AN: Happy New Year! I hope you've all be doing well. I'm very optimistic for a great 2017. I keep getting a lot of questions about my baby and I'm happy to say she's doing well. I'm rounding into my third trimester and feeling really good.

As for the last chapter, I am so happy with all the thoughts and feelings you shared with me. I was nervous to do that story line, but I knew it was going to be really important, so I appreciate the very positive feedback. I know a lot of you are concerned about Meredith's pregnancy, which will be discussed in this chapter. I'll have a little AN after the chapter discussing the pregnancy.

Once again, thank you for the incredible feedback. And for those who have asked, this story will be ending at chapter 40, which will post on January 20th (Inauguration Day here in the US).

When I walk into the kitchen first thing this morning, I find a bag of bagels and fresh cream cheese from the deli around the corner. A pot of coffee is also brewing. There's a dash and the letter 'R' written on the bag. In the last four weeks of my recovery, Richard has been stopping by a lot. Since my mom is in and out, it seems like he feels the need to act as my mother and father.

I pull an everything bagel from the bag and pop it into the toaster. I put almost all the rest into a bag and into the freezer. Alex is in Iowa until the weekend, but once he gets back, he'll tear through all the bagels.

As I've done every morning for the last four weeks, I check my phone for any updates on my patients. I might not be able to operate right now, but that doesn't mean I can't keep tabs on my patients. I find two text messages from Cristina. In the first one, she's sending me a picture of one of my patient's charts and in the second she asks, Lunch today? I write back, Yes.

Being on medical leave sucks. I want nothing more than to be back in the OR, but I have another two weeks. I had to beg Dr. Bailey for only six weeks. She gave Alex eight and we've both been going a little nuts. Alex even flew home to Iowa nearly two weeks ago just to give himself a distraction. I know he's happy he's gone home, though, and I know his family has been happy to have him.

During my leave, I did a lot of napping in the beginning and a lot of reading. By week two I started to feel okay, so I've been taking short walks. I've been checking in on my mom almost every day. I've been organizing and cleaning up my life. But by week three, I started going nuts. I tried to go back to work, just to do paperwork, but Bailey made me leave. She knows I'm getting updates on my patients every day and I know it kills her that I won't just rest, but I need to stay in the loop. Bailey should understand that; she barely took maternity leave after Tuck.

The one big distraction I've had is Derek. Although, he hasn't actually been in the country for almost a month.

When I woke up in the hospital and Derek was by my side, I remember feeling good. I wanted him there. I needed him there. But just three days after the shooting, Derek had to go to Cuba and then Argentina and then Brazil and now he's in Chile. He wanted to stay, but I told him to go. "I have a fleet of doctors looking after me," I told him. The part I didn't mention is the fact that we're not together and him being around wouldn't be easy.

I keep thinking of the voicemail I listened to before I got shot. He wanted to talk and work it out and I do want to talk, but I don't want to talk on the phone when he's thousands of miles away. If we're going to figure this out, we're going to do this in person.

I don't keep as close tabs on Derek these days, but he mentioned he'd be back sometime this week.

I distract myself from thinking about Derek by turning on the TV and eating my bagel while sitting on the couch. I have a plan to walk a few miles today to build up some strength, maybe stop by the hospital if Bailey doesn't see me, and do some laundry. I hate that I have to think about how to fill up my days. The next two weeks can't go by fast enough.

By early afternoon, after lunch with Cristina, I am bored. I've walked, I tried to go to the hospital only to be stopped by Bailey, and now I'm lying on the couch. I text Cristina and begged her to bring over some charts for me to read and she promised she'd come. That was hours ago and I'm losing hope. But suddenly the doorbell rings and I am thanking the heavens that my best friend didn't just abandon me.

But when I open the door, it's not Cristina.

Derek is standing on my front porch.

I know I should smile or hug him, but I just stand there stunned.

He gives me a small smile. "Hi."

"You're back," is all I say.

