CW: This fic is tagged for self-harm, but from here on in that's an explicit issue. Read with care, lovelies, and if you need to ditch this story, I have other fics. There's also talk of suicidal ideation.
Meredith woke in the dark. Even knowing she wasn't lost in the woods, the afterimages of trees against the backs of her eyes were disorienting. She slammed into something and went down, crying out in surprise as much as pain.
"Mer!" Derek was there helping her sit up against the ottoman she'd fallen over. "Okay. You're okay. Can I see?" He set one hand lightly on her calf before reaching for her waistband. She grabbed his hand and shoved off of it, stumbling to her feet enough to fling herself into the bathroom, adding her l was lol qknees to the stinging, throbbing spots on her legs.
Derek followed her. He shouldn't have. He needed to heal. He needed to be making miracles in the O.R. That would give him something. Something he could retreat to when she failed at this. She'd pushed, pushed everyone, gone back to work like it didn't matter. Like having her skin heal had allowed her to leave the fucking clearing.
She couldn't get a full breath. She gasped and l choked on the viscous mix of snot, bile, and tears, and her stomach lurched, repeating the cycle—Derek wrapped his arms around her, the bandaged one firm under her ribcage. He'd done the same thing when she hadn't wanted to admit her body couldn't handle the amount of tequila she'd downed in an hour. His half-grown, half-feral girlfriend with the dirty mouth. How could she though he'd see her differently? Nothing had changed. He'd lied. She was the same. Same pathetic, empty, dark Meredith, taking plunges, breaking rules and having nothing to show for it. She'd do it again. She'd fuck up; she did, she always did. She was Death.
"Don't fight me, Meredith. I'm going to hold you right now. I don't want to hurt you, and I need you to stop trying to do it yourself."
Him. He wouldn't been worried about her hurting him.
"I'm…. I… I….You…You c-can't…You don't—" She arced forward again, and Derek circled his hand over her back.
"I'm staying here,. I'm right here with you. You're okay. It's going to be okay."
"It won't! I'm…I'm gonna lose it, Derek. I will. I lose them. I lose our babies." She barely got the word out before gagging, she must seem insane; what was this, if not proof the baby was there? That her body was adjusting to it? She knew better. She knew. He'd said it, some things she just knew.
"Zola's with us." He gathered her hair in one hand, but when he started stroking it away from her forehead, she jerked away. She didn't need to be soothed. "She's down the hall, in her little big girl bed. She's ours. You did not lose Zola.
"The miscarriage wasn't your fault, either. You know that, I know you do. It's okay to be scared about this. It's perfectly reasonable that you are. But you can't base that fear it on things that aren't true. Losing Zola was my fault. And after….I knew we'd get her back. We had to. We had to, because if I'd taken that chance from you? On top of making you choose between our family and a specialty that you were a natural at?"
"I chose it. I chose you. Our family. I don't want…. I can't…. I don't deserve—"
"Yes, you do. You do. You want to talk about pressure? It's what you were dealing with that year. The miscarriage, the shooting, the meds, the trial—Zola was the one good thing. One I brought into your life, and then I used her. Hell, Mer, I used her the way Richard used your mother."
"I was fine. I didn't get hurt. I don't…I don't get hurt. I just keep going. I'm…I'm fine, and we got her back, and I'm all whole and healed."
Another wave of nausea hit, and she closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. Her nails dug into the flesh of her shoulder. Small pinches, keeping her there, the bite just enough to make her take in a small sharp breath. Nothing real. Nothing that would go from her blood into an embryo's.
"It would be easy," Derek said, his voice low enough that she had to focus, and letting him take her wrists didn't block her from resting her head on her knees. "If you did, wouldn't it? If you lost the baby? You'd have the physical pain to match how much you've been hurting for everyone else. Tou would let yourself take the blame, and the guilt you can't place would have somewhere to go."
"I don't…I don't want…."
"I know. You told me as soon as you knew. You wouldn't have if you didn't want this. But the timing makes it feel like it's part of the crash. In the shooting your pregnancy became a bargaining chip, you lost it anyway, and then you were made to feel ashamed of coping. Of being able to work, and being on the path that gave us Zo. You're afraid people will think you don't deserve this blessing.
