[2] {Thank you for the reviews! Inspired me to bump up the schedule and post chapter 2.}
The elevator was calm, the elevator was quiet. She could think in here. And if she had to cry, she could pull the emergency button and she could cry in peace. It didn't matter that no one was here to comfort her; Meredith had learned to comfort herself.
And in a flash, her hand reached out, using the button to stop the elevator's steady motion. The elevator kiss. She remembered it so suddenly that it took her by surprise, so much that she had to sink to the floor because it felt like her knees were going to give out underneath her.
"I didn't know you were a doctor," Derek chuckled, from his spot behind her.
"Did you have to?" She asked, facing forward with a smile playing on her lips.
"No," he said, his voice suddenly much closer because he'd moved right behind her. "But I do now." His voice was low, his breath hot against her neck. They stayed there for a few seconds, frozen in place before Meredith pulled the emergency button in a sudden movement, spinning around and pulling Derek's face towards hers.
She didn't know how long the kiss lasted, only that when she began to pull away, Derek only pulled her closer. Their tongues fought for control like an elaborate dance, leaving Meredith breathless as Derek won out. His laugh spurred her on for round two, and this time it was her turn to win. He chuckled again, pulling back and shaking his head, wide grin on his face. "We need to go to work," he said, and she smiled, untangling her hands from his hair.
"We do," she said, allowing the elevator to move forward again, using the little time left to straighten out her hair and her scrub top.
"I'll call you later?" Derek called out after her as she headed in the other direction. She didn't respond, just kept walking, because she didn't want him to see the giddy smile written all over her face.
"How was your surgery?" Mark was asking, maybe for the second time now as Derek sipped from his coffee absentmindedly—the coffee that had also been given to him by Mark.
"It was good," Derek said, walking into the cafeteria with Mark trailing close behind.
"How's the coffee?" Mark asked.
"Good, also," Derek said, and when he let out a short laugh, Mark grinned. His efforts had gotten a laugh out of Derek on January 31, and that was good.
"How's lunch?"
"It'll be good, when I get my hands on some food," Derek shook his head, trying to suppress his grin at his best friend's antics. "You don't have to babysit, Mark. I don't need to be babysat."
"Yeah, but you do," Mark said seriously, tossing an egg salad sandwich onto Derek's tray. "Eat it, it'll be good for you," he commanded, and Derek just rolled his eyes.
The two surgeons sat down at an empty table across from each other, not talking for the first few minutes as each dove in on the food piled high on their trays. Mark was glad to see that even with the sad look in Derek's eyes, at least his appetite hadn't changed much. It was probably male surgeon thing.
"What are your plans for tonight?" Mark spoke up when he saw Derek starting on his dessert, chocolate cake—placed there by Mark, of course.
"The usual," Derek mumbled, plastic fork in his hand.
Mark sighed. "The usual" meant drinking at Joe's until some crazy late hour. One year Joe even let Derek stay late after closing time, just because the bar owner knew how much Meredith had meant to the neurosurgeon with the great hair.
"How about a change this year?" He asked, trying like he did every year.
"Mark, you know the drill," Derek said, tired now, pushing his cake away. Mark pushed it back.
"We could watch a stupid movie, eat popcorn. Uh, talk. Like girls," Mark suggested, but he knew that even the simple act of getting Derek to finish his chocolate cake was already a huge feat accomplished. He sighed again, and Derek looked up. "So, you're drinking at Joe's then?"
"Yeah. Drinking at Joe's."
"I'll join you." He'd admitted defeat, but drinking with Derek was better than leaving Derek to drink alone. At least this way he could somewhat keep an eye on his best friend who was still suffering from a broken heart, four years later.
There was this… thing that Meredith did in surgery. As Derek scrubbed into his craniotomy, standing over the open brain in the OR, he let himself go on autopilot just to remember the "thing" Meredith did. He'd done countless craniotomies anyway, and he knew that nothing would happen to his patient's brain even if he decided to take a trip down memory lane. There weren't a lot of times where Derek actively chose to remember something about Meredith, so if he wanted to, he always let himself.
