A/N: Thank you so much for all the great reviews on this story! I'm loving extending that Christmassy goodness into grey January (or rather making it Grey January? Ha). This one goes out to Patient Patsy, queen of the regular reviewers. It's an extra long, double-wide, juicy chapter and I hope you enjoy it!


Unto Certain Shepherds
Chapter 7: Two Days to Christmas, Part II

...


"What do you think, Mommy?"

Visible puffs of cold air accompany Zola's words.

Meredith looks at her daughter's hopeful eyes, her wide smile, and her very mittened hands gesturing toward a very bedecked snowman.

"You did a great job," Meredith says truthfully, admiring the bright green hat and thick carrot nose. "He's perfect."

"It's a she," Zola corrects. "See?"

Meredith has no idea where she's pointing, and finds herself having to hide a laugh when Derek raises a slightly snowy eyebrow.

"Sorry, snow woman," Meredith corrects. "She is perfect. And she is made of snow … but you're not. Aren't you cold, Zozo?"

"Nope," Zola says serenely, taking a step back in her oversized boots to study her snowman.

Sorry – snow woman.

"Nope," Bailey repeats happily, fixing Meredith with a firm look. Then he wraps his little arms around himself. "Too cold!" he bellows.

Derek scoops him up. "Way to play both sides, buddy." He holds him close for warmth. "Hey, Zozo, I think it's time for all non-snowpeople to come inside and warm up."

"Why?" Zola turns a disappointed face to her father.

"So your toes don't fall off."

"Why would my toes fall off?" Zola looks alarmed, turning from Derek to Meredith.

"What Daddy means," Meredith corrects, shaking her head at him, amused, "is that your toes would get really cold, and then …"

"And then what?"

"And then it would hurt." Meredith holds out a hand to her daughter. "Come inside, sweetie, and we can talk about the technicalities of frostbite later."

"But I love playing in the snow," Zola protests, almost managing the whole sentence without her teeth chattering. Now that the aerobic activity of building her snowman –

snow woman

has ended, she's apparently feeling the chill.

Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

"You know what, Zozo?" Derek glances toward the chill-frosted windows of his childhood home. "If I know Grandma, she's already made some hot chocolate for us."

No more needs to be said.

Carolyn has, indeed, made hot chocolate – Derek smells it the moment they step over the threshold into the mudroom, stamping their feet to get the snow off.

(Zola participates delightedly, Bailey a bit too enthusiastically).

Inside it's warm, almost steamy, and his cheeks and nose sting as they warm up. Together he and Meredith take on the Herculean of unwinding, unwrapping, and un-winterizing two wriggly warm little bodies. Zola helps a little, though she keeps turning toward the source of the glorious chocolatey smell and sighing with pleasure. Bailey has to be more or less restrained and kicks off one of his socks before Derek can stop him, then shrieks when his little toes come into contact with some melting ice.

But before long, and without too many tears, they are warm and dry and sitting at the old scuffed wooden table where Derek spent so many meals as a child.

"More," Bailey says immediately, taking a careful sip of the small amount of cooled hot chocolate in his sippy cup.

"You haven't finished what you have, sweetie," Meredith points out.

Bailey bangs his sippy cup for emphasis. "More!"

"He just means he likes it," Zola says logically. She spoons out a marshmallow. "Grandma – this is so super duper yummy."

"That is high praise."

"It's even better than deep dish pizza," Zola says, sounding thoughtful.

"Deep dish pizza? Oh, my." Carolyn smiles at her granddaughter, then turns to Derek with a raised eyebrow. "What have you been feeding this child?"

"It's 'cause we had to live in Chicago," Zola explains.

"For one night," Derek amends quickly.

"Yeah, one night." Slowly, lovingly, Zola slurps the last of her mostly-melted marshmallow. "I like Florida better," she says.

"You certainly had quite the tour coming here," Carolyn observes.

"Uh-huh." Carefully, Zola spoons out another mouthful of hot chocolate, then beams at her grandmother. "But so far I like Connecticut best of all."

Derek sees his mother's eyes go misty, but his daughter is all business after her characteristic sweetness.

"Can I have another marshmallow?" she asks. "Please?"

Carolyn glances to Meredith and Derek for sign-off. "One more," Meredith concedes. "It's Christmas, after all."

