Dedication: This is for my new friend, AFan17, because she's amazing and sweet and a brilliant writer, and I thought I would update for her. And she shares my views on Alias. Hi, A!

A/N: This chapter is short and ridiculous and awful. :( And there's a little more humor than previous chaps. I'm not a total angst-ball.

Recommended Soundtrack: Traffic In The Sky by Jack Johnson

Chapter 5

Mirth

Where do we go? Nobody knows.

I've gotta say I'm on my way down...

You come up behind them and your heart freezes over in your throat. There they are. Just...standing there.

"Hello," you mumble to no one in particular, your eyes wandering down the hall behind them, praying for someone to come and save you from this purgatory situation you've gotten yourself into.

She shoots you a piercing look and you pray that the scent of your indiscretion doesn't linger in the air or the residue of her lip gloss isn't left on your cheek.

"Meredith, Derek," she says, her eyebrow lifting in suspicion.

You are in trouble now.

--

The awkwardness is too much to bear. You have to stop yourself from apologizing profusely to her and you're surprised you don't fall groveling to her feet.

The tension in the air is suffocating you, and the rings on their fingers are strangling you, your eyes bulging in shock and your breath ragged with fear.

You are a horrible, dirty, whore and what do you do? You laugh.

It begins in a small giggle erupting from your throat, but soon turns into a doubling-over belly laugh.

"I'm s-sorry!" you stutter out, your breaths coming in gasps between the uncontrollable chuckles coming from your lips, "I-I shouldn't laugh...! It's really...not funny..." you try and explain, but the looks everybody is giving you only fuels your mirth. Your laughter is shaking you so vigorously, tears begin to form in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, wiping furiously at the hysterical salty droplets falling down the planes of your cheeks, "I have to go," and with that, you turn and quickly walk away, escaping and leaving two very shocked and very confused people behind her.

--

You watch her as she walks away, her shoulders slouched over and shaking, laughter still ripping through her in small bouts.

"Ok, then..." your wife says, her face even more confused than yours - but you know. You know how ironic it was that after doing that in an elevator, the first person you both see is your wife. "Are you ok? Richard called and told me about the elevator..." her genuine concern is almost too much for your guilt-ridden conscience to bear, because you can still smell her on your skin, taste her in your mouth, and see her in your mind - for a momentary flash of stupidity, she fills your reality, and you briefly smile - a smirk that is not unnoticed by your wife. "What?" she says, her curiosity at the sudden outburst and your small smirk trickling out, "Do I have something in my teeth, or in my hair?"

"No," you say, "No you don't." With that, you are finally allowed to leave - the strangeness and suddenness of the state of affairs definitely not alleviating the tension and guilt bubbling up inside of you.

You're not sure whether or not to be happy and jump for joy and shout it from the rooftops that you were with her - that for a precious few seconds, you two were the only people on the earth, filling each other's senses and world, or be terrified that what you are being a complete hypocrite and a phony in this pretense of a marriage you have.

Conflict sucks.

--

You are embarrassed. Ashamed, even, at your childish antics. You behaved like a two-year old.

It was sort of like when you and your significant other (or in this case, ex-boyfriend) have a huge, knockdown, drag-out fight, and the tension and anger builds to such an intensity, that only thing left to do is have Dirty Exam Room Sex. However rational may not be the word to describe it, things get carried away.

While standing in a hallway with said ex-boyfriend and said ex-boyfriend's wife, just after you have had Dirty Stuck Elevator Sex, the only thing you can possibly think of to do is laugh, because the irony and randomness is just too much for you to bear. The stiffness and stress still hung in the air over you like a cheap hooker's perfume (the Stella McCartney you splashed on this morning), but your sudden flare-up of puerility was just enough to distract you from it.

You were lucky you got out so simply - it could have been (and should have been) much uglier and painful than what you experienced. The way you exited was actually quite irrational and improbable, if you did say so yourself.

Although you have no idea what was said after you left, you're pretty sure it didn't have to do much with divorces and affairs.

Maybe.

--