A/N: This grew out of a prompt from MerDer2015, who requested a Christmas story for Meredith, Derek, Zola, and Bailey, "with all the trimmings," including a visit to Santa. Patsy seconded the motion. I wanted to do it, but it didn't fit with my Trailblazing timeline, since it's still spring in DC. So I planned a fluffy one-shot instead. And then it grew … and grew … and grew. So now it's a fluffy several-shot. (Don't worry, it's not going to be one of my monster 40-chapter deals). As you'll see from the chapter setup, we're leading up to Christmas. MerDer2015 and Patsy, you are both such awesome and consistent reviewers, and I hope you like your Christmas present!


Unto Certain Shepherds
Chapter 1: Five Days to Christmas

...

From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy...


Meredith is standing inside the elevator when the doors open; he can't help smiling when he sees her. Her hair is coming down from its ponytail, she has an armful of charts. Ten years slip away, and he can see from her expression that she feels it too.

"Just so we're clear, Dr. Shepherd … I didn't plan this," she says, lifting an eyebrow.

"A likely story, Dr. Grey." He leans in for a kiss, which she obliges.

"It's true," she says innocently. "My son just happens to be in the daycare on the fourth floor."

"Your son." Derek cocks his head. "Last week, when he broke a dozen eggs in the two seconds it took me to get a yogurt out of the refrigerator … he was my son."

"Mm." Her tone is noncommittal. "Well, he's been very good this week."

"According to whom?"

"His daycare teachers." Meredith looks like she's trying not to laugh. "I didn't ask Santa directly, but …"

At the word Santa both of them look at each other.

"Don't jinx it," they mutter at the same time.

The thing is …

This isn't just almost-Christmas.

This is their year.

Last year, Bailey had the croup. Late December was full of steamy humidifiers, endless pacing of the house, and tears. Zola held out heroically until Christmas Eve, when she spiked a fever of 101. Christmas Day was spent alternating cool baths and warm blankets and marathoning Christmas movies until Derek and Meredith could easily recite every one of Charlie Brown's lines.

The year before … Zola had the chicken pox, too uncomfortable to have much of an interest in Christmas beyond sucking on a candy cane while she sat in a lukewarm oatmeal bath.

And the year before that … well, Zola was healthy, but Meredith was pregnant. Pregnant, and floored with morning sickness, and horribly uncomfortable. She did her best, turning only faintly green when Zola requested hot chocolate, and if Derek is honest he still enjoyed every moment, but Zola was still too little to remember, or to understand what was going on. One of the daycare teachers told them later that, when asked how her Christmas was, Zola performed a spirited rendition of Meredith vomiting.

… so there's that.

This year, though? With Zola in kindergarten, counting down the days to Christmas with perfect math and breathless anticipation, and Bailey old enough to shout Santa! whenever they pass a Salvation Army bell-ringer?

This is going to be their year.

Their Christmas.

No jinxing … just Christmas.

Instead of sugarplum visions dancing before their eyes, Derek and Meredith have been spinning out more attainable – though no less cozy – fantasies.

It started with the L.L. Bean catalogue (they follow me, Derek laughed when it arrived), and the adorable children's Christmas pajamas.

Then it was the tree they cut down three weeks ago on a spruce-scented Sunday that felt more like a movie than actual life. ("I love Christmas," Zola sighed during their car ride home, pine needles sticky on her little jacket, and it was perfect.)

The sweet daycare staff arranged for pottery handprints for all the children, to be turned into ornaments, and Bailey's little palm and fingers in green-glazed clay took up residence on the tree.

Then there was the holiday concert at Zola's school. Zola wore an apple-red dress with embroidered candy canes across the smocking at her waist, and stood in the front row ("She didn't get that singing voice from you," Derek teased Meredith when their daughter practiced around the house). The other little children who normally seemed small and sticky and blurry with energy – like their own daughter – were transformed into adorable Christmas sprites too, which made Meredith cry and Derek have a coincidental allergy attack that irritated his own eyes. And then Bailey shrieked his sister's name with glee and the parents around them broke out into laughter.