Derek looks from their mugs of hot chocolate – not matching, never matching, all of them Christmas-y in some way and most of them made by Shepherd children over the years – to the mounting snow outside the window and the oversized wreath he can see through the glass of the back door window.

"It's definitely Christmas," he agrees.

Carolyn looks to Derek and Meredith for approval as she starts to talk – they both nod, recognizing where she's going.

"Zola, and Bailey," Carolyn begins, "we were thinking that after you're all dried off and warmed up, we'd head outside again –"

"And build another snowman?" Zola asks eagerly.

"No, this time we'll head to the shopping center, where you can get some clothes, since I know yours are still at the airport…"

"Oh." Zola seems to be working hard to keep her little face in a polite smile. "Okay," she says warily.

" … and while we're there, we can see Santa," his mother says casually.

Zola's eyes widen. "Santa? The real Santa?"

Derek feels Meredith's small shoeless foot kicking him under the table.

"The real Santa," Carolyn confirms smoothly, "of course. I take all my grandchildren there to see him, and now that you and your brother are here, Grandma would love to bring you to see Santa too."

While Meredith wears a groove in Derek's shin, Zola bounces excitedly in her seat.

"Can I go?" She turns her parents, eyes wide and impossibly long-lashed.

"And your mother and father too, of course, darling." Carolyn smiles at Zola.

"Please?" Zola clasps her hands together and, when Derek and Meredith nod slowly in unison, Zola shrieks with joy.

She jumps off her chair and throws her arms impulsively around her grandmother. Bailey isn't quite sure what's happening, but trusts his big sister enough to howl gleefully in harmony. Derek watches his mother hug Zola back, looking a little misty-eyed again, and he finds his own eyes have a bit of mist as well.

Must be the cold, dry New England air.

Getting the children dressed to go see Santa when their luggage is still in abeyance – Derek has been checking regularly – is rather complicated.

In the Shepherds' case, it means going back through the boxes of clothes in the basement.

With a quick detour on the way, in the living room, when Zola spots a baby picture of Derek.

"Look how teeny you are, Daddy," she beams.

Carolyn looks fondly at the picture. "That was right after we moved into this house," she tells Zola.

"You lived here when you were a baby?"

Derek nods. "We moved here right before I was born. This is the only house I lived in until I went to college."

"Wow." Zola takes it in.

Carolyn's gaze is sentimental. "It seems like just yesterday that you five were running around, always underfoot, playing catch in the house and hide and seek …. Well. It was a long time ago."

Derek rests a hand on Zola's head. "Not that long ago," he tells his mother quietly. "I remember hiding under that chair." He points to the wing chair his father always sat in when the family gathered.

Together, the Shepherds squint at the tiny space.

"Not for long," Derek clarifies. "We had some good spots in here. Behind the china cabinet – well, until Mom caught wind and chased us around with the – "

"Derek," Carolyn frowns.

" – broom," he continues faintly.

Derek sees Meredith fighting a smile.

"And in the drapes." He points to the heavy velvet-ish curtains, patchy in places, protecting the living room from the glaring wintry sun. "We'd hide in there and then we'd come out dusty and Mom would send us back in … to dust."

"Don't listen to a word he says," Carolyn advises Meredith, shaking her head, "you'd think I had them doing chores all the time."

"She didn't," Derek assures Meredith. "I'm not saying she didn't want us to…"

Carolyn shakes her head but can't seem to help smiling. "Do you want to find clothes for today, son, or not?" she asks.

He does.

So down to the basement they go.

Derek stands back, hands on hips, surveying the neatly labeled containers.

"Mom, I can't believe how much you still have."

"I give plenty away," Carolyn points out, a little defensively, "but for so long my girls kept having more babies, and someone always fit into everything. And now that Cassie's pregnant – "

"Cassie's pregnant?" Derek stares, the image of his teenaged niece emblazoned in his mind. He can call Cassie to mind easily – she was obsessed with field hockey, and liked to French braid her little sisters' and cousins' hair. Pregnant?

"She's 26," Carolyn says mildly, "and she was married last year."

Derek blinks. Married? But –

"They didn't have a wedding," she says quickly. "Not a real one; a quick civil ceremony and then they backpacked in Asia for three months."

Derek can tell from his mother's tone of voice that she considers this both unorthodox and also rather appealing.

