A/N: Bah life! Bah writer's Block! But yes! I've updated! To the people who inspire me, in thousands of ways. Thank you very much, guys! mandyg67, Patsy, Pat, Ms. Scarlet, Postitdempsey, Guest x2 and pl782. I am so glad to have you all in my corner here! This chapter is dedicated to Hiccup, who is basically my niece and just entered this world eight weeks ago! You are very much loved. the world is yours! Wow!

This chapter is a little different. Prepare for some different viewpoints here, as I fill in some gaps and push us forward at the same time! Also, just to catch you up; the entire Shepherd family has moved back into the dreamhouse, Julian and B.D included. Owen and Amelia are staying at the trailer.

Picking up from where we left off…

Enjoy!

That Night.

Rebecca:

I trudged along in the woods, cursing the darkness, cursing my pager, and my damned curiosity. Why was I doing this for some intern? But he wasn't just any intern. He was Bailey. Bailey was… well, I didn't really know what he was…

March 12 2034: (After Spring Break)

Hurtling through the hallway with my fifty pound Ethics textbook, I was trying not to be late. I turned the corner sharply and hit something hard. Papers went flying. My textbook thunked, my bookbag slipped down my arm and I fell back, losing my balance.

But as I tipped, someone caught me.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," the owner of the converse sneakers said. My gaze traveled up khaki pants- "wasn't watching-," green Dartmouth hoodie- "where I was going-," light freckled complexion, and intense grey green eyes capped with flyaway curly blonde locks. I blinked while he steadied me.

"It's fine," I shook my head. "I'm okay," I blushed and looked down, papers littered the floor. "Oh, let me help you," I bent down and scooped up the papers.

"Thanks," he blustered.

"Alzheimer's research, huh?" I asked, noticing the subject.

"Uh… yeah." He half smiled, but it was insincere.

"That's demanding. Term paper?"

"Uh, ah no, it's… for a friend."

"You have a friend with Alzheimer's?" I asked, thinking it was sweet that he was researching to help someone else.

"His mom…"

"Oh. Oh here," I shuffled the papers into a neat stack.

"Thanks," he shrugged, but there was something about him.

"I'm Rebecca," I said, handing him the papers.

"Oh. Uh… Bailey."

Bailey. Wait. "Bailey Shepherd?" As in the son of Shepherd and Grey? Two of the most notable surgeons in the last decade? "Seriously?"

"That's me," he nodded, shoving his papers under his arm and handing me my bag. "Um- I should-," he thumbed down the hall.

"Yeah, class."

"Class, yeah. See you."

"See ya," I whispered as he breezed past me.

Later that night I saw him at the bar. Alone, slouched in his stool, a small pyramid of empty scotch glasses at his side.

"Tequila," I said to the bartender. "Hey," I said to Bailey, "Come here often?" I smirked.

He smirked back. "Cheeeesy," he replied, swallowing a burp. Ok, he was definitely drunk. He blinked at me, "V'we met?"

He didn't remember? "Rebecca. We met in the hall this morning." I knocked back my shot.

"Oh," he nodded with recognition. Srry, lotinmyhead."

"Excuse me?"

He blinked, cleared his throat, straightened up. "I'm sorry, Rebecca. I… uh… Bad day."

"Yeah?" I sat beside him and leaned in. There was that stack of papers on the other side of him. "Alzheimer's?"

"… Yeah."

"Hmm,"

"There's nothing new… a decade of research," he shook his head. "Just preventative."

"You want to cure Alzheimer's?"

He fiddled with his glass, gazing at me thoughtfully. His eyes were ocean, troubled, mysterious, with seemingly no end to their depth. He glanced down, and I licked my lips.

Oh God.

His breath was light on my skin, alcohol-pungent, but sweet. We touched. His fingers pressed lightly on my cheek while mine slipped through the curls behind his ear.

"I want to kiss you." He said softly, as his thumb begged entrance on my bottom lip.

I leaned in, and let him.

