Chapter Text
~~M~~
The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the muted beeping of machines that regulated life inside these four walls. Meredith sat on the edge of a vinyl-covered chair in the hospital’s nurses area, fingers wrapping around a pen, tapping rhythmically against her knee. The patient charts sprawled across before her, but all she could focus on was Derek’s voice echoing through the haze, asking her to befriend Satan. Or, well, Addison. Same difference, really.
“Meredith, it would make things easier for all of us,” he’d said, his voice a mix of tenderness and pleading, those deep blue eyes searching hers for understanding. All she could do was blink, feeling the weight of the request as it settled heavily on her shoulders.
Why would he want her to be friends with Addison? She, the dirty ex-mistress, and Addison, the adulterous wife—as if their lives could intertwine neatly, a twisted version of a fairytale! A bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she recalled the irony of the suggestion. The thought of Addison's ill-considered kindness, her polite smiles, and forced camaraderie prickled at Meredith’s skin like a thousand tiny needles. How could she trust someone who had woven herself into the very fabric of her life, like an unwanted thread that had unraveled everything? Addison was the woman who owned the man Meredith loved.
“People do desperate things to get attention,” she whispered to herself, the words barely above a breath. Yes, desperate. That’s what she had been, wasn't she? A tequila-fueled hurricane, sweeping through bars and beds, each fleeting moment another desperate grasp at… what? Connection? Validation? Escape, maybe. Escape from the chasm Derek had left. "The Slut of Seattle," they called her now, the whisper mill grinding away at her reputation. Even her friends, the ones who'd seen her at her worst, the ones who’d held her hair back while she was sick, they’d started calling her “McSlut”. A joke, of course, a "lighthearted" jab. God, she hated it. It still stung. It was a mistake, a colossal, howling mistake she deeply regretted. She couldn't go back there, not ever.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and she suddenly felt exposed, like the clear walls of the hospital knew her every insecurity. What did Derek truly expect from her? Friendship, laughter, and warm cups of coffee shared over hospital trays? As if it were that easy to stitch together the shards of broken trust and misplaced love.
She knew Addison had a way of charming people; it was the reason Derek chose her. The way Addison would sweep into a room, all smooth edges and soft words, while Meredith often felt like an awkward caricature of a woman scorned. Addison was everything Meredith wasn’t—confident, radiant, and unafraid. Meanwhile, Meredith stood by, an imperfect reflection of a woman whose heart had been battered. She felt like an unwitting participant in a tragedy, the leading lady in a story where everyone else was in on the joke except her.
“Maybe I’m the punchline,” she mused, her mind spiralling into the depths of self-pity.
Was it truly friendship Derek sought, or merely a way to manage the chaos of their shared existence? Maybe I should just smile and play nice, Meredith thought, weighing the consequences of acceptance against the unbearable tension that filled every corner of the hospital. But that’s absurd.
And yet, with each passing hour, the prospect of forging a truce seemed both ludicrous and strangely appealing. Was there not some sort of absurd comedy in their situation? The wife and the mistress, coming together like old friends in a sitcom. Meredith’s heart twisted at the thought, remembering all the whispers in the break room and the exchanged glances that told tales of scandal and heartbreak.
“Maybe she doesn’t hate me,” Meredith whispered, but the thought felt hollow, echoing against the confines of her heart. No, Addison must hate her; how could she not? Meredith was the one who had held Derek’s heart while Addison had held his past. She had stolen his attention, his affection, even if it had been fleeting and based on lies. She’d invaded Addison's marriage. No, Addison had to hate her. She deserved it.
As the clock ticked away, she replayed their previous encounters—the hesitant attempts at small talk that had gone awkwardly awry. The way Addison had offered her sympathy when a patient wished to remove Meredith from her case after finding out about the affair. Such a polite, civilized thing to do, so very… Addison. Sigh.
