A/N: Trailblazing is back! Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed and asked about it during its unintended hiatus. I let the Christmas story kind of fill the Trailblazing gap in my drafts but I missed the real Trailblazing, and so now I'm back on the trail. (How many times can I say trail in this author's note?) I'm excited about this chapter and where this story is going.

This chapter is for Patsy, MerDer2015, and all the devoted MerDer readers who gave me a chance with their ship. I hope you like this chapter.

..Want and Need..

You know those little kids who walk around with baby dolls in their arms, maybe push a toy stroller around, feed them plastic bottles of milk and pretend to burp them or whatever?

Yeah. That wasn't me.

I … had a doctor's kit. Not the red plastic one some of the other kids had, but an actual old leather bag that I used to fill up when I visited my mother's office. Don't worry, I never took any syringes or anything, but I had all sorts of tongue depressors and cotton balls and bandages. I'd carry it around with me.

There's a picture of me – I'm about four, and I'm wearing these yellow bathing suit bottoms and that's all – and I'm holding the old doctor's bag over my shoulder. And I look happy. I might not have known how to read yet, I might not have stopped wandering around topless yet … but you can tell I already knew what I was going to become.

"… a surgeon," she finishes. She glances at Derek, seated next to her on the counselor's couch.

"Of course." The therapist nods. "But you're not working here in the DMV?"

Meredith fights a smile the way she always does at that particular acronym. "No," she says.

"She could be," Derek interjects. "She has any number of offers. When GW found out she was – "

"It's okay, Derek." Meredith rests her hand on his arm. "I don't think the counselor is going to think I'm a bad doctor just because I'm not working right now." She pauses. "Do you think I'm a bad doctor?" she asks.

"Do you think you're a bad doctor?" the counselor asks gently.

"No," Meredith says.

The counselor doesn't say anything else.

"I haven't gone this long without working before," Meredith admits after a moment. "Ever."

The counselor nods. "How is that for you?"

"It's … different." She glances around at the pastel walls as if they hold answers.

Therapy is – yeah.

It's something.

She wants to be here. She wants to work on her marriage, and she's grateful that Derek does too. And she has no complaints about any of the homework assignments she's received so far.

(Especially the ones they've done twice.)

"What has it been like?" the therapist asks gently. "Perhaps you'd like to share something about your time … not working."

"…sure," Meredith says reluctantly. Next to her, Derek reaches for her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. She pauses. "Like, uh, like … what?"

The therapist smiles. "Anything you'd like. Maybe you have something to share from the week that just passed. You were home with the children?"

"Right."

It sounds strange, like that. Home with the children. Like she should be wearing pearls and making a roast and being all … fifties and wholesome.

When the truth is she's not even quite sure what a roast is and the only time she's worn pearls since she met Derek it wasn't for anything wholesome.

Or even close.

"Meredith?" Derek touches her leg lightly. "Are you – "

"I'm fine." She glances at Derek, and then back to the therapist.

And then at her surroundings. The room is very … pastel. Someone, somewhere, must have decided that pastels make people want to talk.

She can hear the clock ticking.

She can hear awkwardness. Even though she's sitting in a room with the least judgmental person she's ever met – the therapist, that is, Derek is plenty judgmental and she wouldn't have married him if not. It's part of his charm.

"Perhaps you'd like Derek to share first," the therapist suggests.

Meredith glances at her husband. He gives her an encouraging smile.

She takes a deep breath. "Actually, I do have something to share. Well, two things actually."

"Two things. Go ahead."

Meredith nods. "The first one is that – well, you know Zola started her new school. There's a chartered bus but it's just her second week, you know, so I've been picking her up. There's a – playground thing where the kids hang out while the parents watch. And she was happy to see me."

She smiles at the memory of her daughter running to her, the jacket of her colorful uniform blowing in the spring breeze. Mommy, you came! She said that the first two times.

And the third.

By the fourth, she seemed to expect it.

Today was the seventh time. Meredith got a big smile and a wave – but Zola stayed on the playground. Like she knew Meredith would be there waiting for her.

"I'm grateful that Meredith could pick her up," Derek says. His fingers fold through hers. "And I know Zola loves seeing her. But I … don't need her to do that, if she wants to work, and I support whatever she – what?" He breaks off at Meredith's look.

"Nothing, Derek, it's just you don't need to convince me you're not trying to keep me barefoot and pregnant. I already know you're not."

Derek looks like he'd have a different response if they weren't in the therapist's office right now, and Meredith finds herself stifling her own smile.

