A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter! I know it was a huge wait and I am so happy people are still reading this story. As the awesome MerDer2015 pointed out, today is Trailblazing's one-year anniversary. I was really excited about this story when I posted the first chapter - I loved the idea of turning Addison's iconic line on its head as a way for Meredith to take back her marriage and her family and, of course, to keep Season 11's fatal twist at bay. I really am enjoying exploring this version of the McFamily, and I hope you are too. Happy Birthday to this story and thank you for reading!

..Boxes and Locks..

Every nice, red-blooded American girl knows it was FDR who said we have nothing to fear but fear itself. But actually, it was Sir Francis Not-So-Much-an-American Bacon who said it a little differently, first: nothing is terrible except fear itself. Probably those two guys were saying more or less the same thing. Fear is terrible. I mean, everyone knows that fear is terrifying. And everyone fears terrible things.

So it's understandable, then, that we don't exactly run toward fear. We hide from it. We hide our fears away and try to counter them with other things.

Love.

Hope.

Family.

But even when we hide them, fears don't disappear. Not completely.

"So." Derek turns the key over in the ignition. "We're supposed to talk about our fears."

"Homework," Meredith sighs, a little tired but in a productive way, like she's just exercised or something ridiculous like that – the way she usually feels after their sessions with the marriage counselor. She's come to treasure their rides home together as just another part of their counseling, one more chance to strengthen and rebuild. "All those years in school and we're still doing homework."

"It's not the best homework assignment we've gotten," Derek muses as he pulls out of the parking structure.

"That … is an understatement." Meredith watches the grey drizzly streets slip under the car. "I'd much prefer doing some of the other kind of homework tonight."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Derek says. He pauses. "Actually, we could try to combine the two. You know how you said once that you were always curious about – "

"Derek!" She shakes her head, laughing. "Nice try."

He turns to smile at her when a stoplight flashes red. "Just trying to get our homework done."

…

"Is your homework done, sweetie?"

"Yes." Zola smiles broadly. "And I read with Bailey, too."

"My book," Bailey says, beaming up at his sister as she reports to their parents on their weekly evening in the care of their beloved Mrs. Rollins.

Meredith gazes at the brightly colored picture book clutched in their son's small hands. It's one Derek's mother sent for Zola a few years ago. The title is written in stacks of painted pink jellybeans: I Am a Happy Little Girl.

"Well," Meredith says brightly, "that was nice of you to share."

"I gave it to him," Zola explains, "'cause I'm not little anymore, and he is."

Meredith and Derek exchange an amused look.

"That was very sweet of you, Zozo." Derek tugs gently on one of her braids. "Tell us about your homework. Was it hard?"

"No, it was really fun. I looked out of the telescope – Mrs. Rollins helped me."

"To see the stars?" Derek asks.

"To feel the stars," Zola explains patiently. "It was in my homework book."

"…oh."

She takes her father's hand. "Want to see what I wrote?"

"You know, I really do." Derek widens his eyes at Meredith. "We'll be right back."

"Mama!" It hasn't escaped Bailey's notice that he's alone with Meredith now. He holds up the book in both his pudgy little hands.

"… right. You got it, sweetie." Meredith sits cross-legged on the soft carpet, Bailey scrambling into her lap, and she starts to read. "I think I am the happiest girl in the whole world. I am so happy to be me."

"Me," Bailey repeats, smiling widely. He pats his little belly.

"You," Meredith agrees, kissing the top of his head.

"More." Bailey taps the book firmly, and Meredith turns to the next page. "Little girls like me are full of sunshine and …"

…

" … and candy cane tulips," Derek reads. "What exactly is a candy cane tulip? Is this a children's book or a relic from a bad trip at Woodstock?" He pauses. "Wait. Did Mrs. Poppins give this to him?"

"No, Derek." Meredith shakes her head, trying not to laugh. "First of all, it's Mrs. Rollins, and you know it. Second of all – your mother sent it. So any bad trips are attributable to her … and her alone."

