Come Home
Lexie sat in Jackson's living room, books strewn on the floor in a seemingly random order, making the room look as if it had been hit by some medical-literature-tornado. She was on the floor with a pile of books between her legs, the top one opened to a detailed drawing of the brain.
"This is impossible," Lexie huffed, pushing the book off the top and onto her knee. She swore loudly, throwing the book across the room. Logically, she knew that throwing a hissy fit would do absolutely nothing to help her studying, but at this precise moment she didn't care to appeal to logic. After studying for six hours straight, logic was the farthest thing from her mind. She gathered her hair into a messy pony tail and said, "If I can't handle all of this with my photographic memory, than neither can the other interns. How the hell are we supposed to pass?"
"You're pulling the photographic memory card again," Jackson replied lightly, happy to see that bring a sliver of a smile to his girlfriend. "And you will pass. Why? Because you are brilliant, it just doesn't seem that way now. Everyone thinks they are going to fail when they're studying. I know I did."
"And?"
He grinned wide. "Passed with flying colors."
Lexie frowned. "I'm sick of studying."
"Only one week left and then the test will be over." Lexie leaned forward and swiped a candy bar from the table, ripping the wrapper off and taking a large bite. Jackson knew better than to comment on her stress eating, instead directing his attention to the studying efforts. "One hour more and then I'm taking you out to eat. And no arguing-you have to eat, don't you?"
Lexie's mouth pulled into a reluctant grin while she nodded. Yes, she did have to eat and she was lucky enough to have a boyfriend like Jackson to take her. He really was a catch. Good looking. Good natured. It was the stuff out of fairytales. Growing up, it was exactly what she was looking for-exactly what she wanted. With her cookie-cutter-home and cookie-cutter-family Jackson fit perfectly. This was the good life, she thought.
On second thought, her smile dimmed. Look far back enough and yes, she had a charmed life. But then things changed. Her mother died. Her father's alcoholism spiraled out of control. She was drawn to the blinking red light of Mark Sloan.
And if she were being truly honest with herself, that last thing had never really stopped. Sure, they could be apart. She could hold Jackson's hand and pass on more innocent grins, but if her hands weren't soiled with guilt, her mind was. Just last night she had thought of him during an intimate moment with Jackson. She nearly breathed out his name, but stopped herself before the damage could be done.
No, she didn't live the stuff of legends anymore. She didn't dance through life. She couldn't. But still her Prince Charming smiled at her, closing the book in his lap while he said, "Alright, I think we need to push dinner up. You look about to keel over. Carmines?"
She nodded out of reflex. Another smile, and Jackson reached his hands down to her. She stared at them for a moment and thought to herself that they were good hands. Strong yet graceful, they were undoubtedly the hands of a surgeon. He noticed her hesitation and prompted, "Lex?"
"Sorry," she managed, grasping his hands quickly and pulling herself up. His green eyes were studying her face, no doubt trying to work their way around the elaborate mask she had donned. She offered him a beguiling smile and thought to herself that sometimes the mask even fooled her. "Ready?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said slowly, hesitating for just a moment before sliding his hand along hers again. Together they left the apartment.
Cristina did not tell Owen about her routine check-up, but was not surprised to find him at the door after. Her wayward husband had a way of knowing everything going on in the hospital, no doubt fostered by genuine friendships, or at the least acquaintance, with most of the nursing staff. It made him one of the better liked and informed doctors at Seattle Grace.
"You didn't tell me about today," Owen said, the two of them standing in front of the door like awkward teenagers after a date. Cristina shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and said, "You found out anyway, though."
"I'm not going to do some ridiculous grand gesture to make you rethink in there, if that's what you're afraid of. I just don't' think you should have to go through this alone."
"It was only a check up."
"And?"
She looked at a spot above his shoulder when she said, "Everything is in order for Friday."
"Three o'clock, right?"
She nodded, thinking that it was strange to hear him talk about all of this with such nonchalance. It sounded like they were discussing an oil change, not the termination of a child. Still, she preferred this to him begging her to reconsider. To be honest, the constant arguing had grated on her already depleted energy reserves. When they were finished she would have to drag herself to the coffee stand before she could utter coherent sentences.
