(Much love and appreciation for the comments. I'm trying something a little different here – three things going on at the same time. I hope that comes across clearly. And as usual, I'm only borrowing Shonda's characters for my own therapy. And if anyone missed 4.12. Watch it! S1 Mer is back. Go Mer!)
"Give me a shot of tequila Joe." George called out angrily, slamming his backside on the bar stool with such force he almost flew off it. He clutched the bar edge as the stool rocked beneath him. His shirt and jeans looked thrown on, and his wild hair in need of a brush. Calm, cool and collected would not be the words to describe him tonight.
Joe reached for a shot glass and bottle, his furrowed brow indicating his confusion. "Are you channeling Meredith tonight George?"
"What?"
"Tequila isn't your normal poison."
"It is tonight." The conversation between Sheperd and his nurse bounced around in his brain. He needed to flush it out. Drown it out. "Leave me the bottle." George sat hunched over, clearly in misery, his eyes trained on the bar top. "Please."
Joe lifted the glass bottle, tilting it so the remaining inches of liquid sloshed around. "You sure?" At George's terse nod, he set it down. Joe reached under the counter for a fresh bottle. George looked so down in the mouth, he felt uncomfortable leaving him alone. "What's wrong George?"
"I can't say." He dearly wanted to stand on top of the bar, and yell for everyone to hear what a McAss McDreamy was, but he couldn't lift himself off the stool. "I can't."
"If you change your mind and need an ear, lemme know." With reluctance, Joe moved on to other customers.
George nodded. He needed to dump this dirt off on someone else and get it off his shoulders. Meredith really should know about McAss's latest stunt, but why him? Why did he always have to be the bearer of bad news? True, he could keep his mouth shut, but it wasn't fair to Meredith to be left in the dark about McAss and the goddamn plans.
"Who killed your puppy Bambi?" Cristina leaned against the bar as she waited for Joe. George's disheveled appearance tweaked her curiosity. This could be entertaining.
"McAss."
"What?"
"You heard me." George reached for his bottle. His movement caused Cristina's eyes to widen.
"Damn George. You and José?"
"How long has he been seeing the nurse?"
Cristina ordered a pitcher of beer. "About four weeks, and what did McAss do your puppy?"
"When I tell you what I'm about to tell you, it becomes your problem. It's no longer mine." George studied the golden liquid as it fell from the bottle into his shot glass. "Cause I can't do that to her again. She needs to know, but I can't do it."
"Speak George, before I kill you for irritating the hell out of me."
"He showed them to her."
"I'm counting to five, and then you're a goner." Cristina held up the pitcher and glasses, ready to use them as weapons. "And I won't bother making it look like an accident."
"McAss. He showed the house plans to his nurse." George muttered, throwing back another shot, ignoring Cristina's sharp gasp. "I heard them talking. Again." The throat burn wasn't as intense this time. Passing his burden off to Cristina didn't help as he hoped it would. The sound of their voices followed him. He had to make them go away, but the empty bottle mocked him. He yanked the pitcher out of Cristina's hand and brought it to his mouth, gulping thirstily.
It didn't take long for Cristina to rescue her pitcher, leaving George coughing and dripping beer from his nose. Setting the near-empty pitcher on the counter, Cristina ordered a fresh one and instructed Joe to put it on George's tab. "Where did you hear this, Bambi?"
Her tone reminded George of his kindergarten teacher. "5th floor nurses' station."
"You have nothing to worry about. Let nature take its course. It will spread through the hospital faster than your syph. It will get back to Mer." Cristina lifted the fresh pitcher. "And if you ever touch my beer again Bambi..." Her threat dangled in the air as she returned to a waiting Izzie at a nearby table.
(Meanwhile, back at the trailer...)
Her single knock on the door caused Derek to suck in a deep breath, exhaling as she entered his trailer. Rose's 'one knock before barging in' habit irritated him. And between the knock and door slam, her loud entrance almost split open his aching head. "Hey," Derek tossed over his shoulder as he stood in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. Now the shot of scotch he snuck in before leaving the hospital seemed counter productive. The welcome mind-numbing slight buzz had to disappear and fast.
With Derek's back to her, Rose slid her arms around his waist. And held on tight. Her 'Hi' was muffled against the white cotton of his shirt as she pressed a kiss to his back. She smiled as she viewed her bright pink lip print. She'd offer to get the lipstick out later.
