Grey's Anatomy Unglued

Title: Unglued  
Summary: Finn studied Derek, confirming what he'd suspected, and there you stand, caught between the two of them. Safety or danger? Wine or tequila? Plans or uncertainly? Laughter or tears? The future or the past? _Like_ or _love_?  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, if only, if only…  
Spoiler: Up to _"Losing My Religion."_  
Author's Note: Stream-of-conscious piece from Meredith's point of view that picks up at the final scene. It's a one-shot. It's short. But it's complete, and it touches on a lot of the issues that Meredith and Derek need to confront. And additional, freakishly long author's note is at end and goes into detail on this piece. Please read and review.

-o-

**Unglued**

-o-

The small, twinkling, white lights glitter in the dimly lit space. It's magical. It's surreal. You wonder what your prom was like; if there were balloon arches and laughing groups and close dances and stolen kisses and fruit punch and twinkling Christmas lights. You're sure that your high school prom had all of these things. After all, there are some things that are universal to all proms.

And you went and snuck away from your date and had sex on prom night.

Sometimes you wonder if you really are just a whore.

The world is crashing around you amidst the shimmer of the twinkling lights. Everything you've know, everything you've fought for…

"Common, I'll drive you home," Finn's concerned voice grabs your attention, and you turn to follow him.

But your eyes fall on Derek and you stop moving, watching as his eyes lift to meet yours. Finn's falling footsteps echo off the sterile linoleum and Derek's piercing focus remains trained on your hallow blue eyes. _What does this mean? _Derek stands still and shifts his gaze from you to Finn, asking you the silent question, asking for the choice.

With a jerk of you neck, you're staring into Finn's eyes, full of apprehension and painful understanding. He shifts his weight uneasily, and as his eyes bore into your soul you ask whatever god may be listening how could they allow you to be standing here right now having to go through this.

Finn, who's just as scary and damaged as you. Finn, who helped glue you back together when you were broken fragments of a person. Finn, who's a _really great guy_. Finn, who has _plans_. And, your stomach clenches with the realization of what's happening, what's already happened…

He glances uneasily at Derek, and you stare off into space, feeling empty, hallow… hoping that you can just wake up and that this is not actually happening. A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye tells you that Derek is now watching you again. He's looking at you again, and you feel your skin burning from where his lips branded you as his just moments before.

"Meredith."

You blink, trying to block out the scene before you. But when you open your eyes, there he is watching you, waiting for you to tell him _what this all means_. He tilts his head slightly, and for a moment, you wish you could read what is passing through his mind.

"Meredith?" you hear Finn say. You let out a ragged breath as you turn to look at him, your face collapsing from guilt and shame. Your shoulders sag under the weight of what you've done.

And he knows. And you know no one is getting lucky tonight.

Finn studies Derek, confirming what he'd suspected, and there you stand, caught between the two of them. Safety or danger? Wine or tequila? An apartment or a trailer? Plans or uncertainly? Laughter or tears? Ponies or brain surgery? The future or the past? _Like_ or _love_?

"Meredith?" Finn asks again. He's rooted to the floor, and he's every bit as aware as you and Derek are about the magnitude of what's happening.

Your eyes feel full, and you rapidly blink back the unshed tears. You were never supposed to fall in love with an attractive man you met in a bar. This was never supposed to happen. Looking back at Derek you see him clench his jaw, still staring at you with a look that almost compels you to tell him just what this all means.

But you look back at Finn, his eyes hopeful, and you can't leave him to go home alone and broken. And you're _trying_, or at least you _were_. But you don't know now, but you know enough not to throw it all away in an instant… Taking one uncertain step forward, you bite your lower lip so hard you can taste the bitter, metallic taste of blood.

Finn's shoulders slump with relief. Derek's shoulders drop with defeat. His head drops and you see his eyes following you, dark and shimmering and full of something that you can't define. And you don't know what it means.

You try to concentrate on nothing, everything, anything besides what's happening. So you look at the balloon arches and the twinkling lights and try to ignore the cramps forming in your stomach and the sharp ache in your heart. Finn holds out his hand for you to take and you try to force your hand into his. But your hand feels like lead, and you settle with forcing out a taut, uncertain smile, and his arm falls awkwardly to his side.

Peeking over your shoulder, you see Derek watching you; undoubtedly he knows precisely what it means—you not holding Finn's hand. You know it makes him sick to his stomach, but you don't know what it means. But he stands there, statuesque, watching you leave with a man that's not him. He's wearing that look he had on when you were dancing with Finn earlier, a look that makes your face flush and your pulse race and makes you feel evil and needy and wild and pure. You continue to watch him as you walk away, and when he tilts his head slightly you feel your knees give out. Finn steadies you, and you try to make a joke about walking in heels all evening. And you leave, and he's still there… waiting for an answer that you just can't give and watching you leave through a forest of balloon arches and twinkling lights.

-o-

"You love him."

Your head whips around to confront the voice. It's not a question, it's a fact. He knows, and you're too exhausted to lie. His hands are balled up into tense fists and his knuckles are turning white. You're surprised when you don't see anger or resentment in his eyes. Though clouded with hurt and the shards of broken plans, he still wears the same concerned look he always wears around his scary, damaged girlfriend.

