way. A heavy, forced calm (largely accomplished through avoidance) is pretty much the standard way we've been dealing with the aftermath of arguments in Seattle.
"Derek," she says flatly, taking my arm. Alright, perhaps it's just the way that I've been dealing with our arguments, because Addison suddenly seems very intent on talking. She drags me into the doorway of an empty room before I even have the chance to reply. "Something's wrong with your intern," she continues, her blue eyes looking curiously pained.
"What?" I ask, frowning at her. Now, George O'Malley's natural talent may lie in cardio-thoracics and not neurosurgery. However, after months as an intern, I don't expect him to have any trouble getting a patient through a CT. "O'Malley's having a problem with Mrs. Mason?" I say incredulously. "I think he would have paged me if that was true Addie. I'm sure everything's fine." I shrug and turn to walk away, but Addison reaches out and stops me.
"No, not O'Malley. Your intern," she insists, her voice growing suddenly cold as she pronounces each word slowly and deliberately. My intern? My….Meredith?
"Meredith…" I say, turning back around to look at my wife. She frowns, folding her arms over her chest, but not disagreeing with me. I know I should refute the claim that Meredith's my intern, but if something's wrong with Meredith? As if there could be a choice other then to ask what… "What do you mean something's wrong with Meredith?"
"I don't know," says Addison, shrugging infuriatingly. "She was acting very strange." I smile to myself at this. Meredith can definitely pull of strange when the desire to takes her.
"She can be a little strange," I allow. "I'm sure she's fine. Big of you to worry though," I add, unable to keep myself from grinning a little at Addison.
"Well we're all friends." My grin falters at this, rapidly transforming into a puzzled frown. I thought it was pretty clear that we had all stopped being friends. "You said so yourself…that there's nothing going on," continues Addison, her voice suddenly hesitant.
"Right." Wrong. "Of course, nothing's…"
"Then, we're all still friends," she interrupts, her voice growing a bit more confident. "And friends worry when their friends start acting strangely."
"Right. I'm sure she's fine," I repeat, as Addison gives me a curious half smile. The soft twist of her lip feels curiously reminiscent of a month ago, when everything was nothing save denial and trying and quick stolen glances at Meredith that I pretended didn't take place.
"Okay," agrees Addison, her voice lightening noticeably, as if my answer has just absolved her of something that had been weighing heavily on her shoulders. "Well…I have patients to check on. I'll see you this evening Derek?" I nod, frowning slightly as she leans in towards me. Her lips brush lightly against my cheek, and I can feel her eyes searching her face.
Our eyes lock for a long moment, and I fight back a frustrated sigh, hoping that she's not going to suddenly change her mind and try to push the matter of Meredith and our marriage right now. I still need time to recover from last night's argument. I still need time to figure things out. But she just nods, the look in her eyes causing the constant guilty feeling in my stomach to tighten and cry out, demanding attention. Still…I stay silent, distracting myself with a patient's file, as she turns and walks away down the hall.
I mean to keep looking over the file in my hands. I mean to make my way over to the elevator, to check on some of my post-op patients. What I don't mean to do is stop the nearest nurse, and demand that she page Dr. Grey for me. However, that is exactly what I do.
"Dr. Grey?" echoes the nurse, seeming startled by my sudden request. "I'm…I'm sorry, I'm new," she stammers, backing away from me. "One second, I'll get someone to." Before I can reply, she hurries over to the nurses' station, leaning forward to speak to the charge nurse. The group of woman behind the desk turn to look at me, knowing expressions simultaneously appearing on all of their faces. I frown, trying to ignore the sudden flurry of conversation my request has just caused.
"She won't answer," calls one of the nurses loudly, not even bothering to hide a smirk as she looks up at me. She won't answer? Who are they to say she won't answer me?
"What?" I say gruffly, quickly growing irritated with all the giggling. "Of course she'll answer."
"No she won't," repeats the nurse confidently. My mind starts racing, trying to figure out just how the hospital nursing staff has already figured out why Meredith might have reason to ignore me. Unable to come up with anything, I finally give in.
"Why's that?" I ask.
"She's assisting Dr. Bailey. OR 3," says the nurse simply, her eyes laughing at me, obviously aware of the history between the two of us.
"Oh…" I feel a sudden rush of relief at her answer. "Thank you."
I turn away, glancing at my watch. I've still got an half hour until my next surgery is scheduled. After Addison's comment, the desire to simply see Meredith is overpowering. I take the stairs two at a time, slipping into the gallery. It's empty up here save for a few eager medical students, huddled together in the front row of seats. They glance nervously at me as I walk in, but I head down to lean against the pane of glass, and their hushed conversation quickly starts up again.
I scan the OR floor, my eyes searching for Meredith. Only, I can't see her. Everyone is dressed in uniform surgical blue, their faces obscured, but still…I should be able to recognize Meredith. She's slight, not as tall as most, always easy for me to pick out. But she's just not there. I'm about to give up and go get a nurse to page her after all, when finally I see her. She's not with the rest of the surgical team positioned around the operating table, but rather seated off in a corner on a small bench. I smile curiously down at her…Addison was right, she is acting strange. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she's glaring daggers at the retreating back of one of the surgical techs.
"I still can't believe she dropped it," I hear one of the voices behind me whisper. "I mean, I thought the goal was to impress your resident, not piss her off."
"She didn't just drop it. She practically fell over!"
"Hmmm…maybe they'll let me go take her place down there," continues the first voice eagerly, and at this my attention is piqued, and I'm unable to simply watch the surgery. I stare at Meredith, listening to the conversation behind me.
"Doubtful, you don't even know how to suture yet. Now me, on the other hand…"
The reply is dripping with the same constant competitiveness I remember from medical school, but it's something else about their conversation that turns me around to face the group of students. Something is falling into place in my mind, and I open my mouth to speak, unable to push away the sinking feeling in my stomach.
"Who?" I ask abruptly.
"Who?" echoes a medical student, allowing me to place the face of a petite, dark-haired girl with the first voice I'd been hearing.
"Who are you talking about?" I insist, my voice filling with urgency.
"Umm…that girl over there," she stammers, pointing downward. "I, I think her name is Grey." Of course it would be Meredith. I frown worriedly as I return my attention to the window, but as my eyes focus on Meredith, my heart lurches within my chest.
"Oh my god," gasps a voice behind me. "What just happened to her?"
But the sound barely registers in my mind. All I'm aware of is Meredith's body, falling forward to slump small and lifeless against the bare floor of the OR.
-----
A/N 2 - A quick second comment because I feel like such a horrible Mer/Der writer, keeping Meredith and Derek apart for two whole chapters. I'm sorry, it's just the way things had to happen. (But I feel awful and evil for doing it!) Anyway, I promise that the next chapter is going to center largely around Mer/Der interaction...which is exactly why I'm so excited to write it, lol. Anyway, thanks for reading and please review!
