A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. You guys are all so sweet. I've decided to update two times a week, once on Saturday and once on Wednesday, so they are spread out evenly. Well, this update is skipping a bit of time to the point when Meredith is 5 and Derek should be 8, but Derek is only really 2 and a half years older, so don't worry, it'll work out in the end. I also realise now I'm making Ellis out to be a complete bitch, I didn't really intend for her to be that bad but oh well…

Disclaimer: I don't know if I need to do this every update, but it's pretty obvious I don't own Grey's Anatomy or any of its characters, right?

Ellis sighed, turning her back to her husband. She found herself unable to comprehend why he was acting so turbulent towards her. It wasn't as if she hadn't done some things that were questionable; she just never expected Thatcher to actually grow some balls and get into an argument with her.

She was legendary at her arguments, much alike her surgical skills. You didn't have to ask far to realise that. It was well known that if you tried to reschedule one of Ellis' slots in the OR, you would not succeed, and Ellis prided herself in maintaining that superiority over her colleagues. It left her few friends at work in the process, but with the few she had, namely Richard Webber, she was content.

"Are you not denying that you have spent three nights last week on call?" he demanded, and, although his question was distinctly rhetorical, he still expected some answer from his wife.

"No, of course not. I wouldn't have a reason to lie about something like that." She tried to remain composed but she was growing irritated at his extremely dumb reasons for picking a fight, rather than going straight for the goldmine. She was, of course, referring to her affair with Richard. It didn't take a genius to grasp that they were more than just friends, even if they both had other halves. Apparently, Thatcher prided himself on being an idiot.

"Is that all you have to say about it?" he further questioned, wondering if she even caught onto the point he was trying to make.

She exhaled deeply again, rolling her eyes, and said, "What do you want me to say about it Thatcher? Do you want me to beg for forgiveness for actually having a job?"

"I have a job as well, you know?" he shouted, his tone much louder and harsh than his wife's. He hated it when Ellis claimed he was unemployed, even though he was at the top of his game, collecting valuable data every day that would change the way that medicine and human genetics would be looked at.

"Oh, yes don't let me forget. You have your little hobby of collecting research," she said through gritted teeth, "I could do that in my sleep Thatcher. I'm talking about a worthwhile profession, not your poxy excuse of an attempt."

He gasped in rage, unable to control what came out of his mouth next, "So you call a worthwhile profession screwing Dr Webber at every chance available?" He took a step back, not sure how he had actually confronted his wife with the information he had picked up on since their first year of marriage. Thatcher was so used to pretending everything was okay with his marriage, for the sake of Meredith, for the sake of his and Ellis' status' and for the sake of not being divorced.

Ellis looked slightly impressed at her husband, wondering that if he had been so forward a few years earlier she perhaps wouldn't have had an affair. He was no way near as much as a man as Richard; he was someone that could soothe her aches and pains with only his voice, and a few more unorthodox methods. She knew Thatcher could never give her the same pleasure as Richard, she had hinted this to him several times but to her dismay he ignored her efforts. Therefore, she congratulated him in a sarcastic tone, "Well done Thatcher. You finally figured it out. Gold star; really, I mean it."

He looked coldly at her, angry at her lack of an attempt to cover up her actions and willingly admitting the harsh truth that had driven an immediate wedge between the two. "So, you're not even sorry?" he whimpered.

"If you were more of a man," she pondered out loud, "maybe I would have some empathy towards you, but let's be honest Thatcher; it's been going on six years. It doesn't take a fool to guess what had been happening, and, unless you smoked way too much pot in the sixties and actually have lost half your brain cells, that means you have been holding back. And I cannot sympathise towards a coward."

Thatcher shrugged his shoulders, pacing between the small gap between the foot of the stairs and the arched entrance to the living room. He was dumbfounded to how his wife – he didn't even know if he wanted to call her that anymore – could be so cold-hearted. He thought about poor Meredith, who, at five, could understand quite a few of the phrases being used by her mother and himself. Although she was tucked away in bed and had been down for at least half an hour, he guessed that his yelling would have most likely woken her up, and worried about her overhearing their argument. He looked over to his wife questionably, asking, "Do you, do you think Meredith's up?"

She rolled her eyes, chuckling slightly, before replying, "Of course she'd be up. It's only half six, and she's five years old. What five year old goes to bed at half six?"

Her husband had to nod at that fact, agreeing with her, "Yes, you're right."

"And even if she was asleep, I'm sure your yelling would've woken her up well enough."