"I don't feel like I deserve it either. Especially if his procedure ttakes—my patients deserve that, but me? Mark deserved to live. Lexie deserves to walk, to operate.
"You deserved those four months with our daughter. You deserved to learn all I could teach you in the last nine months of your residency. I'm sorry it took me so long to see…. I had to see—but I would want it all if Lexie was still my partner in inoperable tumors. If Mark was here to make fun of me for two-timing residents. But, babe, if it's too much…."
"If you changed—"
"I will not change my mind. I just…I want to do what's right…what's best for you. That can mean sticking with what you're doing. Continuing your mom's work. Her not getting to finish it…that wasn't fair, and was not at all your fault. You should take it on if you want, but only if want. Same for my work—wanting to teach you now is selfish."
"I want it," she admitted. "Yours. That's why it was a consequence."
Derek's sigh reverberated between them. He'd been dealing with nothing but frustration for the past few months, and all she was doing was adding to it.
"I's not fair! It's not fair for me to have another chance."
"Why not? Just by blocking you for a year, I could've changed the course of any neuro career you have. You have made it up to me, to an extreme. If we—if I have issues at work, it's not going to cost you anything. Especially not your family. It won't cost us that. I'll find a way….
"Losing another baby…. It would be horrible, but how long did we try to get this far? You're at ten weeks. That's so close to the first trimester. It's twice as far as the first one got."
"It'll…. If I could—I've…. Derek, I…." She gulped again, the words she'd almost let out more noxious than the puking had been.
"What, my love?" She shook her head, which had probably hurt the whole time, but hadn't beaten out any of the other neurons alerting her pain receptors. For the split second she had that thought, she wasn't attending to the position of Derek's good hand. He'd gone back to trying to examine the damage the ottoman had done. She started to pull away too late. His sudden inhalation held an interrogative. as he tried to lower her waistband; his hand found the band-aid a few inches away from it.
"When did that happen?"
"N-Nothing!" she exclaimed, then realized he'd thought this was simply a repeat performance. "I-I just…cu—bashed it at the fune—wedding, " Damnit. It'd been freezing the day of the funeral; she'd worn tights, matching Zola who'd loved that. "I dunno, sometime last week."
"An accident?"
Yes. Yes, of course. Yes, what else would it be? Yes, it's nothing. That size band-aid was all I could find. Yes, you know how clumsy I am. I'll probably fall and squish the embryo.
"Meredith… did you hurt yourself?" The reflexive verb wouldn't have made the question an accusation if she hadn't already as good as answered it.
No. No, of course not. No, what am I, fifteen? No, why would I do that? Yes, That's how you get a unity.
Come on, Grey, argue. Deny! You're great at that!
The heat of his breath on her neck was a silent bombardment of follow-up questions that didn't need to be spoken to take form. All the air in the bathroom was filling with words, heavy, weighty words; the kind she used to be able to keep in her chest. He'd never done that. She waited for him to take the pin out and start lobbing them at her.
It didn't happen. He sat, silently, and the question he finally asked was, "Feel like you can get back in bed?"
She nodded. Even with his hand splinted, the limits that had put on lifting, any affect of surgery and recovery had had on him physically, he could still propel her up as he stood without noticeable effort. Having another little kid to keep up with might be good if he didn't get full function back. That it might not be be one or the other—that was where trying to picture the future made something start to vibrate under her skin.
Derek sat on her side of the bed, and she knew what was coming before he reached for the lamp. He pressed the switch in with the splint shielding her eyes with his good hand. "Can I see?"
She looked away, which put the Post-it directly in her line of sight. Only the last vow protected her here. Forever. The last thing she ever wanted was to skirt that.
"I'm not a secret cutter…. Not…. There've been…times. When I was fifteen…fourteen. It….It brought me back. When everything was too much. Reminded me I was alive. Human. That's the stuff you heard. From the prep school girls, the riot grrrls, the raver boys, the scarred boys in college. But…I'd think of Mom. The crying. The blood. And I'd think…I'd think maybe if I hurt enough…I dunno. I'd understand? I-I'd make it up to her."
Derek's Adam's apple bobbed in the lamplight. Her hand was in his. She let it sit.
