Chapter Text
We let the waters rise
We drifted to survive
I needed you to stay
But I let you drift away
- Nathalie Taylor (Surrender)
Fight or flight?
Fight or flight?
Fight or flight?
It's nearly impossible for him to remember a time when flight didn't win out, the urge to fight such a distant memory.
With the fight drained out of him, the question barely needed to be asked. He was operating from a place of fear, stuck deep in the trenches of his grief—his one true companion. Had been for so long, that for the life of him, he couldn't recall a time when he hadn't. And so, there was only one viable option.
During the few peaceful moments he was able to carve out for himself in the midst of the chaos of packing up his entire life, a voice echoed in his head, whispering the truth about his move menacingly. Hunt's drama was a factor; his lads' aimlessness another. But that voice wasn't deterred by his evasion, forcing his reality on him despite his desire to stay blind for a little while longer.
You miss Abigail, you fool. Plain and simple.
A week later, he realizes this imperative need to flee can't just be attributed to the fact that he isn't quite ready to move on, because that hollow feeling follows him everywhere he goes, ready to strike whenever it damn well pleases.
No, he's running away from how natural it felt with her. Meredith Grey. How right it could have been with her. How the air was always stolen from his lungs in her mere presence. How entire rooms would vanish around them, leaving them only focused on each other. How her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes keeled him over each and every time. It was all a bit too much for him to process.
But the way it ended doesn't discount everything that happened before it. He finds cherished comfort in the memories he can hold on to. Her snort-like giggle, her sarcastic wit, her glib comments, her frequent eye rolls, her unruly competitiveness, the gleam in her eyes before every surgery, her fierce defense of her patients, and most of all, her understanding. But... not the taste of her lips nor the warmth of her embrace. Never those.
Slowly, the distance helps reset his mind. And yet, it feels like he's left something behind. His torn heart, perhaps.
He doesn't have time to dwell on his suffocating loneliness, because just as he feels the thread between him and his old life ready to snap, he gets her first text message, a rambling mess designed to make those memories surge back to the forefront of his mind.
Grey : Can I still text you or is this a clean-break-no-contact type of situation?
Her ability to make him laugh, even from thousands of miles away, takes root in his heart, her randomness a blessing in disguise. It feels like the small opening he needs to evade the awkwardness he infused in their goodbye. To keep the thread between them intact and the lines of communication open. And perhaps, he's not ready to have another person disappear from his life.
Hayes : Isn't it bloody early in Seattle?
Grey : It is.
Hayes : ?
Grey : I'm old. I had to pee and now I can't fall asleep again.
Hayes : If you're old, then I'm officially ancient.
Grey : You didn't answer my question.
It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts on the matter. He had hoped she wouldn't notice.
Hayes : I'm not sure. I didn't intend for it to seem like I was cutting everyone from Seattle out. Especially not you.
Grey : Can I ask how you are? Really.
Hayes : You can ask, but I don't have an answer.
Grey : That pretty much tells me everything I need to know.
He waits a minute, not sure how to respond. To burden her with the truth seems cruel at this point. But it might be easier to tell her this way, without the mounting pressure of expectations hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles.
Grey : Will you ever tell me why you really left?
Hayes : One day, perhaps.
Grey : I'm sorry about my reaction in the lobby. I was in shock. You didn't even let me shower you with the finest whiskey this side of the Atlantic.
He chuckles softly. But he welcomes and appreciates her explanation to his unspoken questions. Her lack of reaction had niggled at the back of his mind in the subsequent days; so unlike her, it stung a little. And confused him to no end.
Hayes : I'm in Ireland. I think I can manage to find a fine bottle of whiskey.
Grey : Still... I'm sorry. I wish we'd had more time. You'll answer when I call or text, right?
Hayes : I don't think I'm ready to live without you in my life. In whatever way that may be, I won't shun that away.
It's the first time he's admitted to himself that he misses that abiding bond they had forged, the bond he convinced himself hadn't changed by her weekly trips to Minnesota.
