So, it's been a loooong time since I've written any fanfic, and I'm a little nervous about it.  The World Turned Over was a long time ago, and I'm hoping I can still make the characters sound like themselves.  Please forgive me if I'm a bit rusty.  But I've missed writing fic a lot, and I'm really, really enjoying season five, so...new fic!  This is going to be a multi-chapter story.  I know the general plot, but I haven't got a clue about the length yet.  Anyway, this story picks up right after episode 5.05 because I've got to start somewhere, and I thought there was lots of interesting goodness in that episode.  So yeah, this is Meredith and Derek's story, as told by me.  Enjoy.

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The smooth wall of the bathtub against her back was cold. The floor was colder still. Her toes felt numb and distant, like little ice cubes sewn onto the ends of her feet. Meredith shifted positions, pulling her legs up under the warmth of her robe. She crossed them Indian style, tucking her toes against the backs of her knees. Her feet began to leech the warmth from her legs and send it slowly creeping to the tips of her frozen toes. She pulled the belt on her robe tighter. The bathroom felt like an ice box. It might finally be time to turn the heat up. Izzie would like that. For all her bubbly warmth, her hands were perpetually freezing. Meredith leaned forwards, yawning into her lap, her jaw stretching until it seemed about to crack. She gave her head a little shake and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, trying to get them to focus. Her mother's utilitarian handwriting was getting harder and harder to read with every passing minute, and her body was going numb from so long on the bathroom floor. The sensible thing to do would be to shut the stupid diary and crawl right back into bed beside Derek. It was warmer there and peaceful. Not to mention relatively free of reminders of her own surgical incompetence. The door to the bedroom was open the smallest of slivers, and the space that beckoned from beyond was dark and indistinct. It was every bit as out of focus as her mother's handwriting, but the siren song of sleep had nothing on Ellis Grey.

Meredith propped a fist beneath her chin and slouched towards the diary perched on her knee. Like textbooks at two am, the letters blurred and swam indignantly before finally popping into place. There was little to do but keep reading, turning page after page of surgeries. The stress of complicated procedures was spelled out for her side by side with the dizzying rush of moments when life and death hung in a balance. She read on and on as darkness ticked its way towards dawn. Her eyes felt dry and bloodshot. It was a struggle to keep them open even though her mind buzzed with a noisy desperation, wanting more and more of the diary. She wanted more and she wanted sleep. Meredith stared at the page in a stupor until her eyelids fell like bricks and she saw the kidney land with a splat on the floor. Splat, splat, splat. Over and over again she watched it fall behind closed eyes in a rhythm like heartbeats. Splat and there it lay at her feet. The shocked silence that followed was this screaming thing that swelled endlessly inside her mind from a few seconds into a damn good model for infinity. Meredith forced her eyes open again and the kidneys stopped falling. The room felt bright and unfamiliar as she shook herself out of sleep and back into whatever it was that passed for consciousness at two in the morning. The diary drew her like a moth to a flame, and she stared until she could see. More words, more days, more surgeries and never her name.

Sixty-three pages so far, and she had yet to be mentioned even in passing. Meredith yawned into the open book, reading a paragraph three times before it registered. She wasn't in it yet despite the fact that she had certainly been born already. Maybe that was a good thing. The childhood of the surgically incompetent could hardly be compelling. Meredith Grey, dropper of kidneys, or Ellis Grey, super surgeon. It wasn't hard to pick which one was the best seller there. She pulled her robe tighter with one hand as she turned to the next page with the other.