"When she passed out, I saw the pain end. I saw it come back when they revived her. I've never forgotten her screaming for them to get me out of the room…She'd done it with me in front of her—I thought…. After that, i thought maybe I always reminded her of it. The pain. And maybe…her weakness. Maybe that without me she could've had peace. Maybe I was Death for her first."
"You…punished yourself for saving her?"
"No! Not…. If anything, I had to stay alive; she wasn't living because of me for long. Surgery took over. But if I'd taken that from her…I had to be worth it. I wasn't. Maybe she decided trusting me was the crazy part.
"She was all I had, and i was five, facing losing her, or spending the rest of my life with my only person mad at me—I made the right choice, because I understood death, and wasn't new to being in trouble. Turned out to be the last thing I got right in her eyes…. She was always so disappointed in me. Sometimes, I'd imagine her seeing…and saying I was weak for not just…doing it…. I couldn't. I never….I'm not... I didn't…. I never….im not…. I don't want to die." It took Derek running his hand over her hair for her to catch the pitch of her voice. Hysterical girl does not sound convincing.
"I know you don't," he said. "You're a great surgeon. A decisive surgeon."
In the general population, women studied had more suicide attempts than men, but the speculation was that men were more likely to use violent methods that succeeded. Suicide—among other mental health issues—was more prevalent among physicians than in the general population, and didn't show the gender gap. That in 1983 a successful female surgeon facing the end of her residency could've been at that point hadn't been the questionable part of what Ellis did.
"You learned to be quiet, not during a traumatic event, but immediately after. Eventually, they became ignoring your feelings, and to do that when they got too strong—on top of the way you take on other people's—you detach. This?" He took her arm and touched the rubber band lolling against her wrist. There was a bag of them in her purse, which she'd taken from his desk after determining that hair ties were often thick enough to bruise. "It's almost at the other end of the spectrum. It's a shock that brings you back. Or…it did?"
"Does. Sometimes. I haven't…I'm not…. It just…. It's not gonna be a thing. Everything's...everyone's getting better…."
"Mer. It doesn't have to….You think you haven't been through enough. String in Seattle send to have been the best choice for us, but your instinct was to go, too. To keep going. You see that as what you mm did. But in your most pivotal memories, she went through something excruciating and before she could move on, she made the pain of losing Richard—Thatcher, Seattle—physical, and you…. That's…It's close to what I was getting at this summer, before I stuck my head up my—"
"Mark died. Your best friend died, then you found out you'd have to hurt your sister to progress. You were scared. I can deal with sad; scared, grumpy Derek."
"Which I'm grateful for, but not if it means you don't tell me when you're scared and sad. You've had both plenty of times. The miscarriage, drowning, hitting your head when the bomb went off. Even after Susan died…."
Daddy hit me. He couldn't find his words, so he hit. The thoughts startled her. She wasn't sure she remembered thinking of Thatcher as Daddy. She must've, by not that day. Was some repressed association going on there, or was it just her usual casting of herself as a girl with Daddy issues. Retaliating. Against years of Mom, who'd supposedly been one who stayed, who went from Mommy to Mom while re letting her jump to conclusions about"your father." Was is it some weird reclaimation after hearing Molly and Lexie call him that so easily.
Daddy hitg me. Had she thought it that day? Had it been as much of a shock as the day Ellis had shoved her for the first time— Ellis, because she hadn't been seeing her daughter. She'd lashed out at a stranger.
The day of Susan's funeral had been the tipping point. "… I…I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear from you…."
"Eyes, sweetheart."
"Fuck, really?" She ran her hands over her face, crusted with tears like Zola's after a tantrum. What was she doing but the adult version of screaming and going limp?
"You weren't far. We've been referring to that as being gone or blank. You do. Your eyes do. But you also…you go still. Quiet…. Zola came back to us quiet."
"This isn't—"
"She did a complete turnaround in a few weeks, and that was because you made sure she knew we wanted to hear her. That were going to take care of her. That wasn't just something you picked up in your research. You were a kid who learned to…not just to be quiet, to go quiet."
"Now I'm too loud in tiny restaurants. You pretend it's endearing, but it embarrasses you."
"There's nothing you hate more than admitting to being scared."
"Because I'm not…." She swallowed."…not supposed to be. Mom told me not to be scared."
"But you could cry, if something was big enough, because how could she tell you otherwise? You could let yourself feel physical pain for the same reason."
