For the most of his adult life, Derek Shepherd had wanted children. He couldn't go into paediatrics because he knew his heart wouldn't be able to take it when the cases didn't go the way he wanted them to, but he adored talking to the children when he was on a peads rotation, mostly because, as he had told Meredith, he was a child on the inside.
He knew babies screamed and cried, but he thought they were adorable. He knew toddlers babbled nonsense, but he still loved the sound of them. He knew children were hard to let go of when they started school, but he was willing to take that pain. He knew teenagers were stressful, and he knew starting college was stressful, and he knew first relationships were stressful. He knew all of those things, but it was still a dream of his, and he still couldn't really imagine reaching forty without at least a single little one.
Now his dream was messy, and complicated, and confusing, and he spent so many hours debating his choice, but he was still sat at the same conclusion he made about a year ago.
However, despite his desire, the one thing he knew he didn't want, was to be woken up at six in the morning on Christmas day by children (or rather boxing day, for Meredith's second Christmas of the year, this time featuring him instead of her friends).
So, the last thing he expected was for that to happen.
"Oh- jesus, Lucky-" He sighed as the dog flopped down over him.
She looked up, and then she was up again, sniffing his hair.
"You're never this awake, what are you doing?" He sighed. "Strange creature."
"Mmm- Who are you talking to?" Meredith groaned from beside him, her eyes not yet open.
"Lucky has decided to wake us up at-" He paused as he looked at the time. "Six twenty-two. Which would be fine for a work day-"
"But not for Christmas day." Meredith finished for him, sighing. "Or...Boxing day but...kind of Christmas day for us."
He smiled. He was extremely glad that they'd come up with the idea, but it was a little confusing to discuss. "Well, Santa comes at midnight so your presents are already there-"
"Derek, they were there last night when we got in. And then there were more when I put mine there."
He sighed. "You're no fun, you know that?"
She smiled. "I'm sane. You're mad. That's the only different between us."
"Oh- my god."
He grinned. "You told me you inhale orange chocolate."
"This is like...a years supply, Derek." She said as she examined the gift. That. Was. So. Much. Chocolate.
"So...I'll get you the same amount next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, and every year from then on, and then you'll be set for the rest of your life. Or...the rest of my life."
"Which is going to be the same length as mine, I sure hope. I'm not being a widow. Not at fifty, not at ninety-nine."
"Right. You know I love to make promises but I can't make a promise that I'm not going to die. Otherwise everyone could make that promise and no one would die."
"Don't...get shot. Or...fall out a plane. Or both. Or...I don't know- just, don't do stupid things."
"What is the statistical likelihood of me being in one accident, then being shot, then falling out a plane?"
She smiled. "I don't know but just...don't do it."
He smiled back. "Okay. Now...time to get our gingerbread out."
"You didn't even look at the time." She said, confusion on her face.
"I- uh, guess I just know." He explained (or, rather didn't explain, seeing as that wasn't really a helpful explanation for Meredith) as he transferred over to his chair.
"You just know?" She repeated. "That's not how time works."
"Pros of being a chef and of a baker." He replied.
"Really?"
He shrugged as he paused by the oven and opened it. He grinned. "No idea, I'm just making stuff up."
"Right. I was going to say, I'm pretty sure knowing how much flour to put in things does not give you amazing time perception."
He smiled, sliding the oven mits on. "Correlation does not equal causation, you know?"
She giggled. Apparently she wasn't the only one who had had that infamous phrase shoved into her brain constantly in science classes. "That is true. One of the few things I remember from high school."
"I'd say I remember more than a few, but that one I'd never forget. I even remember who taught me that."
"Do they look good? Not burnt? Not undercooked?" She asked, her focus now on the gingerbread now that he could see them. In fact, she got up and walked to join him because she was so intrigued to see what non-ash gingerbread might look like.
"Mmm- they look delicious." He muttered. "They're extra yummy when they're a little warm, by the way."
"I bet they're extra yummy when you eat five in one sitting too?" Meredith asked cheekily.
"I mean- I'm not sure that's a good idea for me, I've already eaten a regretful amount of food, but you go ahead and eat as many as you want; I'm really not going to judge." He reassured her with a short smile.
"I thought the whole point of Christmas was that you ate too much food?"
"Well, I tried that philosophy last Thanksgiving and discovered that that does not work out very well for a paraplegic who cannot exercise food away at a gym like a normal person." He replied. "But, seriously, you eat as much as you want. It's okay. It's your double Christmas, you do whatever."
She smiled. He really didn't care what or how much she fancied eating - ever, in fact - and it was so sweet. Well, unless she was eating cold pizza breakfast for breakfast, but it wasn't like he was forcing her to eat something healthier, considering the fact that the alternative he provided was pancakes.
