Standing on Solid Ground - Part 18
Title: Standing on Solid Ground
Author: AriaAdagio
Rating: M
Summary: Post Some Kind of Miracle, Mer/Der. Multi-part story in which Meredith and Derek deal with the aftermath of the ferry arc.
~~~~~
Derek stared at her over his tight fan of cards, the line of his brow even and serious as he glanced at her and then back to his hand. He sat Indian-style opposite to her, his back resting against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. She lay across the foot of the bed, her feet dangling off the side. An empty bowl of popcorn sat off to the side within an arm's reach of the both of them, and meandering trails of popcorn kernels and white, fluffy bits scattered across the bedspread in an outward fan from it. A small pile of cheap poker chips, the kind you could buy at a drugstore, sat in the middle of the bed like a strange offering.
A random movie played on the television behind them. They'd watched and provided lots of sarcastic commentary for a commercial-filled, very sanitized showing of Hot Shots, Part Deux. The network had begun showing something else after that, but she and Derek had already switched to other activities, and at this point, she doubted she could even list the names of the main characters.
She flicked her cards. They were worn, faded, well-used, and kind of bent from far too much shuffling, but they still smelled papery like new cards. A beat up queen of spades and a tired queen of hearts book-ended her otherwise lackluster hand. Just a pair. And this was after she'd exchanged three cards already. Glancing back at Derek didn't help. He had a great poker face, even if he had a crappy poker game. She watched his face, tried to see if he would trip up, make a tick, anything. His eyes twinkled, like he was daring her to just try and figure out what he had. She frowned. He had to be bluffing. He hadn't had anything better than a pair yet, and the likelihood of him having better than queens was kind of bad. "Call," she said, and tossed a chip down, though, in this game, the betting was mostly just for show.
She fanned her cards out in front of her and stared as he did the same. He had three threes to her two queens. Damn.
"Hah," he said, his lips curling up into a wolfish smirk as he swept the pot away into his betting pile. "You owe me a bra!"
"Derek, I haven't even lost my shirt yet. Bra stays, thanks." She pulled off her last sock, making a long, tantalizing show of it for him. His eyes followed the movements, and his lips parted just a sliver. She tossed the sock over her shoulder and relaxed back onto the bed. She was left with her with a shirt, bra, and panties. Not too bad.
"You know," he said, looking down at his own state of undress. He had his right sock and his boxers still. His jeans, his shirt, and his other sock lay in a pile on the floor beside the bed, intertwined with her own heap of discarded clothing. He gestured to the two tiny gold studs on the nightstand. "It's really unfair that you got to count your earrings."
She grinned. "It's not my fault you didn't wear your watch today. Or a belt. I would have let you count those..."
He frowned, but from the twinkle in his eyes, she could tell he wasn't really that upset. "That's still remarkably unfair. I would be winning if it weren't for all your extras," he said.
She watched him for a moment, happy to see him acting so carefree. They'd slept in that morning, slept in and spent the rest of the day vegetating as their Saturday passed slowly by. It was something they'd both needed as much as breathing, as much as food, as much as any of the necessities. After all the heartache and emotional craziness, it was just nice to have a day dedicated to nothing but mental cotton candy. He still had occasional spells where he didn't seem quite... right. Moments where he'd get an odd, frenzied look in his eye. Sometimes he'd get visibly upset. Every time it happened, the trigger never seemed to be the same, never predictable. Once, he'd had issues when she'd come out of the shower, still dripping water, which had been understandable. Later, when she'd just been sitting there doing nothing and he'd gone a little wiggy, it hadn't made as much sense, at least not to her. But, usually, they got through it together in a few minutes, and, overall, the improvement she'd seen in just the two days they'd been there, secluded from the world, had been phenomenal.
She grinned at him. "Is it my fault you don't accessorize?"
He pouted. "I'll have to invest in cufflinks."
"Those don't go with t-shirts."
"So? I could stick them somewhere, I'm sure."
She laughed. "You're being a very sore loser, you know. It's not like I've got anything you haven't seen before. You're probably making me naked with your brain right as we speak."
He raised his eyebrows and quirked his lips into a slanted smile that said nothing but naughty things. "We could play real poker naked, you know," he said. "That might be more fun."
She rolled onto her side and propped her face up on her hand, elbow jamming into the mattress. "We could do a lot of things naked that are way more fun than poker."
"Did you have something in mind?"
She laughed. "If you win, I'll let you pick."