"You forgot if you must say something nice, don't say anything at all."
He didn't react to the needling. "Did being afraid to tell me make it worse?"
"Would it make it easier to blame yourself? You do it, too. I…I've never told anyone else. Sadie knew because she did it first. We enabled each other in everything. We didn't discuss it.
"Your hockey name was Derry. I didn't ask Liz. I heard her use it, and I knew. Your mom confirmed.
"Your team was a bunch of irreverent guys in the eighties, over half were Irish-American. They'd have had an awareness of the Troubles. Of bombs going off in everyday Derry. You were placid. Calm. And then you'd explode. You were placid. Calm. And then you'd explode. Did you ever feel like there was so much anger inside you, it would tear you apart if you didn't take matters into your own hands?"
He started to look away; she could see the urge and the shame that caused it in his face, but he didn't give into it. "Yeah. That's exactly…yeah."
"You grew up. Learned to cope in other was. Alcohol, sex, surgery. You didn't have to face helplessness nearly as much. That's what you were angry about. How helpless you were. Sometimes you still explode. It takes a lot more fuel; you've got a longer fuse. But there's enough of Derrry in you."
"Enough to make you afraid of letting me see?"
She stopped weaving the hem of her t-shirt through her fingers and pulled it off. While he stared at the gauze wrapped around her bicep, she drew her pajamas down. He touched the second that had hurt as much as the new contusion when her leg made contact with the ottoman.
She'd have to focus and search for the silvery scars of her past, but he hadn't been shocked enough by this for her to doubt that he'd noticed them. Derek knew her body as well as she did, if not better.
He stood up. Sweat formed over goosebumps that were almost instinctual; years of shitty insulation not yet overwritten by a few months with their fancy thermostat. As instantaneously, his lips settled on hers. "I'm getting fresh bandages. That's all."
"They're superficial. No stitches."
"You're letting me judge that."
"I don't remember actually agreeing to that scheme."
"'In sickness and in health.' You're the one who believes in the spirit of the law."
"Ouch." She bit her lip, aware and regretful of how far that joke had gone. Derek turned away from the bag on the dresser from which she'd filched the wrap like he expected to find her with a thumb pressed to the bruise. Their eyes locked, and there was no way to say who started laughing first.
"We're so messed up," she lamented, picking at the edge of the bandaid.
"As long as you remember that's a 'we.'"
"I'm—"
"Meredith, no."
"Don't do that! You want me to talk to you? Don't 'Meredith, no' me. Your wrist was crushed Derek. There was jet fuel in the air, and no one else in sight. That's not having a choice! My sister is paralyzed. The perky pediatrician lost her leg. Jerry, the pilot whose name we didn't know, died. My best friend worked so hard to keep us alive she had a psychotic break, all with a healing dislocated shoulder. If she hadn't had that, she'd have fixed the tamponade, and Mark night—"
"Objection."
"Sustained," she grumbled. She'd been as confident in that fix as she could've been, and if anyone could argue, Lexie wasn't doing so. But she hadn't seen it.
"See? Clean," she added, as he peeled the bandaid off.
"It's been reopened." he said, squinting at the edge of the cut.
"That's right where Zola's shoe hits me." He squirted antibiotic ointment onto the pad of a new adhesive, and somehow made the action doubtful. "It is. Every time her heel….
"You've had three surgeries. Cristina left, found out death is everywhere….You're all still suffering. Callie and Arizona hadn't had sex in six months. Cristina and Owen are done, Lexie made herself sick, and I don't know if she's rebelling or reclaiming or if they're different—o if I can say a word because this is looking a lot like a second adolescence for her, maybe sort of a first one, and that might be what the extra Rs in riot grrrl stand for!
"A few cuts—"
"This is…. Since the crash, it's the first time?"
She nodded. Until that moment last week, she hadn't broken skin. She hadn't meant to. The sharp chill of the blade had been enough the few times the band didn't work. She'd been startled—cliché, Grey—there been a cut, and she'd been able to breathe.
"Meaning, you've felt that overwhelmed multiple times in twelve days."
Two. Zola's shoe might not have been the only reason those edges weren't healed, but the first time didn't really count, so….
So much bullshit.
