Disclaimer: How can you even ask me whether 'Grey's freakin' Anatomy' is mine?

A/N: Gosh, I am so sorry for making you wait. I had honestly forgotten all about having to update this. That's the downside to publishing something you wrote years ago. Should have just published it right then. Again, sorry.
In this chapter, I pulled off a lot of medical nonsense. :P I hope you can forgive me for that. Enjoy!


[Meredith's POV]

What about his hair?

This day was hell. Not exaggerating, it really was hell. First the CT guy had annoyed me.

"Hey, isn't that Derek Shepherd?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Car accident."

"You're Meredith Grey, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Who let you work on his case?"

"Bailey."

"But you're his ex-girlfriend."

"Apparently I've always been a whore."

"Where's his wife?"

"Not here yet."

"Why isn't she here yet?"

"Surgery."

"And you are here."

"Obviously."

"Are you okay with this?"

"No."

"..."

"..."

"You guys still call him McDreamy?"

"No."

"What do you call him then?"

"McJackass."

"Why?"

"None of your business."

"McJackass as in McDumpedMeForHisWife?"

"No, McJackass as in !"

"He called you a whore?"

"Yes."

"That's mean."

"Yes."

"Are you?"

"Seriously?"

"Sorry."

"Don't dare gossip about that."

"Excuse me?"

"I already had the entire hospital gossiping about me three times. When I started dating McJackass, when my mother was admitted and when McJackass dumped me. I don't need that right now."

"You seriously want me not to make bets?"

"Yes."

"That's mean."

"I'm not going to beg, I'm just saying. I don't beg."

"Why?"

"Because the last man I begged to do something for me decided to end up breaking me by staying with his wife and calling me a whore when I started dating someone new. And now he might have brain damage. My point is, you don't want me to beg you to keep this to yourself."

"You didn't manipulate the brakes or something, did you?"

"Seriously?"

"This is going to be hard."

"Thanks. Crap! Page neuro! Now!"

And now, here I was. Derek had a blood clot in his brain – the irony of that would be funny if I wasn't so desperately trying not to care. I was one of the many doctors standing around my ex-boyfriend's hospital bed, trying to listen to what the neuro guy was saying. (Un-)Fortunately I was unable to focus on what he was rambling on and on and on about, since I was too busy refusing to worry about him. Which was unprofessional, but whatever. I was made at him after all.

"There are two options.", neuro guy was saying something that I didn't really hear, "Either he has the surgery and there is the danger of long-term or even constant memory loss, or he waits until the small clot resolves itself. The only negative aspect would be a period of amnesia until the clot is gone, but chances are extremely good he'll get his memory fully back in no time. You're his wife and he is in no shape to decide. What do you want us to do?"

"He'll have the surgery."

Huh? What had he just said? Derek? Surgery? BRAIN SURGERY? Performed on him? Performed on him? Performed on him? The words just spilled out before I was able to hold them back.

"What? What about his hair?"

"We'd have to shave it off.", neuro guy said with a disapproving frown as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Obviously, he didn't get my point. Because I did have a point.

"You can't shave it off! It's the hair! McDreamy without the hair is like McDreamy without the McDreamy smile, you know, the one with the freaking head tilt! My point is, you can't shave his hair off. I mean, just look at it."

"Grey-...", Addison cut in, but I simply turned to her.

"I am sorry, but he'd never want that. This is not a necessary procedure. And he'd probably kill you if he found out you destroyed his perfect hair for no good reason."

McWife looked at me for a while with that famous quirked eyebrow of hers, then smirked for a tiny moment and told neuro guy:

"She has a point. He won't have the surgery."

And just like that, reality was back. I pulled Cristina – who was looking at me with a superiour and amused sneer (as always) – out of the room and hissed with a hint of panic in my voice:

"I just totally embarrassed myself, didn't I?"

"Yes.", was my person's dry answer.

"Crap."

"You called him McDreamy."

"They wouldn't have understood if I'd called him McJackass."

"You're really not falling for him again? Still pissed? Not feeling sorry for him and his McProblems?"

Nope, I wasn't. I was fine with this. I could handle him. I'd just be professional and then go home, get drunk and hate him. I was not sorry for him. He could have died, but he hadn't and I didn't feel sorry for him. There was nothing going on between him and me anymore. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I had Finn now. Finn was a good person. I liked Finn. I was really trying here to be happy. No, Derek didn't bother me anymore. Yup, denial was a bright and shiny place.

"I'm not. He called me a whore.", I stated.

"Good. You do get that Bailey will make you his doctor."

Oh, no, no, no, no! Bad idea! I couldn't deal with him like that! As a patient who I'd actually have to talk to and interact with and look at and-...