"What if you win?"
"I'll pick," she said with an evil grin.
"I get the impression that this is a win-win scenario," he said.
"I think you'd be right."
"Are you going to deal another hand?" he asked when she lingered too long doing nothing. "I want to get to the sex."
She snorted, picked up the cards, and began to shuffle in practiced, tight bridges. "This is really nice," she said.
"What is?"
"Just this... Being here with you, uninterrupted..."
She dealt them each a hand of cards. He picked his cards up, glanced at them, frowned, and put them back down, his earlier mirth suddenly crumbling into something serious. "You do have kind of a full house, Mere. No pun intended."
"George is gone," she said. She looked at her own hand. Ten high. Awful.
"Izzie more than makes up for it."
She put her hand down, noticing Derek hadn't picked his back up yet. "Izzie cooks!" she replied. And really, the great food, all the time, every meal... Meredith almost felt like a criminal for charging Izzie rent at this point.
Derek frowned. "Izzie lurks..."
"She does not lurk..." Meredith insisted, but on Derek's glare, she amended, "Okay, she sort of lurks."
Derek scooted across the bed, shoving all the poker chips and cards aside. He flipped the power switch on the remote, and the mumble of the television ceased. "Sort of?" he asked as he made a valiant effort at brushing away all the popcorn crumbs before he settled down along the length of her. He propped his head up on his elbow and hovered, inches from her. His feet dangled past the edge of the bed, way past her own. "Mere, the woman is like a spider, always there in every corner to hear every private conversation, always walking in when the door isn't locked. She's the very definition of the word. Lurk may even be too kind."
"Okay, fine, she lurks," Meredith said. "But she's Izzie! She's almost like my sister at this point. My very judgy, bitchy, nosy, annoying sister." Meredith still couldn't believe what Izzie had done with the urn. And she hadn't had much time that weekend to really calm down about it. Her mind had been on more important things.
Derek shifted, moved his bare foot along her leg. "I have tons of sisters. I don't live with them."
"If they're all like Nancy, I don't exactly blame you," Meredith said with a shudder. "Do you have a point?" she asked, though she had a feeling she knew what it was.
Derek swallowed. He reached out with his arm, ran his hand down her thigh, his fingers fleeting across her skin as he scooted just an inch closer. She twitched at the sudden flush of goose bumps. The musky smell that was just him, just Derek, coiled around her, and she inhaled as he searched her face with his gaze. "Well, have you thought about... I mean..." His voice trailed off.
"What?" she prodded.
"I was thinking..." he said, almost stuttering, in a very un-Derek-like fashion. "Maybe we could look for something in Seattle, you know, close to Seattle Grace like your mother's house."
For a moment, time just stopped, stopped cold. She couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but blink and make a strange squeaking noise. And then it all slammed back into her in a jumble. "You want to buy a house?" she blurted. "With me?"
When he'd dropped his cards and gotten right up in her face like that, suddenly gotten so serious, she'd thought he was going to ask her to ask Izzie to go find somewhere else to live, which, really, she couldn't blame him for. Especially not with what Izzie had... just done. Derek was bound to be a little gun-shy around her. And he really did deserve to have some space that was his and his alone, something he didn't really have in such a crowd of roommates and other people, roommates and other people he wasn't even really obligated to in any way. He was their boss, not their friend. But... A house? Derek wanted to buy a... That was a huge commitment. The only thing that would have shocked her more was if he'd proposed.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, clearing his throat like he was nervous or something. "I was thinking more along the lines of a nice apartment to start with, but if that works out, yeah, Mere. A house."
A strange, giddy feeling started curling up in her stomach, pounding her from the inside out with a thousand butterfly wings, fluttering, but on top of that, a crush of doubt hung there, ominous, heavy. He couldn't have thought this through. He still wasn't... Still wasn't all okay. This was just him reaching for her, reaching for comfort. He hadn't considered the implications.
"But what about your trailer?" she asked. "Your land that you love, you know, the land that you have no idea what you want to do with? The land we're currently residing on?"
"It would still be there, Mere," he said. He rubbed his fingers along her arm and more goose bumps flared at the soft touch. "It could be a weekend place or something."
She frowned, assessing, really assessing him. He didn't seem like he was just reaching for her in a panic. "You're serious about this."
"Yeah," he said. "I am."
"That would make it officially official. If we got an apartment, soon to be house. There wouldn't be my place or your place anymore. It would be our place. You really want to do that?" she asked.