"The stupidest part is that a lot of the time, I'm happy. That…That makes it…." Worse. Harder. More pathetic. "It's skin. Nothing vascular, no nerves, so I-I tell myself…it's not putting the pregnancy at risk. But I know better. I do. Something's gonna happen, and it's gonna be my fault. You…It…Any baby would deserve better."
"Not true. Do you want to go to Wyatt or a provider outside of the Grace-West establishment?"
"Listen to that. Chief Shepherd lives."
"There's an idea, we could see what Owen recommends."
"Not funny!" She yanked away from him and the' waistband of her pajamas snapped along with her words. Her body went rigid, imagining reverberations she didn't feel.
Derek put his hand on her arm. It made her more aware of how clammy her skin was, but he didn't react. "I wasn't joking."
"Owen already thinks I'm ungrateful—"
" He's ungrateful—or at least inconsistent. He did this to us; he signed off on it. He's been jerking you around. He'd have had you back at work within a week while Lexie was unaware, but then he guilt-tripped you for not taking time off to be with her; all because his sister disappeared? I truly can't imagine that; I appreciate his honesty, but he owes you more."
"The divorce..." Meredith trailed off.
"It's not a noble sacrifice. That decision hasn't been his to make since he cheated on her."
She nodded, quickly. His voice was clipped with impatience, not at her, but that she'd twisted the conversation away from herself. She hadn't meant to. While Cristina had been gone, Meredith had thought Owen's attitude was martyrdom; related to his belief that he loved her so he'd let her go whether he meant to or not. She might've misinterpreted, but it still felt like he was keeping her friend on a hook. Derek was biased by his grudge, and his own experience with adultery and divorce. Her own conclusions were nebulous. Every time she formed a decided opinion, she remembered Cristina's perplexed expression in front of the surgical board when Meredith repeated what Derek had said about conflict of interest.
"He was ready to put up a scrim for her, with his whole 'you can be a robot' routine, but there's no reason he'd do it for me. I'm not his wife's best friend if she's not his wife. If he benches me as a liability? I'm a first-year attending; he ended up with a dozen for a dime. No reason to keep the one who's cursed and crazy. What'm I gonna do, sue?"
"Yes. It'd be wrongful termination, and most judges would assume it was motivated by the first suit. Not that I'd let it get that far."
"I'm not saying…. If there was a real reason—I don't go away while I'm operating. Everything else does. It's not a problem in the O.R. At least… It's…it's only a problem for me."
Working his index finger under the tape holding down the gauze on her arm, Derek raised his eyes to hers. "Let's pretend that I found a way to tell you that makes it a problem that's mine without making you think you're a problem."
"The problem's that I think you should. That you will tomorrow. Because…things are okay. You're going to be back in the O.R. and Zola's gonna sort of understand Christmas, and then something else horrible will happen; that's how my life works."
"That's how life works. You've had some big bad things happen to people, and you want to take it on for them. What you might not be seeing here is that everyone who loves you would rather take on all the bad stuff that happens to you."
"It's too much. You used to know that."
His eyebrows knit, but only for a moment. "I couldn't keep trying to breathe for you; I was going to suffocate you. Going to put too much pressure on you. Was I scared that if I stopped, you'd stop? Yeah. From my perspective, you'd just lost the only person in your family. I was just this guy in a trailer. And…that was right after you said I wasn't your knight in shining whatever."
"I was sort of an idiot."
"Never. You were…are independent and strong. I was sure that if I couldn't pull you up; I was weighing you down. I didn't think holding you in place was enough. And it was partially my fault that you could think you'd need saving."
The end of the gauze tugged free, and before he could pin it with the paw of his hand, she caught it and passed it to him under her arm. Together, they unwrapped her bicep. Over and under, over and under. It was simple. It wouldn't be that way with just anyone.
She winced at the removal of the last layer. She hadn't had a chance to grab no anything non-stick to protect the cut—wound. This one was definitely a wound. Looking now, it should've been steri-stripped at minimum—One-handed stitching wasn't a skill she'd ever had reason to perfect.
Around it were false starts she'd wanted to be enough. Barely scratches, really. It'd felt strange to put that little pressure on a scalpel. Strange, and precise.
"When?" he asked.