She would ask one question, just one, and then she'd be almost silent for the rest of the surgery. It was amazing. All she needed to do was ask one question, and then she'd know her surgical plan throughout the rest of the OR time. Her talent was impeccable. And even though she'd just been an intern, Derek could tell that she'd be a great surgeon. A great neurosurgeon. Today, he let himself wonder where she was, and what she was doing. Was she doing okay? Was she happy? He hoped so. Even though his heart still hurt endlessly, he hoped that she at least had a smile on her face.
"Are you going home early, Dr. Grey?" Katherine asked, standing over a heart in her OR.
"I'm sorry?" Meredith asked, thoroughly fascinated by the organ in front of her, even though her specialty was leaning heavily towards neuro.
"I'm just wondering if you're going to leave work early," Katherine said, her careful hands repairing the heart before her.
"Oh, no. Why would I?" Meredith glanced up at her superior. Katherine had never asked her this before, and Meredith wasn't quite sure where the attending was going. For one, it was an honor to assist in the OR with Dr. Katherine James, cardiothoracic surgeon and Chief of Surgery at one of New York's finest hospitals, if not the finest. Two, Katherine hardly asked personal questions.
"To drink," Katherine said simply, lifting her eyes to look at Meredith's confused expression.
"N-no, Dr. James. I'm not leaving early," Meredith recovered after a few seconds, looking back down at the heart that had almost been fully repaired.
"Good," Katherine nodded. "Will you close?"
"Of course," Meredith murmured respectfully, watching Katherine's retreating figure back into the scrub room.
It was 9pm when Meredith finally walked into the local bar, finding herself a spot at the counter and sliding into it. Yes, she was drinking, but at least she hadn't left early. "Tequila shot, please." She'd spent an hour just sitting in her car—not crying, just sitting. The crying would come later. She'd sat and closed her eyes and reminisced on all the good things that made up Derek Shepherd, only stopping when it got too painful to remember and she needed alcohol to drown out her thoughts.
"That stuff's strong," the bartender commented as Meredith slammed back the shot and flipped the glass over, requesting another one immediately after.
"I'm well aware," she said, smiling at him. Her lips were curved up, but her eyes still appeared uncharacteristically dull.
"You look sad," the bartender, Max (from his name tag), commented again as Meredith slammed back her second shot.
"Maybe that's because I am," Meredith replied. "Keep them coming, Max."
He stared at her, really trying to study her before he gave up. She was just the girl with the sad eyes, who came in quite often. She stayed later on this day though, and he couldn't figure out why. "Only because it's my job," he relented, pouring her another. "So, why are you so sad?"
"Life hasn't been kind to me," she shrugged.
"It's never kind to any of us," he told her, handing her another shot before she even asked. She laughed at this—she had a nice laugh—before tipping back her fourth shot. She had to be tipsy by now, but if she was, she didn't show it.
"Why this day?" He asked next, handing her the fifth glass.
"Now that, my dear Max, makes too many questions."
"Ready to go?" Mark was waiting by the front door when Derek showed up, umbrella in hand once again.
"Babysitting again?" Derek remarked, smirking as he walked out into the rain with his friend.
"Are we going to share an umbrella?" Mark asked, walking closer to Derek, who was laughing under his breath.
"D*** right we are." He walked faster towards his car, tossing Mark the keys because he already knew that he'd be too drunk to drive home later that night. He was always too drunk to drive home on the early morning of February 1, having survived January 31 for what would be the fourth year in the row. If he wasn't, he hadn't done his job properly. He needed to drink. It was the only thing that seemed to numb the ache in his chest. And no, he wasn't proud of how dependent he'd come to be on alcohol. He would never let himself become an alcoholic (and come to think of it, Mark wouldn't allow it either), but Derek admitted that some nights, all he wanted to do was drown out his feelings with a bottle of scotch.