~~~~~

He closed his eyes, realizing he was alone, really alone for the first time in days.  The door between him and the rest of the world muted the sounds that had been pelting him all morning.  The clacks of computer keyboards.  Nurses chatting.  People moving.  Wheeling stretchers.  All a subtle hum.  He lowered his bed, sighing gratefully as his body flattened out.  He hadn't realized how much sitting up had been chipping away at him until he relaxed, until, when he slit his eyes open, he saw only the blur of the ceiling tiles.  Even if he couldn't sleep, just lying flat and quiet relieved the tension thrumming deep within every sinew and muscle.  He sighed once.  Twice.  Again.

Meredith.  Meredith had just run interference for him with his mother.  Meredith, who didn't do families.  Meredith, who, according to her, sucked at the sick thing, had just gifted him with a precious moment of peace.  And that was... 

His breaths began to even out and the room around him slipped into the blur behind his eyes.  He arrived in his hovering place.  Not quite sleep, but so, so close.  If only he could get the rest of the way there.  To sleep and dreaming.  If only.  If...

The seconds lengthened, and, finally, draught drove his body to the well.  The hovering place became nothing, and Derek Shepherd slept.

He woke up alone for the first time in three mornings. 

The muted sounds from before had become a roar again, and he noticed that his door had been left open.  Abasi, perhaps.  His tray of uneaten food was gone.  He tried to blink the cobwebs away and only halfway succeeded as he swallowed, attempting to erase the pasty feeling that had overtaken his mouth, which in turn brought his gaze down to the floor as he debated a bathroom trip.  When he closed his eyes, he could see his toothbrush sitting on the back of the sink by the faucet in a plastic cup.  He could taste the gritty mint of his toothpaste.  That would be nice.  His razor was there, too.  He couldn't take a shower by himself, but he could at least do some amount of self-maintenance.  He sniffed and raised his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. 

He missed Meredith already.  They had always had busy schedules, sometimes going for days with barely more than five minutes of shared time, but over the course of the past two weeks, he'd grown used to having her around all the time.  The sound of her breathing filled the quiet spaces between words.  The scent of her hair always lingered on the tip of his awareness like the scent of flame remembered in a fireplace.  One spark, and it flared again, replacing memory with now.  Except she'd left, and it was gone.

This is what it would be like at home, too, he realized.  She would have to work, and he would have to stay at home and rest.  They wouldn't have shared moments in hallways and corners to supplement the evenings she wasn't working overnight.  He'd never told her he changed his shifts to match hers when he could.  But this wasn't something he could shift around. 

He sensed eyes on him before he became truly aware of the person standing in the doorway. 

"Are you..." George whispered, shifting back and forth on his feet as he committed to entering the room, reneged, committed, and reneged again in a motion that made him look like he was a hockey player trying to feint with a puck.  "You're not awake," George decided, and he managed to turn on his heels and spring forward a step in hasty retreat before Derek could sigh and collect himself.

"I'm awake, O'Malley," he said.

George turned around, and his eyes widened.  He looked profoundly guilty, like he'd gotten caught sneaking a peek into an OR he'd been banned from, or perhaps something more mundane and clichéd, like stealing cookies from the jar. 

"Dr. Shepherd," George said, surprised.  And then he stood there.  A foot inside the doorframe.  Not moving.

Derek closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recoup.  George was staring at him like lots of family did with patients, when somebody was sick and they didn't know how to react.  Comfort?  Give space?  People were unpredictable.  Some needed company when they were sick.  They needed to be coddled and shown that they were loved.  Some needed to be left alone to heal in peace.  Derek was somewhere in the middle.  He loved the company of his family.  Usually.  That day excluded.  But he hated being coddled.  And he hated being stared at with anything remotely akin to pity.  Particularly by those who were supposed to respect him.  George couldn't seem to make a solid judgment on what was expected, and so he stood there.  Silent.

"Did you want something?" Derek prodded as he forced his eyelids back up.

George made a strange, jerky gesture with his hands.  "Cristina said.  Well," he waffled, and then his gaze hardened.  "Dr. Shepherd, Broca's aphasia indicates damage to the frontal lobe, right?" he added, almost quickly enough that Derek couldn't follow the syllables.

Derek blinked, trying to piece it together.  In the several seconds of silence that followed while Derek thought, George got twitchier and twitchier.  A pinkish shade blotched his cheeks, and he looked like he wanted to bolt. 

"Yes," Derek decided. 

George immediately relaxed.  "Thanks!" he said.  And then he was gone from the doorway before Derek could reply.  Far, far down the hall, his strong, happy voice said, "Told you it was the frontal lobe!" to an unknown recipient.

