59. Chapter 59

AN: So, I thought this would be up sooner, but the chapter that was originally supposed to be chapter 59 got mostly written before I realized I needed another chapter before it. And then that chapter got partially written before I realized THIS needed to happen first. This is why I need to write things down and not just do my planning in my head and believe I'll remember everything all the time...

The wheels squealed as they turned. Round and round and round, overriding every other sound around her.

In actual fact, the squealing was probably quiet, not meeting the ears of anyone else, but it was all Meredith could hear. It was all she could focus on.

It was all she could allow herself to focus on.

It took her mind away from what she was about to do. It had seemed so simple before. Not easy, but...necessary. And okay. Definitely something she could handle.

But now it seemed...impossible. Definitely impossible.

Sympathetic and pitying and prying eyes met hers as she passed. Every hospital employee seemed to know exactly what had happened to her the previous day. And they all stared now, as if she were a celebrity. A broken, dejected star, fallen right off the front cover of an unnamed tabloid.

Because, seriously, this kind of thing never happened in real life. So it was okay to stare.

It was okay to stare at the girl who had almost died for the second time in just a few months, who was a patient for the second time in just a few weeks. And whose mother – a famous surgeon – had just died. And who was dating – and had been saved by – the Head of Neurosurgery (whose ex-wife, another department head, had cheated on him with his best friend, yet another department head).

You couldn't make this stuff up. So people stared.

And even though she knew it was curiosity more than anything that drove the stares, Meredith still closed her eyes and concentrated on the squealing wheels of her wheelchair. The sound was sharp and painful, and a completely welcome escape from the stares and the pain and the knowledge of what she had to do.

Derek, true to his word, had barely left her side since she had woken on the trauma room gurney in a world of pain the day before. And her knight in shining whatever was now playing the role of chauffeur, pushing her slowly down the hallway to the elevator.

It seemed he too didn't want to reach their destination anytime soon.

Despite the staring eyes and pitying glances, the hallway ended too quickly, leaving them at the elevators. And the high pitched squeak, squeak, squeak of the wheelchair stopped.

Derek left his post to step around her, reaching a finger out for the button, summoning an elevator car to their floor. When he turned back he offered her a smile.

It was tense and his colouring was pale and his eyes danced worriedly, but it was a smile.

Her lips curled upwards on reflex. He smiled; she smiled. It was a built in response now.

"You ready for this?" It was a stupid question. He knew it was a stupid question, but he needed to say something to her. He needed to tell her he was still there for her. He also knew the answer.

"No," she mumbled truthfully. She hadn't even had to suppress the urge to say she was fine. There was nothing fine about this.

"I'm here." It had become his mantra. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.

And he was. Always.

A beeping drew them from their brief moment, and Derek returned to his place behind her as the elevator doors opened. The car was, thankfully, empty, and Derek took advantage of the space to push the wheelchair on – being extra careful of the minute bump between the hospital floor and elevator bottom – and turned her around, so she was facing the doors, just waiting for them to open on their floor.

He left her again to push another button. The 'B' for basement.

And this time when he turned around he couldn't offer her a smile. There was nothing smile-worthy about where they were going.

But he would be there with her, and that was enough. That was what she needed to get through this day.

"Mer..." He began, but no more words came out.

She nodded, blinking back tears. I know, she was telling him, even though he couldn't put anything into words. It wasn't okay. But he was there.

He silently returned to his post behind her. The elevator began descending. One floor. Two.

And suddenly his chin was on her shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers. And one strong arm was wrapped loosely around her neck, offering her as much support as it could without hugging her. Because as much as she desperately needed a hug, he couldn't give her one, so here he was doing his best, bent over the back of her wheelchair, holding her as best he could.

Her chest hitched and one hand came up to grasp onto his forearm. The other one found his hair. "Derek..." She breathed, shutting her eyes tight.

"I'm here." And then he sniffed.

He was fighting off tears as well.

She pressed her cheek hard against his, absorbing his warmth.

And for one perfect second everything seemed okay.

But then her world was shattered as the elevator came to a crushing stop.

Meredith reluctantly uncurled her fingers from Derek's hair, and he pulled away, planting a kiss on the top of her head before standing upright.

The doors opened. The wheelchair started moving forward.

This hallway was much different from the one above. There were no pitying glances. Hell, there were no people besides her and Derek. And it was cold. And quiet, save for the drawn out squeak, squeak, squeak of the wheels of her chair.

No words were passed between them as Derek led them down a pathway they had both taken before many times, but always as doctors, never as...this.

She caught sight of the imposing swinging doors at the end of the hallway and swallowed hard at the letters above them. M. O. R. G. U. E.

This was it.

It was time to say goodbye.

000

The staff of the morgue were much more tactful than those upstairs who cater to living patients; these people were used to dealing with corpses and the corpses' late families. There were no stares. No pitying glances or vies for gossip material.