"With you, Mere, yes, I want to do that. If you want to."
She stared at him, stared so hard she thought she might peer down into his soul. His gaze was serious, very serious, but at the same time, sparkled over with a confounding amount of amusement, love, other mushy things.
"You're it for me, Mere," he said. "I really want this."
And that was when she finally crumbled. She laughed, launched herself at him. He grunted with the impact, and they rolled, until he was lying on his back underneath her and she had him straddled at the waist between her thighs. She arced down and kissed him.
"Is that a yes?" he said with a chuckle when she came up for air.
"When do you want to start looking around?" she asked. She laid her cheek flat against his chest, smiling lazily as she listened to his heart beat along with a nice, healthy thump, thump, thump. Officially official. She sat there, twirling her fingers in the little tuft of hair just over his breastbone. Officially official. How about that?
"Well, not right away," he said after a long pause. "I'd kind of... kind of like to make sure I'm keeping my job first."
All her happy thoughts skidded to a stop. She looked up at him, realizing his long pause hadn't exactly been a pleasant one for him. "Derek, you're not losing your job. You're only suspended."
Something shifted behind his gaze, some gear that was supposed to go one way went the other, popped off a track. He swallowed thickly, and his eyes started filling up with unshed tears. When he blinked, she saw the watery film sliding around across the surface of his eyes, almost to the point of overflow. It glistened in the light. "I messed up, Mere," he said, his voice choked. "I'm messed up."
She rubbed his arm, rested against the crook of his neck. "You were obviously sick, Derek. It's not like you decided to do what you did on a whim. And the Chief said he was just suspending you."
He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. "Chief Webber isn't the only one who can make those decisions, Mere. And if Dr. Wyatt really decides to make an issue of it..."
"But what Izzie did with Denny was so much worse..."
"What Izzie did wasn't on the record. According to Seattle Grace, it didn't happen. Mere, Dr. Wyatt could sue me for personal injury... He could file for harassment with the hospital's HR department... And, god, I could get hit with a malpractice lawsuit if what happened gets out to Julie Walters's family. Do you think Seattle Grace would want to hold onto a walking liability like that?"
The overflow that had been threatening finally happened, and he was crying, crying on her. His mood had shifted in the space of time it took to fire a gunshot, and she hadn't been prepared for it. One moment they'd been happy, and the next he was in agony underneath her. Fear slipped under her skin, cold and shivery. He'd been doing so well, so well all day, and now he wasn't. The change was so unexpected that uncertainty slammed into her like a linebacker on steroids, and she was mentally stumbling, trying to find words, but unsure of what he needed to hear, what she needed to say.
"But Derek, you didn't have anything to do with Julie's death. You can't get sued for malpractice!" she insisted, trying to reassure him. "If anything, Dr. Wyatt is the one who should be worried."
Her assurances didn't help. He shook his head, reached up and clutched his face with his hands. "I was in the room when she died, Mere, doing a complex medical procedure that happened to occur at the same time. And, very shortly after, I went off the deep end. No lawyer is going to care that I didn't do anything wrong if the family wants blood for blood and they're willing to pay for it."
"Derek..."
"No, Mere, no," he gasped. "I really did it. And it's my fault. I can't believe... Can't believe I let it get that bad." And then he laughed, long and hard and breaking like fine china hitting the floor. "Look at me," he said, choking on the words. "I can't even have a normal conversation anymore without falling apart."
She sighed, pulling his hands back from his face, placing her own there, flat against his temples, forcing him to look at her. "It's not your fault. This isn't a normal conversation. And you're not falling apart."
He chuckled wryly at her, sniffling. He reached up and gripped her wrists. "You don't call this falling apart?"
"No, I call it letting go," she said. "Derek, you need to get this stuff out of you. You're letting it fester and twist, and it's not good for you, especially right now when all of your barriers are still mending. Believe me, I know."
He sucked in a heaving breath, his whole body shifting underneath her. She gripped him tightly, rode the wave. He quivered in a moment of uncertainty, and then he released her wrists, shifted his grip up her arms, his skin sliding along her own, tension mounting like a spring coil. He rolled them. Poker chips clinked and went spilling everywhere as they moved. Cards stuck to her back, went cascading. Little popcorn pieces poked her. He was on top of her, crouching over her, panting, crying, and she lay there, open to him, trusting, silent. He looked at her like she was the only thing left in the world.
"I hate this," he said.