"Pregnant," he repeats. "Cassie."

"It's been a while," his mother says gently. "She'll be here for Christmas, and her husband too, you can meet him. He's a sweetheart."

"Good. Okay." Derek nods slowly, taking in the new information. With fourteen nieces and nephews, keeping up with them would be another full time job. Still, he just assumed he'd know about big things.

"So Cassie's going to have a baby," he repeats.

His mother nods.

"And you're saving this … California Raisins sweatshirt for the baby?"

Carolyn looks like she's stifling laughter; Meredith is doing a slightly better – but not terrific – job of it herself.

The sweatshirt is bright green with three giant, wrinkled, beaming grapes, all wearing oversized sunglasses.

"You know I don't follow all these … fashion trends," his mother says with dignity.

"Fashion trends," Derek repeats, amused, "this is more like a piece of history. Do you have one with Dewey Defeats Truman?"

"Very amusing." Carolyn shakes her head, smiling, then turns to Meredith. "You see what happens, you start out with a sweet little baby boy and before long …"

"Before long!" Derek laughs in spite of himself. "That's flattering, Mom, but my babyhood was half a century ago."

"Don't remind me," Carolyn says primly. "Now. This should fit Bailey – "

"Mine," Bailey announces happily, grabbing for the sweatshirt.

"-and for Zola, maybe this one?" Carolyn pulls out a neon pink dress with a turquoise net tutu for a skirt.

"Ooh!" Zola's eyes brighten.

"This was one of your cousin Cassie's favorites," Carolyn says fondly.

"Twenty years ago," Derek supplies helpfully and his mother frowns at him in such a way that Derek is fairly certain, were there a newspaper nearby, he would have ended up swatted with it.

"It's really pretty," Zola says, beaming. "Grandma, you have a lot of pink stuff."

"I have a lot of daughters and granddaughters," Carolyn tells her with a smile. "Aren't I lucky?"

"Ready?"

His mother's voice echoes up the long staircase.

Derek turns to Meredith. "Are we ready?"

"Well … that depends. Our children look like they time-traveled here from 1993, and I'm wearing what I'm pretty sure is your baseball uniform from sixth grade."

"Seventh grade," Derek says with dignity, "and it's a good color for you."

"It's grey."

"Like I said."

Meredith can't seem to hide a smile. The shirt does look good on her, whether she wants to admit it or not – it's been washed over the last four decades to heathered vintage softness and clings to her in all the right places … certainly not the way he recalls it fitting. But he may never think of it the same way again.

"At least I had a spare pair of jeans," she notes ruefully, "so I didn't end up with parachute pants."

"Don't say that too loudly … my mother probably has some in the basement."

Meredith's smile-hiding is getting even worse.

"What?" he asks suspiciously, glancing down at his own outfit. He threw his still-damp jeans into the dryer, thankfully, and his mother dug up a sweatshirt that fits fine, even if it smells a bit like the lavender sachets she'd stuff into the old storage boxes.

"Nothing," Meredith assures him. "What exactly are the … West Weatherford Geese?"

"My sister's lacrosse team," Derek says with dignity.

"Ah. I guess that explains why it says Honk if you love LAX on the back," Meredith says thoughtfully, then has to duck out of the way when Derek makes a grab for her.

"Dogpile!" Zola cries happily when Derek tackles her mother to the narrow bed they all shared last night.

Running a bit carefully in her pink and aqua tutu, she launches herself onto the bed too. Bailey is last to join them, his matching green sweatshirt and leggings a little long but mostly fitting.

"Now we're ready," Derek announces as the four of them descend the stairs, a little breathless and rumpled.

"Don't you look nice," his mother murmurs. When Derek gets to the bottom of the staircase, she takes him aside. "Our first stop should probably be clothes, then?"

"Probably," he agrees.

And then it's a systematic process of bundling everyone, from children to adults, into layer after layer to protect against the winter chill.

"It takes a long time to get ready here," Zola observes as Meredith winds a scarf around her neck.

She's not wrong.

Finally, they're all bundled and trekking in boots across the snow-covered flagstones that lead to the large driveway. "The boys dug me out," his mother says with appreciation.

"I'll drive," Derek offers, sizing up the four-wheel drive sitting in front of them, grateful that his mother has moved on from his childhood of station wagons with chains on the tires.

