𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞, it is not precise, not the precise tremor of a surgeon under pressure — not the controlled urgency she’s been taught to wear like a second skin, this is something else, something UNRAVELING and unpredictable, something that feels like it’s pulling her apart from the inside out. the secret she's kept so hidden, the promise she made to a member who doesn't remember her, the carousel of 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠, tthe hospital hums around her, (voices, footsteps, the distant beeping of monitors) but none of it reaches her properly. it's all 𝚖𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚍 like she’s underwater, like she’s watching everything happen from somewhere just outside her own body. because the word is everywhere now. 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢. it echoes. it sticks. it 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 to let go. 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐡. he says her name, steady, grounding, and for a moment, just a moment, it feels like something solid in the middle of all this chaos. derek’s voice cuts through the noise in a way nothing else can, sharp enough to pull her back into herself, into 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.
❝ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 — ❞ she begins: a hand dragging through her hair as if she can physically rearrange the situation if she just thinks hard enough, there's a panic, a high pitched ache. why didn't you tell me about your wife? why am i drowning and you can't save me? why did you lie to me? i love you. i need you.
❝ 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘳, 𝘰𝘳 a panicked breathe escapes before she can continue the rest of her thoughts. meredith exhales, her memory playing on repeat, the way ellis grey had yelled, had screamed, what did i say about bringing her here? she's a child, get her out of here. remove all memory of the ordinary daughter of the extraordinary dr. grey. 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥, she knows how she sounds as she begs, but what else can she do ?
𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 derek, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜. ❞ @neurosheph