Grey : So, you won't ghost me?
Confusion settles in, and a few minutes later, amusement.
Hayes : No, I won't ghost you. (I had to Google what that meant.)
Grey : It's ok. You're ancient, remember?
Spurts of laughs erupt from his chest. She doesn't stop there.
Grey : I guess I could email you if you're more comfortable with that. Do people still do that? Or maybe I could write what I need to tell you in a journal and send it to you via carrier pigeon? My mother did use to write in a journal.
Hayes : That's so comical, I forgot to laugh. If I were there, I'd show you how ancient I am.
And perhaps, because of the distance, he feels free to push the boundaries between them and see how flexible they are, knowing that it likely won't lead to disappointment from unfulfilled expectations. Behind the comfort of his screen, he can find some semblance of growth.
Grey : Are you and the boys settled?
Hayes : Aye. We're staying with my ma for a bit. She's over the moon. Me on the other hand... I'm already looking for houses.
Grey : What's she like?
Hayes : A typical mother, I suppose.
Grey : What's that like?
He gets a strange feeling all of a sudden. A familiar feeling of soothing nostalgia. Like perhaps their friendship might not be a casualty of his spinning mind, like things can slowly get back to how they used to be between them. And he only needed to move halfway across the world for it to reappear.
Hayes : Pinching cheeks, hovering mightily, feeding us to the point our pants might burst at the seams, offering up unwanted opinions about my failed life choices. That sort of thing.
Grey : Sounds nice, honestly. That she cares so much.
Hayes : I shouldn't complain. But it's strange being back in the house I grew up in.
Grey : Like the walls are closing in on you? Like your past self is shadowing your every move?
Hayes : Exactly!
Grey : Been there. Still there.
Hayes : Any remedy or wisdom from the esteemed Dr. Grey?
Grey : If you figure it out, let me know.
Her last text doesn't help in the way he intended when he asked the question. But with her answer, he's reminded of another reason he feels a kinship with Meredith Grey. She's never one to quiet him with platitudes.
She must sense his need for levity because a few days later, she texts him a picture of a resected lung with the caption "You were right, I was wrong".
Hayes : Thanks for the laugh :)
And a few minutes later, because he can't help himself, he needles her.
Hayes : Feels good to be reminded that I once bested the illustrious Dr. Meredith Grey.
She doesn't let that stand, just as he knew she wouldn't.
Grey : Emphasis on the word ONCE.
Hayes : Always have to best everyone, don't you? We're not all meant to chase glory like you.
The moment he hits send, he silently curses. He knows her, knows what her worried mind will hone in on before she even responds.
Grey : Do you think I'm a bad mother?
Her immediate response compounds his regret. Even miles away, he can practically hear the quiver in her voice and see the tears in her eyes.
Hayes : No.
Grey : Just no?
Hayes : There is nothing else to say. You are not a bad mother. Period.
Grey : I feel like I am. I'm veering dangerously close into Ellis Grey territory.
Hayes : When you were on the vent, your kids would call every day. Just to keep you apprised of their lives. Just to keep you entertained and to try to rouse you awake. They would sing to you, read to you and have dance parties. Kids don't do any of those things for bad mothers. Does that mean there isn't room for improvement? No. If you feel something is amiss, it's in your power to change it.
Grey : I feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions.
Hayes : Which one is more important to you?
Grey : My family. No question.
Hayes : Then you have your answer.
Grey : Thanks. Did I ever tell you that you're so much wiser than me?
Hayes : It was implied from the start of our relationship.
Grey : I'll let that slide since you gave me good advice. Just this once, though.
It's not until her first full shift without Hayes that she feels the hole his absence has left, that chunk of her heart he took along with him. The first few days are the worst. She keeps expecting to catch him around the corner or across the surgical table from her. The amount of times she's looked over her shoulder hoping to find him behind her, holding out a cup of coffee is embarrassing to admit. Even to herself.
