Today is definitely the 10th of October. Hahahaha...ha...ha...

Anyway, as I said before, I will do 31 one-shots, it's just very unlikely they'll be done by the start of November.

A little 11x21 AU today, that isn't really focused on the accident, rather Meredith's peculiar eating habits. It'll make sense when you read.

Enjoy!

Meredith Grey would say that she had just experienced the worse day of her life, but there were so many days that could be granted that title that she felt it was a little meaningless. The day she drowned, the day her husband was shot, the day her sister died, and...today.

She had agreed to wait until five, but she broke that promise. She caved at about four, picked up her phone, and made a call. But not to Derek. She started with Tacoma hospitals, because he was supposed to be getting a SeaTac flight, and moved closer and closer to home, following the route she could only presume he took.

Every time she made a call, she felt a little more relief as each ER doctor confirmed that they had no reports of a tall, thin, white male in his late fourties with blue eyes, black curly hair, a scar down his midline from heart surgery and two scars on his left arm. She had one call left when she searched for the number of Seattle Presbyterian, and she felt such a relief off of her heart, until the doctor hesitated at her description.

He had requested a second to consult with a fellow doctor before tentatively suggesting that she may want to come down to the hospital, just in case.

She knew they weren't allowed to confirm it was him over the phone (because if they were wrong she could probably sue them for millions, or at least get them an extremely poor reputation) and she had given such specific details because she knew there were hundreds of tall, thin, white males in their late fourties with blue eyes, black curly hair in Seattle, but probably not any who had the same scars as him.

But he was okay. Kind of.

"So, how are you doing?" She asked, sitting down next to him on the pillow-less sofa. She had set up all pillows around him to try and make him as comfortable as possible, placing both of his arms on a pillow each, and his right leg on two to make sure it was elevated.

"Oh, just fabulous. Ten out of ten." He joked with a sight laugh before wincing hard. "Crap. No laughing."

"What was that?" She asked, concerned.

"Uh...that 7th posterior rib I snapped into about three pieces, I think."

"The word 'chest' would have sufficed, you know?" She said with a smirk.

He smirked back, but was careful not to move anything but his lips. "Probably."

"But, seriously, no jokes, are you okay?"

"I think I've just about managed to find a position where I'm not in agony. So I just have to stay like this for the next six weeks and I should be fine."

She rolled her eyes. What did she say about no jokes? "Right. Glad to see you're setting realistic goals. Is there anything you need before I serve dinner?"

"I think the peas you put on my knee have deforested."

"Right." She agreed as she picked up the bag of peas, and the wet teatowel it was wrapped in. As a doctor, she made sure she had plenty of icepacks. At least, she thought she had plenty of icepacks until today. "And how is said knee?"

"Hurts a lot, if I'm honest. I think the ice helped but...I mean, you saw my kneecap, it was not in the right place."

"Yeah." She swallowed. "I saw."

"But I'm fine now."

She smiled. "Yeah. You're fine now."

"What are you doing?"

He looked up from his plate at that. "It hurts to hold it properly."

"Just-" She sighed, and took the fork out of his hand. Or rather, she took the fork out of his thumb and his first finger, as that was how he was attempting to grasp onto it. Not only that, but his hand was no where near the end of the utensil. "You're never going to get the fork into your mouth like that."

"Well then my broken wrist and shattered clavicle say no to any way that would allow me to actually get food into my mouth." He returned. He'd rather have just broken one arm in two places but, of course, he had to have a problem with both.

She looked at him for a long second before sighing, and stabbing his fork into a carrot, and lifting it to his mouth. "Open wide." She joked.

He smirked, and ate the carrot off of the fork.

She couldn't help but smirk at him as she went for the next vegetable.

"Woah, woah." He breathed as she offered it to him. "What are you doing?"

She looked at the vegetable, confused about how it could be offending him. "What?"

"That's brocoli."

"Yes, Derek. I know what brocoli is." She said sardonically.

"You don't eat brocoli after carrot."

She couldn't help the look of utter confusion that appeared on her face. "You don't...what?"

"Do you not eat your food in a certain order?" He asked, panic in his eyes.

"I just...eat. I don't think about it."

"Please tell me you at least save your favourite bit until to last- eat your fries with too little ketchup so you know you'll have enough for your last fry- eat the cheesiest piece of pizza at the end- make sure you have tomatoes left over after you finish your salad because they're the best part."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Are you sure you didn't have a brain bleed?"

"You don't do that? None of it?"

"No, Derek. I don't, and I never have."

Now it was his turn to stare at her, lost. How did he never notice that? How did he left himself get married to someone who just ate their food without a thought in the world? How could someone even think that was okay? "Seriously?"

"I just eat it. It's food. I eat my favourite bit first because I'm impatient."

"But not like all of it at the start, right? I mean, you have to have that bit left for your final bite, right?"

"I have never done that in my life, Derek."

He reached for the fork himself, and grasped it. She let it go instantly, not wanting to hurt him by initating a tug-of-war over the utensil.

"What are you-" She paused as he went back to his method before, stabbed a carrot, and just about got it into his mouth. "Derek, you're just going to cause yourself unnecessary pain doing that."

"If it's between a little pain and having to explain the basic rules of how to eat food to you, I'm choosing the latter."

"I don't understand the point of it. You eat your food in a certain order because...then you eat your favourite bit last?"

"Yes, Meredith. That is the exact freaking point!" He exclaimed. He wasn't mad, more...passionate. "Okay- what is your favourite part of a roast?"

"The potatoes."

He ignore the fact that was most definitely not the correct answer. "Right, okay. So eat everything else first, and then the potatoes. Trust me. Your mind will be blown."

She looked at him with that same what-the-freaking-hell-are-you-on-about? look before hesitantly agreeing. "Okay then. But get ready for my mind not to be blown."

"So?"

She round, confused. "So what?"

"It was better, wasn't it?" He pushed.

"What was better?" She asked, keeping the same lost tone.

"Don't play dumb, Mer.

She pouted. "Fine. It was fabulous. Felt like a completely different meal. You..." Oh. Her least favourite three words. "You were right."

He smiled, but decided not to tease her. Not today. Not while he relied on her for basically everything. "This is why you should be glad I didn't die."

"Because you have to live to teach me about how to eat food properly? Derek- that's not why I'm glad that you're okay."

"Really?" He asked with a smirk.

"Believe it or not, I was more concerned about being a widow and having to look after two kids with no dad after that phone call; my first thought was not 'oh no, who is going to fix at my sucky eating habits now?'"

"Well, I've fixed them now."

"But no dying. Because I need you for other things too."

He smiled. "I know. And I'm sorry for freaking you out...will a kiss make you feel better?"

"Maybe." She said with a beam in an ever-so-slight sing-song voice.

"You know I can't really sit up, right?" He said as she stared at him expectedly, awaiting a kiss.

"Oh. Right." She agreed before smiling back, and completing the action.