A/N: The Gatsby book actually had a role. I just had to incorporate it; it's one of my faaaaavorite stories.

No pairing here yet. I'll keep you guys guessing. Hehe.

XI. Too Deep an Ocean to Cross

Four days before school was about to start, Wyatt sat in the Seattle Grace cafeteria with Preston, as they contented themselves with a tray of French fries smothered in thick ketchup mixed with streaks of mustard, a common favorite between the two of them.

"What went wrong between my Mom and Derek?"

Wyatt looked expectantly at his godfather, licking a smear of ketchup from his thumb and immediately feeling the tartness of it spiking his tongue like an expected surprise. His wrist had been healing nicely, Callie had said when he'd gone for his check-up that morning, but no he couldn't take the cast off yet, even though it itched like crazy; he had to stick to the six weeks that had already been planned, despite his obvious links to the administration of the hospital.

Preston appeared startled at the question, his shoulder visibly twitching after it was aired. He looked up at Wyatt, his eyes shining with feigned innocence, and bit off neatly the end of a long fry he held between his fingers. Oil from it shone on his lips.

"Have you tried to ask them?"

"Please," Wyatt rolled his eyes. "They both think I'm a baby."

"What makes you think I don't think that?"

Wyatt grinned at him the way he knew made Preston fold: "It's 'cause I take after you the most."

Preston chuckled, shaking his head. The front of his doctor's coat was now slightly smeared with a few rubs of grease.

"Why do you want to know about that all of a sudden? You were never interested in it before."

"No reason. Just that, they seem like they have something to settle. They talk about it all the time, whenever they think I'm not listening. When Derek comes over." A blob of ketchup fell on his blue AC/DC shirt. Wyatt promptly rubbed a moist finger over it. He didn't know if Preston was frowning because of the stain he'd created or because of what he'd said.

"Talk about what all the time?"

"Them. Me. The future. Other junk like that." Mustard dribbled from the fry he was eating down to his chin. Preston went and wiped it off with his handkerchief with a quick flick of his hand, as efficiently and as precisely as he did whenever he was in surgery. The blue and white kerchief vanished into his coat pocket an instance before Wyatt popped another fry into his mouth and smeared ketchup on his face.

"Well, maybe you'll find out about it when you get older," Preston said fondly as he cleaned up Wyatt again. "Like when you learn to actually keep food in your mouth while eating."

"Ha-ha." Wyatt licked his fingers before wiping them clean with a stained paper napkin, one of the million he'd already used.

"Anyway, it isn't that fascinating, Wy. It was all just a couple of misconstrued ideas, wrong decisions and a whole lot of…"

"Preston."

Wyatt turned his head to the side, his thumb still latched into his mouth. A woman, a tall beautiful woman, with red hair and sharp green eyes walked towards them. Her long ivory legs moved as though she were dancing in a ballet, her steps graceful and coordinated despite the pointy black pumps she'd worn to match a skirt and blouse that appeared as if they'd been snatched from a designer store's mannequin.

She stopped when their gazes locked, halting in her tracks like a deer in the middle of the road. She looked startled, and Wyatt knew she was examining him from head to toe, her emerald eyes drinking him in as though he were…well, something interesting. He frowned.

"Hello."

He didn't know what else to say. The woman looked as though she were expecting him to say something, or do something spectacular.

"Addison."

Preston cleared his throat, though he sounded surprised. Automatically, he stood up like the gentleman he was.

"Is there a problem? What are you doing here?"

"No no, I've actually finished." Addison snapped out of her reverie, taking her eyes off the boy who was unmistakably a Shepherd, if she ever saw one. "I've performed the surgery, and now both mother and child are on the road to recovery."

She moved closer to their table, keeping a careful eye on the tousled little boy who looked as wary as she felt.

"I was wondering if…well, if there was anything else you'd like me to do now that I'm here, because if you don't, I'd really…well, I'd be catching the next possible flight back to New York."