Now:

The flashlight bounced through the woods till I came up to the dock. "Bailey," I called, seeing his hunched form, "what the hell?" He shivered, staring at the moon that rose in the twilight. Without thought, my warm hand slipped into his cold one. "I got your page. What's going on?"

"Oh," he sniffed.

"Bailey?"

His hand squeezed mine, crushing my fingers together, and I was pulled into him.

He wasn't shivering.

He was crying.

"There might…" his voice broke, "It might… it's possible…"

"What's possible?"

"A cure. For Alzheimer's."

xxx

Cory:

September, 2028:

Battery low. Please connect to charger. I sighed and looked up from my phone at the stark waiting room. Waiting rooms sucked. Waiting sucked.

"You suck!" a high-pitched whiny voice snapped.

"Ellis!" her mother hissed. "You will not speak like that here!"

"Whatever! This place blows! I hate you!"

"Fine. Go ahead, hate me. But we're doing this. We have to… I We're doing this."

"Ugh. Therapy is for losers, mom."

I raised my brow at the attitude that came from such a little thing. She was tiny, a whirlwind of dark hair with indigo eyes. The girl, Ellis, pulled her hood up over her head and tucked her hands into her sleeves before crossing her arms. She plopped down one seat down from me, and her mother wearily collapsed beside her.

Ellis added insult to injury and changed seats, moving to sit across from me instead.

Pain flashed across her mother's features, but she wisely said nothing, just slumped further down in her chair and stared painfully ahead, as if every bit of strength had been sapped out of her.

I kinda felt bad for her.

My gaze drifted back to the defiant girl. She was what? Thirteen?

"What're you staring at?" she snarled at me.

"An annoying pre-teen who doesn't know how to handle her feelings," I snarled back.

"Shut up. You know dick squat about me."

"Whatever, Ellis," I replied, pulling my hand into a fist to examine my fingernails.

"Ooh, you figured out my name… you're just so smart!"

I shrugged and remained nonchalant. I just liked to press buttons. A side glance at her mother revealed that she seemed not to care about anything we were saying. "What are you in for?" I asked.

"Nothing, my mom's stupid."

"Really? That's all you have to say?" I shook my head, "lame."

She cocked her chin, "What's your story? Tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

I shrugged, ran a hand through my tinder red locks. "I don't sleep. I keep seeing my dead sister in the morgue, her face half rotted as she sits up and tells me she's allowed to have her own life for once," I snorted, as if it was a joke. But it wasn't. My big sister Rachael raised me. She went to L.A to be with her friends for a week of fun.

Then the tsunami hit.

Ellis rubbed her hand, leaned forward a little in her chair. "Dad was right beside me… on the boat…" she whispered. "And then… he was gone. I…" she picked at her sleeve. "Mom wasn't there. She was on TV." Her gaze flicked up to her mother for a brief second. "I hate her, I hate her." She muttered, with gritted teeth. "She should have been there, who cares about curing stupid Alzheimer's anyway?"

Now:

Ellis shifted in my arms and sighed as we lay quietly in her bed. "It's beautiful," she remarked, staring at the ceiling. "It's amazing."

"Yeah," I said, setting the mini-projector in the middle of the bed. "The book is almost done. It just needs your input."

"My input?" Ellis asked.

"Your story, El. It's finished. Your dad came back. You got him back."

"Yeah," Ellis sighed… "it's huge. I can't… I feel like I'm dreaming."

"I know." I slid my finger across the tablet, flipping the page. "These are your pictures, here." I said.

"Really? I don't remember…" she trailed off, "Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"I took that when... God, I was so mad at her."

"Your mom?"

"Yeah, we went camping, for the first time since dad… since the tsunami…" she shook her head.

"You know, if it wasn't for her, we wouldn't have met."

"What?"

"Therapy, remember?"

My girlfriend looked confused.

"You don't remember how we met?"

"I thought it was my freshman year in high school."

"No, it was before that. I first met you at Dr. McWater's Office."

Ellis' face flushed, "I met you in therapy?"

"That's when I first saw you, yeah."

"Oh. Sorry… that year was rough, it's all kind of a blur for me."