"I have a good surgery," Owen began slowly, looking down at his wife to gage her interest. "I'd like you to scrub in, if you're okay with that."
Never one to turn down surgeries, she nodded automatically and replied, "Of course."
Her voice was monotone and it hurt him to think that she was simply responding in habit. He had really hoped that this would serve as a bridge. They would have to deal with Friday together, after all.
"Alright," he said. "It's at one. See you then?"
"Yes," she said, voice stilted. "See you then."
Sometimes Cristina wished she hadn't become so familiar with her coworkers. Never having separated her home and work life, the two flowed together into a tangled mess that culminated in Callie cornering her in the cafeteria and demanding, "Now, tell me what is going on with you and Hunt."
"What?" Cristina replied dismissively, pushing past the Latina and sitting down at a nearby lunch table. Callie took the open seat beside her and said, "He's been all weird and so have you. I've heard rumors, you know."
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Cristina replied dryly, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite. It was turkey and swiss today, not exactly her favorite.
"You're not pregnant then?" Cristina's silence, marked by a sudden lack of chewing, served as her answer. "Can only think of one reason Hunt would be upset about that."
"This is really none of your business," Cristina said.
"A baby can be a good thing, even when it's unexpected. I mean, take me for example. I got knocked up by Sloan and the kid still turned out okay."
"I have my reasons," Cristina said evasively.
"Which Hunt clearly doesn't agree with." Cristina just shrugged, unwilling to divulge anymore. This was between her and Owen, not the entire blasted office. Besides, she could sense a challenge in Callie's voice that she didn't have the energy to respond to. Her decisions were just that-hers. She didn't have to justify them to anyone.
"Look, I get that you're stubborn," Callie said. "And it's your decision, your body. But you need to make sure to think this through. You're not the only one this affects."
Cristina shoved the sandwich into her mouth, biting off more than she could chew comfortably. Still, it was better than rewarding Callie's ridiculous mothering moment with an actual response. It was partly due to irritation at her meddling attempts to make her reconsider, and the startling fact that it was marginally working. At her quick pace of eating she finished the sandwich in three bites, already feeling a stomach ache spread across her abdomen.
"I have a surgery to get to," she said, so keen on leaving the table and company that she would have sprinted away if it didn't draw attention. She turned away before Callie could offer some all-too-insightful parting remark, and headed back out into the hospital.
The OR was a unique experience. It was as if time was suspended from the moment that first incision was made, all the way to the last stitch. It did not matter what was happening outside the OR, or even inside the surgeon. All that remained was the surgeon and his steady hand. There was nothing else that registered. Nothing that mattered.
In the OR, Cristina could almost forget that her and Owen were estranged. The easy rapport returned, her anticipating his actions as much as he anticipated hers. He rarely needed to ask for an instrument, as she had it poised before he even realized he needed it. The nurses noticed the ease in which they worked. It made them wonder if the rumors were true. Surely they had heard incorrectly. Someone had confused details.
The surgery ended and Owen had one of the eager interns close up. Him and Cristina left the OR and the spell was broken. He could feel splotches of red spread on his back and her face paled. They only paid each other cheap side long glances before departing in opposite directions.
"So, how's Lexie?" Mark asked casually. Him and Jackson were working on a routine surgery, which made small talk a necessary evil. Luckily, Mark Sloan had always been gifted in that department, even when it was with the man who was dating the woman he loved.
"She's fine," Jackson said carefully. He remembered Mark relinquishing his hold on Lexie earlier, though, and relaxed enough to divulge, "She's freaking out about the boards."
"Yeah, they're a bitch," Sloan said, remembering his own weeks studying for that exam. It was the only time he could remember something that effectively cut off his drinking and womanizing. Never one to abstain for too long, he reclaimed his footing the next night with a rollicking threesome.
Now he would give anything to only have one woman in his bed.
"When is it again?" Mark asked, although he knew the date already. It was always good to give your partner the upperhand occasionally in small talk, though. It levelled the playing field, so to speak. Sure enough, he saw Jackson relax further as he responded with the date. Conversation developed into talk of tests of earlier years, and horror stories to accompany them. Finally the surgery had ended and the two men were saved from spending any more time together. Jackson's thoughts turned toward basketball and the night's dinner plans while Mark idly wondered how much food Lexie had crammed into her mouth while panicking.