Preston nodded, understandingly, patiently. He shared a look with Addison Wyatt had never seen him share with people outside their small group of friends. He studied Addison, how she bit her lip, and how she looked downward, tufts of her strawberry blonde hair falling into her face as she did, when his godfather patted her hand as he told her softly:

"Don't worry, he doesn't know you're here. I specifically ordered the staff to keep things quiet."

"Thank you, Preston."

"Thank you for coming on such a short notice, Addie. I appreciate it," Preston stood shook her hand, a warm smile lighting his features.

"Anytime," she answered, her smile small and tight, as though it hurt her to even be there. She squeezed Preston's hand, noting the gold band he wore around his finger. Seattle Grace seemed more settled now than what it had been when she and Derek had left in a flurry of suitcases, papers, and defeated nods.

"This is Wyatt, by the way,"

Preston extended his arm towards Wyatt and Addison turned to him, giving him a tiny grin.

"My godson," Preston clasped his hands behind his back, something he always did whenever he wanted to appear professional instead of personal. "Wyatt, this is Dr. Addison Montgomery."

"Hello, Wyatt." Addison tucked her hair behind her ear but didn't move towards him. She kept her distance, as though there were a wall that stood between them.

"Hello, Dr. Montgomery."

The distance perhaps, was of an unconscious effort, but Wyatt didn't mind. Addison seemed nice, if not a little angst-ridden. He wondered if it was a trend, all the adults he knew going through some kind of crisis.

Addison turned to Preston one last time after she said her goodbyes, her beautiful face crumpled a bit with the full realization of who the boy was, but balanced with the smooth expression of acceptance that glazed her sight with tears.

"He's got his father's eyes."

And she squeezed his hand a final time, her smile a bit wider now, before walking away, throwing Wyatt a friendly goodbye wave as she went.

It was 10 PM, and Wyatt was snuggling with Meredith, her arms wrapped protectively around him as they lay on her massive bed, warm under the down comforter. Wet Wet Wet was playing on her stereo on low and was half-lulling Wyatt to sleep. He yawned, stretching a bit to find a cool spot for his toes.

"I am so glad you're still this small." Meredith sighed happily, breathing in the sweet scent of her son's baby shampooed hair.

"I'm not that small, Mom," Wyatt giggled. "I'm almost taller than you."

"We'll see about that." His Mom tickled his ear, which made him squirm. "Excited for school?"

"Unless all I'm gonna do there is draw, then no, I'm not excited," he told her honestly. His Mom jabbed his side in response and he laughed.

"That was the part where you were supposed to say 'Oh yeah, Mom, I can't wait because I love school so much since you pay a whole lot of dough to keep me there'."

"Aren't you glad you raised such an honest kid?"

"Smart aleck. Your cast is looking pretty good," commented Meredith, sneaking a peek at the once-white plaster: Wyatt had painted his name in, and had drawn assorted little cartoon figures up and around it, even a little black dog. Meredith recognized more than one person her son had inked in, but kept silent. She fingered the small cartoon George and smiled.

"Yeah, isn't it? I'm gonna have Izzie take a picture of it before they take it off." Wyatt snuggled closer to his Mom. "Hey Mom, can I ask you a question?"

Meredith's reply was a sleepy one: "Uh-hmm."

"What made Derek…why did he move away the first time?"

He felt as Meredith's hold on him tightened a little, which she masked by moving a bit on the bed at the same time. Her breath against his neck felt warm and comforting, but it was held in a little a few seconds after he asked.

"It doesn't matter, babe." The answer came finally, accompanied by a pretend sleepy grunt and a kiss on his head. "He's here now, isn't he? And you guys are getting along with each other, which is the only thing I want."

"Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"You and Sam…you aren't getting…you know…anytime soon and just not telling me, are you? Wait, you're still together, right?"

"Oh babe. Sometimes I wonder if you being too smart is my fault or the American media's." She rubbed his arms. "He's just busy now, Wy, with the Garret house, and no, not as far as I know. He's just my boyfriend, hon. No one's rushing into anything yet. Either on starting or getting out."