“No I don’t understand,” Addison had said, her voice soft, almost apologetic, as if Meredith were the real victim in all this. “I lack Dr Grey’s class and patience, so let me set the record straight. My husband didn’t cheat on me. I cheated on him. So the wrong woman here – Dr Grey. So I think you owe her one hell of an apology.” It was like Addison had seen into the very marrow of her being, like she understood the shame that was eating her from inside out. Why had Addison admitted her cheating just to defend Meredith? It made no sense.
Why should I make it easy for her? Meredith pondered, a flicker of defiance sparking within her. If only she could be as unbothered as Addison, to glide through this moment like a perfectly choreographed dance. But deep down, there was something unsettling about her willingness to accept the emotional labor of a friendship she was sure would only amplify the tensions in her life.
Derek. Bastard. His name floated like a haunting melody through the chaos in her head, an echo of what once felt like a warm embrace. The way he looked at her, those deep blue eyes sparkling with something genuine. They had shared laughter, stolen kisses in hallways, the kind of romance that made mundane days feel thrilling. But now… now all she could feel was betrayal, a dark shadow draping over the brightness he had brought into her life.
Married. The word hit her like a slap. How could he? How could he let her fall in love, love that was tainted? She remembered the way he had brushed his fingers against her cheek, the sweet nothings whispered between them—nothing but a cruel mask hiding a life shared with someone else.
What was love? Was it the sweet moments, or the honesty that should underpin them? She gripped the pen tighter, as if she could squeeze the answers from it. She had been willing to give him everything—her trust and her heart. But he had given her half-truths, an illusion wrapped in affection. The anger simmered within her, hot and searing, battling with the flicker of adoration she still harboured. It was a constant tug-of-war, a frustrating dance between what she knew was right and what her heart still yearned for.
Why couldn’t she just let it go? This was his choice, and it made sense, didn't it? Maybe, she thought, maybe becoming friends with Addison would help. The idea tasted bittersweet, like dark chocolate—sweet yet unsettling. Could she truly face the woman? Not just as colleagues but as… friends?
Images of Derek flooded her mind, his laughter, his dreaminess, the way he made her feel like the center of the universe. And then Addison, so effortlessly beautiful, and brilliantly smart. It was so unfair, yet here she was, contemplating a friendship that felt like a dagger twisted in her gut. It would be so much easier to hate Addison. To paint her as some sort of villain in their story. But Addison wasn’t a villain, she was just… there.
But wasn’t that the path to healing? To forgive, to move forward? The thought lingered, as she glanced into space. How could she be so… perfect? Okay, maybe a little passive aggressive at times but who could blame that when her husband is making puppy dog eyes at the ex-mistress? Could they even be friends? The thought of spending any time with Addison outside of work made her stomach twist, a nauseating mix of emotions.
Wasn’t she being unfair to Addison? Meredith had been slightly rude towards the other doctor’s attempts at conversations, attempts met with cold stares and silence. A guilt gnawed at her. Addison had never once directly hurt her. Addison had been… nice. Surprisingly nice. It was unnerving. Usually, the whispers followed her around like a persistent cough, the raised eyebrows, the pitying glances. But Addison? Addison was different. Professional, yes, but a genuine interest that went beyond the usual hospital pleasantries. She’d even adopted Doc, without a second thought. God I miss him.
With a deep breath, Meredith squared her shoulders. She could feel her heart thrumming in her chest, a mix of dread and excitement. Maybe Derek is right, it would be a lot easier if we were friends. Would it hurt less? Or more? There was only one way to find out. Forgive and move forward, like the self help books said.
Derek approaches, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, thumbs dancing over the keys. “Hey, Dr. Grey,” he says, not looking up, his voice a blend of warmth and casualness.
“Dr. Shepherd, wait a second,” she interrupts, heart racing, time stretching as she takes a breath. She barely registers the bustle of the hospital around her, nurses and patients melting into a blur. “Can we talk about your proposal?”
Derek glances up, brow raised, interest piqued. “Oh, you mean about you becoming friends with Addison?” He was so calm. So unnervingly relaxed. It was as if he was discussing the weather, not the complexities of their emotional lives.