"I know," I replied, sliding my fingers to interlace between hers. "Me too. But you… I remember. You had on a green hoodie, and you looked so angry. It was cute."

"Cute?"

"You're cute when you're mad."

"You know, this doesn't exactly help if you want to still be my boyfriend."

"Ha. So I take it you're not mad anymore?"

"Mad? At what? The tsunami?"

"No, your mom."

Ellis put the tablet on the nightstand and rolled over, her back to me.

"El?"

"I wish I hadn't been so mad at her then. I hated her. I hated her so much, but when I look back…"

"She did everything she could."

"Yeah, but I didn't see it."

"You were a kid, it's okay. I felt a lot of shitty things when my sister died."

"She's so strong, my mom. I don't know how she raised us without dad."

I thought of my sister, how she took care of me when my mom couldn't. When my dad was a douchebag. "She just loves you so much, she'll do anything for you."

"Yeah."

I pulled her close, resting my chin on her shoulder.

"She's sick, Cory, so sick. And I was mad at her for a long time… because she was trying to do something good."

"Shh,"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

xxx

Julian:

I had been drifting from sleep to wakefulness these last several hours, as morning approached. Zola and my son, B.D had long since fell into deep slumber in the small bed, yet I was still awake.

This was Zola's room. Where my future wife grew up, where she played, dressed, did her homework. Although the room was still full of half unpacked boxes, and it had been empty for nearly a year, I still saw evidence of her here: Notches in the doorframe, purple marker drawings covered by a thin white layer of paint, tape marks where posters of her favorite pop stars had been hung. And on the ceiling, if you looked closely, were faded glow-in-the-dark stars.

I was not sure what happened in Zola's mind that she decided to marry me. I was going to ask anyway, I even had the ring. It was why I came to Seattle in the first place. To seek her out, support her… no matter what. It is what you do, when you love someone.

I sighed, and stroked Zola's hair before getting up to use the bathroom. When I was finished, I debated going back to bed. But, gazing out the window, I could see the sky in the east becoming softer and lighter, indicating sunrise was not too far away. I try never to miss a sunrise, so I padded into the kitchen to make coffee.

While the coffee percolated, I made a space for myself in the living room to soak in the rising light. I dug into the pocket of my sweats and pulled out the ring. I'd bring it to her in bed, I thought. With tea, and breakfast.

Just arrived, the text message said.

Where are you? I replied.

On my way out, by baggage claim.

Which one?

"Julian?" a voice called. I looked up and around, pulling my hat off my head to wipe the sweat off my brow. "Julian? Over here!"

There was movement in the busy crowd, so I waved back as we moved toward each other, parting the crowd.

There she was. Zola Shepherd. This was the first time meeting her in person. I'd chatted with her on the phone before, to help her plan her trip and confirm her practicum, but now, she was here. We had sent pictures of course, but nothing compared to the real thing.

She was radiant. And I knew instantly in that moment, that there was no soul like her, or close to her… no one so pure.

"Hi," she called as she approached. "Oh my God, hi!"

"Hello," I greeted her with a smile I could only hope matched hers. "It is good to see you too, you must be hungry, let me get you some breakfast."

"Oh, you don't have to, it's fine…"

I shook my head. "It is not fine. You do not refuse a good meal in Africa, Especially the morning meal. Come, come, I will show you, we have a long drive ahead of us."

I took her enormous bag, easily swung it over my shoulder and led the way.

From a small street vendor, I picked up our qurs, (breakfast) a simple dish of scrambled egg with spicy kibe, onion and tomato served with pita bread. "Sit, sit…" We found a bench to sit on across the street, and even though the street was filling with people on their morning rush, I felt at ease.

Zola looked down at her dish. "Wow, thank you, you didn't have to-,"

"Shh, eat it. It is good for you." I ripped a piece of bread off and used it to scoop up the egg mixture. "No forks, just fingers," I smiled at her.

She smiled shyly back. "Like this?"

"Yes," I winked… "see, even though you are American, you are an African deep down."