"I am. I flew back about an hour ago."

For a few seconds I just stand there staring at him. For five weeks now, we've been apart. He spent about three days with me in the hospital, but a lot of that time he was working and I was on meds, so that time is a blur. It's been five weeks since our last State Dinner, so it feels weird to see him and have him here. I notice behind Derek stands Grant and Toby.

I give them both a smile because I'm still not too sure about Derek. "Hi Tom. Hi Matt."

Grant smiles at me. "It's good to see you, Meredith."

"You look good," Toby says. I notice Derek gives him a bit of a side-eye. Toby just grins at me.

After a few quiet seconds, I realize I'm being really rude. "Oh, why don't you all come in?"

"We…will wait in the car," Grants says.

Derek walks into my house alone.

I shut the door.

We both stand in the foyer for a second before I say, "Make yourself comfortable." I motion to the couch, which seems to have my body imprinted into the fabric. I'm lucky the house is clean because it'd been a mess up until about a day ago. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?"

Derek sits down on the couch. "Do you have Scotch?"

I still have a bottle of the Scotch he likes. "Yeah, give me a second."

When I make it into the kitchen I take a deep breath. I don't know why I'm so nervous. This is Derek, after all. But I think that's why I'm so nervous. We ended things so terribly and both said things that were hurtful. But Derek did leave that voicemail. He wants to fix things and that was before I got shot. I never would want us to get back together just because I was almost killed. If we decide to patch things up, it should be because we want to, not because we feel obligated to.

I grab the Scotch bottle from the cabinet and pour him a glass. I carry the glass and the full bottle into the living room, just in case. I set the bottle down on the table and hand him the glass. I sit down on the chair across the room from him.

"You're not having anything?"

"I can't. Not with the meds I'm on."

Derek takes a sip and glances at the bottle. He smiles a little, maybe because he knows I had bought that brand because he likes it. He focuses on me. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. I'm feeling stronger every day."

"Healing a gunshot wound is a bitch, isn't it?"

"You would know." I glance down at his chest where I removed his bullet more than a year ago. "I've taken a dozen bullets out, but I never really knew how it'd feel. Gotta say, I have no interest in ever having another one."

Derek laughs. "Me neither. So you have, what, two weeks left?"

"Yes, thank god. I'm going nuts just sitting around all day."

"At least you've had Alex around."

"He's been in Iowa for almost two weeks. He ditched me."

Derek shakes his head. "That bastard."

"He is a bastard."

We share a smile.

Once I was coherent enough in the hospital, I demanded to talk to Alex. He was at Presbyterian, but they transferred him back to Georgetown by his own request. For about a week, we shared a wall and we'd visit with one another during the day. Alex was pissed off that he'd been shot while I was mostly sad. Eleven people died that day and seventeen were injured, all because I'd killed his wife. Alex always called bullshit on me when I started feeling bad because he said it wasn't my fault.

The rational side of me knows it isn't my fault, but sometimes I can't see past the guilt.

Besides Alex, Derek has been the best at checking in with me. But our phone calls always stopped after the how are you part, so now we're in uncharted water.

Derek reads the room, something he's very good at, and asks—probably to break up the silence—"How is your mom?"

"About the same. She was gone for about two weeks, but then came back for a full week. Now she's in and out. Some days are great and others are pretty bad. Richard hired a nurse a month and a half ago and she's doing really well. My mom likes her. For now it's working."

"Is Richard doing okay?"

"Some days are great and others are pretty bad," I repeat.

Derek nods. "I imagine it's hard. If you need anything—"

"I know," I interrupt.

We fall into another silence. Derek opens his mouth just as I ask, "How's the family?"

He recovers quickly. "Good. Amelia moved to Seattle."

"She did?"

"She did. She's taken a job at Seattle Grace."

"That's a good hospital."

Derek nods. "She seems to like it." He takes another sip of his drink.