“Yes, that one,” she replies, words spilling out before her mind catches up. “I just…I think it’s a good idea.” She had to make it seem as if it was her decision. She wouldn't let him think he had swayed her opinion. Not that she was that swayed but still.
“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow, an amused grin creeping across his lips as if he can’t quite believe her.
She nods, the weight of her words hanging between them. The moment stretches, filled with possibilities, with the tension of uncharted territory. He types a quick message, half-committed to the conversation and half-distracted by his phone. Was he chatting to Addison? Did he show her the same interest he had shown me? It was a petty thought.
“Did your shift end?” he asks, breaking her reverie.
“No, I’ve got a couple more hours left.”
His dreamy smile emerges. It was the smile that had made her fall in love in the first place, the curve of his lips, the way his eyes lit up. It was unfair. “Perfect. I just got a new case, and I need an intern. What do you say? Want to join me?”
She raises an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “You’re not just trying to get me to help you with the paperwork, are you?”
His grin broadens, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “No, I promise. It’s a hands-on case. Just think of it as a little adventure.”
Adventure. The word wraps around her like a warm embrace, pulling her away from the mundane rhythm of her shift. She imagines the cool metal of surgical tools, the thrill of something new, the dance of nerves and excitement as they navigate through the operating room.
“Okay,” she breathes, the weight of the decision settling comfortably on her shoulders. “I’m in.”
~~A~~
The night wraps itself around Derek’s metal trailer like a second skin, cool and dark, a stark contrast to the light purple of Addison’s flowing dress. It’s a dress that screams “effort,” a desperate attempt at elegance in the face of underlying chaos. The faint scent of rosemary and garlic clings to the air, a fragrant reminder of the meal she’s prepared, his favourite, and she stares at the empty chair across from her, willing it to fill. The ticking clock echoes in the stillness, a rhythmic reminder of time passing, each tick stretching her patience, each tock deepening her anxiety.
She bites her lip, glancing at her phone again, the glow illuminating her face momentarily. No messages. Not a single word from Derek. She can feel a lump forming in her throat, a tightness that constricts with every moment he remains absent. He promised. He said he’d be home for dinner. He said he’d be here to try again. Try harder; try better. Try together.
She takes a deep, shaky breath, her fingers tapping nervously against the table. A memory of New York flashes through her mind—cold stares lined with indifference, the weight of their fractured relationship, the taste of betrayal hanging between them like a fog. Doubts creep in, tendrils of insecurity curling around her heart. Can she really believe that anything has changed? A sharp inhale, and she shakes her head as if to dispel the thought. He chose her. He said it so many times, but words, oh how easily swept away in the wind of reality.
She pulls up her messaging app and types a quick note: Hey, just checking in. When will you be home? The send button feels heavy, a weighty decision that echoes with her hesitation, with the fear he won’t reply. She presses the button, the screen flickers, the message dispatched into the unknown.
Doc, Meredith’s dog, curls at her feet, a loyal companion sensing the tension in the air. His big, brown eyes look up at her, filled with a kind of unconditional love that comforts her, even as her heart races with uncertainty. She reaches down to scratch behind his ears, the soft fur calming her frantic thoughts. “You know, Doc, sometimes I wonder if love is just a series of choices we make.” Her voice is a soft murmur, barely above the tick-tock of the clock. “I chose him. He chose me. But what if…” The ‘what if’ hangs heavy in the air.
Derek’s voice reverberates in her mind, a haunting melody playing on repeat. “I’m not saying this to hurt you, or that I want to leave you because I don’t … Meredith wasn’t a fling, she wasn’t revenge, I fell in love with her … That doesn’t go away, just because I decided to stay with you.”
His words unfurl like a nightmare. God, did it hurt. A hurt that settled into her bones, that tangled itself in her breath and made every inhale painful. He was so close, yet miles away. How can he feel so near, and yet the distance stretches like a chasm between them?
