Kindly Stop for Me

by Chicleeblair

What kind of person flees on the night of her husband's funeral and ends up hitting overwhelmed twelve-thousand miles away to her ex-lover's city? A Meredith Grey type. A "What Happened in San Diego?" fic. Mer/Der Past Meredith Grey/Sadie Harris

17. November 2014 (Part I)

"You are a nerd," Fati said, gaping at Meredith from the passenger seat of her car. "A nerd fr—who grew up in Boston, where I hear comics are big in kiddie culture."

"Nice save. Yes. Worked at Newbury before Europe. Didn't get fired."

"Your nickname was Death."

"Correct."

"And you've never been Death for Halloween? In any iteration? Gaiman, Prachett, Reaper, Zusak?"

"Is Death physically described in that one? Isn't it just the narrator?"

"Ah, was The Book Thief a suggestion from your hot librarian?"

"Okay, ground rules." Meredith jammed the car into park. "That stops. It should've stopped months ago, but you enjoy torturing me, so here we are."

"I'm not going to re-traumatize you by telling your secrets to the poor guy who has no idea why the nice widow ghosted him."

"I wasn't trau— okay, yeah, well. I didn't ghost him. That's a dating thing, and I sure as shit…. I just haven't. You know. Seen him."

Fatimah rolled her eyes and unloaded the stroller while Meredith started unloading munchkins. Zola had worn her sparkly tutu, which had been in the closet since some point in early summer. She'd been all sundresses and shorts lately, but this was "an uh-cassion, Mommy." She'd also started eschewing the stroller, and Meredith was considering the merits of buying a cheapish one-seater to be used for all of three months.

Signs for DRAG QUEEN HALLOWEEN appeared once they'd gotten through the main doors. The flyer for the event had been tucked into the latest unfamiliar title in her request pile, and Cal had noticed it on the fridge. "Oh, my siblings and I are volunteering at that. Mom heard about it, because they're gonna have a couple officers in the area, just in case." Before Meredith could comment, Cal had retrieved the juice box she'd been getting to take outside for Zola and added, "Weird isn't it? Cops protecting drag queens when it's not like…. They'll only be on our side because they're anti-protester." That easy "our side" made Meredith think that she might be ready to rejoin a world she'd disengaged from before Derek died.

On the day, there wasn't any sign of that negativity. They became part of a decent flow of kids and parents, some in Halloween costumes, some wearing extra sequins and the occasional boa, and some just dressed for Saturday.

"'Pider-man!" Bailey threw himself against the stroller guardrail and pointing at a mini-Miles Morales. The kid looked about seven, and peds rotations had given Meredith an eye for that sort of thing. He struck a superhero pose and aimed his web shooter expertly, and she noticed the parent catching his shoulder before he could depress the button. Bailey's thrill didn't ebb as they went into the main room of the Children's Library.

The decorations were a mix of Halloween and fabulous that worked better than Meredith would've anticipated. "Momma, there's Cal, can I go see her?" Zola strained on her arm and pointed toward the table where Cal and her sister were writing out name tags.

"We're getting up there, Zo." She tugged Zola to stand in front of her. "She's helping the other kids today, too."

"But it's Cal Day."

"I know, and she's coming over tonight to take you swimming."

"But I want— Cal! Can you do my name in purple?"

Meredith let out a breath. "Watch her," she murmured to Fati. "By rights, it's her turn to freak out here."

"Eh. She's better behaved than you."

Meredith flashed through the times Zola had gone boneless in the hospital, at the grocery store, and a very memorable fiasco during her first trip to a restaurant. Come to think of it, she hadn't had an outburst in months. Was that typical? She only had herself to judge by; vague memories of being told to behave like a big girl, but no idea what she'd done to deserve the chastisement.

"Dr. Grey! Here's Bailey's." Meredith took the sticky name tag and pressed it onto Bailey's t-shirt. "Story-hour with Gigi Glitter will start over there in five minutes or so, and then Petite Petunia and Sallie Maine are going to do crafts with them," Mari explained. "It's so good to see you again, Zola. Are you excited for story hour?"

No response.

Meredith looked down. Zola had one finger resting on her bottom lip. "Zo-Zo, you going to say 'hi' to Mari?"

Zola pressed her face against Meredith's hip.

"It's okay if you're shy," Mari said. "I was really quiet when Jesús and I came to live with Moms and I was bigger than you."

"You and Zeus took us in the deepish water," Zola murmured.

"We did. Did you know he's my twin brother? We were born at the same time."

"Two babies?" Zola tilted her head up at Meredith, her eyes questioning.

"Only one in here," she said, hoping her horror was firmly enough in check. "Remember, when we saw her on the screen?"

"Yeah." Zola frowned.

"One baby is awesome!" Cal enthused. "You're going to have plenty of big sistering to do with one."

"Yeah," Zola said again. Her went to the colored extensions in Mari's hair. "You have Easter colors in."

"Um." Mari twirled a blue lock around her finger. Meredith remembered doing the same thing constantly whenever she had bright colors in her hair. Bright blue hadn't been her thing; more of a mess than she wanted to deal with, but the one time she'd done it she'd been way too fascinated by her own hair. "Kinda. I like bright pinks and blues all year 'round."

"Me too. My Sofi, pink was her favorite, I'm sorry I got mean to you at Easter, I didn't understand about reminders."

Meredith considered not correcting the tense. She might've used the same phrasing telling a story, but though she didn't think it hurt to consider Derek as an "is," she didn't want to give Zola the chance to decide that her pink-loving friend was anything other than alive.

"Pink is Sofi's favorite, Zo. It hasn't changed. We saw her Halloween costume."

"She's a fighter! Pow!" Zola punched upward, a habit that'd taken multiple occurrences clipping her brother to solidify.

Meredith's questions about the pink boxing gloves had gone into her "Callie" note. Months ago, Sofia had seen something on TV about girls boxing, and last she'd heard both her moms had been on Team No Way José. Being an ortho could be a contradiction; Callie had gotten interested due to playing sports as a kid, and now knew all the ways a kid could be injured playing sports. Meredith had once accidentally triggered a quarrel between her and Arizona by joking about the time Callie Hulked out on her. How deeply they'd caved would be a surprise for her return. She'd been thinking about that more, lately. Missing her friends wasn't equivalent to the pain of missing Derek, but knowing their lives were going on without was an ache, compared to the open wound that was starting to be less inflamed.

To Mari's credit, the teenager responded without hesitation. "Thank you, sweetie. It's okay. My friend Lexi moved away this year, and I miss her. It can be hard to do fun things without her."

"I got an Aunt Lexie. She died like Daddy."

The name in combination with their location made Meredith's pulse race momentarily, and she took a sharp breath. She knew she was more afraid of getting upset than actually upset, but that didn't make it easier to stave off. The decorations didn't help: flare with an edge. It would've appealed to her sister, who'd had better coping and better masking skills than Meredith, but who could have a dark streak that had made Meredith wonder if prom queen had been a choice rather than a natural inclination.

Queens. That's what they were doing. She'd lost more than one person who'd have loved this, and cracking wouldn't do anyone's ghost any good.

"Oh. I'm sorry that happened," Mari said.

"Time to let Cal and Mari do their jobs," Meredith cut in. "If we don't see you here, we'll see you tonight, Cal."

"Five?"

"Yup. I have real plans, for once, so do your best, okay? Your safe best."

"Wow, she does get you," Mari commented, and Cal slumped a little, smiling.

Meredith spent most "Cal Days" just existing without the kids. She'd gotten more time with them than she ever could've otherwise, and she still felt guilt every time she drove into the evening light with empty car-seats. She'd need to adjust to it. Not that she ever went anywhere childless, technically. Sitting at a quiet table at a café often made Baby Girl remind her of that, but the fetus didn't need the attention the actual children did, and the time to think was both a curse and a blessing. This week, she'd be forgoing that to have dinner with Sadie's crew, like a person who socialized.

Meredith followed Fati to the open area where kids and parents were gathering, and while her friend unloaded Bailey, Meredith grabbed a chair to sit on eye level with Zola. "Zo-Zo, I'm so proud of you. You were so considerate to apologize to Mari. Sometimes we can't help big feelings, right? But that doesn't mean it's okay to be rude."

The little girl smiled. Meredith hesitated, considering whether she should positive-negative-positive with a comment about deaths in the family weren't necessarily being small talk, but before she figured out how to word it, a purple-haired woman strode through the crowd on a pair of heels Meredith would never dream of wearing.

"Are those Manolos?" Fatimah murmured, sitting down next to Meredith's chair with Bailey on her lap.

"Uh."

"You're a 'shoes pretty, shoes fit' person aren't you?"

"'Fit' is relative."

"Hello, hello new friends! My name is Gigi Glitter. I'm going to be reading you a story today, and I'd like to get a feel for my audience. Who out there is two? Raise hands if you're two!"

Both of Bailey's hands went into the air. Hey, she'd said raise hands. "I Bailey am two!"

"Oh, look, it's a Botticelli baby," Gigi said.

"I Bailey." He bounced while he responded, and put one hand on Meredith's arm, a clear Mom, check me out.

"Hello, Bailey. Are you excited for our story?"

"Yessa!"

"Excellent! And three? So many of you! Who is four years old?" Zola jumped to her feet and waved her hand. "Wow, lots of four-year-old friends."

"I'm a five next month!"