Another silence. This one is longer because I don't know what to say. I've never not known what to say around Derek. I know what I want to talk about, but I'm not sure how to bring it up. However, it's my turn. He left me the message, so now I should bring it up. Open a door for him. Extend an olive branch and all that.

But I'm worried he's moved past it. Maybe it was a moment of weakness. Maybe he's over it.

God, my brain is exhausting.

"Okay—" Derek says right as I say, "So—"

We share a laugh.

"This is awkward," he says.

I feel relieved and nod. "Yes."

"It wasn't awkward in the hospital."

"I was on morphine."

"True."

"But you're right. It's never been awkward before."

"Which is what I wanted to talk about. I mean, not the awkwardness," he corrects. "I want to talk about us and everything that happened the night of the State Dinner. No," he says quickly. "I want to talk about everything leading up to the State Dinner. Everything you mentioned that night."

Before he continues, I say, "I don't want to take back anything I said to you that night, but I just want to apologize for my delivery. I think I was just so frustrated and instead of us talking through those issues that night, I just left."

"I let you leave because I couldn't talk through your issues. I was so set on doing things the 'right' way, but there is no 'right' way. I keep thinking I have to be a certain kind of President, but my presidency is not what needs tending. You and I are the ones who need support. I need to be supportive and I wasn't." Derek gets up and walks around the coffee table, sitting down there because it's closer, I guess. "You were right. I haven't been supporting you. I thought I was. I thought I was being enough for you, but I wasn't. I should've stood up for you against the media and I sure as hell should never have assumed you'd leave your job. You're an incredible surgeon and I'd be doing the people of DC a disservice by cutting back your hours. And—"

"Derek," I interrupt him. He immediately stops. "Take a breath."

He laughs. "I just have so much to apologize for."

I reach out and take his hand. "You don't."

Derek laces his fingers with mine. "I do. I really do. I treated you like shit."

"You didn't treat me like shit. You've always been good to me, but…you just got a little wrapped up in your own world. And I know your world is more important than mine—"

"It's not," he disagrees.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're the President. Your world is comprised of keeping hundreds of million people safe. Making the big decisions. Being the voice of the people. My world is more localized and I know what I do is important, but your job is all-consuming. I get that and I think that's why I let you forget about me."

Derek leans back a bit. "You thought I forgot you?"

"In a sense, yes."

"I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean any of it," I tell him.

Derek squeezes my hand. "You have to let me apologize though. Maybe I didn't treat you like shit, but forgetting you is a pretty shitty thing to do." I don't disagree with him. "I have an important job, but so do you. I'm busy, but so are you. And you've spent the last year bending for me. I need to make some adjustments to make my life fit with yours, not the other way around."

"So what are you saying?"

"First and foremost, you will not be First Lady if you don't want to be. And this isn't my way of guilting you into saying yes to the job. I'm happy to keep hiring people or maybe just one person to do the job. I stand by the fact that our previous First Ladies were incredible—"

"As do I. I never wanted to trample all over the legacy."

Derek nods. "Good. Because Michelle Obama has done an incredible job. Laura Bush was a terrific First Lady. But you have other things to do. You worked too hard to get to where you are to just throw it away. I've heard you and you don't need to take the job."

"Okay."

"And I'm going to talk to the media."

"I don't know, Derek. They do have a right—"

"Yes, they do have a right to say what they want, but that doesn't mean I can't say what I want. I'm not going to jump down their throats at every turn, but I'm not going to allow them to lie or to accuse you of being the reason I haven't gotten much done. You are not Yoko Ono in this situation."

I laugh. "I hope not. She's a bit too eccentric for me."

Derek smiles. "I want us to go back to being a partnership. And not just because you were shot."

"I know. I heard your message before all that happened."

"You did?" he brightens up.

I nod. "I was hiding in a supply closet with Cristina and I got your message. I couldn't really deal with it that day, but I've thought a lot about it since."

"So what do you think? Do you think we can make this work?"

"We can, but we need to communicate better. Myself included. Next time, I need to tell when the problem starts, not months later."