Her mind races, flashing images of what they had: laughter over takeout, quiet mornings tangled in sheets, promises whispered in the dark. But the echoes of those memories bounce back, tainted by the spectre of Meredith. Meredith, with her bright smile and effortless charm. Meredith, the ghost that lingers, a constant reminder of what she lacks.
She swallows hard, her throat tight, and her voice—when it comes—is barely a whisper. “You chose me.” But did he? Or did he simply settle? She can’t shake the feeling that her heart is a fragile thing, a glass ornament. It could shatter at any moment, leaving shards of herself scattered across the floor. Where are you, Derek? Can’t you see I’m drowning?
How could she have done it? How could she have betrayed the man she loved, even in his absence? Every moment with Mark echoed in her head, reminding her of the warmth she had craved, and now she felt a burning shame. She didn’t want the warmth, not of those hands, she wanted Derek’s touch, but he wasn’t there, and she was falling into a deep pit, a pit of her own making. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was Derek’s absence that had pushed her into Mark's arms. Still, she understood that excuses didn’t absolve her of the hurt she had caused. Still causing…
Her mind wandered to Meredith, the intern who had somehow captured Derek's heart. There was something strange about how fond she felt towards the young woman, like a strange empathy she couldn’t understand. It was confusing, to say the least. Meredith was earnest, clumsy, and wholly dedicated. Not that Addison has ever had that behaviour directed towards her, but has witnessed it from afar. Witnessed it through patients and … Derek. The thought of Derek with her stung, but she couldn’t help the curiosity. The anti-Addison.
Addison had tried. She had tried to be civil, but each attempt had met with a wall as impenetrable as stone. At first, she had hoped for understanding— shared juju, tentative smiles, light conversations. Instead, she encountered a coldness. Meredith’s eyes, often narrowed in scrutiny, seemed to reflect disdain, not admiration. She must hate me , Addison thought, despair creeping into her chest.
With every interaction, the walls only grew taller. The more Addison tried, the more she felt like an intruder. She imagined Meredith laughing at her naivety, a cruel smile gracing her lips. “After all,” Addison mused, her voice a soft, mocking whisper, “I am Satan, the destroyer of happiness.”
Doc wags his tail, oblivious to the complexity of her musings, and she chuckles softly, a sound that feels foreign in the hollow atmosphere of the trailer. He nudges her hand with his snout. “You don’t have to worry about these things, do you?” She speaks to him like he understands, like he can unravel the knots in her heart with just a wag of his tail.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, and Addison's gaze drifts to the table, the plates steaming, their warm aroma mingling with the cool air. She had hoped tonight would be different. Yet, here she sits alone, trapped in a web of silence, her thoughts echoing louder than any words or lack thereof, that they might share.
A soft vibration jolts her, the familiar buzz of her phone. Heart racing, she snatches it from the table, hoping for Derek’s name, but it’s just a notification—news. Disappointment washes over her, and she glances at the door, longing for it to swing open and reveal the silhouette of the man she once thought she knew, the man she still misses for despite the wounds.
She glanced at the screen again, her stomach twisting tighter with each second. The message to Derek had been seen—two blue checks glaring back at her—but no response came. The emptiness surged within her, each moment stretching into a silent abyss. Sorrow pooled in her chest, a heavy stone she couldn't cast away.
She fought against the tears that threatened to spill, but the dam broke, and her sobs filled the stillness around her. How could he do this to her again? The ache of abandonment clawed at her chest, making it hard to breathe.
But then, a gentle nudge at her side pulled her from the depths of despair. Doc nestled against her, his fur warm and comforting. He gazed up at her with eyes full of compassion. Addison looked down, and in that moment, something stirred inside her. She reached for him, pulling him into her lap, burying her face in his fur.
The warmth of his body enveloped her, a small yet powerful comfort against the ache of abandonment. Doc nudged her chin with his wet nose, and Addison couldn't help but smile through her tears. Addison says barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”
~~M~~
Meredith, draped in her blue scrubs, walked the halls of the neuro wing with a bounce in her step. Each stride felt buoyant, the adrenaline of the successful surgery still coursing through her veins like a euphoria she wished could last forever. The patient had come through, with the guidance of Dr. Derek Shepherd, they’d navigated the treacherous waters of the operating room, and emerged victorious. Meredith's heart swelled with pride, warmth radiating from the core of her being, as she recalled the moment they stabilized the patient's condition. Nothing could touch her happiness. Well, almost nothing.
