A/N: Let me start by saying I am so sorry it took so long to update this story, and all my stories, and my existence. Things have been super crazy for me in all kinds of exciting but busy-making ways, and I think this is the longest I've gone without posting since I came back to live in April '17. So let me start off with a doozy, and see if you forgive me for my long absence when I give you a long, long chapter filled with a lot off stuff (for lack of a better word). This story is never far from my mind and always in my heart, and I promise you I would never leave it unfinished. (For those of you reading this who are waiting on other stories, I promise you those are coming too.) To everyone who reviewed and messaged and asked about this story and about me, I appreciate it so much and you are why this site is great. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope you'll tell me what you think.


heartbeats
...


"Mark, wait."

He catches up to the other man halfway down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Derek asks the back of his grey head.

Silence.

He doesn't turn around.

"Mark…"

It's a gaggle of passing scrubs that does it, orthopedic clogs clunking their way along the linoleum. Mark pulls aside to let them pass and then leans back against the wall, tipping his chin toward the ceiling. It's an expression Derek remembers from the time Mark broke his arm at Boy Scout camp, falling off the top of the shed they weren't supposed to climb. And the time Mark cut himself in shop class – Derek can't remember what he was doing, but he assumes it was something he wasn't supposed to. And another time too: Derek's father's funeral.

That wasn't supposed to happen either.

The point is, Mark's never been a crier.

Tactfully, Derek busies himself checking his blackberry.

His unanswered question from earlier hangs in the air: Did you sign?

He doesn't ask again whether Mark signed the papers that would allow the termination of Addison's pregnancy, just waits in the imitation of silence they have here in the hospital hallway – loud and bustling, but not near them. They're in a quiet bubble, waiting.

The air is thick with disinfectant, assorted perfumes and sweat as people pass them by.

"I couldn't do it," Mark says finally. He's looking at his hands now. "Not yet, anyway. The authorization lasts for twelve hours," he explains, "and that's it. But I couldn't sign his death sentence. Not when she's – lying there trying to keep him alive."

Derek swallows hard.

"And maybe…" Mark's voice trails off. "It's, uh, it's something Meredith said. She was here, you know, she saw her."

He stops talking again, maybe wondering if Derek knew that, or if it would bother him.

Derek just nods encouragingly.

"Meredith said … maybe they're keeping each other alive."

The words bring a brief ache to Derek's chest. He can picture Meredith saying it, and along with the image of her in his mind is the tug of missing her closeness.

Mark seems like he's waiting for an answer now.

"Maybe they are," Derek suggests tentatively.

"Maybe," Mark says. "Or maybe they're killing each other."

The silence is loud now, like pounding footsteps and heartbeats all at once.

"I should get back," Mark says finally, his gaze skating toward the elevators. The twist of his shoulders reminds Derek how thin he's gotten, sharp cuts of bone.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asks.

"You sound like your mother," Mark says.

It's as informative answer as Derek expected: no, he hasn't.

"It's almost five … thirty," Derek corrects himself.

Mark doesn't respond.

Derek exhales. "You're going to get through this. Whatever happens, you'll get through this. Both of you."

"Yeah?" Mark glances at him. "I'm not so sure."

"I lost a parent," Derek says quietly, "and it was hard, for my mother, for the five of us, but we survived it – more than survived – we've made good lives and Vivian can do that too. You can help her do that."

"You had a great mom, though."

"And Vivian has a great dad – Mark," Derek says firmly when the other man starts to protest.

"Had, maybe," Mark amends. "When things were easy … maybe. I'm a lousy father when the chips are down. Don't pretend you haven't noticed. One of them hates me, and the other one – I had a pen in my hand, I was this close – " He stops talking, shaking hands gripping his own arms.

"Viv doesn't hate you," Derek says quietly. "She loves you, and she misses you. She needs you." He pauses, wondering if it will induce more guilt. "She wants to see you."

"I want to see her too." Mark looks grim. "I told the oncologist I'd be back for this … all hands meeting at nine."

"All hands meeting," Derek repeats. "That's the one where – "

Mark nods.

The twelve-hour strike, when his legal authorization expires. Derek checks his watch again. The authorization period almost half over.

"Come have dinner with us," Derek says abruptly.

Mark looks confused. "Us?"

"Us. My mother, my sisters, my daughter … your daughter … your typical less-than-civilized Shepherd family dinner."

Mark shakes his head. "I should stay here."

"You need to eat," Derek says, keeping his tone brisk, knowing heavy concern is only likely to make Mark feel worse. "You'll be back in plenty of time."

"Yeah, okay." Mark looks toward the elevators again. "Let me go see – I'll meet you, maybe."

Derek nods, figuring it's the best he'll get.

"It's too much trouble," Mark says gruffly, without preamble, "your keeping Viv all this time."

It's Mark expressing gratitude; he knows that. "Not at all. Zola loves her – and Vivian keeps her occupied, too – and Viv is actually warming up to me, believe it or not."

"Yeah?" Mark studies him for a moment. "I'm not surprised."

"No?"

"No. It usually takes you a while with the ladies. The discerning ones, anyway."

Derek mock-glares and for a moment, it's like they were never not friends.

The buzzing phone startles her, loud and unexpected in the humid quiet of the locker room. She scrambles for the device before it can wake the two little girls sleeping curled like two kittens on one soft chair.

"Derek," she whispers.

"Hey." His voice is a little distorted; from the sounds she can hear down the phone line he must be outside, maybe on the sidewalk. "How are the girls?" he asks.

It's a question that really needs a longer answer.

"They're okay," she says. She'll give him the details later.

There's a pause on the other end of the phone; Derek knows her too well and can tell there's more to the story, she realizes, but he lets it go.

"I invited Mark to dinner," he says, "and he's going to try to make it, but I think we probably shouldn't say anything to Viv in case he can't."

She agrees, but she's stuck on one word.

