Where You Belong

59

But he would be there with her, and that was enough. That was what she needed to get through this day.

"Mer..." He began, but no more words came out.

She nodded, blinking back tears. I know, she was telling him, even though he couldn't put anything into words. It wasn't okay. But he was there.

He silently returned to his post behind her. The elevator began descending. One floor. Two.

And suddenly his chin was on her shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers. And one strong arm was wrapped loosely around her neck, offering her as much support as it could without hugging her. Because as much as she desperately needed a hug, he couldn't give her one, so here he was doing his best, bent over the back of her wheelchair, holding her as best he could.

Her chest hitched and one hand came up to grasp onto his forearm. The other one found his hair. "Derek..." She breathed, shutting her eyes tight.

"I'm here." And then he sniffed.

He was fighting off tears as well.

She pressed her cheek hard against his, absorbing his warmth.

And for one perfect second everything seemed okay.

But then her world was shattered as the elevator came to a crushing stop.

Meredith reluctantly uncurled her fingers from Derek's hair, and he pulled away, planting a kiss on the top of her head before standing upright.

The doors opened. The wheelchair started moving forward.

This hallway was much different from the one above. There were no pitying glances. Hell, there were no people besides her and Derek. And it was cold. And quiet, save for the drawn out squeak, squeak, squeak of the wheels of her chair.

No words were passed between them as Derek led them down a pathway they had both taken before many times, but always as doctors, never as...this.

She caught sight of the imposing swinging doors at the end of the hallway and swallowed hard at the letters above them. M. O. R. G. U. E.

This was it.

It was time to say goodbye.

000

The staff of the morgue were much more tactful than those upstairs who cater to living patients; these people were used to dealing with corpses and the corpses' late families. There were no stares. No pitying glances or vies for gossip material.

Meredith was met with professional almost-smiles and nods. They knew who she was, but weren't looking for anything from her. They had expected her, and ushered her – via Derek – down the hall to the right to a small room used for identification and goodbyes.

Two large paned glass windows broke the monotony of the white washed walls. Curtains were drawn on the other side. The morgue director stopped, uncertain. "Did you want to go in, Dr. Grey?"

Meredith nodded, numb.

The director said nothing as he opened the door. Normally there would be a few practiced sentences of warning, but he knew it wasn't necessary.

Derek's hand landed on her shoulder, offering a supportive squeeze before it returned to the handle of the wheelchair.

A gurney lay in the center of the small room, covered by a white sheet, complete with tell-tale bumps, outlining a body.

"Take as much time as you need," the director spoke quietly. "I'll leave you two alone."

Derek said something to the man, but Meredith couldn't make it out. Her throat was suddenly dry as she stared at the outline of her mother's body under the stark white sheet.