Chapter Eight

In Which the Heroine Is Screwed by…Karma

            It’s late when we finally get to the house, but most of the lights are on. I’ve barely gotten out of the car when the front door bursts open and George runs outside.

           
“You’re back,” he gasps, flinging his arms around me.

            
Huh?

            
He backs away from me, and now I have time to catch sight of the horrified expression on his face.

            
“Stop the madness,” he whispers, and I am irresistibly reminded of the first time we caught Alex and Izzie being “friendly”.

            
Before I can say anything, he has grabbed my wrist and is pulling me inside, leaving Derek staring after us, looking bemused. I blink as I walk in the door. I must be imagining things…

            
Alex is standing in front of me, frosting smeared across half his face, with a slightly faded Iowa State duffel bag slung across one shoulder. He is talking to Izzie, who is holding a tray of chocolate cupcakes. As the door swings shut behind Derek, they both turn to look at us.

            
“Isn’t it great?” Izzie beams.

            
Her smile is too wide, too bright. It’s Izzie the Model instead of Izzie. Which means that I won’t like whatever it is she’s smiling about.

            
“Isn’t what great?” I ask cautiously.

            
“I’m moving in,” Alex states, throwing me a challenging look.

            
Seriously? He’s just daring me to say something about this isn’t he? He knows I won’t, though, because Izzie looks almost happy.

            
“Okay,” I say, going upstairs. “Ask Izzie or George about the rent.”

            
George is staring after me with wide eyes.

            
“Seriously?” he asks. “You – You’re just going to let him – After all the – Alex?”

           
“Relax, Bambi, I’m sure she’ll kick me out after that post -,”

            
“Finish that sentence and I’ll kick you out now,” I warn, not turning around.

            
I realize Derek isn’t following me. I turn around and walk back down to the landing. He’s staring at me with both eyebrows raised.

            
“Not a word,” I hiss in his ear.

            
I have a feeling that he would have said something anyway, except I took advantage of the opportunity and nipped at his ear. Well, it was right there. I grab his hand and we run up the stairs together.

            
“Um, hi,” Callie grins as we race past her.

            
“Hi, Callie,” I call – I’m trying, okay, George?

            
We fall into my room, shaking with laughter.

            
“Do you,” kiss “have” kiss “all” kiss “of” kiss “Bailey’s” kiss “interns” “here” “now?”

            
“No,” I say breathlessly. “Cristina lives with Burke.”

            
“Good.” Another kiss.

            
“Good?” That’s a strange thing to say. Cristina would be a better roommate than Alex, even if she is a slob.

            
“That way she’ll have someone to scrub in on surgeries –” kiss “I plan on keeping you up all night.”

            
I love him, I really do, but what does that have to do with Cristina?

            
“You get loud,” he says.

            
And, I have to confess, I did.

   
****        

            
“Ugh,” I groan.

            
What the hell is going on?

            
Beside me, Derek is waking up, too.

            
“What was that?” he mumbles.

            
“I don’t know,” I answer sleepily.

            
There it is again – a high-pitched keening sound. Soon we hear something else. Someone talking, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s mercifully lower than whatever woke us up was. I sigh.

            
“We should go see what that is,” I say.

            
Derek groans. His arm tightens around my waist and pulls me closer.

            
“There are plenty of other people in this house,” he says. “Let one of them deal with it.”

            
“I’m afraid they already are,” I retort. I snuggle closer to him, though.

            
He smiles and his eyes drift shut. I missed this lazy, messy version of Derek that never wants to get out of bed. He always wants “five more minutes”, even after he was the one keeping everyone awake last night.

            
Okay, so I might have had something to do with that, too.

            
“Get up,” I tell him, wriggling out of his grasp.

            
He reaches an arm out and pulls me back down, eyes still closed. The keening noise fills the air again, and he buries his head in the pillow.

           
I’m laughing now.

            
“You are a big baby,” I tell him seriously, twisting around so I can look at him. “A big, lazy, baby.”

            
“I am not,” he protests. “You’re the baby – you giggle.”

            
“I do not!” I say indignantly.

            
“Yes you do. You did a second ago,” he says triumphantly.

            
“You’re still a baby,” I state.

An annoyed expression crosses his face. It’s starting to amuse me, the way he still refuses to open his eyes or let go of me.

“What kind of hotshot Manhattan brain surgeon wants to sleep all day?” I continue, grinning. “That’s supposed to be my job – I’m the wasp in this house, according to Cristina.”

He definitely looks annoyed now. This is fun.

“What would your patients think?” I gasp. “No one wants a lazy, frat-boy surgeon cutting their brain open.”