Derek smiled.  That had been... interesting.  It seemed Cristina had leaked him as a potential study source.  A study source that would be a captive audience.  An attending who wasn't busy and didn't have constant demands on him to be somewhere else.  Was that okay?  Yes.  Yes, that was okay.  It was nice.  Nice to be able to be superior at something.  Knowledge.  He still had that.  It took longer to think, and it was a bit draining, but all the pieces were still there for him to work with.  And if Meredith's friends were busy asking him for help with the exam, they weren't busy asking him about him, weren't busy staring at him for any other reason than awaiting an answer.

He forced himself to get up.  The walk up and down the hall was slow, but as he'd shuffled back from the bathroom, he'd decided he had enough energy.  Barely.  And so he'd made himself move.  Made himself walk down to the nurses' station and back.  Several smiling faces greeted him as he moved, and he did his best to be cheerful back, because he was fine.  He was fine.  He didn't have a fever.  And he could walk on his own.  Two more days, and he would be going home.  Things were mostly good.  He forced himself to smile back at the well-wishers until he couldn't manage moving and being cheerful at the same time.

When he lumbered across the threshold to his room, he moved to shut the door behind him, only to pause.  He stared at the hand he'd wrapped around the dull silver knob.  The chill of the metal sank into his skin, and he sighed, considering for several moments before he heaved a sigh and left the door open.  He walked two more steps before turning back to look at it.  Really?  Really leave it open?  Yes, really.  This was a teaching hospital.  Might as well leave the interns with the opportunity to let him do his damned job and teach.

He tried to tell himself that was all it was.

By the time he sank back down onto the bed and closed his eyes, he felt like a hypocritical, petulant child.  He'd wanted nothing more than to be left alone.  Now, he was alone.  He should be in blissful slumber.  Sleeping without being watched was nice.  But it certainly wasn't blissful.  Alone versus not being prodded were two different things.

He laughed softly as he suddenly thought of Lindsey and Annie.  He wondered how they were doing on the Space Needle.  Stewart had a problem with heights, and Derek could just imagine the girls as they bounced closer and closer to the railings while Stewart stood pressed back against the entrance, his tall, sticky frame flattened up against the wall farthest from the edge.  But Stewart would go, and he would fake a smile, and he would stay there, flattened against the wall anyway.  Because Sarah, Annie, and Lindsey all wanted to go, and they were Stewart's family.

Annie would be very brave.  She'd probably beg Sarah to hold her up to see through the viewfinders.  Lindsey would point out at Mount Rainier, if it was visible through the fog, and she'd gasp in wonder.  The East Coast had hills for mountains, at best.  A big, craggy, snow-capped peak would be new and exciting.

He opened his eyes and sighed.  Tired.  Definitely.  But he wasn't quite ready to sleep again yet.  The only thing Meredith had packed for him was his iPod, but the thought of music right then was a little grating.  The relative quiet was nice.

Alex strode in, a chart straddled between his arm and his hip, looking pure jock as he came to a stop.  "Hey, man," he said without precursor.  "If I had a patient with a suspected hematoma, would it be more appropriate to order a CT over an MRI if I could only do one?"

"How recent was the head trauma?" Derek said.

Alex cocked an eyebrow, looking perpelxed.  "Why?"

"CTs are better at showing fresh blood," Derek explained.  "MRIs are better for older clots.  MRIs are better for detecting minute damage.  They're more detailed than CTs."

Alex nodded.  "Okay," he said.  "So, if it was a mugging victim who'd gotten hit with a bat in the last hour or two, a CT would be better?"

"Yes," Derek replied.  "At least for making an initial diagnosis."

"Thanks, man," Alex said.  "Spending half a year on gynie wasn't the best for a well-rounded learning experience.  I'm hurting on the brain stuff."

"Sure," Derek said, smiling.

When Alex left, Derek blinked and sank back down into the pillows.  Okay.  Okay, now, he was ready to sleep.  That had sucked the remainder of his staying power away from him.  But he'd managed.  And it felt...  It actually felt really good.  Good to be doing medicine, even if he wasn't actually doing it.

"He's sleeping," a soft voice whispered from somewhere to the left.  "Don't ask him."

He twitched, for a moment not even sure what had woken him up.  He'd only closed his eyes for a moment.  And now there were people in his room.  People.  How did?  What time...  What.  When had he fallen asleep?  The hallway sounds had dulled.  All he could hear was the people.  In his room. 

"Izzie, he has weeks to sleep after he goes home," hissed another woman from the right.  "He'll be fine.  We've got a test in a week that will decide our careers."

Izzie and Cristina, he realized as the world inside his room focused like a picture under a microscope.  Meredith's chair squeak, squeak, squeaked to his left.  Except he knew without looking that Meredith wasn't there.  Her absence had become almost as profound to him as her presence.  And she never squeaked her chair or fidgeted.  At least she hadn't been the past few days.  The warm, faint scent of grease curled around his nose.  The wet, smacking sounds of chewing littered passing moments.  Pages flipped.  Breathing.  Fabric rustling.  Every noise scraped against his eardrums, driving his brain further from its dreaming, dark place.

