Author's Notes: After finishing off 13k words total of Christmas-y stuff tonight, I decided I'm splitting the part up. Christmas is going to be three parts. It just got to be too long, and things kept evolving. I arrived at a point last night where I just stopped and said, "That right there? Chapter end." So... Half of Christmas Eve has been bumped to part 53. Part 52 will comprise the rest of Christmas Eve. Christmas Day will occur in part 54. Parts 53 and 54 might be vignette-ish length, or at least not 10k words, but we'll see where things take me. I've been known for being wordy ;p There will be one more part after Christmas before the wedding unless it suffers the expansion Christmas did. Suffice it to say, there will be an OD on MerDer Christmas-y stuff. My gift to y'all for sticking with me for so freaking long. I really hope you enjoy all of this. I'm very happy with it so far!
Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter! I will be responding to them as soon as I can :)
They approached the waiting rental SUV as a twisting, tripping mass of limbs and luggage and dog. Derek hobbled, off balance, with the leash that tugged against his knuckles in one hand, the handle of the very unwieldy crate they'd bought for transport clutched in the grip of the other hand. The two-year-old yellow Labrador they'd adopted almost two months before trailed behind Derek. The dog's tail whipped back and forth with a regular, energetic swish, swish, swishing rhythm – or thump, thump, thumping, depending on the vicinity of walls or other solid objects -- as he panted, round, chocolate-colored eyes wide, expression cheerful. Meredith trundled their shared suitcase behind her as its wheels squealed in protest. Her shoulders ached as their two carryon bags dragged down on her shoulders.
Quin let loose an excited yip at the strange new friend towering before him, lowering his dark nose to sniff at its black tires. And then he licked them to express his approval.
"Quin, stop it," Derek said, his tone strained and not entirely happy. He looked… Frazzled. His newly replenished curls flew loose and unkempt in a torrent about his head, and his pallor hovered in the grip of an alabaster color that didn't quite suit him. His rumpled, wrinkled shirt poked out from underneath his dark sweater at the waistline and sleeves, completing the ensemble of I-don't-travel-well. Derek's fingers wrapped more tightly around the leash, and he pulled back, adding, "Tires are not food." He quirked a weak smile at the dog. "If I were you, I'd rethink the whole rubber fetish. The girl dogs will think you're a little weird."
Quin did not agree, but quickly lost interest as he explored wherever his nose took him. Derek gave him a little leeway. The dog yapped again, looking back with a perplexed expression when Derek wouldn't let him loose any further.
It figured. The dog was freaking ecstatic about the adventure. Derek was not. Meredith just felt tired, though a little excited. Family. Family thing. She was going to get a chance to do it right this time.
She wandered to the driver's side of the large white Expedition and grabbed the keys out of the ignition to pop the trunk. Derek lugged the big carrier into the trunk and came around to relieve her of their luggage. She smiled as his fingertips brushed her shoulder and curled around the nylon strap that kept her duffel bag airborne. His lips twitched, and the ghosted, nervous look on his face fleeted, replaced by a hint of pleasure.
The trip hadn't been nearly as bad as it could have been. This had been the first time they'd flown since the return trip to Seattle. Meredith had gone onto the plane clutching Derek's waist, white-knuckled and ready for the ride to be a veritable Hell. He'd refused to take anything beforehand for his nerves. Dilantin was enough to trip his brain on, he'd said. He didn't need more stuff circulating.
He hadn't needed it. His reaction to the flight had been a bit more severe than her first plane trip with him had been, but he'd been fine. Shaky and tense, but talking. Joking. Smiling, if a bit quivery. Derek-y.
She'd relaxed against his shoulder, and they'd flipped through a magazine together for a while before she'd nodded off to the rise and fall of his chest while his warm palm stroked her shoulder. She hadn't woken up again until the plane had thunked down onto the runway in what she had decided was the worst landing she'd ever experienced. One wheel had skipped onto the pavement and off again. The whole plane had bounced, leveled out again, and smacked down like a pile of bricks on wheels. Inertia combined with the hard press of the plane's brakes had sent her tilting forward in her chair, and when she'd finally taken a breath and looked around, she'd noticed Derek hadn't quite dealt with that so well.
But at least it had been over. He hadn't had to endure a five-hour trip in the gripping agony of too much tension, and as soon as he'd gotten off the plane ten minutes later, he'd been… Mostly okay again, if a bit shaken.
Really, after brain surgery, after all the crap that had happened, she'd been ecstatic he'd dealt with everything so well. They hadn't really figured out yet if he was having anxiety problems. Though he did when he needed to, he didn't like to talk about it very much, and it was hard to reconcile his understandable frustration over adjusting to the laggard pace of his healing with what could have been genuine nervous problems. The plane seemed to have proven he was indeed fine, though, for the most part.
"I'll drive," Derek said. He came around to the door and leaned against the weather stripping, his feet crossed at his ankles, cocky, self-assured, like he knew he'd win the argument before it even got past go. He smiled at her, eyes sparkling, and she sighed, caught in his adoring gaze. Melting. She was. Melt… Bad. Bad, Meredith. But… His color had returned, and he looked... Perfect. He looked perfect. And he was right. He would win this time. Not that she cared. Much. It wasn't even arguing. It was more of a collective… thing. A collection of…
Quin yipped as his gaze darted between the two of them. She reached down absently to rub his ears. His soft, velvet fur ruffled under her fingertips, but her attention refused to peel away from Derek, whose black sweater suddenly looked delectable to stroke. Or remove. Or both.
"You'll drive?" she countered, trying to contain the smile she felt tearing at her lips, because he was looking at her like he always did, and he really did seem fine, which was a relief all by itself, minus the looking. The looking that said he loved her in a soul-consuming way, it was wonderful, life was good, and she was the embodiment of his future. She was Meredith. She was Derek's Meredith, and whenever he looked at her like that, the world tended to drop away. She could never get over how flawless she felt whenever he drank her in that way. It was addictive, and even though he would win the collective non-argument of the day, she was definitely Queen of England in that moment. "You always drive," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What if I want to drive?"
"I got my license back, you know," he said. "It's conducive to me driving." His eyes mischievously flicked to the keys as she jingled them in what she hoped was her best, seductive, stripper-like motion that didn't actually involve stripping. Purr. She wouldn't win. But she could try.
"I know. A month ago," she said. "You got your license back a month ago, Derek."
He shifted. "You try having me as your chauffeur for over three months. I promise, you'd really want to drive again."
She raised an eyebrow, leaning forward into the space where his scent lingered, spicy and male and… Hers. Closer. "Are you implying that I'm a crappy chauffeur?" she said in a low, sultry voice.
"Oh, no," he replied, his voice equally deep and dangerous. "You're an excellent chauffeur. I love it when you drive."
"Except you won't let me anymore unless it's a shopping cart," she managed as the heat began to crawl across her skin. The sweater. The sweater looked… "Or sex." She nipped at him, and he loosed a tiny, breathy, aroused chuckle that made her melt even more.
