"Hey!" Derek exclaimed. "I didn't spend two-hundred-and-twenty-four days in rehab for you to do this for me."

Mark let go of Derek's leg, and stepped back. "Okay, go for it then."

He swallowed, and slowly manouvered his legs until they were sat on the lip of the car door. This particular transfer wasn't one he'd ever really done. He'd spent hours upon hours doing other things in physiotherapy, but he'd only done a car transfer a few times with his occupational therapist when it was confirmed that he'd be going home soon.

"Any pain?"

"'m okay-" He muttered with a wince as he positioned himself further on the car seat.

"I'm okay, he says with a wince." Mark pointed out, smirking.

"Mark-" Carolyn sighed, shaking her head. "Don't tease him. But also- Derek, don't lie about your pain."

He sighed, but didn't reply, and pulled himself into his chair. He slid his hand underneath his thigh, focusing on getting his foot onto its rest precisely. He'd heard that it got easier, but he still wasn't the best at getting it quite right. His foot would always end up just a little too far forward or backwards. "So, this house of mine- when is it actually going to be mine?" He asked in the hope that distracting them with a conversation would stop the pair from staring so intently at his legs.

Mark shut the door when he pulled himself backwards. "In about- a hundred days." Mark estimated. He was only half joking.

"I was cleared. Everyone cleared me. I'm fine. I'm not going to have a blood clot or a stroke or a heart attack or- whatever you think is going to happen."

"You could fall." Mark suggested, serious now.

"I'd just get up. I suck at floor transfers, but I can still do them."

"You could fall and hit your head."

"You could fall down the stairs and hit your head any minute of any day and I don't see anyone following you around everywhere."

"I'm not in a wheelchair."

That made him pause. He was doing well in terms of his acceptance that he'd never be able to walk, especially compared to how he first felt, but that particular statement hit him hard. He swallowed, avoided the statement, and instead moved towards the house. "I still prefer where I used to live."

Mark sighed. "You cannot live there. You know that. Or at least sensible Derek knows that."

"You never liked it."

"That's true. But you just- it was never going to work. This is a nice little house. Open plan because I know you hate doors. Carolyn decorated a little, seeing as I'm useless at design. Seriously, I think you'll like it."

"There's one tree."

"And?" Mark pressed, confused by why that was a negative.

"I went from three-hundred trees to one tree."

Mark sighed as he smirked. "You almost died- like fifty times, and your main concern is how many trees are on your property? Seriously?"

He smiled back. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"Derek-"

He was about to shoot his head round to look at her, only to realize that that was no longer where she was stood. Instead, she was in a dropped position infront of him, concern written all over her face. She'd clearly called his name a few times. "Oh- uh- I'm sorry. Distracted."

She smiled, now she knew she wasn't going to have to drive him back to the hospital for a stroke or a heart attack. "It's fine. Are you feeling okay?"

"Unpleasant memories." He explained. "Or- well, they were kind of pleasant but- kind of not."

"Coming home after your accident?" She suggested.

She always knew, and she always understood. It was just another reason he loved her. "Yeah." He sighed.

"You were happy to be home, but sad that you had to be away for so long?"

Another perfect answer. Almost. "This wasn't home when I came here afterwards. Mark bought this new one after we knew I'd someday be okay enough to actually live in a house. With my permission and input, of course, but yeah-" He sighed. "That was the first time I'd seen it in real life."

"Your old house wasn't so friendly?" She presumed, acknowledging the fact that this house was only one story.

"It's complicated."

"Your house is complicated?" She asked.

"I'll show you. When I'm better. When I'm up to it."

She smiled. She was always intrigued by the mysterious parts of his life, but she was also rather impatient. How he was injured was the only thing she had decided that she didn't need to know right now. To some people, she supposed, it would have seemed strange, but she could tell by the way he talked about it that it was far from a simple accident where one second everything went black and the next he was in hospital, and had a linear, boring recovery. "Okay. But- for now, let's get you settled into this home."


"No, Mom. Don't worry. I'm absolutely sure that-"

"Are you absolutely sure?" Carolyn pressed.

"Meredith is doing a great job." Derek reassured her. Earnestly, she really had been doing great. She'd helped him out of the car, and then into bed, and then set out his prescriptions on his bedside, and then got him a snack and drink incase he felt like it. She'd even went to his house the night before to make everything was ready for him.

"I'm sure she is. But I'd still like to come and check on you."

"Mark needs you more. One person each, that's what we agreed- and you're the one who volunteered to look after Mark. And I promise, Meredith is doing an incredible job."


No.

No, no, no, no, no.

This couldn't be happening.

Meredith wasn't doing such a good job after all.

"Crap." She swore, biting her lip. She had no idea what she was doing, or how to fix what was happening.

Meredith felt the dog nudging at her feet, concerned about what in the world her owner was doing, as well as at how panicked she was.

