This update is WAY overdue, and for that, I'm very sorry. School has been much busier than I anticipated it to be, and I've been sick, and swamped.

I think I replied to everyone's reviews after the last chapter, but it was so long ago, I don't remember, so I'll say it now: HUGE thank you to everyone who's reviewed! I love all of your feedback. It's very encouraging. :)

So this technically the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue, as I am very interested in trying something from Derek's POV. We've been getting a lot of Meredith throughout this whole thing, and it might be interesting to see his take on all of this. Hopefully, that will be up soon, but as I am woefully behind on other updates, I make no promises.

Happy reading! :)

But I won't be no runaway

'Cause I won't run

No I won't be no runaway

What makes you think I'm enjoying

Being left to the flood

We got another thing coming undone

Runaway – The National

He turns away and gestures to the final CT on the wall. "And this is today. Post-op head CT of Izzie Stevens." He looks at me, and the smile spreads across my face. The surgery was a success. Derek did it. Izzie is going to be okay. The thought makes me giddy. But it wasn't easy. Getting to this point might have been one of the hardest things I've ever done.

5x19 – Elevator Love Letter

When my mother died, my world wasn't shattered. I didn't spend days in bed, crying and wondering how I was going to get on without her. In a way, I was relieved she was gone. She hadn't been herself for a long time, and she would have hated everyone seeing her like that, everyone knowing she was sick. Not to mention I was so preoccupied with having basically drowned that by the time I had recovered enough to grieve, there really wasn't any point. We'd never been particularly close, and now that I was freed from her constant negativity, I actually began to like her a little more. She had been a great surgeon, there was no denying that, but she had been a pretty negligible mother, and I preferred to remember and appreciate the surgeon rather than the woman who had raised me.

With Izzie, it was different. It mattered so much more. She was young, talented; she had her whole life ahead of her. She was a friend, someone that I cared about, someone that I was close to. We shared a house. We worked together. George, Izzie, Cristina, and Alex were the closest thing I'd ever had to a real family. The cancer scared me. It scared us all.

The morning of Izzie's surgery, I was up an hour before my alarm. After coming back from Cristina's I'd been unable to sleep, images of the red marks from Owen's hands on Cristina's throat and Derek's face, empty and broken as he stood over Izzie's lifeless body chasing themselves relentlessly around my head. I finally gave up at five, crawling out of bed and venturing downstairs in search of coffee. The house was deserted: Alex had stayed at the hospital with Izzie, Lexie had an overnight shift, and Derek, of course, was still at the trailer. I was glad that he had agreed to do Izzie's surgery, and I got that he needed his own space right now, but I wished he were here. This house had been way too quiet for the last two weeks, and with everything that had happened, I'd needed Derek more than ever. I understood that he needed to get away from the hospital, and that his guilt and tendency to blame himself were eating him from the inside out, but he didn't need to push me away. I hadn't always been there in the past, but I wasn't going anywhere now. I was in this for the long haul. The marriage and the crappy, chatty babies with perfect hair? I wanted all that. I wasn't completely whole and healed—and I didn't know that I ever would be—but I was going to try. And it wasn't like he had always been there, either. He'd done his fair share of running—like now, for instance. I wasn't going to judge him, and I sure as hell didn't blame him for what had happened. I sincerely hoped I never ran into Jen's husband again, because I wasn't sure I could keep myself from hurting him. If he'd never called Derek a murderer, things wouldn't be nearly as bad. Derek probably would have run out to the trailer and spent the last two weeks getting drunk and growing a beard. He wouldn't have shut me out. Everything would be okay. But, of course, because it was my life, nothing could be simple, and so everything had snowballed into the mess we were in now.

I knew Derek was going to be shaky today. His self-confidence had been precarious ever since the clinical, and this had just made it worse. He wasn't going to have a great amount of faith in his surgical abilities, and the fact that it was Izzie wasn't going to make anything easier for him. If she didn't make it...well, I didn't want to think about that.

The coffeepot's bubbling ceased, and I slipped the pot of out the machine, pouring some into Derek's blue Seattle Grace mug. I'd bought it for him when we first started dating, saying that if he was going to spend all of his time here, he may as well have his own mug. It wasn't anything special—I'd picked it up from the hospital gift shop at the end of a long and gruelling shift—but he'd instantly loved it, saying that he'd always wanted one of those mugs. Whether this was actually true or not, I never found out, but it had lived on the shelf in the kitchen cupboard ever since. This wasn't the first time I had used it either: it had been my go-to coffee mug after every single fight or messy break-up that we had. I knew it was silly and sappy and Cristina would kill me if she found out—she already thought I was soft enough as it was—but it made me feel a little bit closer to him, and, given his gaping absence these last few weeks, I took every chance I could get.