"I don't think you're a … caveman," she amends. "And our therapist doesn't think so either." She pauses, glancing at the therapist for confirmation.

"I don't think that," the therapist says, her face perfectly composed.

She glances at Derek, who looks like he's having even more trouble stifling a response now that the word caveman is in play.

"So that's the first thing," Meredith says hastily. "And the second thing – well, the second is about Bailey. He stacked all six of his rainbow blocks yesterday."

"Six." Derek turns to her. "All six – really?"

She nods. "All six."

"Huh." Derek looks impressed. "I didn't know that."

"I did." Meredith squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Because I was there. I saw him do it. I wouldn't have seen him do it if he'd been at day care."

I was never going to be the girl who was happy rocking a baby doll and shoving a fake bottle in its mouth. I was going to be a doctor. And doctors don't do that.

Surgeons definitely don't do that.

Surgeons need to cut. Even when they want to do something else … they need to cut.

"They're not major things," Meredith says, thinking about the two moments she shared. "It's just that I was there to see both of them. And Zola – I mean, she doesn't have that many years left of being happy to see me."

Derek frowns. "That's not true."

"I see the older kids at her school. They're not doing a lot of tackle-hugs."

"That's probably a good thing," Derek says. She elbows him, he elbows her back gently, and they exchange a smile.

"So you don't want to go back to work," the counselor suggests.

"No," Meredith says. "I do want to work. I spent eight years in school before I was even an intern. I'm still in school. I will be for the rest of my career; all doctors are. All that time, all that money, all that … surgery. I do want to work. I need to work."

Derek nods, looking unsurprised.

Which makes sense, considering how hungrily she's peppered him with questions about his project. She's interested because she loves him, of course, but she's also interested because no matter how many lego structures she builds with her children, there's a part of her brain – a part of her – that needs to be stimulated.

Stimulated with surgery.

And you can make whatever dirty joke you want – Derek and Meredith both have, certainly – but that stimulation is something they have in common. Something they share.

Something that brought them together.

"So you do want to go back to work," the counselor proposes.

"No," Meredith says. "I want to pick Zola up from school. I want to build blocks with Bailey."

The counselor looks confused.

"I want to do everything," Meredith admits, "I want to do all of it."

Derek squeezes her hand.

"Maybe you don't need to make a permanent decision," the counselor points out, "or even a short-term one. You could just make a temporary one."

"What do you mean?"

"You can go back to work whenever you want," she suggests, "whenever you're ready, and you can decide that as it comes. You plural," she amends.

Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

"In a marriage, each spouse's career choices intimately affect the other spouse," the therapist says.

Meredith can't argue with that; she has a house in Maryland – Maryland! – to prove it.

"Derek, I know you support Meredith – "

"I do," he says quickly.

" – making up her own mind about when to go back to work, and where," the counselor continues, smiling. "Do you see yourself as part of that choice?"

Derek glances at Meredith. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You're here because of your job," the therapist explains. "Your wife and children are here because of your job. From what you've told me, taking the job was your choice."

Derek looks troubled; now Meredith squeezes his hand.

"We could have come out to join him sooner," Meredith offers, wanting to make the sad look leave his eyes.

"Certainly," the therapist says, "and Derek could have passed up the job opportunity. There are many choices each of us could have made. I'm just confirming that the job, here, was Derek's choice."

"It was my choice," Derek says quietly.

"Is it possible, then, that you've backed away from Meredith's career choices because you feel you – forgive the colloquialism – owe her one?"

Meredith's brow furrows. When she glances at Derek, she sees his head is tilted as he considers the therapist's question.

"I don't know," he says finally. "I'm sorry, it sounds like a cop-out – and maybe it is a cop-out – but I don't know."

"Do you have a preference?" the therapist asks. "On Meredith going back to work."

"Do I have a preference?" Derek looks from Meredith to the therapist. "I support her. Whatever she wants to do. Is that a preference?"

"It's a position," the therapist says. "It's not a preference."

Derek shifts slightly on the couch. "Meredith is an incredible surgeon," he says finally. "I've had the privilege – I've seen her grow, and I've seen what she can do. As a surgeon, as a teacher, my preference is for great surgeons to cut. It's what they're trained to do. It's what Meredith was trained to do." He turns to Meredith now, taking her hand. "As a husband, my preference is for her to be happy. As a father, my preference is for all of us to be happy, my children – I know how much they love having Meredith with them." He pauses. "They love having both of us with them. Maybe I should quit my job."