"You remember how to drive in the snow?"

"Sure. It's like riding a bicycle … in the snow." Derek opens the door, then turns back to Meredith. "What about …"

"Oh, Nancy put carseats in the back already," Carolyn says airily. "Well. A carseat for Bailey and a booster for Zola. Will that work?"

"… that will work," Derek says faintly. "You really do think of everything."

"Not my first time." His mother opens the passenger side. "You sit in the front seat, dear," she directs Meredith.

"Oh, no, that's fine," Meredith says quickly. "I can sit between the kids – you sit in front."

"Now, you get to see them all the time. I have to soak up this visit," his mother counters, smiling. "You sit in front and I'll sit between them."

Derek sees Meredith's uncertainty. The middle seat between the carseat and booster looks … hard to get to, from here, and rather narrow. His mother is not particularly narrow – nor young – but somehow without any fuss at all she's in the car, between the seats, with a satisfied expression.

"See?"

"I want to sit next to Grandma!" Zola cries happily – which is convenient, since she has no real choice, but his mother looks thrilled at her words anyway.

"Crack Grandma," Meredith murmurs to Derek as she fastens the passenger side seatbelt, and he kisses what he can reach of her face.

"Where's Santa?" Zola asks eagerly once they've made it to the shopping center – oohing and aahing along the way at the snow-dusted trees.

"He's inside." Carolyn holds out a hand to her granddaughter and Derek can't help smiling watching the two of them walk ahead, Zola's brightly colored tutu dress bobbing with each step.

He carries Bailey through the parking lot – which does not thrill his son, who reacts much like a trapped raccoon – and finally sets him down when they're away from cars, taking his little hand firmly. "It's busy in here, buddy, so you need to stay close to Daddy."

"Okay," Bailey says cheerfully, yanking his hand away and dashing along the covered path leading to the shopping center.

"Yeah, that's not what okay means," Derek tells his son once he's chased him down and scooped him back up. "Hey, Mer…"

Meredith, who's been walking with Zola and Carolyn, turns back.

"Those toddler reins don't seem like such a bad idea right now."

She laughs, then comes back to help. "Bailey … stay close, sweetie," she reminds him.

"No, no, no," he chants, confusingly, taking one of each of their hands and strolling contentedly between both parents.

"I'll take it," Derek says.

The shopping center's entrance is laced with holly, two giant wreaths, and sparkling lights.

Merry Christmas to All

Zola reads the words out loud. "And to all a good night!" she adds.

"No!" Bailey protests.

"It's not really bedtime, don't worry." Meredith sounds amused.

"Zola, you read so nicely," Carolyn praises her.

"Reading is fun," Zola says. "I can read to you later," she offers, and Derek has to hide a smile.

"I would love that," Carolyn says sincerely. "Grandma's eyes get more tired these days."

"I think the question is," Derek murmurs to Meredith, holding her back for a moment as Carolyn and Zola walk ahead, "whether we're dealing with Crack Grandma or Crack Grandkid."

"Why pick one?"

"Good point."

The Christmas spirit is alive and well inside the center, with last-minute shoppers bustling around laden with bags, holiday carols playing through cheerfully tinny speakers, and the warm scents of gingerbread and hot chocolate in the air.

"Okay." Derek glances at his mother. "First stop – " he scans the board, hoping they can quickly pick up some items to wear until their suitcases arrive.

"Daddy!" Zola shrieks. "Look!"

He sees where she's pointing – a hand-painted sign in bright red letters on white wood:

"Santa's village, this way," Zola reads. She bounces excitedly on her toes. "We have to go there!"

Wordlessly, the three adults decide it would be foolish to make the children wait, and decide to postpone the shopping until after Santa.

"Bailey," Zola says importantly, leaning down to look her brother in the eye. "We're going to see Santa."

"Santa," he repeats.

"The real Santa," Zola clarifies, patting his hand. "Okay, we're ready!" she announces when she's standing back up again, and the five Shepherds head toward Santa's village.

(When they're retelling this story – and it already has the flavor of a story that will retold over and over, like the time a young Elizabeth told her teacher that her mother, who never went anywhere without a mug of coffee, was always drinking while she drove the car – Derek thinks they'll probably start here):

"Santa!" Zola cries as they approach the cheerily labeled Santa's Village.

