Who would have thought

1

The key shook in his hands as he stood at the door of his apartment, another wave of nausea coming over him. Tonight was the night. Derek Shepherd didn't have a choice anymore. Tonight was the night. Mark and Addison were at the hospital, he had somehow managed to get home before midnight, her shift at the bar had ended an hour earlier. No matter how bad her day had been, this was it.

It. It was never supposed to get to the point where it was it. It was never supposed to get this bad because he loved her. He had fallen for her the day they had met and he loved her still. He kind of figured he always would. But this was it. This had to be it. Even as he swallowed back another wave of nausea and squeezed his eyes shut, he knew he had to end it. There was no choice in the matter.

For weeks he had been trying to find another way. He had tried to talk to her, had tried to get her to talk, had tried to be there for her. But she was a mess. She was a mess and he just...he didn't know what to do anymore. He loved her. He loved her desperately, but love wasn't enough. Not now. He couldn't try to clean her up, not when it hurt this badly.

He was tired, he was more tired than he had ever remembered being. His internship was killing him. His relationship was killing him. His relationship that was supposed to be perfect and at some point it had been, some point it had been everything he wanted. And now it just hurt, it hurt constantly. Loving her was exhausting and it had to end. He had to walk away even if it killed him

He just had to walk into his apartment, where she was probably curled up on the couch, possibly already drunk after a long night of bartending, of men buying her drinks. Or, if there was any luck, it had been a hard day with her mom and she would be sober, but completely unresponsive. Neither choices were ideal, but he knew it was all he could expect from her right now. And it was exhausting.

He wanted her to be better. He wanted her to be the cute giggly girl that had served him in the bar ages ago, that for no reason he had given his number to. He wanted that girl back. Instead he got tears and drunkenness and going into some dark place in her head where he didn't get any access. He wanted to fix her, he wanted to help her but she wasn't letting him. And he was fed up.

He slipped the key into the lock, turning it carefully as he tried to breathe. He had to do this. It was going to hurt, it was going to kill him, but he had to do it. He had to end this. She was probably expecting it. There was no way she could think this was normal. The fights, the avoidance, his sheer need to stay at the hospital longer than necessary...she couldn't think this was normal.

She would be okay without him, she would get through this mess even if he walked away. She had to. Because this couldn't be helping her. They had stopped being a happy and healthy couple so long ago he could barely remember the good times. Or he could, he remembered them in painful detail. But that's all they were, memories. So she'd be okay after he left.

"You're home," she said as the door opened to reveal her coming from the kitchen, a tub of ice cream in her hands.

"I'm home," he nodded, trying to smile but failing miserably. He looked at her carefully and frowned when he realized he had no idea how she was feeling. There had been a time when he could read everything in her eyes.

"Hmmm," she nodded slightly, moving to the couch, pulling her legs up under her. It wasn't the first time the need to grab her and shake her had come over him, but he couldn't believe how violently it rose up in him tonight, forcing him to tighten his hand over the handle of his briefcase. There had been a day when she had kissed him hello, had welcomed him home with a kiss so seductive, his clothes had been off in seconds flat. He couldn't even remember the last time it had happened.