Sorry for my delay! I've been traveling for work and moving into a new apartment, so my time hasn't been for me.

I'm distraught after the finale and need to take a moment to not think about the show. Hopefully, this will help distract you as well.

I sit and wait on the couch while Meredith showers. Clearly I wasn't thinking when I offered her a place to stay. I couldn't have been thinking. She's a runaway. She's underage, probably. And I know nothing about her. But after days of searching for her, it seemed like the only option. I had to do something.

But knowing she's showering in my bathroom seems so permanent.

I fidget in my seat. There's nothing else to do. The dishes are cleaned up from dinner, Carla came to clean earlier, and my computer battery is dead and Mark has the cord. I sit and lean my ear towards the bathroom, waiting to hear the water turn off, but it continues to run. I stand up and wipe my palms on my jeans. This is the biggest mistake ever. Meredith could be anyone. She could be a murderer; she could be an escaped convict. Her name might not even be Meredith.

She's going to steal everything I own.

I should call my dad. He'd know what to do.

Pacing the room seems to be helping. I can think and clear my head. Nothing is permanent and maybe after a few nights with food and shower access, she'll continue on her merry way with nothing more than a goodbye wave. After all, she can't really think I'd be able to put her up indefinitively. Pacing gradually becomes headache inducing, so I sit back down on the couch and stare at the wall. My thoughts are moving too rapidly for me to keep up, so I gradually close my eyes and wait for my mind to clear.

Eventually, the shower stops and I hear nothing.

My phone notifies me I have a new text message. I slide to unlock and read: Garage in 10?

Garage is a jazz bar Mark likes to troll for older, divorced women.

Can't. Busy. I'll explain later.

The bathroom door opens minutes later and Meredith pads into the room wearing an oversized tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants—both donated by me. She looks warm.

"Sorry I took so long," she sighs and folds herself into the arm chair across from me. She blushes and looks away, embarrassed.

"It's okay," I shrug nonchalantly.

I look at Meredith and she looks at me. The room is quiet, but outside is alive with life. As the weekend comes to a close, everyone gathers for one last drink before the work week begins. Friends meet at their favorite pub and gossip about the weekend breakups and makeups. Couples rekindle their romance over martinis and soft jazz. First daters learn about past loves, past losses, and everything in between. And I sit in the room with a perfect stranger, staring and wondering how I'm going to force her out of my life.

With the dirt and grime cleaned from her skin, I'm aware of how fragile she looks. Her bones stick out from her skin, stretching it nearly translucent. She has little cuts on her upper arms and one large cut across her neck, but none look particularly painful. Meredith's blue veins stand out under the neon lights from the bar across the street and the dark bags under her eyes pulse purple. I've never seen anyone look so rundown, yet strangely, she's still attractive. Her features are light and delicate and her hair is the color of straw, but looks much smoother. And again, her eyes are an indescribable grey-green.

But beneath her outer appearance, there is so much more going on. She's run, but was it really worth it? Could her life on the streets—being nearly raped in a dark alleyway—really be worth all the hassle? Surely whoever or whatever caused her to flee to New York City must be substantially worse than the life she's living now. I can tell, just by looking at her arms wrapped around her legs and her ridged demeanor that she's not going to tell me.

I don't know what to say or do.

My phone rings again. No. Come now. 35 yr old. No kids. Come now.

I ignore his message.

"I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from something important."

I shake my head and turn my phone to silent. "It's nothing. So…" I turn to look at her. She wrings her hands against her bent knees, but says nothing. Awkward… I look around the room for some sort of distraction, but the room is just as stark as any other day.

Meredith's searching the room as well and when our eyes meet, we both timidly smile.

"This is weird," she says.

I feel relived. "Yeah."

"I can go," she suggests.

Now is my moment to let her go. I can hand her a regretful speech, about how I wish I could help her, but it all seems to be too much for me. I can apologize profusely and offer to help her to get back to where she came from. I can offer money and a map to the best shelters. She'll allow it, of course, because she has to think this is crazy. She wouldn't suggest leaving if she didn't think this was absolutely crazy.

