A/N: Thank you for all the great feedback! This chapter is dedicated to Patsy, who is such a generous reader and reviewer that she's even checked out my non MerDer stories. Thank you, Patsy! Here's some full-on MerDer to show my appreciation for your excellent readership and your open mind. If the rest of you guys are happy to see another chapter of Trailblazing tonight, you should thank Patsy too! Hope you enjoy...

.. Paper and Pen ..

When you're a kid, the last thing you want to do is follow the rules. Rules are there to get in the way of all the fun you could have without them. Remember how it went?

Rules were the opposite of what you wanted. Clean up your room? Sure, if you want to destroy the castle you spent hours building with bristle blocks. No sweets after you brush your teeth? So if gumdrops just fall from the sky you're supposed to shake your head and refuse. You can forget your prized Halloween candy. And don't even get me started about waiting half an hour after you eat to get back in the ocean.

Rules … are the absolute worst. They really are.

Until they're not.

"We need to set some rules."

"Rules?" Derek blinks. From his expression, Meredith can guess that he assumed the answers to his plaintive questions, what should we do, what do you want, what can I do, would be more abstract.

She pads over to her carry-on bag and removes the little frame, wrapped carefully in one of her t-shirts to protect the glass. Derek is watching her.

"You brought the post it," he says softly.

"I brought the post it." She sets it on the bedside table. "And I brought this, too."

Derek looks at what's in her hand. "Pink pony paper?"

"It's Zola's," Meredith admits. "As is the pen that goes with it, but the point is…" and she uncaps the sparkly silver pen.

"The point is, you brought paper."

"Right."

"And a pen."

"Right."

"Post-it Take Two? Amended Post-It"

"There's only one post-it," she says quietly. "We're not changing it."

"Addendum, then."

She nods, silver gel hovering over the pink paper. Smiling pink ponies in tiaras are marching up and down the border of the pad.

Derek is sitting across from her, at a chaste distance, looking very serious, and very present.

"I want to go to marriage counseling," she says.

"You do?" He looks genuinely surprised.

"I do."

"It, uh, it didn't work so well the last time," he confesses; he looks embarrassed, even sad, and she knows that as much as their family has healed him, there will always be a twinge of guilt for what a perfectionist can only see as an initial failure.

"This isn't last time," Meredith reminds him firmly.

"It's not. I know. Mer … you know that too, right?"

He looks worried, and she smiles gently to reassure him. "I wouldn't' be here if I didn't know that."

He looks relieved.

"But that doesn't mean we don't have to put in the work."

"You're right." He pauses. "Meredith … speaking of the last time …"

She can tell he's referring to her opening line in his office earlier.

And you must be the woman who answered my husband's phone.

"Oh, right. Well … you can't deny she's got style."

Derek's mouth twitches with amusement.

"The point is … marriage counseling means someone better than us at … the talking thing … will help us."

"We're good at the talking thing," he says indignantly.

"Derek." She looks at him. "We're good at the surgery thing, we're good at the sex thing-"

"Great," he interrupts.

"-fine, we're great at the sex thing, we're kind of surprisingly good at the parenting thing and I'm not saying we're not good at the marriage thing but – we're not so good at the talking thing."

He nods slowly, and she writes on the pad:

Get help when we need it.

She holds it up to show it to him and he nods again.

"Derek," she pauses before changing topics, "whatever's going on with that woman-"

"Nothing's going on," he says hastily, "Meredith, I told you everything that-"

"All I mean is that has to be it with her. Done. Finished. No more fellowship, no more … working together."

"But she's on the project," he says helplessly.

"Well, off her, then." Meredith sighs. "You used to make a habit of opening up people's skulls and poking around in their brains, Derek, when every other surgeon had given up. I think you can come up with a plan to relocate one little fellow without too much effort."

"You're right. You're right, and I can. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just do it."

"I will."

"Good. Because we have to be strong, Derek, before we can be strong for the kids. It's no good just to be parents; we have to be us too." She scrawls another rule and holds it up.

Us first.

"Us first," he reads. "Yes. Us first."

"On that note … we need a place to live."

He nods.

"A place that's not a hotel room or – an apartment that looks like a hotel room." She glances at the generic décor. "Zola asked me if we were separating."