There was more. There was always more. Her eyes ached and burned and she leaned forward as she yawned, letting them close for a few blissful moments. And then a few moments more… Meredith blinked and the room blurred to pale blue. The harsh lights of the OR flooded the bathroom. She thought that should be strange, but it wasn't. Her scrubs felt scratchy, and she couldn't remember putting them on. She never wore scrubs at home. She looked down to see the donor kidney resting on her knee, fresh and healthy and covered in stray hairs and pieces of lint. "Pink up," she muttered, jiggling it with her knee. It sat there useless, purple and lifeless as dread began to creep quickly down her spine. "Pink up. Please." The sudden desperation made her dizzy, and she closed her eyes and held her breath like she was seven again and making a wish. "Come on, just pink up," she said. Meredith bounced her knee harder and the kidney jostled up and down, slapping against her leg with a thick, wet sound. Nothing. "Pink the hell up!" she snapped, her eyes flying open again as she flicked it with her finger. The kidney was still as purple as a bruise but she could suddenly see the pink of her own finger poking through the tip of her surgical glove. She felt cold inside, like she had just poured a cup of grease – cold and unpleasant and half way to congealed – down her throat and into the hollow pit of her stomach. "I popped a glove," she moaned dismally.

"What?" Burke sat opposite her on the bathroom floor, crosslegged and frowning over his surgical mask.

Meredith lifted the kidney up to him, silently berating herself for not having Mrs. Patterson's heart on hand as well. At least Burke didn't seem to mind. "In surgery, when I was holding it," she explained. "I popped a glove with my fingernail." Burke leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the kidney. "I think I may have nicked her heart."

"You had every opportunity to speak up before I closed her chest. Every opportunity." His voice pulsed with fury, and he held out his hand. "Give me Mrs. Patterson's heart."

Meredith blinked and stared down at the kidney. "What?" The bathroom widened, putting a chasm between them, and she had no choice but to stand up. She moved slowly, gripping the kidney with both hands like a lifeline. "Here," she murmured. He could have it if he wanted, even if it was a kidney. "Passing the heart," she said hopefully. It poured through her fingers like sand and hit the floor with a sickening splat.

Burke stared down at the floor. "That's a kidney, Grey. What did you do with Mrs. Patterson's heart?" Meredith shook her head, worrying at the tear in her glove as guilt hit her like a hammer.

"I'm sorry." She dropped to her knees and scooted forward, reaching out for the kidney. It was slippery as butter and as hard to hold as water in uncupped hands. Her fingers scratched and scrambled at the organ, but they couldn't find purchase. The kidney lay on the floor and the resounding splat echoed over and over again, filling the room with its awful sound. Splat, splat, splat. Meredith shook her head repeatedly to the rhythm. "I popped a glove," she moaned, looking up towards Burke. She held out her hand, pushing her finger through the hole as proof, but Derek stood where Burke had been. He leaned against the far wall of the bathroom, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He grabbed her hand as it fluttered in front of him, and pulled her easily to her feet. His thumb rubbed against her exposed fingertip, pushing past the broken glove slowly, so slowly, like he was peeling her apart. The touch was gentle as a whisper, but it burned like a flame. "Derek…" she moaned, taking his name from a word to a sigh. She stumbled towards him, the kidney lying forgotten by her feet. All feeling radiated out from the point where Derek touched her. The Shepherd Method. Her laughter was breathy, and a familiar, aching pulse picked up between her legs. Gotta love that Shepherd Method. She inched closer to him, but he turned away abruptly. Her hand fell limp against her side.

"You haven't even scratched the surface on what you need to learn," Derek said and the fire in her veins turned to ice as he shook his head.

"Derek, wait," she pleaded, glancing back at the forgotten kidney. She had to pick it up. She had to, but all the warmth had left with Derek and she felt cold. The finger poking through her glove was blue. Cyanotic. "I'll pick it up," she said. "I promise I'll pick it up." But the blue that stained her finger was creeping slowly up her arms until she felt too cold to move. They flopped useless at her side and she could only watch as another hand appeared in front of her, scooping up the kidney as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Meredith followed the line of the hand holding the kidney up to find her mother towering above her in navy scrubs.

She reached out for the organ, but Ellis yanked the kidney from her grasping hands. "You're dropping kidneys?" she demanded. "Pathetic. The Meredith I knew was a force of nature, passionate, focused, a fighter. What happened to you?" She pivoted on her heel and stalked straight towards the toilet, holding the kidney out in front of her.

