She wasn't used to his being the only male footsteps thumping through the house, but they had to be. Everyone else was on-call, or Alex, who only left Izzie to gradually move their stuff into Derek's trailer. In her head it'd always be Derek's trailer. The house would be theirs.

The footsteps were his. She downed the shot she'd poured, ruefully thinking of all the pyramids she'd built in the past when she was miserable, and now her mostly happy self was treating tequila like her mistress. The mistress that didn't make her face reality.

She really did understand why he hadn't told her he had a wife.

Tequila was a mistress she might not even have to hide. He could be oblivious there. God. She didn't want to think that shit. It was old self-destructive Meredith shit.

"Mer?"

"Mmhmm? You done with Kathleen?"

He appeared at the foot of the stairs. He'd changed out of his shirtsleeves into pajamas, and his hair was tousled . "A while ago. Coming to bed any time soon?"

"If talking to your sister got you turned on, that's on you." The words weren't out before she regretted them, which was how every thought in her head felt; like the tequila had stolen the scripts for her surface emotions, and left only nasty, bitter thoughts floating through her; the ones she fought to keep in around her perfect husband.

Perfect, stubborn, stupid husband, he wasn't cowed. He came into the living room and hovered by the stereo, giving her space. Not his fault she still felt suffocated.

"I meant that it's late," he said, matter-of-factly, flipping on a lamp. "And you're not sleeping well."

"Because we're con—"

"When it's time to sleep, you're not sleeping. And whatever's wrong, I think you want me to say you've been just as into the sex as I have, if not more, and that'll spark an argument that'd probably end in more sex, and none of it would get to what you're really upset about, so can we skip it?"

"Sure. You can go to bed."

"Not without you."

"I'm an insomniac. Or, I was for most'a my life. I can cope."

"By drinking alone in the dark?"

Not so oblivious. Good, she could drop the ruse. She took the bottle from the side table, not bothering with the shot glass. Once she'd measured a jigger in her head, plus a sip or two, she lowered the bottle and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, that's not gonna distract me either. I'm not judging you. IYou're usually a social drinker, but your friends' situations are the issue, I get that. Where I get lost at is why you're down here by yourself while I'm upstairs."

Meredith's heart felt like he'd squeezed it, and it was both pounding to get out, and enjoying the pressure. Like being confined by more than just her fragile rib-cage was exactly what it needed. It wanted her to explain, was so sure he'd understand that it sent the words up the chain, but her brain was enough in control that her larynx closed on the sounds. That felt a little too close to the laryngospasm which happened in the second before she lost consciousness in the water, and she looked up at him without wanting to, irrationally afraid of old words when the new ones could do so much more damage.

"Mer? What's going on?" He came closer, and she held a hand out. "Okay. I'll stay right here. Can I get you something? Water or...or anything?"

She shook her head. "S'not that," she croaked. "I just… Derek, can you just go, please? I'm fine. You can take the bottle, and I'll be up in a while I just…."

"I'll go," he said, and she exhaled. "If you tell me what's wrong."

Dammit.

"This isn't some subjective standard of wanting you to come to me, but I love you, and I don't want you to be upset alone, and your friends are—"

"Stop! Stop saying the nice stuff. Just go away, Derek, please, go away, because I don't wanna—Don't be all gentle and understanding, not when you're gonna be mad, or hurt, and I'll feel all guilty, even though I tried to keep from saying it all."

"What all?"

"All the fucking crap that's running through my head! Stuff I know is bullshit, is me trying to put reason on something irrational. Stuff George would hate, and I try not to think, but my brain is such a messed up place that even when I'm happy, so much happier than I've ever been, I turn a corner, and I'm just mean. I dunno if it's me, or absorbing all of Mom's vitriol, or what, but it's not what I want to say to you, and I thought maybe I could shut it up, but no, it gets louder, and we know I have no filter when i'm drunk, so I stayed down here because I don't wanna say the mean thing that doesn't matter."