She sighed, "I really… I can't believe I'm here!"

"Why is that, my friend?"

"Nothing… I just… wish my dad could see me."

"I am positive that he sees you now. If, at that precipice of your life you have chosen to come here to make the world better, no one could be more proud."

Even through her dark complexion, I could see her blush.

Yes, the universe sometimes worked on the side of the good, and I was blessed to have her on my side.

xxx

Now:

I rubbed my cheek and sighed, coffee was almost ready.

"Do I smell coffee?" I heard, and I looked up to see Mrs. Shepherd enter the living room dressed in mismatched plaid pajama's.

"Yes," I smiled, "Would you like some?"

"Mm, coffee," she replied, which I construed as a yes. I poured her a cup and handed it to her. "Thank you."

"You are welcome."

"Who are you?" she asked.

Remembering our last encounter, I simply said, "I'm a friend of Zola's"

"Sleepover huh?" She smiled. "I know, I got one too." She leaned over and whispered, "There's a man in my bed."

"Really?" I asked, amused.

"Yeah, and I don't know what to do. I took a shower, and he was still there. They're not supposed to stay after the shower but…"

"But?"

She shrugged, "He's so sexy. I can't bring myself to kick him out."

"I see," I nodded, sipping my coffee. Zola's mother intrigued me. I had only met her a few times, and each time a new aspect was revealed. First, the driven surgeon, then the caring mother, the wise teacher… and now… college girl?

But she surprised me once again. "You're Zola's boyfriend, aren't you?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"How is she? I mean really. She's so hard to figure sometimes."

"Zola is…" I thumbed the ring in my pocket. "She proposed."

"She proposed? You- and- she-," she ogled, gesturing from me to the hallway.

"Yes." I took the ring out, it was a simple white-gold ring that weaved like a braid. "My mother gave it to me," I said, showing it to her. "I added the diamond."

"It's beautiful." She said, turning the ring over in her fingers. And then she just gaped at me, speechless.

I put my hands over hers. "There is nothing for you to fear. Zola is safe. I love your daughter. She is pure, she is special, and I owe it to you that I met her."

"You love her?"

"Yes."

"You'll keep her safe?

"Every day."

"You won't hurt her?"

"Never on purpose, but sometimes pain is necessary to grow."

She nodded at this, stared at me over her coffee mug. "Zola is… she's…."

"I know," I said.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay you can do the thing, but you'll probably have to speak to her father first."

"Of course." I nodded. Now, the living room began to glow as the first rays of sunlight streaked through the mountains.

We sipped our coffee in silence, staring down at the still sleeping seattle.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A friend of Zola's."

"Ah. There's a man in my bed. Do you know how I can get rid of him?"

"I do not know. Maybe you don't want to, I heard he's quite sexy."

"That's true, he is."

"Mm-hmm,"

"Sorry, do I know you?"

Cristina:

One night, in a smoky bar… when the world turned on me, I found my person. "You're my 'Person,'" I stated, meaning Meredith Grey was the name I scrawled under, "contact person," meaning she was the first person to know about my pregnancy. She became my person.

"I am?"

"Yeah, you are. Whatever." It didn't mean anything, did it?

"Whatever."

'Person' meant: someone to be there, someone to help you home. After. Over the decades, it became that and so much more. Who knew?

We'd been standing here for about fifteen minutes, staring at the wreckage of a place I used to call home, even though I didn't exactly live there for very long. But it was that place we all felt safe in. A place anyone could come to.

Now, it'd been damaged. The fire had scorched the kitchen to a crisp, spread along the ceiling and walls to the living room and the stairs. The front windows were shattered, the frames on the outside marred black. Ash and blackened debris filled the foyer.

A large yellow sign marked the home, 'Condemed,' and 'Slated for Demolition.'

She asked me to take her here, and I didn't know why. They'd been allowed in once, to quickly gather what few belongings weren't damaged by fire and water, but it hadn't been much. So why were we here? "Mere?"

"I don't know," she said, wrapping her arms around herself and twisting her torso side to side.

"Do you want to leave?" I asked.

