Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters do not belong to me.
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in updating! Thanks so much for your patience!
Chapter 7: Old Habits Die Hard
Meredith walked slowly back inside the house, quietly closing the door behind her. Everything kept changing way too quickly. Derek was with her just a moment ago, and then he was gone. After tucking Patrick into bed, she shuffled into the kitchen, her mind still reeling with the night's events.
She rummaged through the liquor cabinet, making more noise than was necessary. Although raising her son that caused her to adopt much more responsible behavior, she felt like indulging. Derek's actions were forcing her to resort to her old ways. She couldn't blame him for being upset. She knew that this would happen sooner or later, but that didn't stop her from being upset over Derek storming out.
Finding what she was looking for in the cabinet, she pulled out a mostly-full bottle of Tequila.
"This bottle has my name on it," she muttered, wiping her teary eyes with the back of her hand.
She sat down miserably at the table and took a large gulp, letting the liquid burn down her throat.
Derek used more force than was necessary to slam his foot on the accelerator. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed him that Meredith was still standing, stunned, in front of her house. He probably could have handled that better, but this was shocking news. How could she not tell him that he had a son? It was entirely unforgivable. He fumed as he gripped the steering wheel for forcefully, wondering how on earth Meredith kept a secret like this from him for all these years.
It was my fault though, Derek thought. I drove her away. Why would she tell me after what I did to her?
The thought made Derek's throat burn. He had a sudden, intense desire to turn around, drive straight back to Meredith's house, hold her in his arms, and tell her everything would be okay.
But, he thought, there's still the fact that I have a son who doesn't even know that I exist.
He shook his head in anger and kept steadily traveling in the same direction. He couldn't go back now; he was way too upset to be anywhere near Meredith Grey at the moment.
He made a left onto a main road and saw the sparkling, sprawling lights of Seattle Grace Hospital illuminating the night sky. He pulled into the parking lot across the street and firmly pressed his brakes near the sign that read Joe's Bar.
Derek distractedly ran his hands through his hair and slammed his car door, peering at the familiar bar that sat ever so innocently near the hospital.
Yet again, Meredith tipped the bottle of Tequila upwards. With each sip, her vision became fuzzier and her awareness became increasingly indistinct. She lost count of how much she had drunk; her thoughts were only on Derek. Derek. Her Derek. He was gone yet again.
After four years, she had a taste of him again, but only for a moment. He was back out of her life before she even had the time to process what was happening.
So far, life had been unbelievably cruel to her. She grew up with no father and a mother who continually tore her down. Her mother got Alzheimer's, leaving Meredith with absolutely no one. Then, after she met the love of her life and thought that everything is going to change for the better, his wife showed up. The love of her life got her pregnant then went back to his wife. Her overbearing mother died and her father never came back into her life.
Meredith had gotten used to being that girl who had everything crappy happening to her. She was able to heal and take comfort in Patrick. But, now that Derek had briefly come back in her life, she didn't know how long she could last like this.
Back in Boston, things were simple. Sad maybe, but they were at least simple. She had dated other guys, but she didn't have the love for any of them that she had for Derek. They all reminded her of what she used to have and what she missed, so she stopped dating.
She stopped dating and focused on two things and only two things: her son and her job. For years, that had been enough for her.
Now, though, it didn't feel like enough. As much as she loved her son and felt that she completed him, she wanted more. She needed more. More specifically, she needed Derek. She needed much more than she was ever willing to admit.
Fresh tears spilled down her face, which she wiped away impatiently, swaying slightly in her chair from all the Tequila.
There were footsteps approaching the kitchen door. Was that Derek? The person stood in the doorway, with an arm rested on its frame. Meredith squinted at the doorway, attempting to bring her vision into focus.
"Christina?" Meredith asked, still squinting in her direction. Sure enough, Christina was standing in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which was wet from all her tears.
"How are you feeling?" Meredith asked, clumsily placing the Tequila bottle as she slurred her words.
"I've been better," Christina responded quietly, her arms crossed and leaning against the door frame. "Was that McDreamy who was here?"
"Yep," Meredith said, running a hand through her hair. "He found out about Patrick and ran off."
"Good to hear that he's still a McBastard," Christina muttered. She plopped down at a chair next to Meredith, pried the Tequila from Meredith's fingers, and took a large, quick gulp.
"Burke is dead," Christina said despondently, setting the bottle with a clink back on the table.
"I know," Meredith said sadly, leaning her head drunkenly on Christina's shoulder.
Derek sat in the familiar bar, nursing yet another glass of single-malt Scotch. Joe asked him what was bothering him, but Derek shook his head. He was in no mood to talk about it. Silently brooding would work just fine.
Behind him, he heard the door of the bar open yet again. Instinctively, and maybe a little hopefully, he turned around.
A few nurses walked in, gossiping about the day's events. Derek sighed. Of course she wouldn't come here. Why would she come after what he said? He was being ridiculous. And he was still angry. He finished his Scotch with one gulp then motioned for Joe to bring him another one.
No matter how angry I am, he thought, picking up his new glass of Scotch, I still love her. I love her so much.