Derek leaned against the bookcase, his arms behind him. not crossed and defensive. "Usually the stuff you can't stop thinking does matter."

"Like that I was a whore?" Meredith smacked her hand over her mouth and pressed her forehead against her pulled-up knees. "See? Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up—"

"Why not?"

"What?"

Derek pushed off the shelf and approached the sofa, slowly but not patronizingly slow. "We've both said stuff to try to make each other run. We're not running any more, right?" He sagged onto the cushion, and ran a hand over his face. "And I'm not going anywhere now. I promise. Post-it promise."

Shouldn't that have sounded childish? Had she just not gotten enough pinkie promises? All it did was make her turn to him, still balled up, like protecting her physical heart would protect her metaphorical one.

"Just… Look I get that I had to learn communicating was more than the top layer girlfriend GPS shit, but you'd…The Clash, and-and coffee ice cream was… I trusted you enough to tell you about Mom, and…It can't ever be like that again, okay? I can't be the only one opening up again. I can't take it on faith this time."

His eyes were wide, like he'd been caught out in something. Ready to make her the awful one he'd agreed to civilize? She was though. Mama's boy McDreamy…he could be nasty, actually. She'd seen that in the time between, like he'd seen her damage. They'd both returned.

The calm reassurance was back; maybe she'd projected the guilt. Wouldn't be the first time. "That's fair. It's more than fair. When Mom came…and Sam and Naomi…. I'd been assuming you knew more about my old life you did."

"I didn't ask Addison a twentieth of the questions I wanted to, s'true. You've told me more since."

"A lot of what I said about sharing was projecting."

Her eyes widened that time. He'd said said n Something They did think the same way, sometimes. Maybe he'd… no, that wasgg b bggthe gthe bbe bb n't the same as understanding her horribleness.

"I saw it as you making a choice not to talk to me, I didn't realize I wasn't reciprocating. I'd never had to tell anyone about my family. They were just there. And that was a new thing for you."

"Yup. But you didn't…I mean, before, with my family you sure assumed I was telling.…" She stopped and pressed her forehead to her knees again. Derek put his hand on her back.

"I assumed you were telling your friends and not me."

She nodded.

"I understand if you were. I didn't get it. Your family was disappointing you at every turn. My family drew together after Dad's death, and I thought after Ellis, without her shadow, yours would at least be there for you…."

"I represent Ellis to him. Susan tried, but… he let me go, Derek. You didn't get it. It felt like you were on his side, and…."

"I'm sorry. I'm on your side. Always," he said, sliding his hand up her spine and off the nape of her neck. She didn't consider how much she needed the relief of cool air hitting that bare skin until it did. "Your friends are your family." His thumb was pressed against the top of her spine, he must've felt the moment she froze before she did. "Tell me."

She sat up and picked up the bottle. The light of the lamp was melting, and her fingers fumbled the cap. She poured the shot carefully, and handed it to him. Usually, she watched him do tequila shots, because his usual perfection slipped, and the Derek she loved best appeared. This time, she was busy carefully measuring her own swallow; aware that she was wobbling on a precipice, and it wasn't a good time to fall.

"George is dead," she said, her voice like sandpaper, like the alcohol had dried her out completely, making her hollow, a husk with nothing but spite inside. Just like her mother. "That was… I mean, he chose to save that woman, but you don't chose in those moments. You have to be there… to be willing… to think it's better for you to be hurt than…than the whole hospital. And this was…it was one stranger…a-and overall it was a freak accident, fine. But he joined the army. He wanted to be in that position every day. George wasn't…. There's good at trauma, and there's…every day! None of us knew. He felt so expendable… so useless here that… He came to none of us. We made him… we made him think… think that he couldn't…."

"Mer—"

"Please don't. I know it's frustrating for you when I can't get to the point, and you try not to let it show, but if you interrupt, it's not…it's not helpful." It shouldn't be that hard to say something that simple, should it? But she could hear her mother telling her to spit it out; telling her to advocate for herself, and saying be concise, no one's going to listen to you stammer your way to what you need to say.