"No."

"Okay," I sighed. The swing was still intact, though it had been moved away from the house. I sat down in it and patted the spot beside me, inviting my Person to sit. "Wanna talk about it?"

Meredith rubbed her thighs and blew out a breath. We didn't have to do the talking thing. We understood each other, that was the crux of our friendship, we got each other. But Alzheimer's changed things.

"I'm losing," Meredith said.

"Losing what?"

"The fight… I'm-I…" she shook her head, sniffed. "I'm losing me."

My hand found hers. To me, she was still Meredith, my best friend, my Person. "How?" I asked.

Meredith planted her feet and pushed back, and I let the swing rock. "It's… I… can't explain…"

I squeezed her hand and met her gaze briefly. Try, I pleaded wordlessly.

"I feel like I'm in a fog," she said. "It used to just be sometimes, but now it happens more. I'll do something, and then… I'll forget what I just did. I'll write something, or talk to someone, but then it's gone."

I nodded and stared at the house. "That's the disease," I said. "You're still you."

"Still me," she sighed and pushed the swing, her watery gaze on the damaged house. Yeah, right."

"Mere-,"

"How many times did you tell me the house burned down?" she asked.

I blinked. "Meredith-,"

"No, tell me," she said fiercely, "how many times?"

This was another Person test. Honesty. I thought back to the car ride. "Three," I said.

There're no bathrooms where you're going.

That ponytail looks like crap.

"Three times…" Meredith repeated. "Once every five minutes or so." She shook her head. "I don't even… I don't remember it happening. My hippocampus is shot now."

"It doesn't matter. You're Meredith. You've saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives, you're a wonderful wife, an amazing mother… and you're my Person. You're still you."

"I don't feel like me." The words hung like heavy weights, even under the lightness of the sun. I squeezed her hand and she rested her head on my shoulder.

You realize this constitutes as hugging.

Whatever. You're my Person.

June 2028:

The gravel road had long turned to mush under the pouring rain. The taxicab lurched up to the paved driveway, a small reprieve from the mud. I stepped out, grabbed my bag and paid the driver. Jogging up the porch steps, I took a deep breath and walked right into the dreamhouse. "Hello?" I called out.

"Cristina," said Maggie, rising from the couch.

"Hey, I came as quick as I could," I panted, looking over her shoulder for Meredith.

"She's in her room," Maggie read my mind, gesturing down the hall. "I'm worried, Mere hasn't talked since she got back…"

"I know," the bag slid off my arm, then I shed my jacket, slipping it onto a chair as I walked down the dark hallway to the master bedroom. "Mere," I knocked. "I'm coming in."

The dark comforter covered lump didn't move. "Hey," I crawled in next to her. My arm wrapped around her midsection and I hugged her under the covers. Yes, hugged. Because losing the love of your life in a tsunami called for hugs. She didn't react to my presence, she was dead asleep. Laying there with her, all I could think about was love and loss; life and death; a drowning, gunman, and a plane crash. Mcdreamy. I cursed the universe that yet another thing happened to her.

I fluffed the pillow behind me and rested my head, waiting, watching.'Cristina, this is life,' Meredith said once. 'Bad things happen. It's hard. You find your people, you find your person and you lean on them.'

Hours later, in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, Meredith jerked beside me. Her breath quickened. "Nooo," she moaned low and deep in her throat.

"Mere," I sat up, calling her name.

"Derek," she called frantically, "Derek!" Her hand scrunched the bedsheets like she was reaching out to an invisible person.

"Meredith!" I shook her shoulder.

Flailing in bed, she gasped awake. "Wha- where-who?" Her grey confused gaze was far away, beyond me.

"Hey, it's me… It's okay, you were dreaming." I cupped her chin. "Hey."

She panted and blinked, a thin veil of tears burgeoning in her eyes. "Cristina?" her voice broke when saw me through her nightmare. "Cristina," she blithered. Her fingers pulled and squeezed whatever she could grip. I let her, crushed her body into mine, and ached with her. Finally, her sobs subsided into sniffling, and then long sighs. We parted slowly, my muscles burning from the pressure I'd exerted around her. Rolling onto our backs, we stared at the ceiling.