Meredith smiled. They'd talked about Zola's birthday while swiping through last year's Halloween photos and finding only a few others before the butterfly cake popped up, but she hadn't seemed very enthusiastic. Maybe she just shared Meredith's one-thing-at-a-time mindset.

"You are? That's awesome. Are you here with I, Bailey there?"

"He's my little brother. I'm Zola. And we're getting a baby sister at Christmas."

"After," Meredith murmured, too low for anyone to hear; although, she wouldn't mind if the baby did. Please, universe. Please, Baby Girl.

"I see that." Gigi glitter winked at Meredith. "Third time's the charm? These two are so charming. Hope there's enough to go around."

Oh, there will be. Meredith wanted to take her old phone out of Zola's pocket and flash the lock screen. Derek oozed charm in that picture.

"No, I'm sure she'll be as fabulous as her siblings. They'll teach her. Right, Zola?"

"Yes!"

"That's great! Who is already five?"

Zola turned around to grin at Meredith. "I talked to her, Momma."

Meredith had seen this rapid enthrallment before. Experienced it. There were drag-performers among the self-identified queens who lived on her block growing up. They hadn't been doing a city-wide story hour, but they'd never locked out the lonely little kid with the absent mom and an armful of library books. Whenever she'd read the book about the old lady with the pasta pot with Zola, the rhythm of the rhyme had come to her immediately. It only took a little thought for her to hear it in Chris's stage voice. Chrystal Palais had been banned from the babysitting rotation for commenting to Ellis about Meredith's nightmares, applying the MSW she earned in another life, but it might not have been the only time they read together. When had her mother told her she was too old for picture books? Seven?

She'd been much older the first time she'd seen any of them in front of an audience, if not old enough to technically be in the bar—and she could imagine the way Gigi's opening would be different for adults. I'm Gigi Glitter, introducing these gorgeous girls tonight, and yes, they hated me in art class. That's a herpes joke, and if you didn't get it…well, honey, study says you've never gotten anything. Osh Kosh my gosh, bouncers, I think you forgot to card someone, because I know this is not a grown woman wearing overalls. The crowd would eat it up, as captivated as the kid raising their hands to share their understanding of what a drag queen might be.

"A queen of dragons?" a little one in a lavender boa suggested.

"Yes, absolutely. Step aside Khaleesi. That's the correct answer. There is no other," Gigi Glitter declared. "Parents, stop giving me those eyes, we'll come back around to the real-life definition. Right now, we're in fantasy land. Who wants to hear the story Room on the Broom?"

The reactions varied, exclamations, raised hands, just looking up, but Meredith had gone to more kid-centered events than she could've imagined in the past four years. This was the first time she'd noticed every one of them responding.

The craft that followed didn't involve glitter, thank goodness. Meredith stayed by Zola and was summarily informed that her help would not be needed. Zola was better at these things than she remembered being as a kid. Knowing her fine motor skills were always on-track, she wondered if that'd been a focusing issue during the early Boston years. The precursor of the zoning out.

He was standing by one of the Halloween book displays. "Dr. Grey, you made it, excellent!"

She could've gotten away with waving, but Fatimah must've been waiting for this second; she nudged Meredith's calf with her foot before she could really consider the options. "Hey, gentle touches," she muttered. "Growing a kid here."

"Go talk to the nice librarian, spider-mom."

One day, she was going to talk Cristina past her disdain for Sadie and introduce her to Fatimah. And then she would hide, because she wouldn't be able to take the mockery. Smile, be normal, smile, be normal, be normal, at least be normal.

"Regi," she said, as she approached his name catching in her throat. She had so many drafts of what she should say to him in her notebook; she couldn't remember a sentence.

"The figure from your dream is not the same as the man,"Beni had said, months ago. Had she been talking about the librarian or Derek? Zombie-Derek, ghost-Derek, never Derek-Derek. "Pay attention to the details. The differences."

His clothes were different, and not just in their existence…nope…the button-up today was purple, and he had on a three-button blazer over jeans, not khakis. When he adjusted his glasses…she's been with men who don't take them off. Derek has…she noticed that his eyes were not only lined, but shadowed with a glittery powder…doesn't mean you wouldn't…

"Um. Hi. Yeah, this was really—" Do not say fabulous, he will take it the wrong way if you say fabulous. "— great." She'd been so focused on her word choice that her actual words came out flat. Absolutely fabulous. Come on, you ditched flat in July.

Her smile felt tight, and wrong; if he noticed he didn't show. "Glad you thought so! It's my first solo event, but I have connections in the community, so it wasn't a difficult sell." There was that pink under the goatee, but his gaze wasn't quite on her. She glanced over her shoulder. While there were plenty of eye-grabbing decorations and situations, Occam's Razor suggested….

"Gigi Glitter is a…friend?"

"Ah, yes," he said, and maybe it was having a tendency to stumble over her words, or having used the tone, but she heard the difference in that 'ah' and his usual 'uh's. She double-checked; there wasn't a ring she'd missed, but she shouldn't expect someone to be a ring groom.

"More than?" she asked the librarian, a little quieter. This didn't seem like the event you'd risk running if you were trying to avoid an outing, but it could also be a hiding-in-plain-sight thing.

A bashful smile popped out on his face, like he couldn't have stopped it if he tried. It would've been a shame if he'd had to find a way. "Uh, just over a year. After Hollingsworth."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks! It's still unbelievable."

"I can imagine." She expected the way his lips twisted, and the way he glanced at first Zola, and then Bailey. The glitter flashed as he noticed Fati kneeling by Bailey, helping him glue colored paper on the trick-or-treat buckets they were decorating. She wouldn't have said anything in Seattle. Not with how limited their acquaintance actually was, standing somewhere so public.

They weren't in Seattle.

"Family friend," she said, and as he started to nod, she added, "And my ex… ex… her partner."

"Oh! Sorry, I, uh, assumed."

"Not a problem. Happens. Bi, marr—widowed, baby on board…."

"Still…." He glanced up again, and she watched Gigi this time. She didn't let her attention stray from the little Ninja Turtle touching her orange-sequined dress, but the way she fluttered her long lashes made her sure she'd seen him. "Gigi's fluid. Gender, sexuality. She says it's only natural because we're three-fourths water. I'd be in trouble if she'd heard that."

"I'll keep it on the down-low."

"Thanks." He leaned a knee against the display table and crossed his arms. "I've seen Zola and Bailey here a few times with Cal Adams Foster. She's your baby-sitter?"

"Yup. For a month or so now. Good kid."

"So are yours. At least, they've been…. Not that they weren't…."

"No further tantrums?"

He blew out a grateful breath. "You said it."

"I did."

"Not that I don't…if they had, we would have…it's not like they're the only kids who have bad days." From somewhere across the room, a kid let out an ear-piercing shriek. She'd always been glad her two weren't shriekers. Would the next one be, just to spite her? "See?"

"I do." "Meredith, do you know any multisyllabic words?"

"If I did something to offend you, or…."

"No, not at all. I don't think I mentioned it, but, uh, reading anything with depth was pretty impossible for a while. As in, I read my first medical journal in six months last Saturday, so, the books were helpful. Are helpful. And the kids are always fans of your choices. I have a list of the one's we'll have to order in Seattle."

"Oh?" He pushed his glasses up. "Are you heading back soon?"

"After…." She gestured vaguely downward. "Sometime in the new year." The without-Derek year.

"Sensible. A major move like that probably isn't great before…uh…. What?"

Meredith shook her head, as if that would let her shake off the laughter. "It's really not funny. Inappropriate, remember? Just, I moved the kids out here the day of the funeral, and I was an utter wreck halfway into the second trimester. I'm pretty sure she could take it."

"It doesn't mean she should have to," he said, and the way he looked at her made her see what her subconscious had been doing. It wasn't like he'd seen, or wanted to see, her naked. It was empathy. Compassion. The kind she tried to give her patients. "She?"

"Yup. Unless she tells me otherwise. That's actually…." She'd started toying with her ring without thinking about it, and she could feel Derek's hand on hers, stopping her from twisting the skin around her knuckles for the nth time.

"Probably good you're not a ring bride. The stone would take the flesh off your other fingers, and you wouldn't notice."

"I have you to notice for me."

There'd been a split second, somewhere in the happiest time, where in spite of being content beyond her imaginings; where she'd still followed up the statement by thinking, "I don't think I can keep trying to breathe for you."

And then he'd kissed the back of her hand and said, "Should've put it on the Post-it. Save each other from ourselves."

Was that it? Had he gotten it? Or had she simply discovered that she could let him pull her back from the edge before she fell? She pressed the stone against her fingers, returning to reality without Regi seeming to notice.

"I grew up in Boston, I know, it's not obvious," she added, flicking her eyes, and Regi laughed. "My mom wasn't around a lot. Most afternoons, I hung out with the boy next door, but we'd also both go to the coffeeshop down the street, and the townhouse on the other side of me.

"One was run by a lesbian couple. The other held six tenants, and they all identified as queens. I think my friend and I each saw ourself in one or the other, but Will moved right around the time kids are figuring stuff out, so I don't know how he…. Anyway, there were maybe a dozen guys who moved in and out over the time I lived there. A few did drag. Only one of them was ever my official baby-sitter, but none of them ever objected to having a little blonde moppet running around their closets. I thought they were experts on everything. I understand now that several, maybe most, had advanced degrees they might or might not have been putting to use. Harvard, MIT. One wrote me a recommend for Dartmouth, just before he died. The business suits I said looked silly on them were deep cover for downtown. I didn't see that. I saw these incredibly vivacious people, and they…they raised me in some ways."