The contradictions had backfired, and Meredith had gotten past it on her own; going from the girl who never talked to the one who delivered only pithy single blows to anyone but her friends, who insisted she never shut up.

"I kept telling Sadie I couldn't be her friend, but I was mostly trying to let myself of the hook, because if I could make it work with her, I'd really screwed up with George. He failed his exam because of me, and I asked Richard if he could have another chance, but he'd written more than his name, and there was some rule. Then he was my intern, and I… He didn't want the others to know, but I coulda…he was obviously going through stuff, and… Burke left. He was Burke's guy, and the Chief's guy, and his dad died. Of course he gravitated to Hunt, and maybe it woulda been good, but he didn't—he thought he was alone, Derek. I let him feel that way. After last year, when I needed everyone to prove I wasn't… that I mattered…

"And Izzie had a fucking brain tumor. I'm good at diagnosing tumors, and she was hallucinating, and I just…."

She knew it wasn't fair. She'd been around. If Sadie or Lexie had been having ghost sex that sounded like one of them was the queen of getting herself off, Izzie would've been the one laughing beside her. Still, she couldn't shake the thought that even last year, with the sick mom, and the shambles of a love life, she would've asked questions. Or maybe she was always the mean girl in the hallway, and she didn't want to be, and she hated coming to the conclusion too late.

"She's a private person for all her perkiness, and I told myself I couldn't judge weird sex stuff, and the George thing had been a rough patch, and she had Alex. That's all true but...but, I should've…having Alex doesn't mean… she needed more support to know she could come to and I was so focused on… I thought I couldn't… that it had to be…."

He knew all that; she couldn't get to the center of the spiral, not with him sitting there watching her so placidly.

Screw the precipice. She stood up and grabbed the tequila bottle, letting the cap topple onto the coffee table. The burn set alight the sparks of fury she'd been fighting.

"You wanted me to stop shutting you out, and going to my friends, so I did. I retreated from them, and now George is dead, and Izzie has cancer, but you got away with running off to get drunk in the woods!" she spat. "There, are you happy? Isn't it great to know your wife is such a fucking hypocrite? I get it. I'm the one who got it wrong. I couldn't figure out the balance, and I can't just accept that I screwed up. So, I blame you, the best part of my life."

"You didn't." Derek slid over to the cushion she'd vacated. She crossed her arms, but didn't move. "They're your family. That doesn't mean you can always know when something is wrong. Look at my sisters; I kept plenty from them in New York, and they're total busybodies. But you're right that I didn't get it. I ignored how close your cohort became when you'd only known each other half a year. I'd only known you twelve hours longer. Partially, I was jealous. They saw more of you than I did… "

"I was all you had. When Mom… it felt like you were gonna be all I had, 'cause Cristina was getting married, but really…you were alone here. I didn't realize…being alone isn't my worst case scenario."

"That's not entirely true. You're just better at making the connections you need. I tried to put a whole life on your shoulders. I did that. Even my friendship with Burke was mostly contingent on you. Some of that was because we both were up for chief, but I could've…I didn't try."

"S'what you knew. Couple friends. With Addison."

"You're not Addison."

"No. She's not an emotionally-stunted nutjob who doesn't bring anything to the table but death and sex. I could let you say I was a lemon, because I knew it wasn't true. I'm not…you don't think that. You said a lotta stuff last year, and mostly I get it. I didn't know how to… I couldn't do the talking thing, 'cause I was scared of letting you know me, but some stuff, it was me, and I need to know if it was lemon stuff."

"I can do that. You want to grab that chair? You're kind of wobbly—"

"Just tell me."

"Okay. Uh. You drowned."

Duh. She almost said it, but she'd asked him not to talk. She could do that. The listening and not talking. She had to focus on hearing, not reacting.

"I…didn't know what to think. I knew what your mom said really hurt you, and that you weren't…you were trying to let everything from before go, but that really wasn't fair. I was ignoring what you'd been through because of me. I didn't want to face that."