"I couldn't find him. I looked," she whispered with a hoarse empty voice. "It was… there were so many bodies… Search and Rescue said it was likely- they said-" she shook her head. "He's gone. Overboard-swept-into-the-undercurrent-drowned gone."

I didn't know what to say, so I stuck to the facts. "But you didn't find a body."

Meredith wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, "no," she choked. "They didn't find a body."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay? It's not okay!" Mere burst. "Derek, he's-, he could be- it's been weeks! I lost him, Cristina! He's gone. He's really gone," she blubbered.

Probability wise, Derek was seafood. But it wasn't my job to state facts like a surgery-hungry intern. It was my job to give Meredith what she needed.

'I need you to pretend I can do this,' she said once, long ago, when it felt like I was losing her to Derek. When I lacked faith in their relationship, in him. 'Even if you don't believe. Because if you abandon me now, I will never make it. And I'll never get my happy ending.'

Blinking back to the moment, I turned to my friend, "There's no body," I said. "That means… that could mean anything Mere, maybe he made it. Maybe he washed up on shore somewhere. Maybe he's trying to find you now."

"You think so?" she warbled.

"He's Mcdreamy," I replied, "If anyone can find his way back to you… it's him." I lacked faith in him, once upon a time. But he'd proved me wrong then. Maybe he would again.

Now:

"You're still you," I said, planting my feet and pushing the swing again. "You are," I reassured. "Know how I know?"

"How?"

"Because even with your freaking Alzheimer's and Derek's disappearing act, you still won't shut up about McDreamy."

"What?"

"Oh, come on…" I rolled my eyes. "Of course, you don't remember," I muttered to myself. Freaking Alzheimer's. "Mere, this morning, he made you pancakes. You gushed about that for like ten minutes on the car ride here."

"I gushed about pancakes?"

"No, you didn't remember the pancakes, you just gushed about him."

"Who?"

"Derek, your husband, love of your life, Mcdreamy."

"I did?"

I turned, propping my head on my palm and gazing at her thoughtfully. "Mere, even when he was gone… You never let him go from your mind. Thinking about him held you together."

"I…" Mere looked down at her hands, clearly still uncertain.

"You're still you," I touched her arm and squeezed.

Down the driveway, a taxicab pulled up to the sidewalk, I paid it no mind as I continued to reassure her. "It's not over. This thing. This fight, whatever it is, we're all in it with you, okay?" I continued, watching the cab. A thin middle-aged woman with long curly hair and an older man with a dark tanned face exited and paid the driver before turning to gaze at the house.

"Is this 63 harper lane?" the woman called out, walking toward us.

"Yes," I said, standing up. Who was she? Some gawker?

"Oh my God," she said, bringing a hand to her mouth. "It burned down."

"Uh, yeah." I replied, glaring with suspicion.

"I don't understand… this is the address Chelsea gave us," she said to her companion, before looking at us. "Did you live here?"

"Sorry, who are you?"

"My name is Lynn Jackson, and this is my friend Mark. We're looking for someone named Chris… we think he used to live here, we're not sure though, because he lost his memory…"

xxx

Amelia

I woke up, and Owen's side of the bed was empty. Except for a little yellow scrap of paper on his pillow. 'Gone into town to bring back breakfast. Back soon.' A little heart before his signed name. I smiled, stretched and pulled myself out of the warm bed. Owen had replaced the heater for the trailer, but it still took time to kick in.

Pouring a steaming cup of coffee, I wrapped my robe around myself as I stared out the window at the house my brother built. For a little while, it had been where we stayed, but really and truthfully, it was Derek's.

Now he was back.

I could see the kitchen and living room light on, and there were signs of life in the house. The Lexus was gone, but Cristina had said she was taking Meredith into town, so I wasn't surprised.

I still couldn't believe it. Derek was alive… he lost his memory, but it came back… he lost his home but was returning to his old one. He lost his family, but he found us again. The world was righting itself, correcting what was wrong.