"It's not the real North Pole," Zola explains to her brother quickly. "That's really far away, but Santa has other villages. Right, Mommy?"

Meredith glances at Derek.

"Right, Zo," she says after a moment.

"I can't wait to meet Santa," Zola sighs happily.

(Okay, fine. They might start here instead):

"No Santa! No, no, no! NO SANTA!"

A line two dozen deep of Connecticut children and their parents turn around to see a small blond boy in a bright green California Raisins sweatshirt screaming full throttle, both hands fisted and cheeks bright red with rage.

Meredith is blushing almost as deeply. "It's okay, sweetie," she coos, shooting Derek a look of combined surprise and concern.

"Bailey, why are you crying?" Zola asks, sympathetically but not particularly helpfully, because Bailey's face turns even redder if possible.

"Not crying!" he shrieks, tears pouring down his flushed face.

"Okay, okay, you know what?" Derek takes Zola's hand. "Let's let Bailey calm down and we'll go get a place on line."

"Thanks," Meredith says semi-sarcastically.

"I'll take him if you want," Derek offers, but when he reaches for Bailey his son writhes angrily and clings to Meredith like she's a life raft.

"You go with Zo," Meredith says, "and take your mom so she can see too. I think Bailey just needs a minute."

As if in response to his mother's optimistic prediction, Bailey throws his head back and howls like a small blond werewolf.

"No Santa!"

Zola watches with interest while her mother carries her sobbing brother away from Santa's village. One hand in Derek's and one in Carolyn's, she approaches the line.

The setup is modest, but festive, with Santa in a large tinsel wrapped chair on a podium bedecked with white felt "snow." A few elves are scattered around with bell-tipped shoes, escorting children one by one to Santa and then helping them off the other side while eager parents snap pictures and those still waiting on line count the moment until it's their turn.

From the speakers feet from Santa's black boots, Joy to the World pipes out into the crowd.

Zola takes in the scene, then turns to her father. "How come Bailey's mad?"

"I think he's just a little scared, sweetie."

"Why? Santa's not scary. He's nice."

Derek strokes the top of her head. "You're a little older than your brother, Zo, so some things that scare him don't scare you."

"Oh." She considers this. "But, Daddy, Grandma says Santa sees all the kids here at the shopping center and finds out what they want for Christmas."

He nods.

"If Bailey is too scared to see Santa, does that mean he won't get any Christmas presents?"

"Definitely not," Derek assures her.

But if all our luggage stays in abeyance, we have a very different – but very big – Christmas present problem anyway.

"Okay." Zola looks relieved.

A woman standing in front of Derek on line with twins who look about Zola's age turns around with a smile. "Mine were scared at your son's age too," she tells Derek. "Then the next year, they couldn't climb on his lap fast enough."

Zola studies the children in front of her with shy interest.

"Hi," the girl twin says to Zola. "I like your ballerina costume."

"Thanks." Zola glances down at her tutu. "I think it's just a regular dress, though."

"Oh."

"My grandma likes pink," Zola explains, and the other girl nods as if that makes perfect sense.

As the line slowly decreases, Zola shifts from foot to foot anxiously.

"Zo?" Derek crouches down a little to preserve her dignity. "Do you need the bathroom? We can come right back here afterwards," he assures her.

She shakes her head. "I just want Bailey to get here before it's our turn."

A sudden, floor-shaking shriek cuts through the crowd.

"You know what, sweetie, Bailey may stay away from Santa's village this time."

"Oh." Zola looks disappointed. "Maybe I should stay away too."

"Don't you want to see Santa?" Carolyn asks.

"I do, but I want Bailey to see him too."

Despite the impracticality, he's touched.

"Okay, Zozo, I'll tell you what. You wait with Grandma and I'll see if I can help Mommy convince Bailey to join us."

Zola rewards him with a cheek splitting grin.

Derek finds his wife and son standing outside the window of a toy store with a giant gumball machine in the display. Bailey is quiet when he gets there, one arm wrapped possessively around Meredith and the other pointing to … a giant clown.

A giant clown moving forward and back in the window, with a white painted face, a leering red smile, and bottomless black eyes.

The stuff of horror movies.

"That he likes?" Derek whispers to Meredith. "But S-a-n-t-a is too much?"