But there's something in the way she focuses on me; something about the way her eyes narrow, but hold onto their vulnerability, that make me want to keep her safe and sound.

I have my moment, but it passes.

"Stay."

Meredith's eyes narrow slightly, gauging me, and then she relaxes. "Okay."

I tentatively smile at her. "Maybe if we got to know each other, this wouldn't be so weird."

She visibly tenses, but masks her emotions on her face. Her lips are a thin line, but the rest of her face is relaxed. "You first," she suggests, and I know she won't be sharing much.

"Okay, I'm Derek Shepherd. I'm twenty-one and a student at Columbia. I'm pre-med and will graduate next year. I've lived here since the fall. I'm originally from Yonkers, but moved to Connecticut a few years back. My parents still live there." I try to drum up something more interesting about me. "I have four sisters; three older, one younger. So far we're all going to be doctors—except my sister Sophia. It's up to Amelia if she follows in our footsteps." Meredith listens attentively and nods every few words. "I guess that's it."

"Why did you choose to become a doctor?"

As often as I'm asked my name, I'm asked about my future profession—and both are much more frequent than I'd like. Almost everyone wants to know why the Shepherd children have chosen such a difficult profession, especially coming from two uneducated parents. Of course Meredith doesn't know any of this, and for once it feels like someone is asking not to judge based on my sisters' careers, but to see where my passion really comes from.

"I want to help people," I say with a shrug.

"Why not become a fireman or a police officer then?"

"My hair turns to shit in the heat and I'm a lover, not a fighter," I grin.

Meredith smiles, but her grin slips away. She eyes me carefully, seriously. "You fought the other night, for me. I know I've already thanked you, but I can't say it enough. What you did… well, it's not the norm. Not everyone is so nice to a seventeen-year-old runaway."

"Seventeen," I repeat.

The blood drains from her face, "Shit," she mutters.

"So you're an underage runaway."

"I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's fine. I want to know about you. Where are you from?"

Meredith sighs and drops her legs to the floor, leaning forward until her elbows rest on her knees. "Look, Derek, you've been so nice. I mean, no one would do for me what you've done. The food, the place to stay, the shower… you have no idea how nice it was to shower," she says with a slight smile, but it quickly slips away. "You've been great and I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I can't tell you things. I have to protect myself and if you know my full name, my hometown, my age… you could turn me in and I can't risk that."

"But I wouldn't—"

"And I can't trust that either. I can't trust anyone but myself."

She's so willing to take help, but won't give anything in return. "Then why are you here? If you can't trust anyone, why do you trust me?"

She leans back in the chair and pulls her legs back up against her chest. "I can't trust you, not really, but I'm trying. I'm desperate," she colors. "And if you want to know things about me, and it's a deal breaker not to, then I'll leave."

Again, I have an out. I should take the out. For all I know, Meredith is running from the mafia after stealing pounds and pounds of drugs. She could be an addict or a con artist. She could be waiting for me to sleep before taking everything I own.

Or, she could just be a scared teenager who hasn't received a single leg-up.

"I understand protecting your anonymity and I respect that. But you have to understand that I am putting my trust in you. You're in my house and I don't know you."

"I won't steal from you," she bites back.

"Good. The point is we should just trust each other. Okay?"

For a long moment it seems Meredith mulls it over, before finally nodding. "Alright."

"I just want to know one thing." Her eyes widen. "Is anyone chasing you? Have you pissed someone off and they're tracking you?"

Meredith relaxes. "No. No one's following me."

"Okay."

"Okay," Meredith adds.

"So what happened the last three days?"

Meredith turns away.

I force my frustration away, even though I feel it boiling under my skin. I see where this is going. She's never going to tell me anything. How long can this last?

And how long does she expect to stay?

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Stop apologizing." I say with a hint of annoyance in my voice. "I get easily frustrated. I'm working on it," an apology, or at least the start of an apology. "You have to understand how hard it's going to be to have you here if you won't tell me anything."

She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. "You said you understand."

"I understand you not wanting to talk about your past, but the last three days has nothing to do with where you came from or your full name. I'm trying here, but it's going to be hard if you keep everything from me."

"I don't know you," she quips.