"You're not a fancy dresses girl, and that's okay. There's no wrong type of girl to be."

"Knowing I could probably scream loud enough for them to hear made it easier to be alone in the house, you know? So, I really meant it when I said this was great. Even if it's just one kid seeing that grown-ups can be different." Her smile felt tight again, and this time it was anything but fake.

Regi slid his foot back onto the floor and uncrossed his arms. She willed herself not to stiffen the second his hand touched her upper-arm and managed to actually relax once contact happened. His hands were nothing like they'd been in her dreams, or the memory of her dreams. They were thicker, his fingers stubbier, and a little cold.

"Sorry," he said, a beat later, withdrawing his hand. "I shouldn't—"

"No. It's okay. I don't— I haven't talked about them much in a long time. My husband heard a few stories, but he…being an only, latchkey kid was pretty far from his experience."

"Gigi is one of eleven."

"Jesus," she blurted. You can take the girl out of 1990's Boston….

"Yeah, he had something to do with it."

"Mm, same for Derek. Four sisters."

"Are those the sisters you've mentioned?"

"Oh, no. I mean—his sister Amelia and I are friends—" Present tense until I hear otherwise. "— but the rest…we don't know each other, really. I have three half-sisters. None of us grew up together—well, two of them did, but I didn't…you get it."

"Not sure I do, but I see what you're saying." He smiled. "Are you still in touch with any of the queens?"

He said that so easily. The times Derek asked her about them, he stumbled a little, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to use the word. But that'd been their word, and to her they were royalty.

"Um. Not since 1999."

"Oh." He got it immediately, and he was stricken. He likely knew and loved people who dealt with the virus on a day-to-day basis. It was the bogeyman under the bed. The monster in the closet. She'd bet if she looked at his ID, it would say that he hadn't been ten by the time the exponential curve tapered off. Not aware of sexuality yet, or at least not what it could mean. She could've been wrong, but there was a look he didn't have. She'd seen it in Richard's eyes, the day he told the story of the GRID patient in front of the surgical staff; in patients', who didn't who knew it was why they'd ended up low on the transplant list, or who couldn't donate to HIV negative recipients. That might've been the worst; looking at someone facing the death of another loved one they couldn't save.

"Yup. Not…a few moved out over the years, and I never found out…but…but they…eventually they were mostly positive."

She'd gone over armed with a pamphlet Ellis had brought when she asked for more information other than don't touch blood, mostly gay men get it, but they won't hurt you. They'd listened in spite of how bizarro-world it must've been for them.

"They didn't hide much from me. There were….a lot of deaths. I won't pretty it up. It wasn't pretty. It was awful and pointless. But, um. Curtis, I think he owned the house, or his family did, he finally moved to Kansas with his husband after…. Not everyone who got on the drug cocktail could deal with all they'd lost."

He did the double-blink of someone who'd heard something they'd never considered and knew that they should have. It wasn't his fault. A whole generation of his elders had been wiped out; leaving people like her who should've been telling their story. She'd work on it. Once everyone stopped seeing her as only Derek's widow. Not to avoid the gossip, but because so many parts of her had been passed through the hospital-gossip chain, it felt like both of these were big enough to have their due.

And maybe in the interim she'd address an issue Alex's way and hit the internet. That'd thrown her, even though she'd stopped doubting his nerd cred long ago. Derek had earned his at the same time, sometime in second year, or maybe in the bleary weeks of their intern year post-Ellis pre-Susan, they'd gotten into a…something about Star Wars. She was a science loving eighties kid who liked The Muppets; she'd seen a Star War, but she hadn't been able to keep up with them. "Find me when you're done. Go easy on him, Captain Solo, he's bad at being wrong."

You two weren't even— Wait, Mer, why is he—?"

"Because as much as I'd love to be the Carrie Fischer here, which of you is a lovable scoundrel, and whose bossy bestie is half their size?"

"Who—? Miranda…? Meredith!"

"It's not easy being the one left behind," she told Regi, saving someone else from not knowing what to say for once. "Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just remember."

"You seem upbeat today."

"The Panty Hos recorded a kids' album. They're billed as the Pretty Horses, which is why I had no clue. My life is about a hundred times better. Look, I'm pregnant, and dealing with the dead husband thing sober. Don't kill my limited buzzes."

"If you weren't pregnant, would you not be dealing with the whole dead husband thing sober?"

"I didn't know I was pregnant for—I didn't admit to myself that I was pregnant for three months 'And before that, Meredith?' I had the kids. I have…a history, and I didn't want…."

"Didn't want….?"

"Turns out, my mom attracted would-be alcoholics, and she…she wasn't a belligerent drunk, or whatever, and my judgement is skewed. I wasn't a wine person, I was a get-wasted person."

"But?"

"I took out the recycling. The bin was pretty hefty. I seriously doubt it ever affected her work, but thanks to you, I just keep thinking, being a parent is a job."

"Your mother's drinking affected her parenting?"

"I don't know. I really don't. I can say that she yelled at me more at night. That our place was nice, and not very big, but she never came in if I woke up screaming. I thought she ignored me, but there were times she'd ask me why I looked so tired; or when I was little enough, or freaked enough, to seek her out, and she'd be…."

"Passed out?"

"Really deeply asleep. Other times, she could hear the door bolt through walls, so…. I don't want to…. Look, I wasn't a druggie, but I was a stupid teenager with access to a pharmacopoeia, and I can say we had no prescription sedatives around. Probably those two things are related. She had a benign mass taken off her liver in the last year, but that doesn't…. This feels like I'm trying to blame her for all of my flaws. The ones she isn't directly responsible for. It could've all come from Thatcher. It could be me."

"How old were you when you started drinking?"

"Fourteen. Only a few times that year, but without quibbling over it, fourteen. I started wanting to impress Sadie, and her… not friends. Circle? I was One-Shot Meredith for a long time. That's actually where the nickname Death came from. 'One shot Meredith, two shots, she's near-to-death.' Got to where I could take three shots without passing out or puking, and I was Death. You're still no fun if you're that much of a lightweight, and I wasn't as unsupervised as them. There were SAT tutors, and piano lessons, and housekeepers. I liked hanging around the hospital while Mom worked. It's when she made me leave that I got into shit.

"What's funny is that if I hadn't been determined to tolerate hard liquor, I could've gotten away with more than I did. Mom didn't keep her wine in the liquor cabinet. She'd let me try it at fancy dinners. If I'd played it right…but I wanted the fast escape, which meant balancing on a very thin tightrope. It is impossible to hide a hangover from a doctor.

"Once…this woulda been junior year, peak high-school hellion. Senior year, I buckled down, relatively, but I did want to go to college. This time, I'd planned on sleeping through school—actively planned, thinking she was working a forty-eight, and I could intercept any phone calls. That's how I had to play it. On a scale of desperate to delinquent…. Anyway, according to Sadie, we got in about three in the morning, Mom was home, but didn't make an appearance before she'd abandoned me to my fate. Traitor. My memories start about six-thirty. It's hazy enough that I don't think I could've been sober, and Mom was standing over me while I shoveled eggs into my face. She hadn't made breakfast in maybe five years, much less on a school day. I puked in the shower.

"This was miserable to live through. It's not a pleasant memory, but when I dragged my dizzy ass out of the shower, Mom had laid out my stupid uniform. Getting dressed was muscle memory, and I hadn't gotten my shoes tied before she'd deposited me on a stool in the kitchen. Gave me a couple Asprin, hooked me up to a freaking banana bag, and brushed out my hair. No World's Tightest Ponytail action, just brushed it, braided it, and then she made me face her.

"She told me I was going to be stupid, because people are stupid. The important thing was not to let a mistake spin out to everything else in my life. Then, she took out the banana bag needle, and sent me to school. I hadn't finished a quarter of the fluids. It was a pretty miserable day, but it did teach me a lesson. Just, now, I wonder if it was a good one."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm. What I took from that morning was that it didn't matter how fucked up I got, as long as I went to school, or work, or whatever in the morning. In college, I could mostly schedule classes that started late enough to keep it from being a big deal. I ran a black market on banana bags I'd filched from MGH. There's still an accountant out there looking to gut me, I'm sure. I used my own supply—whether or not you can insert it yourself is a pretty good sobriety test, fun fact. Med school was what I've told you it was. Enough weekend binges that I could still outdrink most of my intern class. Which I did. A lot, after…."

"Work it out aloud for me, please."

"I was gonna say 'Derek happened,' but that's not right. I got Mom settled at Roseridge, went to the intern mixer, and I saw Richard. Mom's…Maggie's father. That freaked me out so badly, that I went straight across the street to the bar. I met Derek. The next time we…I let him catch me at this party my roommate had arranged. He gave me this line about tequila…doesn't matter, except we screwed in his car, and my boss caught us. She's the one Derek definitely respected. She…oh man, I'd forgotten…she told him to move his tail wagon."

"She sounds fantastic."