"Dinner?" Dinner. "Oh, god." She brushes her hair out of her face, then flips her phone to check the time. Shit. "Derek, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" he asks. "Where are you, anyway?" he adds when she doesn't respond.

"I'm … at the Alliance."

"Still? The kids haven't shriveled up by now?"

"Not exactly." Meredith pauses. "Zola had a minor meltdown. And then … Vivian had a major one."

"Ah." Derek pauses. "Is she okay?"

No need to ask which she. Zola's minor meltdowns, part of her toddler charm, are never a real concern.

"Yeah. I think so." Meredith glances at the chair where Viv is curled up with Zola, long braids hanging over her shoulders. "I didn't realize how late it was, and I know you mentioned dinner before. But, uh, I smell like chlorine."

"Sounds delicious."

"And I'm wearing ratty clothes, and – "

"It's dinner with my family, not the queen. But you don't have to come, if you don't want to. Why don't you take the girls back to the apartment?"

She's considering whether to accept, gratefully, when Derek starts talking again. "Wait. I told Mark where we'd be, and he's hoping to join us." He's silent for a moment. "It's okay, I can text him, get him to swing by the apartment instead – "

"No, we'll come," Meredith interrupts. "The girls should eat, and your family …"

Her voice trails off, remembering Vivian's interactions with them at Liz's house.

"I warned them," Derek says quickly. "They know we're watching Viv and they'll … watch themselves. And they'll watch Nancy," he adds, making Meredith smile ruefully on the other end of the phone.

He sounds so genuinely glad they're coming that she can't even feel too disappointed. She can make it work.

She just needs to wake two sleeping children.

What could go wrong?

But the nap seems to have worked its magic: Zola is transformed back into her sunny self. She's tickled to find Vivian dozing on her, and once she's wriggled free she plants several wet kisses on Meredith's cheeks when she's climbed her way onto her mother's hip.

"I took a nap," Zola informs her breathlessly, as if Meredith has just flown in and requires an update.

"You sure did, Zozo." She kisses the top of her head. "You feeling better now?"

Zola nods, tugging with interest at the fluffy towel that surrounds her. "Mommy! Mommy!" The towel has gapped in her two pudgy hands and now Zola's eyes are wide with excitement at her discovery. "I'm naked!"

Meredith sees Vivian cover her mouth with her little hand, apparently awake now too, though she hasn't moved from her chair, and can tell she's smiling underneath. Sensing she might want a little space, Meredith gives her a smile but then turns back to her daughter, who is still beaming at her lack of clothing.

"Naked," Zola repeats dreamily.

"I can fix that." Meredith reaches into the bag for Zola's clothes, but not quickly enough to intervene as her daughter darts away for a gleeful nude circuit around the locker room. Meredith doesn't have the heart to stop her, not when her daughter is in such a great mood … and not when Mark's daughter giggles at the sight of her.

Not until she's dressed a wriggling, chatty Zola, and packed all their things does Meredith realize that Vivian's brief interlude of sleep was undisturbed, by dreams or otherwise.

The humidity is almost audible. A buzz, heavy wet breaths. It should be cooler now, only a couple of hours from sunset, but it's hotter, the air uncomfortably warm around him. Derek remembers Augusts past in New York step by step as he makes his way to the restaurant his sister chose. He remembers the double-edged sword of it all: walk faster and you can get out of the heat sooner, but you'll be sweatier; slow down and you might sweat less, but you'll spend longer in the humid outdoor air.

He's walking alone, Meredith bringing the girls to meet the rest of them at the restaurant, and it could be any year of his life in New York, heading for a hastily planned family dinner with usual caveats: the restaurant has to be in the precise Venn diagram of the places various sisters refuse to go, it has to meet his mother's strict specifications of frugality, not to mention it can't be too –

"Fancy," his mother shakes her head after she kisses Derek hello. "I told you children not to fuss."

"We didn't," Kathleen assures her, throwing Derek a look he recognizes. "It's fine, Mom. We thought you'd like it."

We. Derek wonders if he's part of that Shepherd first-person plural these days.

His mother, for her part, doesn't look convinced.

Derek glances around: his sisters have chosen a small Italian restaurant a couple of steps down from the sidewalk. The air conditioning is fairly strong, to his relief, but there are fans placed strategically around the room anyway, as if the restaurant is still clinging to the days before central air. It's casual, with other children present, tables of families; there's a wall of exposed brick and framed black and white pictures from the middle of the last century.

As long as his mother avoids studying the prices too long, and then lecturing them on the price of food when she was young, it seems doable.

He's about to settle into a chair when Liz takes him aside. "How's Mark?" she asks quietly.

Derek pauses, wondering what she knows. "I guessed," she says, her tone neutral. "You were with him," she confirms.

Derek nods.

"Is there any – "

"No change," Derek says quickly. He tells his sister that Mark might stop by, reminding her that Vivian doesn't know and not to tell her.

And then he takes his place as the only Shepherd son, the one he left behind years ago. Sisters and brothers-in-law and the nieces and nephews who are local – Chloe and Caitlin have both arrived now, Christopher apparently only blocks behind them – crowd around the table. Over the clink of ice in water glasses, his older sisters chatter in one voice.

Amy isn't here. He's not surprised, didn't really expect her. But when his youngest nieces arrive without their mother, he feels a flicker of foreboding.

"Where's your mom?" Liz asks the question for him as she bustles around moving chairs and greeting both twins.

"Working," Sarah says.

He hears Kathleen's under-her-breath comment that it's better Nancy and Amy both skipped the dinner than both of them showing up. Derek busies himself with a piece of bread, not wanting anything on his face to give away his impression that he doesn't think Nancy and Amy's simultaneous absence is coincidental at all.

"How did you get here?" Carolyn is asking the twins, her tone affectionate and suspicious in equal measures.

"The subway, Grammy." Joy kisses her grandmother's cheek.

"Alone?"

"No, together," Sarah says.

"But without an adult." Carolyn shakes her head.