"Mom?" Meredith scrambled after her, panic swelling in her chest. "What are you doing?" The distance from the tub to the toilet was impossibly long, and her scrubs were suddenly cold and water logged. She left a puddle on the floor with every step. "Mom…" Ellis had reached the toilet, and she held the kidney out over gaping bowl. "You can't," said Meredith, but the words sounded weak and useless. "My patient's waiting for it."

"Waiting for inspiration?" cut in Ellis, her voice as cold as a scalpel's edge.

"No," stammered Meredith. "For the kidney. My patient…she needs that." Meredith doubled her pace, but the distance between her and her mother lengthened with every stride. Ellis let go and the kidney fell, landing in the toilet bowl with a heavy splat. It was a thick and resounding, endless splat. Splat, splat, splat.

"No…" moaned Meredith. She stood frozen, staring in wide-eyed disbelief as her mother reached out and pulled the handle on the toilet, flushing the kidney away. "You'll clog the toilet. You'll clog…"

"I will not. Ridiculous, Meredith. You're not half the surgeon I was," said Ellis, her voice endlessly loud above the roar of the flushing toilet.

"Mom, please," cried Meredith. "I'll try again! I'll do better, I promise." Ellis faded like smoke and a new kidney blossomed in her outstretched hands. It was blue. Cyanotic. A kidney cold as ice. "Walking with the kidney," she whispered even as it fell. It fell forever. Splat, splat, splat.

The diary hit the ground with a slap and Meredith jerked awake. She snuffled, shaking off the heavy sense of disorientation. Where…and what… She shook her head. The bathtub was still right behind her, solid and cold against her back. There were no kidneys lying conspicuously on the tile. The dream bled from her brain with each moment she kept her eyes open, leaving her with strange echoes of images all faint and incomplete. She yawned again. She still felt strange, like all the world was a hallucination. The kidney, she'd been dreaming about the kidney… But why? She felt cold and spread too thin, as if tiredness had emptied her out from within. Even yawning was an effort. She shuddered and her shoulders jerked hard enough to hurt. Sleep seemed imperative now. It was a long way to standing, but… Sleep. Nothing sounded nicer. Meredith pushed the mess of her hair away from her face and plucked the diary off of the bathroom floor. She smoothed her hand over a page that had crumpled in the tumble from her knee, staring blankly down at the entry. The cover was halfway to closed when her hand stilled and her breath caught. There, right beside her thumb, was her own name, marching quietly across the page just like any other word. She rubbed her thumb over her name as if she could erase it, not daring to read the words on either side of it. Her heart beat faster and she lost the desire for sleep. She stared and stared at her name until even the familiar order of the letters began to feel strange. She could read it. She could. It was just a stupid diary, and whatever it said could hardly be unbearable. Her promises felt empty inside her head, but she pulled her hand away from the page and found the sentence with her name.

That's the problem with Meredith.

Her gaze flew backwards over the text, trying to find the context for the sentence. She turned the page back and stared at the date. It was an entry she was certain she hadn't got to yet. She started reading voraciously at the start of the entry, gulping down passages whole and leaving her mind with barely a moment to decipher them. Surgery, surgery, Richard, surgery… Dread mounted in her chest. She turned the page back again. Her thumb still hovered right beneath her name.

The door swung open with a slow creak. Meredith looked up and snapped the diary shut in one fluid motion, wincing as she caught her finger in its clutches. Derek loomed in the doorway. He'd pulled on a pair of faded navy boxers, but other than that he was as naked as she had left him and only marginally more conscious. She glanced down at the diary feeling suddenly guilty, then back to Derek, then to the diary again. A confusing spiral of frustration and relief corkscrewed its way through her as her mother's voice was silenced once again.

"Meredith," mumbled Derek. He blinked rapidly and pressed a hand to his eyes against the bright light of the bathroom. "It's three am. What are you doing?"

She shrugged down at the diary. "I couldn't sleep. Normally I just use a flashlight, but my eyes were too tired to focus. I thought the lamp would wake you up, so…" She stammered to a halt, biting her lip and staring up at him. "Did I wake you up?"