Meredith laughs a little at this. "One of us should probably work."

"We could join the circus. We already have the trapeze." Derek folds his fingers through hers. "When we first moved here, you said you wanted to take a little time – not take the first job offer, not just get installed at GW. You wanted to wait until you felt inspired."

Meredith nods.

"I just assumed you'd tell me once you were … inspired," he says.

"Derek," the counselor says, "why do we avoid assuming?"

"Because assuming is the opposite of communicating," Derek recites dutifully, "although I'm not really sure if – " he stops talking at Meredith's raised eyebrow. "Never mind. I'm just saying, I understand wanting to wait for inspiration. This job, this move – inspired me. I know what it's like to want to be inspired. We work a lot," he continues, turning back to the therapist. "Long hours, long days, long nights. A lot. A little inspiration isn't too much to ask."

"Is that how you feel?" the therapist asks, looking at Meredith.

"I want to be inspired," she says. "In some ways, I am inspired. I just … didn't think I'd be inspired by picking up my kid from school."

Derek smiles at this.

"You don't have to make any decisions today," the therapist says. "You can take it one day at a time. You have it."

"Have what?" Derek asks.

"Time," the therapist says. "You have time."

Meredith squeezes her husband's hand. Time. It's what she flew across the country for, isn't it?

…

"I like her," Derek declares as he turns over the engine. "I think she's smart."

"Smart-smart, or not-a-doctor-smart?" Meredith asks.

"That is … not a fair question." He rests his hand on the back of Meredith's headrest. "Thank you for finding her," he says. "And for going to see her with me."

"Thank you for going to see her with me," Meredith says.

"And thank you for coming out here. I know it's been – different."

"You've already thanked me, Derek. You've thanked me enough. You don't have to thank me anymore."

"What if I feel grateful?"

"Then you can thank me." Meredith holds up a hand as he starts to speak. "Preferably with something more creative than the words thank you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Creative solutions? I'm all for it. We can report on it at next week's session."

"Session of what?" Meredith teases, then pauses. "Inspiration," she says, recalling their homework assignment for this week.

They're supposed to find something that inspires them.

"Actually," Derek says, leaning a little closer, "I'm feeling pretty inspired right now."

"Is that what you're calling it these days?" She laughs and he takes advantage of her parted lips to steal a kiss. The next one she hands over without any burglary necessary.

Derek's hands slide into her hair; she runs hers up his shoulders to move even closer.

"We should wait," she says breathlessly, pulling back.

"We should," Derek agrees, his eyes a little glazed. She feels his lips on her neck.

"Derek – that's not waiting."

"It's not? Then I take it back," he says, pulling her even closer. "I no longer want to wait."

She laughs, kissing him again, enjoying the feel of his hands at her waist. "We're in the parking garage," she murmurs.

"We are," Derek agrees, between kisses.

"We're in the therapist's parking garage," she adds.

"We're de-briefing," Derek says, sliding his hands under her shirt. "Weren't you saying something in therapy tonight about my being a … cave man?"

She laughs in spite of herself.

And then she stops laughing.

Because being all together, across the country, is great.

It's wonderful.

It's perfect.

But being alone together, sometimes?

Well.

She doesn't have a word for that.

And if she did, she probably wouldn't remember it at this point, because –

"Hey!"

Meredith yelps as a loud knock on the window interrupts them.

Quickly, she pulls her shirt back down, climbing off Derek's lap and back into her seat.

There's another knock on the window.

Praying she's smoothed her hair out enough to seem innocent, she gestures to Derek to open the window. He's breathing raggedly, his curls wild from her fingers, but he does so.

"Yes?" he says, with an impressive amount of dignity, considering.

A couple, both carrying large briefcases stands impatiently outside the window. "Do you mind moving your … whatever this is?" the woman asks.

"You're blocking our car," the man points out.

"Of course," Derek says. "I'll move it right now."

"Thanks," the woman says, more than a little sarcasm under her smile.

"God, I hate sharing a building with a bunch of therapists," they overhear the man mutter as the couple walks away.

Meredith and Derek wait until they're alone again to start laughing.

…

"Did you have a good date last night?" Zola asks brightly the next morning, spooning patterns into her cereal.

"We did," Meredith says, smiling at her.

Mrs. Rollins – or Mrs. Poppins, as Derek can't seem to resist calling her – spent the evening with the children last night, as she has for each of their evening therapy sessions. Meredith isn't sure where Zola got the idea that her parents were going out on dates during these times, but she isn't about to break it to her just-past-the-princess-stage daughter that her parents are actually grabbing hasty dinners scheduled around marriage counseling.