"City kids." Liz smiles at the girls. "The good thing is, you won't want to rush to get driver's licenses when you turn sixteen."

Joy and Sarah exchange a look suggesting it's not such an even trade, and then Liz, Kathleen, and several of his nieces begin a passionate discussion about the appropriate age to learn to drive.

He tunes it out – partly habit, partly distraction about Nancy and Amy's simultaneous absence, and a hefty dose of concern for his wife. He wants to see her, and Zola – so much that perhaps it should embarrass him, considering it hasn't actually been that long since they parted ways.

But it feels long, and he didn't miss the undertone in Meredith's voice: her swim outing was clearly not stress-free.

He's relieved when the door chimes announce Meredith's arrival. She's holding Zola's hand, her other hand on Viv's shoulder, a large bag slung across her back. Her hair is bordering on wild the way it does when it air-dries and despite whatever must have happened, she looks calm and beautiful. He can't not smile, seeing her.

"Daddy!"

His daughter's delighted squeal is followed by a rebellious trek across the restaurant, tearing away despite Meredith's warning and darting between two servers. Derek holds his breath; nothing spills, and he squats to scoop up his daughter. "You need to be careful here, Zozo," he says, attempting a firm tone as Meredith apologizes to the two startled waiters. But his words are swallowed in Zola's affectionate greeting. "I missed you too," he admits, as she squeezes him around the neck with her pudgy little arms.

"I went swimming," Zola chatters as he carries her the rest of the way to the table. "In the pool, Daddy."

"You did? That sounds fun." He kisses one soft cheek and then they're swallowed up by the larger Shepherd family.

Zola is unintimidated by the crowd, wriggling to get down where she's instantly beckoned by Chloe and Caitlin. Derek watches his daughter with her cousins for a moment, then turns back to Meredith. The set of her chin betrays her tiredness, but she smiles warmly at him. She's holding Vivian by the hand, he notices now. Viv is watching Zola; he can't see her expression, but her hair is in two long braids he realizes must be Meredith's handiwork.

He's debating whether and how to engage her when Caitlin calls her name, waving toward their side of the table, where somehow paper and crayons have appeared and Zola is already being passed from lap to lap.

Vivian glances up at Meredith, who nods encouragingly, and then flip-flops her way to Caitlin's side. Derek sees her face only briefly; she looks tired and puffy-eyed.

With both her charges otherwise occupied, Meredith moves in closer, resting her head against his shoulder. He holds her tightly for a moment, wishing it could be longer, inhales the scent of her hair – locker room shampoo, he supposes; it smells expensive and unfamiliar, but underneath it is everything he recognizes.

"Newlyweds," Kathleen says, and he realizes they have an audience.

"We're not newlyweds," Derek says, annoyed and not sure why. Meredith rests a calming hand on his arm.

"Relatively speaking," Kathleen amends, sounding defensive.

Not everything is relative. But he's not about to get into an argument with any of his sisters, much less the one who likes to make amateur diagnoses.

He focuses instead on his daughter, across the table, basking in her cousins' warm attention. They're competing openly for her time, which she seems to appreciate. Viv is hanging back, but he can see that she's talking to Caitlin and declines to intervene.

Meredith slides in next to him. "They're so good with Zola," she says appreciatively as his mother hurries to pass her a menu and, he assumes, to feed her.

Derek watches his nieces and nephews for a moment, seeing them through her eyes. The children he knew, so much older now, with his child. "There are always kids around in a big family," he says by way of explanation. "You know, they get used to looking out for them … entertaining them …"

Meredith's gaze is distractingly soft. He brushes his fingers against her temple, moving a waved strand from her face.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I was just thinking … that I kind of wished Zola could have a big family." Tilting her chin, she indicates the other side of the table, their daughter in her adoring throng of cousins-in-waiting. "And then I realized she already does."

They're two baskets of bread in, hearty pasta dishes that would make Nancy's nose wrinkle, and only two tipped beverages.

"It's not a family dinner unless someone spills something," Christopher reminds the table, as Zola pokes experimentally at the wet paper-covered tablecloth. The waitress who brings her a fresh glass of milk can't seem to resist pinching one of Zola's irresistibly round cheeks and Zola, who knows a good thing when she sees one, reacts with a smile so wide she's rewarded with a maraschino cherry on the waitress's next round.

"So good," Zola says happily, showing her parents the empty stem. "Like a gummy bear," she adds, causing a soft ripple of laughter.

"What do you say?" Meredith prompts gently.

"Thank you," Zola tells the waitress sweetly, then points to her friend. "Give Vivi one too, okay," she orders in a cheerful tone.

Vivian glances up at her name, her cheeks coloring slightly when she sees everyone looking at her. Derek notices Caitlin resting a protecting hand on her back and gives his niece a grateful look.

"Oh, what a sweetheart. I'll be right back." The waitress looks impressed with Zola's concern and Derek is rather impressed himself.

Vivian accepts the cherry, holding it delicately by the stem and thanking the waitress politely.

"Vivi!" Zola slides off Chloe's lap once the waitress has left and pads to her older friend. "Share?" she asks hopefully

Laughter moves along the table again; Derek and Meredith exchange an amused look. "Viv, she's already had one, you don't need to share," Meredith says quietly. Vivian ignores her and hands the cherry to Zola.

"You can have it," she says, and Zola beams.

"You're a really good sharer," Zola tells Vivian, patting her arm with one cherry-sticky hand before clambering back into her cousin's lap.

"Highway robbery," Derek says, shaking his head, and Liz grins at him from next to their mother. He turns to Meredith. "What are we going to do?"

"It will correct itself," Liz says, sounding amused. "She can't be this cute forever."

"They never are," Kathleen adds.

"Thanks a lot," Chloe pipes in, feigning affront.

