I hate those days when I wake up, and the minute I open your eyes, I know it's gonna be a shit day. Those days when the whole world annoys me, and I wish I could either kill everyone or go to sleep again and wake up to another day. It's those days when people puke on me, or I have to get through a twenty four hour shift with period pains, or my husband doesn't set the alarm and I have to run out of the house half dressed. You can't spread the shitty through a week or a month, it all falls on that one day.

And today is totally one of those days.

It's the day that's set up my bad mood, not the other way round. I could say it's because its my time-of-the-month, but I'm not fourteen anymore and there is no gym class to get out of. I mean, apart from those two days a week I want to rip Derek's head off, I don't believe in that hormonal crap.

At times like this, I realised I fucked things up when I decided it was ok that my husband is also my boss. Sometimes it's hard to keep home issues at home, and work issues at work. When do we make that switch? At the front door of our house or the automatic doors of the hospital? I try to separate the two in my mind. Husband Derek and Boss Derek. I tell husband Derek anything I want, speak to him anyway I want, and I know he'll take it. But Boss Derek still has to be treated with some respect. When is my boss a dick and my husband an ass? He was up and out of the house this morning before me, not that he told me that before, nor did he reset the alarm, hence me getting up 10 minutes after I should have been out of the house.

This means we have to take two cars, even though we finish at the same time. And I have to navigate rush hour traffic. I'm a potty mouth driver. I actually think Derek was scared the first time he got in a car while I was driving. His hand clutched the armrest and his knuckles went white. I just don't see why old ladies need to be out on the road at peak hours. They should make it illegal. I don't see why huge trucks need to turn into roads that are obviously too narrow and block the whole freaking road. George had suggested anger management one time, and ironically, it made me more angry. I miss him. Sometimes, I turn to say something to him, or think about texting him something I know he'd find funny, and it hits me that he's not here anymore. It hurts a bit every time. He never got to get excited with us about the rest of our lives, the big moments and the little ones. Losing him meant more to me than losing my own mother.

Thanks to some reckless driving, I make it to hospital with just enough time to grab good coffee from the nice coffee cart. I throw a few dollar bills at the server, calling back to keep the change- I'm really not going to fall over myself to get back the twelve cents. Twelve cents? Who the hell makes this shit up? I know there's tax that's never a round number, but there must be some math monkey out there that can calculate the price a coffee needs to be including tax so it rounds to a good number. As I climb up the stairs two at a time, I feel my phone buzz in my purse. I fish it out with my one free hand, but in order to twist my arm at that awkward angle and not elbow someone in the eye, I balance myself with my other arm, and some of the scalding hot coffee splashes onto my hand. Obviously I drop the coffee, all over me, my bag and the floor, but it's my phone that I'm more concerned about, that flies out of my hand and right down the stairs with a smash. I peer down the railing to try and see if it survived, and some perky intern bounds up the stairs to give it to me,or…what's left of it. The screen smashed, and it's making a rattling sound. I hope the phone call wasn't important.

I hate when I already start the day behind, and I never catch up. I was late, running into old people and people in wheelchairs, getting myself ravelled in IV lines as I rushed out of the elevator as I tried to get to my residents on time.

"Dr. Grey, nice of you to join us…" Derek gives me a sideways glance as I jog up to the group, wrestling to put my arm through the sleeve of my lab coat.

My mouth opens to shoot a retort back like 'well, set the alarm next time, asshole' but I realise that's overstepping. So I just close it again. He's a dick. "Sorry." I mumble. I want to ask him why he didn't even try to wake me up and tell me he was going in early, and at least let me decide if I want to go in alone, or why he didn't leave me a note. I want to know if it was him calling me before the phone got killed, and what he wanted to know. Is that what he's pissed about? I can still smell that bitter stench of cold, stale coffee on my skin, and I'm thinking when exactly I can get a new phone…

Obviously this distracts me, and I'm flustered for the whole round, which Derek doesn't seem to notice or care about. He's charming to the patients who swoon over the handsome doctor with shiny hair and the great blue eyes, and he walks around like he owns the place. He flounces off leaving us with a list of scutty things to do. Lumbar punctures, CT scans, no whiff of an OR today because Dearest Husband is doing post-op consults and some other attending is on OR time, and I'm not assigned.

The day gets shittier.

