A/N: So here's the deal. This takes place more of less in lieu of 11x16. More notes after the story. I hope you'll give it a try!

*If you're re-reading*, please note that certain elements/dialogue have been revised to reflect the children's ages. If you're reading for the first time, you're all set. Enjoy!

.. Trailblazing ..

When I was in the third grade, my reading teacher, Mrs. Thorpe, taught us about homophones. She told us that two different words can sound exactly the same, but still mean different things: like the pair that sticks together, and the pear you eat instead of an apple. Or the plain that means no frills, and the plane you board to go somewhere else. …anywhere else.

"Mommy, did you hear me?" Zola tugs on her sleeve.

Hear, that's another example. The one that means you're listening, not the one that means where you are right now.

"I heard you, sweetie." Meredith strokes her daughter's cheek. "I know you dropped the blue crayon, but we can't take off our seatbelts to pick it up right now."

"Why not?"

"That's the rule, to keep us safe."

"But we're not moving…"

Meredith smiles.

"Actually, we're moving so fast we can't even feel it. And if we take off our seatbelt too soon … it could be bumpy!" and she tickles her daughter, making her squeal.

"Here." She removes an extra crayon from the pack. "How about red instead?"

Zola considers it. "Okay." She examines the crayon from every angle and then returns to the blank page of her sketchbook.

In some parts of the world, the word marry, as in deciding to share your life with someone, sounds just like the word merry, as in, having a grand old time. It came as no surprise to me that Boston wasn't one of those places. Because marry and merry? That would be a homophone that wouldn't make much sense to me. Funny, though … there's only one way to hear the word "wife,", or the word "husband."

Meredith hasn't thought about Addison in years.

It was only months that they lived in the same city. If she thinks of her now, it's casually – she sent a gift when Bailey was born, which was kind, and Meredith sent a note in return.

But she thought about Addison in the airport. Just for a moment, just for a second, but – she thought about her. And then she hefted her bag higher on her shoulder, patted Bailey in his carrier on her chest and tightened her hold on Zola's little hand.

"Is it time to go?" Zola asked. "Mommy, is it time?"

There's also bale, a big block of hay to feed the kind of cute farm animals in children's board books. And then there's bail, the price you pay to get out of the consequences of something wrong that you did.

Bailey wakes up, fussing, and she soothes him.

"I know, baby, I know you're hungry."

"Why is he crying?"

"Because he's hungry." She smiles at Zola. "And tired. So even though he has some words to talk to us now, he can't always find then when he's hungry and tired … so he cries instead."

"Oh." Zola thinks about this. "I'm hungry too," she says.

"See, like that." Meredith uses her free hand to root in the diaper bag for one of those little packages of snacks that Zola likes.

Then she uses her teeth to open it. Resourceful, that's what she has to be, with the three of them traveling together. Two of them to one of her – tricky odds.

Zola is chewing a goldfish cracker contemplatively. "Are you feeding him now?"

"I sure am."

Meredith strokes one of Bailey's soft cheeks with the back of her finger, encouraging him to drink. Cradled in her arms like this, he feels almost like his infant self.

"Mommy." Zola pauses, goldfish halfway to her pursed lips. "Why is that lady staring?"

Meredith glances up to see an older woman with her head turned toward her family. She's blushing at Zola's words, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, dear," the woman says. "I didn't mean to stare."

"That's fine." Meredith frees a hand to stroke Zola's head. "This one just likes to look out for us."

"To be honest … I was admiring you."

Meredith can't help laughing a little at that. Bailey spilled milk on her miles back and Zola dumped half her glass of apple juice onto the seat. There are cracker crumbs in her hair – which hasn't been brushed since this morning, or …

Okay, since last night.

"Really," Meredith says doubtfully. As if to prove her point, Zola wriggles low in her chair to kick the seat in front of her.

"I was a single mother before it was fashionable," the woman smiles. "And traveling alone … that was always the hardest."

A single mother.

Meredith smiles weakly. Is that what she is?

She did wake up alone, as she has every night since he left. She put both children to bed and woke with Bailey whenever he needed her.

