Where You Belong

59

The wheels squealed as they turned. Round and round and round, overriding every other sound around her.

In actual fact, the squealing was probably quiet, not meeting the ears of anyone else, but it was all Meredith could hear. It was all she could focus on.

It was all she could allow herself to focus on.

It took her mind away from what she was about to do. It had seemed so simple before. Not easy, but...necessary. And okay. Definitely something she could handle.

But now it seemed...impossible. Definitely impossible.

Sympathetic and pitying and prying eyes met hers as she passed. Every hospital employee seemed to know exactly what had happened to her the previous day. And they all stared now, as if she were a celebrity. A broken, dejected star, fallen right off the front cover of an unnamed tabloid.

Because, seriously, this kind of thing never happened in real life. So it was okay to stare.

It was okay to stare at the girl who had almost died for the second time in just a few months, who was a patient for the second time in just a few weeks. And whose mother – a famous surgeon – had just died. And who was dating – and had been saved by – the Head of Neurosurgery (whose ex-wife, another department head, had cheated on him with his best friend, yet another department head).

You couldn't make this stuff up. So people stared.

And even though she knew it was curiosity more than anything that drove the stares, Meredith still closed her eyes and concentrated on the squealing wheels of her wheelchair. The sound was sharp and painful, and a completely welcome escape from the stares and the pain and the knowledge of what she had to do.

Derek, true to his word, had barely left her side since she had woken on the trauma room gurney in a world of pain the day before. And her knight in shining whatever was now playing the role of chauffeur, pushing her slowly down the hallway to the elevator.

It seemed he too didn't want to reach their destination anytime soon.

Despite the staring eyes and pitying glances, the hallway ended too quickly, leaving them at the elevators. And the high pitched squeak, squeak, squeak of the wheelchair stopped.

Derek left his post to step around her, reaching a finger out for the button, summoning an elevator car to their floor. When he turned back he offered her a smile.

It was tense and his colouring was pale and his eyes danced worriedly, but it was a smile.

Her lips curled upwards on reflex. He smiled; she smiled. It was a built in response now.

"You ready for this?" It was a stupid question. He knew it was a stupid question, but he needed to say something to her. He needed to tell her he was still there for her. He also knew the answer.

"No," she mumbled truthfully. She hadn't even had to suppress the urge to say she was fine. There was nothing fine about this.

"I'm here." It had become his mantra. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.

And he was. Always.

A beeping drew them from their brief moment, and Derek returned to his place behind her as the elevator doors opened. The car was, thankfully, empty, and Derek took advantage of the space to push the wheelchair on – being extra careful of the minute bump between the hospital floor and elevator bottom – and turned her around, so she was facing the doors, just waiting for them to open on their floor.

He left her again to push another button. The 'B' for basement.

And this time when he turned around he couldn't offer her a smile. There was nothing smile-worthy about where they were going.