Zola has finished her second cherry and moved on to another roll with copious cousin-spread butter. She's shunned the adorably small kids' plate of pasta and meatballs they ordered for her; Viv, who shrugged unenthusiastic assent at their first suggestion, has somehow figured out how to eat spaghetti with perfect manners and zero mess. Derek is frankly impressed; he's not sure he could twirl pasta so politely and effectively before his thirties. And he's pleased to see Viv eating anything, though he also notices that despite her dexterity, she's made very little headway on the plate.

He's about to say something encouraging – though he's not sure what – when he hears the chimes on the door ring again and glances up to see who's arrived.

Vivian is bent over the drawing pad as he approaches; Caitlin points to something, maybe asking a question, but before Viv can answer she seems to notice the rustling behind her.

"Daddy," she breathes, dropping her crayon and grabbing him around the waist.

Mark's eyes are closed, one of his big hands covering Viv's head, moving carefully like he's memorizing her. When he cups her face and tilts it up, Derek can see in his expression that he can tell she's been crying. He doesn't say anything, though, just brushes her cheeks with his thumbs. Moments pass in which he seems lost in his daughter, and then he seems to remember that he's just arrived at a bustling table of Shepherds.

Liz, ever the hostess, makes his welcome warm and brief – Derek has a moment of appreciation for his oldest sister, realizing that Caitlin's gentle and empathetic treatment of Mark's daughter must have come from somewhere. It's Liz's careful corralling of the crowd that gets the rest of the family to return to their previous discussion so that Mark can focus on Vivian, who has been holding onto both his hands during the momentary interruption.

"I didn't know you were coming here," she says to her father, shooting Derek a mildly treacherous look. Apparently it's his fault; he'll take it. "Nobody told me," she adds.

"That's my fault." Mark takes the seat Vivian vacated and lifts her into his lap. "I wasn't sure if I could make it."

"Are we going home? After?" Viv tips her head back to see her father's face.

"I need to go back to the hospital," Mark says after a moment. "So you're going to stay with Zola and her parents for one more night, okay?"

Viv glances across the table. She looks torn, perhaps between her often surprisingly sensitive manners and her desire to go back to her own house.

"I don't want to," she whispers finally.

"I know, baby, I wish I could take you home, believe me." Mark holds her close for a moment, then pushes her gently back to see her face. "I need you to be brave, okay?"

Vivian turns slightly; Derek watches as she seems to catch Meredith's eye across the table. Just for a moment, before her gaze flickers away.

"Okay," she says. She pats her father's arm with one small hand. "It's okay."

They were mostly finished by Mark's arrival, although Derek knows his mother must be champing at the bit to feed up the uncharacteristically thin man who sat at her dinner table as a boy. He ends up finishing Viv's meal when she refuses to eat any more of it; Derek is aware it's probably futile to argue with either Sloan.

Somehow, like so many things that have taken place during their time in Manhattan, Mark's entrance at a Shepherd family dinner for the first time since Derek's own small Shepherd family was severed … is far less climactic than he would have predicted. His sisters are friendly enough, but let him focus on his child. He catches a few of his sisters' children glancing at Mark with curiosity – the twins must barely remember him, but he was a fixture in the older ones' lives when they were young. Vivian, for her part, knots her fingers in her father's shirt and declines to leave his lap even when the waitress who fell in love with Zola brings an unexpected slice of cake.

Then it's every other Shepherd family dinner, with a good-natured argument over the bill and Carolyn's assurance that everyone has an approved way home. She seems satisfied that Liz will accompany the twins back to Brooklyn – "we're taking her," Joy corrects, and Derek can't decide whether Nancy's daughters seem a little fresh because their mother is absent tonight or simply because Nancy is their mother.

"You're staying with Nancy tonight," Carolyn confirms, glancing from Liz to Kathleen, as the family spills out onto the humid sidewalk. Derek doesn't miss the look that passes between Joy and Sarah.

"She's having work done on the third floor," Liz shrugs.

"You're not staying in a hotel at these prices." Carolyn looks concerned. "Or driving all the way back to Connecticut – Elizabeth – "

"Mom, it's fine," Liz reassures her patiently. "We're staying at Nancy's friends' place."

"All of you?"

"It's a brownstone, and they're away for the summer."

Derek listens with some amusement as his sister, who is nearing her mid-fifties and has been practicing medicine for three decades, runs the logistics of her evening plans by their mother.

When Carolyn is satisfied and has bestowed good nights on all her other grandchildren – each of whom is taller than her by this point – she turns to Derek.

"I'm sleeping at the apartment," he says, lifting both hands in mock surrender, and his mother shakes her head.

"A parent worries, Derek. You know that."

"I do know that." He smiles at her, a little impressed that she can still treat them so much the same so many years later.

"Come back to the apartment," Vivian is begging Mark now, hanging onto one of his big hands with both of her small ones. "Please?"

Mark exchanges a glance with Derek that's universal-father, fear that it will be harder for her to separate if he takes that extra step. He does it anyway, carrying Viv on his shoulders for the walk back while Derek cradles a sleeping Zola. Meredith cast him only one sidelong glance when he urged her to accompany his mother home in a taxi; he's fairly certain her silence has something to do with her encouraging him to spend time with Mark.

And so they do: side by side, with their daughters, they walk together along the slow hot blocks between the restaurant and the temporary apartment.

They don't talk, not really – the streets are noisy with traffic and whirring air conditioners dropping the occasional moist pellet onto his neck or the top of his head. Zola sleeps peacefully despite the humidity and the honking of horns, and when Derek glances up he sees that Vivian, though still awake, is slumped tiredly on her father's shoulders.

He wants to say something, some words – supportive? Encouraging?

One look at Mark's expression as they cross into the chilly, light-flooded lobby, and he realizes he has no idea what those words could be.

Inside the apartment, he settles a sleeping Zola in his and Meredith's bed – she wakes briefly, and Meredith moves in to soothe her. He returns to the living area to see his mother bidding Mark good night.

"Don't go yet." Viv's lower lip is trembling when he approaches.