His eyes finally open at that.

“I am not a frat boy,” he growls.

I give him my widest, brightest grin.

“Hmm, let’s see,” I pretend to think. “Drinks a lot? Check – I picked you up in a bar. Only wants to sleep and have sex? Check. No, I think you are.”

“I guess I’m going to have to prove you wrong,” he smiles.

Something about the way he says it has me feeling a little worried. He kisses me, long and slow and very mmm-worthy. We roll over, and now he’s on top of me.

I gasp. When I pictured waking him up, I did not imagine his hand going there, or doing that. Somehow, I can’t find it in me to mind.

And then he gets up.

My eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. Seriously? He thinks he can just leave me here after that? We’re going to have to work on this – he keeps doing that now. It’s like he thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed maniac, just because I was knitting for a whole month.

“Seriously? Seriously?” I ask him incredulously. “You – You -”

He smiles at me innocently. I notice he isn’t making any move to find his clothes.

“See, I don’t need to have sex. You, on the other hand…” He trails off, flashing me another McDreamy grin.

I’m having none of it, though. He can’t just stand there like that, looking all sweaty and messy and sleepy, and do that, and expect me not to react.

So I do. React, I mean. I grab his wrist and pull him back into bed. I suppose I should thank George for giving me the idea, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it too much. Now that he and his hands are back to doing what they are supposed to, I suppose I can admit it.

Hello, my name is Meredith Grey, and I am a sex-crazed maniac.

A laugh escapes my lips, and Derek nuzzles my neck in response. He should definitely do that more often.

The thought barely crosses my mind when my cell phone rings. We both groan – I have to answer, it could be the nursing home calling about my mother.

“Hello?” I ask, maybe a little more sharply than I normally would have. Can you really blame me?

“They aren’t here,” Cristina says without preamble.

Well, at least she isn’t someone who would care if I’m grumpy. Actually, she’d probably enjoy it.

“What?” I ask.

“Bailey, the Chief, Satan, hell, even McSteamy isn’t here. What the hell is going on? It’s five o’ clock and none of them are here. It’s all a bunch of residents and Dr. Bitch. I slept at the hospital just so I could be here early enough to get all of the good cases, and they aren’t here. What kind of surgeons are they? What happened to the damned Hippocratic Oath?”

I roll my eyes. Just like her to not reveal the real reason she was at the hospital all night – Burke.

“Cristina, there’s a boy in my bed,” I tell her, hoping she’ll get the hint. 

“So, what’s new about that?” she asks.

Thanks a lot.

“I want this boy to stay in my bed,” I tell her. I ignore Derek’s grin at that.

“What? No shower line? Wait…It’s McDreamy, isn’t it?” she asks, catching on.

“Yes.”

“Fine, go ahead. Go have hot sex with the neurosurgeon. One of us should be getting some,” she says.

“Thank you,” I tell her sarcastically and hang up.

I turn to Derek, who has a leg slung across mine, and is propped up on a pillow, looking way too good to be true.

“Now where were we?” he asks.

I grin, more than willing to show him. I move on top of him, ending up in his lap. It’s like we’re both a couple of teenagers, making out instead of going downstairs to check on things. I don’t really mind – responsibility can be a bitch.

Neither one of us notices when the door opens, but we both hear my worst nightmare coming to life.

“Get your horny selves out of bed and go downstairs,” Bailey says.

Oh. My. God.

We spring apart as fast as humanly possible, both looking at the five-foot-tall form of the Nazi standing in my bedroom.

I yank the covers up to my chin in an instant, leaving Derek without any cover of his own until he shoots under the blankets with me. We both look at her, horrified. This is beyond the realms of normal, even for us. Bailey should not be in my house.

I think something is very wrong with the universe.

“What are you waiting for?” she snaps, throwing clothes at us from the floor. “Go!”

We hastily get dressed as she leaves. I don’t think either of us has ever looked so afraid.

As soon as we enter the hall, it becomes apparent that my nightmare has just gotten much, much worse. George and Callie are out here, too, with George looking just as terrified as I am sure Derek and I do. Callie, on the other hand, mostly looks pissed off at being woke up. If it comes down to a fight between her and Bailey, I don’t think I want to know who’ll win.

That part isn’t so bad. It’s when I realize that I know where all the surgeons are that I really want to wake up – because they are all in my house.

Addison is in my house. Mark is in my house. The Chief is in my house (you know, Chief Webber, the man who broke up my parents’ marriage). Oh no.

“Where’s Stevens?” Bailey asks as soon as we’re in the hall.

Seriously? She’s just going to show up in my house with half the surgical staff of Seattle Grace and ask me where Izzie is?

