Derek stares at the watch on his wrist. His Rolex. The Rolex that stopped working when he submerged his arms in the bloody bathwater to retrieve Meredith. The Rolex that stopped working the moment that his world came crashing down around him. The hands are fixed on 9:45. At 9:45 his world as he knew it crumbled around him and he was forced to walk through the rubble. He had to fight the kryptonite that was his pain at the sight of the bloody Meredith and make his way through the rubble to save her.
Now. The present. Now as time was forced to drag on as his watch, his life, came to a screeching halt. Now. At 11:53 on a Friday night as his time stands still, but the time of the world continues to move on, Derek slouches in a waiting room chair. Numb. Catatonic. But in an excruciating amount of pain.
Waiting. Waiting for a doctor to walk through that door. Waiting to find out Meredith's status. Their baby's status. Waiting to see if time will start moving again. Waiting. Waiting sucks.
He can feel the sympathetic stares and people watch him. They are waiting too. They are waiting to find out about Meredith. But their every breath doesn't hurt every ounce of their being as it does Derek. Derek aches. Derek aches with every breath he takes. Each inhalation brings with it the feeling of swallowing flames, burning down his trachea and into his lung and from there permeating throughout his entire body. Derek Shepherd is drowning in his own personal hell, created by the possibility of a world void of Meredith Grey.
Mark isn't staring at him. Mark is comforting him the only way that anyone can comfort him at the moment. Mark is taking care of Meredith. Of their child. Mark knows that is what he needs. Derek didn't even have to ask. Mark knew. As much as it pains Derek to admit it, Mark knows him.
So, while Derek is sitting in the waiting room staring at the dry blood that cakes his hands—sticky, red hands—Mark is taking care of the woman he loves and the child he has yet to meet.
He stares at the frozen Rolex. It appears that a sheen of red obscures the white gold, but then again, everything Derek sees takes on a red hue. Red. So much red. So much blood. Everywhere. Meredith's blood. He would give her all of his blood if it would save her. He would give anything and everything to save her.
The ticking of the large clock on the wall resounds through the otherwise still room. Tick. Tick. Tick. Boom. A crash out in the hallway. A crash in the operating room. A crash that sends Derek's world into even further disarray as Mark appears in the waiting room, a forlorn and sympathetic look on his face.
Before Mark can even open his mouth, Derek is on his feet in front of him. Mark runs his hand over his whiskers as he tries to find the best way to tell his best friend, his brother what he has to tell him. But he has to. It has to be him. No one else can do this. No one else can hold him up when he threatens to come crashing down.
"Derek," Mark begins tentatively, the fear of the words he has to speak causing his voice to tremble.
Derek's face begins to crumble as he anticipates the words that are on the tip of Mark's tongue. Just the thought of the possibility of what words might be spoken causes the bile to begin to rise up his esophagus. He swallows, forcing the acrid fluid back down. Acrid. Bitter. Just like this moment. Just like his life without Meredith.
Derek bites down on his bottom lip as he stares at Mark with tear-filled eyes, pleading with him to not say the words he fears so much.
"Derek," Mark begins again, his voice slightly stronger, "she's still in surgery. She crashed," a small whimper escapes from Derek as he struggles to stay standing, Mark notices this and moves Derek over to some chairs. "As I was saying, she crashed, but we got her back. She's lost a lot of blood and they are still working on repairing the artery. She did a good job, but you saved her, Derek. If you hadn't gone…who knows what would have happened," Mark finishes, placing a comforting hand on Derek's knee.
The tears run down Derek's face. He lifts his hands up to wipe them away, but the sight of blood stops him. He stares, transfixed.
Out, damn spot! Out, I say!
Mark's heavy hand on his back lift momentarily, only to come crashing back down as he pats Derek on the back in an attempt to comfort him. "I have to get back in there," he says in a sympathetic voice, "they will be ready to close soon. Go take a shower and change into clean clothes. Grey will freak when she wakes up and sees you covered in blood," he finishes before getting up and walking out of the waiting room.
Derek continues to stare at his hands for several long minutes. Meredith crashed. Her heart actually stopped. Her heart actually stopped beating. Her blood stopped flowing. She died. She died and they had to shock her, sending a high level of voltage through her tiny body. She died again. She died again and Derek, Derek feels as if he has died a thousand times.
Derek places his sticky, blood-covered hands on his knees and forces himself to stand. The world doesn't spin. The world doesn't tilt. The world stands perfectly still on it's normally rotating axis. The Meredith-less world stands absolutely still. His world, Derek's world, won't continue to move again until he sees her. Not until he knows that she is alive. Not until he knows that she is breathing. Not until he knows that her heart is still beating.
His feet carry a seemingly weightless Derek towards the locker room. Weightless because Derek really isn't there. Derek is in that operating room. Derek is in that operating room with Meredith fighting for her. Fighting with her.
He reaches the locker room and heads straight to the shower. He doesn't even bother to look and see if he is alone. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter if anyone else is in the room. It doesn't matter because physically Derek is alone. He may be with Meredith in spirit, but physically he is all alone.
He turns on the water, shedding his damp and sticky clothes as he waits for it to warm. He steps under the jet spray, the warm water working his tense muscles but failing to relieve any of the throbbing pain that emanates from his entire body. He opens his eyes and stares at the floor of the shower. The white tile serves a stark contrast for the blood being washed down the drain. Meredith's blood. Meredith's blood mixes with the water before swirling down the drain. Red. White. Meredith. Too much.