"Vivi, come on. You said you wouldn't do this if I walked back with you." Mark's tone suggests he realizes this tactic is futile.

Derek trails them to the front door, any feeling he's intruding washes away by Mark's quick glance of gratitude.

"I'm going to see you tomorrow," he tells Viv, who immediately shakes her head and reaches for him. "Vivi…"

"I want to go with you," she pleads.

"Hey." He kneels down when she continues to protest, holding her away from him by the arms when she tries to cling to his neck. "Listen to me. I need you to stay here so I can go back to Mommy. Don't you want me to try to help her?"

"Maybe she wants to see me."

"I know she wants to see you, baby, but she's just not ready yet. You've got to give me a little time."

"No," Vivian whimpers. "I want you to stay here."

"Vivi." He holds on to her. "I can't stay here. Mommy needs me."

"So do I!"

Derek sees the pain in Mark's face, sees the moment his hands tighten on Vivian's little arms without realizing.

"Ow," she whimpers and he releases her immediately, shaking his hands as if he's been burned.

"I'm sorry." He rubs her arms gently. "I didn't mean to do that, baby, I wasn't – I wasn't paying attention."

She clings to him and Mark crouches on the ground with a helpless expression, stroking her back and speaking to her too quietly for Derek to hear. Finally he stands up, Viv still in his arms.

"Don't go," she says again, turning her face into his shoulder.

Mark meets Derek's gaze, shaking his head. "Maybe I shouldn't have come," he says quietly. He looks torn, guilty, as he cradles Vivian against him. He shifts her to one arm, checks his watch, and then shakes his head again.

"Okay, baby, I'm going to see you tomorrow." He holds her close for another moment. "I promise."

But when he tries to set her down, she refuses, growing more frantic as Mark starts to get impatient.

"Vivi, let go. Remember what I – come on. Vivian."

The sharper Mark's tone, the more intent Viv seems to be on holding on to him. Derek hovers, skirting the line between supporting and interfering, and then regrets his reticence when Mark finally peels Vivian away from him with enough force for her to lose her balance and fall down on the parquet floor.

Mark curses, crouching down to pick her up. "I told you to let go," he scolds, but the guilt in his voice is obvious. "You okay? Look at me." He skims his hands over her. "If you would just listen to me, this wouldn't – come on, Vivi, you're okay. Stop crying."

She doesn't.

"Tell me where it hurts," he proposes.

She shakes her head as if to say, I can't.

Mark's expression is helpless; he kisses the sharp point of her little elbow and one of her knees, reasonable guesses based on the way she fell.

Then he checks the time again with the hand that's not holding his daughter and gives Derek a meaningful look.

"Viv," Derek says tentatively, "can you help me with something that Zola – "

"No!" she shouts. He should have realized she would see right through that.

"Hey." Mark frowns. "Don't yell."

"I don't like him!"

At Vivian's words, in spite of himself, in spite of knowing how upset Viv is and understanding her desire to lash out, Derek feels an unexpected twinge of hurt. Still, he tries to communicate wordlessly to Mark to drop it.

He doesn't, though.

"Don't be rude," Mark scolds Vivian. "Derek is doing us a favor."

Viv looks from one of them to the other, like she's considering her options; Derek finds himself wincing at Mark's phrasing. A sticky silence descends.

"Sorry," Vivian mutters finally, vaguely in Derek's direction, not looking particularly sincere, and then slips her thumb into her mouth.

"That's my good girl." Mark kisses the top of her head. "I really have to go now, Vivi, I'm already going to be late." Derek sees the fingers of her free hand tighten in his shirt and sees Mark wince in response. "Baby, please …"

In the end Derek has to help Mark pry Vivian away from him, which is about as pleasant as it sounds. She seems to suddenly have sprouted as many arms and legs as an octopus and she cries angrily when Derek intercedes. Finally, he's able to restrain her long enough for Mark to say one last apologetic goodnight, admonishing Viv to behave and promising her he'll try to call later, before the door closes behind him. Derek is left holding an enraged little girl – she thrashes and kicks, hard, and he's suddenly reminded of the much smaller girl he helped Mark with at Clara's disastrous wedding, who kicked him so viciously with her tiny party shoes while Mark tried to keep her mother from interfering with Amy's arrest.

The interceding years have improved her strength, and it's with some difficulty that he frees a hand to turn the deadbolt a foot and a half over Viv's head before he sets her on her feet. She launches herself at the locked door anyway, sobbing, and pulls uselessly at the knob.

"Let me out," she demands.

"I can't do that, Viv."

Her words are muffled by her tears but he can make out go with him.

"I know you wanted to go. I'm sorry." Not sure what else to do, Derek sits down on the ground, but stays out of kicking range.

Meredith peers around the wall divider after a few moments; he shrugs slightly in her direction as they both watch Viv tugging on the doorknob and crying. Their wordless exchange is brief; over Vivian's cries he hears Zola calling for her mother – she must have been awakened by the hubbub – and Meredith disappears to tend to her.

Eventually Vivian seems to wear herself out, sliding down the locked front door until she too is sitting sprawled on the floor and slipping her thumb in her mouth, occasionally sniffing noisily. Her long braids have turned messy, locks of damp hair hanging around her flushed face, and tears continue to run down her wet cheeks.

When her tears have turns mostly to hitching breaths, Derek gets up in search of tissues.

"Where are you going?"

He turns around at the scratchy little voice. "To get some tissues for you." He smiles tentatively at her. "I'll be right back. Okay?"

She doesn't answer, but she's still sitting there when he returns. She makes no move to help him, but when he crouches down in front of her, she lets him wipe her face. It takes some strategizing since she continues to suck her thumb.

"Did you hurt yourself when you fell, before?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

"Good." He studies her for a moment. She looks very small hunched on the floor with her thumb in her mouth. "Do you want a drink of water?"

She shakes her head.

"You want to go sit in the other room, where it's more comfortable?"

She shakes her head again.