The thought of him—his confident demeanour, the way he commanded the room with just a flicker of his blue eyes—sent her heart into somersaults. She was on her way to give him a quick update on the patient when she spotted Addison’s red hair through the glass door to his office.
He sat with his back against the chair, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I was in surgery, Addison. It ran late,” Derek sighed, his voice carrying a mixture of frustration and weariness.
Meredith, drawn to the scene like a moth to a flame, stopped her pace, curiosity mingling with an unexpected twinge of apprehension.
“I understand that. But you could’ve sent a quick message when you saw my text. It would’ve taken two seconds,” Addison replied, her tone edged with a downcast that Meredith rarely heard from the usually composed woman. Meredith frowned, her heart lurching.
“I didn’t have my phone on me. It gets chaotic in the OR,” he replied, leaning back, casual as ever, though his tone lacked the warmth she’d seen him reserve for patients and their families.
Chaos? She thought of the operating room, it hadn’t felt chaotic. Routine, if anything. Derek was always in control, even when things got hairy. He was a genius. He made it look easy.
“I get it, but just a simple ‘I’m stuck’ would’ve been nice,” Addison shot back, her frustration palpable.
Meredith felt the need to intervene, to somehow ease the tension, to defend her mentor, but she remained rooted to the spot.
“I was busy saving lives,” Derek said, almost dismissively.
Addison stepped closer, “I am a doctor too, Derek. I understand.”
Why is Satan so worked up? Derek didn’t text back. But he’s a surgeon, for heaven's sake! Saving lives, not scrolling through his phone. The thought was childish, the justification weak, but it comforted her nonetheless.
Addison’s voice, a mix of sadness and resignation, cuts through Meredith's thoughts. “You promised that you would’ve at least tried to have dinner with me, but you left me hanging again…”
Meredith winces. Oh, that’s why. She glances over to see Derek, his face contorted with frustration. Again? He does this a lot?
“I know, Addison!” Derek’s voice was strained. This was the tone he used when the hospital administration hounded him, not his wife. “But things just piled up. Listen, I’m waiting on important stats. Can we talk about this later?” It sounded like an excuse, a pathetic attempt at deflecting.
“Okay,” Addison replied, her voice quieter, the single word laced with a resigned sadness.
In that moment, she felt a surge of sympathy for Addison. He had promised her dinner and instead—he stood her up. Standing there, her heart heavy with a strange mix of guilt and empathy, Meredith felt like a voyeur. Why did he do it? He chose a routine surgery—one that could have been done by anyone, really. Did he do it to spend time with me? To avoid the awkwardness of dinner with his wife?
Just as she wrapped her head around what to do next, the door swung open, and Addison stepped out. Meredith froze, her heart pounding in her chest as she met Addison's gaze. For a split second, time seemed to stand still. The pain in Addison’s eyes was unmistakable, a glimmer of vulnerability that pierced through Meredith’s defences. Addison’s eyes flickered from Meredith to Derek’s office. Meredith's thoughts raced—Fuck, does she know? The question screamed in her mind, a cold sweat breaking on her brow.
But before she could prepare her words, Addison’s expression hardened. Her eyes turned steely, and she clenched her jaw, transforming into the stern, polished surgeon that everyone feared, the composed image of perfection she always displayed. The shift was jarring. This wasn’t the woman Meredith had seen in that vulnerable moment; this was Doctor Montgomery-Shepherd.
Did Addison know she’d been eavesdropping? If she didn’t hate me before, she definitely does now. And with that, Dr Montgomery-Shepherd turned without a word, retreating down the hallway, leaving Meredith standing there, suspended in a moment that felt too fragile to touch.
