DISCLAIMER: Grey's Anatomy is the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. This is just a fanfiction, the story is my own, please don't sue.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
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By Paige Halliwell
Meredith opened her eyes, moaned softly, and then shut them again.
Light…why is there so much light? Light is bad, painful…bad light.
Wallowing in her pain and self pity for a few more moments, her eyes flew open and she lunged for the alarm clock. A relived sigh escaped realising that she had this Saturday morning off, before another groan seeped through her dry lips.
I hate hangovers.
And then everything rushed back.
She may have just looked at an alarm clock, but it certainly wasn't her alarm clock. Although she was in bed, this certainly wasn't her bed. And a slight nudge to her left foot, made her turn in shock to the someone lying next to her.
This is not good.
That's a bit of an understatement actually, this was so not good that good had officially left the country and gone south.
She'd screwed like a whore on tequila, again.
And, no surprises, she'd fucked Shepherd, again.
God damn it. God fucking damn it.
She tried to stop herself this time, really, she did.
Izzie had hugged her and baked her pie, and Cristina ranted for seven minutes and six seconds (she'd counted) on the joys of self control.
It was meant to be a simple drink, a simple 'what the hell are we doing and how can anyone be so good in bed?' chat. No problem. After all, Meredith was well known for her talents in confronting messed up relationships.
But then she'd sat down, and that smile...she couldn't think, those damn pearly whites…how can anything gleam in Joe's? And the eyes, oh God, she'd never seen a pair that could captivate her so easily.
The banter quickly started, Shepherd made her laugh like no other. Simple talk about Seattle Grace and its staff no longer seemed so boring.
A hand touched her knee.
Meredith looked down at it, then back up at sparkling eyes.
"I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for tequila!"
The next few hours were a rather pleasurable blur of shots and soft touches.
Meredith was embarrassed to not remember any specific details, only recalling that the soft touches became slightly more…unsubtle over the course of the night. Once again she cursed her whoreish tequila induced behaviour.
Her next clear memory was sitting in a taxi laughing hysterically, with one arm wrapped around her waist, and one hand on her thigh. If only she didn't remember that her own hands were in a more…compromising position, then perhaps she could blame her next memory completely on Shepherd.
Practically fucking against a wall, mouths clashing together, her arousal mixed with the alcohol throbbed through her veins. Shepherd almost broke the door down, trying to unlock it while Meredith put her wandering hands to good use.
Then…well, Meredith would have needed quite a few more shots, in order to forget what next occurred. Through the pain of a thumping head and the realisation that she'd ended up in Shepherd's bed (again), the thought of what came next still made her smile and blush at the same time.
Absolutely and positively: the best sex of her life. It may have been the alcohol (but come on, this is Meredith, she's been drunk and screwed many a time before), but Meredith was pretty sure that she'd never come that many times, in one night.
No. Bad, Meredith. This was not what you wanted to do, you were supposed to get answers, not get fucked.
The thought that her inner voice occasionally sounded like Cristina, didn't freak her out as much as she thought it should.
And then, Shepherd began to stir.
Meredith froze.
What could she do?
What could she say?
Why couldn't she keep it in her pants for once?
Especially when…when she maybe wanted this awesome orgasm experience to be something a little bit…more. Meredith wasn't sure what she wanted by 'more' she just knew that she wouldn't mind finding that out, with Shepherd.
Wake up, Meredith; screwing till you pass out isn't exactly going in search of the two point four kids deal.
Why couldn't her inner voice be Izzie? Or George?
An arm brushed her shoulder and that's when Meredith realised she was naked.
Yes, she had just been having mind-blowing sex three hours earlier, but it had only then occurred to that she was naked, lying next to Shepherd, who was naked too. Meredith would never admit to anyone ever, that that thought alone could get her wet.
Trying to move from the bed and find her clothes without waking her bed partner turned out to be a fruitless exercise. Before she could scour the room for her bra, she felt a set of eyes burning into the back of her neck. Turning round, blue-green eyes gazed uncertainly back at her.
"Don't go," the voice was raspy from lack of sleep, but held an unsteadiness that Meredith had never heard before.