"It's not because of me that he's not showing up, is it? It's not because everyone's…mad at him or anything?"

"God, no, honey. Relax. What's wrong, Wy? What's with all the questions all of a sudden?"

Wyatt buried his nose in the pillow his head was laying on. The cool linen was comforting. He didn't know why he was asking; he just wanted to. He felt as though he needed to. The absence of Sam's presence knocked his entire reality askew somehow. Even with Derek there, he actually missed Sam. When everyone else had been too busy, Sam had been there. But when Sam was there, he missed Derek. It was all too confusing.

A kid couldn't have two dads.

"Derek's not leaving again, is he?"

"I don't think so."

"Sam either?"

"Hopefully not, babe."

Wyatt missed his old life sometimes. He missed the relaxed routine they all underwent, with just him, his Mom and his crazy godparents. With Sam and Derek, the thickened atmosphere in the house was veined with tension and anxiety, spider-cracking as each minute passed. Days were filled with spontaneous visits, as well as promises broken at the last minute and hearts breaking over and over again. It was a harsh reality to go through every day, but without it, Wyatt felt incomplete. He could never fall back into his normal routine again without missing the bubbling glee he felt whenever Sam or Derek did manage to keep promises, or the way his heart leapt whenever he saw their cars parked outside.

"Okay." He nodded. "Good."

Secrets follow people. You'd think they didn't, but they do. The more haunting they are, the more they'd appear in the most mundane things. In an address typed on a letter envelope, for example, or even the passing phantom scent of autumn. They tail secret-keepers like shadows, begging to be unearthed and laid to rest. Sometimes, they escape by themselves, and other times, the secret-keepers let them escape, too exhausted at the notion of fighting once more to keep them in.

Wyatt still had much to learn about secrets.

He sat with Derek in the black pick-up, sipping pink lemonade through striped straws from sweating Snapple bottles, with Denny panting in the back seat. His cargo pants now had damp dirt stains on them from kneeling around on the ground while they'd been at the park, trying to wrestle the Frisbee from Denny's mouth. Derek's gloves had been abandoned on the dashboard: the leather on the palm of the left glove ripped from the nasty encounter with the thorny bush Denny's collar had snagged itself on.

"So, Wyatt, have you finished your book yet?"

Derek always found it difficult to start conversations. Wyatt always gave him credit for trying.

"What book?" Wyatt slurped the remains of the lemonade noisily before letting out a refreshed sigh. "Gatsby?"

"Uh-hmm." Derek passed a spare treat to Denny from his coat pocket before turning to look at his son, who was in the middle of peeling away the tinfoil on a sandwich Meredith had had him bring along as a snack.

"Yeah. I didn't get it much though." Wyatt shrugged. "But he's a great writer. I like how he says stuff." He bit into the sandwich. "He was in love with a girl, right? Gatsby? That Daisy girl. She loved him."

"Yeah," Derek nodded, hurriedly drawing in what he remembered from the novel, eager to teach Wyatt what he could. "But he thought he wasn't good enough for her, so he went away to make something of himself first."

"But when he came back and he was already rich, Daisy had married someone else."

"Uh-hm. To a…Tom Buchanan, I believe," Derek smiled, proud he'd remembered. Wyatt frowned.

"But Gatsby still loved her. He didn't stop loving her, even when he knew they were hopeless."

The smile on Derek's face faltered a bit, then it disappeared completely. Derek covered it up by running a hand through his hair, then replacing it with a small smile almost identical to what Wyatt remembered he had seen on Dr. Montgomery.

"Yeah, Wy. That's what he did."

Wyatt shook his head, as he bit into the sandwich his Mom had made him. Peanut butter oozed into his mouth like cool, creamy lava pockmarked by raisins.

"That's stupid."

"Excuse me?" Derek frowned, an expression similar to what Wyatt had worn a few seconds earlier.

"He stuck himself in a rut. He could've been happier, but he chose to live in a soap opera. I think it's stupid. It's moronic."