As she stepped into his office, She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she was about to initiate. She had to focus, she couldn’t let her emotions get in the way.
“Dr. Shepherd,” she began, forcing a smile, while the weight of Addison’s unvoiced heartache hung over Meredith’s mind. “Can we talk about the patient in room 307?”
Derek looked up from his desk, his trademark smile lighting up his face. “Of course! How’s everything looking?” God, his smile. Those blue eyes. How could she ever be mad at him? How could Addison?
“All stats are good. Vital signs stable, blood work came back normal.” She shuffled her feet, the confidence she had mustered beginning to waver. It felt odd to discuss patient outcomes when her mind was still grappling with the emotional tumult of the earlier encounter. She felt a pang of guilt--she was just as bad as he was. She was just as complicit.
“That's great news,” he said, nodding in appreciation. He made a note on a file, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Yeah,” she replied, the word escaping her lips without much conviction. As Derek delved deeper into the treatment plan he had outlined, Meredith’s focus drifted.
Why did he lie? How can he be so indifferent to his wife? Did she care?
~~A~~
Addison sat at the small table in the hospital cafeteria, her fork moving lethargically through the tupperware container in front of her. The midday rush had settled, the noise morphing from chaotic to a soft murmur. Her thoughts drifted, tangled in a web of exhaustion, longing, and sorrow. It was a familiar landscape, one she had been meticulously charting for months now, each landmark a painful reminder of her current reality. She had hoped, desperately hoped, that last night would be different. She'd put on the dress, a light purple that she knew he liked, cooked the meal, lit the candles. It was almost like a ritual, a desperate attempt to conjure that old spark, the spark that had once defined them. But, of course, it hadn't worked. She’d been alone again, the candles burning low, the food growing cold, a pathetic mimicry of her own heart.
It wasn't just the wasted effort, it was the confirmation, the relentless echo of the unspoken truth that hung between her and Derek. Meredith . The name was a constant whisper in her mind, a phantom limb that ached with a pain that was both familiar and new. She had tried, she really had. She'd given him space, she’d been understanding, she’d been… everything she thought a good wife should be. Yet, she felt like she was fighting a losing battle against a ghost, a shadow, someone who existed only in his memories but had a louder voice than she could ever hope to possess.
Callie approached, her presence an anchor amidst Addison’s stormy seas. She bore a steaming cup of coffee, the warmth rising in tendrils.
“Hey, Addie,” she said, setting the cup down. “Mind if I join you?” Her voice was always a little too loud, a little too boisterous, but it was a welcome contrast to the quiet hum of her own thoughts.
“Of course, Callie.” Addison glanced up, her smile wavering. “It’s pretty quiet now, isn’t it?” A small, sad observation, really.
A sigh escaped Callie as she sank into the chair, a brief look of relief washing over her. “Yeah, thankfully. I was starting to think I’d never find a place to sit.” She paused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, have you seen the handwriting of some of the interns? I swear, it looks like they’ve never held a pen before!” Callie, with her uncanny ability to find humour in the mundane, was like a breath of fresh air. Addison tried to focus on the ridiculousness of the situation, the image of clumsy interns scribbling illegibly on charts.
Addison, absently pushing her food around, managed a noncommittal hum. “Hmm, yeah, I’ve noticed that. It’s… something.” She tried to match Callie's playfulness, but the words felt heavy, like they were dragging her down.
Callie leaned in, playful teasing lacing her voice. “Something? It looks like a toddler scribbled on the chart! I had to squint just to read a diagnosis earlier.” A small smile tugged at the corners of Addison’s lips. A real one. She was grateful for Callie's ability to pull her out of her head.
“Well, at least they’re consistent in their messiness.” A dry response, but it was something. She was present, now, in a way she hadn’t been a few minutes ago.
But Callie’s keen eyes didn’t miss the distant expression shadowing Addison’s features. “You seem a little… off. Everything okay?” Callie was too perceptive and too intuitive. It was the double-edged sword of friendship.
Addison sighed, her gaze dropping to her half-eaten lunch. “Just tired, I guess.” The lie was flat, unconvincing, even to her own ears.
