AN: I couldn't help myself. The finale was bloody and angsty, and yet I kind of loved it. This focuses on Meredith and Derek from the end of the finale. It will likely be a few chapters.

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the show. I am simply borrowing characters for my own amusement and method of procrastination.


His eyes were closed. Despite all of the tubes and wires attached to his body, she could still see his face; could still make out the line of his lips, the slight asymmetry of his nose and the way his eye lids currently hid the blue of his irises from her. His hair was messy and unkempt, contrasting darkly against the white of the hospital linens.

His pale skin, however, did not contrast much at all with the white pillowcase beneath his head. She had never seen him so...sick. In fact, she had barely seen him sick before. Or hurt. She wasn't surprised that seeing him this way made her heart ache, but she was surprised at the intensity of the ache.

Though that may have more to do than the fact that she was standing in the doorway of her husband's hospital room as he slept, trying to recover from his life saving surgery.

Meredith released a breath, and with it came a sob. The ache in her chest was definitely due to more than just seeing her husband inured and weak and in pain.

But he was alive; and right now that was the most important thing. That was what was keeping her going right now. Because if she had lost him too...

She shook her head, pushing the thought away because she hadn't lost him. He had promised not to die, and he hadn't. He had lived.

The monitor by his bed side confirmed that he was alive. His heartbeat was strong despite how close the bullet had come to killing him. He had fought. He hadn't given up.

And she wasn't going to give up either. Not ever again.

The rise and fall of his chest changed almost imperceptibly. Anyone who wasn't her probably wouldn't have noticed. But she shared a bed with him. She could tell when he was sleeping, when he was awake.

And when he was just waking up.

The flutter of his eyelids didn't surprise her. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he winced, and even from across the room, she winced with him.

He was in pain. And he would be in pain for some time. Gun shot wounds were evil. It was amazing how much damaged a small chunk of metal could do. It had pierced through his skin and muscle, broken a rib on its way into his chest, punctured his pericardium, damaged his lungs and tucked itself away under his aorta. So much damage. So much pain.

As if he could sense her, his head turned ever so slightly, and she smiled as his blue eyes met hers.

"Hey," he mumbled. The hand closest to her, his right, lifted a few inches off the bed.

"Hey," she returned, pushing herself off of the doorway and padding towards him. She closed her hand around the hand that was still hovering above the bed and leaned down to kiss him. Tears welled in her eyes, but it didn't matter. Because he was alive. And right now that was all she could think about.

A sob escaped from somewhere deep in her chest and she broke the kiss, instead pressing her forehead to his. She dropped his hand to cradle the other side of his head. His arm shifted and bent at the elbow and his fingers closed around her upper arm. His grasp was weak, but oh so much stronger than it had been before his surgery, when he had been lying in a pool of his own blood.

Meredith closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. His hand tightened around her arm. Tears pressed at the insides of her own eyelids until they found their way through. She shifted so that her face was pressed into the side of his head, and after a moment, his left hand found her right as it cradled the side of his head.

"This is a pathetic excuse for a hug," he whispered, his voice raspy, "But it's the best I can do right now."

A laughing sob escaped through her lips this time and she lifted her head, kissing his again before pulling away. "It's okay." She dropped into the chair next to his bed and dropped the side rail down so that she could hold his hand. "I love you, Derek. I love you so much. Thank you for not dying."

He squeezed her hand. "I have too much to live for."

She lifted his hand off the bed with both of hers and pressed her lips to it.

When she was done, he cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing at her tears. "I love you," he whispered. His breathing caught, and then he winced at the movement, but his eyes stayed trained on hers. "I want to hold you so much right now."

"Me too." She nodded, squeezing his hand as it pressed against her cheek. She had almost lost everything today. The thought of crawling into bed next to him and letting him hold her caused her chest to ache even more. But that wasn't going to happen. He was too fragile; was in too much pain.

"It might be a couple days," he continued, his raspy voice getting quieter, as if talking was draining his energy level.

Meredith mustered up enough strength of her own to smile. "I can wait. I'll just have to do this instead." She stood and kissed him again.

His eyelids were drooping when she pulled away, but the blue of his eyes was as vibrant as ever, despite the pain and the drugs in his system.

"It might also be a couple days," he continued, pausing for a breath, "before we can get to...all the...dirty sex."

This time she did laugh. "Might be a couple days?"

He attempted a shrug, but made a face at the movement. "Maybe a little...longer."

"I can wait," she repeated, knowing it was going to be far more than a couple days.

His eyes closed in what was probably supposed to be a blink, but it was a good ten seconds before they opened again.

"Do you need anything? Pain meds?"

"Just you," he whispered. His eyes closed again.

"You have me," she whispered back, "And I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes stayed closed, but his lips curled upwards and stayed that way as his breathing deepened. When he was asleep, Meredith ran her fingers through his hair, trying not to imagine the same hair on a baby. Their baby.

She sat back down in the chair, clutching to his hand with one of hers and laying the other against her abdomen. And for a moment she let herself imagine what could have been. It was early evening now. They'd probably be home, assuming Derek could get away from his paperwork. Would she have told him by now? They were going to order food and stay in. Would she have let the news slip before dinner? After? During? She hadn't thought about it. Maybe she would have wrapped the test up and given it to him. It was kind of gross and unsanitary, but...maybe. He probably would have liked that. Regardless of when and how she told him, he would have been happy. Would he have cried? Maybe. Probably.

She cried now. She had wanted so badly to see the same happiness she had felt in his eyes.

His eyes were closed now. But they'd be open again. And maybe one day she would be able to see that happiness in his eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest was a comforting sound, reminding her with every inhale that he was alive and with every exhale that he was going to stay that way. The heart monitor continued to display just how well he was doing.

And for a moment she smiled because he was safe and he was stable. He would only get stronger from here. Tomorrow would be better.

But for right now, Meredith clutched to her husband's hand and allowed herself to grieve for what they had both lost today.