"What? Why would she do that?", I asked, half in anger, half in horror. I could not do this.

"Torture. She's the freaking nazi. She likes watching you suffer.", Cristina chuckled in her unhelpful way. Great. Seriously.

"I can't be his doctor.", I exclaimed, "One day I'll just snap and kill him."

Which was probably true. Or jump him, drag him into an on-call room and do all the things I was longing to do with him again, until my brain kicked in (and that did have a tendency to push every single bit of knowledge and doubt into a very far corner if it thought about Derek Shepherd) and told me he was a married jackass who only happened to look amazing. And even then it'd probably be rather difficult to dismount and walk away. It was more likely I'd ignore my brain and have my naughty way with him. Which was a bad though. Enticing, but bad.

"And he's not even surgical. What have you done to her?", my person sneered.

"No idea.", I sighed.

I was already lost in thought, trying hard to get the mental image of playing doctor out of my mind, when a voice that was unfortunately still haunting my sleep and turning even the best dream into the nightmare that was reality, startled me.

"Dr Grey, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Good luck.", Cristina laughed, shooting me a half-mocking, half-sympathetic look before walking away, leaving me alone with McWife.

"Thanks...", I muttered, then turned to face Addison. I didn't know what I was supposed to be expecting. Was she going to kick my ass about the hair remark? She should be grateful I had reminded her. If he'd found out she was the reason that someone had chopped off his hair, he'd probably have divorced her right away. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Crap! I had not just thought that!

"I heard you're on his case.", she finally said, after a few seconds of awkward silence and painful internal ramblings.

"I am. If you don't want me on it, I'll suggest you try to make Bailey stop being the nazi. I'd be grateful."

"You don't want to be on his case."

"I don't want to be on his case.", I repeated, full heartedly. Yeah, there were definitely things that I'd rather do. Enemas, for example Or rectals. I'd even be happy to be on scut all that. Everything was better than to have to deal with Derek, who I was still really angry at, by the way. I just kept forgetting.

"Why do you not want to be on his case?"

"He's not even surgical."

I could see that she didn't believe me. Crap, what was I? An open book everyone could read in? The horrible truth was: Probably. Yes, it was very likely I wasn't too hard to understand. Which was bad. Sad. And pathetic.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"You guys were friends, or at least you pretended you were friends and now you sound angry. What did he do?"

I ignored the 'pretending' part and avoided her question by shrugging and saying:

"I'm just having a bad day."

Which was true, but also definitely not the answer to her question. She seemed to notice that, because she stated:

"You won't tell me."

"There's nothing to tell.", I denied, "I just can't handle McJackass right now."

Crap, had I just called him McJackass in front of his wife? That didn't exactly sound like I was over him. And I was. I so was. Seriously! Not lying! Not lying at all. There was no denial! I was over him. Wasn't I?

"Uh... What I'm trying to say is: If you should stay on his case, tell me if any of his memory comes back."

No. Oh no. Hell no. This could not be happening. Karma didn't hate me that much. There was no way in hell I'd have to be an amnesic Derek's doctor. He'd probably totally ignore me and keep telling Addison how amazing she was. Or the other way round, which would probably be better for my ego, but make things one hell of a lot less easy for me (with the natural difficulties to resist him that I had). And I wasn't quite sure whether I could handle either possibility.

"Memory? Why do-..."

"What's up, Grey, did you not listen to Dr Wenk? He'll have no idea who he is for a while.", Addison confirmed my nightmarish suspicions.

"Amnesia!", I exclaimed, now truly losing the rest of my nerves, "For how long?"

Damn, if I'd have listened correctly, I'd have let them do the craniotomy, not one thought wasted on how people (including him and me) might take the image of him without the hair.

"We don't know that yet. Did you not hear anything in there?"

Urgh. There she was again. Satan (minus the salmon scrubs, though). McWife. Intimidating as always. However, I was somehow too shocked and unhappy about the current events to feel like nothing compared to her this time (like I usually did, all the time).

"So, I'm supposed to handle McJackass with no memory?", I checked again, horrified.

"Yes."

"Crap.", I muttered.

"Sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Okay. I'll leave then, still got a surgery. He'll wake up in about half an hour. And Meredith? Thanks for reminding me of his hair. He's really not Derek without it."

"You welcome."

Damn the guy. Damn the smile. Damn the hair. I couldn't handle him. But apparently I had no other choice but to try. Resisting him, that was. I wanted to be angry at him and part of me still was, but an entirely different huge part of me was more concerned about us ending in bed together and committing some hot adultery than me strangling him. His neck was too thick and my hands were too small. Tiny and ineffectual. If that wasn't ironic...