"I'm surprised you're even entertaining the thought of failing," George said, forward and to the right.

"Yeah, and speaking of failing, who failed to get the flashcards from his wife?" Cristina countered.

"I didn't ask," George said.

"Why?" Cristina said.

"I didn't ask, okay?" George replied.

"You know," Alex said, also somewhere to the left, "It's almost not so bad that really old guy kicked it, now."

"Alex, that's mean," Izzie replied.

"What?" Alex said.  "It's quiet in here, at least."

"It's quiet because he's sleeping," Izzie said.  "Leave him be."

He slit his eyes open, letting the blur greet his tired pupils before blinking and letting himself absorb the full scene.  His door had been shut.  Izzie sat in the chair Meredith had been using.  She whirled the chair back and forth at an uneven, lackadaisical rhythm while she read from a book folded open against her thighs and chewed absently on an apple.  Cristina lay on her back, knees bent up over the arm of the loveseat, hands clasped behind her head as she pondered the small paperback that blocked her gaze from contemplating the ceiling.  Alex leaned against the windowsill, picking at a tray of food he'd brought, and George balanced precariously on a chair bent backward onto its rear feet, propped up by his legs against the wall.

"What's going on?" Derek muttered, swallowing thickly as he brought his gaze up to the ceiling and let the tiles space.   

Izzie jerked at the noise and leaned forward with wide eyes.  "See?" she said as she brought her gaze up to meet the glares of the other perpetrators, accusation creasing her flawless face.  "You woke him!" she hissed.  When she looked back at Derek, she smiled brightly, animatedly.  "Hi, Dr. Shepherd," she said.  "We're studying."

"I can see that..." he replied.

"Meredith's still out," Izzie added.

"I can see that, too," he said.

"We're sorry for waking you," she said as she stood up.  "We'll g-"

Cristina flopped her book down on the sofa back and interrupted before Izzie could finish.  "A subarachnoid hemorrhage occurs outside the brain and an intracerebral hemorrhage occurs inside the brain," she said.

He sighed and drew his hands up to his face, trying to rub the sleep away.  When he'd left his door open, he hadn't expected them to flock like this.  "Yes," he said.  "It's easier to remember if you dissect the meaning of the words."

"Do you need anything?" Izzie asked, brown eyes wide and concerned. 

He covered his eyes with his hand and swallowed again.  He was fine, he wanted to snap.  He was perfectly fine, and he didn't need anything.  Except he wasn't exactly fine, and now, because of his own eagerness to do something that made him feel empowered again, he'd gotten himself stuck in a situation where four of his subordinates were in his room, staring at him while he woke up from fatigue that was debilitating enough that he couldn't even remember trying to fall asleep that time.  It'd just happened.  Definitely not strong.  But...  These were Meredith's friends.  Not just his subordinates.  And.  Well...

He sighed.  "Just give me a minute to wake up."

Cristina relinquished her seat on the couch, pushed the back of one of the unoccupied chairs toward the bed railing to his right, and slouched down onto the seat, cradling her chin against what was supposed to be the back.  Her eyes were wide with anticipation, and she looked like she wanted to launch into a litany of questions.  She'd definitely found her immobile study source, he thought.  He wondered if Burke humored her at home, or if this was her first opportunity to study with someone who'd actually been through the test before.

He pushed the controls that brought the bed into a sitting position.  Wake up.  Wake up, wake up, wake up.  For some reason, his body wasn't really listening.  Aside from Cristina, whose attention had nothing to do with him woefully underperforming as his usual able self, they seemed blasé about giving him some time.  Alex shrugged and returned to his reading.  George tested the balance limits of his chair, not even turning around yet to face the bed.  Only Izzie seemed to care about the specific situation, but her concern wasn't... overwhelming.  Not like his mother.  More like Meredith.  Aware that he was struggling, but not wanting to make him feel like he was in the spotlight.  She munched on her apple and went back to her book as well.

He could deal with this.  He could.  It was only four interns.  He dealt with everyone seeing him every time he ventured out of his room.  This was no different.  Just...  Wake up.  They didn't care that he wasn't feeling that well, at least not in the sense that they were ready to fall over themselves with sympathy.  They just wanted help studying for their exams.  And he could do that.  Derek Shepherd could do that if he could wake up and not wallow.

He could.

Izzie stood.  Derek didn't pay much attention to her.  The faucet in the bathroom ran.  His tray table appeared with some water, and she sat back down without comment.  Her eyes went back to her book, as if she hadn't just gotten up.

"Thank you," he said dully.  Three sips, and he was feeling better.  Not quite awake, but at least sentient.  And he could do this.  No wallowing. 

"Okay, Cristina, go ahead," he grumbled.