Not that marriage counseling isn't romantic.

In a way – in a weird way – it's actually pretty romantic.

And the part in the parking garage wasn't bad either.

"… and after that we have a program in the planetarium," Zola is saying as Meredith refills her coffee.

"Field trip?" Derek asks, reaching over to catch Bailey's rubber-handled spoon before he can throw it. Frustrated, their son settles for throwing a handful of cheerios instead.

"No, it's at school," Zola says.

"You have a planetarium at school?" Derek's eyes widen. "School has really changed since I was your age."

"It's a small one," Meredith explains.

"It's a one." Derek shakes his head. "It really is quite a school."

"Eternity set up the interview," Meredith reminded him, "and she did spend some time getting to know Zola first."

"My school is the best," Zola says happily. She kneels up on her chair, about to start another story, when she pauses. "I like my school in Seattle, too."

"You can like both places," Derek assures her. "We're here for now, and it's … good to like where you are now."

Zola looks relieved as she starts up her story, using her spoon for emphasis. "And after that, Ms. Piper is going to – "

Bailey bangs his fists loudly on his tray, interrupting. "Out, out!" he yells.

"You're not really selling the ready-to-move-out-a-high-chair thing, buddy," Derek says mildly, standing up to free his son from the straps that contain him.

Bailey calms as soon as he's out of the high chair, turning to Meredith with a wide smile. "School," he says, "me too."

Zola shakes her head. "He's too little for my school."

"It's okay, Zozo, he has his own school," Meredith assures her, but Bailey still cries when they drop his sister off.

Zola lingers at the car, saying goodbye to him. Meredith is touched by her sisterly affection … and aware there's a line of cars, and a young woman trying to urge Zola inside.

"Go in now, Zozo." Meredith leans over for a goodbye kiss. "I'll be here later to pick you up."

"I know," Zola says cheerfully, closing the car door behind her.

…

Inspiration.

Maybe it will come to her now, during the quietest period of her day. With Zola in school and Bailey in preschool, Meredith is free to page through the Journal of Neurology to stay up to date, to scan her emails where offers to connect are frequent.

Everyone knows someone who knows someone who knows … someone.

And she appreciates it.

But that doesn't mean it's inspiring.

That's when her phone rings –

And then inspiration is the last thing on her mind.

…

"What do you mean, she fainted?" Meredith is jogging down the linoleum hospital floor, breathless. "Fainted how?"

Derek is already in the exam room when Meredith gets there, the proximity of headquarters to his benefit.

"Zozo!" Meredith feels like she could faint herself, with pure relief, to see her daughter sitting up on the table, swinging her little sneakered feet. "Zozo, are you okay?"

Derek steps aside so Meredith can embrace their daughter, leaning back to hold her small face between her hands. "How are you feeling, sweetie?"

"I'm okay," Zola says. "I'm good."

"Hold still, Zozo." Derek has seemingly summoned a penlight out of thin air and is studying Zola's eyes.

"We want a full workup," Derek announces to the assembled medical team.

"I thought you might." The doctor closest to Zola, a pretty young woman with long dark hair, smiles conspiratorially at her young patient. "Both my parents are doctors too," she tells Zola. "So I get it. They worry."

"We don't worry," Derek says, frowning. He pauses. "We worry," he admits. He's still touching Zola's head, looking in her eyes.

"I don't understand how this happened," Meredith says, still feeling a bit like the elevator skipped a story.

She knows Zola was in the planetarium with her classmates, watching the stars. One minute she was ooh-ing and ahh-ing along with the other children, and the next minute –

"I was on the floor," Zola says, a note of pride in her voice.

Meredith shakes her head. Trying to stay calm, she turns to Derek. "Was she sitting down?" she asks quietly. "Before?"

"No. It's a stand-up planetarium, right, Zo?" Derek smiles at their daughter, his tone calmer now.

"Yeah."

"And she's been in it before," Meredith says to the young doctor. "Without any issues." She turns to her husband for help.

"How about that MRI?" Derek asks.

…

"Diplomat's Flu," Derek repeats, trying on the name for size.

"Climate-adjusted one-time neurocardiogenic syncope," the doctor says, "but yes … Diplomat's Flu for short."

"It's not uncommon. Not here, anyway." There are a team of doctors in the viewing room now, while their daughter reads her book quietly in the care of a nurse, looking perfectly healthy, through the two-way screen.