Meredith was met with professional almost-smiles and nods. They knew who she was, but weren't looking for anything from her. They had expected her, and ushered her – via Derek – down the hall to the right to a small room used for identification and goodbyes.

Two large paned glass windows broke the monotony of the white washed walls. Curtains were drawn on the other side. The morgue director stopped, uncertain. "Did you want to go in, Dr. Grey?"

Meredith nodded, numb.

The director said nothing as he opened the door. Normally there would be a few practiced sentences of warning, but he knew it wasn't necessary.

Derek's hand landed on her shoulder, offering a supportive squeeze before it returned to the handle of the wheelchair.

A gurney lay in the center of the small room, covered by a white sheet, complete with tell-tale bumps, outlining a body.

"Take as much time as you need," the director spoke quietly. "I'll leave you two alone."

Derek said something to the man, but Meredith couldn't make it out. Her throat was suddenly dry as she stared at the outline of her mother's body under the stark white sheet.

The door shut behind her, and the only sound in the room was Derek breathing behind her. In. Out. And then, "I'm here."

A hissing, frustrated laugh escaped her lips.

His tone changed when he spoke again. "I'm sorry I don't know what to say." Desperate. Apologetic. Lost.

Unable to turn herself to face him, she lifted a hand, knowing he would meet it with his own. "Trust me, Derek, you being here is the only reason I'm still standing...or whatever. Seriously, that was a stupid freaking metaphor, because I can't even stand." She had scoffed at the concept of a wheelchair that morning, but when she hadn't even been able to stand on her own, she had relented.

"It'll get better," he soothed.

She squeezed his hand. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered.

"Do you want...what do you want?"

She stared at the form before her. "I don't know."

He stepped closer behind her, still clutching her hand, his other falling onto her shoulder. "Do you want to be closer?"

It felt like her world was spinning. Regardless of the fact that her mother had been gone for many years, the fact that she was now gone, gone seemed impossible. "I..." she trailed off.

"Or...should I pull the sheet back for you?"

Her lower jaw quivered, ready to move if only words would come to her. Everything seemed so surreal. The size of the room wasn't constant, instead the walls seemed to be vibrating. Close. Far. Close. Far. It was as if everything was closing in on her and shooting away at the same time. And a horrible white figure loomed before her.

"Or maybe you wanted to try standing again? I can help you, if you want to-"

"Shut up!" She finally snapped. "I just...shut up! I don't know what I freaking want, okay?" Tears flowed over her lower lids and a sob escaped her lips. "Stop pushing me. I just need a freaking minute. Okay? Can you just...stop?"

Silence.

Meredith released Derek's hand and brought both of hers to her face. Tears now streamed down her face freely. Her chest heaved painfully as she sobbed. Nothing was okay.

Nothing was okay at all.

Derek crouched beside her, his arms wrapping loosely around her, not daring to hold her tight, but needing to be there. He said nothing, knowing there was nothing he could say to make this any easier. And suddenly things were just a little bit okay, a little less out of control.

"Oh...I..." she sobbed.

He leaned his forehead against the side of her head and breathed. In. Out. In. Out.

She moved one hand from her face to his hair, clutching desperately at his curls. "I'm s-sorry," she cried.

"Hey," he soothed. "It doesn't matter."

She inhaled a shaky breath, before expelling it in a rush of pain and pathetic-ness. "I need you," she whispered between sobs. "I...I need you."

"I'm here."

Meredith cried. "You're all I have."

"That's not true," he assured. "You have so many people in your life, Mer. But it's okay if you love me best..."

She released a laughing sob at his attempt at humour. He was trying so hard to make this easier on her. "I need you," she whispered fiercely, needing him to understand.

"You have me."

"I can't be this."

He paused. "This?"

Her hand left her face to gesture at the form before them. "This," she repeated. "I...I need you."

He exhaled against her, his breath warm on her neck. "I'm sorry, Mer, but I don't understand..." His tone was so careful and regretful that it made her heart ache.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."

The pressure against the side of her head disappeared as he pulled away, craning his neck to meet her eyes. He was lost in their conversation, and was searching out her gaze. They always communicated better with their eyes.

"She's my mother."

He nodded, his brow furrowed as his eyes darted back and forth between hers, searching for an answer, searching for something he could fix.

"She's my mother and she's dead...and I don't know what to feel."

"That's okay," he reassured. He knew this wasn't the root of her problem, but it was something he could respond to. It was a place he could offer some comfort. "I felt numb when my dad died. It's normal to be numb or confused."

"I see family members all the time, after the patient dies...and they're so sad. They cry and hug and look so sad. And it's stupid right now because I kind of envy them. I want to feel something."

"You've been through so much, Mer. There will be plenty of time to feel sad."

"But I don't even know if I should feel sad."