He'd barely finished his last syllable before she launched into her first point.  "An ischemic stroke is the most common type of stroke," she said.

He nodded.  "Yes."

"And that's when a clot blocks an artery leading to the brain," Cristina said, a question but not really a question.  Because Cristina Yang knew.  Cristina Yang knew the right answer almost as resolutely as Derek Shepherd was fine.

His lip twitched as a smile threatened to overtake him.  "Yes."

"And it doesn't involve a ruptured anything?" she said.

"Right," he replied.  The smile he'd smothered a few moments before escaped when he realized he had the room enraptured with very little effort.  George had turned around.  Alex and Izzie and George were all watching and listening.  Izzie's pen was a storm against her notepad. 

"What's a common cause of subarachnoid and intracerebral hemorrhages?" he asked, falling into his teacher role almost as a habit.

"Oh, oh," George exclaimed like a kid at dodge ball.  Pick me.  Pick me.  Pick me. 

"Dude, don't raise your hand, that's pathetic," Alex said, his lip curled in annoyance.

"It's polite," George said before turning back to Derek.  "Ruptured aneurysms?"

"Yes," Derek said.  "How do we treat those?"

"Clip the base of the aneurysm," Alex said.

As the momentum of the discussion gathered, the four of them grew more animated and enthusiastic.  They split off into makeshift teams while he lobbed questions at them, lobbed them like a geriatric softball coach with arthritis and a busted hip, but he did his best.  It took him longer.  To formulate intelligent questions.  Longer than it would have before the surgery.  But they used the downtime between questions to talk smack to each other, and if they noticed he was really racking himself to think straight, they didn't let on.   He asked them whatever questions he could think of, from the inanely easy to the more difficult to the esoteric.  Anything he could think of from the brain to the spine and all the nerves between.  The more he woke up, the more into the mindset of attending turned game show host he forced himself, the easier things became.  And it really was helpful.  Being involved.  Medicine.  He wasn't cutting, but he was helping create futures for people who would be cutting.

A soft knock rapped on his door before it opened.  "What is this," Mark said as he entered.  "The intern brigade?"

"Mark," Derek said.

"Hey, Dr. Sloane," said Izzie.  Alex's jaw worked, but he said nothing.  Cristina looked neutral, and George seemed more interested in checking the scorecard than greeting his boss.

Mark nodded.  "Derek."  He looked around.

"They're studying," Derek said.

"Aren't they supposed to be working?" Mark said.

"Dr. Bailey told us to study when we didn't have any patients to take care of," George said.

"Yeah, well," Mark said as he sat down on the couch.  "I just finished a rhinoplasty on one of the board members.  Why don't you all go make sure she has everything she needs?  Room 642."

"But..." Izzie began.

"You heard me," Mark snapped.  "Scram."

The crowd of interns left, but not without pouting.  Mark glared at them, particularly at Alex.

"We'll win next time," George commented as he trudged out.

"Not unless you're on my team," Cristina said.

Izzie rolled her eyes, turning to peer back into the room just as she stepped out into the hallway.  "Dr. Shepherd, can we come back?"

He smiled.  "Not like I'm going anywhere," he said.

They shuffled out of view, and the smile slipped from Derek's face.  "Sucking up to the board?" Derek said as he turned back to Mark.  "You really think you have a shot at Chief, Mark?"

Mark regarded him silently for an eternity of passing moments.  The skin around his eyes twitched, and his temples and jaw line moved subtly as he clenched his muscles.  "I'm smart, Derek," he said.

"Debatable," Derek replied.

"I got through college and med school.  I am the best at what I do.  I'm smart," he said.

Mark stood and began to pace.

"Somehow, I don't think this was a social visit," Derek commented as he pushed the covers back.  He was awake.  And Mark was there.  He slid his feet over the side of the bed and stood.  For a moment, just like every other moment when he dared to stand, things were perfect, and then gravity and fatigue sank into his bones and muscles.  It seemed like he'd gained a hundred pounds, and everything seemed larger.  He didn't need to take five steps to get out of the room.  He needed to take five huge steps.  He didn't need to take a breath to steady himself.  He needed to take a huge breath.  The hallway wasn't long.  It was an infinite sea of tiles and cracks.  He took two steps toward the door.

Mark raised an eyebrow, but he didn't comment.

"I'm walking," Derek said.

"I didn't say a word," Mark replied as he moved to follow.

"What do you want?" Derek asked as he pushed himself into the hallway, dragging the IV pole after him.

"I want to talk," Mark replied. 

"Well?"

Mark glanced around.  "Derek, if you want to walk to prove to me or you or someone that you're fine, great.  But I'm not having this chat in the hallway."