"Tell me, Derek."
"I feel so out of control..." he said. "I don't even know what will set me off anymore, and I can't stop it when it does. I'm like a leaky faucet, for crying out loud. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? I don't have any idea how I'm going to make it through work on Monday."
"So don't go to work on Monday. Take some time off, Derek. If you need it. You need to worry about you right now, not how other people see you."
"Taking off feels like I'm giving in."
"And not giving in, not admitting that you had a problem is what got you here in the first place, Derek."
At those words, he crumpled. He flopped over onto his side, his back turned toward her, and she heard him weeping. His shoulders shook, shifting in tiny movements almost mistakable for stillness. She rolled over and spooned him. "Things will be okay," she said. She rubbed her hand up and down his side, giving him contact, letting him let it all out in silence, not prodding, not poking, just supporting.
Eventually, his upset settled into quiet, hitched breathing, and then slipped away like a burglar on cat feet, taking his confidence, taking the carefree expression he'd touted at their poker showdown, leaving him still and slightly broken again. He sniffed. "Thanks," he said, his voice low and thick and rough.
"You're it for me too, Derek," she said. "You'll be okay."
He turned to her, rubbed his face with his hands, looked at her with raw, red eyes. "When did you get to be so strong?" he asked.
"My knight in shining whatever needed some help."
He snorted. "I think at this point I'm more the pointless sidekick that keeps getting into trouble just to forward the plot."
"Holy scalpels, Batman, I've just gotten a scary image of you in tights."
He frowned. "That hurts, Mere. It does."
"You sure look great with nothing on at all, though," she said with a sly grin.
"Nice save."
"Thanks!" And then she broke into a fit of giggles that had her gasping, twitching, uncontrollable and unstoppable.
"We're back to the wounding, Mere."
"Sorry," she whispered, unable to draw enough breath to make the word solid.
He shuffled. And suddenly a pillow was slamming into her face, nothing gentle about it.
"Hey!" she shrieked as he hovered over her with an evil grin. She was on her feet in moments. She dodged another blow as she went diving for her own ammunition, but he was already off at a run. The door slammed.
"You cheat!" she said, and she took off after him.
She didn't really stop to think about how they looked... her in her t-shirt, no pants, him in boxers and one sock. It didn't really matter.
Author: AriaAdagio
Rating: M
Summary: Post Some Kind of Miracle, Mer/Der. Multi-part story in which Meredith and Derek deal with the aftermath of the ferry arc.
~~~~~
Derek stared at her over his tight fan of cards, the line of his brow even and serious as he glanced at her and then back to his hand. He sat Indian-style opposite to her, his back resting against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. She lay across the foot of the bed, her feet dangling off the side. An empty bowl of popcorn sat off to the side within an arm's reach of the both of them, and meandering trails of popcorn kernels and white, fluffy bits scattered across the bedspread in an outward fan from it. A small pile of cheap poker chips, the kind you could buy at a drugstore, sat in the middle of the bed like a strange offering.
A random movie played on the television behind them. They'd watched and provided lots of sarcastic commentary for a commercial-filled, very sanitized showing of Hot Shots, Part Deux. The network had begun showing something else after that, but she and Derek had already switched to other activities, and at this point, she doubted she could even list the names of the main characters.
She flicked her cards. They were worn, faded, well-used, and kind of bent from far too much shuffling, but they still smelled papery like new cards. A beat up queen of spades and a tired queen of hearts book-ended her otherwise lackluster hand. Just a pair. And this was after she'd exchanged three cards already. Glancing back at Derek didn't help. He had a great poker face, even if he had a crappy poker game. She watched his face, tried to see if he would trip up, make a tick, anything. His eyes twinkled, like he was daring her to just try and figure out what he had. She frowned. He had to be bluffing. He hadn't had anything better than a pair yet, and the likelihood of him having better than queens was kind of bad. "Call," she said, and tossed a chip down, though, in this game, the betting was mostly just for show.
She fanned her cards out in front of her and stared as he did the same. He had three threes to her two queens. Damn.
"Hah," he said, his lips curling up into a wolfish smirk as he swept the pot away into his betting pile. "You owe me a bra!"
"Derek, I haven't even lost my shirt yet. Bra stays, thanks." She pulled off her last sock, making a long, tantalizing show of it for him. His eyes followed the movements, and his lips parted just a sliver. She tossed the sock over her shoulder and relaxed back onto the bed. She was left with her with a shirt, bra, and panties. Not too bad.