He ran his hand through his hair. He'd known she couldn't just be the girl in the bar. He didn't figure it out during their breakup. It was good. Knowing that. He got her more than she'd thought.

"I think we were doing the same thing. I came here to be Chief. I wanted you to see you weren't…. We could both keep moving forward." You weren't a problem. Wasn't holding him back He didn't say it. She'd never said it aloud. He knew she'd thought it. "And Richard meant well, don't blame him, but he… he implied I couldn't be there for you the way you deserved if I got the job. I took that too far. You're not Adele. And your mother, she was right; you said it a minute ago, I was distracting you. You needed to focus on your exam, but I… Jesus, I can't believe I never told you how much I regretted.… You scared me that day, but you… I know you tried. You were always trying. I told myself I was saying…you know, I'd gotten you out, and you'd saved me, and we both needed to be our own people, because I knew you weren't…. You were holding your breath; you were so scared I'd reject you, too, but what I said…. Meredith, I did need to stop making you all I was breathing for, but saying I couldn't keep trying to breathe for you, then…it was cruel, and I'm sorry."

Water was rushing in her head, the way it did whenever she thought of that day; not drowning, but him saying he couldn't keep saving her, when he was the first person who'd ever tried. The first who let her break without being broken. She didn't think she'd been needy after the water, which meant he'd been talking about before. About dinner with her father, and her mom in the hospital. About everything she was finally willing to let him see. She'd tried to explain, after, that what had made him see how messy she was had cleansed her. But then Thatcher had appeared, and if Derek didn't want the girl who needed saving, shouldn't she have run from him until she could breathe again?

She'd chalked it up to him seeing how little she'd valued a life her mother derided, and post-Wyatt it didn't matter—except when it did. Except when she woke up feeling like she was underwater and was afraid he'd wake up. When she'd hardly cried over anything since, because what if he'd been thinking about the supply closet?

"Meredith?"

"Huh?" She blinked, but the room stayed blurry, and kinda off-kilter. Like it was underwater. Was there a drowned version of her house? If she'd left the otherworldly Seattle Grace, would she have ended up here? Was George here somewhere?

"I understand if you're upset—"

"I'm not. It's… s'good that it was that. I didn't… didn't think it…it's good."

"Good. Can you come sit now?"

Oh. The wonkiness wasn't the world, it was her. "Yeah," she said, but she felt as frozen as she'd been before she blacked out alone in the water.

She wasn't alone this time. Derek took the bottle dangling from her fingers, and then guided her around the coffee table, catching her hip as she pitched sideways.

"I've got you," he murmured, easing her onto his lap. "I'm sorry I made you doubt that."

"Didn't. Not exactly. Did hafta breathe. Have a life to live. No more drowning."

"I understand that, but, Mer… you didn't exactly drown. You were hypothermic."

"Mm. I stopped though." She felt his breath hitch. She started to pull away, but he moved his hand to her back.

"It's okay. Not my favorite topic, but, Mer… that's what you experienced, and I…I reinforced that, but …you might've only had another five minutes before neuromuscular cooling. Swim failure. You didn't know anyone saw except maybe a little girl who wasn't speaking; you couldn't be sure anyone would come."

"Don' underestimate li'l girls," she murmured into his chest.

"Never."

"You're right though. I could swim. Jumped off waterfalls."

"With no warning into Lake Washington, or when you were ready, into the Med in July?"

"Just colder."

"Tens of degrees colder."

"Details."

"Speaking of cold, you're getting goosebumps."

"Tequila's no good for you."

"Hm. You know, upstairs you can lie down under blankets."

"You make a good argument." She started to sit up, but then rested her forehead back against his collarbone. "Ugh, nope. You los' the debate to the spin team."

"Fair enough." He combed his fingers through her hair.

"S'not your fault George died."

"It's not yours either."