He hesitated, not in surprise to her comment, but in the realization that he was getting closer to understanding the problem she couldn't find the words to explain.

"Five years ago, when I found out about the Alzheimer's and came home to find she barely knew who I was, I was sad. I sad was for her. But now..."

He sighed. "I guess it's just been a long time coming."

She blinked back another onslaught of tears and met his eyes head on. "How sad should I feel?"

His lips tightened before he spoke. "Mer...there's no right amount."

The second wave of tears hit her full force. "I don't want to be this."

Tears lined his eyes in despair. They had come back to this and he still didn't know what this was."

"I need you, Derek," Meredith sobbed. "You can't leave me."

He shook his head before leaned close and pressing his lips against hers. "Never."

"I can't become her."

Derek cocked his head, a hint of realization behind his eyes.

"I can't do the marriage thing and the kids thing if when I die our kids aren't sure what they feel."

"Oh, Mer..." he whispered, understanding sketched into his features.

"I...I want these things with you," she found herself stammering onwards. "You made me want these things, and I want them so much, but...but...I can't become her. I can't. I can't get married and treat you like she treated Thatcher. And I can't have kids and parent like she did. I can't do the things she did to me to our kids. I... They can't question whether they should feel sad."

"You are nothing like her," he cut in, whispering harshly. "You are the most amazing, compassionate woman I have ever met. There is no way in hell that you'll parent like her."

"I don't ever want our kids to feel like I do right now."

"They won't," he promised. "They'll love you as much as I do. And they won't question anything."

Using the back of her hand, Meredith wiped her face as dry as she could, and offered Derek a wobbly smile. "I need you."

He nodded, understanding. "I need you too."

She hooked her fingers into the collar of his shirt and pulled him close. In the absence of a real hug, a kiss would have to do. "Thank-you," she whispered after she finally let him pull away.

He smiled at her, his head tilting to the side. "For what?"

"For understanding me. I don't even understand me."

He kissed her again. "I'll always be here, Meredith."

She nodded, her chest feeling lighter than before. "I think I do feel sad. I mean, part of me is...relieved, because...well, she wasn't...her, and hadn't been for a long time, so...relieved...for her...and me...but also sad..."

He nodded. "Okay."

With a deep breath, Meredith tore her eyes from Derek's to stare at the white form once more.

Derek stood, coming to stand half beside and half behind her, staying out of the way, but staying by her side at the same time.

"I think she did love me," Meredith found herself whispering. "In her own way, I do think maybe she did."

"She's your mother."

She nodded absently. "I love her, even though she hurt me."

"That's because you're you."

Meredith reached a hand out, running along the sheet to where she knew Ellis's arm would be. She lay her hand still for a long moment over her mother's forearm before giving it a squeeze.

Derek was quiet beside her when he spoke. "Did you want me to pull the sheet back?"

She shook her head. "No. I already said goodbye. And I don't want... I want that to be my last memory of her."

One glance in his direction told her he was confused, but wasn't about to question it.

She met his eyes and considered him for a long moment. "You'll think I'm crazy..."

He cocked his head and offered her a smirk. "I always think you're crazy."

She released a laughing breath and rolled her eyes. "I saw her."

"You saw her," he repeated.

"When I was..." She trailed off, not needing to explain further.

Understanding lined his eyes once again. "You saw her," he said again, but this time with much more confidence.

She nodded. "I had this whole...thing...and she was there...in the end. She told me I was anything but ordinary."

He smiled at her. "She was right."

"Yeah..." she breathed.

"What else...happened?" He asked hesitantly.

He believed her. It gave her courage to continue. "It was...strange. I knew things. And I don't...I can't explain it."

"It's okay. You don't have to."

"One day," she promised. "When I can wrap my head around it."

"One day."

"I did know you were fighting for me," she whispered.

"I'll always fight for you."

Her heart fluttered in her chest at his words. "I know."

"Good."

They were silent for a long moment, before Meredith took one last glance at the white form in front of her, and then motioned that she was ready to leave. Derek silently steered her out of the room, and back down the hall to the main desk.

She had chosen to have her mother cremated, and the morgue was taking care of the details, leaving her only a form to sign. When everything was said and done, the morgue director offered her his condolences, and Meredith took a deep breath as Derek steered her down the hall, through the double doors, and towards the elevator.

The elevator car was, again, empty, and she took a cleansing breath as the doors closed.

"I'm here," he whispered.

She offered him a true smile. "I know. Me too."

Derek smiled back at her. "I love you."

"I love you too." The words came easy to her, and she knew they always would. She would love the man before her for the rest of her life; and he would never question that. One day they would have babies, and she would love them openly.

And most importantly, her children – their children – would never stop to question if Meredith and Derek loved them. They would grow up happy and loved and free of the memories that plagued Meredith's past.

She was certain.

She was ready.