"You know," he said, looking down at his own state of undress. He had his right sock and his boxers still. His jeans, his shirt, and his other sock lay in a pile on the floor beside the bed, intertwined with her own heap of discarded clothing. He gestured to the two tiny gold studs on the nightstand. "It's really unfair that you got to count your earrings."
She grinned. "It's not my fault you didn't wear your watch today. Or a belt. I would have let you count those..."
He frowned, but from the twinkle in his eyes, she could tell he wasn't really that upset. "That's still remarkably unfair. I would be winning if it weren't for all your extras," he said.
She watched him for a moment, happy to see him acting so carefree. They'd slept in that morning, slept in and spent the rest of the day vegetating as their Saturday passed slowly by. It was something they'd both needed as much as breathing, as much as food, as much as any of the necessities. After all the heartache and emotional craziness, it was just nice to have a day dedicated to nothing but mental cotton candy. He still had occasional spells where he didn't seem quite... right. Moments where he'd get an odd, frenzied look in his eye. Sometimes he'd get visibly upset. Every time it happened, the trigger never seemed to be the same, never predictable. Once, he'd had issues when she'd come out of the shower, still dripping water, which had been understandable. Later, when she'd just been sitting there doing nothing and he'd gone a little wiggy, it hadn't made as much sense, at least not to her. But, usually, they got through it together in a few minutes, and, overall, the improvement she'd seen in just the two days they'd been there, secluded from the world, had been phenomenal.
She grinned at him. "Is it my fault you don't accessorize?"
He pouted. "I'll have to invest in cufflinks."
"Those don't go with t-shirts."
"So? I could stick them somewhere, I'm sure."
She laughed. "You're being a very sore loser, you know. It's not like I've got anything you haven't seen before. You're probably making me naked with your brain right as we speak."
He raised his eyebrows and quirked his lips into a slanted smile that said nothing but naughty things. "We could play real poker naked, you know," he said. "That might be more fun."
She rolled onto her side and propped her face up on her hand, elbow jamming into the mattress. "We could do a lot of things naked that are way more fun than poker."
"Did you have something in mind?"
She laughed. "If you win, I'll let you pick."
"What if you win?"
"I'll pick," she said with an evil grin.
"I get the impression that this is a win-win scenario," he said.
"I think you'd be right."
"Are you going to deal another hand?" he asked when she lingered too long doing nothing. "I want to get to the sex."
She snorted, picked up the cards, and began to shuffle in practiced, tight bridges. "This is really nice," she said.
"What is?"
"Just this... Being here with you, uninterrupted..."
She dealt them each a hand of cards. He picked his cards up, glanced at them, frowned, and put them back down, his earlier mirth suddenly crumbling into something serious. "You do have kind of a full house, Mere. No pun intended."
"George is gone," she said. She looked at her own hand. Ten high. Awful.
"Izzie more than makes up for it."
She put her hand down, noticing Derek hadn't picked his back up yet. "Izzie cooks!" she replied. And really, the great food, all the time, every meal... Meredith almost felt like a criminal for charging Izzie rent at this point.
Derek frowned. "Izzie lurks..."
"She does not lurk..." Meredith insisted, but on Derek's glare, she amended, "Okay, she sort of lurks."
Derek scooted across the bed, shoving all the poker chips and cards aside. He flipped the power switch on the remote, and the mumble of the television ceased. "Sort of?" he asked as he made a valiant effort at brushing away all the popcorn crumbs before he settled down along the length of her. He propped his head up on his elbow and hovered, inches from her. His feet dangled past the edge of the bed, way past her own. "Mere, the woman is like a spider, always there in every corner to hear every private conversation, always walking in when the door isn't locked. She's the very definition of the word. Lurk may even be too kind."
"Okay, fine, she lurks," Meredith said. "But she's Izzie! She's almost like my sister at this point. My very judgy, bitchy, nosy, annoying sister." Meredith still couldn't believe what Izzie had done with the urn. And she hadn't had much time that weekend to really calm down about it. Her mind had been on more important things.
Derek shifted, moved his bare foot along her leg. "I have tons of sisters. I don't live with them."
"If they're all like Nancy, I don't exactly blame you," Meredith said with a shudder. "Do you have a point?" she asked, though she had a feeling she knew what it was.