Her stomach was soured again by her silence. What the point of honesty if she didn't speak? Why did she want to make it into some challenge? 1. edema, erythema on bicep. 2. You last saw Meredith's leg prior to your surgery. 3. It's been too cold for short sleeves for over a week.
She imagined the grid of a logic puzzle, xs and os narrowing days down. Or maybe just WEDDING FUNERAL FAMILY HOLIDAY BABY'S SECOND BIRTHDAY. MISCARRIAGE NIGHTMARES
He didn't know about those, but he'd probably assumed their existence.
It wasn't any of that. It was all of it.
"They're healing. They're not infected. That would've hurt. Would've put you through something as big as anyone else on the plane. But it could've affected your ability to work. Might've been noticed." He paused again. "Mostly, could've put the baby at risk."
"Hormones could be messing with my brain in the first place."
"I have been paying attention, Mer. I waited too long to say something. Getting to be a habit." He squeezed her hand, and then held up an unopened gauze wrap. She yanked back the plastic, the sound ripping into the quiet of their bedroom. Derek was watching her arm. The movement did nothing to disturb the cut. She'd put thought into placement
"Just like my mother."
"In that you put everything on your shoulders." He cut a strip of tape and stuck it to the bedside table, and then paused. "Pun unintended. I'm not against you being as careful as possible."
"Bailey freaked out the other day. She forgot about the wedding while she was working on Adele. Ben told her that if someone was dying, that was supposed to happen. I wasn't gonna interrupt, but at some point I want to tell her: as much as I could, I understood young that that was why if I wasn't in front of my mother, she wouldn't be thinking of me. She was saving someone's mom, or dad, or kid. I wanted her to focus on that. There should've always been someone who'd put me first when she couldn't; but Tuck has that.
"The day she slit her wrists, I was in front of her. I was that child who could lose their mother, and it didn't make me matter more to her. But…that's not how this is. Zola, and you, and that I'm pregnant, and Lexie, it all matters. I just…I thought that made it worse."
"I wish that what made you careful were concerns for yourself."
She knew that. Of course she did. She knew that her general lack of injuries had been a matter of physics. There'd been no reason for her to be in that seat, but no reason for her to be in any other. Her initial reactions were based on experience, genetics; nothing she could change.
"I'll go to Dr. Wyatt."
Derek smiled and kissed her softly, holding a telfa pad and the end of the clean gauze against her arm with his thumb. They were wrapped it; arm, swapping hands with the same synchronicity as they'd unwrapped the old bandage.
"Are those it?"
"Mmm. But like you…you noticed, I've been…not doing it for a while," she admitted. "Fighting it. The night Mark died…. If you hadn't been up…maybe. But you were, and you didn't…. You weren't mad."
"No reason to be. You were incredible. Good, I would've been right there. If I'm ever…just…. You'd never have woken me in that situation, but…please. Even if there's some reason you think I need sleep, wake me okey?"
"I'll…try."
"Okay. And then…the leaves."
She could almost smell the smoke again. She'd been wrong about the root of the nausea; if she hadn't been pregnant it might not have hit her as hard. Or, she wouldn't have gone back to sleep, and being inside on her own would've sent her spiraling sooner.
"I got closest, yeah; but it started after the day in the O.R. " She'd given him only the barest sketch, and she couldn't imagine he'd filled it with all the shadows that had crept up on her. "It wasn't any worse while you were trying to take your sisters' numbers out of my phone."
"I'm sure it wasn't better—unless…it gave you another focus. You didn't have to acknowledge that you were scared and worried about the surgery, about Lexie at Roseridge, about the pregnancy. Then it all surfaced, along with the newer stuff with Adele."
"I guess. It didn't…feel better," she admitted. She didn't love the sniping and disdain; although, having Zola get out of his car singing her version of "London Calling" had been great.
"Have there been other times when it got to the point of cutting? Before this year?" He said it easily. Had there been a sister? Was it Amy? (It was usually Amy.) "Or hurting yourself in other ways? That water…. I should've thought."
"You did. You helped," she assured him, hoping he couldn't see evidence of her mind racing. "Before, it'd been…" Years. Just say years. She couldn't lie. Not with what being found out would do to his trust. "…a while."
