missingthekeep | [for Meredith]

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[for Meredith]

It's long past late by the time Sean weaves his way around Doc and pulls himself through the front door, battered and sore but feeling on top of the world in spite of it all. A few drinks to calm his nerves had unfortunately had something of the opposite effect, making him more jumped up and energetic than ever and turning into a few more, which wound up costing him half the evening. Either way, he's home now, no matter the shape he's in. And anyway, he hadn't meant to get in a fight, he'd been more curious than anything when he turned up to the little gathering, but then he wasn't exactly given a choice and that had been that. He certainly can't regret it, at any rate, not when coming home to Meredith has been the perfect ending to far worse days than this one.

Hopefully she's still awake.

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"It's not easy," Meredith says. "Making friends, meeting people, finding people who actually count. And it's been a rough few months. I get it." She props her head up one hand so she can look at him while she speaks. As little as she wants to dampen the mood, now she's started, it's worth finishing. "I worry, though. About what happens if... if we don't leave together. If you have to... be alone here until you can get to me."

Sean stays where he is, unmoving, letting the things she says sink in, alcohol and fatigue loosening his lips in a manner he'll be glad if he can forget come the morning. "I think I've forgotten how t'be alone. I was always meself first, an' then one half of an 'us' second, e'en when things got serious. But then she was gone an' it was like... I lost meself along with her. An' I'm nae quite sure I e'er got it back."

Meredith doesn't move, gaze dropping, unfocused on some spot on the sheets. It's a little easier to feel prepared for that when it was already on her mind, but that doesn't mean she wants to think about it. It's just a new way of putting the things she already knows: that no matter what he says, she's never quite going to be enough, not to set things right. She'll never be what his wife (former, dead, whatever, it doesn't really help like she thought it would) was. "Then you work with what you have," she says before the silence drags on too long. "You have to be someone. You're not just no one now."

"I know," Sean says again, a little more sullen, but not aware enough to let it drag him down too much. "Apart from you, though, it sure feels that way lately. Sometimes, I wonder... maybe I wasnae ready."

"How can anyone be ready for that?" Meredith asks. All she can assume is that he means for his wife's death, because otherwise, all she comes up with is he wasn't ready for her. It's not something she can let herself think about much.

"Nae that," Sean says with a tiny shake of his head. He still hasn't opened his eyes. "Fer this, I mean. I love ye more'n anythin', an' I wouldnae change any part o' this f'r the world, but I still wonder. Maybe if I'd... taken longer ta really find meself again, to 'member who I was 'fore I lost her 'fore pairin' up, maybe I wouldnae be so... maybe we'd've had an easier go o' things."

Meredith lies down again, flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling as she steels herself not to just turn away. It takes effort to listen, to hear what he's actually saying, and it still hurts. "I don't care about easy," she says. "The problems we've had, they don't have anything to do with that." Except the ones that do.

"Please," Sean says, feeling her absence keenly and reaching for her automatically. "Ye're tellin' me tonight wasnae a problem?"

"Everyone has problems," Meredith says, looking over at him without moving closer. Part of her badly wants to, but she mostly doesn't want to move at all. "All couples fight. You're telling me if you'd waited, we'd never fight?"

Sean makes a face at that, finally opening his eyes to look at her when he can't get her to come closer. "Well, when ye put it like that it sounds kind o' daft," he admits, one side of his mouth hitching up into a wry smile for a fraction of a second. "S'pose we're jus' scrappers, the two of us." That doesn't make him stop feeling as if there should be some way for him to make this better for her that he just isn't seeing.

"You think you'd be happier?" Meredith asks, turning to face him again, though she doesn't quite look at him now. "Is that... if we hadn't..." She shakes her head and sighs, at a loss for how to finish that sentence.

Sean's not sure what she's trying to get at, so he elects to keep babbling on instead of answering a question she may or may not be asking. "This was always gonna happen, ye an' I. We were always gonna happen. I dinnae ken what I'd be without ye, an' I dinnae want to. I jus' cannae help but think that I should've gotten me own affairs in order 'fore I went draggin' ye down into 'em. I always have."

"I don't mind," Meredith says, shaking her head emphatically as she reaches up to touch his cheek. "If it's about protecting me or something, it's stupid, I don't care. I've dragged you into all of my problems. You were my friend, I was gonna care anyway, and if we waited until we were all fixed and healed, we'd never be together."

"I care," Sean protests, but he shakes his head a moment later, curling towards her. "Ye're right, though, I know't, I jus'... I don't know. I want ta protect ye. I want ta be someone who's good f'r ye, who's stable an' together, at least in this, e'en if I make a mess out o' everythin' else in me life. I... I dinnae ken what 'm e'en sayin' anymore."

"You are good for me," Meredith says, shifting closer. She's not altogether certain how to address all that, but that seems like the most important thing just now. "You're good for me. And we'll fix the mess, we'll get through it. You and me."

"You an' me," Sean echoes, eyes shut tight again as he buries his face down where her shoulder meets the bed. "'M sorry," he goes on, voice muffled. "I feel like a prize arse, ramblin' on like this. I jus' hate the thought o' yer bein' cross wi' me on top of everythin' else, e'en when ye've every right t'be."

Slipping her arm around him, Meredith brushes her fingers through his hair. "I know," she murmurs, "I know. I hate it, too. I don't want to get mad at you, I don't want to fight. But I can't just hold my tongue and pretend I don't mind."

Sean smiles at that in spite of himself, though it remains hidden since he doesn't move. "Jus' another reason I love ye, that."

Meredith catches herself smiling, too, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. It's not like she thought he'd rather she not say anything, but it helps to hear. "When I'm not yelling at you, it is," she teases. "But I don't think we'd be any happier if I stopped."

"If I stopped givin' ye reason to, on the other hand..." Sean sighs, tentatively looking up at her.

"That might help," Meredith says wryly, leaning down to kiss him. "We'd find something. I'm not saying keep doing these things, please don't, but... I think there'd always be something. If it wasn't you, it'd be me."

"We're nae built f'r peace, ye an' I," Sean murmurs, frozen in place again after she kisses him, and while it's not a question, his voice rises a bit toward the end as if it is.

"I don't know about that," Meredith says, shifting so she can lie on her stomach, head propped on one hand. "We're just not made for doing nothing. I don't know if that's the same." She's at peace now, at least, although that might not mean much since that's compared to an evening of feeling like crap.

"Maybe nae," Sean admits, though he doesn't sound convinced as he reaches over to rest a hand flat on the small of her back, heavy and warm. She's not the one who goes around actively trying to break what little peace they can get, after all.

Meredith drops her head to rest on her folded arms, shifting closer. "Maybe not," she echoes. "I don't know. It's the doing nothing that gets to me. I can't fix anything. I can't find anything or cure anything. I can't even just be a surgeon." It's her turn now just to talk, meandering through half-formed ideas. In spite of it all, she's relaxed again, content just to be talking even if it's not the happiest of topics. "I probably would have come home after you tonight if we were in Seattle. I like coming home, I like the... being at peace. Even a little settled, I don't mind. But doing nothing..."

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