A/N: Thank you so much for all the feedback on this story. I am so so sorry for the long delay in updating! Please note that I've revised the first two chapters to reflect the updated timeline (and thank you to the reviewer who tactfully pointed out that my children were too young for Season 11 - I very much appreciate it! And I'm having tons of fun with them now that they're older, too). Thank you so much for all your comments and thoughts about what you hope the story will do; they're so helpful. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!

.. Doors and Windows ..

We make divisions between simple and complex. Everyone does.

It's just human nature.

And we do it everywhere, too, from the very beginning: as children. As students. As doctors. The first procedure I did? Exciting. But the first complex procedure? That … was life changing. The thing is, though, sometimes those divisions aren't quite as straightforward as they seem. It makes sense that the simple things should be easy, and the complex things should be hard. But it doesn't always work that way. Sometimes something that seems complex – like opening your home and your heart to a child – is the easiest thing you've ever done.

And something simple – like talking to someone you've had so many conversations with before – is about as complex as it gets.

"Are you ... ready to talk?"

She glances at Derek when she hears his tentative question. They're only a half a block from the diner where they ate lunch, heading back towards his office.

"I am, but they aren't." She indicates Bailey, who's sleeping in the stroller she's pushing, and Zola, who's hanging onto Derek's hand. Meredith can tell from the way their daughter has gone from skipping every other step to skipping every five steps that she's starting to get tired.

They've had a long day – well, a long night that grew into a long day, and she knows both children need naps. For Zola, who considers the word nap an affront to her obviously burgeoning maturity, that might involve some combination of bribery and finesse – Zola does like to "read in bed," the way she sees her parents do, and she can usually be convinced to hold one of her picture books before she inevitably falls asleep with it.

Derek nods, accepting her answer, and they work smoothly in tandem to pick up the suitcases and hail a taxi the short distance to Derek's hotel. Zola gives up her pretense of wakefulness during the ride. By the time they've pulled up to the lobby, two uniformed men rushing out to assist them, she's sitting on Derek's shoulders again, her head starting to bow sleepily over his. They juggle suitcases and children; now that there are two of them to manage two children and three people's luggage, Meredith can't believe she managed it alone.

The hotel is an impersonal mid-rise with a lobby full of glass and mirrors and chattering diplomats. So far, everyone in DC seems to be wearing the same suit and tie, but Meredith decides she'll deal with that later. The mirrors, meanwhile, appeal to Zola, who begs to get down and then examines her reflection from several different angles with interest.

Meredith can remember that feeling – she wasn't much older than Zola is now when her mother moved them to Boston. Meredith remembers looking at herself in the mirror in their drab new apartment, turning from side to side, poking at her blonde hair, her cheeks, her chin – not quite sure how it worked. Was she the same person, in a different place? Or did a different place make her different, too?

She watches her daughter turn her head from side to side, smiles as a passing middle-aged couple beam at her cuteness. Meredith marvels at how Zola is similar to her in some ways, and in others – so different. It's the differences that keep Meredith going, that make it worth the sleepless nights, the morning exhaustion, the fact that she hasn't read anything without a talking animal in it in about … three years. Zola has a confidence Meredith didn't have at that age, a security. A belief that her parents want to be there.

She can't bear to take that from her children. She stood in the middle of their Seattle living room surrounded by painstakingly built pine and memories and told herself it was worth rebuilding whatever had happened to her marriage to make it better for her children.

But now she's reminded, as she watches Derek with a now-awake Bailey, murmuring softly to him and pointing out Zola, then joining her, that it's not just for the children. She wants to rebuild it for herself, too.

She may not know exactly how, not yet. But she does know one thing: she knows they can't do that apart.

So if that means living in a hotel until they find something more permanent – Zola will be pleased, as Derek lets her press the button for his tenth floor room, and then when Bailey shouts to be included, lifts him up to press it again – well, then that seems like a small price to pay for everyone to be together.

…

"It's not much," Derek warns, as the children clamor to insert the key card into the lock.

"I'm sure it will be fine. Take turns, guys," she reminds Zola and Bailey, smiling when a surprisingly patient Zola helps her brother slide the card in and out. It takes several tries, and Meredith is starting to think they'll be spending the night in the hallway, when the light turns green and the door swings open to welcome them.

"Dada's house!" Bailey beams when he stumbles over the threshold and Meredith catches the discomfort that flashes across her husband's face.

