Meredith stood in the middle of the floor in the lobby with two men staring at her. There was Finn, who by all means she should love. The one who made her smile and who had plans that weren't about to be interrupted by his wife. But Finn's eyes did not make her want to throw herself in his arms, One look from him did not make her smile, or relax. He was not the one who she loved.

But Derek's wife stood ten feet away.

She looked back at him and stared, holding his gaze, attempting portray her feelings without words. He had to know, that she would chose him if he would make up his damn mind.

"Finn I--."

"Meredith!" George called, running into the room, his jacket off. "Izzie wants you."

That was all that she needed. She ran past Finn and out the door with George. It was enough, she was sure, for both of them to understand. For now at least, there were other things that she had to contend with. In the parking lot Izzie stood next to Meredith's jeep, Alex's arm around her shoulder and her bright pink dress a sharp contrast to the blank look on her face.

"Let's go home," Izzie said softly, and Meredith suddenly remembered that they had driven together, and then Izzie had decided to change her dress, and had taken Meredith's car back. Izzie fumbled with her purse, and Alex gently took it from her, pulling out Meredith's keys.

Meredith took them and climbed into the front seat. Alex helped Izzie into the front and wordlessly climbed into the back.

"Don't you have a car, Alex?" Meredith asked, quietly.

"It'll be all right here," he responded and she shrugged. She drove back to her house on auto-pilot, glancing occasionally at Izzie, whose head rested against the window and who was staring blankly at the windshield, seeming not to see anything.

When they got to the house Alex led Izzie inside and Meredith took her to her room to help her out of the prom dress. Izzie stood stoically when Meredith unzipped it and helped her step out, finding Izzie's pajamas folded up on the bed and pulling the shirt over her head. It was somewhat like dressing a rag doll, or a patient. As soon as she was dressed Izzie curled up on her bed drawing her knees up to her chest.

"Do you want anything, Iz?" Meredith asked, kneeling by her.

"Can you ask Alex to come in?" she whispered, her first words since leaving the parking-lot.

"Of course," Meredith murmured. Standing up and running one hand over Izzie's shoulder.

Alex was waiting just outside the door. "She wants you," Meredith told him, and then continued down the hall to the stairs. She didn't walk all of the way down them, though. Something in her gave way at the bottom and she sank down, sitting with her head in her hands.

A few minutes later, George joined her. "So…. Definitely worse than my senior prom," he murmured, flashing her a half-smile.

"I didn't go to mine. Kind of wish that I hadn't gone to this one."

"Did… um….something happen? Besides everything with Izzie and Denny?"

Meredith laughed shallowly, "What didn't happen? I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

Suddenly they could hear sobbing from Izzie's room, sobbing that morphed into an animal-like keening. Both George and Meredith stood and climbed back up the stairs. Alex lay on the bed with Izzie who was clinging to him, and sobbing. Meredith slid off her heels and climbed onto the bed, anchoring Izzie from the other side as she began to thrash. George slid next to Meredith, and she could feel his heart beating against her back.

They stayed like this, sandwiching each other, until Izzie's sobs died down and her body seemingly shut down, or at least that was the only explanation for her quick transition into a deep sleep. George got up, but Meredith lingered, pushing the damp hair out of Izzie's face.

"I got her," Alex whispered in the darkness, and Meredith nodded, standing and leaving Izzie's room. She could not remember when she last felt so completely helpless. Probably the first time she went into to see her mother and was not recognized.

She went downstairs again, and this time made it all the way down and into the kitchen, reaching automatically for a shot glass and tequila. She poured it with shaking hands and had just taken the first shot when her cell phone rang from the clutch that she had set on the counter.

"I'm not answering it," she said aloud. Either it would be Finn, who she did not want to hurt by explaining it all to him, or it would be Derek who she was not going to speak to. At least, not yet.

Eventually the ringing stopped, but it was followed by the beep that signified that she had a voicemail. She took a second shot.

What did she want? She thought as she stood there looking up at the wooden cabinet. She wanted to be happy. She had thought that she was happy with Finn, but was she really? How could she be happy when every night Derek's face came into her conscious just before she fell asleep?

She spun the glass on the counter and sighed. Not a good day. It felt lame to say "My dog died today". It felt so lame, when Izzie's fiancée was dead, and Meredith knew that Doc's death wasn't even the reason for her own sorrow. Still, it was what she said when George came into the room and saw her standing there, shot glass in hand, the fourth shot burning her throat.

"You should go to bed," he told her, attempting to take the bottle of tequila from her hand.

"No. I can't." I can't because I will see him as soon as my eyes close. I will feel his hands on me, and what is worse is that I will want them to be there again.

"Meredith--."

"Please, George. Just leave me alone. Okay? Please."

"Okay. I'm going to bed. You really should go to."

His footsteps disappeared down the hall and up the stairs, and Meredith just stood there. The light in the kitchen was beginning to seem softer, but her thoughts were turning back to the exam room. She had had sex with Derek, and had wanted it. To have him hold her was all that she had wanted in the months since Addison showed up, but not if she were going to be his mistress.

Damn it, she was sleeping with Addison's husband.

She would not be the dirty mistress. Dirty drunken mistress, now. Dirty diabolical, disheveled debaucherizing drunken mistress. She laughed to herself, but her laugh was hollow. She missed being happy, she missed waking up in his arms and feeling like she was where she was supposed to be.