"Now, I need to get the other tray out as well-"
"And this has the stuff for the house?"
"Yeah." He agreed as he placed the first tray on the side. "That one is-"
"Holy shit, Derek-" She gasped the second she realized.
How did she not realize before?
How the freaking hell did he not realize before either? That was the better question.
She dropped down in front of him, and her hand slid across his thigh. "Jesus Christ-"
"What? Mer- I don't-" His words were taken from his mouth when she clutched onto his wrist and forced it until his palm was against his thigh. "Oh."
"That tray came out the oven, Derek."
"Oh-" He breathed again, not quite sure what else to say. She, clearly, went with the profanities kind of shock, while he went with the quiet kind.
She grasped the top of his pyjama bottoms, and pulled it up as far as it would go. Luckily, the loose pair allowed her to roll it up past his knees. His skin was red, and she was hoping to hell that he hadn't just actually burnt himself. "God."
"I didn't...I mean-"
"Think it's actually burnt you or is it just red from the heat?" She asking, seeing as he was the professional out of the two of them.
"I...I don't-"
"How long was it there? When did you put it down? The second it came out the oven? How long has that been?"
"My- neuropathy and stuff- it's been bad today, I don't- I mean, I didn't-" He muttered, more to himself, paying no attention to her questions.
"You didn't feel it at all?" Meredith asked, eyebrows creased.
"No- it's...they've been bad all day."
"You didn't say anything."
"It's Christmas." He swallowed. "I didn't want to ruin our first Christmas together."
She sighed. "That's not how this works, remember? I asked you to tell me more about your pain, not less."
"I didn't want you to be worrying about me all day for nothing. It wasn't good but...it wasn't that bad."
"I thought getting you up was helping. I thought you'd been doing okay."
"It's hard to help something like this, Mer. I love you and you're sweet for trying to help me with standing and walking, but it can't fix it."
"Oh- oh god-" She breathed as she was hit with a wave.
"What?"
"When you fell- in physio when I grabbed that thing and I pulled it and I wasn't supposed to- did I hurt you? Have I made it worse? Was it like that before? Because...you've literally never said about anything this bad before so what if it was-"
"No, Mer, that's not it."
"But what if you...you like pulled a ligament and then your back got inflamed but then...for other people that means a little back ache but for you that means all this pain and all this neuro-"
"I promise, it wasn't you."
"So you're saying-" She faltered. It. What was it? "What...what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you didn't hurt me."
"Who did hurt you?" She asked.
"No one...hurt me." He answered, earnestly confused.
"Your phrasing...the way you're talking about it...it sounds like someone hurt you. Or...something."
"My spinal cord injury is hurting me." He replied. She knew that. Why was she asking that?
She swallowed. "Stop lying."
"I'm not lying."
"Now you're covering up a lie. Which is far, far worse than just lying in the first place. You're not avoiding it or talking around it, you're actually blatantly lying to my face right here, right now."
Crap.
He couldn't lie about a lie about a lie.
He hated lying to her about just one thing, but that was too much for him to handle, before he even thought about how cruel it was to her.
He gulped before softly confessing, "I had some scans."
"Okay." She breathed. She didn't know what else she could say to that.
"Dr Potters- he's my spinal specialist from Mayo, board certified in neuro and ortho-" He licked his lips. "He...he thought they were abnormal."
"Abnormal?"
"He came down and saw me, I had some more scans, he ran some tests- all before Bonnie, all before that fall."
"And he was right? Something...something is wrong?"
He swallowed again - he couldn't help it - before admitting, "I have arachnoiditis."
She took in a shaky breath, and let it out in a similar manor. Arachnoiditis. The membranes around his spinal cord were severely, severely inflamed; no wonder he was in so much pain. "How bad?"
"It...it's not adhesive. Obviously it's chronic, but...but not progressive." He explained. "It's secondary to spinal stenosis which...that is getting worse."
"But...you've already been in so much pain- but, with this diagnosis-"
"I've probably had it a few months now, I just...I was ignoring it. Which is stupid. I know it's stupid. You really don't have to tell me." He reassured her. "But...I'm not going to be in more pain. I've just...got a new name for what I already had. Explains why, even as a AIS C, I thought it was a good idea to put a tray on my legs. But, obviously, me having it for this long without realising doesn't really matter-"
"-because there's no treatment." She muttered. "There's nothing anyone can do to help. There's not even anything you can do."
He swallowed. Besides 'taking it easy', there was nothing he could do to reduce arachnoiditis, nevermind actually treat it or be cured from it. "No. I just...I'm just going to have to learn how to manage the pain the best I can."
She bit at her lip, staring at him, but didn't reply to that.
"Meredith, it doesn't actually mean anything."