She's infuriating. "Maybe not, but this is what you have." I motion to the apartment around me. "If I'm going to put you up for the foreseeable future, I think I'm allowed a few details."

Meredith stands abruptly. "I'm sorry I've been such a bother to you."

"You haven't been a bother, Meredith. I just want to make sure nothing happened to you in the last three days."

"And what if something had? Do you think I'd really want to talk about it? I don't know you."

"What happened?" I ask, feeling panic replace the anger.

She turns and grabs her bag from the floor. "It's none of your business."

I jump up from my seat and grab her arm. She twists away from me harshly, shooting me a look of disgust and horror. Her mouth tenses and she pulls her arm to her chest. "I'm sorry," I sputter and hold my hands up in surrender. "Talk to me."

Meredith continues to hold her arm, but her face relaxes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you want me to do? You've come here, telling me nothing, thanking me for helping you, but I'm at a loss. I don't know how to help you."

"The food and the shower, that's good."

"So what, I just let you come and go as you please? I feed you. I give you a place to stay? And then what?"

Meredith releases her arm. "I don't know."

"This is crazy," I say more to myself than to her, and I turn and begin to pace the length of space from the coffee table to the bookshelf.

"It is," she agrees.

"We don't know each other. You're a minor, which looks really bad on me. And I'm pretty sure it's illegal to have a known runaway in your house without reporting you to the police. And I have a life and friends. How am I supposed to explain this to them?" I pause and look at Meredith. She's so rundown and for some crazy reason, I feel like I have to help her. "But despite all of it, I have to help you. I don't care if it's for three days or three months. I just…" I'm embarrassing myself. "I just have to." I stop pacing.

Meredith sighs and looks away from me. "If it's too much to have me here—" she begins to reiterate.

"It's not," I cut her off. "We'll just have to figure out a schedule I guess. I have a spare key, and we can move from there."

"I won't stay forever," she promises.

She seems so young. "Stay as long as you need."

"I'm tired," she sighs and I notice her eyelids have grown heavy.

"Come on, I'll show you your room."

I remember fighting my parents about the two bedroom apartment when they brought me here. I said I've never need a second bedroom if I was going to live alone, but they liked the idea of staying with my in the city. I've been here for almost a year, and no one's ever stayed in this room. I flick on the lights and step aside for Meredith. She walks in slowly, tentatively, but her eyes scan the room with wonder. It must have been forever since she's slept comfortably.

"The sheets are new," I mention. "And you can close the window if you get cold or if it's too loud."

"I'll be fine," she assures me. She smiles once. "Thank you, Derek."

"I'll be up for a while if you need anything."

Meredith nods and heads toward the bed. She pulls back the comforter and the sheet and gracefully slides in. She eyes me curiously as I stand by the door, watching her. "I'll turn off the light," I say just as she lays her head down. "Goodnight, Meredith."

"Goodnight, Derek," she whispers just as I turn off the light.

I sit for a long, long while in the living room staring at absolutely nothing. I've made plenty of mistakes in my life, especially during my high school years. I've been arrested for setting an old rickety barn on fire with my friends; I've been reprimanded for stealing our rival high school's mascot costume; and I've even been accused of slashing tires—which never happened. I've made mistakes with girls and women, promising to call and never following up, and having sex for the first time in a public restroom and never calling again. But I've never met a mistake head-on and decided to proceed anyway.

Having Meredith under my roof is a mistake. It's clearly the biggest mistake I could ever make, but for some unknown, ridiculous, and absurd reason, I'm not pushing her out the door. I'm embracing the mistaken before it unfolds and greeting it happily. I have no idea why I know it's a mistake—there's no real indication—but it just seems appropriate. Nothing good can come of harboring a seventeen-year-old runaway in your apartment.

The apartment is quiet, but there's an eerie feeling lingering in the air. It's the feeling that I know someone foreign is in my house, so I can't move or breathe like a normally do, but I don't move to leave. So I sit with the feeling, stare at the wall ahead, and wonder how deep I'll be in when all of this explodes in my face.

My phone indicates a new text message and I'm pulled from my ravine.

I haven't heard from you. Want to get together tonight?

