Thistle & Weeds, part II
This is not the dream.
It's a story that's been told before, Meredith thinks, staring blankly down at the water rising toward her feet. You never look back. Orpheus was given the chance to rescue Eurydice if he'd only keep looking ahead and the idiot glanced over his shoulder. If you want to survive, you never turn back.
Meredith never seems to stop looking behind her.
Undergoing this once was bad enough. Living it again has left her exhausted, emotionally drained, and that only makes it worse because she remembers clearly last time she everything came clear. She survived and found a measure of calm and purpose, a certainty she's lacked all her life, and this time, she doesn't get that. This time, she finds herself here again, surrounded by water, not sure of anything at all.
She gets to her feet and runs on down the hall, nearly slipping once, bursting through the doors to the E.R. to look at her trio of ghosts, what would be an absurd Greek chorus if they weren't so painfully silent. "I don't understand," she says. Nothing about this makes any sense to her, and she wants to grab one of them by the shirt and shake, demand answers. "This happened years ago. I am not dead. I haven't died. I didn't drown again. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't - I'm supposed to be on an island - oh, don't give me that look."
Denny lifts his hands and raises his brow, shaking his head at her. "What look, Meredith?"
"Poor little girl," she says, almost snarls, "she's finally snapped. It's the pressure of being dead. Brain damage, that's what you think this is. Which is fair, I guess, because if I was submerged for that long, with the amount of time I spent not breathing, that is - it's a fair assumption, except that it assumes I just drowned. Which I didn't, so just... wake me up. Whatever this is, wake me up. I'm done."
"I can't do that. This isn't up to me. You think I brought you down here? You think this is fun for me?" Denny ducks his head a little, watching her intently. "You think I want Izzie to suffer another blow like this? I told you, this will break her. You will break her."
"No." Meredith shakes her head and steps back. "No, no," she says, "I'm not doing this again. I'm not doing this." How did she even get here? She was leaving - no, looking back - and then she was here. But before that, on the island, was she asleep? She doesn't remember falling asleep.
Outside the doors, her mother passes by.
"Take me back to the island," Meredith says, "just send me back."
"What island?" demands Denny, exasperated. "Don't do this, Meredith, don't let go like this. The others, they can't handle this - Alex and Cristina, Izzie." She feels for a moment like she might relent, even as the urge to freak out returns. Not one of those people is where she's supposed to be. "And you, you are not finished. You and Derek are not finished -"
"We are." The clinic. That's where she was. She was in the clinic, the one out in the jungle, getting ready to go home at the end of her shift. All she wants is to walk down the path and forget this, crawl into bed with Sean - Sean, who isn't here, who isn't in Seattle, who won't be waiting for her if she finds herself there. Suddenly this feels too fucking real for her not to panic again, balking at the idea of waking up from this the way she did before, stretched out and coughing on a Seattle Grace gurney with Cristina at her side. Denny told her once, not long before this, though it's been years now, that they only get moments with the people they love. Death is like standing in the next room and looking through the glass - glimpses, the barest imagining of scent and touch and voice.
"We are," she says, voice rising as her throat goes tight. He's not there, he's not there, and they've talked about some variation on this theme, said she could survive, but that's not a decision they get to make and it's certainly not true, judging by the way her heart's trying to climb up and out of her.She's only had moments with Sean. Even alive, comparatively speaking, she's only really had moments and she wants a life. "What is this? Why is this happening again? Please, I want to go home -"
"Meredith, come on," he says, prepared to usher her out into the hall the way he always does, but all she can think is, if she goes with him, if she follows this path, she'll wake up somewhere she doesn't want to be. She'll lose Sean for good and he won't know how to find her the way he promised, the way she sometimes believes he will. The afterlife, if that's what this is, that's impossible, but Seattle strikes her as nearly just as far away, and if he won't find her, she doesn't want to be there. Denny's hand lights on her shoulder and Meredith pulls away, steps back. "No. I'm not leaving. I'm not going back there." She almost trips, stumbling back into a bed, but that's now how she winds up on the ground.