When you're a mother, you do things you wouldn't ordinarily do. (That's another one. Do, like carry something out. Due: your time's up.) There are so many homophones in the English language. So many that it doesn't really seem like a coincidence. No … it's like we want to confuse each other or something. Or maybe we just want to know there's another meaning out there, if we don't like the first one. We want our vocabularies to be as flexible as we are. When you can choose what something means … then you're really free.

Planes, trains, and automobiles. Well, just automobiles; the stroller fills up the trunk and she holds both children close, pointing out the few things she recognizes to a curious Zola.

"Right here is great," she tells the driver, hoping it might be true.

Inside it's all glass and the clack-clack of people hurrying to do important work; she leaves the stroller with security, lifts Bailey into her arms, and holds Zola's hand for the whole elevator ride. A friendly receptionist leads her to the office, opening the door for her, since both Meredith's hands are full with her children.

They both look up when the door opens.

He's tired, that's her first thought. He hasn't been sleeping well.

And as for ... her? She has long, shining hair, and there's intent in her eyes. This woman has known Derek only a few months, that's Meredith's second thought: she doesn't even know him. She can't possibly tell from the color of his eyes how much sleep he got last night, or what it means that the collar of his dress shirt is slightly limp on the right side. (He hates stays; he pulls them out before he puts his shirts away. They're too stiff, he always says, but he'll get distracted by his wife or his children or a page and only take one of them out.)

"Meredith?" Derek turns to her with amazement. "What – what are you doing here?"

Zola releases her mother's hand to run across the room and jump into his arms, and for a moment Meredith just watches how excited they are to see each other. "Daddy, I missed you!"

"I missed you so much, Zo." He kisses her enough times to make her squeal with laughter. "I missed all of you." His voice is rough with emotion when he crosses the few steps between them, reaching out to stroke Bailey's sleeping face. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, then lightly touches Meredith's hair.

"Meredith." His eyes are soft, confused. "This is … a surprise."

She just looks at him.

"It's a wonderful surprise," he corrects hastily. "This is wonderful surprise. But – I had no idea you were coming. You didn't tell me, and I was planning to fly home tomorrow." He pauses, a look of concern flashing across his face. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

Yes, and yes. But not the somethings you mean.

She just shakes her head.

"So you're just … here." He smiles at her. "I didn't know you were coming," he repeats.

"Well … I didn't tell you."

"No, you didn't tell me. I know. That's why I had no idea."

Bailey takes a fistful of his mother's hair, apparently losing patience with his parents' circular conversation. She detaches his fingers gently; when she looks up again Derek is staring at her, head cocked slightly, eyes curious and gentle. It's such a familiar stance.

"Meredith," he asks again, "what are you doing here?"

Road is another one. Rode, the past tense of sitting in a car in beltway traffic, and road, the path you take. If you're married? It's the path you take together. Now trail … trail isn't a homophone. So maybe that's why it took me a while to really understand what it meant. I thought it had to mean you were following behind, with no agency of your own. Getting dragged, like a toddler's blankie or a loose thread on the cuff of an old pair of jeans. Or … well, my father. But the thing is … I'm not my father.

"You're here, Derek."

"I'm here," he agrees. "But you said-"

"So we're here too," she continues calmly, speaking over his last few words. "We don't want to be where you're not anymore."

Because trail has another meaning too. A trail is also a path – a way to go. Trails take work. Trails get blazed. A trail can lead you from where you are to where you want to be. When you fall off that trail … when your family falls of that trail … well, it sucks.

With that, she turns to the brunette, giving her a friendly smile and stretching out a hand to her. "Hi. I'm Meredith. And you must be the woman who answered my husband's phone."

…so who says a trailing spouse can't be the one who leads us back?

And that's it. I wanted to give Meredith a chance to unite the family - and create an alternate second half of Season 11 where all four of them are together in DC. I have to be honest, I'm fairly new to writing and reading MerDer so I'm sure someone else has made use of that famous line before, but I wanted to use it here as a symbol of Meredith taking her life, and marriage, back. Double bonus: away from their comfort zones, both of them having to work to fix things, they're on equal footing. Triple bonus: Derek isn't in Seattle so he doesn't get hit by a truck, thank you very much. You can read this as a one-shot. Or ... I can continue it and build a new rest of the eleventh season in DC. Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love to know what you think!