"Oh." Derek looks at the book. "Well. I'm sure she meant to send it to Zola."

"She did send it to Zola, but our daughter happens to be a natural sharer."

"And our son … is a happy little girl?"

"Stop." She muffles her laughter until he drops the book and climbs onto the bed with her, pulling her close.

For a few moments they just get reacquainted, and then Derek leans back.

"Do you think I spend enough time with Bailey?"

"Hm?" Meredith is still a little distracted.

"Bailey. Do you think I spend enough time with him?"

"Well, no," Meredith says carefully, "but only because … what's enough time?"

"Are you a doctor or a lawyer?"

Meredith raises her eyebrows. "I'm a doctor who's been sued." She softens at the expression on her husband's face. "Derek … is this really because of that silly book?"

"No, of course not," he says. "It's just – you did say, when we moved here, that you wanted me to have more father-son time with Bailey."

"I did," she recalls, "but it's not because you did anything … wrong, or because you don't spend enough time with him. It's just that it's been different for him, because when Zola was his age, all our attention was focused on her."

"Right." Derek looks distracted, his fingers wrapped around the drawstring of her pants. "But I work a lot."

"You work a lot less here than you did in Seattle."

"A lot less … but still a lot."

Meredith tilts her head. "Derek, what are you worried about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think he likes Zola's book because you work a lot? Really?"

"I don't know," he admits.

"Hey."

He looks up, his forlorn expression so much like Bailey's at times of tragedy like being encouraged to eat broccoli or reminded about bedtime. She brushes a lock of dark hair away from his eyes and cups his jaw with her hand.

"Bailey likes Zola's book for the same reason he likes Zola's bedroom and Zola's snacks and Zola's toys. Because he likes Zola."

"I know."

"But, Derek – if you want to have father-son time, I think that's great. Just don't do it because you're afraid he's a happy little girl."

She laughs at the expression on his face and he tickles her in return. She settles back into arms then, relaxing.

"I'm not afraid," Derek says quietly.

"Good," Meredith responds on instinct, then pauses. "Of what?"

"Of – anything, with Bailey. I mean, wait, that's not right." Derek is holding her securely against him so she can't see his face, but she can hear his voice and knows him well enough to understand. "I'm afraid of everything. With Bailey, with Zola, with you. Because I love you, all of you, more than I – well. You know what I mean. I just meant I'm not afraid of – a book."

Meredith finds herself touched, realizing what he means. "Good," she says. She wraps her arms around her husband's waist. "Because the scary book box we keep in the closet is already getting crowded."

Now it's Derek's turn to laugh. "That thing is still active?"

Meredith nods. "I had to pack it when we left Seattle. You never know with Zola."

"No, you don't." Derek smiles at a memory she can't see – presumably the time Zola, at Bailey's age, happily paged through a stray medical journal with pictures of open wounds and then, in the same night, shrieked with fear at a children's copy of The Three Little Pigs.

"In fairness," Meredith says, "assuming you're also thinking about the Three Little Pigs incident, that story is pretty scary. There's animal abuse."

"Yeah, but it's animal on animal."

"Does that make it better?"

"Not for Zola, apparently." Derek sits up a little against the pillows, drawing Meredith with him. "And it still doesn't explain why A Christmas Tale ended up in there. Or Baby Duck Says Goodnight."

Meredith laughs a little, remembering. The box is probably three-quarters full now, locked away in their closet so Zola doesn't have to worry about the fears it contains.

Okay, the lock is a cute heart-shaped one she found in the hospital gift shop that doesn't actually lock anything, but the symbolism is there, and Zola seems to appreciate it.

"It would be nice if everyone could lock their fears up like that," Derek muses, seeming to read her mind as he so often does.

"Their little pigs – and their baby ducks, you mean?"

"Those too." Derek's face turns pensive. "To – close the loop," he says, "I do want more father-son time with Bailey, no matter how happy a little boy or girl he is on any given day, but it's going to have to wait, isn't it?"

Meredith thinks about the box in the closet, locked up tight against their daughter's fears.