It is too much. It is too much to see her blood being washed away. It is too much to see the watered down blood that looks just like the bath he found her in. He claws at the concrete wall, wanting to escape the tormenting sea that surrounds him, lapping against his feet. He needs to escape this enclosed torture chamber, but he knows that he can't. He knows that his torture chamber is his heart and that it will always be with him. It will always be with him until Meredith releases him. She is the only one who can release him from his internal turmoil that is slowly brewing into a raging tempest.
He groans, deep and guttural. A groan that speaks of pain and torment. A groan that screams of hell. Maybe it isn't a sea that is lapping at his ankles, but the scorching flames of hell.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Why did she do it? Why didn't she just talk to him? Why? Oh God, why? She was running. This was her way of running. She was running and thought that this was the only open path to her. But why? God, he doesn't understand. He needs to understand. He needs to understand because right now? Right now he blames himself. He blames himself and that blame is manifesting into a self-hatred that makes the bitter bile rise up Derek's esophagus.
He removes one of his hands from the concrete wall. A bloody handprint remains on the wall, staring back at him and taunting him. He clenches his jaw. He sees red. He sees the red of her blood. He sees the red, ugly face of anger. Anger at Meredith for doing this to herself. Anger at Mark for pushing him to date. Anger at Addison for showing up in the first place. But most of all, more than anything or anyone else, anger at himself. Anger at himself for breaking Meredith. Anger for subjecting her to the past year of pain after two blissful months of perfection. Anger. Rage. Pain. Hate. Thud. Crack.
Derek's knuckles of his right hand meet the concrete wall of the shower, landing right in the middle of that taunting hand print. The cracking noise that resounds after the initial thud of contact suggests a break, but Derek doesn't care. Derek could care less. Derek could care less because for the first time in over two hours, Derek feels something. For the first time since he found her body, Derek doesn't feel physically numb. He feels pain. He feels a physical pain that can be diagnosed. A physical pain that can be healed.
He may have broken his hand, but his hand will heal. If Derek loses Meredith, Derek will break. Derek will break and that fracture in his soul will never fuse back together. It won't be able to fuse back together. It won't be able to fuse back together because the other half will be missing. His other half will be missing. Meredith will be missing.
Derek quickly rinses his body and steps out of the shower, eager to return to the purgatory of the waiting room. Waiting for the verdict of Heaven or Hell. Alive or dead. He hand throbs as he buttons up his shirt, a blue bruise already beginning to form around his knuckles. He doesn't care. He doesn't care that his hand is starting to look like an inflated latex glove. He doesn't even think about not being able to perform surgery. All that he can think about is being able to breathe. Being able to live. Being able to love.
Derek practically runs down the hospital corridor as he sees Bailey and the Chief walking towards the waiting room. His heart pounds against his chest, ready to burst with happiness and relief or shatter with pain and grief. He reaches them in a matter of three, long strides. He tries to catch his breath, fearing that these breaths may be his last. He runs his swollen hand through his hair, pain shooting all the way down his arm. He doesn't even wince.
"What the hell happened to you hand?" the Chief asks in a worried tone.
Derek doesn't answer as he searches their faces for answer. For the answer.
"Did she make it?" he asks in a trembling voice, his words a strange mixture of hope and fear.
Bailey smiles sadly at him. "She's in recovery now. You should be able to go see her in about an hour," Bailey finishes.
Derek breathes a long sigh of relief. He feels like crying. He feels like laughing. "Why can't I go see her now?" he asks after a moment.
"Because, she is still in post-op while we wait until the anesthesia starts to wear off and we can remove the breathing tube," Bailey responds in a very sympathetic voice.
Derek swallows as simply nods in response. He feels the Chief's hand on his shoulder. Hands don't seem to be so heavy anymore.
"Why don't we go get an x-ray of your hand and get that taken care of now so you can spend the rest of the night with her," the Chief says in a quiet voice.
Derek still can't seem to speak. His words are lost in the depths of his throat as he still struggles to comprehend the events of the past several hours. The Chief starts to lead him away, but something suddenly occurs to Derek and he stops in his tracks.
"The baby? What about the baby?" he asks in a choppy voice, the enormity of the possible loss only now setting in after he is sure that Meredith has made it.
The sigh that escapes from Bailey almost knocks the wind out of Derek as he begins to wonder if things will really be alright.
"Both mom and baby are fine, at the moment, but…" Bailey pauses, trying to find the right words to say, "Meredith lost a lot of blood and that more than likely placed a great amount of stress on the baby."
"What are you saying?" Derek manages in a weak, tired voice.
"I'm saying that we will have to wait and see," Bailey responds with a sad smile.
Derek has never been a patient man and watching his love and his unborn child fight for their lives only increases his impatience. He knows that things will never be the same. He doesn't want things to ever be the same. He wants for them to be better. He needs for them to be better.
As Meredith and their baby continue to fight for their lives, Derek has to believe that everything will be alright.
Even if I say
"It'll be alright"
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
So...initially this story was going to only be four or five parts...but I have been persuaded to continue it...so you will be getting more..I hope you liked this update...I'm having a horrible, crappy day...this is the second time I've had to edit this because the computer screwed up.
Speaking of the computer, I have to send my computer in for repairs...so it looks as if I will be without a computer for two weeks unless I can figure something out...and then I have finals...so it will be three weeks until an update if I can't get another one up before I send the comp in.
I really appreciate all of your reviews. They have been great and they motivate me to continue and make me feel a lot better. Hope you all have a great Thanksgiving.
-Marci