Derek paused, gripping the pole so hard it hurt.  Mark stared him down, unblinking.  It was his determination face.  He wore it whenever he wanted something and was planning on getting it.  Women who were more a challenge than an object of desire.  Going home to his family and leaving unscathed.  Graduating.  Telling Derek when he was being an ass.  Wedging himself between Derek and his MRI films. 

They were going to talk, whether Derek wanted it or not.  Derek sighed as the last of the elation from the makeshift study session faded.  "Where then?"

Mark shrugged.  "My office.  Yours.  Your room.  I really don't care.  But not in the hallway."

Derek closed his eyes.  His office was a distant Hawaii to his hospital room's Maine.  But he'd done it.  Yesterday.  Done at least that distance by the time he had been through moving.  He could.  He'd had some sleep.  He was...  He could.  He turned and started walking toward the elevator.  He didn't want to go back to his room and lie in a bed while Mark reamed him for whatever he'd decided was important enough to talk about.

Mark kept pace with him, quiet, not pushing, and it was frustrating.  Frustrating to not be able to break into a purposeful stride and go, go, go like he did when he was in a hurry, on his way to a critical patient.  The farther he went, the shorter his strides became, and it was frustrating.  The whole thing.

Frustrating.

When he stepped foot into the office wing, he had to stop and rest against the wall for a moment before he could make his legs move again.  Mark waited on the opposite side of the hall, muscles bulging from his crossed arms, and Derek felt weak again.  Derek hated that Mark made him weak.  But Derek didn't speak.  Didn't say a word.  And Mark waited, neither giving nor taking an inch.

Stale, unused air hugged the corners and the spaces between in Derek's office.  He hadn't been there in two weeks.  Everything sat undisturbed.  Medical journals and papers crammed the back wall of shelving.  His medical degree hung in a frame on the wall to the right, along with all his certifications.  The stack of pending paperwork he'd left for his first day back sat over a foot high on the right corner his desk, sitting ominous and unavoidable in his inbox.  His favorite gel pen sat in the dipping center of the stack.  A thin film of dust gripped his computer monitor, but the wood surface of his desk shone and smelled faintly of lemon, compliments of Seattle Grace's excellent janitorial staff.  Derek Shepherd, Head of Neurosurgery, the name placard on his desk read, claiming it for him in his absence.  Beyond that, nothing personal touched the room.  No photos.  Nothing.  Though, perhaps a picture of Meredith was warranted, now.  But that could wait.

"You still suck at paperwork," Mark said.  He sat down in one of the consult chairs.

"Yeah," Derek replied as he pushed around his desk and sank with a heaving breath into his chair.  His limbs shook, and he couldn't stop them.  He leaned back, sucking down the stale air as fast as he could force his lungs to work.  As his breathing slowed, tiredness crept behind his eyes, demanding payment for the work he'd just done, but he pushed it away.  He wasn't going to sleep now.  He didn't need sleep. 

"So, what do you want," Derek said, not really a question, not really a demand, just surrender, as he recollected the bits of oxygen and coherency he'd lost, though he felt like pieces were missing anyway.  Pieces that made him whole.  He didn't lean forward because he was afraid if he put his head down into his hands, he might fall off into a doze.  And he didn't want that.  Not in front of Mark.

"I am smart," Mark said.  His gaze wandered to the wall that screamed about Derek's achievements.  "I saw you looking at all those.  I have those, too.  I graduated next in line behind you, you know.  Shepherd and Sloane are close." 

Mount Sinai's graduating class that year had been 135 strong.  They'd filled one of the smaller auditoriums and listened to the long, encouraging, optimistic speech of Dr. Gretsky.  The air had been cold, or perhaps it had been the nerves thrumming quietly underneath his skin.  Derek remembered sitting like a stone, barely able to swallow.  The beginning of the rest of his life.  Mark had sat next to his right, just as still as Derek, his determination face holding his expression steady, until the master of ceremonies had returned to the podium as Dr. Gretsky had relinquished it, commanding in a deep, rich voice, Will the class of 1991 please stand?

They'd both stood, though Mark's stoic demeanor had broken for a set of moments.  Mark had been more focused on the audience than the stage.  He'd kept shifting to the left, peering at the crowd behind them out of the corner of his eye.  The skin around his temples had twitched as he'd clenched his jaw.  The master of ceremonies had started calling name after name, eventually drawing Mark's focus away from the audience.  The steady thump of marching feet had rumbled over the reverent silence between syllables.

Don't forget, you shake with your right hand, take your diploma with your left hand.

Don't make me trip you, man.

You're the one who screwed up the rehearsal.

Shut up and walk, you ass.

See you on the other side, Mark.

Just think.  In a few years, I'll finally be able to fix your nose.

Derek remembered the warm feel of the Dean's hand sliding against his as he had shaken it.  The cool feel of the decorative canister tied with a bow he'd received.  The buzz of excitement that had seemed to vibrate in the air like the hum of a thousand bees.  And he remembered the feeling of elation as he had retaken his seat moments before Mark. 