Their noses touched, and she breathed him in. Her arms wouldn't hold still anymore. She placed the flat of her palms against the plane of his stomach and ran them up over his shoulders in a quiet pet that made the space between them rustle. He breathed. His arms slipped under her shoulders, and she felt Quin nudging at her shins, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The dog's claws tapped on the pavement as he maneuvered back and forth, his tail thwapping at their legs while he tried to get their attention. He whined, but to no avail.
Derek won over Quin. Hands down. Well, usually. Except when Derek was being dumb. But the apologies made those times worth it. The keys loosened in her palm as Derek bent in to inhale her, pushing her throat back as he ran his lips against her skin. He felt good. He felt very good, and he seemed… very fine. Very… Very… Um. She felt the leash dig into her back as Quin yipped and tore a circle around them, and it brought her back from the brink of total dissolution.
She paused to realize they were in a parking lot. Their dog was staring at them in horror, his head cocked to the side, tongue fluttering as he panted. He wanted attention. What was this PDA nonsense? Disgusting. That's what. Except it totally wasn't disgusting. It felt rather nice, especially after five hours on a stupid, cramped plane full of stupid, talking people.
Derek's expression pulled back into a nonplussed smirk. "I'm still in the escape from Driving Miss Daisy phase of my recuperation," he said, and she couldn't help but snort as she regained traction with reality. He frowned, backing up to peer at her. "What?" he said.
"Nothing," she replied with a laugh. "I'm just trying to picture you in the backseat with a cute little hat and a scowl."
Though the twinkle in his eyes didn't wane, his frown shifted into a scowl just like the one she'd imagined, and she couldn't help but let loose a hearty laugh. The scowl deepened. "Give me the keys," he said, leaning forward against her body, reaching. His free hand snaked down the length of her arm, fighting for possession of her palm.
She sighed as his fingers brushed hers, only to step back at the last moment. "How long does this whole cars-are-great thing generally last?" she said. She jingled the keys. He peered at them. His tongue appeared between his lips, briefly. It was an expression of determination and frustration and… other things.
"I don't know," he said, stepping into her space again. His lips found her earlobe. "I'll let you know."
"You'll let me know when I can drive?" she countered, tilting her head to the side to give him more of her body. His fingers snaked through her hair. His warm palm slid against her cheek as he brought his grip forward to cup her chin.
"Yes, exactly," he murmured, his eyes hooded with distraction as his irises ticked back and forth, laving each crease of her skin with attention.
"How very male chauvinist of you or whatever," she said.
His whole body shivered, and she felt a perverse sense of glee when he took a step back and took several short breaths. She'd rattled him. He was… Maybe he wouldn't win. "Meredith…" he said, though it was more a sigh than a word.
"Derek…" she replied.
His voice found its purchase again as he blinked. "Keys."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes!" he said, and the dance of flirtation collapsed into desperate fruition when he crushed against her and swept the world away from her senses. His lips flattened against hers, his tongue parted her before she had a chance to say a word, and they melded. For a moment. In the parking lot. With the dog staring. People everywhere dodging heaped, melting snow piles. She just didn't care. It didn't even feel cold, and she didn't care that their coats were still in their suitcase. Their suitcase. Theirs. She… He tasted good. He smelled good. He was fine.
And he won.
The keys jingled as he took them from her nerveless grasp and pulled back. His face had flushed to a healthy pink, and his pupils had shifted from starkly clear to glassy.
"You cheating bastard!" she snarled.
He blinked, a perplexed look on his face. "Kissing is cheating?"
"It's totally cheating. It ranks with tickling. Lips off is the rule," she said.
"Tickling," he replied with a grin as he pulled open the back door of the Expedition, a smirk slowly replacing his befuddled, lingering arousal. She'd almost won, damn it. She'd almost… He slapped the seat. Quin hopped inside the car, yipped his approval, and pressed his nose against the glass as Derek closed the door. Derek turned to her, his lower lip pressed underneath his incisors in an expression of haughty, sexy, hungry consideration. He peered her up and down. "Hmm."
"Don't you start," she said.
"I guess I like cheating after all," he said. "More cheating, I say."
"And I say you suck," she replied. "I can't believe you stole the keys with a kiss."
"Yes, you can," he replied with a smirk as he settled himself behind the steering wheel. "Get in." As she walked around the car, glowering, she heard his voice, distant, continuing in her absence. He'd left the door open so she could hear. "And since when have there been rules? There weren't rules before. You won with a kiss last week. I think you're changing things up on me to keep me confused."
"I hate you," she said as she collapsed tiredly into the passenger side seat and yanked the door shut. She started fumbling with her seatbelt, only to stop and add in a considering tone, "And your stupid hair. I think you should get a handicap for that. Your hair. Being stupid, I mean."
His lip twitched as he turned the key in the ignition. Quin stuck his head between the seats to peer out the front window as the engine started with a rumble. Derek reached back and scratched the dog's head. "You love me and my stupid hair," Derek said.
She sighed, turning to him. "Well…" she began.
He looked sharply at her.
"Okay, okay," Meredith replied with a laugh. "I do," she agreed with a relaxed smile. "I really, really do. Usually."
He regarded her for a moment. His eyelashes lowered as his skin ticked, and the deep blue of his irises seemed fathomless in the grip of that moment. Lighter flecks of gray and cerulean snaked against the deeper tones, and she lost herself in them. She loved the way they turned almost black sometimes when it was dark.
"Usually being pretty much always," she added.
"Pretty much?"
"That's a majority, you know. I'd be happy if I were you."
He sighed, histrionics dragging his shoulders into a pronounced slouch. "I suppose the honeymoon is over."
She snorted. "The honeymoon hasn't even remotely started. We haven't even picked—"
"I love you, too," he replied, interrupting her. "And I happen to think your hair is stupid all the time, too, you know. Or maybe just brilliant."
"Brilliant smart," she began, "Brilliant radiant, or brill—"
He kissed her then. Not to distract or to win or to do anything other than say what he felt with something a little more substantial. She could tell from the reverential way he touched her, as if she were strong but fragile, iron wrapped in rose petals. As if he were grateful. And desirous. And worshiping. Not once did the touch show self-awareness. Only she was in the car. Only she was important.
"I really, really do," he added, whispering against her ear. His lips brushed her skin. He lingered against her, quiet and breathing, as if he could replenish himself simply by being close to her.
Quin nudged them with his cold nose, and they laughed as the moment dispersed like mist. She reached to ruffle the fur on his back. His tongue came out, and he licked her cheek, leaving wet warmth behind. She coughed with broken laughter as she wiped the spit from her face with the back of her palm.
"We really need to train him to share," Derek murmured as he pulled away.