He yawned, the sound trailing off into a groan as he lowered himself to the bathroom floor. He rubbed absently at the side of his face. "I'm not sure," he said softly. "I thought I heard your voice." His expression turned curious and a little disbelieving. "Were you reading out loud?"

"I was dreaming, I think…"

Derek smiled. "You were dreaming?" he echoed. Meredith nodded. "And you were too tired to read without all the comfort of the bathroom floor to keep you awake?" She nodded again, although this time the motion was sheepish. Tiredness was staking its claim in her once more, and the desire to close her eyes was almost equal with the need to know what her mother said about her. What the problem with Meredith was… Although, she could wager at least a dozen guesses without so much as another peek at the diary. "But you don't think you need to sleep now?" prodded Derek.

"I do," said Meredith. She clutched the diary to her chest, feeling suddenly defensive. "It's just, the diary. I can't stop reading it!"

"You can't?" Derek rocked back on his heels, apparently amused.

"I can't," she repeated, stressing the word. "It's like crack, Derek. My mother's diary…" She shook her head, her hands flailing in an ungainly attempt at emphasis. "It's a crack-diary!"

"And you're addicted?" Derek grinned at that as she nodded vehemently. He leaned forward and slid his hands under her arms, pulling her to her feet as he stood. "Junkie," he teased, kissing the top of her head before growing serious. Meredith could feel the change in mood radiating out from deep within him, seeping slowly into her. She melted into the solid plane his chest offered her. She was tired. So tired. Standing made the exhaustion that much more pronounced and she sunk against him, letting his arms hold her up. He kept her close like a treasure, his hands pressed firm against her back. Her eyelids flirted with the thought of closing for a few moments before giving in and falling shut.

"I think you were in my dream," she said. Her voice was a whisper, just a breath of sound, and her lips brushed against his skin as she spoke.

"Yeah?"

Meredith nodded. "Yeah. It was weird…" She tried to put the pieces back together, to remember what had been said as she slept, but the brief, fleeting memories had incongruous edges that didn't fit, and all she had left was a feeling. It ran through her like ice water and nails on a chalkboard. The dream left a bitter taste in her mouth and the diary still rested like a thorn in her hand.

"Was it a good dream?" It was a question, but the sound of his voice had a certainty to it, as if he could tell by the way she leaned into him. He didn't look surprised when she shook her head. She bowed forward again until her forehead pressed against his chest. Derek's fingers danced idly across her back, tracing designs over the thick fleece of her robe. Twists and loops, circles and figure eights. Infinity. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, and it meant everything – the dream, the diary, three am on the bathroom floor.

Yes and no. Never and always… Reality felt as disjointed as the dream, faded around the edges from lack of sleep. The words all caught in her throat, stuck right behind the confusion of her dream, and Meredith shook her head. In the silence of the bathroom, she could hear her hair rustle against his chest as she moved. This was where she showed him just how healed she was now. This was where she spoke. She was sure of it. But the dream was a mystery and the diary… She would talk about it if she could find the words, but the only one that came to mind was disappointment, and she had felt that one enough for a lifetime.

"I want to sleep," she said, but she held him that much closer. Derek tucked a hand under her chin, raising her gaze to meet his with the gentle pressure of his thumb. Her eyelids drooped and she tried not to yawn in his face. "I'm tired," she mumbled. "So tired."

He nodded and the room went dark. It took her a moment to realize he had flicked the lights off. And then he was nudging her with his toes, walking her backwards out of the room. The cold tile beneath her feet was replaced by the soft and sinking warmth of her bedroom carpet. Darkness enveloped her with a fuzzy familiarity like a favorite sweater. Derek backed her up all the way to the bed, and her knees buckled as they bumped against the mattress. The kidney was still glowing faintly in its jar and she smiled at it. It reminded her of them a little, the kidney. It sat preserved in the glass, damaged but everlasting – a light in the darkness. It was hardly the sort of metaphor she'd let herself share, even with him, but she liked it. The angry, pink-haired girl still tucked away in a hidden chamber of her heart pronounced it true. Their love, illuminated.

