Endless Summer Nights

35.

He slams the empty scotch glass down on her bar as the last remnants of the amber liquid burn his esophagus. Everything has finally come crashing down on him. Everything from the last twenty-four hours-Meredith, the baby, the surgery, the apartment, the blood-all of that has finally hit him smack in the face. So much is in the process of changing and he is in limbo, neither here nor there.

He motions for the bartender to refill his glass. He isn't sure how long he has been here. He isn't sure how many drinks he has consumed or how high he has ran his tab. He doesn't really care. Not right now. In the matter of twenty-four hours, he found Meredith to almost lose her again...twice. In the matter of twenty-four hours, he discovered that he was going to be a dad, only to have that threatened, twice. In the matter of twenty-four hours, Derek Shepherd's world has been shaken up, rearranged, and placed on some obscure shelf to allow the pieces to fall where they may.

He runs his finger slowly along the rim of the empty glass, his thoughts running in circles just as his finger. He sighs in frustration before allowing his head to fall forward, a soft thud resounding as his forehead comes into contact with the bar.

He isn't sure how long he stays this way as the music fades in and out of his conscious, only a background to the movie running on the backs of his eyelids. He doesn't even flinch when he feels a heavy hand on his back, afraid that if he opens his eyes, the dams will be open and the tears will flow freely.

"Derek," the worried paternal voice calls out to him, reaching out desperately hoping Derek will take his hand and allow him to help.

"I'm fine," Derek whispers as he struggles to lift his head off of the bar.

"You're not fine...and that's okay...you don't have to be fine," his father tells him as he sits down on the stool next to his son.

Derek grips the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Frustration. Anger. Desperation. Helplessness. All of these emotions coursing through his veins and arteries in greater concentration than his own blood. His father doesn't understand. His father just doesn't get it. Derek does have to be fine. He has to be okay. He has to take care of Meredith. He has to. And he can't do that if he's not okay.

"Yes...I do," he whispers in a tone filled with anger--anger at having to be the strong one all the time. He wishes he could be weak, even if it were just for a moment. Weakness at this time will come across as being selfish...and he has no right to be selfish. Not when Meredith is the one who is lying in the hospital bed. Not when she is the one carrying their son. No. Derek cannot be weak. Derek Shepherd is not weak.

"Son..." his dad starts, but his voice melts into a sigh as the words evaporate into the air.

Derek somewhat blindly stumbles to his feet, shaking off the heavy hand of his father. "Don't," he whispers vehemently. "Just don't," he finishes before stumbling out of the bar, leaving the father to drop his head in his hands.

Derek walks out into the cold New York air, his winter coat forgotten on the back of his bar stool. But he doesn't care. The cold feels good against his clammy skin and he welcomes the moist flakes of snow as the bathe him. He runs his hand through his already disheveled hair. He staggers slightly at the disturbance in his equilibrium, but is able to balance himself by placing a hand on the nearby brick wall.

The bright lights of the hospital across the street shine in the darkness. Night has fallen and the piles of snow glisten as the tiny flakes reflect the multitudinous rays of light that hit them. The snow in the street is disgusting, blackened from the thousands of cars that have driven over since if first fell. That is how Derek feels. Like the blackened, dirty snow that has been trampled by uncaring drivers.

He pushes himself off of the wall and begins to walk across the street. A car blares its horn as he blindly crosses, not caring enough to look both ways.

His socks are wet and he is shivering by the time the doors of the hospital slide open, but he doesn't care. He doesn't feel. The scotch has made sure of that. The sudden onslaught of light blinds him momentarily, but he keeps moving. To the elevator. To her floor. To her room. It is all a blur, the trip, but a smudge of clarity begins to seep through as he stumbles into her room and her eyes flutter open.

Confusion furrows her brow as she takes in his disheveled appearance. The smell of scotch and cigars fills the room as he leans against the cabinet near her bed. He crosses his arms over his chest as he just stares at her.

She raises herself up slightly, ignoring the tinge of pain from her incision. She has been worried about him. Ever since he stormed out of her room, she hasn't been able to stop worrying about him. She watches as the moisture from the melted snow travels from his hairline down his nose, but he doesn't move to wipe it away.

He shifts on his feet, a squishing sound feeling the room from his wet shoes. He sighs as he once again runs a hand through his hair.

Meredith sits there in silence. Unsure of what to say. Unsure of what to do. The man before her is broken. She can see that. She can see that he is broken and she knows that she is the one that broke him.

She shifts again, suddenly uncomfortable under his intense gaze. The monitor shrieks as it slips down her abdomen. They both jump from the sudden intrusion on the heavy silence that has filled the room, but both seem to welcome it.

Meredith quickly replaces the monitor, allowing the silence to return. She leans back and exhales slowly, deciding that she needs to talk to him. She needs to talk to him for their son. Not for herself, but for their son.

"Derek," she finally whispers after what seems like an eternity.

Derek holds up his hand, silencing her. Derek closes his eyes and inhales deeply, attempting to calm the hurricane that is brewing inside of him. His eyes open, and she sees that his irises are the eye of the storm, raging with the inner turmoil the rest of his body is working so hard to repress.

"We need to talk."