"Meredith, Mer, wake up." Meredith opened her eyes to see Derek's face next to hers. She blinked sleep out of her eyes and pushed her upper-body off of the grass. Her face was wet from it and she knew that there would be grass in her hair. She looked around to see that most of the candles in the house she had made for Derek had blown out from the wind.
"You know, I would have found you if you had gone inside," Derek pointed out as Meredith shifted to lean against him.
"Yeah, I know. I thought about it. And then I sat down and then I just kind of…. Drifted off."
"I wouldn't say drifted. The squirrels were complaining about the noise pollution."
Meredith sat up fully to glare at him. "I'm still mad at you," she said, but he smiled and she found herself lost in his eyes, a smile playing on her face, despite her attempts to quash it . He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling a twig out and throwing it back into the grass.
"So, are you too tired to celebrate?" Derek asked, pulling the bottle of champagne up from the ground next to him, where he had set it to wake her up.
Meredith took it from him and stood up, preparing to pop the cork in answer. Derek stood and put his hands over his and together they forced the bottle open, the foam spraying out over the unlit candles, over the land that would one day be where they built their house.
For someone who doesn't believe in happy endings, I'm getting pretty damn close, Meredith thought. Then she burst out laughing.
"What is it?" Derek murmured against her ear.
"No one will ever believe that I did this, and I didn't think to take pictures. They'll all say the tumor-crazy rubbed off on us and we hallucinated, because Meredith Grey does not do corny and sappy."
"They'll believe it," Derek assured her, moving his lips down her neck. "Because Meredith Grey does do being loved by Derek Shepherd. And the candle house is just a sign of that."
"So you're saying they'll think your crazy has rubbed off on me?" Meredith asked.
"Something like that. Come on, it's cold out here. Let's go inside and celebrate, with warmth. And glasses. And a bed."
"Dirty, dirty man." Meredith said, shaking her head mockingly, but taking his hand to lead him inside. They would gather up the candles in the morning. Come to think of it, she had no idea what the hell she was going to do with all those candles. Maybe they should have a special room for the crazy symbols of their legend. Or something. Or not. Maybe Derek's sappy was rubbing off on her.
/ / / /
Almost six months later, as she hung a framed painting of the space needle on the wall of their as-yet unfurnished living room, she was positive that Derek's sappy had rubbed off on her. She as not sure whether it was a good thing or not, but it was part of what had kept her going through the past months. There were rough spots. She was grateful to him for not insisting that they get married right away. The disaster that had been Cristina's failed wedding was still fresh on the mind of her friends, along with George's divorce, and they were her family.
In fact, her gradual move out of the townhouse and into Derek's trailer had, if anything, brought them closer together. Izzie spent hours helping her pour over paint samples whenever Meredith got bored with them. Alex helped move furniture. Cristina told her when she was getting too starry-eyed, or "McDreamy-eyed" as her friend called it, and George listened to her ramble during nights at Joe's when she wondered if this was really the life she was cut out for.
"Hey," Derek said as he came into the living room.
"Hey," she said, walking over to place one hand on his chest and kiss him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and she would be doing it for the rest of her life. "How was work?"
"Good. Listen, Mer. Mark bought us something. And it's kind of a joke, but I thought I'd show it to you and you could tell me… what you thought."
Meredith furrowed her brow and shrugged. "Sure. What is it?"
"It's in the car. Come with me." Derek took her hand. She never got over the feeling of comfort that came whenever he was holding onto her. They walked down the front steps and onto the grass. The driveway was still being cemented. Derek pulled a large framed picture out of the trunk and turned it around.
Meredith's breath caught and then she burst out laughing. The photo of the ferryboat was taken from the dock nearest to Derek's trailer. On the edge Mark had written For the couple with a thing for ferryboats…when they don't crash.
"Please tell me he didn't realize that this could have, by some people, been seen as insensitive? Those who don't know Mark, particularly those who were never in the dirty mistresses club with him?"
"So you're not…upset?"
Meredith's laughter ceased, and she met Derek's eyes, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "No. I should be, maybe. But it's not like a ferryboat pushed me into the water or…" she looked away, towards their house, "Or made me stay in the water. That was me. And I'm whole, and healed now. And here with you. So no. And besides, I still like ferryboats. We can put it over the stairs." A bird flew over their heads and Meredith listened as it called out, and bit her lip for a second before continuing.
"Derek…It's okay to talk about that day… and my mother… and all the serious things we don't like to talk about. We can talk now. Because I am not going to run. Okay? I know I said last year that I didn't trust you. But now I do. I think I do. No I definitely do. So don't worry, okay?"
Derek tilted her face to look at him. "Okay," he agreed. Then he kissed her. Meredith put her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips. The wind blew through her hair, and she tried to memorize the moment so that she would never, ever forget it.
She did not know yet that she would hold onto that moment hard for the next couple of months.
A/N So, I really am not sure where I'm going with this exactly. I kind of don't know how to write Mer/Der when I'm not having to bring them together. But I have to write, it's a given, so it's a beautiful summer to discover them together. Let's have some fun.