“Tired? Or just… distracted? What’s going on? Did you have that dinner with Derek last night?” There was no escaping Callie’s gentle persistence.
The pointed look Addison shot Callie said enough, but it was Callie’s raised eyebrow that pressed her for more.
“He didn’t make it?” Callie prompted, her tone gentle but probing.
Addison shook her head. “No. Surgery.”
Callie’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing as she studied Addison’s face. “Right… You’re not just bummed about dinner, are you?”
Addison took a deep breath, feeling the familiar swell of frustration and sadness. “It’s not just the dinner. I think he stayed in the hospital… to spend time with Meredith.” The words were out, finally, a painful admission of the truth she’d been trying to ignore. It felt different saying it out loud.
A frown creased Callie’s forehead. “Seriously?” Her voice was soft, tinged with disbelief. But not the kind of disbelief that implied she didn't believe her, but rather, it seemed like disbelief that Derek would be so thoughtless.
Addison nodded slowly, the ache in her chest tightening. “It’s not like he didn’t know I was going to be waiting for him. But… it just feels like every time I think we’re getting somewhere, something pulls him back to her.”
Callie sipped her coffee, her expression softening with understanding. “That’s tough. I can’t imagine how that must feel.”
Addison shrugged, attempting to dismiss the rawness that threatened to spill over. “I just thought maybe this time would be different, you know?”
Callie reached out, placing a comforting hand on Addison’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I wish I had the right words for you. It just sucks.” Callie's straightforwardness was refreshing.
The moment hung heavy between them, the bustle of the cafeteria fading into a distant background noise as Addison absorbed the warmth of Callie’s friendship, a rare and precious thing since moving to Seattle. Just when the silence became too thick, it was broken by a low growl—Callie’s stomach rumbling like a disgruntled bear. Laughter bubbled up inside her, unexpectedly.
Addison laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Well, I think someone needs a snack!” It was a genuine laugh this time, not a forced attempt at normalcy.
Grinning, Callie gestured toward her tupperware. “What do you have in there?”
Addison offered, “Here, you can have the rest of this. It’s from last night.” A bittersweet offering, really. It was a reminder of what she didn’t get, and yet, in this moment, it felt okay to share it.
Callie leaned closer, peering into the container. “Wow, this looks amazing! Seriously, Addie, if you ever get bored of being a doctor, you could become a chef.”
“Thanks,” Addison chuckled, “but I think I’d miss the chaos of the OR too much. Plus, who would feed you?”
“I can cook!” Callie declared, her mouth full, but the defiance was playful.
Addison rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Well, maybe I’ll start a culinary class on the side. ‘How to Cook Like a Surgeon.’”
“I’d sign up for that!” Callie laughed, lightening the heaviness in Addison’s heart, if only for a moment. She was grateful for this, for the simple act of sharing a meal and laughter with a true friend.
As they shared bites and banter, Addison was still tethered to her fears and uncertainties, but in this moment, with Callie by her side, the weight felt just a little lighter.
~~M~~
Cristina and I find ourselves perched on an abandoned gurney, swinging our feet like carefree children. I crunch a chip, the sound echoing in the deserted hallway, the salt dissolving on my tongue, trying to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.
“Mer, this cardio surgery was like nothing I’ve ever seen! The way we replaced that valve... it was art. Pure art!” Cristina's voice breaks through the haze, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Art? Really?” I raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You make it sound like you were painting a masterpiece, not cutting someone open.”
She laughs, that infectious sound that pulls me out of my thoughts. “Okay, maybe not ‘art’ in the traditional sense, but it was beautiful in its own way! The precision, the focus... I felt like I was in my element.”
Her enthusiasm washes over me like a warm wave. I lean back against the gurney, feeling the cold steel press against my spine. “I get it. It’s exhilarating to be in the zone like that. But… we’re eating chips on a gurney in a deserted hallway, right? Not exactly glamorous.”