"I'm so sorry, Finn," you whisper, your hands cradling your downcast face. "I thought I could control it," you confess, brokenly. "I thought I could make it stop." Tears roll down your cheeks, staining your dress a darker shade of black and the sequins and the glitter twinkle in the dim lights of the waiting room.

You're sobbing into your hands now. Choked out cries echo in the empty office, broken tears for the dream you couldn't force yourself to accept. He wraps his arms around you and holds you like a child, rocking you back and forth and stroking your hair while you tremble.

"Shhh…" he wipes the sadness and pain from under your eyes. Looking at him through an ocean of tears, he's almost obscured by the lights, made all the brighter through your soaked eyes. He seems to shimmer through your tears. "I'm sorry too," he whispers in your ear.

Once you start letting it out, all the hurt you've been carrying from Derek, from your mother, your father, your friends, all the scars are laid bare, and you'd be ashamed of yourself for telling in all this, if only you could control your crying. All the confusion, and all the pain, and all the misery burst forth, finally allowing him to see just how damaged you are. He holds you for hours, cradling you as you pour out all the hurt and misery that have been the past six months of your life since you became unglued.

-o-

You're not at all surprised to find him there, sitting on your front porch when you finally trudge up the sidewalk in the early dawn hours. When he looks up, his face appears almost as broken as yours. His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed in red, his hair stands on end in a thousands twisted directions. The expected smell of alcohol is noticeably absent, but you keep your distance anyway, sitting feet away from him on the steps.

"Hey," you tentatively say.

"Hey," is his broken reply.

You sit in silence, and watch the light rain falling to the sidewalk, catching drops of the streetlights before breaking on the concrete. His breaths escape in uneven, rugged gulps, and you're painfully aware of his eyes watching you.

"Meredith," he sighs, "what… what does this mean?"

Looking at him, you suddenly realize the method behind the mantra. _Relinquishing control. _You wonder how you became this hallow shell of a person and if there ever was a time when you felt you were in control before now.

Letting out an unsteady stream of air, you turn your head, finally meeting his eyes. There once was a time when he teased you for being bossy and needing to remain in control, but that was lifetimes ago. Before his wife, before throwing yourself out and hoping he'd catch you, shattering into a million fragments when he didn't. Shards you've been trying to glue back together any way you can. You haven't had control over this or anything, not since you fell for him, and now with him sitting there surrendering the power to make or break him, you're amazed, terrified, and sickened to discover that you love him all the more.

So now the ball's in your court and the fear of having control is almost more paralyzing than being helpless. You've forgotten what it is to call the shots when it comes to him.

"I will not be my mother," you tell him, breaking the silence. And he nods slowly, understanding that regardless of legal documents or moral obligations, what happened earlier tonight will not happen again. You wonder for a sliver of time if you should feel guilty for asking this of him, but the months rush back to you in a flood. Glances from him, glares from her, hearing her frustration over his disinterest in her, and seeing his eyes burning when he learned how you were trying to forget him.

"Okay," he agrees.

You look back to the street, your eyes watering unexpectedly. Life isn't supposed to be this hard. He breathes as though he'll start speaking, and you turn to him expectantly. Looking into his eyes, there's pain and sadness, but the furious desperation of the past months has died, replaced by a growing determination.

Your breath becomes shallow, and again you find yourself becoming disoriented from his gaze.

"Meredith, I lo-"

"Don't," you cut him off. His face falls, and he looks as though he's been slapped. You wish he would realize that the pieces can't be reassembled overnight—that rebuilding and re-gluing is a process. And you have to trust him first… "I want to be able to believe you when you say it," you explain. He nods to himself, as though the action will make it hurt less. Understanding doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.

And so the two of you sit there in silence on the front steps, watching as the twinkling stars melt away with the coming dawn. Trying to heal yourselves the best you know how, and hopefully, heal each other. You look over to find him watching you, looking at you again. The corners of his mouth slowly turn upwards, forming a tentative smile, one of a hope and a future.

He holds his hand out to you, spanning the distance between. You lace your fingers with his and this time, you don't pull away.

-o-

_el fin_

-o-

Additional Author's Note: I should be sleeping right now. I'm going to be dead tired in the morning, but I've been pounding out this all evening after re-watching the final hour. And oh my God. Seriously!  
Regarding this story: There are two major motifs here: lights and glue. The glue you can probably guess ("I'm all glued back together now" anyone? Yeah right). The glue motif also encompassed not only trying to repair what's broken, but trying to prevent damage. We saw Derek's attempts to hide his feelings for Meredith collapse, and saw Meredith's attempts to protect her glued-together life by playing it safe fall apart. But the lights motif more indirectly related to Christmas lights and the _"Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer"_ episode. Remember that tragically depressing scene with Izzie, Meredith, and George lying under the tree? This story associates lights with something mystical (think wonder of Christmas as a child), something unknown (think literal distance of stars—we look up at the sky, but can't know by simply seeing if that star even exists today or if it's just the echo of their life that finally reaches earth), and something revealing (think bright surgical lights).  
Admittedly, I'm in a weird, pensive mood right now—partially from real life, partially from the shock and awe of the season finale. But, I hope that after reading this you understand a little more about what I was hoping to achieve with this story. And as always, I truly hoped that you enjoyed reading it. Until next time…


End file.

Grey's Anatomy, Angst, Romance