"She is. She protected me from him a lot. The puppy-dog eyes, and the I dumped you, but it's so hard to watch you fall apart looks…. She didn't like having my sex life affect the job, but she realized that it wasn't just sex…that I'd fallen…she gave me dignity, in a way a lot of people didn't. She's physically saved me a lot of times; working on me after I drowned, all three -ectomies. She's Bailey's namesake. But I think she's metaphorically saved me a whole lot more. She's kind of hardline, sometimes. Maybe was as stiff-minded and hard-headed—you get that I mean those differently? Stiff-minded might not actually be a thing, but yeah, okay—as my mother, except she's as vocal with her praise as her criticism. She has faith. I know I'm a little anti-religion, but her kind of faith? It's not just in a god…God—it's in people. In the world. I, um... yeah. I miss her.

"That night…tail-wagon… Mom was alive, but gone, and I hadn't…. I hadn't known I'd lose her that totally, that quickly. I'd signed the papers to take over her estate, and I'd potentially nicked a heart from falling asleep in surgery. That's before a lot of what made intern year harder than typical. It's not that I can take every time I went to work hungover that year and say it had nothing to do with Derek. The time I got called in drunk…he was such an asshole that night. He didn't mean to be. Mom had been in the hospital, so I wasn't just the legend's daughter; I'd been deluding everyone on her behalf. I wasn't simply the intern who'd screwed an attending; I'd been duped. I basically begged him to choose me. I'd never flat-out asked before. Didn't know how. I gave him this speech about how much I loved him in the scrub-room. It was all rom-com clichés, and I must've seemed so young to him….

"I told him I'd be at the bar—Joe's. Everyone there looked up every time someone opened the door, and it was never him. It was like being stabbed, and they were all watching me be stabbed. I was using tequila as pain management, and I got paged. Few hours later, we're back in the scrub-room, and he looks at me…like he…he was seeing me totally differently, and was disappointed. Now, I think it was…he knew he was hurting me. But then, he told me to take Aspirin with the banana bag. And… I knew—that he was staying with her. He said, yeah, because she was his wife. Like that… I should've known then that his Catholic mother…. No. Wait. First he told me he'd been to Joe's—and it was like…I don't know. If I'd ignored the page, maybe he'd have chosen me? Because otherwise, why tell me? But I'm…I'm glad it happened the way it did. If he'd gone to Joe's, and told me it wasn't me….

"Sorry. I-I'm over this shit. I am. It's-it's water under the...the fucking bridge. I mean, there wasn't a good place to be told…that."

"No, there wasn't."

"He didn't ruin Joe's. He may've wished he'd ruined Joe's. That was…it was early October. Thanksgiving…."

"I don't get paid to watch the gears in your eyes. The thoughts don't have to be coherent; I'd just like to hear them. Take your time."

"That was…I really thought that was him. But we had this patient. Misdiagnosed for twenty years. We were able to wake him. His wife had moved on. His kid grew up. He woke up, saw that. He died by the end of the day. I'd skipped my roommate's dinner because I felt like my misery was a disease; finished the day at Joe's and took a stranger home. I told myself it was from spending all day with Derek, having him look at me. But that man, he…."

"Reminded you of your mother?"

"My mother. Knowing my father wouldn't recognize me. And…I had friends, but we'd been in each other's lives for five months. There was a lot they didn't know. I felt so alone. So much more than I had in med school, with Mom less gone, and Sadie in Boston, and not knowing what it was like to…believe. I wanted to drown it, and I wanted to be numb, and I wanted to feel something. I wanted to know I wasn't going to be this husk of a person for the rest of my life. It wasn't really about Derek. He made it about him."

"To him, it likely seemed like it was."

"Yeah, but he knew way more about the other stuff than anyone, and—oh. He knew, and he made it about him, so when we got back together, I didn't tell him things, because I knew—or I feared—that he'd make it about him—and he did it anyway. That's…I don't know what that is."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Vindicated."

"Why?"

"Because…because for a long time, I've thought, if I'd been more open with him, we'd have been better, sooner…but I had to deal with the hold Mom had over me, and I had to be the one to choose to do it the right way. Instead of staying with Derek, and blaming all my issues on him, and coming to work hungover, because I never thought I'd be a good enough surgeon for it to matter. And…. it's always family stuff. I mean, not every time I've gotten drunk in eight years, but the day after I found about Maggie, I went to Alex's to drink. Showed up to a board-meeting day-drunk. And Derek…this is a pattern. He looked at me like I was scum. L-like he didn't know me. He told me that I sounded like Ellis, right when…he didn't know about Maggie, but he didn't know because he wouldn't listen. I thought he was calling me a bad mother because…."

"Because you'd spent years waiting for him to decide he couldn't parent with you?"

"That. And because I wasn't thinking of her as a surgeon, or a person. Only a mom. I think maybe drinking was always about how alone I felt. Maybe that's why I didn't default to it, here. I'm not alone. I'm hardly even lonely now, but starting out…with the kids…I wasn't alone."

"Maybe."

"There's something I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"The pattern. Why— That look, The 'who are you? you dirty, disgusting person' look. I thought it was the sex, and that time in the stairwell, yeah. I got a variant after the Alzheimer's trial, but that …he didn't want to lose me, and I'd sabotaged a chance at that. I got it when I was a lemon, and he was drunk. He was just…not so much saying what'd hurt me as…as stuff he'd done, too. Retreated, and gotten drunk, and quit—all those books I'd written —and the last time he'd done that was after Addison. He wasn't whole and healed."

"No. It doesn't sound like it."

"Okay. That's…but the other times…. Could it be Amelia?"

"Could what be Amelia?"

"She's his little sister. She's an addict, an alcoholic. He never liked it when I pointed out 'there but by the grace goes Meredith,' or whatever. Me being able to say no when she couldn't wasn't about strength. It was luck. Circumstance. Because I've tried…he knew that I'd tried a lot of shit, figuring I was gonna flame out …I hate that I'm glad he didn't want to think of me that way, because he was horrible about her sometimes. Again, brain surgeon, not great with the brain chemistry. He really didn't get…. Is an overdose a suicide? For Catholics, specifically. I guess it's different?"

"Than for Protestants? Yes, it is. I don't think it would be considered a suicide, in that most believe it's for G-d to know and judge, but I imagine some see it as equally careless or undeserving of His forgiveness."

"Huh. There are things about him that make more sense when I realize it's a Catholic thing. He got so intense after I…I didn't mean to die—I really wanted to work on things. There was just so much…. He'd lost me, and could've lost me forever, and I wasn't…I wasn't okay. So, if I wasn't okay, and the last time I said I was, I'd lied, and if being broken meant I could decide not to swim… it's all very convoluted, but he was scared. That I understand. What I don't is…. No, it's not that I don't…. I wonder if he thought Ellis…. No, that doesn't…."

"You've lost me."

"The day he told me I sounded like Ellis. I just wondered if he thought Mom drank—I don't know. I'm grasping at nothing. He never said anything about my drinking, just gave me looks when it wasn't…I'd say normal, but that has connotations at this point, with us. It wasn't a 'normal people do x' thing.

"No look the first night, or the tail wagon night. But right after Addison confronted us Joe, of Joe's fame, collapsed, and I came to the ER with him. I'd been at the bar all of an hour, but I'd made it count. Threatened to run Derek over in the parking lot."

"Understandable, given that situation."

"I can still feel it if I think about it enough. How betrayed, and angry, and fucking stupid…! That's really where I can trace the looks to, and Addison…she brought his life to Seattle. Before that, I was this…what's it called? A hologram, just starting to be a real girl. I started breaking down, and if he saw Amelia in me, and thought I was at least as careless as she was…. Amelia OD'd. She didn't mean to die. I didn't plan to die, but I stopped swimming. I said I was okay, but I wasn't… if he always expected it to happen again, because it did with Amelia…. Maybe it was always in the back of his mind somewhere, and I couldn't judge that, could I? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it came back when Amelia did. Whichever, I came to the board-meeting drunk, while he already wanted to run, and it—but…. If he was Amelia-level concerned, why leave the kids with me? No, he was just pissy that day, and lashing out because I wasn't shining fast enough. He definitely wasn't connecting the drinking and my mom. That was sort of the problem, actually."

"Or."

"Or, Beni? The prodding questions are your job, FYI."

"Thank you for the reminder. He may not have been able to tell you what made him give you that look. What I can say is this: you were not invisible to him in those moments, Meredith. You might've been saying or doing something he didn't expect; that he couldn't make sense of. That's being human. But he was not seeing through or past you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Uh. I think so. He wasn't seeing my mother. Not like Mom saw Richard in Burke, or…Nothing like that. Nothing that meant I'd be…nothing inevitable. He didn't not recognize one Meredith or another, because I was always me. It wasn't like with Mom.

"And maybe I'm sensitive to…to being looked at like at a stranger. But to him, I was always me. If he didn't like the way I was reacting…he didn't like hurting me, and if I was doing that, he'd see it as his fault, because he didn't realize…family. Bio family is my thing. That day must've seemed a lot like…well, it was a lot like: we fought and the next thing you know I'm showing up drunk at the hospital like…like my father—"

"Meredith, back up please."

"Not like my…not like Thatcher. I am not like Thatcher. I would never…Derek had to know…he knew that…trusted me every time he left…. He didn't know what'd happened in between. About Maggie. He only knew we fought, and…I don't know. Derek could be hurtful, especially if he was hurting. He could be resentful, and maybe that's why he and Amelia were hot and cold.… He could hit hard, and he'd never hit me, but the words could be worse. To know the words…he had to know me. That's why there were more looks, early on, because he didn't know my dark yet. I was always me, and he loved me. Maybe he didn't know how, or why, or…or want to, in that moment. But he did."