"The humidity and the heat, even in the springtime – the school uniform, standing up, tilting her head back – we see it all the time. Diplomats' kids – well, you get the idea."

"Is it going to happen again?" Meredith asks nervously.

"Hopefully not."

"She'll get used to DC," another doctor assures her.

Derek looks less doubtful now, having reviewed all the scans. They speak with the team for a while longer, Derek listening more to the peds representatives than those from neuro, agree that Zola should rest and hydrate and then … they're alone.

"I hate that she fainted," he admits once the doctors have left.

"I know. I do too."

"You think she's allergic to DC?"

"I really don't." Meredith leans into him for a moment. "Let's go get our future diplomat."

…

Ice cream is the surest cure for Diplomat's Flu, according to the youngest doctor on the team, so that's where they head next, much to Zola's delight. With Bailey in Mrs. Poppins's emergency care, it's just the three of them.

"I'm sorry," Zola says, hanging onto one of either of their hands as they walk toward the parlor she decided a week ago was her favorite.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Zozo." Derek smiles down at her. "But you're not allowed to faint again."

She nods agreeably.

"Zola's not in charge of her autonomic nervous system," Meredith reminds her husband. "If she needs to faint, she needs to faint."

"I'm a doctor too," Derek reminds her, looking amused. "If you'd forgotten."

Meredith raises an eyebrow.

"Can I faint again?" Zola asks, sounding genuinely curious, and somewhat surprised that her parents disagree.

"If you need to," Derek says reluctantly.

Zola seems satisfied with this result, and orders a strawberry cone to seal the deal.

Her little feet swing from the stool as she licks her way across the pink cone, occasionally offering her parents bites.

"This is really good medicine," she says when she's made her way down to the cone, a pink mustache above her smiling mouth.

"She's okay," Derek says quietly when Meredith leans into him, watching their daughter enjoy her ice cream but feeling overwhelmed for some reason.

"She's okay," Meredith repeats, and leans forward to accept the bite of ice cream Zola offers.

…

Zola insists on going to school the next morning – they expected no less; she's bright-eyed and energetic and seems very much herself.

"What are you going to do if you're in the auditorium, or the planetarium?"

"Take off my jacket," Zola recites obediently at drop-off.

"And if you feel warm – or tired – or funny at all …?"

"I'll tell a teacher," Zola says. "I promise. Can I go now?"

"Yes, you can go now." Meredith accepts a hug and a kiss goodbye and watches Zola on the playground and then in her morning lineup until the traffic forces her to drive away.

"I didn't faint today," Zola reports brightly at dinner.

"That's the kind of news I like to hear," Derek says, smiling at her.

They're eating outside, enjoying the late spring weather – it's humid, but at least it's not buggy – yet – and it's nice to be in the fresh air.

Bailey waves his half ear of corn enthusiastically in response.

"We talked about it at school today," Zola reports, "during circle time." She takes a big bite of chicken, chews, and swallows before she speaks again, giving Derek some time to add more salad to her plate.

"You did?" Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

"Uh-huh." Zola nods, taking a sip of milk. She gives her brother a sidelong glance and then blows a few bubbles through her pink straw.

Bailey reacts as if she's just pulled a rabbit out of a hat, shrieking with delight.

"'Cause everyone was there when I fainted. Ms. Piper said lots of people faint for lots of reasons and did anyone have anything to share about that."

"Did they?" Derek asks.

Zola nods again. "Carter's mom fainted when she was pregnant and also she didn't have breakfast. And Michiko said she fainted once 'cause she has diabetes and I already knew that 'cause she has a special pump she wears every day."

She says all of this in one breath, then takes another Dash said he faints sometimes and has seizures 'cause he has Marbles Syndrome."

Derek frowns. "Not Marlborough?"

"That's what I said." Zola shrugs. "Dash just moved here, like me. He's nice." She pauses. "Can I have more strawberries?"

Derek and Meredith exchange a glance.

They don't have to speak to know what the other is thinking. Marlborough is rare, and far more rare in children.

Rare … and degenerative.

She's only seen one case herself, and it was a woman in her late twenties. It was memorable enough that she remembers only a handful of surgeons are willing to attempt the delicate procedure that can stop the progression.

The patient Meredith recalls didn't make it. And she was in her late twenties. A fully developed brain.

She was weakened, though from the degenerative properties of the disease.

If there were a way to halt the progression before that point … say, in childhood ….

But they don't know enough even to guess. Not yet.

"Where did Dash move from?" Derek asks casually.