The applause at the end had been deafening.  His mother, his four sisters, Rob, and John had all been there, contributing to the thunder.  Sarah had pinched her index and middle fingers against her lips and let out a shrill whistle.

The other side.

We kick ass, Mark had said.

We do, Derek had agreed.

"I know," Derek said as he forced himself back into the present.  "You're smart, Mark.  You're a great surgeon.  I've never said differently.  Is that what you want to hear from me?"

Mark regarded him for a moment.  Something behind his gaze shifted and snapped.

"No," Mark said, his voice a low, dangerous growl at first.  "It doesn't matter what you say.  You and your family constantly make me feel like a fucking moron.  Dumb, emotionally stunted Mark.  Always screwing around.  Never serious."

"Mark..."

Mark ignored him.  "But I never cared," he said.  "I never cared before, because you gave me something.  You gave me...  Remember when you always used to ask about my parents?  Back in grade school.  You saw them maybe four times, and they were usually fighting."

"Mark," Derek said, unable to stop himself from sighing. 

"Shut up, man," Mark snapped as he launched forward from his seat like a snarling cat and gripped the edges of Derek's desk.  "It's my turn.  You've yelled and snapped.  Let me talk.  Please.  If you want me to leave, tell me to leave, but don't just sit there pulling your petulant, passive-aggressive bullshit like always."

"Okay," Derek said.  "Okay, Mark."

"Will you please try and listen?" 

"Mark, I've always-"

"Not lately."

"I'll grant you that," Derek replied.

"Just give me a chance to talk, Derek," Mark said.  "That's all I'm asking for."

Derek closed his eyes and breathed, trying to ignore the fact that it immediately sent the room in a lumbering, backward stumble from his awareness, like a creeping black mold was overtaking his consciousness.  This was his last chance from the look of it.  The last chance to back out.  To say he was too tired to deal with this.  To say he wasn't ever interested in giving Mark the time of day again.  To say... something.  Anything. 

But...

Maybe.  Maybe this would be the time.  Derek swallowed thickly, realizing he was doing it again.  Falling back onto hope.  Mark rarely initiated serious discussions like this.  Mark was not a talker, relying on sarcasm and short, clipped honesty to get him through the day.  And the fact that Mark was pushing, really pushing... 

Hope.

"All right," Derek said as he forced himself to open his eyes, and the advancing fuzz began to recede, though, not all the way.  He tried not to consider how he was ever going to get back from his office to his hospital room, because there was no chance in hell he was letting Mark push him around in a fucking wheelchair.  Not ever.  And he didn't think he'd be able to get up for a while.

Mark relaxed back into his seat, and for a moment, he looked perplexed, as if he'd expected Derek to protest and make him leave, not to give in.  He hunched forward, pushing his elbows into his knees as he swept his hand down the line of his beard and heaved a breath.  When he looked up, resolve had replaced uncertainty.

"I never had what you had, Derek," Mark began.  "For as long as you've known me, you've had Mom.  And you had your father.  You've had birthdays and Christmases and Thanksgivings and reunions and support.  When you disappeared for a year, your mother called you and tried to knock some fucking sense through your thick skull and get you to come home.  Do you know how long it's been since I've even spoken to my mother, Derek?"

Hey, Mom...  Mark.  It's Mark.  Mark Sloane.  Mark, Mom. 

Mark had slammed the phone back onto the receiver, teeth gritted.  His eyes had watered, and he'd blinked once, twice. 

Drunk, he'd said, his face a flat, stoic wasteland for a long, moment barren of any feeling, and then a smile had transformed him into something far from stoic.  We're doctors now, you know.  We should go get drunk, too.

"Graduation night after the family dinner," Derek said.  "You called her to tell her you were officially a doctor.  I was there, Mark.  You asked me to be there."

"Yeah," Mark said, a wry laugh stuttering through his large frame, "And when she answered the phone she was so drunk she didn't know who the hell I was." 

Derek smiled.  "Then we went out and got dunk together."

"We did," Mark said.  "One of the few times I've seen you get totally pissed.  You met Addison that night."

Addison had bought him a double scotch to catch his eye.  He vaguely remembered the night.  He'd been really, really drunk.  She'd smiled, said she was graduating in the class of 1992.  She'd congratulated him.  They'd danced, laughed at stupid things only drunk people laughed at.  Nothing had happened.  Not that night.  They'd developed a slowly deepening friendship that hadn't become anything else until he'd been a second year resident.  Something had shifted -- he still didn't know what -- and then they'd been more than friends.  Dating.  Moved in together.  They'd just gotten engaged when he'd had his crash. 

"I did," he said.  "And you met..."