"He put his hand on a bomb. Don't think he woulda done that two years ago. Not like… don't think he got it from me, just… got there. He started as the good guy, and then I happened; he'd jumped into things with syph nurse, an' then Callie. And the sex with a friend 'cause he couldn't tell one love from another? How does that not come from me saying yes when I shoulda said no? Becoming a cheater is a big deal too. You wanted a reason to stop trying-shit." She screwed her eyes shut, and the vague dizziness she'd been ignoring swelled.

"Mer?"

"Sorry. Shouldn't have said that. S'mean. Mean, callous, bitter—"

"Hey, no. That's just true, and it's one of those things I should've…." He sighed. "Not saying things is how I got there in the first place. You can say things."

"Because of the Post-it?"

"Sure, but that's also part of how it works. I don't want you to think that's the only reason…. A lot of people shut you out after one wrong step, huh?"

"Not a lot.

"Important people?" He shifted a chunk of hair away from her face. "Your mother?"

"Easy guess."

"Sadie?"

"Yeah. Mom, it'd rarely last after a shift, but I never trusted… I was always scared she'd get tired of me. Dunno why, she kep' me, and Thatcher didn't, but I…did. Sadie… She ran hot'n' cold. It lasted. Sometimes she'd disappear, and I didn't…."

"You'd trace it to something you said?"

"Usually. I… I used to…as a kid I used to… to stop this from happening…the questioning and the doubling back, and the rambling… I didn't talk a lot. Planned what I said even more than…I do it now, but I care less. People can deal…it made it easier to know what I'd said wrong, but that's not… it makes it easier to obsess about what I'm gonna say."

"And it made that night worse, huh? When I said that about breathing for you?"

"I'd spent the day telling you everything, and I didn't know what to say back, but you'd expect… I left to figure it out. I didn't think about how it looked."

"I wish you'd…no. I wish I hadn't said it. I've been trying to give you space in ways you need, but I don't know that I really understood."

"I'm better now," she pointed out. "I'm not a...an uh...emotion'lly whatever—"

"You were never an emotionally-stunted nutjob."

"Sure wasn't stable."

"You weren't stable five minutes ago."

"Oh, screw you." She waited a second to consider whose point she'd be proving before sitting up again. She was definitely still light-headed, but the room wasn't tilting on its axis.

"Better?"

"Enough to go upstairs. Lexie's gonna be home soon. I'm…" She bit her lip, and he brushed a finger over her mouth. Calling her attention to it without shaming her. Was that how her mother should've been? If her crappy babies inherited the habit, she'd never ride them like her mother had her. Never.

"You're what, sweetheart?"

"Oh. Uh. Lexie. She was George's friend. He was the first one to be nice to her, and he took advantage of that, because I crossed his wires, so it's really not okay for me to feel like…our first year was so mount… monumental, it's just as valid…I retreated, and she was there, and then he did that, she's more justified in not seeing it than anyone, except maybe Callie, but…."

"It feels like Lexie's encroaching on what's yours."

"Stupid, right? Mean, and not even…she didn't do anything, not last year, not now, and I like her! I don't want to be the shutting-her-out sister anymore. And if I say any of that… she's a Bambi, I can't do Bambis — I mean…Oh, gross, I did do a Bambi. Asshole, don't laugh at me. There's no Post-it with her."

"Yeah, there is. She's your sister, and she has a little sister. If you're as honest as you just were, she'll get it."

"You think?"

"I do."

"Can we still… I don't want… I know I mean it, but Thatcher was so genuine. I know I'm not like him…. And she's seen me drunk, but not since he… the associations…she has an eidetic memory. Can I still avoid her tonight?"

"Sure, Mer. You're getting a hang on the sister thing, you know."

"I'm trying. She grows on you. Like a melanoma." She let him hoist her to her feet and navigate her past the maze of furniture.

"For curiosity's sake, how many bruises did you get right about here— " He tapped the crest of her hip. " —last year?"