Some asshole pushes in front of me in the lunch line and takes the last edible sandwich in the fridge, I grit my teeth, and pick a horrible looking salad. I open the lid and pour the dressing all over it to make it at least taste like something, and then I'm paged to a 911. I reluctantly put the lid back on my salad that already looked warm and go back to the neuro floor.I seem to have the most incompetent interns with me today. They can't get easy lines in, they couldn't do the lumbar punctures, and one of the patients was seizing all over the place and instead of the list becoming smaller, more shit was getting added on it.

By the time the day ends, I feel like crawling out of that fucking hospital. I never want to go back to that godforsaken hell hole ever again.

"Do you want to go to Joe's?" I ask Cristina, who's taking off her scrub top.

"Are you kidding me? I'm staying late. Teddy's CT surgeon on call, which means I'll get to do something kick ass, I'm just changing my top so I don't stink, and she thinks I'm here for the next shift." And with that, she pushes me off the bench and lies on it, stretching her muscles. I don't even bother to wait to tell Derek where I'm going, even though I know that we will probably leave within five minutes of each other. I just want a drink, and to go to bed, and wake up and find that today is yesterday and tomorrow is today. You know, draw a line under the day's worth of crap.

I walk over the road to Joe's and notice that my regular bar stool is vacant, the first good thing that happened all day. Joe looks at me, and his hand goes straight for the tequila. Do I really look that bad? I take the shot gratefully, and swallow it with a wince. It's smoky and burns. It takes me back to those days where I spent most of the weekend in bars. If I still smoked and had a cigarette to hand, I totally would smoke it right now. It's that temptation, that hit of nicotine with the taste of tequila that's addictive. I never understood those people who drink cocktails. They say it's to hide the taste of alcohol, but that's the whole point of drinking. If you don't cringe as it burns your throat then it takes the fun away from the alcoholic buzz. Burn and high. Burn and high. For a long time, that was how I got through shitty days like this. And before I knew it, the burn and the high melted into one state that invariably ended up with me taking some random guy home.

"Haven't see you around for a while, Meredith…" Joe says, pouring me another.

"Hmm. I was growing a liver for the dad I don't like so the illusion my sister has of him doesn't shatter." I say, licking my lips in preparation for the next shot.

I don't know when she became my sister, and I don't know why. She's actually kind of annoying with her optimism and perky perkiness and making Mark follow her around like a puppy dog. But I suppose I did it for her when she asked me anyway, more fool me. I down the second shot, and that long awaited something hits. It takes the edge off my day.

I can feel Derek shuffle up beside me. "What are you doing?" He asks as he orders me a margarita. He must think that shot was my first. Dumbass.

"I'm planning to get drunk…" I say, slumping on the stool slightly, not looking at him.

I know he's going to be husband Derek, and act all concerned. And that's where the old me comes out of the shadows, wondering if it was easier when we skipped all the conversation about feelings and got straight to the sex. "Are you even allowed to be drinking yet?" he asks me, still looking at me. I know he's noticed the coffee stain on my top and jeans.

"Bailey gave me a clean bill of health." I answer, moving to a booth, knowing he'll follow. His shoulder touches mine and my thigh rubs along his as he shuffles in the booth next to me.

"I've been trying to call you…" He said, sipping his scotch.

"Phone broke." I say, finally looking at him. He's looks at me, sceptically. I take the bits of what's left of it and put it on the table.

I know he wants to ask me why I'm in a bad mood other than the phone, and in some ways I want to yell it's all his fault because if he woke me up, or reset the alarm, the day wouldn't have started of badly, and I wouldn't have made it worse for myself. Maybe if I scream at him, I'd feel better. But something stops me from starting to yell. Because I know that I'll get mid rant and I'll suddenly realise none of it matters anymore. What matters is that he's there beside me, and just letting me decide whether I want to shout at him or not. And maybe that's all I need.

"It's just been a bad day." I sigh, leaning my head against his shoulder as I swirl the umbrella in the glass.

His arm creeps around me, and his silence comforts me. It's like he understands, and will let me just try and drink the bad mood away. He knows what I need. "I'll order some more drinks, and get a menu." He says, kissing me.

I really love him for that. He lets me be. He knows when to push and when not to. We have gotten to that comfortable stage now, where we don't need to verbalise every tiny little thought we have and that's ok. He knows I'm mad at him because of the alarm thing, and the asshole boss thing, and that's what the drinks and food is for.