"Look, sweetie, who's this?" Meredith takes her son's hand to distract him and leads him to the simple desk across the room, facing the window. There's a large-screen monitor, a keyboard, a conference phone setup, and two framed photographs. She indicates the picture of Zola with a smaller Bailey in her arms. In the picture, he's gazing up at her adoringly and she's laughing, showing pearly white little teeth. It's Christmas.

"Zozo." Bailey points. "Baby," he adds.

"Which baby? This baby?" She tickles him, he laughs, and, sufficiently distracted, she strokes the top of his head and turns to look at the other picture.

The frame is narrow and silver and the photograph is just Meredith, shoulders up. She's looking into the camera– but she doesn't remember when it was taken; it doesn't look familiar. The light is faded, not black and white, but cast in blue instead. She's wearing a scrub cap, and she's looking at the camera like she knows a secret; her eyes are soft and a smile curves the corner of her lips.

Derek sees her looking at it. "I love that picture," he says softly.

"I don't remember it." She studies the frame again. "What am I … looking at? In the picture, I mean."

"Me," Derek says simply. "You're looking at me."

Oh.

Before she can answer, she's distracted by Zola climbing nimbly onto the couch and starting to jump on its cushions.

"Hang on, Zo, let's not do that." Meredith helps her down and cups her daughter's smooth little face. "You need a bath."

"How come?"

"Because we traveled a long way to get here." Meredith looks over to the window to see Bailey in his father's arms, watching intently as Derek points out vehicles on the street below. Apparently the view is toddler approved. The rest of the room is simple, surprisingly spacious with a couch and sitting area, small kitchenette, work setup, and what she assumes is a bathroom.

She leads Zola into the attached bedroom, pulling her own small purple suitcase. The bedroom has a vast king sized bed made up with military precision, a sitting area, and the sort of standard faceless hotel-room decoration she'd expect, including a large framed print of Washington crossing the Delaware.

"Mommy." Zola releases the suitcase and looks up at her mother. "Are we staying here?"

"We're staying here tonight," Meredith responds.

"But me and Bailey…" Zola's voice trails off. "Is it like in Polly Penguin Packs?"

Meredith tries to remember which of Zola's many books this refers to.

"It's Sofia's book," Zola clarifies. "She gived it to me to borrow."

"She gave it to you to borrow? That was nice of her." And then Meredith remembers, of course, and she swallows hard.

It's one of those divorce-easing books for children where a brightly colored animal or gender neutral, formless little child, acts out the routine of moving from parent to parent.

Sitting Zola down on the chaise by the window, she kneels so they can look each other in the eye. "No, it's not like that, Zo, because in that book Polly –" and her brother Peter, Meredith remembers, "they travel back and forth by themselves. But all four of us are staying right here."

"You're staying with us," Zola repeats.

"Of course I'm staying with you, Zola!" She looks into her daughter's earnest, curious face. "What did you think, sweetie?"

"Maybe you were taking us to Daddy and we would live with him and then he would bring us back and we would live with you…" her voice trails off. "Like Polly Penguin, she lives in Alaska for half the time and the Arctic for the other half."

"Oh. No, no, Zo, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you had questions about it or I would have done a better job explaining. It's not like Polly Penguin. We all used to live in Seattle together … and then Daddy came here to work … and now we're all here together and we're all staying together."

Zola nods slowly. "But you said Daddy was just working here. That he still lives with us."

"That's right." She waits for Zola to explain further.

"But he's not at the hospital."

"Well, Daddy does a different kind of work here, so… " Meredith pauses. "Zozo, do you mean you thought he would just stay in the hospital to sleep and not have a bed like he has here?"

"Yeah. Beds are for houses."

"I got you. Let me see if I break it down better, okay?"

Zola nods uncertainly.

"This is a hotel." Meredith gestures around the room. "It's where people stay when they're visiting somewhere. Or working somewhere. And it's where we're staying now because that's what we're doing. But we're here for just going to be here for a little while – until we find a place for the four of us to live. And not a hospital, either. A home."

"A home," Zola says slowly. "But what about my other home? In Seattle?"

"It's not going anywhere, sweetie. It will be waiting for us when we go back and in the meantime Aunt Amy is going to watch it for us."

"So we live here now?"

"We live here now."

"But we'll still go back to Seattle."

"Yeah, I think we will. But even if we don't … we'll all four be together. No matter where we go. You got it?"