She doesn't know how to live without him, this man who's sectioned off a piece of her heart as his own. This man whose opinion she cherishes the most. This man whose eyes it's so easy to lose herself in and be reminded of everything she missed out on. Eyes drenched in longing, eyes with practically their own language, eyes in which the hope of forever lurks, eyes sprinkled with a look that isn't just a look, but a promise of a future filled with endless "perhaps".
She doesn't know how to keep coming into work knowing he's not there. And that she sent him off without even a promise to write stings the most. When she thinks back to how it ended with a whimper, how broken his voice sounded those last two days, all she's left with is a searing mark on her soul.
So, one day, a week after he's gone, she takes the leap and texts him, the unfinished business between them leaving a sour taste in her mouth. When he answers, her spirits soar. Once they start, it's like they never stopped.
Hayes : Big day tomorrow. How are you feeling?
Grey : Honestly?
Hayes : Always.
Grey : Just happy the end is near. The weekly trips are exhausting. I'm ready to just be home with the kids again. They deserve my best. And... I'm not sure how much more of Hamilton I can take.
Hayes : Must be difficult for your two egos to fit in a room.
She rolls her eyes, but it doesn't escape her notice that she smiles at his quip nonetheless.
Grey : He reminds me so much of my mother.
Hayes : That bad?
Grey : It's like listening to the male version of her. The tantrums when he doesn't get his way, the high-handedness, the need to always be right, the his-way-or-the-highway mentality. It's exhausting.
Hayes : I'm sorry.
It still amazes her how well-tuned he is to her. How he seems to know the innermost workings of her mind. No clichés, just comfort.
When she receives a basket of chocolates with a bottle of tequila that same night, a stirring of something is awakened once more, dormant for far too long, distance a fickle bitch.
The next day, she texts him updates. Constantly.
Grey : Koracick is driving everyone nuts.
Hayes : He once called me Mr. Clean...
Grey : God, he's an ass.
Hayes : You won't get any rebuttal from me.
A few hours later, she's giddy with excitement.
Grey : I convinced Hamilton to let us open up his surgery to everyone as a teaching experience. It will be live-streamed on the hospital portal. You should still have access if you want to watch.
Hayes : Congratulations! What time?
Grey : 12 pm our time. So, night your time? My brain is too tired to figure out the time difference.
Hayes : 8 pm. Can't wait.
Grey : I'll wink at the camera as a hello to you.
And hours later, she does, her cheeks heating up under her mask.
When she gets out of surgery, he's the first person she wants—needs—to talk to.
Hayes : That was amazing. Congratulations!
Grey : It was, wasn't it? I'm not crazy? I can't believe he didn't die on that table. Is that twisted?
Hayes : A little, but you wouldn't be you if your mind didn't go there. If it works, it will change the face of neurology. You were part of that.
Sinking into the plush coziness of her office couch, she has a hard time controlling her breathing.
Grey : My body is shaking. I think I'm crashing from the adrenaline.
Hayes : Go rest. You deserve it.
When she wakes up an hour later from her nap, she's welcomed by a heart stuttering text, words she holds on to like a lifeline.
Hayes : You should be proud. Truly.
And accompanying the text is a screenshot of an email blast his new hospital sent about her surgery. All the way from Ireland.
Grey : It's starting to sink in. The only thing that would have made it better was if you could have seen it in person.
There's no response for a long time. So long in fact, she doesn't think he'll answer. She thinks he might never respond again. But then she has to remind herself that it's practically dawn in Ireland.
Grey : I'm sorry! That's not a guilt trip. I just miss you.
And finally, a response comes from him, the one person she's been foolishly hoping for. From the person who roused the buried parts of her awake after an interminable sleepwalk.
Hayes : I miss you too.
The regrets pile up precipitously. The regret that she didn't try harder to get him to stay, the regret that she didn't give him a reason to stay, the regret that she let him drift away. Into oblivion. Alone.
And suddenly, the distance between lost and found has never felt so wide.