Another shot, and maybe she should go to bed. She had a shift in…. she squinted at the clock. Damn. Six hours. Yeah, sleep would be good. She slid to the sink to wash out her glass, but she slipped slightly when she forgot that she was barefoot and the glass falls onto the sink, shattering.

"Shit," she cursed, reaching in barehanded to pick up the shards, immediately cutting her palm. "Damn it!"

"Meredith?" George's voice called from the stairwell. "Meredith, what is it?"

"Glass," she offered lamely as blood gushed from the cut. He took one look at the situation and lunged for the paper towels, pressing one against her hand.

"Hold it there," he ordered, sharply. "I'll clean this up and then help you with that." Meekly she sunk into a kitchen chair, watching blood soak into the white paper towel. George reached for a dishcloth and used that to pick up the glass and dump it into the trash. It seemed so simple. She should have done that.

After the glass was clean he glanced over at her and then went upstairs to get the first-aid kit. She stared at the table, feeling stupid. And dirty. She definitely felt dirty in a way that all the showers in the world wouldn't help. All the perfumes in Arabia. What was that? Shakespeare? She couldn't think.

"Meredith? Come on, we have to wash it out," George took her arm and led her to the sink. He turned on the water and held her hand under it.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Well…. Yeah."

The pain, though, became almost soothing. It came, and then it stopped. Purely physical. Something that would heal. George dabbed at the cut with a new paper towel and then brought her back to the table where he applied an antiseptic and a band-aid.

"There. All done," he said and she looked up.

"Thanks. George…. I'm a mess,' she murmured miserably.

"You'll be okay. We're all going to be okay," he reassured. "Come on," he pulled her up and to the stairs. She went first, and he steadied her when she stumbled. "Get some sleep," he told her, when she went into her room. "Things look better in the morning."

She hoped that he was right, but when she collapsed into bed, figured he would not be.

---

The sky was mocking them. When Meredith's alarm went off at four-thirty the sun was already rising and by the time she dragged herself out of bed, temples throbbing, her room was covered in light. She stripped off the dress that she had not even thought to take off, her hand stinging as she did so.

"Meredith? Are you up?" George called from the hall, a note of panic in his voice.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"It's Izzie. She locked herself in the bathroom. Alex left her asleep and--."

Meredith was in the hall in a shirt and panties, running to the bathroom and reaching over the door.

"What--?"

"We came here the summer when I was sixteen, and I liked to lock myself in here. Mom had a pick made." She found the metal rod and stuck it in the key-hole. She fumbled for a minute, but then there was a click and the door swung open.

Izzie sat on the floor, her back against the tub. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and one hand hung limp, a razor clutched in her fist. Meredith sank down next to her on the floor.

"Izzie?" she said, cautiously, gently pulling the razor away. Izzie let her grasp on it slackened and her head fell into her arms.

"I couldn't," she murmured. "But I thought I'd try."

"Oh Izzie," Meredith put an arm around her.

"I was so happy. What happened?"

Meredith had found herself thinking the same thing lately. "I can't answer that for you," she said. "But I can tell you that this," she held up the razor, "wouldn't help anything." Izzie nodded, miserably and Meredith could see tears on her cheeks.

"I know. I just wish there was something that could help. It was a stupid idea. Don't you have a shift? You should go."

Yeah. Go to the hospital. Where he would be there, waiting for her.Meredith sighed and nodded, helping Izzie to stand up. She led her to her room where Izzie collapsed on the bed again.

"Meredith? Your cell phone's going crazy!" George called from downstairs.

Meredith rolled her eyes and crouched by Izzie's bed. "No more crazy stunts like this, okay? I don't want to have to actually break down any doors."

Izzie shrugged, and Meredith took that for consent. Meredith left, gently closing Izzie's door and went into her own room and pulled on a pair of jeans and shoes before going downstairs.

"Want breakfast?" George asked, from where he was fixing eggs.

Her stomach turned over. "No." Her phone lay on the table; George had taken it out of her clutch. Eight missed calls, alternatively from Derek and Finn. One at a time. She went out onto the steps and dialed Finn's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's me."

"Hey. You ran out pretty fast last night."

"Yeah. Izzie needed me."

"Is that all?"

She sighed, resting her head on her arm. "No. Finn, I'm sorry. I'm just a little too scary and damaged for this. I like you, it's not you. It's me. It's so me that you wouldn't even believe how me it is. There are other girls who deserve your plans so much more than I do."

There was a silence, a long silence, and she almost thought that he had hung up. "Okay. That's not true, though. You deserve plans, Meredith. You should be happy. I'm sorry that it can't be with me."

"Me too. Good-bye Finn."

"Bye Meredith."

She closed her phone and put her head in her arms. It was the right thing to do, he did not deserve to be dragged around in her bullshit, but he was such a good guy. It killed her to hurt him.

The door opened behind her and George walked down the steps. "I'll drive," he announced, holding her keys. He looked behind him to make sure that she was coming, and so, resignedly, she pulled herself up and went out to the car. She was a surgeon. She was a surgeon and she was going to save lives. Maybe, even her own.

A/N this one will be shorter than I Wish I May, and updated more often. I should be updating In My Daughter's Eyes some time this week. I actually have this one written fairly far ahead, so I can concentrate on other things.