Needing to escape the silence of the house and get some fresh perspective, I headed outside, coffee in hand. The old porch swing on the front step hadn't changed at all since my father first built it when my parents were first married, and it sinking down onto the worn cushions was like wrapping myself in a warm, fuzzy blanket. It wasn't nearly as reassuring as Derek's arms around me, but it was the next best thing.

I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning back against the bench and rocking myself gently with my heels. If I focused on the warmth radiating from the coffee cup in my hands and the gentle rocking of the bench, I could almost pretend that none of this had ever happened. That it was just another morning—even though I didn't ever have time to enjoy a coffee on the porch in the mornings. That Izzie didn't have cancer. That Derek hadn't disappeared. Yet every time, the crushing emptiness caused by Derek's absence yanked me back to reality again.

I wasn't religious. I didn't have a problem with other people being religious; if they needed something to believe in, then so be it, but I had been raised in a house founded entirely on science, a place where religion had no room. God didn't save lives. Science did. We didn't go to church on Sundays, or say Grace before dinner, or pray. I didn't like to ask other people for help, and certainly not an all-powerful entity that may or may not exist but now...well these were extenuating circumstances. I was desperate, so if ever there were a time for God—if He even existed—to hear my prayers, now would be it.

Please God let Izzie live. Let her make it through this. Because Derek can't take it if she doesn't, and I can't lose him again.

The rumbling of an engine pulling into the driveway jolted me back to the moment. I looked up, expecting to see Alex—he'd mentioned something yesterday about coming by this morning to get some more stuff—and was surprised to see Derek's Land Rover instead. My heart leaped, and I wanted nothing more than to run down the steps, fling myself into his arms and never let go, but I couldn't. Today wasn't about me; it was about him. His insecurities—normally so skilfully concealed beneath that arrogant, charming façade—were going to be running rampant, painfully exposed for everyone to see, and he was going to need someone on his side. I had to be strong for him, to reassure him that he could do this, that he had done this a million times before, that Izzie was going to be fine. So I fought my instincts and remained right where I was.

To say that Derek looked awful was a bit of a stretch but he certainly wasn't at his best. The fact that he wasn't drunk or hung-over—thank God—made him look more human, but the beard and the deep shadows ringing his eyes made him look like a completely different person. He seemed older, more tired, as if the trials the world had thrown his way was too much for him. If I could have taken the load off of his shoulders, I would have. I'd have taken the fall for Jen's death and suffered ten-fold what he had in a heartbeat if it meant I never had to see him look like this again. The thought terrified me—these sorts of feelings were completely unfamiliar territory for me—but I was ready to deal with it. The urge to flee was getting easier and easier to squash, which, in my mind, was progress, regardless of whatever comments Derek might have made about me being a lemon. I wasn't the one running anymore. The irony in this bizarre role-reversal we found ourselves in had not escaped my notice, and it made me wonder if this was what it had been like for Derek all those times that I had run away. If so, then I owed him one hell of an apology.

"Hey," I said quietly, as he climbed the porch steps. I couldn't help but notice the hesitation in his steps, and the knowledge that he was dreading this day broke my heart.

He blinked, startled. The fact that he hadn't even noticed me was more than a little concerning. "Hey," he mumbled.

"Do you want some coffee?" I held the blue mug out like a peace offering, my version of an olive branch. "I haven't touched it."

He considered it for a moment, as if weighing the risks of sitting down and attempting a conversation. His eager willingness to sit down and have a conversation was often a bone of contention between us, me often wanting my own space or at the very least some peace and quiet, but now I wished more than anything that he'd just be Derek. I hated this silent, hesitant man who had taken the place of the witty, charming, over-confident man that I had come to love, and I hoped more than anything that this surgery would be a success so that I could have him back. One save was all he needed to be okay, but one more failure would send him to some dark place where even I couldn't follow.

Finally, he made up his mind, sitting down beside me and taking the offered mug with a mumbled, "Thanks".