He looks stricken. "Mer-"

"Not in so many words," she says hastily, "but apparently she thought I brought her and Bailey to DC to leave them with you."

He exhales audibly; his hands are clenching his thighs and to someone who doesn't know him as well as Meredith does, he might look angry.

He's not.

He's trying, with everything he has, not to touch her. Because she asked him not to, because she asked for distance while they talked. Because their clothes are staying on. Because even though he's desperate to reassure her and for his own comfort, and physical touch has always done both for both of them, he's going to respect her wishes.

The effort it's taking him to fulfill her request – and the fact that he's doing it anyway – touches her. She swallows hard. "Derek. It's okay. I explained it to her, and … it was news to me. If I thought that was where her head was, I would have explained it to her a lot earlier."

He nods slightly, watching as she writes something else on the pad.

Home means all four of us together.

His eyes are shining when he looks up again. "Zola thought we were living apart?"

"She was worried, but it's okay," Meredith says hastily. "I talked to her. And we can talk to her more. We should talk to her more," Meredith amends, "together."

"Together," he echoes.

"Yeah." She runs a finger along the pattern on the hotel bed's comforter. Like everything in the room, it's generic. Pale blue and green interlocking diamonds. Or is it burgundy and grey? Every time she looks, she forgets. It's that unmemorable. "Together. Which brings me to my next point."

"Your next rule."

"My next rule." She takes a deep breath. "We have dinner. All of us."

"Dinner. That's good." His eyes widen when he takes in her meaning. "Every night?"

"Every night," she says firmly. "You're not going to get paged, Derek, you won't be on call, and you're not operating. And neither am I, not yet at least. Not for a while and maybe not ever so yes, dinner. Every night. Seriously."

"I don't know any families who have dinner together every night," he protests, and she knows he doesn't mean he doesn't want to; he's Derek, he's looking for reassurance that the fact that their family doesn't isn't a failure on his part.

"That's because you know way too many surgeons," she says gently.

"Yeah." He looks down at his hands.

"Derek." She waits for him to look up. "This isn't criticism, okay? I'm not blaming you and I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I just want to move forward."

"I know." But he looks relieved, grateful even. "I know. I want that too. It's just – different."

"Different from what we did in Seattle?"

He nods.

"I know that. Derek, I don't want to recapture what we had in Seattle. That was then. And it was good. It was great. But now we're here – and we can be even better. That's what I want. Maybe you'll go back to work after dinner, sometimes, if things are hectic or you're pushing something out. Same for me, when I figure out where I'll work. But dinner, fork in plate or, for the kids, hands in plate – that's family time. That's our time."

"Dinner," he repeats, but he sounds convinced this time. "Okay."

She writes it on the pad:

Dinner together, all four of us, every night.

"Meredith, what about your job?"

"What about it?"

"You were afraid I didn't value you work. You – we fought about it," he admits, "but I do value it and you need to work. Your career is at a crucial point-"

"My career will always be at a crucial point. My family won't."

"What are you saying? You don't want to work?" He looks puzzled. "You?"

She smiles at his confusion. "Of course I want to work."

"You're still you. Good." He smiles back at her. "I'll call my contact, the one who arranged-"

"No," she says quickly. "I mean, maybe, down the line but I want to take a little time first – see if there's something here I want to do more. I want what I do to mean something and I want it to be the right choice. I don't want time away from our family for something I don't care about. I want to want it. I want to love it."

He reaches for the pen; they're two arms' lengths away but she stretches out to hand it to him, along with their pad. Their fingertips brush lightly and she has to draw a shaky breath.

She takes it back carefully when he's done; he's written:

Do what we love, at home and at work

She nods. "I like it. And I want Zola to go to school – even if it's just for a few months. She needs to meet people here. She needs community. She gave things up when she left Seattle, too."

He gestures at the pad.

"That's not a rule, really, just – an idea."

"Okay. And Bailey? Zola needs community, but what about Bailey?"

"Bailey needs you," she says simply. "Derek, I'm not saying this to hurt you, or because I think you don't love him because I know you do, but Bailey is so tiny, so new, and he hasn't had enough time with you. He needs to get to know you again. Zola – she remembers everything, she talks about you constantly when you're not there, but Bailey's so little."