Except for Meredith. The Alzheimer's thing.

But even with her disease, the love was still there, in both of them. Watching them these last few days… I saw it.

Xxx

A week and a half ago:

"Okay," I stepped back from the operating table, setting down my tools. "It's done. I'm done." I looked over at Richard, who nodded back, his eyes glistening. The surgery was a blur to me. As soon as the scalpel sliced through the Dura, I was someone else. Derek was someone else. I disassociated. But now- the shape of his skull below me, the hair… He was real and he was back and he was Derek. "I... I…" A woosh of air left me. Had I been holding my breath this entire time? I blinked down at my brother's shaved head. I'd only shaved the area that I planned to operate on… but still… The ET tube and the wires and the-

"Amelia…" Richard strode over. I felt woozy but he caught me. "He's okay. You did it. He made it. He's gonna be just fine." Richard pulled me close to him. "Breathe, Amelia… Just breathe…You did it." He guided me to the scrub room, and the mechanical motion of scrubbing out calmed me down.

I stopped shaking, "I'll go check on him in recovery, you'll let Meredith know?"

"You don't want to come with me?" he asked.

I thought about it for a second. For one, I couldn't face lucid Meredith right now, not knowing how she'd react to me operating. And two… "I need to make sure he's okay." Toweling off my hands, I marched to recovery.

I checked every stat, listened to his heart, his breath sounds. He woke up for a few seconds, groggy and disoriented, and I removed his ET tube. Dr. Bailey came in too, she sat beside his bed and held his hand, tears in her eyes.

I took a moment and stared, taking him in, and thanking whatever power out there that he was back.

xxx

It didn't take long for the kids to flock into his room. Ellis walked up to him, held his hand, ran her fingers through his hair and wiped tears from her eyes. Zola checked every IV, line, and lead. Satisfied that everything was set up properly, she pulled the blanket further up his torso. Bailey used his intern powers and accessed Derek's chart, double checking everything. He caught my gaze and nodded, and then his shoulders slumped as he sighed with visible relief, looking more like his father in that moment than he ever did.

And Meredith?

She clutched the doorframe, her knuckles white as she held herself up. I could sense her impatience; her desire to just be with him. Suddenly she saw me. Her gaze was unreadable… did she know?

"He's…" I started, "The surgery was fine, there were no complications," I rambled.

"I know," she rasped, her voice hoarse and raw.

Did that mean, I know you did the surgery? Or I know he's okay? But I didn't get a chance to figure it out before she wobbled, barely able to hold herself up.

"Whoa," I stood up and caught her awkwardly. "Mere," I breathed. I pulled her into a seating position beside me on the couch. "Hey…" God, when was the last time she ate? She looked so tired and drained. "Meredith, have you eaten?"

She shook her head, "I can't lose him," she said.

"When was the last time you slept?" I asked. Please tell me you napped, I thought. Please.

"I just can't lose him," she said, ignoring me.

I've always admired Meredith for her strength, her determination. By sheer will, she'd pushed through the most difficult times of her life. But except for those first shocking days after the tsunami, I'd never seen her like this. Distraught. Lost. Scared. "Hey," I pulled her gaze to face me. "He's my brother. He's the love of your life. He's Derek. He holds us together. And…" I swallowed. "He's in there, okay? He'll make it."

"He's Derek," Meredith repeated, her eyes watery.

"Yes."

"He always comes back."

"Always."

She nodded but didn't seem to accept this. "Meredith?"

"I have Alzheimer's, what if I fall asleep and he's back but I'm gone?"

"Meredith…" I shook my head.

"Promise me something, Amy."

"Yeah," I nodded. Anything. Anything I could do.

She told me. And I promised.

I made her eat a granola bar and drink a glass of water before she pushed her way through her kids and collapsed beside her husband on the bed.

Fifteen Years ago:

"Amy," I heard as I hustled to my office. "Amy!"

I stopped and half turned. "Derek," I raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in L.A doing a lecture…"

"I'm on my way there now, actually, but I need to talk to you."