"He did. Meredith, that year, did drinking affect your work?"

"I think…I think yes, but not…not more than it made me all that much more tired, and I wasn't studying, and it's a depressant, and I was trending toward…was depressed. But I didn't treat patients without knowing, absolutely knowing, I was sober. I, um… there were a couple of early morning blood tests. So. No."

"Would he say it affected your job? As the person who had the most judgmental eye on it?"

"Uh, that would be dearest Dr. Girl Bailey. She caught me with an illicit banana bag once. Not pretty. 'Grey, if you had nothing better to do last night than drink, you are not pulling your weight around here. You are better than that, and…' and… 'And he's not worth it.'"

"I like her more and more—don't look at me like that, I know you love him. She knew that too."

"Sshe loved him. She spoke at the funeral. Did a reading. I just…fuck…I just wish…I wish he was here, so I could call him out on his bullshit, and.…"

"And?"

"Come on, Beni, haven't you figured that one out? I'd talk to him first. Believe me, that wasn't always the order of operations. To answer your less voyeuristic question, um, no. Derek would not say my drinking affected my work. He has—he had proven that he wouldn't let that slide. Or….if he wouldn't let Richard off the hook…yeah, no. I would've heard about it."

"Well, then, I assume even if this man, who knew and loved you believed that you'd been triggered—by his actions or not. Whether or not he wanted to deal with it, or thought you'd be less susceptible if he pushed you away—and were coping in a way that, in the past, led to a limited period of moderate drinking, then he knew, consciously, un-, or sub-, that you wouldn't let it affect your parenting. Because…?"

"Parenting is work. And even if…if he couldn't work with me…maybe he trusted my work? Or…he couldn't be my boss because I was me. He trusted me with them, because I was me."

"What does trust mean?"

"Can I have a def—?"

"To you."

"Knowing someone will keep their promises. Who won't keep secrets that will hurt you. That they'll protect your best interests. Keep you safe. Be there when you need them. Come back if they leave. Someone who can know your vulnerabilities and won't use them to hurt you. Who you can let know you. Who won't tell your secrets. Unless…sometimes it'll hurt you."

"Would Derek say that differently?"

"Trust meant a lot to him. There's a lot I miss so, but…the main things would apply here are secrets. Keeping them. Whose you keep."

"Is trust a constant thing?"

"Mostly. Has to be, right, if it affects how you behave. Sometimes it varies or you question it. I trusted him in some ways during our second go, but I couldn't show him all of myself. So, I didn't trust him. His main thing…. The hierarchy was different for him. Either because he had so much family, or it was just him being his egocentric self, he was always the one I should tell first with family stuff, or… Work stuff that was family stuff. That I knew he wouldn't get."

"Like the Alzheimer's trial."

"Trust violations, FDA violations…. If I'd suggested it, he'd have refused. He'd feel way too guilty…like he'd played God. Like that was new. It's supposed to be random, and I…everyone is someone's family, I know, but Adele barely got in the trial, and for her not to get the treatment seemed cruel…. Derek was good with rules."

"Why?"

"Well…five kids? Whereas in my house when Ellis was away, Meredith could play? Once, he told me he didn't mind if I made all the choices at home because he made so many at work, but I am also a surgeon, so, we flip…flipped a lot of coins. And the rules are there to ensure results and prevent biases. It was wrong, I—"

"Stop. That's not what I want you focused on just now. If what you did benefitted someone he cared about, and the deed was done, what made him so angry?"

"Not being able to fix me. My possible Alzheimer's—he didn't think I was broken; he knew me. That trial got sent to Phoenix. He and Richard…he was blacklisted by the FDA. That was why…. he was trying to make it fair. He'd had a major career setback and…and he…he said it was a trust thing. A right and wrong thing. That he might…might not be able to raise a child with—"

"How good was Derek at identifying his own motivations and emotions?"

"You're kidding, right? Bad. Lemon, with a ring in his pocket bad."

"Well, it's likely that he didn't have a handle on everything you do, after all our quality time."

"True. Fairness. He was trying to give me an equal consequence—a career altering one, and he'd— he didn't know I'd come in planning on neuro; if he guessed I'd decided… well that was the point. He wasn't thinking in terms of…Our family was on the line for both of us, but the choice was really his; he had to know that, and he gave me…. To him it was fair, but fair to Derek meant he came out on top.

"When I said I'd quit, it was desperation. When he agreed…he wasn't thinking as my boss or my husband, was he? I'd betrayed his trust so…he'd already left, which I'd trusted him not to do, why belie my trust that he wouldn't use my vulnerability against me…? It wasn't work. Not like 'parenting is work.' And last year. That was sort of him not doing it again. Not that…it felt like we were close to done, but he never…custody was not a hypothetical he ever brought up. He could've. When I said the kids and I were staying…D.C. kept him busy, sure, but this time he had to…. "

"Meredith?"

"I-I need a minute."

"Good."

"He put himself in the same position. Making the big sacrifice with us on the line. It wouldn't have been quite…but there's not really another fork like choosing a specialty. For him, giving up something that came with that level of esteem… it was making it fair, and in some way…am I being too selfi—?"

"Leave that, please."

"Oh-okay. In some way, making it up to me. When I was trying to stop him from going…holding it over his head…was I…? "

"You were many things. A woman who didn't want her husband to be working across the country. A mother who wanted her kids to have their father. A doctor in only her second year of practice, whose family was young, and who perhaps did feel like she'd already made significant, unacknowledged career sacrifices. You broke a rule back then, and I'm not to judge whether the punishment fit. I didn't know you. However, I do not believe your primary motivations for wanting to stay in Seattle were vindictive. That limiting his career was your goal so much as you wanted him to find a different way to succeed."

"I wanted him to do amazing things only he could do, but…there were others who could fill his position at the NIH, and he'd been supposed to take his year with the kids, and…I wanted him to choose us. He'd made a commitment to Seattle, right before I met him. The land. It meant something to me, and he kept…. Whenever we had the chance to leave, whoever's career it was about….it felt a little like he wanted to reinvent again. This time he'd take us with him, and the rest of it could be rebuilt. it's so weird that I'm the 'found family' one, because he didn't worry about that part. Once he left New York…he put his career first, until he came home from D.C. He did it. He chose us. And he…he wasn't going to stop trusting me as a parent, not in the same way, because there was more to it. He was limiting my career, whether he knew it or not, but he…We came out even. I'm excellent at general surgery, and I'll only get better. He would've found a way to take on the impossible cases and be a dad, because he always did the things he wanted to do, and…and I need to let it go. The career I didn't have. It's not like I couldn't do a fellowship some day. Miranda almost went into peds, early on. Arizona did fetal medicine this year. It'd be hard, and I'm not sure I want it, but…No. No that's stupid. I can't. I can't do that. I'm not…I don't have what it takes to be a neurosurgeon; I'm not…I make too many rash decisions, and I—"

"Meredith! Take a breath, please. I'm going to ask you a question, and then I want you to think about it for the duration of the timer I'm setting. You can process aloud, or you can think it through silently, but I don't want a definitive answer until it goes off. If you'd gone to Derek and laid out the conclusions we've come to—that you'd planned on neurosurgery prior to meeting him; that you didn't regret your choice but you feel you were both making decisions under duress; that you understand where he was coming from; that you weren't even saying the punishment wasn't appropriate; you simply want to discuss this with the understanding that both of you were going to prioritize your family, without the possibility of it falling apart looming over your heads—If you'd gone to him and said that, whether or not he'd come to understand his own motivations in agreeing to your sacrifice; would he have been open to a discussion about you finding a way to practice neurosurgery that would not put the two of you in that situation again? Can you see that happening, or tell me that there is no plausible way it would?"

"I—He…I would never have done it. Not with him just home and trying to figure out life as a family again, much less life as a family of five. That would've been a mess, because I'd gotten so used to doing it on my own with Amelia to maybe be a pair of hands, not taking on an active role. I mean, Amy's not a sidelines person, but she wasn't a parent. It's possible I was starting to see that I worried…well, you've been here. Parenting's a job, and he'd been so pissed off all last fall I was afraid it was going to affect his parenting, maybe. Not in a way that led me to not trust him! Just, like…morale. It didn't, and what affected our marriage had nothing to do with the content of—it was the move. I wanted him to have the job. But he couldn't separate them; couldn't be satisfied with his career as a life-saving neurosurgeon with recognition as a carrot… I said so many things, I can't believe I never threw it all in his face. He would've, just like he said that I sounded…but he wasn't talking about my parenting.

"He fell for me over that microscope, too, and he was the one who couldn't let go even when he couldn't be on my side in the OR He and Amelia clash…clashed constantly, and he didn't try to get her credentials revoked; he didn't expect every neurosurgeon to be like him. It was only that…that he couldn't compartmentalize, because he…he always saw me. Loved me. Didn't want the woman he loved putting his career in…. I've changed, some. The Alzheimer's trial…that might not be different, but I do try to not get fired. It's been three years, and it still bothered…bothers me. He'd…that would make him question, if nothing else. And…this is terrible, but in for a penny, in for a whatever…we still fought in the OR. He questioned my opinion on consults when I'm sure he would've accepted Miranda's judgement—or mine, if he hadn't been bitter and resentful. What service I was on didn't entirely solve the problem. With that being the case, and the way he…"

"Time."