A smile lights up Zola's face. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good girl." Meredith holds out her hand. "Now. Bath time."

"No, I want a shower!"

"You got it, big girl." She feels a little pang at this reminder that their daughter is growing up.

…

With both children bathed and Derek having set up the pack 'n' play, Meredith turns to Zola.

"Bailey's going to nap in here, Zozo, but you don't have to sleep if you're not tired, you can just have quiet –" but when she looks down Zola has disappeared, apparently having hoisted herself over the ege of the pack 'n' play.

Her brother yells with delight.

"Oh, sweetie, that's too small for you. That's just for Bailey, and you have a big girl bed, see, a cot." She points to the small foldable bed a bellhop brought up a few minutes earlier.

"No, I like it in here. Put Bailey in with me."

Zola holds out her arms.

"I don't know, honey, it's going to be very tight."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Bailey tugs at Meredith's hair. "Zozo." He points, grinning.

"Okay, two against one," Meredith says, and as the words slip out, the teasing reference she often makes, she realizes that it's not true.

"Not anymore," Derek says softly, as if he's read her mind.

"Okay – get comfy in there and see if it's too tight."

"Good," Bailey says, one of his favorite words, sweet and agreeable little boy he can be. "Good, Mama."

They curl into each other like puppies and Meredith and Derek both take a minute to enjoy how adorable they are before dimming the lights.

"So." Derek turns to her when they're in the bedroom, Meredith closing the door behind her.

"So," she repeats. "I packed a baby monitor."

"Always prepared. Which one of us was an Eagle Scout again?"

"That would be you," Meredith smiles. "But I was a latchkey kid without pretty much no supervision … which is kind of similar when you think about it."

She props the monitor up and for a moment they watch both children snuggled up close together.

"That means it's naptime for us too?" Derek looks hopeful.

"That means it's talking time."

"Right." Derek looks at the bed. "We can…"

"No. We can't talk and do anything else. I don't trust myself," Meredith admits. "So just – sit over there, and I'll sit over here, and all our clothes are staying on."

"All our clothes are staying on," he repeats, sinking down on the chair she indicates.

"Right." Meredith perches on the edge of the chaise. "So. Speaking of clothes staying on … it's time to tell me why that woman answered your phone."

"I left it behind in the office. I don't know why she picked it up."

"And she's your research fellow."

"She's my research fellow," he says patiently.

"Yes, but see, I know how this works. I was your resident."

"This is different."

"And nothing happened."

"Meredith…"

"Don't. Don't finish this sentence. I'm here, Derek, and I'm not going anywhere, but you have to be honest with me. I'm going to ask you one more time if anything happened and I need you to tell me. Whatever it is we can handle it, okay? Whatever it is we can get through it. But I asked what happened between you and I'd rather your answer is freakin' reverse cowgirl than nothing if reverse cowgirl is the truth!"

She breaks off, feeling a little embarrassed. Derek is looking down at the carpet.

"There was no reverse cowgirl," he says finally.

"Good."

"But it wasn't nothing." He raises his eyes to meet hers and they look dark with pain. "She kissed me," he says quietly. "And that was all, and I let her, for a second, before I stopped it – and that was all. Meredith, I'm so sorry."

"Okay." She nods slowly. "Okay." A part of her was expecting this, or worse, but she still feels the air has been sucked from her lungs, and she takes a minute just to try to breathe."

"I wish I could take it back. I was stupid, and lonely, and …"

"And I wasn't here," Meredith prompts.

"It's not your fault," he says quickly. "It's all my fault."

She studies the pattern on the chaise for a moment. "Thank you for telling me," she says finally.

He looks surprised. "Meredith …"

"We're not done talking," she adds. "We're just getting started. But I'm here now."

"You're here," he says softly. "And you're … staying?"

"And I'm staying. We're all staying. All four of us together."

"All four of us together," he repeats, and she sees the pain recede from his eyes.

And there it is. Simplicity. Because just like how simple things can turn complex – complex things can turn simple. So I guess that means if you meet someone who makes you feel that way – whose hand you hold, whose children you bear, and whose touch you crave, whose mind expands yours and vice versa – then even when things feel complicated and difficult … maybe you should both try like hell to hang on.

It's really just that simple.

TBC (of course). They have a lot more to talk about, but progress will start! Next time: a way to move forward. Pretty please review and let me know what you think - it will definitely help me get the next chapter up faster!