December is always a busy time for doctors, but careful planning, scheduling – and, to be fair, a certain amount of bribery – meant one or both of them has been there to read a Christmas story or three each night. Meredith poured extra milk for both children, supervised Zola's chewable vitamins, and kept little feet snuggly warm in wool socks. No one was going to get sick. Not this Christmas.

Christmas.

Last night, fresh from her bath, adorable in her flannel Christmas pajamas, Zola proudly crossed out the date in red crayon.

And now, with only five days before Christmas, it's all about –

"Scheduling," Meredith reminds him.

"On it." Derek nods. "I've talked to Klein and Rasul and they're both covering tonight and tomorrow."

Meredith nods.

"And you?"

Meredith pauses to adjust the collar of Bailey's little coat. "Well, I don't exactly have your seniority."

Derek glances at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means I had to resort to strategy."

"Strategy?"

"Well, bribery." Meredith shakes her head as his expression. "Okay, fine … more bribery."

"The true Christmas spirit," Derek laughs. "But the point is, you scheduled."

"The point is … I scheduled," she agrees. "I'm free."

"Free," he repeats.

"Free!" Bailey yells happily as they load him into the jeep.

"Snowman," their son requests volubly as soon as Derek turns over the engine; Bailey quiets a few lines into Frosty.

His phone buzzes two traffic lights from the hospital. Meredith glances at the screen without being asked. Nancy Shepherd.

"It's Nancy," she says.

"Nancy – as in, my sister Nancy?"

"Assuming her last name is Shepherd … then yes, your sister Nancy." Meredith gestures to the car's speakers. She hasn't seen Derek's sister in practically a decade, but the first image of her in the trailer isn't one she's exactly forgotten. "Do you want me to hook it up?"

"Nah." Derek signals for a right turn. "Bailey wants to hear the snowman, so…"

"Right." Meredith waits until the phone has stopped buzzing to set it back in the handset. "Do you think everything is – "

"It's fine," Derek says. "When it's not fine, she texts."

True – Nancy is a doctor too.

"Remember, she texted about Kathleen's biopsy and when Mom had that evaluation." Derek's voice is quiet as if he's talking to himself.

Meredith nods; she recalls those texts, and the followup texts assuring him everything turned out fine.

"Maybe she's calling to wish you a merry Christmas," Meredith suggests.

Derek shakes his head. "My sisters don't call to wish me a merry Christmas."

If it's not a Christmas wish and not bad news – Meredith considers this silently.

"She's probably calling to make me feel guilty about something," Derek sighs, as if he heard her unspoken question. "And I don't want to feel guilty tonight. Not after all that scheduling. I want to feel festive tonight."

"Christmassy," Meredith suggests.

"Exactly. Christmassy." Derek taps the steering wheel for emphasis. "I'll just – call her back later."

He intends to call her back later, but picking an excited Zola up from her last day of school before Christmas break – after all that rescheduling to the point of bribery – is distracting, to say the least.

Their daughter emerges from the double doors in her bright pink puffy jacket with folders of work and an ornament she made herself, beaming. Bailey can't contain himself at the sight, and wriggles so enthusiastically when he sees Zola that his little green coat is left in Meredith's arms and he bolts in just his sweater to his sister.

"You both came!" Zola grins broadly, then looks at her little brother, who is currently being wedged semi-consensually back into his winter coat. "I mean, you three."

"We wouldn't miss it." Derek lifts her up for a kiss. "Are you going to give us a tour?"

Beaming, she takes each parent by the hand, Meredith holding Bailey on her hip, and leads them inside.

"Welcome to the Holiday Art Display!" an enthusiastic young teacher greets them. Meredith is reminded of why they liked the school so much on their first visit; there's a certain … energy there that was irresistible. As a child who used school as an escape, Meredith was particularly sensitive to choosing the right environment. Zola proved their hypothesis correct when she woke each day eager to get to kindergarten.

Now Zola is eager to show off her work and her friends' work, occasionally leaving their sides to giggle with a classmate. The halls are hung with holly, the scent of spruce heavenly in the air – along with all those comforting elementary school smells: heavy construction paper, waxy crayons, tempera paints and glue.

"I made him!" Zola points.

