Forbidden Remorse - Derek Shepherd and Gary Clark

Chapter 1

tw: alcohol

Derek walked into the Emerald City bar and sat down on a barstool. "Double scotch, singe malt please," he said to the bartender with a dull expression.

Derek was an FBI agent, since he retired from his old job as a neurosurgeon after he was shot in the chest in his own hospital. His best friend Mark had offered to join him at the bar, which to his disappointment, Derek declined. He didn't feel like talking, he just needed to drink.

"This seat taken?" Derek heard someone ask next to him. He turned and saw a tall man, forties, with light brown hair and soft baby blue eyes.

He looked familiar, someone he had come in close contact with, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "No it's all yours," Derek said with a small smile.

The man took a seat next to him and looked at the bartender.

"Whiskey," the man told him with a nod. He turned back to Derek, a smile creeping on his lips. "So, you new in town?" The man asked him, inching closer.

"No, me and my wife have been living here a while," Derek told him with emphasis on wife. The man recoiled at the sound of a spouse.

It was awkwardly silent for several moments before Derek looked at his watch and stood up.
"Well I have to go, it was nice meeting you..."

"Gerald," the man said sticking out his hand, which Derek took and shook firmly.

"Gerald," Derek repeated. "Agent Derek Shepherd."
"Agent? Are you with the FBI?" Gerald asked with curious eyes.

"I am, I just finished training a month ago. It's pretty scary stuff if you ask me, but it feels right— especially the rookie work. They're testing my limits," the dark haired man replied.

"Feels right?"

"I used to be a surgeon, but I never quite felt as though I was made for surgery. I needed the adrenaline boost, something to get me going in the mornings, you know?" Derek said, just as his phone violently started vibrating.

"My wife," he said simply. "I best be going now," Derek told Gerald as he picked his coat up and jogged over to the exit and raced up the stairs to his sleek black Porsche.

Derek glanced at his watch again, and read 9:15. Meredith had requested he be back by 8 to put the kids to bed. He had failed her again because of alcohol. Derek stepped on the gas, speeding the car up, and maneuvered his way around the traffic.

The lock clicked twice and the front door of the Shepherd house opened wide with a drunk, dark haired man standing in the doorway.

"Derek!" Meredith cried as she stood up from the couch and took a few steps toward him. "Are you... drunk?" She asked breathlessly as she looked at her husband looking completely wasted.

"N-no, I'm tired. Long day at the office," he reassured his wife, throwing his coat on a nearby chair and slowly stumbling his way to the master bedroom.

Meredith knew her husband. She knew his problem with alcohol. He had had a problem with it ever since he was shot in the hospital—the place where people go for safety.

"The kids are asleep?" Derek asked, standing in front of the youngest's room.

"Of course they are. It's 9:45. Why are you so late?" She looked at him, not sure whether to be upset or furious with him.

"How about you mind your damn business?" He spat, with anger building inside of him. Derek never spoke to her like that. Not even when she deserved, which was rare. The man walked into the guest bedroom and slammed the door hard, making the walls of their dream house shake violently.

Tears welled up in Meredith's eyes. She was losing her husband, the love of her life. Something needed to change and fast, or she would fall apart within a matter of minutes. Derek was her glue. He put her back together when she was tearing apart. Their three children, another on the way, needed him more than ever.

Meredith placed a hand over her swollen stomach and sobbed quietly as she slipped into the cold, empty bed. She forced her bloodshot eyes shut and wished for sleep, but it never came.

Her marriage was over. They both knew it but nobody wanted to say anything.