"Okay." He gestures to the floor. "Can I just keep sitting here with you, then?"

Very slowly, she nods.

He slides down the opposite wall until he's mirroring her posture. Vivian doesn't look at him, just sucks her thumb pensively around the hiccupy breaths that attend the aftermath of tears, worrying the end of one braid with her free hand.

...

Zola drifts back to sleep quickly once she's in her mother's arms, but her little fingers grasp tightly: one clutches the fabric of her t-shirt, and the other weaves into her hair. Meredith can hear, faintly, the commotion from the entryway – she's put music on to soothe Zola, but it can only drown out so much. She's torn, wanting to help Derek with the unenviably difficult – and sad – task of dealing with Vivian, yet not wanting to let go of her own child, who is still clinging hard.

It's the tiniest taste of what she knows Mark's life has become, torn between supporting the two most important people in her life. All she knows is that she loves each immeasurably, and yet that love is not enough to put her in two places at once.

It feels unfair.

It should be.

As it is, she holds her daughter close and breathes in her sweet scent until Carolyn trudges in, perhaps somehow aware of Meredith's dilemma. Or maybe a woman who raised five children alone is used to feeling torn. Either way, she smiles encouragingly at Meredith, offering with a wordless gesture to sit with Zola. Gently disentangling her daughter, and confirming she'll continue to sleep, Meredith makes her way toward what she now realizes is a silent front hall.

They didn't leave …?

She's confused until she rounds the corner and Derek looks up at her from the floor where he's sitting, legs stretched out in front of him. He lifts a finger to his lips and then points silently toward the front door. A few more steps and she sees what he was indicating: slumped against the front door, thumb in her mouth, head drooping toward one small shoulder, is Vivian. Her tear streaked face and mussed hair speak to her earlier distress, but she's looks calm in sleep, even peaceful. Keeping her footsteps light, Meredith makes her way to Derek's side and lowers herself carefully – he reaches up to ease her down – to the floor beside him. She leans her head against his shoulder and he wraps an arm around her back. Then she takes his other hand in hers and moves it gently to the rise in her midsection. Even in total silence, his posture telegraphs his emotions when he feels what she did a moment ago – their son's kick, healthy and strong.

And then he stands, carefully and quietly, and takes her hands to help her to her feet before she can protest that she's fine on her own. With some maneuvering, he manages to lift Vivian without waking her. Meredith accompanies him to the junior bedroom that even in her absence continued to feel like it was Viv's. She's already grabbed the smiling black and white panda from the larger guest room where Carolyn will sleep, and it's resting atop the puffy comforter. Meredith draws back the covers on the small bed so Derek can set down the bundle in his arms.

They breathe a joint sigh of relief when Viv stays asleep, and another when they return to their bedroom to see that Derek's mother has kept watch over a slumbering Zola. Carolyn smiles softly at them, her lips pressed together a bit in silent sympathy for Vivian – and, Meredith is certain, for her parents – before she takes her leave.

And then it's just their small family of three, four if you count the life growing within her, the one where she rests her hand as she's drifting off, and Derek rests his too, with Zola curled between them.

If she could hold onto them tighter, she would.

The scream that wakes him is the worst one he's heard, reminiscent of that night in the hospital when he first came across Vivian's sleep disturbance – but somehow more terrifying.

He should have predicted this would happen, that's what he's thinking as he swings his legs out of bed while he assures Meredith he can handle it. She's cuddling an already whimpering Zola, who was startled awake by Vivian's cries.

Truthfully, he has no idea if he can handle it. He's frantically trying to remember how Mark handled it when he realizes, half-asleep and horrified, that Viv's bed is empty.

Cursing to himself and suddenly fully alert, he tracks the sound of her screams to the kitchen – or the outside of the kitchen.

The sight is nothing short of eerie and he pauses to take it in. Apparently blocked by the baby gates Meredith thought to install, Vivian is standing just outside the kitchen, both her hands raised slightly in the air as if she's pushing on something. She's like a very small, ghostly mime.

And then she screams again, not a mime at all. The sound is heartbreaking – she seems utterly terrified, even if he's almost certain she's asleep and she won't remember.

Carefully, he makes his way toward her. She's determinedly pushing on nothing, perhaps trying to get into the kitchen. Then she pivots, very slowly, and looks right through him.

Derek's mouth dries.

Vivian's lips part and Derek braces for more screaming but she's quieter this time, more desperate. Help me, she pleads, her voice laced with terror. Help me!

"Viv, it's okay," he offers, unable to stop himself from trying to provide comfort even if she can't understand him.

She's hysterical then, somewhere between asleep and awake in a state the neurosurgeon in him finds fascinating and the father in him finds terrifying. She cries for her father and mother in turn, her words as clear as her eyes are unfocused.

And then with no warning she wakes with a start – he sees her face change, her eyes, like a shade opening on a window – and then bursts into tears, gasping for breath and sinking to her knees on the parquet floor.

"Okay, Viv, you're okay." He moves in to support her, not liking the choked sounds coming from her throat. "Breathe, sweetie."

Her little body is trembling under his hands. Of course she's confused and disoriented. "You're at our apartment tonight," he reminds her quietly, "with me, and Meredith, and Zola."

Her eyes are darting around the room, little panicked breaths escaping her.

"You're okay, Viv. I just need you to breathe," he coaxes her, rubbing her shaking back in slow circles. "Take some nice deep breaths for me, okay? You can do it. Nice and slow. Breathe."

She doesn't.

She coughs instead, gagging and then pulling away from him to vomit on the floor. She's eaten so little that there's not much for her to bring up, but she keeps heaving: the second time is mostly water, the third is stripes of yellow bile.

Derek does what he can to hold back her long messy hair but there's so much of it that he can't quite manage, and to comfort her, but Vivian seems beyond comfort. And then Meredith is at his side, assuring him that Zola is fine and with his mother, and he's sighing with pure, shameful relief at the sheer comfort of his wife's presence.