"That is a very realistic reindeer," Derek praises her, admiring the paper-mache construction, featuring a large red pom-pom for a nose. Meredith snaps a picture of Zola next to the animal.

"It's Rudolph," Zola informs them proudly, as Meredith grabs for Bailey's little hand right before it can make contact with the temptingly fuzzy nose.

Then there's fizzy pink punch, Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, and both children are dusted with powdered sugar, Zola's school shoes slapping the wooden floors as she runs around with her friends in the high-ceilinged multipurpose room. Bailey chases them hopefully, and both Meredith and Derek smile when Zola makes an effort to include him.

"She's a good big sister, isn't she?" Meredith smiles up at Derek; he snags a sip of her hot chocolate.

"She is," he agrees.

"Speaking of sisters, Meredith prompts gently, but then they're piling into the car and Zola is requesting Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. She's trying to coach Bailey to learn the harmony, which is funnier every time, so Meredith can't exactly blame Derek for being distracted.

"Five days 'til Christmas," Zola sighs happily. "Just five! Tomorrow we bake cookies, right?"

It's tradition, one they've built with their little family.

Meredith glances into the back seat, thinking about the roll of red-and-green printed cookie dough in the fridge. Tradition comes in many forms.

"Right," she says quickly.

Zola purses her lips. "From a recipe, Mommy."

Derek is considerate enough to muffle his chuckles; she throws him a dirty look, then turns around again to smile at their daughter.

"Sure, Zozo. If that's how you want to do it … Daddy knows a lot of good recipes – " and then she has to cover her mouth to conceal a yelp when Derek frees a hand from the wheel.

They're cleaning up the remains of Thai takeout – Zola's request, which they were only too happy to oblige after her victorious art show – when Meredith sees Derek's hand hover near the phone.

"You want to call Nancy? I can finish up in here." Carefully, Meredith dislodges a sticky half-melted candy cane from the surface of the island.

Derek shakes his head, making noises about bedtime.

"I can get them ready. You'll be off in time to read to them."

He demurs and Meredith doesn't push it.

Zola, who reminds them it's her last day of school before Christmas break, a holiday in and of itself, chooses two books, and so does Bailey.

Tradition dictates that the four of them pile on Meredith and Derek's big bed to read, traveling from the snowy scapes of Randy and the Reindeer to the star-studded Christmas in Space to the realistic-looking spruce-filled woods of The Bravest Christmas Tree.

It's Derek's turn to read when he feels a gentle touch on his arm – Meredith, gesturing toward the toddler in his lap (fast asleep, snoring lightly) and the little girl snuggled between them (just about to join him, long lashes fluttering on her cheeks).

He just watches them for a moment – they're so cute in their red and green flannel pajamas, the scent of peppermint toothpaste completing the sensory experience. He doesn't take things for granted – doctors can't do that, surgeons certainly can't do that – but he can't help thinking that this moment … is pretty perfect.

This is our year. Our Christmas.

They carry the children to bed, Zola waking just enough to give them good night kisses and remind them to tell Santa Claus how good she was.

Derek closes the door gently behind them after Meredith illuminates the star-shaped nightlight. "I'm flattered that she thinks I have a direct line to Santa Claus," he admits.

"Don't you?"

Derek smiles. "Does this mean you're caving on taking them to see Santa?"

"I'm not caving," she says as he flops onto the couch and she joins him, resting her cheek against the softness of his sweater. "I was never opposed to it, not really. It's just … we haven't done it before."

"We didn't want to give Santa chicken pox," Derek agrees.

"Or croup," Meredith adds.

"Right. And now …"

"Well, now it's just a little weird," Meredith admits. "I mean … we tell our daughter that if she sits on a strange old man's lap in front of a bunch of people dressed as elves, he'll buy her presents?"

Derek frowns. "When you put it like that…"

"Sorry." Meredith rests a hand on his chest. "I guess it's different, you know, if you believe."

"And she believes."

"And she believes." Meredith pauses, thinking of Zola's excited little face. "I love it that she believes," she adds softly.

"Really?"

"Really."

She doesn't have to finish the thought. Believing makes you lucky.

"Derek…"

"Yeah?"

"The kids are asleep … we're not at work …. " Meredith sits up.