Megan, from the other night, texts me. I've completely forgotten about her.

With Meredith the Runaway safe in the next room, so many aspects of my life seem more ridiculous than ever. Firstly, I was so concerned Meredith might steal from me—okay, not too concerned, but it had crossed my mind—but almost every night, I have a new girl spending her time between my sheets, and I never once consider them thieves. The second thought I have considers the words of my father: Are beer and bars really worth more than your future career? Am I really willing to throw my career away from my social life? I'm not, at the moment, hurting myself detrimentally, but will there come a time that I can't mix what I want to do with what I have to do?

It seems like everything I thought I knew is one it's head. Of course I knew my lifestyle wasn't at all well-managed, but I'm twenty-one and it is the summer. But I can't write off my responsibilities. I can't miss another shift at NYSTEM again. Maybe this is my chance to prove to myself that I don't need this lifestyle, especially since I'm not sure I particularly like it.

Just as the errant thought crosses my mind, Mark's name pops up on my phone.

"I'm downstairs. Let me in," he demands, sounding royally pissed off.

My stomach drops and I glance toward Meredith's door. Meredith's door, I think again. Too much.

"I'll be right down."

I pocket my keys and phone and slip out of my apartment. I can only hope Meredith doesn't wake up during my absence.

Mark waits by the front door, his hands buried in his pockets. He eyes me curiously. I never meet him downstairs. I can't really hide much from him.

"What's up?" I try to act unfazed by the teenager currently sleeping in my apartment.

"I should ask you the same thing. What's going on?" he nods to my apartment building. "Can I come up for a beer?"

I've never kept secrets from Mark, mostly because there's never been anything to keep from him, but also because he's pretty good at detecting when someone's lying to his face. I'm also a horrible liar—unless talking to my parents. I decide to come clean. "The runaway's in my apartment."

Mark's eyes grow wide as he skims my building and settles on the front window, which, oddly enough, happens to feature Meredith's room. Meredith's room, there it is again. "How?"

I explain Meredith showing up at my door and agreeing to help her. I leave out my thoughts, of course, because I'm not sure if I'm ready to admit that I think this might be the biggest mistake I've ever made. Then again, as I keep hoping, maybe it will help me in some strange way.

"That's really fucking stupid."

I fail to mention she's seventeen.

"Maybe, but what was I supposed to do?"

"Call the cops. That's what I'd do."

I shake my head. "I can't do that."

"This is fucked up man."

I run a hand through my hair and consider how crazy the situation is. I know I shouldn't be doing this, just like I know I shouldn't have skipped work on Friday, but whether I shouldn't do it or I should, doesn't really matter. I am doing this. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm not going to leave her alone."

"Call. The. Cops." Mark reiterates.

"It feels wrong."

Mark sighs, "This is going to get fucked up really fast, Derek. So what, you're now responsible for some random girl's welfare? What happens if she gets sick? What happens if she's being followed by someone and they find her here?"

"She said no one's following her."

"Yeah, and she could tell you she's dancer in the ballet and you'd believe her. You don't know this girl and allowing her in your apartment—especially when you're not there all the time—is absolutely insane. You have to see that."

"I do see it, but I want to help."

Mark steps down my stoop, his hands raised in defeat. "Do what you want. Keep the girl forever. Feed her, clothe her, fall in love with her or whatever, but I'm out of this."

"Mark," I sigh.

"Sorry man, but I'm not getting wrapped up in this crazy scheme. I don't trust that girl and if you do, you're absolutely fucking insane."

"So what? We're not hanging out anymore?"

"As long as you're involved in this, no, we're not hanging out. I'm not going down for your mistakes."

"Awesome Mark, thanks for the fucking support," I spit through my teeth. "Have a fucking blast getting drunk every single night and fucking a new girl. I hope you really fucking enjoy your boring as shit life."

Mark takes it in stride. He smirks, which makes me increasingly anger. "I will enjoy my carefree life. You enjoy babysitting and turning into a fucking dick. Call me if your little runaway decides to leave town."

With a tip of his head, Mark turns and walks down the street. Yes, maybe taking in Meredith will change my life—or maybe she'll ruin it.