I watched the way he wrapped his hands around the mug, leaning into the warmth like it was some kind of lifeline, eyes boring into the black depths of the liquid like it held all the answers he was looking for, my heart breaking a little more. There were so many things I wanted to say, and so many more that I wanted to do, but the fear of scaring him away or giving him the wrong message was overpowering. He was surely still feeling guilty about the spectacular blow-up last week, and had probably misinterpreted my detachment from the night before as residual anger with what he had said. I hadn't meant to give off the impression that I hadn't forgiven him for that night—as awful and hurtful as the things he'd said had been, I'd never blamed him—rather I had been so preoccupied with what had happened with Izzie and the fear that Derek would refuse to perform the surgery to think about anything beyond convincing him to operate using any means that I could.

I bit my lip, trying to swallow the questions that were clamouring in my throat. He needs your support, I told myself. Constantly asking him if he's okay isn't going to make anything better. You have to act like nothing's wrong, like this is just any other day.

Derek took a slow sip of coffee, staring off into the distance. The lost, empty look in his eyes was really starting to drive me crazy. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking or feeling, which made it impossible for me to know what to say or do. I was already walking on eggshells as it was, I didn't need the situation to be made any more complicated.

"I'm heading in for seven," I said, more to break the agonizing silence than to inform him of my schedule.

There was a long pause. I couldn't tell if Derek was digesting the information I had given him or if he hadn't heard me at all. "Izzie's surgery is scheduled for eleven," he said finally, refusing to tear his eyes away from the depths of the mug.

So you have to be in pre-op by ten, and you'll have to talk to Izzie about the procedure and run some scans before you do, which means that you'll need to be there by seven. "I know. We can ride together if you want." Another tentative olive branch. I knew that the last thing Derek would want would be to be alone on a day like today, but his guilt would probably keep him from offering.

Derek frowned. "Don't you have rounds?"

I shook my head, relieved that the conversation seemed to be going somewhere. "Bailey's delayed them. Alex has my car, so I was going to get a ride with him when he comes back, but it's easier if I go with you." It didn't actually make a difference, but Derek didn't need to know that.

"Okay," he said quietly.

The silence stretched on for another few minutes, and the questions were becoming more and more difficult to hold back. Sneaking a peek at Derek's watch, I saw that it was almost six. "I should probably go and get ready," I said, fully aware that I was still in my pyjamas and badly needing a shower.

Derek didn't respond.

"Do you want to come in?"

No answer.

I sighed, chewing on the inside of my lip. I didn't like all of this silence, but asking pressing questions wasn't going to make anything better. I just had to be supportive, let him know where I stood, and give him some space. He was going to be okay.

I rested my hand lightly on his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You can stay out here if you want. Come in when you're ready," I murmured, resisting the urge to kiss his cheek. I wasn't sure what was too much for him, and I wasn't going to take any chances this morning.

Derek hadn't reappeared by the time I came downstairs again. I tried not to be too worried—he was a grown man after all—but it was all I could do not to dash back out to the porch and coerce him to come inside. Instead, I made my way into the kitchen and busied myself making breakfast. I'd never really been much of a breakfast person, but I needed something to do to keep my hands busy, and besides, now was probably the only time I was going to have anything closely resembling an appetite.

I was stirring milk into a second cup of coffee—painfully aware that the first one had been generously donated to Derek in an effort to make him talk (not that it had worked)—when I heard footsteps approaching the door. I glanced up, wondering if it might be Alex—though I didn't think he'd make it back here, regardless of what he might have said—and was pleasantly surprised to see Derek standing there instead, bag in hand. My hand froze, but I was determined to play it cool. Picking up the mug and plate, I made my way to the table, determined to act like this was just another day.

"There's more coffee," I said, taking a seat at the table.

Derek crossed the room silently and sat down beside me. The empty mug, I noticed, was missing—he'd probably left it out on the porch. I made a mental note to bring it in before we left.

I thought that he might say something to me as he took a seat beside me at the table, but he remained worryingly silent. I was debating saying something—anything—to get rid of the awkward tension, when he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small, black, square, and achingly familiar.

I couldn't say anything when he opened the ring box and placed it in front of me. I wanted to say yes, but I couldn't. Not now. All he was looking for right now was insurance, insurance that I wasn't going to run, no matter what happened, and I wasn't going to give it to him. He could do this. He may not think he could, but I was certain. And so I would wait until the time was right.

On the other hand, though, I couldn't sit there and say nothing, not with Derek staring at me expectantly, like his world hung in the balance. Sighing, I shook my head gently. "No. Not like this."

