Disclaimer: Still another 17 days until Grey's is back. This wouldn't happen if I owned the show…I'd bribe the ABC people to play all of them consecutively.

***

"Get up," demanded Meredith. Derek shot her a dirty look, his eyes empty and cold. "Get your fat ass off my couch."

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"You smell, you're dirty, and I'm pretty sure my car keys are under your ass. And, as much as I love you, I'm not reaching under you right now. I let you drink yourself silly last night but now it's time to face reality."

"I have the deposition today."

"You do. And to go…you need to shower. You know? Like water…cleansing…soap, all good stuff."

Derek glared at her and stood up, shoving a box of lucky charms at her before walking up stairs to get dressed. Meredith shrugged to her self and stuck her hand in the red box, pulling out some cereal. She found there were no marshmallows left. "Stupid health nut," she grumbled, looking to the floor where marshmallows were skewed about.

She didn't feel at all bad for yelling at Derek, knowing when he got mopey, tough love was necessary. Instead of waiting for him to do it himself, Meredith began to pick up the excess amounts of containers and food that were strewn about her living room before calling up to Derek and leaving the house.

***

Meredith looked at her watch, noticing that Derek's meeting with the lawyers should have ended ten minutes before. She hastily scurried towards the boardroom and walked through the open door to find Derek sitting in a swivel chair, surrounded by manila folders.

"How'd it go?" she asked softly.

"They told me my death rate. These are the people I saved," he says mournfully looking at a medium sized pile. "These are the people I killed," added Derek, looking at a big pile.

"Derek. You're the best. You take impossible cases. Most of those people were terminal when they came to you. You were their last chance, and you try."

"It's just so many people," he mumbled. "More than Dahmer, Manson, and Bundy…combined."

"Derek…you're not a serial killer. You're not looking at the big picture."

"This is the big picture," said Derek, pointing to a large stack of folders and rising to his feet, walking towards the door.

"Derek," she sighed, chasing after him. He ignored her and kept walking through the hall.

"Shepherd," the chief called after him.

"Chief…not now," Meredith addressed him. Before anything else could be said a door slammed and Derek was gone. Meredith knew better than to let an upset, angry Derek out alone so she followed him out but found the walkway empty. Sighing, she went back to work hoping Derek would contact her eventually.

***

Approaching the trailer, fuming mad, Meredith noticed her best friend hitting cans with a baseball bat. They were obviously beer cans and he was obviously drunk. Clad in a fleece sweater and jeans, he looked worse than she'd seen him in a long time. His eyes were rimmed with red circles, almost drowning out the blue depths of his usual eyes. They were cold, empty, void of any emotion what so ever. Not like they usually were, warm and inviting.

"You just walked out. I haven't heard from you in hours... I was thinking you fell off your cliff."

"Go home Mer. Just go home," he turned slightly to face her, waved her away, then looked away as if he were ashamed to have her see him.

"Well, how long are you planning on hiding out here?" asked Meredith frankly with a tone of sympathy lacing her voice. Derek looked up at her once more before turning away and picking up another can. "Because that's what you're doing, you're hiding. You made a mistake, he's dead and you can't hide from that…and if you want to know, Mark isn't mad at you."

"I'm not hiding. I'm done. I'm done operating," he told her boisterously, hitting the can deep into the woods, the sound echoing through the trees. "I refuse for my death rate to go any higher… I've already beat out three of America's worst serial killers…why continue?"

"Oh, Ok. So you're just quitting?"

"Yup. I'm Derek the quitter. I'm running away from my problems just like you…" Derek said, close to slurring but not quite there yet. He walked over towards the trailer's hand made porch where more cans of beer sat. He reached for an open one and took a few long gulps. "You wrote the book on quitting. Running, hiding, you've written a lot of books Meredith," he said acerbically.

"That may be true. But I've never run from you…always towards you."

"Oh, hmm, you always run towards me?" asked Derek, amused, walking towards her, beer and bat in hand. "Ha ha."

"Oh just shut up Derek," she groaned. "You know you're lying."

"You…there's something you're hiding," he said accusatively. "You're as readable as the books you write. You…you're just a lying little…"

"DEREK SHEPHERD YOU ARE DRUNK!" she interjected loudly as he hit another can. "And you're angry, and I've been there so I get it. I wont take this crap from you of all people."

"Just go home then Meredith," he said, looking to the floor.

"No."

"Leave Meredith. Go," pleaded Derek a little more vigorously.

"I'm not going anywhere," she shook her head, holding her ground.

"I SAID LEAVE! MEREDITH, LEAVE!" he yelled, looking into her eyes, his turning green for no reason. She stared back in shock, almost in emotional pain.

It took a few moments for her to gather the ability to formulate an audible answer. "I'm. Not. Going, Any. Where."

"Meredith just go away. I don't want you here," he partially lied. He didn't want her seeing him like this, anyone seeing him like this, but he wanted his best friend there.

"No," she insisted. Derek threw the bat, narrowly missing her, before walking towards the trailer. "Is that the best you've got?" she yelled after him. "'Cause I'm not bailing, we're in this together. Just like everything else in our fucking lives," added Meredith, her voice reaching a crescendo.

"GO HOME MEREDITH," he shouted back, slamming the door.

Pursing her lips together Meredith stormed towards the trailer door to find it locked. "Derek!" she screamed. "Open this door before I break it down!"

"Go home," he yelled back, his voice cracking.

Getting even angrier at his persistence Meredith stormed back to her car. Driving it a few feet forward she stopped closer to the trailer. She hastily flipped on her brights and began pounding the horn repeatedly.

"STOP IT!" yelled Derek, going unheard by Meredith.

She continued for another few minutes before figuring that her car battery would die and that Derek wouldn't come out. She stepped out of her car, pacing to figure out what to do with her drunken, angry, depressed best friend. Remembering the key he'd given her, Meredith dashed back to the car, fished through her purse and pulled out the shining metal key. Racing to the door, she inserted the key.

After hearing the click of the door unlocking, Meredith stepped in to find Derek passed out on the floor in the doorway of his bedroom. Remembering that he'd drunk a fair share of a twelve pack of beer, she rushed to his side, nudging him softly. He moved, showing that he was only sleeping. She also made a mental note that he showed no further signs of alcohol poisoning.

Knowing there was no way for her to hoist him up on to the bed, she took the beer can out of his hand, unzipped his coat, pulled off his shoes and slipped his socks off his feet. Walking towards the bed, she pulled off the comforter and two pillows.

One pillow she lifted his head and slid under, and the other she put beside him. Laying on the floor, comforter in hand, Meredith curled up next to Derek and pulled the comforter snugly over both of them before trying to close her eyes. Sleep didn't seem to want to grace her body. Meredith felt anxious, sad, compassion, sympathetic, hurt, angry, and a farrago of other emotions, all at the same time.

The man she found tonight wasn't Derek Shepherd. Or, he was, just a broken version. Like she'd say, damaged goods. He rushed into surgery, made a tiny mistake and now, Mark's dad was dead and Derek blamed himself.

***

A/N: So, it wasn't that long but, I really wanted to just stick to 5x17. There were a few references in this chapter that you may not have gotten so, I'll explain.

Dahmer, Manson, and Bundy is Jeffery Dahmer, Charles Manson, and Ted Bundy; three of the worst serial killers in a American history.