“Who needs glamour when you’ve got adrenaline? I mean, I was in the zone!” She punctuates her declaration with a triumphant fist pump, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Right, because nothing screams ‘surgeon’ like a bag of chips and an abandoned gurney.” The humour feels good, a momentary reprieve from the chaotic whirlpool of emotions that had been drowning me since this morning.
Cristina pauses, her gaze piercing through the momentary levity. “So, what about your patient? I heard he’s going to make a full recovery. That’s amazing, Mer!” Her enthusiasm is genuine, and I can feel a small swell of pride.
“Yeah, it is.” My chest puffs up a little, the rush of accomplishment coursing through me. “It feels good knowing he’s going to be okay.”
“See? That’s what it’s all about! Saving lives!” Cristina beams at me, her smile infectious, yet I can’t shake the weight that has settled in my chest.
“Yeah, it feels good. But…” I trail off, my voice faltering as the memories flood back.
“But? Drama? McDreamy?” She leans closer, her eyes glinting with mischief.
I huff, rolling my eyes. “You don’t have to look so pleased.”
“It’s coming from you, so it’s got to be good. You’re so caught up in it, it’s hilarious.”
I take a deep breath, the glee in her voice contrasting sharply with the turmoil in my mind. “I saw McDreamy and Satan. She looked so upset, and he just… didn’t seem to care. It was like watching a train wreck, you know?”
Cristina’s expression shifts to confusion. “I thought we hated Satan. Isn’t this what you wanted, Mer?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I press my fingers to my temples, trying to ease the tension that has settled there. “It just feels... it doesn’t feel good. He lied to her about the case being difficult.”
“Not the first time he’s lied.” She crosses her arms, a smirk dancing on her lips.
“Really, Cristina?” I shake my head, trying to shake off the weight of guilt.
“Fine, omitted that he had a wife. That can’t be all?” She raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
“Okay, I overheard he stood Addison up for dinner. The dinner he promised to go to. Instead, he asked me to join him for a surgery that was routine. It feels… wrong now.” My heart feels heavy, a ball of regret lodged deep within me.
“So he ditched his wife for you? Wow, that’s... bold.”
“It’s not like that, Cristina! I didn’t ask for any of this. I just... I didn’t want to be the reason she’s hurt.” I feel the frustration boiling over, the heat rising in my cheeks.
“He made his choice, not you. If anything, he’s just digging his own grave. Why do you care about Satan’s feelings?” Her words cut through my guilt, but the guilt still lingers.
I shake my head, staring down at the chips, the bag crinkling in my hands. “I … you should’ve seen the look on her face.”
“So what are you going to do about it? Make Satan feel better? Clean your conscience? Talk to her and let her know you didn’t know?” Cristina leans in, her curiosity piqued.
“It’s not that simple, Cristina.” I chew my lower lip, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me.
“Why not? If you didn’t know, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She tilts her head, trying to unravel the tangled knot of my feelings.
“Because it’s complicated. She hates me. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“But what about you? You’re feeling guilty for something you didn’t do. That’s not fair to you either.” Her voice is firm, and I can hear the underlying concern.
I take a deep breath, the air filling my lungs, and yet I still feel as though I’m suffocating. “I know. I just…”
“Meredith.” Cristina places a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “You’re not responsible for his choices. You’re a surgeon, Mer. You save lives. Don’t let his drama drag you down.”
I nod slowly, her words piercing through the fog. “You’re right. I just need to figure out how to navigate this.”
“And remember, you have me to help you plot revenge if you ever need it..” She smirks, and despite myself, I feel a flicker of amusement.
I chuckle, “I’ll keep that in mind. But right now, I think I just need to focus on my patients... and maybe finish this bag of chips.”
Cristina chuckles, the sound echoing off the walls, and for a moment, I realise that life is messy, complicated, and often unfair. Maybe I don’t have all the answers, but I do know one thing: I’m a surgeon, and I save lives. And that, in itself, is a masterpiece worth celebrating.
With a deep breath, I finish the last chip, determined to embrace whatever comes next, one step at a time.