Derek nodded reluctantly, almost as if he had been expecting this but wanted to give it a shot anyway. Not wanting him to get the wrong idea, I took the box, gently closing it, and cradled it in my hands.

"Today's your first day back at the hospital," I said softly. "It's about Izzie. You have to operate on her brain. You have a gift, and you can do this."
I had told myself I wasn't going to say anything, that I was just going to let Derek do his thing, but it had become painfully apparent to me that this wasn't just like any other situation. Yes, he didn't need someone constantly badgering him with a million questions, but he needed someone to believe in him. His own self-confidence was shattered, and if it were anyone other than Izzie, he would still be out at the trailer, drinking beer and wallowing in his own guilt.

Further proof of Derek's lack of confidence: he said nothing, simply shaking his head in resignation, almost as if he disagreed with me. I opened my mouth to keep going, to tell him that I believed in him, and that Izzie obviously believed in him otherwise none of this would be happening, but he stood up quickly, crossing to the doorway and bending to pick up his bag.

"I'm going to shower before I go in," he said quietly, and left.

Alex, Cristina, and I stopped by Izzie's room halfway through rounds. We'd found out that she was going to be briefed on her surgery, and—having given or been witnesses to the speech a number of times before—didn't want her to be alone. George was nowhere to be seen, which I supposed was understandable. He and Izzie were the closest, after all.

There were several doctors filing in when we arrived, all bearing the signature red scrubs of the Oncology department. None of us had really ever had any dealings with Oncology before, and I couldn't help thinking that the garish cherry colour of their scrubs looked a lot like blood.

Derek was standing with Richard and Bailey by the door, looking uncertain. I wanted to put my arms around him, tell him that he was a god and that he could do this and that everything would be fine, but all that would do was broadcast Derek's insecurities to the world—the last thing that any of us wanted on a day like today. So I hovered with the others in the hall, not sure when it was appropriate for us to go in.

Bailey spotted us almost right away and made her way over, expression surprisingly soft. "Uh, you three. Uh, okay, I understand why you're here. I know you want to help, but I will be the resident on her case. I will be prepping her for surgery, and if you're going into that hospital room today, you will do so as her friends. Izzie needs her people around her, she needs you to tell her everything will be fine, she needs you to hold her hand, she needs you. Not more doctors, understood?"

There was a brief moment of silence as the gravity of the situation hit us. That was Izzie in there. Izzie was going to have surgery today to remove a potentially fatal tumour from her brain. She was probably terrified, and Bailey was right: the last thing she needed was more doctors. From the looks of it, there were more than enough of them in there already.

"Okay," Cristina said quietly, steely-faced. I nodded, afraid that I might start rambling if I opened my mouth. Alex said nothing.

"Go on in then," Bailey said, gesturing for us to follow her into the room.

Izzie was propped up in bed, knitting, as if completely oblivious to all the doctors around her. She looked up as we entered, and, though she put on a bright, cheerful smile, I could see the relief in her eyes. She didn't want to do this on her own.

"Okay, good." She set aside her knitting, seeming to relax a little was we took our places by her bedside. "Let's get started."

With a brisk, business-like nod, Bailey began, opening Izzie's chart and describing her condition—not that we weren't aware of what it was. I heard her say things like "metastatic melanoma" and "tumour" and "surgery", but I couldn't focus on anything she was saying. Cristina listened with rapt attention and Alex was staring at Izzie like he couldn't believe this was happening to him—none of us could—but all I could focus one was Derek. He stood at the foot of Izzie's bed with Bailey and the Chief, though slightly behind both of them, almost as if he was trying to hide himself away. From his expression, it was difficult to tell exactly what he was thinking, but I knew by the slightly melancholic look on his face that it wasn't anything good.

"Right. Babies."

Izzie's comment snapped me back to the here and now, and I felt a tiny stab of guilt. I was supposed to be here for Izzie, supporting her, not worrying about Derek. In my defence, she had a lot of people hovering over her bedside, whereas Derek had no one. No one but me.

Bailey flashed Izzie a surprisingly kind smile, and I turned my attention to her, trying to figure out what they were talking about.

"Just leaving the option open," she reminded Izzie soothingly.

"But our priority today is to address the temporal lobe mets in your brain." Derek's voice was quiet, but sure, and my heart sang. He may not have been his usual, smiling, charming self, but this was better than the dark, brooding Derek of late.

