AN: There is the potential for two more fics in this series. Both will be prequels. Let me know if you're interested in reading more! I have no idea when they'll be ready, though.
Derek sat in his wheelchair in front of the bathroom mirror, tying the knot in his tie. He was deliberately ignoring the presence hovering over his shoulder, watching his every move, much as she'd done for the past week, in spite of his continued denial of her existence.
"You look good," she said softly, sensing his anger and hoping a small joke would diffuse it. "Very dashing."
"Don't," he said through gritted teeth, still deliberately refusing to meet her eyes.
She held up her hands in surrender and stood back as he wheeled angrily out of the bathroom.
He wasn't finished, though. "Do you realize this is the second time I've had to bury you!?"
"Neither one was my choice," Emily said, quiet, small.
That was very clearly the wrong thing to say. "You don't think thirty years of poisoning yourself had a little something to do with it!?" he growled.
"Derek..." She wanted to apologize, to say something, anything, to make this better for him. She wasn't sure those words existed.
"No! It's my turn to speak – you had your chance. You knew what you were doing. You knew you were killing yourself. How dare you bring me back to life for this!" He gestured widely around him – at her, at him, at his wheelchair...the entirety of what he'd woken into. "I was with our daughter, I was happy. For the first time since you left, I was happy! My dad came to take me to the other side and I said no because of you. You told me you loved me, you wanted me to wake up so we could work on things, and when I woke up, you were gone!"
"It wasn't your time," she insisted.
"My time? My time!?" he repeated incredulously. "Who are you to judge whether it was my time or not?"
"You came back..."
"I came back because of you. Because I thought you were there waiting for me!" he shouted.
"And here I am," she said, shrugging helplessly.
"This," he said, indicating between the two of them, "Isn't real."
"It's real if you keep talking to me..."
"You're dead, Emily! Don't you get that? And I can't keep talking to a dead woman. They already have me under psych eval."
"So, what? You're just going to ignore me and hope I go away?"
"This is your own fault," he pointed out, not kindly. "You did this to yourself and if you can't move on, that's your problem, not mine!"
"You have to help me!" he pleaded.
"I can't do this," he said, shaking his head. He just sounded tired now. "I can't. I have to go." He wheeled out of the room, leaving her standing there, speechless.
"Derek!" she called after him. "Derek, please! I need you – I need your help! I can't leave! I want to see our daughter..." she said sadly.
But he was already gone.