"Yeah, we do," Meredith said with a snort. Derek put his arm over the back of the seat, pressed his foot down on the accelerator, and the vehicle began to crawl backward into the exit lane. "By the way," she said as he lifted his hands and let the steering wheel correct itself in a quick but controlled spin. "I'm driving to the airport on the way back."
His fingers flexed around the leather grip on the wheel. He quirked a grin. "Maybe."
"Yes!" she said.
"We'll see," he countered.
She puffed a breath out between her teeth. "Whatever," she said as she folded her arms over her chest and settled against the window to watch the rows of cars go by. Foggy breath snaked along the glass pane as she breathed.
"You okay?" he asked.
"About?" she said.
"Well… Christmas. And traveling with the dog. And seeing everyone again. I know it's a lot."
She let her lips quiver into a sort of grin thing that she hoped would be sufficient. "I'm more than okay, Derek. Honest. We couldn't have left him at a kennel. Not after just two months. And your family. Our… We… Our family. I want to see them again. I want to… I didn't do it right last time. I didn't… There's stuff that I need to ask and do and be. And you're… It's… You deserve to have some time with them when you're not ill or traumatized or whatever. Er… I mean."
"It's okay. I know what you mean," he stated simply. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me, too," she said, meeting his eyes as he fumbled to retrieve his license from his pocket. His eyes lingered on the glossy picture for a long moment. His thumb rubbed the laminate as though it were a precious metal, like gold or silver or the platinum that always hugged her ring finger. His lips twitched, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. Happy. He was happy. And fine.
"You're okay," she said, reaching across to add her own support to his moment.
"Yes," he replied, his voice deep and sure and… Derek. "Yes, I am." And then he rolled down the window to pass all the documentation to the lady at the parking lot gate. The exchange was quick. The lady compared the registration sheet with Derek's license, asked him gruffly if he needed directions, handed everything back to him, and sent them on their way.
The Expedition tilted back and forth, flinging them around as Derek navigated the vehicle over the anti-theft strip of spikes clawing up out of the ground under the shadow of the gate arm. Then they were free, and the trip began much like it had before, though Derek didn't offer any sort of sexy tour narration.
She'd seen it before. The bridge. The way the road slowly left the towering sprawl of New York City behind.
Leafless and dead for the winter, trees sprouted up behind the brief sprawl of muddy grass that ran along the road. Black, slushy remnants of the early winter storm that had abated two days before sat piled up against the shoulders of the road. The pavement hissed as the vehicle tore over it, the snow's wet, melting runoff creating a damp, slick surface. Derek stayed in the right lane, actually under the speed limit for once, despite his usual penchant for pushing the speed limits well into reckless territory, territory that, were he to be pulled over, would not get ignored no matter how much he smiled and looked sexy. Speeding. A remnant of the daring his motorcycle crash had ripped away from him, perhaps, strangely absent this trip, though she'd seen plenty of evidence his pedal pushing tendency had remained since he'd received the renewal for his license after his surgery. Concerned, she watched the way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way his jaw shifted, and the way his eyes gathered in the sights.
His irises and pupils twinkled with a subtle glee that had appeared the first time he'd gotten behind the wheel again and, for each subsequent trip in the car, had never abated. He wasn't nervous. This wasn't a war for him. He was just being safe.
That was fine.
I remember, he'd said as they'd settled into bed. She'd known what he'd meant before he'd explained. I remembered at work today. You were there. But I was so nauseated I couldn't think straight. I tried. I tried so hard, Mere, and I couldn't get anything to work. Everything was spinning. I was frightened. Then the words stopped making sense, my skull was pounding, and it seemed easier to just… Give up.
She'd rested against the length of him, rubbing her palms against the ripples of his ribs. She'd wanted to think he was imagining things, making things up to fill a void that wouldn't ever fill again. Minor but permanent anterograde and retrograde amnesia after a severe head trauma was very common. Both of them had thought that his memories ending with the seatbelt click in the car and resuming in the hospital room where he'd stayed overnight had been the ultimate end to his recovering recollection. She'd been glad. Glad that he couldn't remember the rest of it. He hadn't said anything about it, but she had a feeling he'd been glad as well.
I know the feeling, she'd replied.
Thanks for being there.
You were there for me, too, she'd said. And that had been the end of it. He'd never spoken about it again, but she'd wondered. She'd always wondered if it was because he was genuinely okay now, or because he didn't want to deal with it. But she hadn't pressed it.
"Meredith, I love that you love me and all, and I know I'm ridiculously hot," Derek said, his tone playful, "But I think you've counted every stray piece of stubble I've got at least four times, now."
She blinked, broken from her musing. She flicked her gaze to the left and found Quin staring at her between the gap in the seats with an apologetic look of agreement. She'd been caught. Red handed. Guilty as charged and all that. "You're always on his side," she said to Quin as she petted him. "It's really not fair." She turned to Derek, who glanced at them every few seconds out of the corner of his eyes.
He smiled. "It's a guy solidarity thing," he explained. "But really, Meredith. I'm fine. I'm driving again. It's Christmas. We're going to see everyone. We have a dog. And you're here." He sighed. "There's really nothing that could make this more perfect for me." Silence fell into the space between them. The heater filled the air with a soft rush of air, and the road whooshed underneath them. "Plus," he added, "This SUV is huge. I doubt a deer would win in sudden death match."
Her mouth fell open. "I can't believe you just said that."
"Bambi gets it this time," Derek replied. "Not me."
"You're an ass," Meredith replied with a chuckle. "Deer hater."
"Hypocrite," he said.
"Not true. I've never tried venison. I don't know if I hate it."
"You're talking about serving it on a plate, and I'm the hater?"
"Yep," she replied.
"Okay, just so we're clear."
She smiled as Derek fumbled for the radio in the silence that followed. He navigated to a station with little hesitation, and his fingers adjusted the volume so that the sound was the barest hum in the background. Christmas carols. Some rock station playing Christmas carols. Christmas. She shifted her feet, ready to settle in for the trip, relaxing, wondering how exactly she was going to do this. The thing. The family thing. This was Christmas.
Christmas. With Derek's family. Their family. Christmas. With presents. And Christmas carols. And trees. And lights. And cookies. And people. Everywhere. Children. Santa. Candy canes. Wrapping paper. Mistletoe.
She'd never done the Christmas thing. Ever. Her mother had always worked on Christmas. Meredith would receive one or two small presents that night at dinner, maybe, but the mornings had always been eerily quiet, and her mother had never put up any tree. Or decorations of any kind. Don't be silly, Meredith. Pointless things like decorations are just a time vacuum for the commercially brainwashed.
The week before, Meredith had been rather horrified when Derek had arrived home from his shopping trip on their day off just long enough for dinner. He'd gotten up after cleaning off his plate and cheerfully informed her that he was going to head to FedEx to ship all the presents to Connecticut ahead of time. All the presents. All. Presents. As in many. Many. Lots. She'd thought he'd come home empty-handed when he hadn't brought anything into the trailer with him.