"I'm surprised we didn't catch it sooner," he continued, tone turning grave. "This kind of thing can cause headaches and seizures and intense hallucinations,"—I cast a sideways glance at Cristina; we all knew why Izzie waited so long to diagnose herself—"but hopefully, the lesion has clear margins so that I can remove it all."

"Are you people done?"

Everyone turned. The oncologist, wearing the navy blue scrubs that marked her as an attending, steppes forward, glancing up from the chart she'd been studying with idle disinterest. I was a little taken aback by her abruptness, and resisted the urge to snap at her when I noticed that Derek, too, looked shaken. The last thing he needed right now was another blow to his self-confidence.

The oncologist began to talk to Izzie, but it was nothing more than a blur of words describing the harsh realities of cancer treatment. It wasn't something I would want to have to face, and it sure as hell wasn't something Izzie should be facing—not at this age anyway. One glance at Alex told me that he wasn't really listening to any of it either. This had come as a big shock to him, and he was still reeling. Izzie going into surgery, having cancer, the possibility of her dying just when they were finally getting together, it was just too much for him to handle. Not to mention he was terrified and had no idea how to show it. So he clammed up and tried to pretend like this wasn't affecting him when we all knew it was.

"...From now on, every surgeon in this room answers to me. Welcome to the cancer wing, folks." The oncologist finished her speech with a smile and headed out of the room, her residents—all of whom had remained silent the whole time—following.

I glanced at Derek, hoping that I could sneak out and talk to him, but he avoided my gaze, turning instead to Izzie with a small, forced smile. "See you in the OR." And with that, he strode out of the room, Bailey and the Chief on his heels.

The moment they were gone, Izzie picked up her knitting and resumed as if nothing had happened. We all stood there for a moment, staring, unable to believe she could be so calm about this.

After a moment, she looked up at us. "Okay, seriously. Don't just stand there and stare at me, it's making me nervous. Go do something. Save lives."

I nodded, eager to get busy and stop thinking about the upcoming surgery. "Yeah," I said, heading towards the door. "We have rounds."

Cristina glanced once more at Izzie as if to make sure she wasn't going to fall apart. Alex, on the other hand, was out the door without a backwards glance.

As the hour of Izzie's surgery drew nearer and nearer, the tension in the air became more and more palpable. Alex threw himself into work, Cristina interrogated the oncologist and caught up on some charting, and George was God-only-knew-where. He hadn't shown up for rounds this morning, and no one had seen him since then.

Try as I might to keep myself occupied, I couldn't stop thinking about the surgery. While I was confident that Derek was more than capable of performing the operation, it didn't negate the fact that there was a still a chance that Izzie could die. And that was something that I wasn't ready to face. We may not have always been as close as me and Cristina or her and George, but she was still family—or the closest thing to a real family I'd ever had—and the last thing I wanted was to lose her.

Hoping to avoid the anxious questions about Izzie's surgery and the concerned whispers about Derek's ability to successfully perform it that had been following me around for the last hour, I took refuge in the residents' lounge. All I needed was a minute to myself. I hadn't had a moment of peace since this morning, and the effort it was taking to maintain my unconcerned façade was Herculean. I just needed some time to pull myself together again, so that when I went out there, I wouldn't be a rambling, panicky mess.

Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the side of the cubby and tried to calm myself. Izzie is going to be fine. Derek can do this. You know that. Everything is going to be fine.

Feeling a little bit more in control, I opened my eyes, taking a deep breath. I could do this. I wasn't the one with a brain tumour, or the one who had to remove said tumour. There was no reason for me to be hiding out in here.

It was then that I noticed Derek's ferryboat scrub cap poking out of my bag. In all the drama of the last week, I'd completely forgotten that I had it tucked away in there since Derek had left the hospital a couple weeks ago. He was probably already scrubbing in, and I wasn't supposed to go anywhere near Izzie's OR, but I couldn't not give it to him. This was his lucky scrub cap, and of all the days to need luck, today was the day. Balling the cap up in my fist, I headed off to the OR, praying the entire time that I wasn't too late.

Outside the door to the scrub room, I paused. I'd been in here a thousand times, but it was different when it was one of your own on the table. Taking a deep breath, I shouldered open the door, and practically ran straight into the Chief, who was exiting. Over his shoulder, I could see Derek, thoroughly immersed in scrubbing in. Too immersed.

Richard took one look at me and shook his head. "It's not a good time. He's scrubbing in."

"I know," I said quietly, pressing the cap into his hand, "it's just, he should wear this. It's his ferryboat scrub cap. He loves ferryboats."