"Time's the thing. It would've taken a lot of time, and if he couldn't teach me, he might not be able to work at Grey+Sloan, which made him such a pill during all the attempts to salvage his nerves."

"Would you be demanding to do it immediately?"

"Of course not!"

"Is Grey+Sloan the only hospital in Seattle?"

"You know it isn't. There's fucking Dillard, and…yeah. He'd have NIH on his resumé. I used to say that'd be a way for him to leave, but it could be a way for him to stay. I could've gone somewhere else and let him and Amelia fill in the gaps. There are options, just like you said about the night we…I…of the original decision. I would not be asking to leave Seattle or give up time with the kids. Fellowship hours are more, but they're not residency. I would've waited, if I ever thought to ask, because we already had so much to figure out and rebalance, but…we could've talked about it."

"Is there any chance he would've come around?"

"He didn't change his mind easily, but… it wasn't strictly his idea, and he kept the bar for me high, in a good way. Like he didn't care when I caught it; I would. He could hold a grudge. He might see it as exactly what I made him…what he decided to give up. He might not have."

"With that potential there, do you think he would mind you considering it on your own, when there is no chance of him being in the OR with you? Hey, talk it out to me, please."

"S-sor—this is…it's stupid, he's been dead f-for six—almost seven—and I'm not even…I might never….We're never going to be in an OR together again. And if I could've…that's what made me so…why I thought he…with the researcher."

"It's okay to mourn what you didn't have. Challenging him across the microscope?"

"Stupid. Not like we didn't…he said I taught him more about general surgery than a five-year residency. He'd want me to do whatever I wanted. It's me; I'm the one who feels like it'd be the same as screwing…no…dating the librarian."

"So, don't. You don't have to do anything because he'd be okay with it, just like you don't have to avoid something he'd disapprove of. Your kids aren't the only area of your life where your decision making relied heavily on meeting his expectations."

"I know. He loved me, though. When it came down to it, if I'd fought…I was so afraid of losing everything, because my family was already everything to me, and I could let the running go more quickly than he could understand the nuances of the trial, or forgive the effect on his career…if I'd said, 'I am your wife, your daughter's mother. I am the woman you love, and that woman is going into neuro, so we've got to figure this out.…' I'll never know if he would've respected that. Could've. But I'd like to believe he would've."

"You can do that."

"I doubt I'm going to change specialties, now. I've got a career going. Returning from a sabbatical as a third-year attending won't be easy. I was just starting to get referrals and being asked to peer-review stuff. I should've been doing that, at least, but the whole reading anything thing was an issue. But thank you for helping me see the possibility. And remember that…that he saw possibility whenever he looked at me."

"You're welcome. Take your time with this. You may be angry or confused. Don't aim it at yourself. You did what you could with what you had, and you trusted you'd picked the right dream. That's a big deal. Hold that. Bring the rest in here."

"Dr. Beni Klein, really going for that Yelp review."

"I do have to earn my living."

"Not everyone has double dead doctor money, it's true."

"Trick or treat!" Bailey and Zola chorused when Sadie opened the door to the beach house. Meredith couldn't suppress a grin. They'd finally gotten it down. Bailey, who'd been running around saying "trick or treat" for three weeks, had said "t'ank you!" as he walked up to each stop during the school's Trunk or Treat event—and you couldn't correct that. In their building, Zola had yelled the correct phrase out within seconds of either ringing, or seeing Bailey ring, the doorbell. There'd been three unopened doors, and one where Bailey chimed in at "treat!" This was a definite win.

"Look at these little moppets," Sadie said, dropping a handful of Reese's out of a suspiciously full looking bag. Then again, there hadn't been many kids going between the spaced-out houses along this stretch of beach.

"Muppets, Aunt Sadie!"

"I Bailey be Fozzie Bear." Bailey announced, holding up his index finger. "Wocka, wocka! Misser Bembo."

"You are such a cuddly Fozzie!"

"Funny Fozzie."

"Right, right. Zo, you make a great Skeeter. That was such a clever idea, Meredith. Definitely solved the problem."

"You can't see how they make all her pigtails," Zola agreed, spinning one of the thick, orange beads that turned her hair into an approximation of the red-haired Muppet Baby's.

"The night's not over, so if they get too heavy—"

"I will tell you." Zola's eyes were framed by cheap sunglasses with the lenses punched out, which made it easier to track the way she looked up toward the light fixtures. Closer and closer to a sigh-roll. "Lotsa people knew me, too. Momma said they might not."

"Momma underestimated the power of nostalgia," Meredith admitted. Skeeter had been created for The Muppet Babies due to a lack of female Muppets. The closest live-action reference for her character design was her twin brother, Scooter, had a few dozen strands of thick, tightly-twisted orange yarn sprouting out of his head. His animated, baby-self had two antenna-like protrusions above the middle of his forehead, and there were enough curved lines drawn along them to allude to twists or curls. Skeeter had six of them. They were longer, and rather than being loose v's, they flopped. Sausage curls may've been the animators' intent, but the result was… Meredith would give them sausage, and she'd known she wasn't having dong-related hallucinations when she'd cropped a screenshot from the Muppet Wiki down to the upper-left of Skeeter's head and sent it to Sadie. Even the placement of the curl-suggesting lines was suggestive.

Her initial idea had been to twist Zola's hair into six approximations of Scooter's twists. She'd wanted to be able to shape them, though. To remind the audience that she was always on the move, Skeeter's hair stuck out from her head, like they were being propelled backward by the wind. She wasn't sure if she'd been inspired by, or reminded of second grade, when Caitlin Donoghue had been Pippi Longstocking; her braids wired to stick out on either side, right at Meredith's eye level. She'd been in such high dudgeon by recess that she'd sneered that Caitlin's costume was pathetic. "Her freckles aren't even makeuped on extra!" Without the wire she'd "look like an ordinary day!"

Caitlin's outfit had been created with her sibling's outgrown uniforms, frayed, patched, and wrinkled to represent the fun-loving orphan, but in the way of the playground, everyone had known whose mother made their costumes, and who relied on "those… weirdo guys."

That didn't make the wire a bad idea, Meredith had reminded herself. Those braids had been gravity defiant. Frizzing the yarn would make it Muppet-like…and no different in color from Caitlin's carroty-orange—and that's where Meredith had paused, and totally overthought the whole thing. Skeeter hair was probably Muppet hair, yarn hair, but did Muppet hair even do sausage curls? She was orange-skinned (orange-felted), which suggested whiteness; suggested pale whiteness with red-hair and freckles, just like Caitlin Donoghue —who'd ended up being her freshman year lab partner, and not all that bad—For adults, the appeal of Halloween was in being someone else, and that was all Meredith had ever participated in. With kids, wasn't it also that they could be anyone, while being themselves? The year Sofia was a princess-astronaut—that wouldn't have happened if her moms hadn't been in a specific situation, but it'd also reflected her interests. Even sexy Halloween costumes showed off the wearer's perception of their assets. Creative, off-the-shelf, late, they all said something.

Any objections Meredith might have to plopping an Elsa wig on Zola for Let's Pretend, were countered by "um, but Momma, I think a Black-girl Elsa would still have white, ice hair, okay? Elsas have Elsa hair." But the way she'd reacted to Elmo's cousin Jesse made Meredith decide to make her Halloween-hair more Zola.

The choice may have been about Meredith's personality, too. That she'd unintentionally made the most time-consuming part of their costumes a repetitive task requiring dexterity had made the Halloween-thing far less intimidating. What had bothered her was the future. If she'd been on-call, they might not have gotten it done. She'd based the time she allocated for it on simpler beaded styles, starting before Bailey went to bed. A more-awake Zola meant a wigglier-Zola, she'd anticipated that—she appreciated that—but she hadn't factored in the way that energy would be amplified by anticipation. They'd gotten about two-thirds done and finished in the morning, but she hated the idea that if they'd been short on time, she'd have had to be far firmer. Empathetic, sure, but unyielding. She should've tried harder to make them choose a costume early, started the, "I want you to be whatever you want to be, but I need time to make it happen" refrain so that they wouldn't have a year or two of disappointment before understanding that they had an earlier deadline than their friends whose parents weren't surgeons.—Hopefully they'd have some of those—Oh, well. Next year "start asking about Halloween" would pop up on her calendar in mid-September, and she reserved the right to make it earlier the next year.

"Hiya, hiya, hiya!" Bailey exclaimed, for the thousandth time that night, and then turned holding his candy bucket toward Meredith. "You Momma hold. I Bailey do knitting?"

"No, that's a Mommy-and-B activity, and I can't help you right this second."

"I Bailey do."

"You Bailey get it all tangled up," Zola countered.

"Don't! Do pretty fo' baby girl. No tanglin'"

"No stranglin'."

"No tanglin'!"

"Your knitting is knotty without Mommy," Zola declared and cracked up. "Mommy, did you hear all my rhymes?"

"Uh—" Meredith cut off herself off to catch Bailey's wrist before he could smack his sister's arm. "Hey, hey. Gentle hands."

"No be funny!"

"You are funny," Zola argued. "You're Fozzie; he's funny."

"No be funny!"

"You weren't trying to be funny?" Meredith suggested, picking Bailey up both to comfort him and to move him and Zola out of each other's reach.

"No be funny." He put his head on her shoulder. The fluff on his bear-ears headband brushed against her cheek.

"I know, bud. Zoie wasn't laughing at you. Her words were silly."