Hoping he'd read the distance in her eyes, she let herself remember that one night intern year. In the bright light of the morning after a November storm, she'd almost believed she'd fallen, or something; and then dreamed that she'd made the wound herself. The jagged end made it impossible. Pathetic, to let crash of the recycling bins being blown over cause her hand to make an incision that looked like the edge of one of the smashed tequila bottles—empties she hadn't replaced. When she'd tried to convince herself her memories were revised, it was without the benefit of drunken haziness, or instability.
She'd stitched that one. It hadn't scarred.
There'd been a couple more scratches; some dark moments where the stranger her bed hadn't broken through the numbness, or the bottle only made it worse. A significant amount of self-loathing had sloshed in her stomach at those times; not because she'd never hit lows in med school, but because she'd been sure Addison had never stared at a scalpel and longed to slash it across her unblemished skin. (It wouldn't occur to her that Derek might have a clue; not even when she relized he'd had questions about the water. If she'd really credited how intently he studied her, it could've sunk her deeper.)
The night George left, she'd sat on her floor with the box of antique surgical instruments her mom had collected, treating one of the blades treating it like a drumstick—no, like the pencils she'd used to practice stick tricks; not even trying to avoid letting it whack her on the head—She'd considered grabbing it in midair and slicing. It'd all be one smooth motion, when she'd been nothing but awkward and unsure for months. If she misjudged the catch and closed her hand on the blade, she'd give George the surgeries she lost while it healed. And if that put her too far behind—At that moment Cristina had texted to say George was staying at Burke's, and there'd been a message from Derek, telling her to dress warmly for their walk with Doc.
She'd picked up the blade, and held it to her forearm. Under all the layers she'd be wearing, he'd never have to know his friend had the coping mechanisms of a sixteen-year-old. She'd feel it the whole time, and she'd have to remember what a terrible, destructive person she was. It was a good reminder to have. But Derek would know something was wrong. ( In George's place he would've— She'd said yes. She'd wanted…. She'd let it happen. She'd screwed up.) He'd realize how little she had to offer as a friend. He'd reject her like her father had, like George (rightfully) had.
She hadn't been ready for that.
She'd put the box back on the shelf in her closet. For half an hour she'd sorted through clothes leftover from a ski trip with her college roommate's family, where she'd spent most of her time getting to know the bartender at the lounge and staring into the fire. The morning had been brisk, but the sun had been out, and she'd had hope for this step in there relationship. As friends.
November to February. Maybe it was a seasonal thing? That spring made that unlikely. She hadn't chosen to drown, and she hadn't spiraled in the same direction. That didn't mean she'd been okay.
He touched the back of his hand against her cheek. "How're you feeling?"
"That's…That's all?"
"If you wanted to tell me more, you would. That there were times since I've known you…. While we were together?"He lifted her chin reflexively as she lowered her eyes. "I don't like that, because it tells me I screwed up. All I can do is hope I can be better, and you'll eventually feel safe telling me how and when. Pushing…you've taught me I can't push someone closer to me."
"I feel safe with you."
"Then, it's not the right word. You're sharing it with me now. That's what matters. Can you answer my original question?"
She shrugged. "Don't think I'm gonna puke on you."
"That's something. What about sleep?"
"Supposed to be all the rage. You should go for it."
"Mm, yeah, tell you what: one, two, three, and…timber," he said, sweeping her down, and then pressed in behind her. His left arm settled across her chest, and she grabbed one of the pillows to put under his hand. "Lights on 'til I can move that tripping hazard."
"I'm not gonna forget it's there."
"You'll temember it then, too." He pressed his lips against the back of her neck. She felt the breath that meant he was trying to figure out how to say something. "Maybe…Maybe we should encourage Lexie to stay with Thatcher," he suggested. "Just until you're a little further along."
"We've both told her it's her choice—"
"We'll explain. She'll understand; it's not permanent. "
"You and I deal with each other's issues; I can do it for her. I'm not gonna kick her down the road like a can."
"Just an idea. I…I know it's not my usual refrain. My sisters and I were in each other's back pockets for decades. It was a good thing when things were rough; always someone to take in kids or pets, but…it was also a good way to avoid our own issues. I didn't know how much I used that until it was too late."
"That why you've never asked them to visit?"
"Mmm. Sorry Liz went after you for that."
"I've never protested. Maybe next year? It…it'd be six months. That old enough, right? My parents got me out here at three months."