If Derek heard anything I said, he gave no sign. It was disconcerting to see him so focused on what he was doing, so tense. I had no doubt that he could do this, and neither did the Chief, or Izzie, or Bailey, but he seemed to have no faith in himself. I used to tease him about his overconfidence, about his ego, but now I wished more than ever that he would return. This new Derek was heartbreaking to watch.

I had just rounded the corner when I heard footsteps chasing after me.

"Meredith." Derek's voice sounded from behind me, pleading.

I turned, surprised. He stood a few feet away from me, blue eyes boring into mine.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to stay outwardly calm. He needs you to be strong, I reminded myself. He needs to do this. "You're going to have to rescrub."

Derek shook his head slowly, face full of misery and the tiniest hint of panic—something I had never seen on his face before. "I'm not ready."

I sighed. We couldn't go down this road again. "Yes you are."

"I need to know that at least I have you," he said, drawing a shaky breath. "No matter what happens in there, I need to know. I need you to say yes. I need to know."

Oh Derek. Just like this morning, I wanted to say yes, I really did, but I couldn't. Not like this. It wasn't the right thing to do. "I can't say yes. Not if agreeing to be with you forever will make it okay if Izzie dies. I can't say yes."

Derek sighed heavily, looking utterly defeated. I could understand why he was afraid that I might run, but he had to understand that I wasn't going to go anywhere. I meant what I said in the woods. Even if Izzie died, I was still going to love him because I would know that it wasn't his fault.

"I love you," I said, taking a step closer, trying to make him see that I wasn't going to leave, that he had no reason to be afraid. "And you can do this. You can do this. I know you can."

He nodded wearily, as if he didn't believe me, but was resigned to his fate. I gave him a small, encouraging smile, and started to walk away. He had to do this. And to get him to do this, I had to do this, too. I could feel my composure slipping as I started to walk away, Derek's eyes burning holes in my shoulder blades the whole way.

"Meredith," he whispered.

The sound of his voice, so defeated, so hopeless tipped me over the edge. I couldn't just leave him like this. Turning around, I crossed the distance between us in three strides and took his face between my hands. It was the first real physical contact we had had since he'd left, and it made me realize exactly how much I had missed it. Struck by sudden inspiration, I reached up and gently pressed my lips to his.

The kiss was short. Simple. Not like many of the passionate embraces we were known for exchanging. After a moment, I pulled away, looking him firmly in the eye.

"You can do this, Derek. You can. And when you come out, I'll be right here waiting for you, okay?"

He nodded numbly, looking a little more reassured. "I love you," he mumbled.

"I know you do," I said softly. "Which is why you can do this."

This time, when I walked away, he didn't say anything, and I didn't look back. Whatever happened from here on in was out or our control.

I hoped Derek understood that.

"See that?" Derek's voice is full of wonder. "There." He points to a spot on the scan. "Tumour-free. Because of you." Derek is looking at me now, and I know that it's coming. All those things that he's been unable to say since Jen died, all the apologies for everything that went wrong, it's all coming out now.

"You talked me into that OR. If there's a crisis, you don't freeze. You move forward. You get the rest of us to move forward because you've seen worse. You've survived worse, and you know we'll survive too." He pauses, as if something has just occurred to him, and a small smile crosses his face. "You say you're all dark and twisty. It's not a flaw, it's a strength. It makes you who you are."

I swallow, trying to squash the lump forming in the back of my throat. The only reason I get people to move forward is because I'm too terrified to stop myself. The harder I push, the more time I spend taking care of things when everyone else is frozen, the less time there is for me to stop and deal with my own feelings. It's cowardly, but I'd rather help everyone get over their own pain than deal with my own. I don't mention this to Derek, however. I have a feeling he already knows.

"I'm not going to get down on one knee. I'm not going to ask a question. I love you, Meredith Grey, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

I take a deep breath, unable to contain the giddy, childlike smile that spreads across my face. This is it. The moment I've been waiting for. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you." My voice comes out hardly louder than a whisper.

Derek grins, and I can tell he's just as excited as I am. He's been waiting for this too, even longer than I have.

This is it, the little voice at the back of my mind whispers as Derek leans forward to kiss me. You're committed now. No more running.

Unlike in previous years, this thought doesn't scare me at all. I'm tired of running. There's nowhere else I would rather be right now than in this elevator, kissing the man of my dreams, a man I've just promised to spend the rest of my life with.

Forever.