She gives him a rueful look. "Just don't say the whole word," she warns him. "It seems to set him off."

"Ah." He reaches out to rub his son's back. "Zola wants him there with her."

"I know." Meredith strokes Bailey's mussed blond hair. "But I don't think it's in the cards this year."

Derek studies his son's tear-streaked face. He looks calmer, one hand clutching his frog-headed plush blanket and the other fisted in his mother's hair.

"You go, Derek, it's fine," Meredith assures him. "Your mother wants to see Zola with – you know who, and you should go too. Just take some pictures."

"Okay." He pauses. "Are you sure?"

"No," Meredith admits, "but Bailey is."

"Fair enough."

Zola's little face broadcasts disappointment when he returns to the line. "Bailey's not coming?"

"Not this time, sweetie." Derek rests a hand on her shoulder. "But I think if you go talk to Santa, and you have a good time, that will help Bailey be ready next year."

"I wanna come back to this Santa next year," Zola says immediately.

"We will," Derek says automatically, without thinking.

Crack, he thinks. It's the crack talking.

The line moves with impressive efficiency, and before long they're next. Zola is bouncing impatiently on her toes. "Daddy … it's almost our turn!"

And then it is her turn, an elf arriving to escort her. Derek waits carefully – Zola can be shy around strangers – but she gives her father and grandmother a wave and slips her hand easily into the elf's.

Derek and Carolyn approach Santa's podium while giving Zola space, Derek remembering to snap a few pictures for Meredith.

They watch as Zola climbs willingly onto Santa's knee. They can't quite make out the words, with Silver Bells blaring from the speakers, but based on Zola's expression and the way she adjusts her bright pink and blue tutu, it looks like Santa is complimenting her outfit.

And then they're deep in conversation, Derek not able to hear anything except a loud, booming, cheerful ho, ho, ho.

And then another ho, ho …

No, it's zo, zo.

Or rather "Zozo!"

Bailey is calling her name with a combined panic and excitement, and Derek turns with surprise to see Meredith approaching with their son on her hip. She shrugs at his expression, and he recognizes it as the sort of what can you do that they often find themselves expressing about their toddlers. Bailey, after all, has been known to shriek like he's being decapitated when they put on a pair of shoes on a Monday, and laugh with joy at the same pair of shoes on a Tuesday. He's nothing if not mercurial.

Carefully, Derek approaches. "Hey, buddy, you see your sister up there?"

Bailey nods happily. "Zozo," he repeats. He reaches out a hand to Derek, who lifts him into his arms. Meredith gives him a smile of relief – which he understands; holding an unmoving, uncooperative Bailey for long stretches can be a major bicep workout.

Carolyn beams at both of them. "I'm so glad he made it back," she says warmly.

Up on the podium, Zola is still deep in conversation with Santa Claus. Then they watch as she says something to him that makes him comb his hand throw his beard thoughtfully. He responds, and Zola seems to be taking it in.

"Sir?"

Derek glances up to see an elf at their side.

Well.

A local teenager with an appropriately turned-up nose wearing an elf costume, anyway.

"Does the little one want to go next?"

Derek considers this. Bailey is sitting contentedly in his arms now, watching Zola.

"Bailey," he asks tentatively, "do you want to go up there like Zola?"

He points.

Bailey nods. "I go."

"Right. You can go next."

Meredith, Derek, and Carolyn exchange a three-way glance that's the visual equivalent of a shrug.

The elf nods. "Great."

Just then, Zola hops off Santa's lap, gives her parents and grandmother a wave, and takes another elf's hand to be escorted down the stairs.

"Your turn," the first elf tells Bailey.

Bailey beams.

"Are you ready to see – "

"No!" Derek and Meredith interject in unison, but it's too late.

" – Santa?"

For a moment they freeze, but the elf's word seems to crash down around them.

Bailey's sweet little face screws up in horror and he inhales deeply before shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"No Santa!"

This time, everyone on line for Santa and most of the shopping passersby turn to see the commotion. (In fact, Derek is fairly certain at this point that most of the eastern seaboard can hear his son.)

"Next year," they tell the elf hastily, Derek walking away to soothe Bailey while Meredith and Carolyn meet Zola at the foot of Santa's village.

"NO SANTA! BAD SANTA!" Bailey is screaming, tears flowing once again, gripping Derek's neck like someone is trying to steal him.