Derek is silent, pain flickering in his eyes; she knew it would hurt him, even if it wasn't her intent, but she had to say it, and she has to stick to it. For Bailey's sake. For Bailey's sake … and for Derek's.

"Derek." Her tone is gentle. "You are a great father. I know that and you know that I know that. But just think about how much time you had with Zola when she was Bailey's age. She was our whole world. Bailey deserves that too. Or – as much as he can get when we have two kids now."

"You're right." A fond smile warms his face. "Time with Bailey, alone – you're right, and you've got it."

"And we need time for all four of us."

"Dinner," he agrees.

"Yes, dinner. But." She pauses. "Your hours, Derek…"

"…could be very reasonable," he says, "they could. I've just been working a lot because, well … because there was nothing to come home to," he admits after a long pause.

"But now there is."

"But now there is. I still need to put in hours," he says hesitantly, "I want this so much, these answers, and it's not just ego, Meredith. I … know you must think …"

"Derek, I know that. I know how much you want to make progress in the field, so you can help people. I still know you, even if I've been missing you. Working is fine. Working is good. But no surgeons' hours."

"No surgeons' hours," he agrees. "We're not surgeons here."

She knew that, but the words still stun her, just a bit.

"You could be," he says hastily, "I mean, if that's what you want, when you're looking for work here, if that's what's calling you-"

"We're not surgeons here," she confirms, "but we're still us."

"We're still us."

We're still us.

With some finality, she rips the sheet of pink pony-embossed stationery from the pad and holds it up.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Ready to sign?"

"Ready to sign."

They take turns and then she props it up against the table lamp.

Derek looks like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders and she thinks she must look the same way. "The conversation isn't over just because we signed," she reminds him.

"No," he agrees, "no, the talking part … is just beginning."

"And so are we." She smiles softly. "Part Two, DC."

How long Part Two will last and where their next chapter will be remains to be seen, of course, but Part Two? That's right here. Right now.

Derek is looking at her intently. "Part Two," he echoes, "here we go."

There's a small sound from the baby monitor just then and Meredith picks it up to see that Bailey has flopped onto his back and is using his sister's forehead as an armrest; it can't exactly be comfortable but both children still seem to be fast asleep, snuggled close and breathing deeply.

Derek glances toward the green screen he can't see. "Still out?"

"Like lights," she confirms, setting the monitor back.

Derek is gripping the sides of his chair with both hands like he's afraid to stand up.

"But we're, um, we're still keeping our clothes on," he says tentatively, his voice mournful but willing.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Is that what you want?"

His mouth twitches and he seems to be considering his words carefully. "I want to follow the rules."

She steps forward until she's only a few steps from him; this close, the familiar scent of him wafts toward her and she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted. "You really do?"

"I really do," he says.

She extends her hand; he grips it and then he's on his feet, closing the gap between them.

She releases his hand and then her palm rises to touch the side of his face; it's rough and smooth all at once, the textures lighting up her skin. His hands twitch at his sides with the force of keeping them to himself and she smiles, just a little; it's not mean-spirited, not at all.

Frankly, she's impressed.

She draws closer and takes his hand back into her free one. It feels warm, she's already memorized its shape and she tilts her head back to look right into his eyes as she moves his hand to her hip. There's a question on his face; she answers it without words, just lips, and he sighs relief into her mouth.

What's that other thing they say about rules?

It's electric between them. Always. Pinpricks of light are bursting behind her eyes as his hands do no more than lightly trace her ribs, igniting feathery fire under each fingertip. God, she's missed the feel of him.

You know, the thing they say. About rules?

She can't think. She can't think when he's touching her like this, all she can do is slide her hands into his hair and bring her lips to meet his again, letting him lift her until there's nothing separating them at all.

Oh yeah, now I remember. Some rules … some rules are just meant to be broken.

to be continued, of course. PSA - please spread the word. I really think that commentariat can and should be supportive; otherwise, what's the point of all this? Please don't leave rude messages on my or anyone else's stories complaining about ships. That goes for fans of Addek, Maddison, MerDer, Nathan/Owen, and AddEle (that's a new ship I made up, Addison/Adele, but you get the point). Let's just enjoy the fact that more than a decade later, this fandom is still this active!

Now. That out of the way, who wants to see this scene continue - and who would rather move on a more family-friendly one? Majority rule, methinks... ;-) Review, pretty please!