"No silly."

"Zola's not silly?" Sadie asked, and Bailey's head popped up again.

"She Zo-Zo so silly!"

"You don't make sense," Zola complained.

"He doesn't have the words to always make sense," Sadie reminded her. "Isn't it frustrating when you're thinking something, and you can't get everyone to understand?"

"I guess." Zola wrinkled her nose, doubtfully. "Momma, I can show him the Daddy Phone until it's time to eat. That makes him calm down." She'd already taken the device out of her jean shorts. That there hadn't had to be arguments about long pants and t-shirts made Meredith more grateful than disdainful toward the heat of the evening.

"Dinner's ready!" Fatimah came in from the kitchen. "Look at you two!"

"Three," Zola insisted. "Momma took her costume off to be a driver."

"They're will be weirder tonight, but I make it a point not to be 'that story' for the EMTs," Meredith said. Aside from the pink sweater she'd be reluctantly adding to her wardrobe for the next couple months, Meredith's costume had all of two parts. She left the headband with its pointy-ears in her purse, but considering that Sadie could already blackmail her until the end of time, she popped the pig snout over her head.

"Miss Piggy's biggest critic let you get away with that?" Fati asked.

"Tell her, Zo."

Zola sighed. "Sometimes she is not pretty on the inside, but I should have different 'spectations for Muppets, because they don't get hurt from hitting, and when she does hi-yahing I should listen to what they said to her, and think 'would I be mad?' or sometimes, 'Would I think a not-lady Muppet should do that?' Powerful women get misunderstood sometimes."

Sadie and Fatimah both looked at Meredith, who shrugged. "I do have non-medical wisdom to pass on. Besides, my French is about as good as Piggy's, and Kermit was always my favorite. Although this little guy is making me reconsider." She covered Bailey in Piggy's exaggerated kisses, and his grumpiness disappeared. Zola tried to look nonplussed, and it was almost cuter than when she failed and burst into giggles.

"You keep looking at me like you expect me to say something," Sadie commented. "Which means you've significantly underestimated your ridiculousness in high school."

"Shut up. I was very hard and edgy. Many edges."

"Uh huh. The Nora Ephron obsession begs to differ."

"Only You've Got Mail."

"Tom Hanks, really?" Fatimah asked, doling spaghetti into bowls.

"No! And, no offense to Meg Ryan, but she didn't really do it for me either. Kathleen Kelly hated that bookshop, but she felt like she owed it to her mother to continue her legacy. When those protestors are trying to save it, she could absolutely care no less."

"I see what you mean," Fatimah told Sadie. "Her nerd-levels really are unfathomable."

"I think it comes from taking so long to accept her destiny. She dabbled too deeply in many, many things."

"Hey, Lexie was worse, and Maggie is beyond," Meredith protested, unzipping Bailey from the teddy bear onesie she'd adapted via a white ribbon with pink polka dots and a porkpie hat. It'd been recognized at every door, another win.

"Wocka wocka!" he declared, holding his finger up. She tugged his sleeve off over it before kissing the tip, which made him giggle.

"What's with the finger?" Sadie asked.

"His favorite is Muppet Treasure Island," Meredith explained, rolling up the onesie so it fit on the top of her bag. Sadie arced an eyebrow. Meredith fortified herself with a forkful of spaghetti. "It's a Muppet movie, so, you know. Weird running gags. Talking fruit. Boomerang fish. Freeze your Winnebago." Three confused looks were shot her way, while Bailey bit into a meatball. Zola's was the only one she deigned worthy of response. "We haven't watched the Christmas specials yet, baby. You'll see.

"In Treasure Island, Fozzie plays a character who believes a man lives in his finger. Named Mr. Bimbo."

"Sailing adven'ure," Bailey sang, helpfully through his mouthful.

Sadie rested her fork on her plate. "Why don't I remember that?"

"Oh, don't even. I've had to—I've happily watched it two thousand times since June.

"We got the special DVD that has Gonzo and Rizzo talking about making the movie," Zola added. So very helpful, her children.

"Yes, because that gave us a new perspective on the same dialogue we'd heard the first thousand times."

"No, no, I wasn't mocking you," Sadie said. "I will now, but I don't remember that at all."

"Huh, weird, we definitely saw it. Zola, how many pieces of bread do you want?"

"Five."

"Two, and if you want more you can trick-or-treat for it."

"Are you sure I was with you?"

"Only one we saw in theaters. You never went with me to the re-releases of the original. 'I don't care about movies as old as I am, Death.'"

"Oof," Fati murmured, and Bailey imitated her. "You'd have a very limited selection, Mr. Bailey."

"M'eer Bembo," he corrected.

"Yeah, yikes. Sorry," Sadie said. "That's the pirate one? When did we go?"

"It was February break senior year. You were..." Once they'd sent in their college applications, Sadie had stopped half-caring. Meredith shot a look at the kids, who both happened to be looking at their bowls, before gesturing at Sadie, two fingers pinched in front of her mouth. Fatimah snorted into her water glass. "…sleepy."

"At a big screen movie?" Zola asked, midway through pulling the center out of her bread. "That's too exciting for sleep."

Edibles had been legalized in Washington in December, and they'd gone on sale in July, so she'd have to solidify her vague outline for a discussion about "adult candy." She didn't have to do it now.

"Aunt Sadie was taking a medication that made her tired." True. That was definitely one of the times she'd woken up to drool on her jacket, one of a few Sadie-habits she could never convince herself was cool or cute. "Sure you don't want me to cut your spaghetti?"

"I can do it!" Zola insisted, putting down her crust and sticking her fork straight down into the pasta.

"Maybe I wanted insight into the geniuses that our culture a man in a Muppet bear's finger," Sadie suggested, while spinning noodles slowly onto her fork; Zola was already apt in pretending not to look while sipping from her juice.

"M'eer Bembo!" Bailey said, flicking his fork in the rush to hold his finger aloft. Spaghetti landed on the table next to Sadie's water glass. Since it hadn't landed in the water, Meredith just reached over and nudged his wrist down.

"Wrong substance. I wouldn't be shocked if they'd taken something from a drawer no one had opened since 1977." she said. "Even for a Muppet movie it gets surreal. The 'Cabin Fever' song has to have been based on a bad trip. Or flashbacks. No, thanks."

Hallucinogens had long been on the no side of Meredith's wobbly line. She'd accepted one tab of something "just like LSD" in a brief period of the world's shit anyway /remnants of Reagan all the way down/I'm not going to do any of the dumb shit Mom's patients do experimentation. All she remembered was that she'd spent the whole trip seeing people start to bleed out in her periphery. Her adrenaline would spike, and she'd whirl around, ready to render first-aid, but also knowing she'd be expected to operate, and the stranger would die because she couldn't. Then, the person would be gone, and she'd stand there smelling the iron of fresh blood, until it happened again. Great preparation for her intern year.

"Why'd you have a medication?" Zola asked. Her pasta was spread out on her plate, and the center had been pulled out of both plates of bread. Meredith took her fork and started spooling the spaghetti. "Did you get a disease or a disorder?"

"Um." Sadie caught Meredith's eye, and she answered the unspoken inquiry with a nod.

"Zola, watch me." Meredith spun another forkful and handed it off. "Okay, that's a personal question. What should you say?"

"Aunt Sadie, can I ask you something personable? Did you get a disorder or a disease? You don't have to tell me."

"And you'll keep it private," Meredith added. This was not something her mother had added, but they lived in the days of HIPAA, it was good to start early. "Unless someone is hurt." She caught Sadie's eyes again. Ellis hadn't included that, either, but by fourteen, Meredith should've known it. Had known it. Hadn't said a word.

"Private is only talking to that person?" Zola asked, working at getting a noodle between the prongs of her fork.

"For the most part. You're always allowed to tell me anything. That's the rule of being a kid, if anyone asks you to keep something private, you can tell me. You should tell me, because you might not know if someone is hurt, or could be hurt."

Derek might add that she could also go to another adult, a doctor or teacher. Only being able to go to her mom with something hadn't worked out in Meredith's favor, and there were situations where mandatory reports could save lives. On the other hand, Meredith could see that game of telephone going bad fast. A child who comes out to their friend could go home to find out the librarian had already called their homophobic parents. It might be judgmental to say she'd know to call authorities when a teacher wouldn't, but this already had a lot of nuance for a little kid.

"I will be private, Aunt Sadie."

"Thank you very much," Sadie said. "I did have a disorder. I still do."

"Is it in your body or your brain? Um but, if it's too personable…too private, I mean…Momma?"

"You don't have to say it again, sweetie. If you ask about something else, you can remind them."

"Because repeating is how to learn?"

"It is," Sadie confirmed. "You're so smart, Z."

"Bailey-bird does lotsa things over and over. He's learning. Sometimes Momma has to tell me that again," she admitted. "And show how to do the spaghetti."

"You're learning, too," Sadie reminded her. "And to answer your question, my disorder affects my brain, yes."

"Like Momma's?"

"It's similar," Sadie said. Zola took another mouthful of pasta and leaned closer to her, an overacted go on. "What I have is something you have your whole life, but there's nothing that makes it go away, yet. Medication and therapy make the symptoms better. Do you know about that?"

"Symptoms are stuff your body does to tell you there's something wrong."

"Very good. What about 'therapy?'"

"That's going to talk to a doctor about sads and mads."