Mark shrugged.  "Janet.  Or Janice.  Hell.  I don't know, Derek," he said.  "That wasn't the point.  The point was that that was almost fourteen years ago.  And my father.  It's been closer to nineteen with him. "

Mark had stopped into his house to pick some things up over Christmas vacation.  Derek had gone with him as an extra hand.  They'd moved about five boxes of junk, all of which would be going back to the dorm rooms when they returned at the end of break.

I'm staying at the Shepherds' this year, Mark had said as they'd wandered into the huge, spotless kitchen, surprised at not having found it empty of life.

Who're they? Mark's dad had asked, not looking up from his newspaper.

Mark hadn't even bothered to introduce Derek.  He'd tossed Derek a beer from the fridge, and they'd left the room.

"I remember that, too," Derek said.

"My point is, yeah, Derek.  Your family took me in.  Hell, every Christmas after that one with my father, when I went home for the holidays it was to your mother's spare bedroom.  You have so much.  You have so..."  Mark's voice trailed away as he got lost in a memory that made him flinch, just a little tick of his head.  For a moment, Mark wasn't in the room at all.  Then he returned, and personality filled the pools of his pupils again.  "So, yeah," he said.  "Maybe I am a little bit in love with it.  What you have.  It's hard not to be.  I'm so grateful that you and your family took me in.  You're the only family I've ever known.  What I had at my house when I was a kid?  That wasn't a family.  It was a drunk woman, a man who was never there, and me." 

"You're not a stray puppy, Mark," Derek replied.  "We didn't take you in.  You were my friend."

Mark sighed, leaning forward.  "Derek, man," he said.  "I know you think I fixate on your life.  I'm not stupid.  I do listen.  But, I swear to you.  I swear.  What I did with Addison had nothing to do with wanting to take something away from you.  I fell in love with her.  I handled it like shit, and I'm sorry, man.  I'm sorry I wrecked what was left of your marriage.  But I love her.  Maybe not like you love Meredith.  That's a fairytale, man.  But I certainly loved Addison more than you ever did.  I didn't do it to steal.  I swear I didn't."

Derek pulled his fingers down over his eyes, pinching his nose, his chin, before he dragged them away.  He sighed. 

"Then why did you do it again with Meredith?" he asked in a careful, flat tone.

"Derek, I had no idea who she was."

"Yes," Derek said, "You did."

"What are you talking about?" Mark asked.  "She caught my eye, we exchanged all of four sentences, and then you broke my face."

The bar had been a blast of warmth and colored light as he'd walked in from the chill.  The smell of alcohol and peanuts and sweat had mingled with the cloud of chatter.  He'd looked to the left, to the right, his eyes had fallen on her, and his world had stopped.  Just like always.  One moment, the bar had been full of people, full of voices and warmth and life, and the next, the bar had been full of her, and they'd been alone.

Hi.  I'm Derek Shepherd.

What are you doing?

She'd thought he hadn't been serious.  She'd laughed.  He'd begged.  He'd begged her for another shot.  All he'd cared about in the room had been her, but in the split second before he'd caught sight of her standing at the bar, wearing a little white shirt and a jacket, he'd caught Mark's profile in the shadow by the payphone.

"When I went camping," Derek said.  "To take some space."

"Oh," Mark said.  His eyes widened, and he sank into his chair.

"Yeah, oh."

It hadn't occurred to Derek when he'd walked into the bar to care that Mark was in the shadows making phone calls.  Mark drank.  A lot.  The bar was a hotspot for doctors getting off their shifts.  Except Seattle Grace was the bloodiest battleground of gossipmongers he'd ever experienced.  A whisper here and a giggle there, and it hadn't taken Derek very long to connect the dots.

"You told me we weren't friends," Mark said.  "Addison was treating me like a bike she road and got tired of.  She..."

"Revenge then?" Derek asked, his voice a low murmur.

"Meredith is the only person in this hospital who doesn't judge me," Mark replied.

"I never judged you, Mark," Derek said.  "Not until that night.  You don't get to be just Mark anymore.  My sisters might not get it, but I saw you.  They might think it's cute, but I saw you.  I walked in on you fucking my wife, Mark.  She threw back her head and called your name while you finished her on my favorite sheets, Mark.  On my bed.  What the hell was I supposed to do with that?  I couldn't sleep for weeks.  I couldn't...  What..."  He stopped.  He had to breathe.  And he couldn't...  He leaned forward, pinching his nose, swallowing back nausea.  His heart throbbed like a jackhammer

"I'm sorry, man.  I am," Mark said.  "I didn't want to ruin your marriage."

"It's not about the fucking marriage, Mark," Derek snapped.  "That marriage was a sham of what marriage is supposed to be by the end."