She didn't need to remind him that he had not considered how everything impacted Meredith. He knew they were headed for divorce, and, although he was sure he loved her more, Ellis would surely win custody and banish Thatcher from ever seeing his favourite girl in the whole world. She was a cold bitch in that sense. He tried to make up for this, suggesting, "I should take her over to the Shepherd's. I'm sure they wouldn't mind keeping an eye on her until we figure everything out."

Ellis didn't bother to reply, just shrugging nonchalantly.

Thatcher raced up the steps and turned to face Meredith's door. He considered knocking politely, but he knew this was a wasted scheme, as Meredith would surely attempt to feign being asleep. He couldn't help but hesitate as his hand grasped the handle, wondering the outcome of the fight he would have with Ellis. He pushed the door open to find Meredith laying the wrong way on her pink bed, with her pillow tightly wound around her head. Thatcher's heart sunk at that moment, wanting nothing more than to hold her and assure her that everything would be okay, but he couldn't. He had to divorce Ellis. Now that Richard had been brought up, it had become inevitable, and they both knew it.

"Meredith," he said, hoping that his voice sounded soothing enough to comfort her, "Meredith, honey. It's okay."

"No, it's not," she mumbled, turning away from her father, "You and mommy were fighting and that's not good."

Her words tugged on his heart strings and he smiled lightly at her intelligence and obvious sense of right of wrong. How ironically unlike her mother she was. He reached out to pat her on her back, before continuing, "I'm so sorry darling. It, uh, it's going to be okay though. We just thought you might get more sleep over at the Shepherd's because mommy and daddy have lots to discuss tonight."

Meredith let out a simple moan, before allowing her father to pull her off of her bed and carry her out of her room, down the stairs and across the road to the Shepherd house, where he eventually let her stand up on her own. She was standing in no more than her deep blue vest and matching shorts, even though, in April, it was undoubtedly freezing in the open air. He gave her a reassuring smile that he hoped she caught before knocking on the wooden door.

The door creaked open, the occupant uneasy about opening the door, which led Thatcher to guess that it was one of the children answering the door and not their jolly mother or caring father. A tiny male voice questioned, "Mr Grey?"

Thatcher answered almost immediately, "Derek! It's good to see you. Are your parents home?"

Derek opened the door wider for the man and his daughter who were no strangers to their home. He had a concerned look in his deep blue eyes as he looked from Thatcher to Meredith, before giving an answer. "Um, no, not at the moment. Sorry. Nancy's babysitting us though. Is there anything we can help you with?"

Thatcher let out a sigh and shook his head, "No, I was going to ask if you could, uh, perhaps take Meredith for the night. But, uh, no, I mean don't worry about it." He put his hand on Meredith's shoulder and forced her to turn around and started to lead them both down the Shepherd's porch and back to their own home, but the same little voice called out behind them.

"It's no trouble Mr Grey." Thatcher spun round, his eyes full of hope, and Derek continued, "Meredith's a good girl, I mean. I'm sure she wouldn't cause any hassle. Nancy wouldn't mind as well," he explained, before smirking to himself. "She might have to subject herself to a makeover though, and I can't promise anything good."

Thatcher smirked slightly and began to thank Derek, but Meredith interrupted him by running back up the steps and into the Shepherd house. He laughed, and concluded, "Thank you ever so much, and if you have any problems, you have our number, right?"

Derek nodded, closing the door perhaps a little too fast on his neighbour, and then called out to his eldest sister, "Nancy! Meredith's here; you're looking after her."

Nancy Shepherd emerged at the top of the stairs, confused, and declared, "I'm not looking after anyone else. You five are bad enough. Look after her yourself, you idiot." She gave a fake smile to her brother before skipping back to her bedroom, most likely to paint her nails or stare obsessively over a poster of a teenage boy group. Whatever she was doing, he could not understand at all.

Derek found himself whining, "But Mark's only just got back and I want to hang with him, not some five year old." He knew his complaining would fall on empty ears but he couldn't stop from expressing his discontent over the way Thatcher Grey had basically forced Meredith onto them.

He walked into the living room which he saw Meredith run into, and found himself groaning as he heard her infant giggles and Mark's annoyed voice saying, "Who the hell let the baby into my space?" Meredith was sat on the couch next to Mark and was trying to see what he was reading over his shoulder, which Mark was finding aggravating to say the least. Her infant hands were pulling herself up on the sofa until she was taller than Mark, which was a strange site, seeing as she was such a tiny thing, and she began to prod his bony arms. Derek had to try to stifle his laughter at the sight of Mark swatting Meredith away like a fly, and found solace in the new technique that he had acquired to annoy Mark.