And the people who are coming over tomorrow, whose fears don't get a box.

And don't get a lock.

"Yeah." She sighs against his neck. "It's going to have to wait."

For long moments they just hold each other, preparing.

"Mer?"

"Hm?"

"Did you say Dash has a little sister?"

Meredith nods. "And she's Bailey's age," she says. "So they can play together while we – while we talk."

Derek is quiet for long moments. "What are the odds she's a tomboy?" he asks.

"Well, she has an older brother, but – oh, stop it." She swats him, he grabs her hand in response and pulls her down against him.

Their fears may not be locked.

But their door is.

And so, before tomorrow brings new fears – they get a little homework of their own done.

…

The first thing she notices, when she opens the front door, is that Dries Bakker is very tall. And very blond.

And his wife, who they've already met, isn't much shorter. And the towheaded toddler on her hip looks at least a year older than Bailey – so either Meredith was wrong about their similar ages, or the Bakkers are just very imposing people.

Or they seem that way next to their son, who is just as blond and smiling shyly at Zola right now on the doorstep – but noticeably paler than his sister, and more frail than any of the other family members.

"It's so good to see you again." Meredith steps back so they can come inside. "We won't make the children stay in too long. It's such a beautiful day, and we have a really incredible sitter – "

"She's magic," Zola whispers to Dash, whose green eyes widen with interest.

"She seems magical," Derek corrects gently, "because she's so terrific with the kids."

Mrs. Rollins appears in the flesh then to introduce herself, charming the children in her typical way.

The Bakkers' daughter, Lillian, immediately struggles to be put down. She's quite a bit taller and larger than Bailey, who looks a little intimidated. She grabs their son's hand. "Balls," she says urgently, and Meredith feels Derek nudge her, just slightly, and has to fight a smile.

"Zola and Bailey have lots of balls to play with," Meredith says, refusing to meet Derek's twinkling eyes. "Mrs. Rollins will help you find them, outside. How does that sound, guys?" She turns to the bigger kids.

"I can't run around too much," Dash says quietly, his eyes downcast.

Meredith doesn't miss the pain on his parents' faces.

"It's okay, Dash, we can play quiet stuff outside too," Zola assures him. "I have waterproof checkers."

"She does?" Derek whispers to Meredith, who just raises her eyebrows in Mrs. Rollins's direction.

"It's settled, then," Mrs. Rollins announces cheerfully. "All humans smaller than a regulation adult, follow me!"

Meredith has the thought that although it's a rather cute way of commandeering the children, Lillian the supposed toddler doesn't look too far off from a regulation adult.

… but that's another issue.

…

Once the adults have broken away, they separate further.

Boys … and girls.

And not to read separate books, either.

Derek and Dries keep their coats on; they're headed out on the trail, to talk.

And Meredith and Nathalie stay behind, in the kitchen, so they can cook.

… cook up a plan, that is.

"I'm still interested," Nathalie says quietly as soon as the men are out of earshot. Softly, with pain in her voice, she fills Meredith in on the time since their first conversation on the playground. "Dries does not want to try it. Like I told you before. He is – grateful that you care for what happens to our son, but it is too risky. He has been through too much."

Meredith just listens patiently. "Nathalie … I can't imagine what you've been through." She pauses. "It's not the same, of course, but Zola … she was sick, when she first came into our lives."

"Really?" Nathalie looks disbelieving, which Meredith understands. Zola is nothing now but the picture of health.

"Really. And we were just getting to know her, but it was – terrifying. Every moment. And then she got better, and – it was still terrifying." Meredith smiles a little bit, weakly. "But we fell in love, the moment we saw her, and … that was that."

Really, it's not that different from how she and Derek fell in love with each other.

But that too is another story altogether.

"She is a special girl," Nathalie says, her eyes soft. "She has made my son feel so welcome at their school. She has been a friend to him."

"Zola enjoys spending time with Dash. They're both new to the school," Meredith adds tentatively. "They've both moved recently."

Nathalie lowers her eyes at this reference to their family's search for help for Dash, and Meredith takes advantage of the transition.