"Talk to me? About what?"

"Meredith."

I knew where this was going now. He took my elbow and pulled me along at his pace.

"Let go." I pulled my arm away.

He stopped and tilted his head, "Amy…"

"Fine," I sighed but kept up the pace, "Make it quick, I have a surgery I need to prepare for." I bustled past him to my office and yanked the door open. "I'm not getting in the middle of this, Derek. Meredith is a grown woman, a proven doctor and perfectly capable of handling a neuro fellowship. I don't know what your problem is." I turned to face him, leaning against the desk

"Did you even ask her why?" He asked, his serious face on.

"No," I responded, "I don't need to, Derek, I've worked with her, I know her.,"

He huffed and crossed his arms. "Yeah," he muttered.

I huffed too. In exasperation at my big brother.

Derek frowned and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked especially broody without the white lab coat on, the darkness of his sweater matching the darkness of his expression. He paced. Walked to my desk and picked up a model of the brain, holding it with his fingertips splayed like he was holding up the world.

"Derek?"

"Why did you become a doctor Amy?"

"I…" I trailed off, wasn't it kind of obvious? My big brother, my idol, was a neurosurgeon. Of course, I had to be one too.

"Because of me?" Derek surmised.

"Mostly," I replied. "And the saving lives thing… that too. And the rush… and…"

"And?"

I shrugged. Did it have to be narrowed down?

"It's a privilege, what we do," Derek started as he carefully began to form his argument. "People put their lives in our hands. Their hopes… their ambitions… Neurosurgery is different." He put the model down gently. "It's delicate, minute work. Make a mistake…" he shook his head, "It's permanent. It's devastating. One tenth of a millimeter…"

There was no need to complete the sentence. We knew what it meant. Gorked. Brain dead. Brain surgery wasn't general surgery. In general surgery, if you made a mistake on a liver or a kidney or a colon, nine times out of ten you could fix it… but screwing up a brain? No fixing it. "What are you saying, Derek?" Or what wasn't he saying?

"She wants to be extraordinary. She…" he trailed off, running his hand through his hair.

"She what, Derek?"

"She wants to cure Alzheimer's."

"I know," I nodded. We'd discussed it many times, it wasn't a secret at Grey-Sloan.

"I'm worried."

"Why?" I asked. "Isn't this what you wanted? I mean, we know she has some of the gene markers…"

"We tried this before, and-," he choked, shaking his head. "Meredith, she-," he bit off. "She's so dammed reckless sometimes!"

"Derek-,"

"I worry, all the time. When she loses her keys, when she forgets things… I've been preparing myself for the eventuality, but…"

"Derek, stop. Just stop."

"What if we run out of time? What if we fail? What if we make this too personal? What if I do something? Or she does something? Wh- what if-,"

"-DEREK." I hollered. "STOP."

He stopped, like he'd been slapped. His lip trembled, he blinked back a tear, ran quivering fingers through his hair.

'I don't know who I am anymore,' I remembered him saying to me once, long ago.

'I know,' I'd replied. 'we call that rock bottom.'

"I'm not stopping this," I continued. "It's time for your wife to shine, you know that."

"I know… I know."

"You're just…" I shrugged, "scared."

"Scared? That my wife won't find a cure for Alzheimer's?" he chuckled nervously.

"No," I shook my head as the revelation hit me, "That she will."

xxx

Now:

I looked up from my coffee, blinking… I had this feeling. My gaze registered movement through the window. Owen? No… The door to the trailer burst open. Derek stood there, panting… shocked, like he didn't quite understand what he was doing here to begin with. "Amelia," he shivered. "I need your help," he said as he dropped the huge volume of Anatomy of the Brain onto the kitchen table.

"Derek?"

"I've been up all night, going over this," he wiped his brow. "And this morning- it- I-,"

"Derek, what are you talking about?"

"A cure, Amy. Meredith did it."

A/N: Dun dun dun! Alright! Hang on to your knickers people! And thanks so much for your patience, I love you all! Please Review!