Title: She's My Kind of Rain (1/1)
Summary: Henry finally tells Teddy what he thinks about her basically dating him and getting nothing but an empty apartment without a main entree.
Warnings/Spoilers: Post-White Wedding
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights for the characters and the world go to their owners (like Shonda Rhimes and ABC). I, in no way, believe – or would lead others to believe – that I own Grey's Anatomy. I am merely a fan of the television show who has ideas for things that Shonda could do/could've done.
Author's Note: Please review if you read.
(1/1) SHE'S MY KIND OF RAIN
Okay, no, she isn't. If Teddy were perfect, she would realize that I am the only guy who can make her smile as much as I do. She would stop going on these horrid dates, and we would skip the awkward hour or two before we sit down to eat deliciousness. Hell, we could even go to a restaurant ourselves. The one with the canolis didn't sound too bad.
She doesn't think we should be together. We're married. Everyone else I know that's married gets to do things with their wife. I haven't kissed her. I haven't held her while she cries. I haven't had sex with her. We're great friends, but I'm sick of it. I'm really sick of it. I told her how I feel, hyped up or not, and I continue to make it obvious how much I want her. She just won't bite.
"And then Andrew and I had this great dinner on the edge of the boat. I don't get why more people don't like ferry boats; they're amazing," Teddy gushes.
I wonder how much her little friends at the hospital have neglected to tell her. I probably know more about them than she does because the nurses talk way too much about stuff that happened years ago.
"Oh, that is because a ferry boat crash happened a few years back. Meredith almost died. Karev met a crazy woman who he fell for and thought was pregnant, but then later tried to kill herself," I tell her.
Her eyes bulge for a second. She makes the best faces.
"What? How come I don't know that?" she asks.
"You don't really read under the surface. For a heart surgeon, you sure are lacking in matters of relationships," I say. When she puffs up but doesn't say anything, I decide to risk it. "Like, you are in a relationship, but you're in two. You're dating this guy, who might I remind you left you and made you really sad, but you're also dating me."
"You and I are not-"
I stop her with a hand held out. I say, "We're married, Teddy, but I don't count that. I do, however, count spending all of your non-on-call nights eating fancy food and laughing and drinking as dating. I just don't get the kiss goodnight, or the sex on the third date. I get to hear about bad dates. I catalog the information for our first real date because it's going to be so amazing that you'll want to leave our date twenty minutes in with a doggy bag, rush back to my apartment, and tell me all about it. Of course, I'll confusedly be sitting in the restaurant, but that doesn't matter."
She shakes her head at me like I'm ridiculous. I'm not.
"Henry," she starts with that hesitant mom tone. You know the one where a person's name is dragged out as the speaker tries to come up with the right way to say 'you're an idiot and I love you, but you're wrong'?
"No!" I interrupt. "You don't get to just end every conversation about this, Teddy. We need to talk. I'm the right guy for you."
"No, you're not," she says. It's so definitive sounding that I can't breathe for a second. I'm not? "You are the guy that I married because I was having a bad time and you were having a worse one. I needed something to make me feel like I wasn't an absolute, failure bitch who deserved to be alone and miserable and overshadowed by a resident. We're not meant to be together. You want us to be. You want the fairytale, but this isn't a fairytale. This is real life. Now, I'm going home. I'll call you tomorrow."
She's at the door by the time she finishes. She pushes it open and spite fills my soul. Maybe she is an absolute, failure bitch. In fact, she really is. Teddy Altman is an absolute, failure bitch that's in denial. Until she recognizes, I'm through with her. Through.
"Don't bother," I spit.
She pauses in the door henge before stepping out, closing it, and locking the door with her key.
Five seconds go by. Just five. Uno, dos, tres, and so on before it hits me. I have the realization often. Typically, every night when she goes on the next date with the random loser of the hour, it occurs to me: Teddy is perfect; I'm the one who isn't. I'm the one who messes things up. I'm the one with the diseases and the date ruining. I'm-I'm the problem. Following which, my newly founded self-loathing sends me to the couch where I stare at the wall and wait for the day where I'm less of a dumbass.
Want to know what sucks? None of my past relationships prepared me for truly loving someone who didn't love me back.
[Title - "She's My Kind of Rain" by Tim McGraw]