Mark blinked.  "Then what-"

Derek slammed his hand down on the desk and stood despite the warnings his body was giving him.  No, no, no.  Stop it.  Sit back down before you fall.  His legs trembled.  "I want you to be sorry, Mark," he exclaimed.  "I want you to be sorry for taking everything I've ever given to you and fucking it all away like it didn't matter at all.  You were my brother, Mark.  I trusted you.  And you broke everything."

Mark launched off his seat, his face slipping into a deep shade of red.  "Jesus Christ," he yelled as he flung the chair back and started to pace in the limited space he was given.  "You and your fucking rules.  You think I should have pulled you aside and explained that I desperately wanted your wife?"

"Did it even occur to you to try?" Derek asked.

"Oh, come off it, and smell the reality.  You would have played the same wounded, passive-aggressive bastard card you've been playing since you found me on top of her," Mark belted.  "Anything that makes you a failure is unacceptable.  And your marriage being a wasteland is no small failure, Derek.  I know how you think." 

Derek wanted to shake him, wanted to launch across the room and drop him to the floor and just...  Hit.  Scream.  It wasn't true.  He would have at least listened.  He would have...  Or it really was just an irresolvable issue that Mark couldn't have handled at all without messing it up, a small, sliver of doubt whispered.
 
Derek clutched at the desk, trying desperately to stay upright.  "It was a failure," he said, swallowing.  The room wavered, and his head started to hint at a headache.  Sit down.  Just sit.  He hung onto the desk like it was the last thing between him and a stumble off a cliff.  "I did fail.  But I'm...  I would have..."

"Yeah, Derek.  You failed.  And it took you how long to admit it?  And how many people did you dick around before you figured it out?  Admit it, Derek.  Me telling you beforehand about Addison?  Nothing would have changed."

Mark stopped pacing for a moment, breathing hard.  His eyes were red, his whole demeanor distraught.  He wiped his hands across his cheeks, though they were dry, and sniffed as he recovered himself. 

"I tried to get you to pay more attention to her," Mark said quietly.  "I just wanted her to be happy."

You didn't even get her a card.

Derek finally let himself fall back into his seat.  He couldn't do this anymore.  "You did," he said.

"The night it happened, I didn't plan it, Derek," Mark said.  He sat back in his chair, bringing him eyelevel again.  "I never...  It wasn't an accident.  It'd be stupid to call it that.  But...  She was...  She kissed me.  And I..."

"Your world spun around," Derek said, a wry smile pulling at his lips. 

"Yeah," Mark replied.  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, clasping his hands.  "I can't apologize, Derek.  You can't apologize for some things.  Saying sorry is a Hallmark piece of crap completely unsuitable for what I did.  But I am sorry, Derek.  I always have been.  I thought..."

"I'm not a fucking mind reader, Mark."

"Yeah, well, neither am I," Mark replied.

Silence overtook the space between them.  Derek felt sick, but it wasn't the lack of resolution anymore.  It was everything.  He sighed.  He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, no longer caring that the motion of it urged him to sleep, sleep, sleep.

Mark cleared his throat.  "Well, that was...  That was what I wanted to say.  I'm...  I'll leave you alone, now," he said as he shoved his chair back and stood.  He turned to leave.

"Our old office has a bunch of new names on it," Derek muttered into his hands.

Mark turned back.  "You stopped by?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Derek said.  The room was a blur when he leaned back.  He watched as Mark slowly took his seat again.  "Meredith wanted to see it.  I...  It was weird.  Going back."

"What else did you take her to see?"

Derek shrugged.  "We honestly didn't do much.  Just Katz's Deli, ring shopping, and Times Square.  One day isn't enough for Manhattan."

"What did...," Mark began, his look curious until his features melted into a smirk.  "Oh.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Derek closed his eyes.  "Mark," he said softly, "Please, don't hit on her anymore.  Even if it's just a game to you.  It's not to me."

"She wouldn't cheat, Derek," Mark replied.

"I know," Derek said.  "That doesn't make it okay for you to do it."

"I won't," Mark said.  "I'm sorry, man.  I am."

The tension sloughed off like an orange peel, leaving Derek shaky, spent, and shutting down.  He leaned back into the chair and sighed as fatigue sunk into every pore, every crevice, every space between his very slow thoughts.  The room started to fall away from him.  Mark shifted in his chair.  The wheels rumbled across the floor.  Derek watched listlessly as the blur of Mark's frame moved.

"You know," Mark said, "If you hadn't insisted on walking yourself into the ground, you wouldn't be on shutdown sequence right now."

"I was fine until you made me yell," Derek replied, barely.

"Right."

"Really," Derek replied, though he wasn't certain he finished the word before he fell into the subtle hum of a doze, and then deeper still.  This had been the time, after all.  Derek remembered hearing a brief shuffle of movement as Mark left the office for a minute, only to come back with a stack of paperwork.  He collapsed into the chair and started jotting notes on his charts.  After that, nothing.