Meredith was accustomed to rejection, to loss, and to the universe fucking her over so many times that she began to wonder if it were all a cruel game played by all the culture-spanning-dieties that she didn't believe in. Despite this, she was still bothered by her husband's continued dismissal of her. Every time she tried to bridge the gap, address the fact that "hey, we have a kid together now!", he would give her that look of his that said he couldn't be bothered with anything beside brooding and brain surgery, and then walked away.
And it was getting pretty old.
Yes, she had tampered with the surgery. Yes, she had kept it from him. But no one was hurt. It was not as if she pulled the plug on someone hastily. Everyone else had accepted what she did and moved on, and they didn't have a small baby hanging in the balance. Everything that they worked for, hoped for, was contingent on them getting past this, yet he put minimal effort into repairing any of the damage that their relationship had withstood. To say that she was bitter was an understatement. Therefore, when he finally got over himself and approached her, she took a page out of the his own playbook and icily replied, "I'm busy right now."
"Okay, we'll talk when you're done?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'll find you."
He paused for a moment, waiting for her to change her mind. She had been chasing him for the past week, after all. He should have known better. Hell hath no fury like a Grey pushed to the side.
Owen watched all of this from his perch at medical records, waiting for the chart on the patient him and Meredith were about to visit. The nurse behind the desk cleared her throat, effectively ending his eavesdropping, and he turned with a congenial smile and took the chart from her. A quick peek told him that Meredith's presence in this visit would function more as a formality of her probation than anything else. Not liking having two marriages on his radar falling to shambles, he told Meredith, "I don't need you here. Go talk to your husband."
"He can wait," Meredith said firmly. "He made me wait an entire damn week."
"You have Zola to think about," he reminded her gently. "I know you're mad. I get that. But just talk to him."
The mention of Zola softened her slightly and she said, "You know, this is really none of your business."
"I know," Owen said. "But as a husband who goes to bed alone, I know at least a bit of what Shepard is going through. And it's hell."
Meredith was struck by the sadness in his voice and murmured, "You really miss her, don't you?"
"Every minute."
She took a deep breath, reluctantly seeing that talking to Derek was the correct choice. The exhale came fully from her mouth, sounding halfway between a sigh and a groan. "Okay," she said. "I'll find you when we're done talking."
She moved in Derek's direction before she could change her mind. He looked relieved when he found her beside him and then he led her to one of their all-too-familiar on-call rooms. The mood was not nearly as cheerful as it usually was when they sequestered themselves in one of these.
"Well," she prodded, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I've been an ass," Derek said. "Plain and simple."
She had expected this, therefore only offering the smallest of nods to say that yes, she did agree that he was an ass-a big one, in fact.
"But that doesn't take away from the fact that you kept this from me. A marriage is built on trust, Meredith. And after what happened, I don't know if I trust you anymore."
There it was, the crutch that their relationship stood on. With enough trust and abandonment issues piled between them to furnish an orphanage, it was a wonder they even made it to the courthouse.
"I don't regret what I did," Meredith held.
"I know that. I just wish you told me."
"Would it have changed anything?"
He frowned, running a hand through his hair-a nervous tick that he always did while frustrated. "No," he finally said. "I still would have been furious. But at least we would have been getting past this together. You keeping this from me, it's like we're divided."
"I was trying to protect you," Meredith said. "The less people knew about it, the better the chances that no one ever would. Besides, if you knew you wouldn't be able to plead ignorance if things took a turn for the worse."
"Maybe you just shouldn't have done it in the first place," Derek proposed bitterly.
"You know that isn't an option."
"I know," he sighed. "Mer, the bottom line is that while there are some unresolved issues here, one thing is clear to me. I miss you. We worked so hard together to get this life, to get Zola. I'm not willing to throw it away so easily."
Meredith felt her anger deflate quickly. She recognized the same despair in his eyes that she felt at the base of her belly since he left. They were miserable, the pair of them, and the solution was simple.
"All you have to do is come home." She paused for a moment, letting herself become lost in the deep pools of his eyes. Her voice softening to a near whisper, she simply said, "Come home."