Sadie looked impressed. "Excellent answer."

"I got it repeated 'cause Mommy sees Dr. Beni."

Oh, good, an object lesson. "Hey, Zo? Here's a way you can practice private. Which doctors someone goes to is something that's personal."

"I'm sorry!" Zola said, her eyes darting around the table, and already welling up. Sign one that bedtime was approaching. "I didn't mean to tell a secret."

"You didn't. Listen, okay? Fati and Sadie already knew that. You've heard us talk about it." She wasn't sure Beni had explicitly come up with both of them in front of Zola, but chances were good enough. "I chose to tell them. So, you knew it was okay. We talk about baby girl with them, right?"

"Uh-huh, 'cause she's right there." Zola pointed. Sadie snorted, and the fork Fati was using to scrape noodles out of Bailey's bowl for him slipped as she pressed her face to her arm.

"But I haven't chosen to tell Grams, yet."

"That's a surprise."

"True. Hm…." Meredith picked up her glass and stared at the water for a moment before drinking. Anyone who said you could just Google any information when you needed it didn't have a four-year-old. Answers had to be tailored. "A secret isn't always about the person telling it. In fact, it's usually about someone else saying or doing something. If someone says something is a secret, it's because it would get them in trouble if the wrong person found out.

"A surprise is something that you only want to keep from a few people. It's something good, and you want to tell them, or show it to them at a time you pick. The baby is going to be a surprise for Grams

"Private is something about one or two people that they chose to tell. It's personal, and a lot of times it's about someone's body. The baby was private before everyone could see her. I told the people who needed to know, like the doctor, and who I wanted to know, like you. It's always important to tell me if someone tells you something private. Little kids shouldn't have anything personal their parents don't know, and if it'sabout bodies their doctor probably needs to know. The same thing with secrets. You're still learning what could hurt someone."

For a moment, the only voice in the room was Bailey's; he was holding one hand over his finger, and then revealing it, saying, "Trick or treat!"

"Hey, Bay Bomb?" she asked, while Zola considered what she'd said. "Is Mr. Bimbo trick-or-treating?"

"He Me'er Bembo do the ding-dong. 'Trick-or-treat!' Get cock-o-lot!"

She'd definitely been onto something a year ago when she'd told Derek he'd have more fun with the kids than she would working.

"What else?" she asked. He looked at her quizzically, the blobs of red sauce on his face making him look like a master painter disturbed in the studio.

"T'ank you," he said, grinning. The red teeth made the image more blood than paint, but, hey, he came by it honestly. Cueing him with the sign didn't always work. They'd used them far less since he started speaking more, but she'd be doing it with the baby. Might as well get in the habit.

"Aunt Sadie? Your disorder is kinda like spina bifida, 'cause I had it all my life, and it's fluid in my brain, um but, I got a shunt that makes it better." Sadie's eyes widened, with real surprise. Meredith was pretty impressed with the connection, too. "It's an in-common. Right, Momma?"

"It is. You're doing some really good thinking tonight, sweetie."

"Candy gives me energy, and you use energy for your brain to think."

"That," Sadie said, drawing Zola's attention while Meredith got up to refill her water glass to avoid either encouraging or devastating Zola by cracking up. "Is excellent logic, but it's energy that gets used up fast. You're going to have to teach Bailey and your baby sister that you need all kinds of foods to have the kind of energy it takes to be super-smart like you."

"And you say you're not good with kids," Fatimah said.

"I am a great Gay Aunt Sadie." Her tone was too blithe. Definitely forced, Meredith thought, returning to the table. She would not accept the visceral feeling of being back with Callie and Arizona as anything other than a war flashback; one that none of Beni's grounding techniques could've prevented. The ice wasn't as cold, but it was familiar, and she couldn't help feeling tangentially responsible. Her kids had inspired the quarrel, however momentary. Maybe they'd provide the distraction, too.

"Hey, Zo? What are the symptoms that you should never keep secret, because of your shunt?"

"I have had a lot of repetition about that."

"So, teach Aunt Sadie."

An actually useful Ellis Grey tactic: nothing charmed like a kid reciting medical facts.

Even with the rush from the small amount of candy they were allowed after dinner; the kids were obviously exhausted within half an hour, and the next day would be big, too. It took letting Bailey show off his knitting to distract him from his quest for "more skitters" and get him ready to leave.

Whenever he got to the end of the ball, she unravelled it for him to start over. Her book called the process of pulling out stitches "frogging," and items in the "frog pond" were waiting to be deconstructed and remade. There was a froggy-in-the-well connection there in using the same material to reproduce a product that would never be quite the same, or to create something else entirely. She'd appreciate the analogy more if she didn't see the fraying and pilling that would lead to her cutting a new length of yarn to be knitted and frogged over and over again.

"Hey, Death?" Sadie said from across the kitchen counter. "We have—ugh, it's too corny to say we have a treat for you. Catch!"

Meredith snatched the small black box out of the air. She'd barely started taking the lid off when Fatimah blurted, "It's symbolic!"

Sadie rolled her eyes. "She's afraid you'll think we're ditching you. It's our key for your place. Any true renegotiation feels unnecessary—"

"Unless you go radio silent again! I'm sure your Seattle friends are great, but I will not enable that. If your think we're like this because we saw you at your worst point, let me set you straight. Well. Bent is gay. Curved? Their friend Meredith disappeared. I promise they were frantic. I get it, no shame here, only telling you the facts."

Meredith smoothed a piece of hair by her face and hooked it behind her ear. "Yeah, well, Cal explained Snapchat to me unsolicited. Thinking maybe I could send Alex and Callie the selfies we took that included me in a pig snout. He stopped calling around six, and I wanna clear a space in my voicemail to hear him bitch about residents who can't handle organizing a simple peds ward trick-or-treat. I miss them. I just…. Christmas. I need to get past Christmas. Also, to push the equivalent of two—no, she has so many of her own—shove a whole bunch of organs out of my hoo-hoo."

"Zola's in the car, and you say 'vagina' when she's in earshot."

Sadie smirked. "Concern for my delicate sensibilities."

"You gotta learn the rules before you break them," Meredith said, surveying the room to make sure that whatever they were leaving wasn't essential. "I can say 'I will be eliminating an infant through my vaginal canal.' It's more fun to say 'I'm going to squeeze a hunk of blood, guts, and baby out of my va-jay-jay."

"Va-jay-jay?"

"Picked it up from Bailey." Both women's mouths opened. "The one with the va-jay-jay! Sadie, you know her."

"Not the way you do, I guess."

"One: blech, she's my boss. Two: Do not go there, I have only ever done one boss. Three:…if she ever got curious, I wouldn't object to doing a friend a favor. With her husband's full awareness." The bag of Reese's sat next to her on the counter. She unwrapped one without much consideration and closed her eyes when the mix of sweet and salty hit her tongue. "She's got good hands, and she's already seen me naked. She's operated on me," she added to Fati. "Did the liver thing. Appendix. Last time I tried to push a person out of my pussy, the universe demanded my spleen in pay—"

The very last swallow of the Reese's stuck in her throat, and Meredith grabbed the counter. Slide froggy slide. That was a scar. The spleen she'd sacrificed—Rewind. I did not trade my spleen for Bailey. Derek isn't hanging out with Rumpelstiltskin somewhere. I was injured. I went into labor, I got pregnant.

"She helped revive me when I drowned." The day Mom died, and I came back. Not a trade.

"Let me get through Christmas and crapping a chick from my cunt."

Sadie didn't flinch. She'd probably been the one of them to invent the crude and rude thing. "Understood, babe. If you tell us you need space, we'll respect that. Same if you need anything else. New deal?"

Meredith closed her eyes. The bargaining thing had never made sense to her, not while grieving death. What could be done? The fear of an unwitting bargain hadn't occurred to her. That's what this was. It was her usual desire to blame herself, to be culpable simply to have an answer to the ultimate question: "why?" That was the biggest reason she could see to believe in a higher power: to have someone else to blame. She'd have a much easier time-sharing credit for the good things than other people did, too. Wouldn't that be a great bargain?

Meredith grabbed another Reese's and bit into it. Solid, fluid, viscous, sweet, salty. It was so many things that meant nothing without her senses to detect them, the filter of her experiences to give them meaning, all mixed together. Maybe that was why Lexie liked them; it made it hard for any one association to stand out. Focusing on the flavor gave her a way to stop the I don't know, should know more, should've asked more that usually came after speculating about Lexie. There was nothing to be done about that in the moment; nothing she could give. Nothing to be taken. If Lexie could somehow hear her thoughts, waiting for her to get that must've had her stress-eating Reese's in the afterlife.

"Sure," she told Sadie. "New deal."

As she made her way down the wooden steps that led down to where Fati was helping the kids strap in, she couldn't shake the ghost of the sudden drop that preceded Bailey's birth. Classic, the ghosts you want are nowhere to be found, but the crap ones are everywhere— What happened if she got them trapped in a storm again? She'd been convinced that having people close to her was what set her up for loss; really, it'd saved her. Time and time again. She'd left the key on the counter. Plan for the worst, hope for…something else.

Also, it was symbolic.

---

A/N Trick or Treat!

This weekend marks a year since I started writing for Grey's Anatomy again, after about a decade. I plan to put up a one-shot I've been sitting on for a while this month to celebrate that. I'm revising the next chaptered fic, and I plan to start posting it before this is over—It won't be a year-long project!