A brief silence filled the car, and Wyatt used it to savor another bite of his food, the warmth of the bread seeping through his gloves. His Mom had toasted it right before they'd left.

"Wyatt Grey, you are grounded."

Wyatt snapped his head to the side in surprise. Derek was looking at him in a way that Wyatt knew he was in trouble. It was a mix between a look of disbelief and something deeper. Wyatt had seen his teachers wearing the same look before, and usually half their expression had come from the fact that they knew he was right, but wished he'd just kept whatever it was that he'd said to himself.

"What?"

"You're grounded. I'll be telling your Mom." Derek said, his lips tight. A flicker of anger glinted in his eyes. A click from the ignition made the engine rumble to life.

"For what?" Wyatt sputtered, almost dropping his sandwich. "I didn't do anything! And besides, you can't ground me."

"Young man, I don't approve of the language you just used. Stupid. Moronic. I won't have you going around and spewing that kind of stuff."

Derek clutched the wheel, looking as anxious as he was annoyed. Wyatt fumed, knowing full well that he did nothing wrong.

"People say 'stupid' and 'moronic' all the time! I know some adults who use worse words."

The tension in the car had built up to something that was on the brink of an explosion. Wyatt glared at his father and Derek stared back, the tips of his ears red. Denny barked in the back seat, pleading whines filling in the pauses between each one.

"That doesn't make it okay for you to say them."

"It was just to enhance an opinion!" Wyatt couldn't believe they were even having this conversation. He raised his voice to drown out Denny. "I think Gatsby is a moron. I think he's stupid. I'm allowed to have an opinion, aren't I?"

"If there's one thing you have to learn, it's to not insult what you don't know, Wyatt. And don't raise your voice at me."

"It's just a stupid book, Derek, what's the big deal?" he studied his father's face as he spoke, looking for clues as to whatever was wrong with him. Derek didn't look him in the eye; his fingers constantly moved and his head consistently twitched to turn from one direction the next.

"You are still grounded."

"You can't ground me!" Wyatt cried out in disbelief. "You don't even live with us."

"I don't have to live with you. I'm your father and I tell you that you've done something wrong and I can ground you for it because that's my job."

Wyatt felt as something inside him snapped and as his face flushed red. The leather chair he was sitting on squealed as he shifted his position violently to face Derek. And for the first time ever, he actually yelled at a grown-up.

"It's not your job! It's my Mom's job! You've only been my father for a few months. You can't tell me what to do. I don't have to listen to anything you say."

The words stung him, probably as much as it did Derek, but it had to be said. He didn't know who was angrier, him or Derek. But Derek appeared more shocked than angry. Also, he seemed to be more infuriated at something else. Something Wyatt wondered if he'd ever know about. Waves of guilt passed through him and Wyatt struggled to regain control. Preston and George would be so disappointed in him.

"I'm sorry. That…was rude."

Derek didn't say anything. He just backed the car out of its parking space, his eyes locked on the view straight ahead and his teeth clenched. His jaw was so tight that a tiny bone jutted out from his skin. The gravel crunched noisily under the tires, sounding a bit like bones breaking. Wyatt pondered on apologizing once more, but pride blocked his throat and the words he was about to say settled at the back of his palate to die a silent death.

"I'm not mad at you, Wyatt."

They were nearing Queen Anne's Hill. Wyatt slouched in his seat with a frown cutting through his face, destroying all evidence of what had been an enjoyable afternoon.

"It's just that…things…there are a lot of things…you don't know…"

"You won't tell me what they are either." It was an old song. He'd heard it all before.

Derek gave him a weak smile.

"I take back what I said about you being grounded." He patted his son's shoulder. "Sorry, bud. I got a little carried away."

Secrets, if you let it, can run your life.

Wyatt looked at his shoes, his annoyance quickly dissipating. The twinkle was back in Derek's eyes.

"S'okay. See you on Friday?"

But if you don't, and rein them in as often and with the best effort you can, things might actually be okay.

"Okay, buddy."

TBC