Having not been in this situation with Shepherd before, she was at a loss of what to do. The whole meeting up and fucking dance had occurred five times before, over the course of four months. Each time, Meredith had left early, too afraid to have the morning after talk, afraid at what might and what might not be said.
It suddenly struck her that maybe, maybe while she'd been doing her dark and twisty thing on…whatever this was, maybe Shepherd wanted 'more' too…maybe…maybe…
Meredith opened her mouth to speak, when a sudden burst of bile rushed to her throat.
Oh God, I'm going to be sick on Shepherd, I'm going to be sick on Shepherd's nice expensive bed!
Meredith must have paled significantly, because Shepherd grabbed her hand and rushed her to the bathroom, holding her hair back as she emptied out the previous night's festivities into the toilet.
Soothing words an a gentle hand on the small of her back eventually calmed her down enough to be able to get up and wash her mouth out with water, before Shepherd handed her a toothbrush still in its wrapper.
Wiping away the last of the foam, Meredith was once again reminded of her nudity and, more importantly, the nude body beside her. Perhaps Shepherd sensed her embarrassment (please God, not her arousal), because both were clothed in dressing gowns a few minutes later.
"Meredith…" The third word of the morning and the gal in question couldn't look Shepherd in the face, this was awful…this was beyond awful, why didn't she leave earlier? Why did she have to throw up in the nude? Why, oh, why did God hate her so much?
"We…this must stop."
The words caused more pain than Meredith imagined they would. Shouldn't she be used to getting fucked then fucked over by now? Why did she think that this time it could be different?
"Right," was Meredith's response, she hoped her voice didn't sound as fragile as she felt. "I…"
What could she say? Thanks for the best sex of my life? Thank you for breaking my heart?
No! No broken heart, shut up, get dressed and get out!
"I guess I'll see you at the hospital then." Frantically blinking away tears, Meredith turned from Shepherd and restarted the hunt for her bra.
"Oh."
The syllable stuck at something in Meredith's chest, was that…disappointment? Hurt?
"I…was hoping you wouldn't leave."
Meredith stopped.
What?
"I don't understand."
She really didn't, 'this must stop' an 'I was hoping you wouldn't leave' don't usually go well together. Usually, after that particular painful opener, Meredith would be out of the door and half way home. In fact, she shouldn't have been here at all. Clearly this couldn't work, she was all messed up and this…whole thing with Shepherd was getting rapidly out of hand.
If her inner voice was Izzie, perhaps she'd be thinking 'No one's ever made me feel like this before.' But it was Christina, so all she could hear was 'RUN! RUN LIKE YOU'VE NEVER RUN BEFORE!'
"Meredith," Shepherd sighed and then immediately stalked towards the young woman and planted, a slow, gentle kiss on her lips.
"You…" a hand was placed on Meredith's cheek. "You make me want more." If Shepherd heard the slight gasp that escaped Meredith's lips, no sign was shown.
"You scare me…" An eyebrow rose, quizzically. "How I feel…about you, that scares me."
"That's okay. We can be scared together."
Meredith felt another tug at something in her chest; it made her fill sick and want to spout some Shakespearian crap. God, could this work? Really work? After…everything…
"You're married."
Meredith almost laughed at her own protest, it's not like that had mattered before.
"No. I'm not," was the response.
Silence.
"What?" a whisper. It mattered very much now.
"I'm divorced, actually, came through yesterday morning."
"Divorced," Meredith echoed. "And where is…?" She couldn't bring herself to finish the question.
"Gone," there, a slight smile, sad, tired…maybe relived. "They were offering a chief of surgery position in Chicago. He said there was nothing left here in Seattle." The smile disappeared now, "Is there?"
"No." The answer held no hesitations, she was being honest. Derek and she had ended the moment this gorgeous red head had entered the room.
"And me? What about me?"
Meredith allowed the soft hand to caress her cheek, feeling scared an open and falling for all the traitorous feelings that kept rushing through her chest.
"What about you, Addison?"
"Is there anything left for me?"
"I'm here," Meredith started carefully, "I'm not sure if that's enough…"
Another kiss was the response, hard, passionate and holding the echo of an emotion that Meredith wasn't sure she wanted to name.
"It is."
The End