It's a story that's been told before, Meredith thinks, staring blankly down at the water rising toward her feet. You never look back. Orpheus was given the chance to rescue Eurydice if he'd only keep looking ahead and the idiot glanced over his shoulder. If you want to survive, you never turn back.
Meredith never seems to stop looking behind her.
Undergoing this once was bad enough. Living it again has left her exhausted, emotionally drained, and that only makes it worse because she remembers clearly last time she everything came clear. She survived and found a measure of calm and purpose, a certainty she's lacked all her life, and this time, she doesn't get that. This time, she finds herself here again, surrounded by water, not sure of anything at all.
She gets to her feet and runs on down the hall, nearly slipping once, bursting through the doors to the E.R. to look at her trio of ghosts, what would be an absurd Greek chorus if they weren't so painfully silent. "I don't understand," she says. Nothing about this makes any sense to her, and she wants to grab one of them by the shirt and shake, demand answers. "This happened years ago. I am not dead. I haven't died. I didn't drown again. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't - I'm supposed to be on an island - oh, don't give me that look."
Denny lifts his hands and raises his brow, shaking his head at her. "What look, Meredith?"
"Poor little girl," she says, almost snarls, "she's finally snapped. It's the pressure of being dead. Brain damage, that's what you think this is. Which is fair, I guess, because if I was submerged for that long, with the amount of time I spent not breathing, that is - it's a fair assumption, except that it assumes I just drowned. Which I didn't, so just... wake me up. Whatever this is, wake me up. I'm done."
"I can't do that. This isn't up to me. You think I brought you down here? You think this is fun for me?" Denny ducks his head a little, watching her intently. "You think I want Izzie to suffer another blow like this? I told you, this will break her. You will break her."
"No." Meredith shakes her head and steps back. "No, no," she says, "I'm not doing this again. I'm not doing this." How did she even get here? She was leaving - no, looking back - and then she was here. But before that, on the island, was she asleep? She doesn't remember falling asleep.
Outside the doors, her mother passes by.
"Take me back to the island," Meredith says, "just send me back."
"What island?" demands Denny, exasperated. "Don't do this, Meredith, don't let go like this. The others, they can't handle this - Alex and Cristina, Izzie." She feels for a moment like she might relent, even as the urge to freak out returns. Not one of those people is where she's supposed to be. "And you, you are not finished. You and Derek are not finished -"
"We are." The clinic. That's where she was. She was in the clinic, the one out in the jungle, getting ready to go home at the end of her shift. All she wants is to walk down the path and forget this, crawl into bed with Sean - Sean, who isn't here, who isn't in Seattle, who won't be waiting for her if she finds herself there. Suddenly this feels too fucking real for her not to panic again, balking at the idea of waking up from this the way she did before, stretched out and coughing on a Seattle Grace gurney with Cristina at her side. Denny told her once, not long before this, though it's been years now, that they only get moments with the people they love. Death is like standing in the next room and looking through the glass - glimpses, the barest imagining of scent and touch and voice.
"We are," she says, voice rising as her throat goes tight. He's not there, he's not there, and they've talked about some variation on this theme, said she could survive, but that's not a decision they get to make and it's certainly not true, judging by the way her heart's trying to climb up and out of her.She's only had moments with Sean. Even alive, comparatively speaking, she's only really had moments and she wants a life. "What is this? Why is this happening again? Please, I want to go home -"
"Meredith, come on," he says, prepared to usher her out into the hall the way he always does, but all she can think is, if she goes with him, if she follows this path, she'll wake up somewhere she doesn't want to be. She'll lose Sean for good and he won't know how to find her the way he promised, the way she sometimes believes he will. The afterlife, if that's what this is, that's impossible, but Seattle strikes her as nearly just as far away, and if he won't find her, she doesn't want to be there. Denny's hand lights on her shoulder and Meredith pulls away, steps back. "No. I'm not leaving. I'm not going back there." She almost trips, stumbling back into a bed, but that's now how she winds up on the ground.