Griping her wrists and gently removing her arms from his body, Derek feared his surgical rescheduling was causing the clinginess today. It was more than her usual routine. "Rose," Derek gestured toward the kitchen table. "Please sit down."
"Is anything wrong?" Blindly reaching an arm behind her, Rose stumbled her way into the chair. She didn't like the sound of this.
"Yeah." Derek moved to the other side of the table, which given the small area of the kitchen didn't put enough space between them. "I can't do this anymore."
"Do what?"
Derek rubbed his eyes. Like his head, they hurt. "Us."
"Why?" Rose questioned. "I thought we were fine. We are fine."
"I'm sorry, but we're not." Derek sighed. "You're a wonderful woman, an amazing nurse, but..."
"But I'm not Meredith Grey." Rose cut in.
"You're not Meredith." Derek agreed. He ripped off the band-aid. No anesthesia. "And I love Meredith."
"You can love me. Give me enough time and you will!" Rose wasn't afraid to beg. "Please tell me what I did wrong. I can change!"
"I'm sorry Rose. I never should have started this." He sadly shook his head in response to her offer. Derek knew he could try until they were 110 and his feelings wouldn't change. He loved Meredith. Looking back, he had known the moment she walked into Joe's wearing that black dress she was something. A big 'something.' And at light speed she grew into 'it' from there. The pain in his head quadrupled as his train of thought slammed into a brick wall. The wall that said 'I can't do this anymore' because he was ready and she wasn't. Because he was afraid she would never be ready. Because he pushed Meredith to be what he wanted on his terms, and when she pushed back with her terms – he walked away. Hell, he pushed her to the side as he walked. "You didn't do anything wrong. I did. I was wrong to do this." So damn wrong.
(Meanwhile, about 100 miles away on the Washington State Coastline...)
It was her third visit, and the loss of valuable surgical time was regrettable, but once Meredith made the decision, this commitment came first. It had to. Sitting back on the camel-colored sofa in the open and airy living room, Meredith sipped her glass of water. While the neutral color palette was soothing, the discovery of another Ellis 'surprise' still had her mind spinning. "Why do you think she never told me?"
"About what?"
"About you." Meredith addressed the woman seated next to her.
Dr. Danielle Nicholas shrugged her shoulders. Her mother's contemporary, Danielle was tall and sleek in an She-Sheperd kind of way but much more approachable. Chin-length dark brown hair streaked with gray, black jeans and a thin charcoal sweater completed the casually elegant picture of the psychiatrist and her living room.
"She wanted a clean break. When she left for Boston, with you in tow, I never heard from her again."
"But I'd have thought she'd mention you at some point."
"Not Ellis," Danielle disagreed. "Once she cuts you from your life, that's it. She was black and white. No gray area, nothing in between."
"You'll be happy to know some things never changed with her." Meredith's lips formed a smile was almost reminiscent. The smile's hint of sadness almost encouraged Danielle to hug the younger woman. Not a normal treatment in a psychiatric session.
"Nor with your dad, from what you've said."
"You mean Thatcher?"
"Yes."
"So you know, I don't use either the 'd' or 'f' words to describe him. He's Thatcher, and I've apparently inherited his best traits. Snoring like a trucker, and now most likely his addictive personality."
"He did pass along something good."
"I can't think of anything." Sometimes Meredith wondered if even his sperm donation had been something positive.
"Your personality is the polar opposite of your mother's. It had to come from somewhere." Needing to express some form of comfort, Danielle reached for Meredith's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It survived Ellis. Think about it."
"Well, I'm still finding it hard to believe that I have a godmother." The break in Meredith's voice tugged at Danielle's heart. The older woman enfolded Meredith in her arms, waiting for her stiff figure to relax in her embrace. Embarrassed, Meredith eased back, taking a swipe at her wet cheeks. "Sorry about that."
"You have nothing to be sorry for." Danielle smiled as she stood, picking up their empty glasses. "It's late, and I know you're tired. Why don't you go up and crawl into bed? We can continue our session in the morning over breakfast before you drive back to Seattle."
Meredith also stood up. The emotional toll of these sessions always left her drained. She was thankful for the bed Danielle provided. Staying overnight was much easier than driving the two hours back to Seattle in the same day. Danielle's home on Washington State's Pacific Coast was turning into more than just scheduled sessions with a psychiatrist. It was hope.
"Danielle?"
"Yes?"
"I wish I had known about you sooner."
Meredith was surprised to see the moisture filling the older woman's eyes. "I wish you had too."
Thank you for reading...