-X-

I 've missed this stage of drunken-ness, when your brain's all fuzzy and you don't quite feel sober, but you still know what you're doing. That wall of inhibitions falls and you're just you. Derek plied me with drinks, and now we're in a cab home. We're squashed in the back seat, and Derek's arm is around my waist, his fingers playing at the waistband of my jeans. He's as drunk as I am, and I know he's squirmy because he knows what's coming when we get home. Him.

"Come on, Derek!" I shout impatiently while the cab driver gives him change. Change is so overrated. I'm sure this is the second time I've thought that today, where they should just round everything up. Who the fuck cares about coins?

He jumps up the steps, and I've already opened the door. He smiles at me, and we've not even gotten over the threshold before his lips are on my neck, making me giggle. My back is against the wall, and he looks at me, with those blue eyes, and I see that same flicker in them I saw the first night we were together. That night where I didn't know him, and he didn't know me, and it didn't even matter because for that time, we were enough for each other. Nothing else mattered but scratching each other's itch.

I resent that with Derek, right from the beginning, sex was different. I wish it had been the same as all the other meaningless men, because I wouldn't have kept coming back to him. It was all about him. He was the only one I couldn't get enough of, and got lost in. I revelled in the way he smelled, of some woody scent, the way he felt on my skin, warming and electrifying, the taste of scotch on his tongue. Sometimes, I think I imagine that connection with Derek, that spark I felt that first night. Like my memory purposely makes it seem better than it was, because he's my husband now, and the only one forever. All I want him to do is just stop all this foreplay crap and just get down to business, because no one else has ever made me feel like Derek makes me feel when we have sex, ever. But now I know what I was feeling that night was truth. I know our sexual chemistry plugs all the miscommunication in our relationship- it's the goof off. It keeps solving the problem, but doesn't stop it from happening again. That's all us.

For me, it had always been the biological need. Pick a guy,do it, kick him out. With Derek, sure, he satisfies the biological need really well, but it's also deeper than that. It's almost spiritual, like when I'm with him I realise why all those other men meant nothing, and that maybe there is only one person out there who is meant for you. It's the memory of those moments that kept me going for a long time. When he was with Rose and I was working myself out, there's this moment of clarity. I remembered all the times Derek used the goof off and it got rid of that stain, but I still made them. The sex, that desperate scrabbling for those few moments where nothing else mattered were like gems dotting the cord of our moribund relationship.

We make it to the bedroom. Shoes at the bottom of the stairs, socks somewhere on the stairs, my sweater thrown onto a picture frame on the side table we knocked into in the hallway upstairs. We fall onto the bed, a mass of limbs as Derek's hands roam everywhere. The light from the hallway streams through the open door, and I can see everything.

"God, I love you." He groans. I know he's saying it at me, rather than to me. It's his penis doing the talking. I've had a few one night stands who've said it before. I know it's not about loving me, but about loving what they're feeling- and I'm not talking about emotionally-they use the love as a declaration of their arousal. They love what I'm doing to them, not me, Meredith Grey. I don't mind so much, not with Derek anyway. It's a wonderfully joyous feeling, revelling in his body, feeling good for sharing mine with him- I love the way he makes me feel too. I can't stop touching him, nibbling him, wanting him. He feels like someone I've been with forever.

You can't get that feeling with just anyone. I've only felt maybe a fraction of what I feel with Derek with only a handful of people. I don't know if the great sex makes the connection stronger, or if the connection makes the sex better. Maybe it's a bit of both. We started with the sex, so I'm more inclined to go with the former. But even without the sex, when he left me for the wife, that crackle of energy we felt for each other was still there. It's inexplicable, the pain I felt not being able to touch him, taste him, make him feel how he made me feel. Sometimes, I'm so caught up in being angry, I forget that he makes me happy.

For some inexplicable reason we've stuck. None of the other one night stands became one of the most important people in my life. I've not had any role model for commitment, and I'm muddling along anyway. I know that if I had complained to him at Joe's earlier, he would have taken it, because it's me. I haven't had that before, from anyone, and for a long time, that scared me. I thought relationships with men were better when they were fleeting, like the one night stand who never comes back after daylight breaks. But now I know. Anything that I lost wasn't worth keeping. Thankfully, I didn't lose Derek.

[b][i]Your words are inked on my skin
The marks of incredible love

Incredible love, you fill me
Incredible love, you spill me
Incredible love, you kill me
Incredible love[/i]

Ingrid Michaelson-Incredible love.[/b]