The pungent odor of vomit hits her first, before she takes in the heartbreaking scene of Derek trying to comfort a distraught Vivian. Pausing to squeeze her husband's shoulder reassuringly, and make he knows Zola is taken care of, she does a hasty job of clearing the floor and dampens fresh towels to clean up Vivian, who is intermittently crying and coughing.

Meredith watches as Viv chokes on another round of coughs, gagging and stopping just short of vomiting again.

Derek's expression is grim. "Do you think we should …?" Derek asks cautiously, apparently not willing to say something along the lines of call Mark when Vivian is able to hear. Meredith knows what Mark must be dealing with at the hospital – and she knows Derek knows more.

Slowly, Meredith shakes her head. She's kneeling on the floor with them now, listening to Viv's jagged breaths between cries and Derek's attempts to calm her down.

Take a bath.

The words pop into her head as if Viv's spoken them herself once more. But she hasn't, not tonight – it was what she said what feels like a lifetime ago, during her first visit to the apartment. Distraught after what Meredith now knows must have been a smaller sleep terror, Vivian offered the suggestion when Meredith asked what would soothe her.

And it did.

"Derek," she whispers. "I'm going to go run a bath."

He looks up at her with gratitude, and no small measure of trust – if he's curious about why she's doing so, he doesn't ask.

God, I hope this works.

Derek carries a weeping Vivian into the master bathroom when Meredith gestures that she's ready – the tub is filled with warm water, the same scented bubble bath she used during Viv's first visit. With Zola occupied in the guest bedroom with Grammy – hopefully sleeping, but at the very least comforted – the bathroom is steamy and quiet. Viv's cries echo off the mirrors when Derek sets her on her feet. Meredith takes tentative steps toward her, speaking quietly and indicating the bathtub. Vivian doesn't move. She's still wearing the shorts and t-shirt she put on at the Alliance, soaked through with sweat from her night terror. The front of the shirt is spattered with vomit and Viv doesn't object when Meredith strips it carefully over her head. She's shivering in her underwear, still refusing to get into the bath.

"It might make you feel better," Meredith tells her softly.

Viv clings to Derek, who looks as surprised as Meredith feels. Her throat is thick as she sees how seriously Derek takes his obligation to stand in for Mark, offering Vivian the closest substitute he can for the paternal shoulder she can't cry on. She takes a moment to love what he's doing. To love him for doing what Mark can't.

What would I want someone to do for Zola, if I couldn't?

Slipping out of her lightweight sweatpants, so she's clad only in the tank top she planned to sleep in and her underwear, she climbs into the tub.

The warm water is undeniably soothing as it bubbles fragrantly over her shoulders. She sees Vivian is watching her with round, tearful eyes. Meredith draws a deep breath, then looks up at Derek, who nods.

Carefully, he leans over the tub and places Viv in her arms. She sobs at first, her voice hoarse from all her crying, but slowly calms down in the warm water. Meredith settles her slight weight flush against her own body, not speaking, letting the water's embrace combine with her own. Meredith holds her close, Viv's little arms and legs coming to wrap around the swell of Meredith's midsection until only their heads are out of the water.

She feels – and is certain Viv does too – the fluttering, insistent kick of her unborn son. Heavy and weightless at once in the water, all three of them float until a finally silent Viv falls asleep in the lapping bubbles, one of her hands fisted in Meredith's hair.

"You did it," Derek says quietly, and Meredith glances over, remembering where they are. Derek's eyes are very soft, watching them.

He needs to see Zola. With Vivian calmed by Meredith's ingenuity and her presence, toweled dry and sleeping heavily in the middle of the big bed in one of his wife's t-shirts, he goes in search of his own child. He finds her curled up asleep against his mother, who is sitting up in bed with an open book in her lap.

"She's okay," Derek says quietly. "Sleeping now. Meredith got to her sleep, actually."

"That poor child." His mother shakes her head.

"Thank you, for watching Zola."

"You don't have to thank me, son," she says quietly.

He's somewhat surprised, come to think of it, that she never emerged to investigate. His mother was always in the center of things, in his memories, splitting up arguments and doling out chores and soothing nightmares.

He says as much to his mother.

"I knew you were taking care of it," she says by way of explanation.

"You weren't worried about Vivian?"

"I was sorry for her," Carolyn says, stroking Zola's silky bare arm. "But I wasn't worried about her. She was with you."

He sits on the side of the bed for a moment, his throat surprisingly thick. He used to sit on the side of his mother's bed like this sometimes, as a teenager. Is something troubling you, son? his mother might ask.

"I only wish your father were here," his mother adds quietly, "to see what wonderful fathers you are."

He's halfway back to his bedroom with a sleeping Zola in his arms before he realizes his mother said fathers, plural.

The sun will come up, every day. It was one of his mother's aphorisms – supposedly from her mother – and it was as resolute as Carolyn herself.

It's demonstrably true, too: the sun rises the next morning hot and gold through the windows despite the disturbed sleep of the apartment's occupants. Derek wakes first with Zola sprawled snoring softly on his chest. Next to him, Meredith is curled on her side toward Vivian, who is resting on her back with one cheek resting on the back of one hand, sleeping so neutrally and quietly it's hard to believe she's the same child.

Derek finds his mother in the kitchen, where they share a cup of coffee. The morning progresses slow and liquid, Derek assuring Vivian when she wakes that Mark – who emailed a few hours after he left with no substantive update other than gratitude – will see her soon.

If Viv remembers the events of last night, she offers no sign of it. She drinks a few sips of milk at Carolyn's coaxing and plays patiently with Zola and the brightly colored blocks his daughter has decided constitute her new favorite toy.

Meredith sips the decaf he brewed her, leaning her hips against the counter. In the living room, his mother is settled comfortable on the couch watching the girls play.

"You were incredible last night," Derek tells her quietly, then pauses when a smile squints her eyes in that way that he loves. "What?"