FedEx, she'd snapped. You bought enough that you need to FedEx it? I thought… FedEx? Really?
Well, sure, he'd replied, as if it were criminal to purchase less than enough to fill up a small dump truck. Did you have stuff you want me to ship for you? I put your name on all the things I got for the kids and my sisters. You seemed… Well… When I mentioned shopping…
She'd dismissed the offer that morning because she'd been tired after a week straight of double shifts and being on-call, and she hadn't realized that Christmas shopping, for Derek, apparently incorporated every freaking mall in Seattle as part of a huge, sappy mecca, a winding road to peace, love, and hyped commercialism or whatever.
She thought of the small envelope tucked away in her carryon bag. She'd… That was it. She hadn't bought presents for anyone else. And ever since that moment, that moment where he'd walked out, keys jingling as he whistled happily. To FedEx. With a fuckload of presents. She'd wondered if she'd done it wrong already. Well, not really wondered. Known. Wondering if she'd done it wrong had changed to knowing she'd done it wrong when Derek had come home with sheets of tracking numbers. Sheets. Freaking sheets. Not just one or two numbers.
That way, if one gets lost, it won't be a huge thing, he'd explained as if it were some kind of rocket science.
She twisted her fingers against her purse straps. This was not a good line of thought. This was bad. This was a bad, bad, bad line of thought. She was okay. She was going to do the freaking Christmas thing, and just because her entire concept of the holiday fit inside a small envelope in her carryon bag did not make her a Scrooge who sucked at Christmas. It didn't. Derek would… Maybe he would like it. The present. Maybe.
Bad thoughts. Bad… She wondered what he'd gotten for her. They hadn't really set up any rules about how much to spend or exchanged any sort of lists or anything, and he had a lot more money to toss around than she did. It felt weird to buy him gifts with money out of his own checking account, which he'd stuck her name on in November. They'd gone to the bank. It'd been a thing. A big… They had joint checks. Derek Shepherd and Meredith Grey. It was neat. But… She'd stuck to her own reserves for Christmas shopping. And it'd… Well, she just didn't have that much. And he had a lot. And… Stop. Stop it. Stop, stop, stop.
She reached into her purse with twitchy fingers. Distractions were good. She needed a distraction. Badly. It was Christmas Eve, she was doing the Christmas thing surrounded by dozens of people who had all done the rocket science Christmas thing their whole lives, her present fit in an envelope, and Derek had FedEx-ed all his crap beforehand. Definitely, this called for a distraction.
She pulled the thin white envelope containing a silver-colored writable CD out of her purse. Izzie's writing in small black marker proclaimed the disc, "Love songs. Pick one, for god's sake. For me. Please?"
"What are you doing?" Derek asked as she switched off the radio. Carol of the Bells ceased with a hiss of static, and she stuffed the disc into the thin slot on the front panel. Her hands were shaking. She withdrew as soon as the CD began to disappear, hoping he hadn't noticed.
"Possibly torturing you," she replied as she pulled the little index card with the track list out of the CD envelope.
Derek pressed the stop button on the radio before the first few chords of piano notes finished. "Torturing?"
"We don't have a song yet, and you've made me sit shotgun, so, I'm going to use the time to the best of my ability, which may involve torturing you. It's that whole pretend-to-like-your-taste-in-music thing rearing its ugly, disharmonious head. You get to pretend, now. Maybe."
"A song?" he said, his tone upturned at the end in question. It was a cautious sort of expression. One that said he didn't get it, but he didn't want to ruin anything.
She stared at Izzie's track list as though it were a critical note. A critical piece of documentation that would allow someone to live or die. Patient allergies. Drug dosages. If she stared at the card, she didn't have to see how stupid Derek thought this idea was. Stupid and random. And sappy. Derek didn't dance, and she didn't know what music he liked, and he was going to think this was a horrible idea. How could she possibly not know what music he liked already? She should know these things. Except all she knew about was The Clash. And punk rock. And his stupid need to have the radio on just for noise. Like silence in the car was a sin. Silence was a perfectly acceptable form of noise, as far as she was concerned. But…
Crap. What if he expected Christmas carols or something, and was privately seething that she was ruining it? Was this not an appropriate conversation for Christmas? Maybe she should have waited, or… Crap, the little voice in her head added again. But she was… Derek kept glancing at her expectantly for an answer. Even Quin was staring. Why? Why did the stupid dog have to take Derek's side every time?
It wasn't. Freaking. Fair.
Scrooge! the little voice screamed. Grinch.
"A piece of music that defines our coupledom," she explained, trying to collect the random twists of words in her head into something coherent for him. "According to Izzie, we have to have one. So we can play it at the reception for our first dance. I hadn't really thought about the first dance thing, you know. You'll have to dance in public. And I'm… It's a dance. Where everyone will be watching. It could be bad if we pick the wrong defining song thing. Like, what if we're one of those couples that plays Every Breath You Take? It's a freaking stalker song. Not a wedding song. Do people listen to the lyrics? No. And then everyone in the audience has to sit there cringing while the bride and groom smile and gush at each other over a song that just sucks. But, I guess they're better off than us, because at least they have a song, even if it's a stalker song. We have no song. And we're getting married in five months. Is there anything you like that's not punk rock? I haven't looked through your iPod. I should have, but I didn't. I'm sorry. Punk rock would probably be bad for a wedding." Meredith ventured a brief look in his direction. The skin around his eyes had crinkled up with mirth, and his lip curled in what could have been a smile if he weren't trying so hard to bludgeon it to death with a straight face. She heaved a woeful sigh. "Crap, you do think this is really stupid, don't you?"
"What?" he managed, and the hint of a smile dissolved into seriousness. "No, I just…" Then the smile came back, as though he couldn't help himself. "You're adorable when you ramble."
"Wonderful. I'm glad I amuse you," she snapped. He didn't even have the good sense to look scolded. He just kept that stupid, smirky, haughty smile on his stupid face, capped off by his stupid hair, and it was all just… stupidly unfair. And mean. Not fair and mean and just… "But that's not the point," she continued. "The point is we need a song. A freaking song. Work with me, here. We need one. And we don't ever dance, so I don't know how we're going to come up with anything special. The only time was at your reunion, and we're not using In The Air Tonight. That's about drowning and retribution and stuff, and that would be… bad. Right? Or is it one of those surreal poet-y things that I missed the meaning of because I suck at abstracting?"
And Christmas. She sucked at both, really. Perhaps she should turn the stupid carols back on. The road swished underneath them, and everything looked gray outside. The sun hung low on the horizon, a fiery half circle just visible over the line of dead trees, and she came to the private conclusion that she was a Christmas killjoy. A freaking Grinch-y Christmas-killing Scrooge-lady, who bought presents that sucked and worried about—
Stop. Stop, it. She was freaking out wasn't she? Yes. She really was. Stop it.