"And I need to tell you way ahead of time what I need to be doing. I'm not going to force you to go to dinners. If you want nothing to do with my presidency, we can work with that."

"I don't mind the dinners," I tell him honestly. "That's not a problem."

Derek nods. "Okay. And I'm not sure how you feel about getting married, but if you didn't want to—"

"I do." I blush. "God, that was embarrassing. I just meant—"

"I do, too," he says.

He leans towards me.

I stop him. "We are not having a big wedding," I tell him.

Derek nods. "I agree. Just you and me and a justice of the peace if you want."

"Well, maybe your family and mine."

"Maybe," he agrees. "And you don't have to move into the White House if you don't want to. I know it's overbearing and crazy around there, so if you wanted to stay here that would be okay."

A year ago, I would've hated the idea of living in the White House, but in the months I've spent the majority of my nights there, I've sort of grown to love being there. First, being with Derek every night is all I could want, but second, the people have been the best. The reason I hated the satellite house across the street was because I was always alone. There's no problem with loneliness in the White House. "No, I'd like to live there. With you."

Derek reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ear. He looks solemn. He swallows. "When I heard you got shot, I thought that was it."

"For a second, I did, too," I admit for the first time.

"I was a mess. I sat outside for more than an hour calling you and waiting on baited breath. When I heard it was you, I pushed Toby to the ground when he held me back from running inside after you."

"You assaulted Toby for me?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Derek does break a small smile. "I did."

I scoot forward in my chair so our knees are touching. "I didn't tell you then because I was afraid, but waking up to you being by my bed was incredible. I remember being half asleep or dreaming or something and I just knew you were there. But I was afraid when I woke up that it was going to be all a dream. But it wasn't. You really were there. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. I needed to be there. I'm just glad you didn't kick me out."

"I feel like I'm just getting my way after throwing a fit. Like I'm a child who wanted a certain toy, threatened to burn down the house, so you've given me what I want so I don't cause a scene."

Derek shakes his head and he gives me a look. Our look. "No, that's not it at all. I'm giving you what you want because it'll make you happy and that's all I want, to see you happy. Also, you were sort of right about everything."

I reach up and stroke Derek's cheek. "That last sentence was the sexiest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah?" he asks and leans in closer.

"Yeah," I say before kissing him.

We still have work to do. We still have to hammer out details, but I know Derek is on my side, which means we can make sound decisions together. But I'm not worrying about any of that now. For now I'm too busy focusing on the feeling of Derek's lips on mine. He and I are tripping our way upstairs to my bedroom and I haven't felt better in weeks. At the top of the stairs, Derek stops, pushes the hair out of my face and looks down at me. I push my hips against his, wanting his so badly, but also never wanting this moment to end.

The moment does end in a searing kiss and we're on the move again. Once in my room, I push Derek to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulls off his shirt and I pull off mine. I'm very much aware of my wound, which is basically healed, but I know Derek hasn't seen it yet. He holds my hips as he takes a closer look at the small bullet hole scar and the surgical scar that stretches two inches north and four inches south, right between my breasts. He reaches behind me to remove my bra, exposing me in all my glory.

Derek leans forward and kisses the very end of my scar, which is still very pink. He moves up and kisses beneath each of my breasts, his hands trailing around my back and sliding up. In all honesty, I've never felt more wanted in my life.

I reach forward and run my fingers along his scar. "We match," I tell him.

He gives me a sad smile. "We survived."

I lean down and kiss him.

Within minutes we're both naked and Derek is above me. I'm definitely ready for him, but he stops himself. "What?" I ask.

"I don't want to hurt you."

I run my hand over the scar. "You won't. I promise."

"But Doctor Bailey won't let you operate, and—"

"Derek. I am naked. I am naked and beneath you. Do you really want to be talking about Doctor Bailey right now?"

A second passes and then he says, "You're right. Scratch that." And then he slides into me.