"California," Zola reports. "Ms. Piper says we're on the same time zone."

Meredith smiles at this.

"But before that he was somewhere else … I think Massachusetts," Zola says. "Or maybe Minnesota." Her small face scrunches up. "Or both."

Meredith's heart speeds up.

The Berkeley Children's Institute. Boston Infants'. And Mayo.

Zola's just named the only three institutions who've ever tried to treat Marlborough in childhood. The only three who ever would.

"He's moved around a lot," Meredith says, adding some more fruit to her daughter's plate, and handing Bailey a new half-cob of corn when he tosses the first to the ground. "Is it for his parents' work, like you?"

Zola shakes her head. "It's 'cause he was sick. He didn't have an operation, though," she says thoughtfully. "He told me he was maybe gonna but he didn't."

She takes another pink-strawed sip of milk.

"Can we play Twister tonight? I mean if Bailey doesn't put his foot on my face again?" Zola asks.

"We can play Twister," Derek says, "but I can't speak for your brother."

Bailey claps happily at the inclusion of his name.

"I guess it's okay if he steps on me if he doesn't do it too hard," Zola muses.

"Maybe a less … physical game, tonight," Derek suggests. "Checkers. Candyland. Rugby," he adds under his breath, making Meredith smile. Family Twister nights are never uneventful.

"So Dash didn't have his operation?" Meredith asks, keeping her tone casual. Conversational.

"Right," Zola says. "Dash said his mom was sad when they moved here."

She pauses to pat her own milk mustache away.

"It sounds like you and Dash have talked a lot," Derek observes.

"Dash sits out at relay," Zola explains, "and me and Avery take turns sitting with him and we talk and stuff."

"Did the teacher ask you to do that?" Meredith asks, curious.

"Uh-uh." Zola shakes her head no, her braids swinging. "We just wanted to. 'Cause we'd want someone to talk to us if we had to sit out."

Meredith's throat feels thick, touched by her daughter's empathy.

"Mommy." Zola is pointing. "Bailey dropped his corn again."

Meredith looks from one of her healthy, smiling children to the other.

Then she looks at Derek.

Then Derek looks at her.

"Zozo?"

"Yeah?" She looks up from her strawberries at her mother.

"What's Dash's last name?"

…

"Mommy and Daddy!" Zola beams, looking from one of them to the other the next afternoon. "You both came to get me!"

"We both came." Meredith smiles down at her daughter.

"Zozo," Derek says, as his daughter shrugs out of her backpack and places it in his arms, "which one is Dash?"

"Um … that one," Zola says, pointing to a blond boy who is currently sitting on the tire swing by himself.

"How come he's not playing with the other kids?"

"He gets tired," Zola explains, "like I said before, so he takes breaks, but that's okay 'cause everyone is different and everyone moves at their own speed."

Derek glances at Meredith, who shrugs slightly, assuming she's hearing the words of Zola's beloved teacher.

"Can I go back and play now? We're allowed 'til the big hand's on the six …." She looks longingly at the playground.

"Of course." Derek tugs lightly on one of her pigtails. "We'll be right here."

They watch their daughter scamper back to the playground. Meredith is touched to see that Zola stops in front of the solitary blond boy. From her expansive gestures, Meredith supposes Zola is telling him a story. After a few minutes, and a shout of Zola, come on!, their daughter returns to the wooden ladder and shimmies her way up.

"It's a little high," Derek says, frowning at the playground.

"It's a ladder," Meredith replies patiently. "And you saw it when we visited the school."

"I think it's grown since then."

"This is Maryland, not Three Mile Island. Nothing grows unless it's supposed to."

"Spoken like a doctor who's been away from the lab for too long," Derek teases, and then both of them are silent for a moment, remembering the reason for their joint trip to Zola's school.

At that moment, as if summoned, a blonde woman approaches the gate. She's tall and angular, a large bag slung over her shoulder. Meredith sees the woman study the playground, sees the way her gaze falls on the small blond boy on the tire swing.

"Excuse me," Meredith says gently, and the woman turns.

"Yes?"

"You're Dash's mother?" Derek confirms.

The woman nods, looking uncertainly from Derek to Meredith.

"We're Zola Grey-Shepherd's parents," Derek says, holding out a hand for the woman to shake – the hand not holding Zola's purple backpack. "Do you – have a moment to speak?"

Well.

What do you know?

I guess sometimes just picking your kid up from school can be your inspiration after all.

To be continued - and not in six months either. Review and keep me motivated to update fast, and I will do my absolute best!