Silence stretched, and she noticed that Derek had actually ceased his expression of private glee and appeared to be making an effort. To humor her, or something. Or maybe… "Um, no," he agreed. "In The Air Tonight is sort of… Not good. Are you… Are you all right, Meredith? You seem like you're… A little upset."
Meredith sighed, replenishing the breath with a long and cleansing inhalation. "I'm not upset," she said. "It's Christmas. It's a happy thing. Izzie gave us this assignment. I'm sure we can pick something that doesn't suck. Right?" She hit the play button again, and the brief hint of piano chords she'd heard before Derek had stopped the CD repeated. Then guitars joined in. And then… "Hey," she said as the singer began. "This has a pretty start."
"Meredith…"
She glanced at the index card. "God Bless The Broken Road," she read. "Rascal Flatts. According to, um, Izzie's squiggley writing."
"It's country," Derek said, his voice flat.
"Well, yeah," she acknowledged. There was a bit of that obvious Southern twang in the vocals. "It is a little… But the lyrics…"
"No," Derek said. "It's country, Meredith."
"You don't like country?"
His fingers squeaked as he gripped the steering wheel. His jaw-line tensed and bulged as he clenched his teeth, and she noticed he looked like he was cringing over a set of nails streaking down some chalkboard in a nightmare classroom. "No," he said. "Definitely not."
"Huh," she said. Derek did not like country music. As in hated. She filed that away, a private zing of glee overwhelming every cynical Christmas-killing feeling of dread that had collected. She was learning important stuff, and he was humoring her. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Okay. How about…"
She hit the skip button on the radio, and the next song began. A woman, singing softly to the slow progression of piano chords. They both listened quietly. Quin howled when the melody launched into the higher registers, and, though he managed the lofty heights the singer reached, he was quite off-key. She grinned, reaching back to scratch him. "He likes it," she said. The lyrics were beautiful. The song was… The song was beautiful.
"What is this?" Derek murmured.
"So Are You To Me," Meredith answered as she looked at the track list. "Eastmountainsouth."
"It doesn't have any beat."
"No, but listen to it," Meredith countered. "It's gorgeous."
"And apparently short," Derek replied as the song abruptly ended.
Meredith sighed. "That wouldn't work, would it?"
"It would take me the length of the song just to figure out how to lead you," Derek said, his voice dipping low with rue. "I have enough trouble with my feet as it is."
"Who says you'd be leading? You're the dance-challenged one. Not me."
His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, and the corner of his lip twitched in what she could only assume was a checked grin. "You like dancing?" His tone expressed his subtle pleasure over the fact, which she found curious. Why would he be happy that she liked an activity he hated?
"I love dancing," she confirmed as she tried to figure out where his mind was at.
He glanced at her, his eyes twinkling. "What kind of dancing?"
"Grind-y, sweaty club dancing," she said. "Not ballroom. Well, I don't know about that. I've never really tried it. Ballroom dancing, I mean." She sighed, watching the scenery passing by. There were a lot of things she'd never done, when she thought about it. "And I like slow dancing," she added, her voice low as the clusters of stick-y trees along the roadside blurred into gray. "With you. I like that."
"Mere…"
"Even if it's vastly inappropriate and about drowning, In The Air Tonight…"
Derek's gaze ticked off the road to her before resettling on the roll of the pavement as the car churned over it. "It's special," he said. The grin on his face was a fabulous expression that she wanted to bask in forever. "Kind of ours."
"Yeah," she replied, sighing. "It kind of is. Derek, I…"
"I didn't know you liked dancing," Derek repeated, a pleased, sated expression overwhelming his features. Almost like he'd just had some great sex.
"Well, you don't," Meredith replied with a shrug. "So--"
He stared at the road. "We should go to a club."
"What? Why? You hate clubbing."
"I don't hate clubbing," he said. "I used to love clubbing. I'm from Manhattan, Mere. How exactly do you think I got into The Clash? There was this great spot at 315 Bowery that I just--"
"But you said…" she stuttered, trying to picture him. At a club. Then again… punk rock. He'd had the bike. He'd lived in New York City. And he'd had Mark. Mark might have dragged him to something, or… Maybe… Her eyes narrowed as the image began to incorporate leather jackets and chains and those silly leather gloves with holes in the fingers that only covered your palms. She tried not to laugh. She did. And she managed. Sort of.
He smiled, looking bemused but good-humored at her failed efforts as she snorted. "I said I don't dance in public," he countered. "I never said I didn't like to go clubbing. And you like it. So…"
"But what about woodsy, introverted Derek 2.0?"
His eyebrows rose. "Derek 2.0?"
"It's the term I've developed for the Seattle you," she said. "The you that I know and love."
"Let's just say Seattle Derek noticed Bright-and-Shiny Meredith is trying out all of Seattle Derek's hobbies, but she hasn't offered anything up."
"I don't have hobbies to offer up, Derek," she insisted. "You're the one with hobbies. I'm hobby-less and boring. I never had any time except for… Well, I had time. I just used it for stupid stuff. Like--"
"Clubbing."
"And drinking. And sex. There was lots of drinking and sex," she said, and then the pictures of Derek in leather and chains on his motorcycle evolved. Liquor bottles. Hair grease. A spiked dog collar around his throat. And a tight black shirt. Yes. He'd have to have one of those. She blinked, half-laughing at the ludicrous image and half-turned on. Tight. Leather. Tight leather. And black. Derek looked very good in black. Derek looked good in anything, but particularly dark blue and black. And… Damn it. Stop. Moment. They were having a learning moment. She had to-- Leather! "You really like to…" she managed, only to have her voice choke away as her throat constricted. She coughed. "I don't see you on the club scene, Derek. Visualization is failing me. Or, well, it's not failing me. But it's very scary."
Perhaps he just went in frayed jeans. Frayed jeans seemed like a more appropriate act of rebellion for Derek than hair grease and dog collars. Frayed jeans, thready and thin on the back pockets, open at the knees, maybe a few snags along the quads, uneven and stringy at the ends where his boots began… Yeah. Black boots. Not combat boots or grungy biker boots, just… The boots he always liked to wear when he wasn't in sneakers, the sharp, pointed, stylish kind with heels to catch the bike stirrups. Sexy. And he would have a black shirt, maybe with the logo of the club. With a sharp-looking leather jacket. Not horrendously punk-y with silver buckles on the shoulders. Just a smart leather coat that worked to forward the whole motorcycle image. There was the picture. She'd found it. She licked her lips.
"There's still lots of new stuff to find out, Mere," Derek said. He grinned, and the great sex expression returned. "I didn't know you like to dance."
She shared his look of glee. "I know," she replied with a smile. "Well… What about this song, then?"
She flipped the skip button until the CD-player landed on track seven. The song started slowly and wasn't very textured to begin with, but she knew it by heart. Vocals and piano. Then the drums started, and the strings eventually cut in. It built. Into something bigger, like a big, building… Like a big, building mystery story with a definitive climax where all the whodunits came to light. And the lyrics. The lyrics, which she'd always found pretty before, suddenly connected with her in a way that made her chest hurt. They were about someone. Suddenly. Instead of being about an amorphous Prince Charming she never expected to meet.