"Okay, I'm sorry- you're cute and all but you just- right now I just-" She paused when a high shriek exploded. The fire alarm, of course. "Oh, crap!"

She pushed the dog away with one hand as she looked around the kitchen, panicked.

But she didn't notice the man staring at her.

"Are you trying to burn my house down or something?"

Meredith spun round on her heels with red, embarrassed cheeks. "You're supposed to be resting! Go back to bed!"

He sighed as he pushed himself to the stove top. "And you were supposed to be cooking." He turned down the heat on the two pans she was cooking. "Looks like we both failed."

"I told you I can't cook." She said as she found a medical journal to wave above the fire alarm, and it finally stopped screaming.

"What um...what were you actually cooking?" He asked tentatively as he picked up and tilted a pan so he could look inside to find...a lump of coal?

"That's beef."

"Was it?" He asked surprised. Definitely didn't look like beef now.

She pouted. "I hate you."

"I thought you meant suck like- can't make stuff from scratch or can't make complicated recipes, not suck like you can't even cook spaghetti bolongaise."

"No one ever taught me how to cook."

He grinned to himself, but knew it was a bad idea. "I can tell."

"I hate you." She repeated.

He smiled freely this time. "You don't."

"You can't just laugh at me. That's mockery. That's rude."

"I'm not just going to laugh at you, I'm going to teach you how to cook."

"You're supposed to be resting."

"Hopefully, you should be doing all the work. Although, with this new information about your cooking skills, I'm not entirely sure that that will be the case- now, we're going to start by- well, restarting."

She sighed. "Great. Now, you better start right from the beginning, just incase I messed up there."

"You started with the water, right?"

She giggled. "Nah, the salt first, of course!"

"Now we're going to test whether the pasta is al dente. Do you know what that means?"

"If it tastes good."

He smirked. "Well no, but close enough. It's more to do with the texture. Now- get some spaghetti on a fork, but remember to only touch the end of the spoon so you don't burn your hand off."

"I know that." She said as she rolled her eyes. She grasped a fork, and placed it in the pot before spinning it to collect some spaghetti. She lifted it high about her head to bite at the bottom.

"So?" He asked, feeling the suspense build.

"It uh-" She paused thinking. She really, really wanted to be able to say something impressive, but she had nothing. "It tastes like spaghetti."

"Now I hate you." He sighed. "Let me try it."

She moved her hand over so the dangling pasta was now just infront of his mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting you try it." She answered simply.

"Just twist the fork!"

"No fun that way." She pouted.

He sighed, and finally obeyed her instruction.

"So, Professional Chef Dude, what does it taste like?" She asked, prepared for his detailed, critical evaluation of the cuisine.

He chuckled. "It tastes like...spaghetti!"


"Okay, okay- slowly, slowly-" She muttered as she helped him back into bed.

He wouldn't admit it, but he was exhausted. He sighed the second that he fell back into the mountain of pillows that Meredith had set up so he could feel completely supported in an upright position.

"Now, I'm going to get our now-edible spaghetti."

He smiled. "Great."

A few seconds later, she came in with both plates. She carefully settled the first on his lap before sitting down on well- not her side of the bed, but it was a double bed and he only slept on one side, so it was basically her side of the bed. Well, at least in her hopeful, only slightly delusional head.

"Well, I'd ask if it tastes okay, but I know the answer is yes." She said as she watched him roll the spaghetti onto his fork in the propper manner.

"Mmm." He agreed. "It's very good."

"So, how are you?" She asked, using her same ridiculous eating technique.

"Me? Oh, I'm great. Just ran five marathons, swam across twenty-seven oceans and cured nineteen diseases."

She smiled. "Ha ha, funny man." She said, her voice completely flat.

"I sat, and I watched TV, and then I got very quickly distracted by the screaming fire alarm. But other than that, I didn't do very much. I think I fell asleep for a little bit while you were shopping."

"Good. Lots of rest for the next few days, right?"

"Yes, Dr Grey." He sighed, causing both of them to smile.

They were silent for a minute as the pair devoured their food. Derek had to admit, somehow, it was better than when he cooked by himself. That woman's touch, he supposed.

"Derek?"

"Mmm?" He asked, mouth stuffed with pasta. He swallowed his mouthful when he read the seriousness of her look.

"What didn't you want to turn off?"

He gulped so hard that Meredith could see the lump in his throat move even when she wasn't focusing on it.

"In um- that dream-" Meredith prompted when he didn't speak.

"Yeah, I know." He just about managed to get out, interrupting her.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She reassured him with a weak smile.

"I um-" He lifted his fork, but only nibbled at the noodles, instead of devouring it. However, he dropped the fork after just a single second. He couldn't eat it anymore.

"Okay, it's fine. You don't need to tell me." She reassured him, reading the obvious anguish on his face.

"They were going to turn it off." He answered.

She waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "Turn what off?" She asked hesitantly, not sure she should be asking the question.

"The ventilator."

Then it was her turn to swallow. "Your ventilator?"

"End any and all life sustaining measures- yeah." He muttered. "So, obviously-" He smirked, despite the fact there was nothing mildly humours about what he was talking about. "-I have a lot of nightmares about people unplugging me. I have quite a few others. Waiting for help and just being in hospital and-" He swallowed. "There's just- there's a lot of them."

"I- I can't- I just don't understand- how- how can they agree to unpluging him?" Mark asked, exacerbated. "How-" His chest jerked as he sobbed, just once. "How you can agree to unplugging him?"

Carolyn swallowed. "This isn't easy for me. This isn't even difficult- this is- I-" She shook her head. There were no words. "But, Mark, he wouldn't want this. He doesn't want to waste away on machines until it isn't enough and he- he- just- he just wouldn't want that."

"I know. But-" He licked his lips. "I just- I can't sign it. I...I can't."

She nodded. "I know, okay? I know. Hardest thing I've ever done and some days I'm sure I'm going to regret it but- I just- I want to do what he would want. And I think, being a doctor, he wouldn't want to live like this."

"What if he wakes up?"

"Mark, it's been twenty-two days. His- I don't know- his potassium gets a little better one day and then his magnesium does the next but- it isn't anything close to living. Him lying there with all those machines and all those bandages and-" She paused as she looked at the thing that people kept calling her son's name. It wasn't him. Not anymore. It was a fractured skeleton covered in scratched and torn up soft tissue with malfunctioning organs. That's what he was now.

"What if he wakes up?" He repeated.

She sighed. "You're a doctor, Mark. You know the statistics about comas and PVSs and- you know this. You know all about this."

"Right now-" Mark exploded in an elevated voice. "Right now I am not a doctor! Okay? I am not a doctor! I cannot be a doctor right now. Not when he- I can't be when he- my- my..." He paused before the next word could come out his mouth.

"Your brother." Carolyn just about managed to get out after a few seconds. "Derek is your brother. I believe that. You, Derek, and the girls are all my children. And, if he hadn't named you as one of his next of kins, you would still have been a part of all of this. I promise. He is your brother."

"Was." He swallowed. "He was my brother."

"They were going to unplug you?"

"They didn't want to. But no one makes an advanced directive at thirty-two years old. No one even knows what they would want to happen to them at that age. And no one-" He paused, taken over by thought. "No one expects what I got at thirty-two. You shouldn't have to. The world...it's not supposed to be that cruel, you know? Not to a doctor. Not to someone- I mean, not perfect but- I don't think I did anything to deserve what happened to me."

"I agree that you didn't deserve anything that you got. And, for the record, you're one of the most perfect, brilliant people I've ever met." She said with a smile.

His smirk grew, sure she was teasing.

"You don't believe me, do you?" She inquired with a tilted head.

"What?" He muttered, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Do you think I'm making a joke or something?"

"Um-" He paused. It didn't really seem like a joke, but he'd never been able to take anything like that seriously either. "I uh- no, guess not."

"I don't think you ever acknowledge how great you are, Derek."

"What am I supposed to be acknowledging?"

"I don't know, how funny you are? How kind you are? How strong you are despite everything you've been through? How caring you are? What a good surgeon you are? What a good friend you are? Any of those things. Do you acknowledge any of those?"

He shrugged.

She sighed. Idiot. "Do you need me to spell out how great you are or something?"

"I just- don't seem to have much self-esteem left in me anymore."

Shs swallowed at that. "The accident?"

He bit his lower lip as he looked at his legs, then nodded.

"I wish you did, because I'm telling you- you're pretty great. I don't know if this is because you got it all knocked out of you when you were recovering or from the fact that you're paralyzed, but I promise you don't have to feel that way."

He didn't speak. He couldn't.

"Is it your legs?"

"Think it's a bit of both. Recovery destroyed every part of me emotionally but I just-"

"You just?" She pushed, hoping she was on the edge of a breakthrough.

"It - the um- paraplegia - makes me feel...like I've got nothing to give. I've got plenty to take, I can take bucket loads, but-" He sighed. "Nothing to give."

"That is not true."

"Isn't it?"

She swallowed. Compared to how much he could complain, his negative comments were very minimal. But she'd never gotten this deep before. "No, Derek. I hate to call you wrong, but you are wrong."

"I just feel-"

"Don't you dare say you feel like a burden." She interrupted.

He didn't look guilty, so it wasn't the word he was going for, but, earnestly, it was one he had considered. "I think I feel...unlovable. I don't understand why people want to be around me, or deal with me."

She stared at him for a second, shocked at the gush of feelings before vowing, "I promise you, Derek Shepherd, you are so freaking far from unlovable."


A/N:PS. Something exciting will be happening in the next chapter. :)