Derek swallowed. He reached out with his arm, ran his hand down her thigh, his fingers fleeting across her skin as he scooted just an inch closer. She twitched at the sudden flush of goose bumps. The musky smell that was just him, just Derek, coiled around her, and she inhaled as he searched her face with his gaze. "Well, have you thought about... I mean..." His voice trailed off.
"What?" she prodded.
"I was thinking..." he said, almost stuttering, in a very un-Derek-like fashion. "Maybe we could look for something in Seattle, you know, close to Seattle Grace like your mother's house."
For a moment, time just stopped, stopped cold. She couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but blink and make a strange squeaking noise. And then it all slammed back into her in a jumble. "You want to buy a house?" she blurted. "With me?"
When he'd dropped his cards and gotten right up in her face like that, suddenly gotten so serious, she'd thought he was going to ask her to ask Izzie to go find somewhere else to live, which, really, she couldn't blame him for. Especially not with what Izzie had... just done. Derek was bound to be a little gun-shy around her. And he really did deserve to have some space that was his and his alone, something he didn't really have in such a crowd of roommates and other people, roommates and other people he wasn't even really obligated to in any way. He was their boss, not their friend. But... A house? Derek wanted to buy a... That was a huge commitment. The only thing that would have shocked her more was if he'd proposed.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, clearing his throat like he was nervous or something. "I was thinking more along the lines of a nice apartment to start with, but if that works out, yeah, Mere. A house."
A strange, giddy feeling started curling up in her stomach, pounding her from the inside out with a thousand butterfly wings, fluttering, but on top of that, a crush of doubt hung there, ominous, heavy. He couldn't have thought this through. He still wasn't... Still wasn't all okay. This was just him reaching for her, reaching for comfort. He hadn't considered the implications.
"But what about your trailer?" she asked. "Your land that you love, you know, the land that you have no idea what you want to do with? The land we're currently residing on?"
"It would still be there, Mere," he said. He rubbed his fingers along her arm and more goose bumps flared at the soft touch. "It could be a weekend place or something."
She frowned, assessing, really assessing him. He didn't seem like he was just reaching for her in a panic. "You're serious about this."
"Yeah," he said. "I am."
"That would make it officially official. If we got an apartment, soon to be house. There wouldn't be my place or your place anymore. It would be our place. You really want to do that?" she asked.
"With you, Mere, yes, I want to do that. If you want to."
She stared at him, stared so hard she thought she might peer down into his soul. His gaze was serious, very serious, but at the same time, sparkled over with a confounding amount of amusement, love, other mushy things.
"You're it for me, Mere," he said. "I really want this."
And that was when she finally crumbled. She laughed, launched herself at him. He grunted with the impact, and they rolled, until he was lying on his back underneath her and she had him straddled at the waist between her thighs. She arced down and kissed him.
"Is that a yes?" he said with a chuckle when she came up for air.
"When do you want to start looking around?" she asked. She laid her cheek flat against his chest, smiling lazily as she listened to his heart beat along with a nice, healthy thump, thump, thump. Officially official. She sat there, twirling her fingers in the little tuft of hair just over his breastbone. Officially official. How about that?
"Well, not right away," he said after a long pause. "I'd kind of... kind of like to make sure I'm keeping my job first."
All her happy thoughts skidded to a stop. She looked up at him, realizing his long pause hadn't exactly been a pleasant one for him. "Derek, you're not losing your job. You're only suspended."
Something shifted behind his gaze, some gear that was supposed to go one way went the other, popped off a track. He swallowed thickly, and his eyes started filling up with unshed tears. When he blinked, she saw the watery film sliding around across the surface of his eyes, almost to the point of overflow. It glistened in the light. "I messed up, Mere," he said, his voice choked. "I'm messed up."
She rubbed his arm, rested against the crook of his neck. "You were obviously sick, Derek. It's not like you decided to do what you did on a whim. And the Chief said he was just suspending you."
He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. "Chief Webber isn't the only one who can make those decisions, Mere. And if Dr. Wyatt really decides to make an issue of it..."
"But what Izzie did with Denny was so much worse..."
"What Izzie did wasn't on the record. According to Seattle Grace, it didn't happen. Mere, Dr. Wyatt could sue me for personal injury... He could file for harassment with the hospital's HR department... And, god, I could get hit with a malpractice lawsuit if what happened gets out to Julie Walters's family. Do you think Seattle Grace would want to hold onto a walking liability like that?"