She shook her head.
"I know it's bad and I know I'm a terrible boyfriend for not telling you, but this isn't new. This is just...it's a name for the pain I've already been feeling. This isn't me breaking a new bone or being diagnosed with cancer or you getting a call that I've fallen down a flight of stairs. I'm the same as I was five minutes ago, and I'm very likely the same as I was when we first met."
"Syringomyelia, hydrocephalus, arachnoid cysts-"
"Meredith-" He sighed. He knew where she was going.
"Arachnoiditis isn't fatal, but its complications can be."
"Syringomyelia is not fatal, arachnoid cysts aren't fata-" He tried.
"Arachnoid cysts can cause severe, permanent brain damage, and they can be fatal. Hydrocephalus is the same. I know what you're saying but I don't care how slim the margins are, and that it's a complication of a complication because that point zero, zero one percent has to be someone. That one is ten-thousand is always someone. And you never think it's going to be you, but it can be. It might be."
"It won't be."
Tears slipped. "You don't know that."
"Oh, god. Meredith, it's okay." He breathed, grabbing onto one of her hands. He could tell he'd doubled her heart beat when he first confessed to his diagnosis and sent her into fight-or-flight, and he knew she hadn't been having the best few weeks, but he wasn't expecting tears. "I'm okay, I promise. Please don't cry."
"You don't know that you're okay. You can't know that. You can...you can think you know that now and the next day I find you on the floor, dead."
"That's not going to happen."
"It could, Derek. That could happen. Or...or it could happen in bed, beside me. Or you could just...collapse and never open your eyes again." She continued. "You could have hydrocephalus and lose your ability to speak again. You could have to go back to rehab. You could lose your job, your life. Derek...you can't just- you can't say that you're going to-"
"Mer-" He sighed, holding her hand tighter.
"What?" She spat, and snatching her hands back from his. "What are you going to say that is going to make this better? Before I had to cope with the idea of you dying of the common cold because of you being immjnocompromsed, or losing a leg to a DVT from complications of your SCI, and...all this stuff and now- now I need to think about you having cysts in your brain and your brain exploding with cerebrospinal fluid? When you had that cough and you had to keep telling me you were fine and I mean- even then I didn't believe you, even now I'm sitting and watching your breathing- and that patient with DSMO when you got really sick and- and then even when I poked you in the eye with the Christmas tree and I thought you were actually going to go blind, that I was going to cause you to go blind- Derek, I couldn't cope with that- I was falling apart, lying awake at night trying to cope with all of that, so...so what am I going to do now? I can't do it. I can't- I...I can't- Derek-"
She wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes now. He knew she worried, but he'd never heard anything half as bad as this.
"I love you. I love you so freaking much. You know I do." She swallowed. "But I also hate you, Derek. I hate you. I. Freaking. Despise. You. So. Much. Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't someone else have been paralyzed? Why can't someone else have arachnoiditis? Why can't someone else be in pain all the time? Why does it have to be you? Why do you have to be so perfect in every freaking way a human being could be perfect, but like this? There are so many people who deserve to die- to be paralyzed- to be in pain- to...to- there just...why did it have to be you? Who the fuck came up with the universe and the way the world works and decided it was a good freaking idea to hurt you? Who did that? Who thought that was a good idea, Derek? Because it's a stupid idea. It's...stupid. It's so stupid. Everything...I just- I can't-"
"I'm not going to die."
"Stop saying that! Stop it!" She shouted. "You don't know that! You're a neurosurgeon- you know better than anyone else in the freaking world that you can't know that. So stop. Stop trying to reassure me. Because all you're doing is lying and lying and lying- and that hurts me more."
"I...I'm just trying to- do something to stop you fro-"
"From crying? From shouting? Well it's not worked, Derek. I'm crying and I'm shouting. I can't...Derek, you can't- you- please, you can't- never-"
"Meredith-" He sighed. Those weren't even sentences anymore.
"I love you so freaking much that I want to just sit and hug you and kiss you and hold you for the next fifty years of my life. That's how much I love you. More than everything else in the world. And I love that I found you and it makes me so happy every single day but I...I can't lose someone I love this much. Okay?" All of her tears fell in a blink, and although they were silent, she was still left at a near-pant from how fast her heart was beating and how loud her shouts were. She licked her lips, swallowed, and practically whispered, "You can't die because...I won't survive losing you. I'm not strong enough to do it, Derek."
She couldn't take that kind of loss. Not again.
Hello! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)
We've been happy for a while, so we're going to start sliding back to angst! I have a feeling you guys aren't going to be happy with me, but it's going to lead to another canon-rewrite which I know you guys have enjoyed previously.
Enjoy the next few chapters? *evil writer laughter*