She bit her lip as she watched him, trying to gauge his reaction, which started, really, as no reaction whatsoever. His face hovered in neutral, sort of like Switzerland, were it an expression and not a country or… Yeah. He swallowed, staring at the road. The dim, golden light of the sun cast its dying glow on his face, making his eyes sparkle and his skin seem otherworldly. Loose strands of his raven-brown hair lit up like hot metal, turning incandescent orange in the bath of waning light.
She settled back against her seat, letting her eyes dip into half-lidded relaxation. The heaters blew on her, bathing her in soft warmth that slowly seeped to her core. She watched him.
She loved this song so much. She always had, ever since she'd heard it on the dance floor in London. And now… Now, she had someone sitting next to her who made it come alive. Because for her, it was about Derek, and that was… That was perfect. It made the song even better, made it three-dimensional and real and… Hers.
She realized, in that moment, she didn't care whether he liked it or not, and the nerves bled away. It might not be their song, but it was definitely hers, and it was a very good feeling.
"Izzie picked this out?" Derek asked, breaking into her musing.
"No, I did," Meredith admitted. "I saw she was making the CD for me, and I suggested she put… Well, I heard this when I was in London."
"Your Europe trip," Derek said. "You want your bad plane sex with the Frenchman to be immortalized at our wedding?"
"This was from later," she protested. "This is…" She noted the perplexed expression on his face. "You don't like it."
"It's… interesting," he decided as the main rhythm finally cut in. "What is it?"
"Gorecki, by Lamb."
He frowned. "What kind of name is Gorecki?"
"I don't know!" Meredith said. "I don't pay attention to that. It's just the lyrics, they…"
"The lyrics are kind of perfect," Derek agreed, his voice low and soft.
She grinned. He got it, even if he didn't like it. He… "They really are," she said.
"But, Meredith," Derek said. "This isn't really…"
"You said you liked clubbing."
"I do like clubbing," he said. "You, it seems, like raving."
"Raving, clubbing." She shrugged. "Whatever."
He smirked. "I would die to know what the hell you were doing in London to this music."
"Swapping spit with some guy, probably."
"Probably?"
"Raving, Derek," she said. "There was alcohol involved. And some other stuff."
"Other stuff, huh." His teeth flashed as he gave her an evil grin. "What other stuff?"
"Pretty colors," she stated. "That's all I remember. I don't do that crap anymore."
Her head had been pounding when she'd woken up. She'd swallowed, spit tasting sticky and metallic against her throat as she'd sat up. She'd found herself on the cold, wooden floor, hair shooting out in all directions, still in the prison of hairspray and dye and product she'd tortured it with. She'd found her underwear dangling around her ankle. She'd found her bra later after an intense search. The room had spun wildly as she'd sat up, followed by sharp, jabbing pains as she'd asked her muscles to connect with her brain again. She'd winced blearily at the wet, used condom she found on the floor by her face.
Hello? she'd said, but the word had been a grating remnant of her speaking voice, as if she hadn't uttered a word in days.
Nobody had answered. It hadn't been until she'd hobbled to the phone, a phone she didn't recognize in an apartment she didn't know, and saw the blinking light on the answering machine that she'd started to freak out. She'd hit play. She didn't know why. She wasn't particularly nosey. But the light had been blinking, and she'd been firing on about three total neurons at the time.
Mere, babe. Had a great time. See you later at the party, maybe. I hear they scored some good shit for it.
She hadn't recognized the voice, neither the timbre nor the faint, lilting British accent. She hadn't recognized the apartment. She hadn't recognized the clothes she'd been wearing, and she hadn't even been able to remember when she'd painted her nails with the lacquered black shade she'd found at her fingertips, chipped and cracked and old. She hadn't been able to remember anything.
What's wrong with me? she'd said in a cracking, broken voice as she'd tried to get her legs to work, only to collapse in a twitching, aching pile on the couch. What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong?
Derek smiled. "Because you're bright and shiny, now?"
"I totally am."
His fingers squeaked against the steering wheel, and he shifted in his seat, his eyes staring at the road. He blinked, and it seemed like in that moment, the sunset became night. The last hint of gold faded from his face, leaving them in darkness. Deep, light-polluted purple clogged what should have been a black-touched blue sky. His eyes glittered in the waning light, and the soft green glow of the dashboard filled the space between them with a vague nighttime light. She watched his hands in the darkness as they gripped the wheel, and then she settled down to watch the road pass underneath them. The white lane dividers sprawled out in the glow of the headlights and beyond, blurring into an on-off line sort of like she imagined Morse-code would look, were it a painting instead of a sound.
"I'm glad you're happy, Meredith," Derek said, his voice barely audible over the soft air of the heaters and Quin's peaceful breathing in the backseat. The dog had settled down to snooze, and he had his muzzle cradled between his two front paws. His eyebrows twitched in the onslaught of canine dreams.
Wanna stay right here, 'til the end of time, she mouthed as Lamb's vocalist continued onward. "Me, too," she said. "I like it. Being happy, I mean. And I'm really glad you're feeling better. Really, Derek."
"I'm driving," he stated, his voice puffing up with pride.
"You are."
He sighed as the song neared its finish. "I don't know, Meredith. I agree the words are… good. But this music isn't really…"
"Your thing?" she supplied when his voice fell away.
"Not really, no," he admitted. "And I can't imagine dancing to this at a wedding. It's just…"
She'd expected as much when he'd called it interesting instead of given it an actual adjective. Interesting was the word people used to avoid hurt feelings. What an interesting idea. You look interesting. Your choice was interesting. Not that she minded much. He'd given it a try. And he got it, even if he didn't like it. "It makes me think of you," she said.
"Mere, if you really… If you want to use this song, we can use this song. I kind of… I love that this makes you think of me, even if I don't necessarily love it myself."
"Then it misses the point."
"The point?"
"It has to be our song," she said. "Not mine. Not yours. Ours. And we don't have one, Derek. We have no song." She skipped back to track four as Gorecki came to a close. "How about this one?" She squinted at the track list in the darkness. "Feels Like Home. By, uh… Chantal. Somebody. I can't even begin to pronounce this. This kind of works. It's pretty, but not horrifically diva."
"Diva?"
"I think track five might work, too," she said, staring at the list. "It's-- Wait. That's country, too. Why are all the good non-sappy, non-diva love songs country?" She reached for the radio to hit the skip button.
"Mere, stop," he murmured. His palm brushed against her skin, and he pushed her away from the radio before she could switch the song to the next non-country ballad. They hovered in the air, touching, and he sighed. His skin was always so warm. And perfect. She tilted her hand until it hung in the air, palm to palm with his, and grasped him.
"What?" she said, closing her eyes as she basked in the dark and the comfort of the moment.
