Disclaimer: Copyright infringement is not intended.
A/N: Finished my finals! Hopefully updates for this fic will become more regular over the summer, despite the fact that I'm going to have a job. As for how far along I am, I just finished writing Season 2 Episode 3 and I know where everything is heading so this fic will be going on for awhile, you all have that to look forward to. As always, if you enjoyed, please review.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," I tease as Derek walks up to me at a nurses' station.
He smiles at me, "Grilled cheese again?"
"Cold pizza."
He shakes his head, amused, "You need to start eating better breakfasts."
"Maybe I would," I jest, "If my husband would wake up and make them."
Derek flashes me a wink before getting down to business. He asks me how Jorge is and I'm proud to tell him the news. Not only is our patient awake, but after having the nail that damaged his optic nerve removed, he has regained his sight. Derek grins at me as we start talking to our patient and his wife. Today seems promising and hopefully it will be less exhausting than yesterday.
As Derek examines Jorge for any reactionary issues, he also questions him for memory loss and neurological deficits. Normal questions include aspects of daily routines and little things about the day before. Derek asks Jorge about breakfast that day of his injury and I smile a little when Derek flashes me a little smirk at Jorge's answer. We leave his room together and I mention to Derek that Jorge's spouse cooks for him every morning. Derek gives me a light shove as we laugh. We part ways as I head off to order Jorge's MRI and Derek starts checking on his other patients.
The next time we're together is an hour later, looking as the scans come up from Jorge's MRI. There isn't any residual bleeding but I had been right yesterday about my fear of Jorge having a tumor. Scans show a midline growth near the hypothalamus, it's in a difficult spot and surgery won't be able to remove the entire tumor. What's worse is, with surgery, there's a strong possibility that Jorge will lose his memories. His options are five to ten years with memory loss or three to five years with radiation treatment but his personality in tact.
Two hours later Derek is telling me that they want the surgery. Watching my mother slowly deteriorate, I'm shocked. Maybe my situation is less like Jorge and Sona's than I thought because if that was either Derek or myself in that bed, I doubt we would be getting the surgery.
"It's their decision," Derek tells me as he heads off to book the OR and plan the surgery.
I stay, starring through the glass of the ICU rooms at Jorge and Sona. She takes his hand in hers and clutches to him as if he's going to disappear. Looking at them, all I can think is that they're making the wrong decision. There's nothing worse than looking at someone you love and having them not recognize you. I try to move on with my day and get work done until the surgery, but for some reason I keep finding myself outside Jorge's room. It's as if a magnetic force is pulling me there and I can't escape. Everywhere I go, the one thing in my mind is that the surgery is a mistake. I watch as Sona presses a kiss to Jorge's hand before moving. Sona seems to be in a daze as she gets up from her seat. She looks up and down the ICU, not sure where she should turn.
"Sona," My voice is hoarse when I speak and the words come out without my permission, I hadn't planned on speaking.
My entire life I have been a rambler. Ever since I was little once I started speaking all the words would pour out. Either I don't say enough or too much is spilling from my mouth. As soon as I start speaking to Sona, I know it's the latter. Every thought in my head about the mistake she's making is confessed as I say, "You need to consider what you'll lose. What good is five years if he doesn't joke about your omelets and he can't remember seeing you in that red dress," I barely hear Sona's response as I continue, "You don't understand. He'll be there, but he won't be Jorge. He won't even recognize you. You have no idea what this will do to you. Isn't five good years better than ten bad ones?" Tears threaten to spill from my eyes and a voice in my head is screaming for me not to be saying this but there's nothing I can do. I'm a rambler and once the words start coming I just can't stop them.
Out of nowhere, Derek comes bounding around the corner asking, "Meredith, what the hell are you doing?"
"She needs to understand," I answer.
Derek apologizes to Sona on my behalf, explaining that I'm just an intern. Taking a few steps, Derek directs her toward the nurses' station and away from me. The two of them talk in hushed tones and I'm not sure what they're saying but I stand rooted in my place, watching their lips move. After what seems like an eternity, Sona is walking away from Derek. She stops for a moment as she passes me and I can see the hurt in her eyes. While I don't understand her decision to have the surgery, that type of pain I fully understand.
Derek tells Sona that the surgery will be at three that day, before leading me away. He pulls me into a nearby storage closet and doesn't even ask what is wrong. He's my husband, he knows me better than anybody on this planet. He knows that I've been seeing us in the Cruz family. He knows that I'm thinking about my mother and her blank stares and empty mind. With the door closed behind us, Derek takes the opportunity to give me a hug. Pressing up on my toes, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his shoulder. He understands me and I don't know what I would do without that. Derek rubs slow, comforting circles against my back. Slowly I let out a deep breath and relax against him, all the tension leaving my body.
Once I step back, Derek puts his hands on my upper arms and I look up into his eyes. Understanding seems to seep from his face and I find myself, again, counting my blessings for having him. He smiles a little and says, "We have some time right now. We're going out."
"What?" I ask, confused.
"Neither of us has surgery until three," He explains, "You had cold pizza for breakfast, which we're going to talk about because that was supposed to be dinner and that's the second day in a row you've done that, so we're going out."
I repeat my question, "What?"
He smiles and replies, "Go to the locker room. Change out of your scrubs. We're going on a date. I'm buying you breakfast." Before I can question him again, he opens the door to the storage room and gives me a little shove out the door. He tells me that he'll see me at the cafe a few blocks away in ten minutes. Amused, I shake my head as I walk away from him.
When I reach the cafe, it's the cute one with the plastic dinosaurs on the fountain, I find Derek already sitting at a table outside, menu out in front of him. I slide into the seat across from him. Before we can start having breakfast, I have to know if he understands what I did today. If I don't make him understand there's the possibility that an argument could simmer for awhile before it turns into a massive fight. I know Derek, if we don't talk about it know he'll hold onto it and become angry. It's something I do as well. In the years we've known each other we've both learned that issues need to be addressed right away or else they'll grow exponentially and turn into full out wars between the two of us. I'm about to start explaining why I had to talk to Sona, why I had to confront her, when Derek reaches across the table and grabs my hand. He smiles at me.
"I know why you did it," He says, predicting exactly what I was going to talk about, "I understand. As your attending I'm not too pleased but as your husband, I fully understand. You don't need to apologize."
My mouth hangs open for a moment, the words that were already on my lips no useless. Then a small smile grows and I say the only thing that seems appropriate, the only thing that I want to say, "I love you."
I wish there were a rulebook for intimacy. Some kind of a guide that could tell you when you've crossed the line. It would be nice if you could see it coming. And I don't know how you fit it on a map. You take it where you can get it and keep it as long as you can. And as for rules, maybe there are none. Maybe the rules of intimacy are something you have to define for yourself.