"Yeah. It'd be a long drive, but…."
"M-Maybe we could fly. We could be whole and healed by then."
"I don't know if anyone is ever that. Not for long, anyway. When we met, I showed you parts of myself, because of all I was hiding, but I'd been crumbling for a long time. Before that, it'd been Amy…and that I couldn't protect Kate with her first husband. Here, it was over a year and a half, before I felt like I could hold myself together. Then the shooting…. What I didn't know when I said that thing about breathing for you is that we can be cracked and granulating, together. That's not how it was for me before. With Addison, we challenged each other so strongly it led to being afraid to be vulnerable. My family, you've seen. Resilience shouldn't be competitive. We'll face this as it happens, just like we've done with the suit; I'll be in your corner same as you've been for me. And you'll let me take care of you."
"I just don't want you to think I'm fragile or whatever."
Derek moved his head up to press his lips to her clavicle, sucking hard as he did so. She let him go; it was turtleneck weather. He went from there to bruisingly firm kisses up to her mouth, his tongue doing battle to caress hers.
"You fell out of a plane and ended up with a cut and a concussion. You are incredibly strong." He pulled back, sitting up to free his right hand.
"You don't have to— ahhhh," she cried out sharp then smooth as the sensation of his hand between her legs settled.
"I," he said, "don't want to hear about me. If you want me to leave you alone, I will." He looked up to the ceiling, and then kissed her. "Rephrasing that: do you want me to not do this?"
She shouldn't. It hadn't been that sort of conversation, for sure, and he might just be trying to occupy her—
"Hey. Pull your tentacles out of my brain. You didn't change anything, Mer. You're the same woman you were when we came to bed tonight. I loved you then. I love you now. For me, it's that simple. I need to hear from you. What do you want?"
"I…I want you," she admitted. "I wanna be us."
"We're always us," he said, trailing his fingers over her belly. "Wherever we are. Whatever we're doing. In here, or in the middle of nowhere."
"We're here, now." She reached up, and he leaned down for her to kiss him.
He was purposefully not gentle, but she could feel him holding something else back. It wasn't until his eyes were locked on hers, even as he slammed into her that he slipped. His palm was flat against her, jerking with the same strength, and the lit room was pushing too much stimuli into her thoughts. She screwed her eyes shut, whimpering as the pressure kept building.
"Mer. Stay with me, baby."
"M'here."
"Look at me."
"Can't."
"Yeah, you can. Please, precious." The fingers on his left hand trembled against her cheek. What was in his voice was more than pleading. It was desperate.
She wrenched her eyes open, and barely saw the look in Derek's before it disappeared. Still, she didn't blink, not when his eyelashes fluttered down, and he released inside her. Not until she couldn't hold them anymore, and the light burned against her eyelids like the sun in the clearing.
That sense disappeared when she opened them again, and Derek was watching her like he couldn't look away. "There you are, bright eyes."
She grabbed his hand and brought it to her heart. "I'm not going anywhere. You said it: It's not that."
"It's not that."
It took her a moment to realize he wasn't repeating her to reinforce that he understood. She imagined her logic puzzle again, and then sat up to wrap her arms around him, threading her fingers through his hair. All of the past week would've been resonate for him, if in a different octave, especially Adele's death. She'd known her her whole life, but he'd known her more and hers was the first Alzheimer's decent he'd seen from before jump. Richard was in the place he'd be in, but his example wasn't one he'd have wanted to follow, even if she hadn't asked him not to. It'd brought the possibility of losing her to the disease closer, without giving him a better option.
And then he discovered she'd done something risky that put their baby on the line. That part had to be there, too.
Kneeling the way she was aggravated the sore spots on her leg. She tried not to invest meaning into it, but she kept hearing him say they could be cracked and granulating together. She thought they'd found an effective treatment plan this time, but was that enough when the same wounds were being excoriated—and they sliced through the scar tissue themselves?
A/N: What's this? A chapter on the last Friday of a five-week month? Yes, my friends, it is. I managed to forget September was one of those months, and had already prepped this chapter when I realized. The one-shot I have lined up deserves my full focus on proofing it-it's one that really encapsulates a dynamic I see in Grey's, one that shows up a lot in the second half of this fic. Also, I didn't want the delay between these two chapters, but next week is a more natural transition.