The overflow that had been threatening finally happened, and he was crying, crying on her. His mood had shifted in the space of time it took to fire a gunshot, and she hadn't been prepared for it. One moment they'd been happy, and the next he was in agony underneath her. Fear slipped under her skin, cold and shivery. He'd been doing so well, so well all day, and now he wasn't. The change was so unexpected that uncertainty slammed into her like a linebacker on steroids, and she was mentally stumbling, trying to find words, but unsure of what he needed to hear, what she needed to say.
"But Derek, you didn't have anything to do with Julie's death. You can't get sued for malpractice!" she insisted, trying to reassure him. "If anything, Dr. Wyatt is the one who should be worried."
Her assurances didn't help. He shook his head, reached up and clutched his face with his hands. "I was in the room when she died, Mere, doing a complex medical procedure that happened to occur at the same time. And, very shortly after, I went off the deep end. No lawyer is going to care that I didn't do anything wrong if the family wants blood for blood and they're willing to pay for it."
"Derek..."
"No, Mere, no," he gasped. "I really did it. And it's my fault. I can't believe... Can't believe I let it get that bad." And then he laughed, long and hard and breaking like fine china hitting the floor. "Look at me," he said, choking on the words. "I can't even have a normal conversation anymore without falling apart."
She sighed, pulling his hands back from his face, placing her own there, flat against his temples, forcing him to look at her. "It's not your fault. This isn't a normal conversation. And you're not falling apart."
He chuckled wryly at her, sniffling. He reached up and gripped her wrists. "You don't call this falling apart?"
"No, I call it letting go," she said. "Derek, you need to get this stuff out of you. You're letting it fester and twist, and it's not good for you, especially right now when all of your barriers are still mending. Believe me, I know."
He sucked in a heaving breath, his whole body shifting underneath her. She gripped him tightly, rode the wave. He quivered in a moment of uncertainty, and then he released her wrists, shifted his grip up her arms, his skin sliding along her own, tension mounting like a spring coil. He rolled them. Poker chips clinked and went spilling everywhere as they moved. Cards stuck to her back, went cascading. Little popcorn pieces poked her. He was on top of her, crouching over her, panting, crying, and she lay there, open to him, trusting, silent. He looked at her like she was the only thing left in the world.
"I hate this," he said.
"Tell me, Derek."
"I feel so out of control..." he said. "I don't even know what will set me off anymore, and I can't stop it when it does. I'm like a leaky faucet, for crying out loud. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? I don't have any idea how I'm going to make it through work on Monday."
"So don't go to work on Monday. Take some time off, Derek. If you need it. You need to worry about you right now, not how other people see you."
"Taking off feels like I'm giving in."
"And not giving in, not admitting that you had a problem is what got you here in the first place, Derek."
At those words, he crumpled. He flopped over onto his side, his back turned toward her, and she heard him weeping. His shoulders shook, shifting in tiny movements almost mistakable for stillness. She rolled over and spooned him. "Things will be okay," she said. She rubbed her hand up and down his side, giving him contact, letting him let it all out in silence, not prodding, not poking, just supporting.
Eventually, his upset settled into quiet, hitched breathing, and then slipped away like a burglar on cat feet, taking his confidence, taking the carefree expression he'd touted at their poker showdown, leaving him still and slightly broken again. He sniffed. "Thanks," he said, his voice low and thick and rough.
"You're it for me too, Derek," she said. "You'll be okay."
He turned to her, rubbed his face with his hands, looked at her with raw, red eyes. "When did you get to be so strong?" he asked.
"My knight in shining whatever needed some help."
He snorted. "I think at this point I'm more the pointless sidekick that keeps getting into trouble just to forward the plot."
"Holy scalpels, Batman, I've just gotten a scary image of you in tights."
He frowned. "That hurts, Mere. It does."
"You sure look great with nothing on at all, though," she said with a sly grin.
"Nice save."
"Thanks!" And then she broke into a fit of giggles that had her gasping, twitching, uncontrollable and unstoppable.
"We're back to the wounding, Mere."
"Sorry," she whispered, unable to draw enough breath to make the word solid.
He shuffled. And suddenly a pillow was slamming into her face, nothing gentle about it.
"Hey!" she shrieked as he hovered over her with an evil grin. She was on her feet in moments. She dodged another blow as she went diving for her own ammunition, but he was already off at a run. The door slammed.
"You cheat!" she said, and she took off after him.
She didn't really stop to think about how they looked... her in her t-shirt, no pants, him in boxers and one sock. It didn't really matter.