"Okay, you're okay," Derek assures his son, moving as swiftly as he can from Santa's apparently terrifying village, patting Bailey's heaving little back as he does.

With distance, Bailey's sobs die down and he lifts his head from his father's shoulder. Fingers in his mouth, eyes still bright with tears, he sniffs loudly.

"Zozo?" he asks hopefully.

"Zozo's with Mommy and Grandma. They'll be back in a minute," he assures his son.

Looking only slightly mollified now, Bailey removes his fingers from his mouth. "Cookie?" he asks hopefully.

Cookie indeed. Once they're far away enough from you know who for Bailey to return to his cheerful self, they purchase a gingerbread cookie approximately the size of Luxembourg for the children to share. Zola, beaming, is regaling her parents with stories of –

"Maybe just don't say his name," Meredith murmurs gently. "But tell us all about it."

"Okay," Zola says agreeably. "Well. He's really nice and he has a big beard like Uncle Mason. And he asked me what I wanted for Christmas."

"What did you tell him?"

Zola looks pensive. "It's kind of a secret."

"Oh." Derek and Meredith exchange a glance, both hoping kind of a secret is one of the wrapped presents in their abeyance-held suitcases.

"What did S – I mean, your friend – say?"

"He said he would do his best, and you never know," Zola reports.

"Ah." Derek considers this, then pauses to munch a bite of gingerbread Bailey has just stuffed, without warning, into his mouth.

Zola leans back in her chair, crossing her legs in their bright pink leggings. "I can't believe I met the real Sa – I mean the real guy," she corrects herself quickly.

Sant – or rather, that guy – combined with a giant cookie makes for a hard to beat excursion. While Bailey, exhausted from his north pole-related hysteria, sleeps in Derek's arms, Meredith, Zola, and Carolyn make a swift and efficient trip to the Family Barn to pick up essentials for the next few days.

And then, laden with packages, they're loading back into the car.

Zola glances into her brother's carseat. "Can I talk about the S Guy now? Since Bailey's sleeping?"

"Yes," Derek says automatically, leaning around Meredith's seat to back the car out.

"He's so cool," Zola sighs. "And he has elves, did you see them? They're really nice." She pauses. "Do you think I'll get the present I asked for?"

"I don't know, sweetie, because you didn't tell us what it was," Meredith responds mildly.

"Oh." Zola seems to be considering this. Then she brightens. "Grandma, do you have any Christmas carols on your radio?"

She does – or rather Connecticut, like the rest of the country, does – and they listen and sing along, off and on, for the duration of the ride home.

When they're bundled and loaded down with packages, including a sleeping Bailey, they make their careful way to the back door.

Which opens on its own.

Meredith is shocked; Carolyn seems only mildly interested.

"Kathleen!" she says cheerfully. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," she says. "Mason dropped us off so he can take Blake to the library to pick up something she needs for school."

Derek leans in to kiss his sister's cheek; she smiles at him and winces at his cold skin all at once. He's amused and not really surprised to note that Blake, the little girl he recalls as extremely serious about spelling bees, multiplication tables, and memorizing state capitals, is still a dedicated student.

Meredith is stuck on us after a greeting from Derek's sister, but she doesn't have to wait long before they're swarmed.

By four children – teenagers – something like that – who bound into the kitchen like golden retrievers to greet their grandmother and uncle with enthusiasm.

"I'll take Bailey upstairs," Meredith offers as Derek attempts to hug one of his nieces without crushing their sleeping son.

Derek hands over the toddler while a teenager with a long dark ponytail kneels in front of Zola, oo-ing over her tutu.

"I totally wore that when I was a kid," she's saying with a big smile, "but it looks, like, way cuter on you."

Meredith tucks Bailey into the pack 'n' play that of course Carolyn has set up in the corner, turning on the baby monitor that of course Carolyn has set up on the bookshelf.

With five children and fourteen – no, now sixteen – grandchildren, Carolyn certainly has enough experience to know what's needed, when … and she's grateful.

(Crack grateful)

Derek's concern that Zola would be overwhelmed by the crush of cousins – especially having just arrived from their shopping excursion and still wrapped in approximately fifty layers of winter gear – disappears quickly.

