One thing I've noticed about Seattle – it's always damp. Sunny days are soft, but the ocean's never far away. From the dry winds of Iowa to here – it was a change. A change that I had to get used to; a change from touching things and watching my energy spark off the surface.

I walk out the door into the wet air; it's raining again, because it never stops. It's not that I mind – I've never minded the rain. But sometimes it's hard to deal with the constant grey. She's sitting on the porch and rocking in the swing that her dad fixed two months ago; it creaks and without thinking, I sit beside her.

In pitch dark I go walking in your landscape.
Broken branches trip me as I speak.
Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.
Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.

"Hey," she sighs, uncrossing her legs and shifting over so I can sit beside her.

"Hey," I reply, and push off with my feet, letting the swing go. She leans her head back. "So?"

"So, she left. And I don't think I'll be seeing her again." My voice is so bitter. I don't really feel this bitter, but somehow, it always comes out like that, and she blinks.

"It was just leading you on. You and her," she replies a bit nonsensically, but I nod anyway.

"Whatever. I don't need this shit in my life right now." I push a hand over my hair and catch her studying the curve of my arm, but she looks away and I realize it's not just a meditation session out here.

"What?"

She refuses to look me in the eye, but she knows I know anyway. It's just what it is. I know.

There's always a siren
singing you to shipwreck.
(Don't reach out, don't reach out)
steer away from these rocks
we'd be a walking disaster.
(Don't reach out, don't reach out)

It started with the Dirty Uncle Sal conversation; I always imagined her as the perfect daughter of a WASP-y family. But she's not – she dyed her hair in college and she did drugs and she managed to acquire a drinking problem. And maybe that's why of everyone, I mind her the least. I get her the most. She's sort of the mirror of me.

It's not even about the daddy issues. Hers was never there, mine was an abusive bastard. I work hard to not be abusive, but she doesn't know how to work hard to not be absent. I see it in all the relationships. Fucked and gone, until Derek Shepherd. And of all the damaging shit she could have gotten herself into, this is the most prolonged.

She doesn't cry. She just stares. And it's a dead sort of stare that freaks me out, so I hit her, just lightly, on the shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey." Her eyes come back into focus and look at me quizzically. "What were we saying?"

"What the hell are you doing, Mer?" The question comes out before I can stop it, and she blinks.

"About what?" Her voice has a hint of laughter in it, but I shake my head. "What are we both doing?"

It's about the damage. It's about feeling like we don't deserve anything better. Only, Derek's clawing for her commitment and Ava's married to another man, and I can't, and she can't.

"He's no good for you. He's messing you around." My voice – that bitter tone, but she doesn't look hurt. In fact, she looks thoughtful.

"I know it, if you can believe it." We're silent. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear; we get a little lost in the rain, and then she speaks again.

"I just can't be what he wants. I can't be the undamaged person he wants. It doesn't matter how much he tries to understand."

"Yeah." I think back to Ava; to her blue eyes, to her hands on my chest and her reassurances that she didn't care, she just wanted me.

The problem is, it's not enough. And it's mirrored in her eyes – it's not enough if you haven't been there.

Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.
(There's someone on your shoulder)
just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.
(There's someone on your shoulder)
There

But I see the rebellion coming back in her eyes – that's where we differ. She's determined to make it work, while I'm determined to just stop it before it gets into something I can't control. Either way, it's about the control – and I can't take it from her. Since I've moved in, I've sat with her through the tequila nights and I've cleaned up the puke and I just can't.

"Meredith." She looks up at me, and she squints a little, trying to read my expression. I shake my head. "You just keep ripping off the band-aid. Every time. It's masochistic."

She counters. "What about you and Ava? You're an ass for days afterwards because you can't sleep with her and because you can't commit."

I sigh; she sighs, we both start to laugh and that's when I notice the light on her hair and the way that when she really smiles, she's one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen.

Why so green and lonely?
Heaven sent you to me.

Okay, hold on. It's not going to happen, only because I have to work with Derek Shepherd and because Meredith and I would end up as the world's most dysfunctional couple. And I know too much. I like my women to have a little mystery – seriously.

We are accidents
waiting waiting to happen.

But as we rock in the swing, and she leans against my shoulder, I wrap my arms around her cold arms and think about what it would be like to kiss her.

And then I suddenly start to hate Derek Shepherd for fucking her up like this.

She smiles and shoots me a gaze with her blue eyes, and I can't help smiling back.

Dirty Uncle Sal's Club. That's us.

We are accidents
waiting waiting to happen.