A Fight to Remember

Breakfast Pt. 2

A/N: I know, I know. Derek wasn't really smart last chapter. He just needs to figure stuff out. He always comes back, doesn't he?

Derek

The Heineken slid easily down my throat, and I tossed another can, missing the bucket completely this time. How many was that? Four?

The sun slowly creeped out from behind the mountains, winking at me, even as ominous rain clouds hugged the horizon in the opposite direction. I shivered in my hoodie. Why the hell had I run here? I questioned as I pushed the front legs of my chair off the deck and leaned the back against the trailer.

Who the fuck are you? My wife's voice gritted at me, get out! Get. Out! Her expression, usually ethereal and full of love toward me, even on her worst days, was twisted into something unrecognizable.

You're the love of my life, my heart responded. I can't leave you.

But now I had. Maybe just for a moment. Maybe just to get my head on straight, but still...

I left.

Good, go. Go, now.

What was I doing?

Huffing, I stood up and grabbed my fishing gear and folded up the chair. Quiet. I just needed quiet.

xxx

'Plop!' the lure dropped into the water and it rippled from smart defined circles into a soft wave that ebbed out into the lake. For a second I was frozen, as if I'd forgotten how to fish, but then muscle memory clicked in, and I began the lazy dance of tug, stop, reel, tug, stop, reel.

The motion hypnotised me, and as I fished, my anxiety and fear left, tossed away with each cast. I breathed out... relaxing my neck and shoulders, letting the tension leave me from the neck down. The cool air and the slanted rays of the sun refreshed me, and I kept casting, not really expecting to catch anything...

More like trying to set something free.

But while my emotions calmed, I still had questions.

How bad was it?

Would it get worse? When could I expect to see further decline? How could I help her? Would she ever recognize me?

Exhausted, I reeled the line in all the way and picked up my tackle box, retiring to the deck of the trailer again. I wiped my eyes and scrubbed the light stubble on my cheeks before slumping back on the chair with another beer. The answer had to come to me soon. I just had to...

"Hey!" A familiar voice called, "McDreamy!"

Cristina? I snapped up in my chair, almost losing my balance.

"Or is it McAss?" she said, as her small dark form approached from the gravel road.

"Cristina?" I asked, "I thought you were going back to Switzerland."

"Eh," she waved a hand, "I own the damn hospital, I can choose when I want to be there."

"Mm," I said, lifting the can for another sip, but she swiped it from me and chugged three big gulps.

"Heineken! Blech!" she made a sour face and shoved the can back at me.

"What the hell?" I blurted, swiping the can back from her tiny fist.

Of course she ignored me, my wife's best friend was an obstinate bitch sometimes. "So, ah..." she gestured around her, "How's the space? How's the quiet?" The sarcasm dripped like hot scalding oil from her lips.