We've had sex every way a couple can have sex, but this is the first time that truly feels like making love. We've made love before, probably the first time included, but for the first time I think we both understand what it would've meant if our bullets had strayed just a bit. We both could've died in our own way and neither of us seems okay with the prospect of losing the other.

So we take our time. Derek is gentler with me than usual, which I appreciate. I spend my time reacquainting myself with all the lines and freckles on his body while he spends his time lavishing me with kisses. Neither of us lasts very long because it has been five weeks, but it's all the better that way.

Afterwards, Derek goes downstairs for water and I lay on my back knowing I have to tell Derek just one more thing. The worst of the things we need to talk about.

When he walks back into the room, he looks so happy and I know I'm about to destroy him, but he needs to know. Derek removes his boxers and climbs back into bed with me. "I called Grant and Toby and told them to go home. It creeps me out when they're just waiting outside. Like this is some weird booty call."

I roll over on my side and hold a pillow to my chest. "Good," I say.

Derek slides down so he's eye level with me. "What's wrong? You seem sad." He runs his hand along my cheek.

"I have to tell you something."

He turns serious. "Okay."

I look away from him to gather my thoughts. Derek waits patiently. "The day of the shooting," I begin. "I was talking to Cristina and I don't know how it came up, but I was being mopey and sad and she suggested that maybe I was pregnant." I look at Derek and his eyes are wide. "I took a test. It was positive."

Derek glances down at my stomach for a second. I reach forward and take his hand. "I miscarried, Derek. Doctor Bailey said it was the trauma. Being shot and the shock to my body. It made me miscarry."

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Should we not have—"

"I'm fine," I assure him. "It was very early on and I didn't even know I'd had a miscarriage until after my surgery. I just want you to know that I was going to tell you. I wasn't going to make a decision without you."

Derek wraps his arm around my back and runs his hand up and down. "Do you know what you wanted to do?"

I shake my head. "I hadn't decided anything yet. But, if I'm being honest, we weren't together then and I'm not ready to have children. So…" I don't say anymore.

"I understand. And I would've supported any decision you would've made."

It feels good to have him on my side again. I run my hand up and along his arm and over his shoulder. "I want kids," I tell him. "Not today, but I think I want kids. Or a kid. Maybe a second one if the first one doesn't kill us." I pause for a second and then say, "But if you don't want kids—"

"I do," he says quickly. "I definitely, definitely do. One would be fine. We don't need more than one."

"So we're on the same page."

"We are," he agrees. He leans forward and kisses me briefly. "I'm sorry about the miscarriage. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

"I wasn't alone. You were there. You just didn't know the full extent. But you were there."

Derek leans back, lying on his back, and I slide over to rest my cheek on his chest. I'm officially tired. My energy level has been low since being shot, but it's getting better. However, it's been an emotional hour, or however long Derek has been here.

I'd be lying if I thought we couldn't work this out. I knew we could, but we just needed to lay everything out on the table. I've never been anyone who believes a person is "meant" for them, but if that kind of wizardry does exist, I believe it exists for Derek and me. We both are so different in so many ways, but we're similar. We're both workaholics and we both have high-pressure jobs. Neither of us is good about talking through our struggles or concerns. We're going to need to get better about that and I think we will. It'll take time, but it'll happen.

But I think our differences are what draw us together and will make us even partners in this relationship.

AN: I have to say, when I originally decided to stick closely to Shonda's story line regarding Meredith's pregnancy, I wasn't pregnant myself. However, now being pregnant, it wasn't the easiest to write, however I do find it to be important for Meredith and Derek. Rationally, they couldn't and shouldn't have a baby right now. They're just finding their footing again and I wouldn't want either of them to get back together because of obligation. They needed to find each other again because they needed one another. Also, they've opened up the kid conversation, which is a big thing for both of them, proving they're going to be better communicators.

For those who begged me for Meredith not to lose her baby, I'm sorry. But for the story, it made sense and will bring them even closer together.