"Um. Fewer than you'd think? It's kind of a straight shot from the door to the stairs, and once I had roommates…no living room sex. Mostly only bruised horsing around with Alex, sober. Mostly. He likes holding bottles over my head."

"I can see where that'd be fun. Dangerous at a certain point. Totally unrelated question, ginger ale or water?"

"You're hilarious."

"Close your eyes."

She rolled them at him first, but the darkness started constricting almost immediately. She grimaced.

"Ginger ale and water. Don't move."

"I hate you."

"I appreciate your honesty, sweetheart." He disappeared into the kitchen, and she was still staring at the same place when he reappeared, glass in hand a water bottle under his arm. "What?"

"It's only…you really do. You do, and you're not pissed about this whole thing. Last year…I was trying so hard not to be a mess, but there were a couple times…you were there, and I thought you'd see I wasn't worth it…I didn't want that, but I was kind of testing you before I told you anything about what happened, and…it's not like that."

"Nope."

"But I told you to go again."

"Mer. You told me to go upstairs. You see how that's different, right?"

"I…I do."

"Good." He kissed her, his free hand tangling in her hair; he never minded how wild it got, not even when her mother would've called her unkempt.

A car door slammed outside. She jerked away. "Lexie. C'mon, let's —Damn it!" She stumbled against one of Izzie's boxes, and he caught her arm. "Derek!"

"You falling down the stairs will not make avoiding her easier."

"Could knock me out. Wait, no, I heard myself. That's not funny to a neurosurgeon, huh?"

"Not so much. Here, I'll come back for this." He put the glass on the hall table. "You hold that." He thrust the water bottle into her hand, and before she could so much as make a noise had scooped her up and started ascending the stairs.

She looped her arms around his neck."Is dropping me not a concern to a neurosurgeon?"

"Less of one when your blood is a quarter tequila. Usually, I wait for you to start pouting."

"That has happened…a few times. More often it's 'cause you want me naked."

"You insist on keeping the roommates." He set her on the bed as the front door opened. "Success."

"Your sister avoiding skills are unparalleled."

"I have been in practice since…. Erm, Tylenol or—?"

"Finish that sentence."

"What's your contraband banana bag supply like these days?" he asked. "Better question, ever learn to put one in on yourself?"

"I'm off tomorrow. Withholding fluids is not a threat. 'Since….'"

He got the hangdog look she'd been aiming for, and she raised her eyebrows, waiting. "Before you were born."

She cackled, and would've bought his grumpy slump if she couldn't she his eyes. "Yeah, you have, old man," she teased.

"Why is that funny to you?"

"Because I benefit, and you hate it. You hate that you're no better than Mark. You're not the scion. And you.…"

"Quid pro quo."

"Lost it. No idea where I was go— Ack, stop it! If you break the bed, again... ugh, I really might... c'mon, Derek, seriously...okay, okay, you love me too much for it to matter."

He eased off the mattress. "Well, now I feel like an asshole."

"You should," Meredith grumbled, rolling onto her side. He sat on the bed, clearly trying to jostle it as little as possible, and slipped his hand under her shirt, running it along her spine. Jerking away would've been momentarily satisfying, but ultimately stupid. It also would've meant moving which was definitely a bad idea.

"I do, for the record," he murmured. "Love you that much. More than that."

"Mm. Has a patient ever puked in your hair, or would I've been the first?"

He laughed, and pressed his lips against the back of her neck. After a few more minutes of stillness she added.

"Thank you for humoring me with the Lexie thing. I know I'm ridiculous."

"You've been just as wounded by words as anything else. It's not ridiculous to want to avoid hurting people you love. Now, I'm going to go get your ginger ale, because I'm an asshole, and also not afraid of your little sister."

"Or me. You're not afraid of me, now."

"No." He kissed her temple, and let his thumb rest on her cheekbone as he added, "And neither are you."

He closed the door on his way downstairs, and Meredith's focus was drawn by her kidney-in-a-jar. She wasn't exactly sure she agreed with his assessment, but she did think he might be right.