She could make out the vague shape of Derek's face as he crouched in front of her and pried the diary from her hands. Her fingers relinquished it easily, but her eyes traced its path like a hawk, not turning away until Derek set it down on the table beside the jar. And then his hands were on her again, untying the belt to her robe. His fingers never moved needlessly; every motion was precise and purposeful. The knot came loose with a single tug of his index finger, and the robe fell open in the front. It slipped down her arms to pool against the mattress, leaving her with a pale nakedness that he stared at. It was still novel to be looked at that way, in a way that wasn't about sex at all, but was just as full of love and wanting and somehow even more exposed. She thought her soul might be showing instead of her skin.

He kissed her in the dark, and it wasn't like earlier when he'd been handsy and she'd been giggling as they shimmied out of their jeans. I want a demonstration, she'd whispered. Of what? The Shepherd Method. I hear it's world famous. She warmed from the inside at the memory. Then everything had been fast and intoxicating, pulsing with the needy heat of make-up sex. Now it was a single kiss, as soft and silent as the still of the night, and she let him lay her back against the pillows.

"Sleep," he said as he pulled away from her. The bed groaned when he climbed in, and she rolled towards the dip in the mattress. She turned her back on the diary and tucked her head against his chest, trying to settle into sleep. The silence was beautiful for a moment – just their breathing and the endless quiet of the night – but too soon the buzzing started up again. It was a crazy whir inside her mind like machinery spinning wildly out of control, spinning with no intention of ever stopping. Her name was in her mother's diary, and the diary, for all the determination of her turned back, sat as inconspicuous as an elephant on the bedside table. Meredith twisted restlessly, squirming beneath the covers and flinging them about as Ellis's face swam before her closed eyes. A fragment of her dream floated back to her as Ellis dropped a donor kidney into the toilet bowl and flushed it away. Something bitter tugged at her heart. She wasn't half the surgeon her mother was.

Derek grunted when she caught him with a wandering elbow. "You really can't sleep, huh?" he asked. He sounded hoarse and tired, his words tinged with the hint of frustration. Meredith's sigh was exasperated, and she deliberately avoided looking at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock, but she said nothing. Derek rolled onto his side and propped his head up with a hand. He stared at her, his eyes glinting like polished stones in the darkness. "What is it?" he asked quietly. This time the frustration was gone. Meredith hesitated, looking up at him for a long moment, unspoken words tickling her lips.

She shifted abruptly onto her side, turning her face from him and towards the darkness. His chest was warm against her back and she felt more than heard him sigh resignedly. Still, his arm snaked around her waist, holding her spooned against him. The tickle at her lips finally turned into speech; words came easier when she couldn't see his face. "I poured my mother down the drain," she whispered.

"What?"

"Down the drain," she repeated. "I poured her ashes down the drain in one of the scrub rooms. I thought she'd like it there. That it was where she'd want to be…"

Derek was silent at first, simply rubbing his hand up and down the length of her arm. But then he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck and his voice hummed against her skin. "That was nice of you."

Meredith shook her head. "I thought it was done, you know? I laid her to rest, but she's still around." She stared at the diary – the glow of the kidney illuminated its edges. "Her ghost won't go away." Derek was silent, free of fake promises; his reassurance was everything she could feel. His arms held her in a perfect circle. Safe. That more than anything else helped her keep speaking. "Sometimes I wonder if it'll ever go away," she whispered. "If I'll ever get to stop comparing…"

Derek pulled her nearer still, until his heart beat against her back and she felt enveloped by him. "You don't have to be your mother," he said, and there was something pleading in his voice. "It's you I love, not her." He paused and breathed in deeply, as if he could inhale all that she was. "Mer, you don't have to be her."

"Yeah," she said. A cautious smile twitched across her face. He always had the prettiest words. She could be enough. Maybe she could. The diary still stood out in the darkness, but she nestled against Derek and let him keep her close.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget the sight of her own name scrawled across the page.