"I know you've sought other opinions and it must be incredibly frustrating and exhausting. And – we don't want to add to that. It's the last thing we want to do. We wouldn't bother you – if we didn't think we could help."

"No one else could help."

"No one else is Derek," Meredith says simply. "He's not a pediatric surgeon, I know, but the work he did at Sinai, in New York, has direct relevance here. He worked with one of the pioneers of the method he would use to – he would use, if we could treat your son."

"And you," Nathalie says, "how do you fit in?"

"Two ways." Meredith leans forward in her chair. "First, Derek and I work well together."

Better now than ever, in fact.

"And second, I spent six months in Seattle caring for a child with Wilkes-Rayber."

"That's not the same as Marlborough."

"I know. But the two surgeries we performed are in parallel regions, with parallel techniques."

Nathalie looks unconvinced.

"We saved her life," Meredith says softly.

She can see Nathalie thinking, wondering – and fearing.

"Your husband," Nathalie says after a moment. "He was a surgeon in New York. And in Seattle."

Meredith nods.

"He's here, in Washington, for a surgery?"

"Well, he's working on a research project right now," Meredith says. "A massive one, that could have long term implications."

Nathalie looks unconvinced. "And you, you have been a surgeon here? At a Washington hospital?"

"I've actually been taking care of the children," Meredith admits.

"Oh." Nathalie leans back in her chair. She laughs a little. "So it makes perfect sense that you want to drill into my son's head and – rewire his brain."

Meredith can't really blame her reaction.

"Mrs. Bakker – Nathalie – I don't you to think we invited you over here because we want to talk you into letting us operate on your son."

"All right." Nathalie looks at Meredith. "But – you did invite us here for that reason, didn't you?"

"Well … yes." Meredith takes a sip of her coffee. "We did. It's just – it sounded better in my head."

"Without offense … it is crazy," Nathalie says. Meredith isn't sure if it's because it's an emotional topic or because of something linguistic, but the other woman's voice is more accented than it was before, soft with melodious French influence. "Meredith – we appreciate the interest you have taken in our son. Truly, we do. And even more than that, we appreciate your daughter. Zola's kindness, her … gentle spirit … they have meant everything. She makes Dashiell happy. And … that is enough. That is more than enough."

Meredith is quiet, letting her finish.

"Zola really likes Dash," she says when the other woman has stopped speaking, sipping her coffee and smiling with trembling lips at Meredith. "And obviously, as his parents, you decide what's best for him."

"We try," Nathalie says. "Of course, we try."

"Of course," Meredith agrees. "That's why you've been traveling – to so many cities. So many doctors."

"They all refused. They all said there is no way."

"I know." Meredith looks down at her hands for a moment.

"But you think they are wrong."

"Not necessarily."

Nathalie arches her eyebrows. "You think they are right?"

"… not necessarily." Meredith takes a deep breath. "I think they think what they think, and I think maybe what we think might be different from what they think."

Natalie studies her face for a moment. "Forgive me, Meredith," she says, "because English is my third – no, fourth – language, but I am not sure I followed that."

Feeling very un-worldly, but pushing ahead anyway, Meredith continues. "Derek and I, we think we might be able to help. And we know other people have said no, and that's scary. It's scary that they said no and maybe – it's scary too, that we think we might be able to say yes." She pauses. "That wasn't much better, was it?"

"No," Nathalie says, and they both laugh.

It breaks the tension.

"I have to convince Dries," Nathalie says. "My husband … he's afraid."

Meredith nods. "That's understandable."

"Yes, well. My husband does not understand it," Nathalie says softly. "His fear is anger. He is angry about our son. He is angry that Dashiell is sick. Even though anger will not change anything." She lifts a hand when Meredith starts to intercede. "I know. You will say that fear will not change anything either."

"Actually, no," Meredith says quietly. "I think that fear can change everything."

Nathalie's eyebrows arch again.