George is trying (and failing) to stutter an answer out, and Derek is hissing something in an undertone to a smirking Mark Sloan.

Did I mention that I have four people I never wanted to see in my house in my house?

            
“Screw this,” I mutter, feeling like my mother should be here for that. She’d definitely feel the nostalgia.

            
Or maybe not, since to her, I last said that yesterday.    

            
“Excuse me,” Bailey says, raising an eyebrow.

            
I ignore her (something I thought was impossible) and head downstairs, just as the shrieking starts again.

            
“Whatever the hell that is better stop!” I yell.

            
Yeah, I’m pissed off now.

            
I push my way into the kitchen, looking for the tequila, where I find Izzie, Alex, and a middle-aged man wearing a dark blue jumpsuit. Izzie is stirring a bowl of some sort of batter, and Alex is sitting at the table, looking tired, with his head in his hands. What really gets me, though, is the unfamiliar man, who is doing something with a screwdriver to a hole in the wall.

           
“Hello, ma’am,” he says as I enter. “Just finishing up here.”

            
“Finishing what?” I ask slowly.

            
Alex looks up as I say that, and I can tell by the look on his face that I sound dangerous. He nods me on.

            
The man turns around, and I see the name Ray embroidered on the left side of his jumpsuit – right above the words “Lightman Security Company”.

            
“Why, your new security system, of course,” he says. “It’s a real good one, too, if I do say so myself. Got all the new modifications – 911 button, motion sensors, and even a direct connection to that hospital nearby, what’s it called again?”

            
“Seattle Grace,” about five different voices answer automatically, which lets me know that the guest from hell have followed me downstairs.

            
“Yeah, there. I’m new in town, don’t you know. Came up here from Oregon. Ain’t all that different, to tell the truth, but all this big city stuff sure is strange.”

            
“About the security system?” I prompt.

            
“Oh, yeah, I’ll be all done in a few minutes. Just gotta keep running diagnostics until we know it’s working.”

            
I soften slightly, realizing what Izzie was thinking when she had “Ray” install the security system. Of course, it’s 5 am and Ray is setting off the system for tests every five minutes, so I think it’s understandable that I am just a little pissed off.

            
Or a lot.

            
I plaster a fake smile on my face for Ray’s benefit, then turn to Izzie.

            
“Izzie,” I grind out. “There are some people here to see you.”

            
I gesture to the door, where at least seven pairs of eyes are attempting to peer inside. I have a feeling that Callie is the only force restraining them all from bursting in here and creating a scene. I mostly think that because I can see her part of her arm blocking the door. Hmm, I think I’m starting to like her.

            
“Okay,” she says brightly. “Why don’t we just let everyone in here so they can have breakfast?”

            
I suppose karma can be the only reason that it was at this very moment that Cristina chooses to walk in my front door (so much for that security system – looks like Ray’s still got some work to do) and yells, “Ugh, where is everyone?”

            
I suppose karma also had something to do with Izzie shouting, “In the kitchen!” to her.

            
Because, clearly Fate is punishing me for sleeping with a married man…and then sleeping with him a few more times as soon as he isn’t married. I think Fate is trying to send me a message: “You didn’t wait long enough, that’s tacky. Here’s your life, we’re going to puree it in the cosmic blender as punishment.”

            
But Fate must have been having a bad day today, because I know I haven’t done anything bad enough to justify letting Addison, Mark, Bailey, Chief Webber, George, Cristina, Callie, and Derek take that as an okay to come into the kitchen. Even when I broke George, the only thing that happened was me almost getting blown up.

            
And this is so much worse. Seriously.

            
“What’d you do?” Cristina asks immediately, taking in the Doctorpalooza (version 2.0) in my kitchen.  

            
“Ask Izzie,” I say. “Everyone is here to see her.”

            
She raises an eyebrow in Derek’s direction.

            
“Including McDreamy, because I’d have thought you’d have a problem with that,” she retorts.

“McDreamy?” Mark snickers. “That’s priceless. I thought you were joking about that,” he tells Addison.

            
“Why is he even here?” George whispers to Callie.

“Shove it McSteamy,” Cristina and I snap.

There are times when I’m reminded why we are each other’s “people”. That was one of them.

            
“McSteamy?” Addison repeats.

            
Derek is trying (unsuccessfully) to hide his grin.

            
“Welcome to the McFamily,” he says. “Oh, wait, I suppose you joined when you had sex with my wife…or maybe it was just the time it happened in my bed.”

