𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 ━━ 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐝

seventy eight | bun

"You're pale, Leven."

"Yeah, and?"

"And you look like you're gonna pass out any second."

Cristina and I walk alongside each other down one of the less occupied hallways, discussing the meeting of the attendings earlier this morning.

"Are you gonna pass out?" Her right brow cocks before stopping in her steps.

"Of course not." I down the rest of the contents of the coffee cup — which, in actuality, is ginger and lemon balm tea. "Don't you think it was a good idea of Owen to address the lawsuit?"

A scoff echoes under her breath. "You mean his whole one big, happy family crap? It's very sweet unless you're me."

"It needed to be addressed."

"Yeah, unless you're the deformed wife chained in the attic."

"How Jane Eyre of you."

"I should've known you liked classic novels."

"What do you want him to be? Or, should I ask, what do you want to be to him? Do you want to be something to him?"

"Well, I don't wanna be chained in the attic."

"Should I start calling you Bertha?"

"Only if you want your ass kicked."

". . .touché."

With the on-call rooms a little more open than usual — thanks to April and Jackson not doing it for the day — Derek and I claim one as our own.

"Am I the only one who's noticed a change in your. . .libido?"

His hands roam over my thighs gently as I sit up on the back of my heels.

"Really? I didn't think it'd changed."

"It's decreased. Only a little, though."

"Huh."

The tips of my brows narrow to feign a look of confusion, and I pray he doesn't suspect something being off.

"How's your day been, though? How was Callie?"

"It was alright."

Before he can disclose any bit of detail, his hand cups my head to bring me to his lips in yet another kiss.

"As much as I love using sex to avoid talking, this is your life and your career."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Yes, please."

Derek sits the two of us up to where I'm sitting on his lap, and his palms are clasped at the small of my back.

"Why do the surgery at all?" He questions abruptly. "I've always wanted to spend more time fishing. And I don't mind making you pregnant my utmost priority."

Just as seconds ago, his lips drift from the right of my collarbone to the left.

"You're getting distracted again, Der."

A heavy sigh leaves his parted lips. "There's no good solution. There's half fixes. Maybe there's more function, maybe there's not. And if they can't fix it, then that's it. It's done. It's over."

"Don't say that it's over when it's not. You will find a fix."

"Since when did you get so optimistic?"

"Don't you dare change the subject again."

"Or you'll do what?"

"Or I'll — hey!"

Laughter fills the room while Derek and I attempt to catch up on some much needed time alone.

"If I told you today that I wanted to quit the hospital, that I wanted to quit being a doctor altogether, would you still love me?"

"Where's this coming from —"

"Just answer the question, Derek."

"Of course I would." He steps closer. "What sort of question is that, Leven?"

I brush my fingers over his stubble cheeks. "You have to get your hand fixed. Because it will work. You'll be back in the O.R., saving more lives than Clemens ever can. And my love for you is never going to falter because of something as stupid as a plane crash." My own cheeks are dampened with wet tears.

"Leven, why are you crying?"

"I don't know, maybe it's the stupid hormones or something."

Or something.

"I have to make a quick stop at the store before heading home, so, um, I'll see you then?"

Cristina waits for me on the curb of the store as I exit, clutching the brown bag in my right hand, and join her.

"Have I changed?"

"You're still the stone-cold bitch I've always known."

"How would he know that?" Cristina looks up at the night sky, searching for an answer. "He says nothing's changed, but what if I'm the thing that's changed, but he won't fucking talk to me?"

I slip the paper bag into my satchel. "Right. Owen."

"Do you think I've changed?"

"Just say you want him back."

"I don't."

She side-eyes me briefly, to which I cock a brow.

"Yeah, I want Owen back." The stoic woman admits.

My hand grasps hers. "You've changed. So have I. It's a good thing."

"What's in the bag?"

"Oh, just some bread. We ran out."

The words come out much faster than intended, and although anyone else would've questioned it, she stays quiet.

Back home, Derek comes out of the master shower, dressed in comfy clothes but with a towel around his neck.

"There's something in the, um, oven for you."

"Kind of a strange hiding spot, but alright."

He tugs open the door and pulls out. . .a bun. Instead of saying anything, he turns around and looks at me with slight confusion.

"Well, what is it?"

"A dinner roll."

"What, no. It's not a dinner roll."

He lifts the delicate piece of bread from the middle rack, and the mistake I made rushes through my brain.

"Damn it, damn it." A sorrowful whimper escapes. "I was supposed to grab a bun. Burger buns, hot dog buns, there's a million types of buns! Why did I grab a roll?"

"A roll, a bun, what difference does it make?" Derek frowns at seeing me upset.

"It's not a roll in the oven, it's a bun. The phrase is bun in the oven, and somehow I screwed it up."

"A bun in the oven? A bun in the — oh."

His baby blue eyes soften and gloss over with tears, whilst I scold myself over the stupid mistake of grabbing rolls instead of buns.

"Hey, hey, hey." His hands cup my blubbering cheeks. "Are you trying to tell me you're pregnant?"

I nod into his grasp. "Yeah, I am. But I messed it up —"

"But nothing. We're gonna have a baby, Leven."

His thumb brushes away the specks of tears.

"We're gonna have a baby."