"A song is something that happens," Derek said. "You don't pick it."
She swallowed and cracked her eyes open. The blur of the dashboard coalesced. "I suppose you would know," she said. "I mean… You already have one with somebody else."
She bit her lip when she realized what she'd said might have sounded jealous or something. To him. Jealous. She hadn't meant it that way at all. It was just… All new. To her, it was all new. This was take two for him. He had a chance to fix all his screw ups. This was her chance to make the mistakes for the first time. Sometimes, it was a daunting sort of weight on her shoulders, knowing that.
A quiet breath whuffed from his lips, sort a laugh, but not really. He blinked, and she watched the way the dashboard glittered against the film of wetness over his eyes. His lip twitched, and in his face, she didn't read any sort of condemnation or anger. Just muted amusement. Bewilderment. If only you knew, his expression seemed to say.
"No, I don't," he said.
"What?"
"The only time Addison and I ever really danced was when we met," he said. "I was so drunk the song could have been Tragedy, and I wouldn't have noticed."
"What about your wedding?" she prodded, curiosity driving her to pry. "And hospital prom. You totally danced with her at hospital prom."
"At our wedding, we danced to some horrifically sappy ballad that she picked out," he said as Chantal swept her song into another swelling chorus.
"Like this one," Meredith said with an understanding frown.
Derek nodded. "Like this one, Mere. And at prom…"
"What?"
"I had my mind on you," he said, a small, ironic breath of laughter escaping from his lips. "Not her."
"Oh."
"Which was probably obvious."
"I did sort of notice," she said. "So, if you don't dance in public, how are we supposed to get a song?"
"It'll figure itself out, Mere."
She turned in the seat and watched his profile. "How are you always so sure?"
He smiled. "It's a gift," he said. "But we can listen to the rest of this CD if you want. Maybe it'll happen in the next forty-five minutes."
"Okay," she replied.
They drove the rest of the way in darkness, but not silence, as the rest of Izzie's selections played. They spoke of the merits and demerits of each. Beat is too fast. Beat is too slow. Beat is nonexistent. Too sappy. Not sappy enough.
Derek, it seemed, actually had a rather eclectic sense of taste in music, and most of the songs on the disc, he at least showed an appreciation for, even if he didn't necessarily like them. She learned that her picture of him in his club-going days had been mostly correct as he related how Mark had dragged him to a club during college to 'loosen him up a little', and he'd heard a band doing a cover of one of The Clash's songs. He'd traced the song's lineage back to its parents, and from there, he'd slowly come down off the ledge of stereotypical valedictorian archetype into a valley of more flavored, textured personality, started to become more than just a hint of the Derek she knew. Started growing up.
He seemed delighted to learn that her desire to go to medical school and make something of herself had evolved as her own sense of rebellion had flared bright and then died in torrent of spent embers. Well, not thrilled at the story. But thrilled that she was talking. Europe had untwisted the last of her kinks. She'd woken up somewhere after a bad trip, hadn't had a clue where she was or how she'd gotten there. And that had been it. The last straw. She'd flown home, horrified, her mother had gotten sick, and the rest had been history. She'd become Dr. Meredith Grey.
The closer to their destination they traveled, the slower he drove. The roads lost their battle with the encroaching snow as he turned onto his mother's street, and she finally understood exactly why Derek had insisted on an SUV with the rental agency this time.
The street was nothing but white and quiet. Thick, puffy snow covered everything. Though the sky above hung stark and black and twinkley overhead with the light dusting of stars, and the remnants of storm clouds had since passed, the snow hadn't yet received an opportunity to melt. Wind had smoothed it into drifts. The street had been plowed at one point, but new snow had covered the pavement again, and the plows had not yet returned.
Colored lights decorated the Shepherd house around the door and the bushes that framed the walkway. Little electric candles dotted each window of the large house between the blinds and the glass panes. A gigantic, gorgeous wreath with a red-plaid ribbon hung around the doorknocker at the front door. Embossed against the golden glow escaping from the windows, Meredith saw shadow patterns flickering against the shades. People. Moving inside. Many people. Having fun. Talking. People.
"You're sure you're okay, Mere?" Derek asked as he turned the key in the ignition, and the rumbling of the SUV faded into the muffled silence of snow.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she insisted as she gritted her teeth and clenched her fingers around her purse straps. This was it. "It's Christmas."
"Yeah," he said. "Our first."
For a long march of moments, they sat there, quiet, unmoving, peaceful, just sharing the passing time. Derek leaned forward, pinching his nose with his fingers, sitting, breathing. He sighed, and then he got out of the SUV. Meredith let the door slam vibrate in her chest, let the cold blast of air sink into her pores. She listened as his feet crunched against the snow along the side of the car. He popped the trunk, and though she expected him to grab their luggage and start heading toward the house, instead, she heard the whine of a zipper as he tore into their joint suitcase. She turned around in time to see him donning his thick winter coat, which he'd pulled from its tightly packed space on top of their regular clothes. The fabric made a soft rustling noise as he slipped it over his shoulders.
He slammed the trunk shut before she could ask what on earth he was doing. The rear passenger door came open. "Come on, Quin. It's snow," Derek said, his voice dripping with the quiet whisper of pent up excitement.
Meredith smiled as the dog shot out of the SUV with a playful bark and took off to explore the new, funny wet stuff. Derek's breath clawed out from his mouth in a cloud of mist as he gathered up a wet, perfect snowball and lobbed it across the yard with sharp, whistling speed that spoke of long forgotten battles in the snow, building walls and forts of powder, stockpiling slush bombs and other cold instruments of maiming. Snow clawed out in a fan behind Quin's back feet as the dog dug in with his hindquarters and shot across the yard. The snowball landed with a splat and dispersed next to a winter-barren tree, leaving a pockmark in the wind-swept surface. Quin lowered his nose into the white mess, snorting and running around in circles, trying to figure out where his mysterious toy had vanished.
Derek laughed and lobbed another ball of snow, expertly aimed, as Meredith decided to brave the cold. She hopped through the dense slush in the driveway, her feet half-crunching, half-sinking into the wet mess below her soles with strange slurch, slurch, slurching sounds. Cold seeped through her shoes, and she cursed her poor planning. Their poor planning.
They really shouldn't have packed away all their winter clothes, but… It hadn't been that cold in Seattle. She opened the trunk and pulled out her coat, throwing it on as fast as her shivering limbs could manage, but it was too late to stave off the first chill, and for a moment, she stood there, shocked and twitching with the onslaught of cold sting and ache.
She looked up in time to see Derek careening onto his back in an explosion of snow as Quin yapped and ran in circles around him. He laughed as the dog attacked him with kisses, and Meredith couldn't help but smile as she heard the cadences of his low murmurs. Derek scrunched his gloveless hands against Quin's muzzle and ruffled him affectionately, and as she drew closer, words formed from the rise and fall of sound. "Somebody likes snow, doesn't he? Oh, yes, he does."