Kathy's children are delighted with their first little cousin and can't do enough for Zola. Shannon, the ponytail-haver who complimented his daughter's tutu, is the leader of the pack, telling Zola in a tone of reverence about all the toys still in the playroom from her own childhood. The other two girls – along with Kathleen's lone boy, Jackson – are just as eager, and once Derek has divested Zola of her coat and cold-weather accessories, she darts off happily in a sea of cousins to play.

Derek turns to see Carolyn watching with misty eyes, arms folded.

"Well. You won't have to worry about her anymore today," she says with a smile. "Oh, all the kids have been dying to meet her. They'll love Bailey too but they haven't had a little girl cousin to spoil since – well, since Kristen was small."

They brew coffee; Meredith, who traipses down after settling in a sleeping Bailey, takes a sip of Derek's and declines her own cup. Kathleen adds a generous spoonful of sugar to hers, glaring at Derek when he lifts an eyebrow, and then she and Meredith are chatting and he take sa moment to enjoy seeing his wife and sister engaged.

Derek offers Meredith another sip of his coffee when the conversation slows down and she shakes her head.

"Let's go sit inside," Carolyn suggests, and leads the way out of the kitchen.

"You don't have what Bailey had, do you?" Derek asks Meredith hesitantly as he carries his cup into the living room.

"Motion sickness? I hope not." Meredith smiles at him. "I think it's more likely to be the gallon of hot chocolate I had this morning."

They settle in around the Christmas tree on worn cushions, gazing at the stockings hung on the mantle. It's peaceful and lovely, and before long they're joined by one of Derek's dark-haired nieces.

"Courtney," she tells Meredith, giving her braces-laden smile. "Sorry I didn't see you before 'cause Zola was kind of distractingly cute."

"That's exactly how I would describe her," Meredith agrees.

Courtney settles on the rug, drawing her legs up under her. "Zola said she saw Santa today."

"That's right." Carolyn smiles fondly at her granddaughter. "The same Santa out on Route 20 you saw when you were small."

"I remember." Courtney pulls her dark braid around her shoulder, playing with the end of it. "Grandma," she says, rising to her knees, "I actually came out 'cause I wanted to ask if we could bake cookies with Zola. For Santa. The others are still playing."

"Of course you can. You know where everything is, darling."

"Yeah." Courtney smiles at the gathered adults. "You know … when Zola was telling us about seeing Santa, I kind of missed being little enough to go."

"Wait until Bailey wakes up," Derek advises, "and tells you what he thought of Santa, and maybe it will change your mind."

"Was he scared?" Courtney's eyes widen.

Derek nods.

"But he can't have screamed as much as Michael did when – "

"More," Derek reports and Courtney sits back on her heels, chastened. "Wow."

"Actually," Derek adds, "speaking of … Santa … the S-word is a bit of a trigger today, so we're trying to avoid it."

"Okay, okay." Courtney considers this. "S-word. Got it."

Meredith smiles at this teenager who is – whoa, apparently her niece – and then the gathered Shepherds are off on reminiscences of which grandchildren cried and which took to Santa – or rather S-word – right away.

"Actually," Courtney says, her tone reminiscent, "I remember going with Aunt Nancy and Joey but I can't remember the last time before that. Like when I still believed S-word was real, I mean."

Derek glances at Meredith. It's hard to believe that Courtney was once Zola's age, small and eager to believe, and that Zola will one day be a tall teenager reminiscing about her own childhood.

"You believed for a long time," Carolyn assures her. "I remember Cassie scolding the others to make sure they didn't give it away."

"I did?" Courtney glances at her mother. "Mom – how old was I when I found out S-word wasn't real?"

"I don't remember, honey. But not old enough," Kathleen says, smiling at her daughter.

A sudden rustling in the drapes catches the Shepherds' attention.

And then out of the heavy, swirling material steps a small girl with a confused, upset look on her face and dust on the edges of her bright pink and blue tutu.

"Zozo," Derek says quickly, his heart speeding up; he and Meredith exchange a nervous glance. He holds out an arm to his daughter, but she stays frozen in place.

"S-word isn't real?" she asks with horror.


TO BE CONTINUED and I won't be cruel enough to make you wait too long. I promise everything will work out in the end - it's Christmas after all - but things might just get a little hairy for a bit. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you will review and let me know what you think! I love hearing your thoughts. Merry Endless McChristmas!