"I know it sounds scary, what we want to do for Dash, but – "

"Scary?" Nathalie laughs a little, though there are tears in her eyes. "My dear Meredith, you are a surgeon. Your husband, he is also a surgeon. You cut people apart. You take lives into your own hands. My husband and I … we are not like you. We have not done scary things. Do you know what we do, our professions?"

Meredith shakes her head. Their travels and their international passports led her to assume they were diplomats of some sort, but she has no idea.

"I am a professor," she says, "a professor of French literature. My husband, he is a poet. A poet," she repeats. "We are not like you. You can't understand what it is like for us. The doctors, all the things they say. The things they try to do for Dash. How scared we are, for our son. So, I do appreciate what you want to do, but it is too much, for us. I cannot convince Dries and I cannot say yes."

Meredith takes a deep breath. It's now or never.

"I was in a plane crash," she says.

Nathalie looks confused.

"I was in a plane crash," Meredith repeats. "I survived, and Derek too, but not everyone did. My sister died, my husband's best friend died. And my husband was shot. In front of me, badly enough that we thought he wouldn't make it. I was pregnant, when it happened. And then after that, watching him almost die, I wasn't pregnant anymore. And then I watched my best friend try to save his life while she had a gun to her head."

She stops talking.

Nathalie is shaking her head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've done all those things," Meredith says. "All those things happened to me, around me, in front of me, and they were scary. Truly scary. But the scariest thing I've done, by far, in my life? Is being a mother."

Nathalie's eyes are glistening.

"You're a mother," Meredith says gently. "Don't say you haven't done scary things, or that you can't do scary things. You're a mother – you've done the scariest things already."

She stops talking.

Nathalie's hand, resting on the oak table, is shaking a little.

Meredith covers it with her own, smaller one. After a moment, Nathalie's larger hand grips hers and the two women sit there in silence for long breaths, gathering strength against the fear.

…

"Nathalie? It is getting late, my dear."

Dries's deep, rumbling voice announces that the men are returning. His tanned face looks serious and tired. He has the faintest trace of an accent; it sounds English to Meredith, though she's aware he's Dutch.

Behind him, Derek, who is still wearing his down vest, catches Meredith eye and shakes his head, very slightly.

Meredith lifts her chin, just enough so Derek knows she saw him.

And she gets it.

"Darling." Nathalie is turned to her own husband. "I have been speaking with Meredith, and she has some interesting things to say."

"I'm sure she does," Dries says. "We appreciate your interest in our family. We hope your daughter will continue to play with our son. She is welcome at our home, anytime."

"Thank you," Meredith says. She gestures toward the kitchen table. "Will you – sit for a moment?"

"It is so kind of you to give us so much of your time, but I'm afraid we must be going." Dries looks at his wife. "Yes, my dear? I will go get the children?"

Nathalie looks at Dries.

Meredith looks at Derek.

And then Meredith looks at Nathalie.

"No, darling," Nathalie says gently. "I am not ready to leave yet. I want you to sit with us now, to listen to what they have to say. I think they may be more than new friends. They may be what we have been searching for all along."

Meredith sees the conflict play out on Dries's face.

The fear – that sometimes masquerades as anger.

And the fear that's just plain fear.

Silently, she wills him to hear his wife, to borrow some of her strength.

"All right," he says after a long moment. He pulls out a chair and sits down, Nathalie's smaller hand folded in his, and turns to Meredith. "I'm listening."

So if fears can't disappear, if scary things are always with us, what can we do?

We can try to lock it in a box in the closet and stay far away. That works for some fears. Small ones. But some fears are too big for a box. They're too terrible. Primal, even. And what's more primal than children? Fear for our children is as old as the world itself. Terrified parents do a lot of things. We lift cars off trapped children with superhuman strength. We take bullets. We fight grizzly bears. We donate organs.

And we do it with love. Because sometimes, the scariest thing of all, is just to love our children – knowing that love isn't always enough.

So we try to get to the other side of the fear. We have to. All we can do … is hope that whatever's on the other side is worth it in the end.

To be continued, of course. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you will review. I love reviews like Bailey loves Zola's things. :)