"Nothing," she assures him. "It's just – that's not usually what you mean when you say that."

He laughs in spite of himself. It feels good, after the tension of last night. And she looks good.

The sun will come up, every day.

He takes the mug out of her hand and sets it on the counter, then pulls her close swiftly enough to make her laugh with surprise. "You're right," he tells her, planting a kiss on the tender side of her neck. "And maybe one of these days I can mean what I usually mean … if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," she says, amused, and he swallows her next laugh with another kiss.

"He's coming," Viv confirms for the third time, bouncing a little in her seat. "Right?"

"Right," Derek assures her, glancing automatically toward the condensation-dusted front windows of the diner. The AC is pumping enough to raise gooseflesh – not that he's complaining, not really.

He tries not to stare at the empty vinyl-padded chair waiting for its absent occupant. Viv and Zola are sharing a plate of pancakes – or Viv is cutting the occasional neat bite for herself while Zola stabs what she can reach and finally resorts to her fingers.

His mother says something to Vivian that he can't hear, but she gives the older woman a small smile in response.

Before he can inquire, his phone buzzes.

He excuses himself to take a call from a patient – Meredith meets his gaze without giving anything away – and then he's rounding the side of the bodega on the corner where Mark is waiting.

"Hey." Mark's hands are shoved in his pockets. There are deep shadows under his eyes – if he slept at all last night, there's no evidence. There's something else in his eyes too, something Derek doesn't want to read too closely.

Slowly, Mark shakes his head.

They're both doctors; he doesn't have to say more than that.

Mark's gaze is fixed on the slivers of hazy sky poking between the undistinguished mid-rise skyline. "I told them no."

Derek nods, trying to understand. "No," he repeats.

"I didn't sign," Mark clarifies.

So he didn't authorize the termination.

He said no.

He considers asking why – when it's what Mark has wanted, as far as he can tell, from the beginning, from long before Derek returned to Manhattan.

Why did he have the opportunity to end the pregnancy that he was certain was threatening his wife's life, and choose not to?

"I don't know why," Mark says, so presciently Derek thinks for a moment he might have inadvertently asked his question out loud.

"You don't?"

"No." Mark grimaces. "I just … said no."

Without agreeing to they walk in tandem toward the diner, stopping outside the glass windows.

Mark knows his own daughter and probably isn't fooled by her relative cheer, but Derek is still relieved that when he gazes through the window, his daughter is clean and calm. They watch together as Zola pinches off a piece of pancake and feeds it a surprised-seeming Viv. They can't hear anything from inside the restaurant, but Viv's laugh is obvious in her face. Meredith is laughing helplessly too, he can tell, as his mother, with a broad smile, tries to help both girls with the stickiness he knows is coming from Zola's syrupy fingers.

Mark's eyes are glistening when he turns back to Derek. "I'm going to take her back with me," he says quietly. "So she can … so she can see her."

So she can say goodbye.

"I'm so sorry." There are no other words.

"Yeah, me too." Mark grips the back of his neck with one hand. "It could be fast now. I want to get back there. But…"

His voice trails off.

For a moment Derek pictures the Addison he saw – not the intubated Addison Meredith saw, but the very much like herself version in the hospital bed at MSC, so clearly attached to her pregnancy, a hand resting on it.

Mark said no.

He thinks about the life still growing within her.

Together, they turn back to the glass where their daughters are laughing together.

"I want to wait," Mark says quietly. "Just … let her have a little more time as a kid first."

"Daddy!"

Viv jumps up when she sees her father and Mark catches her, lifting her into the air for hugs and kisses. "I missed you," he tells her.

Mark kisses her cheeks until she pushes him away and says, "No, you're too scratchy." He pulls out the chair where she was sitting before and sits down with his daughter on his lap. Viv goes back to coloring; Mark plays with the end of her braid – which, to his surprise, she let Meredith weave into her hair this morning.

Derek takes a sip of coffee, seeing his hand shake slightly and seeing at the same time that Meredith didn't miss it. The news Mark shared with him sits like a rock in his stomach.

Almost seven years ago, he walked out of Mark's life – and Addison's – forever.

Almost two weeks ago, he walked back in.

He studies the two little girls who wouldn't be either of theirs without the events of that fateful night. Zola, who is giggling while looking up adoringly at her older friend, and Viv, who is bestowing upon her the benevolent smile of a girl who's spent years practicing for younger siblings.

Mark looks lost in thought – understandably – toying with the end of Vivian's braid with one large hand.

A phone buzzes loudly on the table. It's Mark's; he glances at it and mouths a hasty apology before answering.

"Sloan," he says gruffly, taking a sip of water and clearing his throat.

Derek leans forward slightly; he can hear a muffled voice, but he can't make out any words from the other side.

"Right," Mark says. "Yeah. I'll be back in about thirty – "

The next thing Derek hears is the shattering of glass.

It happens in slow motion and then the diner hollows out, the other tables turn into echoes.

It's not real, this tunneling effect. He knows it and he knows the science behind it but he sees the restaurant growing smaller anyway.

And smaller.

Mark is far away, along with the glass he dropped, the loud noise, the news from his phone call.

As if from very far away, he hears his own name.

"Derek." Meredith's voice is echoing, then becoming clearer.

He blinks and gathers himself; she's touching his arm with one small hand, her face concerned. "Derek … did you hear what Mark just said?"

No.

Truthfully, he didn't.

Shamefully, he's not sure he wants to.

Still, he looks up, preparing himself.

Mark is staring straight ahead, his face set in lines of shock, holding onto his daughter with one hand and still clutching the phone in the other.

When he speaks, Derek is still not prepared.

He braces himself as Mark looks up at him before he speaks, just two words, laced with wonder:

"She's awake."


So ... I won't let months go by before I update again, I promise. I'm rusty and I may not deserve it, but I'm going to ask you to review anyway and let me know what you think. I love hearing your thoughts and I will make sure they fuel me to post again very soon.