Derek looks interested.

"Call your sister, Derek."

Now he looks disappointed, and she has to hide a smile.

"Why?" he protests, and for a moment she gets a clear vision of a little boy with a mop of messy dark hair complaining at being denied a cookie.

"Because I can tell it's bothering you," she says simply.

"Fine." He makes a face. "But I'm going to need some kind of reward."

"We don't bribe," she reminds him. "I mean, except for shifts at the hospital. Then we bribe."

He looks so sad it almost makes her laugh. "Okay, you win," she concedes. "Call your sister, get it over with … and I'll make it worth your while."

Derek's eyebrows rise hopefully. "How worth my while?" he asks.

"Don't push it." Meredith stands up with a grin, heading for the kitchen. "Just make that call, and I'll … slip into something more comfortable."

"Okay, I realize this isn't exactly the more comfortable you expected me to slip into," Meredith admits, glancing down at her oversized Harvard sweatshirt. "But if you just give me – Derek?"

He looks up. "Hm?"

Meredith's brows knit, concerned by his distraction. "What did your sister say?"

"She, uh, she said that my mother sold the house."

Meredith's eyes widen.

"I had no idea."

She rests a hand on his.

"And the movers are coming on the 28th." He shakes his head. "The 28th," he repeats.

"That's … soon," Meredith says tentatively.

"Yeah." Derek glances at the phone in his other hand. "I didn't even know she was planning to sell it. I mean, she's talked about it over the years – but not this seriously."

Meredith nods sympathetically.

"So it's her last Christmas there." Derek shakes his head ruefully. "I spent every Christmas of my life in that house before I moved out here. My mother was actually pregnant with me when they bought the place. And rumor has it that if my father hadn't talked her out of going to the hospital for just a little twinge, I would have been born in that house too."

Meredith can't help smiling at that.

"Even when we moved out, you know, went to college and got married, and when my sisters had their kids, everyone still came home for Christmas. My mother loved hosting. Even after we were gone, she'd get a twelve-foot tree and my brother-in-law would…" Derek's voice trails off.

He looks almost embarrassed; Meredith gives him an encouraging nod.

"It's too much room for her alone, it has been for years," he admits. "But selling it, right after Christmas…"

He pauses.

"I guess I always thought you'd see the house," he says quietly. "That the kids would too, that we'd go back, you know, it's just that things have been … anyway. Maybe the new owners will let us stop by sometime, if we're on the east coast." He pauses again, looking worried. "Unless they're planning to tear it down. It's not in the best shape."

"Derek…"

"My mother meant to get the porch refinished, and the shutters have seen better days."

"Derek."

"And that was years ago. I haven't seen the house in … ten years," Derek says slowly. "Ten years."

"Derek."

"Anyway, that was all a long time ago – Mer," his face creases with confusion when he finally sees her, "what are you doing?"

She looks up from her laptop.

"Checking flights to Connecticut."

"Checking flights to – what?" He sinks down beside her. "Really?"

She nods.

He looks hopeful, then worried.

"But it's Christmas …

"It's still Christmas in Connecticut."

"Tradition…"

"Our tradition is to be together. We're going to be together."

He smiles faintly. "This was supposed to be our year."

"It's our year," Meredith assures him. "It can be our year in Connecticut."

The look on his face confirms her decision. Her hand finds Derek and both squeeze at the same time.

"You … are something else," he says quietly.

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

"It was definitely a compliment." He pauses. "But if you're looking for constructive criticism…"

She laughs in spite of herself. "Don't," she warns him.

"You could actually slip into something more comfortable…"

"Derek!" She reaches out to swat him but he captures her hand and uses it to pull her forward into his arms. It's nice enough, especially after he starts kissing her, that she can't actually remember why she wanted to swat him in the first place.

damn, he's good.

(It's their Christmas, after all.)


To be continued, if you want. When they wake up, it will only be four days until Christmas! Chapters two and three are both in the works, so please review and let me know what you think - and whether you want me to keep going! (And if you like the story, thank MerDer2015 and Patsy for inspiring it.)

Title, of course, from God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen (English traditional Christmas carol). I've always wanted to write a Shepherd-pun Christmas story!