            
I try not to notice the look that flashes across Mark’s face. He’s stung, but he quickly covers it up. Hmm, it looks like he doesn’t plastic surgery to hide his flaws. He can cover his feelings all by himself. I feel a rush of sympathy for him, but it doesn’t last long – Izzie is looking dangerously close to losing the “June Cleaver” look and having a mental breakdown in front of all of us.

            
“Pie?” she asks, her smile so wide it looks more like a grimace. “Or how about crepes? We’ve got just about everything,” she tells us. “Muffins, cupcakes, shortcake, brownies, cookies, and I have this new omelet recipe from Preston that I’ve been dying to try out.”

            
She bustles around the kitchen, putting the batter bowl down, and starts passing out pastries, plates, napkins, and mugs of coffee. It’s like I’ve been transported to some twisted, drugged-up version of the fifties.

            
“Stevens?” Bailey asks slowly, staring at her.

            
“What?” Izzie smiles – there is something seriously wrong with the constant smiling. It’s freaking me out. I know Cristina, at least, feels the same way, and judging by the look on Bailey’s face, she’s about to say something about it.

            
Izzie stops what she was doing (putting two donuts and a cranberry muffin on Bailey’s plate) and gets a mildly worried look on her face. It isn’t much worse than “Oh, I have a split end,” but it’s enough to make me want to sigh in relief.

            
“Do you want something else?” she asks. “How about some waffles? Or pancakes? I think I should start making pancakes anyway, pancakes are always good to feed a crowd. Or maybe I should try making baked Alaska? You look like a baked Alaska type. All that fire and -”

            
“I was going to ask why you are walking around, giving me food in your underwear,” Bailey says, cutting her off.

            
Huh. I hadn’t noticed that. It looks like George, Alex, Cristina, and even Callie hadn’t either. I guess we’ve gotten used to it after a while.  

            
“Oh, that?” she laughs. “It’s so much more fun to bake in your underwear. It’s really…liberating. You should try it sometime.”

            
Did she just say that? Did she seriously just say that?

            
I realize that, once again, I am speaking out loud. This time it’s okay, though, because everyone looks just as shocked.

            
George actually responds.

            
“She just said that,” he agrees faintly. “She just told Bailey to walk around in Hello Kitty underwear.”

            
Everyone else is recovering. Well, that isn’t exactly true. Cristina, Addison, McSteamy, Callie, Alex, and Bailey, herself, have recovered from that. The rest of us are too busy being shocked to get over…being shocked.

            
That’s it. This isn’t healthy. Cristina clearly agrees.

            
“Yeah, have you gone insane?” she asks seriously.

            
“No,” Izzie replies.

I don’t think I’m the only one who notices the hint of steel beneath her abnormally sweet voice. Alex sits up straight and starts looking protective and antagonistic, like he’ll personally tackle anyone who upsets her. It’s sweet, in a weird Alex-like way, but mostly sad, because Izzie doesn’t even notice him.

“Now, will someone please tell me what everyone is doing here?” she asks.

Ray, the security system installer, looks up as she says this.

“Um, I could come back and finish the diagnostics later,” he mutters nervously, his eyes darting nervously from one face to the other.

I guess he’s pretty smart after all.

“Don’t bother,” I say. “We’ll call you if we have any problems.”

He nods and quickly leaves.

Everyone who didn’t walk into my house without an invitation (and Cristina) looks at the people who did (Hell’s Evil Quartet) expectantly.

“We’re here to talk about your situation,” Chief Webber begins.

Izzie gets a strange look on her face. It takes me a moment to place it, but when I do, it’s enough to make me say, “In my house?”

Because she looks like a stray dog I tried to adopt when I was a kid. There are a lot of them in Boston, even around the huge, empty townhouse Mom and I lived in. It had been beat up pretty badly, and I used to leave food out for it. It came back every day, and I tried to listen to Franca and not go near it, but one day, I did. It bolted. It ran away from my outstretched hand and never came back. Eventually Franca explained that it had just gone through too much to risk going near anyone else. Kind of like Izzie, except I don’t want her to run away. We might be able to stop her from physically running away, but…

She’s already tried it. Last night, when she was curled up on Denny’s hospital bed, she wasn’t all there. Her eyes were too empty, too dull. It was like she’d skittered into some place deep inside herself and didn’t want to come out. Alex was able to coax her out of it last time, but what if it happens again? I managed to stay like that for months, and that was with Derek still alive…That was without a Derek who had proposed to me.

So I snap at the Chief. And as I do so, I realize that I’m breaking all of the rules here. Because that line? The line that you aren’t supposed to cross, just so everyone can be semi-comfortable everyday? I just crossed it. We’re in uncharted territory now, with a bunch of people who can’t think of themselves as doctors, or everything will go to hell.