"Somebody definitely likes snow," Meredith commented with a laugh as she stumbled through the yard to Derek's prone form. Quin looked up at her and barked before returning to reassess the cleanliness of Derek's face. He found it lacking, and the bath started all over again.
Derek cackled with glee, rolling onto his side to get away from the dog. He stood, shaking off his curly hair and jacket and hands much like a wet dog. Powdery snow and slush went flying everywhere, and he shoved his hands into his pockets immediately. "I like it until it melts in my pants," he said. "Which it's going to do very soon at this rate."
"What about your shirt?" Meredith said.
He raised an eyebrow at her as Quin pushed up against her leg and leaned, demanding more attention, or perhaps more lobbed snowballs. "My shirt?" Derek said.
She bent down and gathered up a handful of snow, mashing it into a compact piece of slush, wincing as the cold seeped through her skin. She drew her arm back and faked the throw with a flick of her wrist. Quin launched forward, spraying both her and Derek with upturned snow as he fought for traction. Derek followed the dog with his gaze, and it was the opening she needed. She stuffed the melting snowball down the neck of his coat.
"FFFFF---!" Derek began to belt as the packed ice slipped down inside his jacket, only to flash a wide-eyed look of horror at the house where the shadows of countless bodies moved behind the curtains. His curse ended in a strangely wailing "AH!" He comically twisted around, trying to get away from it, but it was stuck inside his coat, and suddenly they were both careening backward into a heap in the chilly, wet snow as he grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him with a half-growl, half-chuckle.
"See?" Meredith said with a giggle as she settled against his heaving body. "Your shirt is kinda wet, now." She drew a cold index finger down his nose while he shivered and panted and sputtered.
Quin returned, a perplexed look on his face. Why? Why can't I find these mysterious white things you keep throwing? I don't get it. I just… Don't get it. She reached up and scratched his neck, and he collapsed into the heap with them, his tail wagging, dusting their legs with fresh, wet snow.
"You cheated," Derek decided as he stared up at the pinpricked, black sky. His teeth started to chatter. "Jesus, that's cold, Meredith."
She kissed him.
"Okay, that's not so cold," he muttered against her lips as she drew her fingers through his wet hair and sighed.
"This is my first Christmas," she said as she panted, nose-to-nose with him.
"I know," Derek said, his eyes twinkling, smile wide and brilliant, even as his skin bleached of color and his hair started to twitch with the shivers racing through his body.
"No," Meredith said. "I mean it's my first Christmas ever, Derek. Christmas with my mother? Not Christmas. So I'm… I'm a little nervous. I spent the whole time in the car wondering if I was ruining it."
For a moment, he stared. Just a moment. A blink. Expressionless. A soft sigh hit her face as he breathed out with the enormous weight of what she'd just said. She felt his hands slide around her and pull her into a tight embrace. And then he kissed her.
"You're here," he whispered. "You're not ruining it, Meredith. You couldn't possibly. You're here, and… That makes it perfect."
She smiled as Quin stood with a yap and started to explore the snow, his nose to the ground. "So," she said. "Now that we've established I'm not fine, are you okay? I mean really okay?"
His smile flattened into something not… unhappy. But not… at peace. Definitely not at peace. He blew out a breath, a fan of misty air puffing around them. "I haven't had trouble with big crowds and noises and things for weeks. I shouldn't be nervous."
"And you're here," she countered. "You're here all the time and saying things. I shouldn't be nervous, either."
His lip twitched, and his grin returned. "I guess we just suck."
Meredith laughed. "I guess so."
Quin added his agreement as he returned and smothered them with fresh snow and wet kisses and playful yapping, just in time for the front door to open. "I thought I heard some X-rated shenanigans out here," a tall, lanky shadow in the doorway said. "You've ruined Ellen's perfectly picturesque snow, you know. It's all churned up, now. Points for locale, though. Your mother's front lawn in the snow? Wow."
Meredith scrambled off of Derek, and they stumbled to their feet. "We were just playing," Meredith replied as Derek brushed off his coat and pants. He started sweeping his hand against her back, sending chunks of snow to the ground, and she sighed, leaning back into his touch with a smile.
"Hey, man, you made it, finally," Mark said, appearing next to Stewart. The two of them stood in the doorway in identical Knicks t-shirts. It would have been adorable were it not for the fact that now that the activity had stopped, Meredith realized she was freaking cold. Derek pulled her into a hug, and they lumbered up the walk, a bundle of wet stuff and shivering limbs. Quin plodded behind, tongue dangling from the side of his mouth, a cheerful, amazed look of curiosity tempering his chocolate eyes.
"Yeah, well, some of us didn't have two weeks of leave to burn," Derek answered as the two of them stomped into the foyer.
"I know," Mark said.
"I'll go get your luggage," Stewart said, launching himself into the cold from which they had just escaped.
Bits and clots of snow fell to the welcome mat and began to melt on impact as she and Derek shook off, leaving puddles and slush and yuck. Warmth slammed into her face, followed by the cloying scent of cinnamon and something baking. The loud murmur of voices, feet thumped overhead and toward the back of the house, and the crackle-snap of a nearby fire in a fireplace thundered against her ears in a huge, spiraling rush of… Christmas. Holiday. Everything. She didn't have a chance to worry, because as soon as Mark had taken her sopping coat, Derek wrapped himself around her. His body shivered against her back, but it didn't matter. She'd never felt so warm in her life.
"Addison?" Derek asked as he rubbed his palms against her arms, creating friction and heat. She stood there, allowing the warmth and shock and panic to soak in and return circulation to her limbs.
"She stayed home this time," Mark called over his shoulder as he took their coats to the closet. "She didn't want it to be too awkward."
"Ah," Derek answered.
"Hello, Meredith," Nancy said as she appeared in the doorway to the foyer.
"A puppy!" Mary shrieked, tearing past her mother. Quin was quite happy to receive the attention.
"Be careful honey, he's wet," Nancy said.
"Nancy," Meredith said.
"Hey, Mary," Derek said as he relinquished his hold on Meredith and knelt down to greet his niece. "His name is Algonquin," he said, his voice dripping with a parental sort of pride. "But we call him Quin."
"Hi, Quin," Mary said, a smile ripping her face from ear to ear. The dog licked her, and her giggle wound into the cascade of voices all through the house.
Nancy folded her arms over her chest and smiled faintly. "Merry Christmas," Nancy said.
"Um." Meredith swallowed. "Mer-- Merry Christmas."
Nancy gave her a small nod. "Uncle Derek and Aunt Meredith are here!" she called loudly into the hallway, clapping her hands in emphasis.
Meredith shivered as the rumble of sounds all seemed to converge at once, and suddenly she was enveloped in words and laughs and smiles and hugs and handshakes and things that swept her breath away.
"Good lord," Ellen commented into the family fray. "You two are soaked."
"Yes," Derek replied. "But we're here."
