December 23rd

"Would you turn that damn thing off?" Emily griped, holding a hand in front of her face to shield herself from the camera.

"No way!" Derek said with a laugh, walking backwards through the house, snapping pictures of Emily as he went. "I'm documenting for posterity. Future historians will want to see the day the future president came home from the hospital."

She rolled her eyes. "Future president?" she repeated, dubious.

He laughed again, the sound rumbling through his chest like thunder. He corralled his features into a mask of seriousness then, correcting, "You're right, aim higher. Future ruler of the free world. King of the world."

She cocked her head, expression annoyed, but full of fondness nonetheless. "You are ridiculous."

"Guilty as charged." He winked.

She set the baby carrier on the floor, kneeling down to unbuckle baby Clyde, with Derek documenting the whole thing. "Welcome home, Baby," she cooed.

The baby made a little grunting sound, blinking blearily as he was lifted from his comfortable little spot, apparently debating whether he needed to start screaming in protest.

"Who's a grumpy little guy?" Derek said with a grin from behind the camera, making sure to capture the irritated expression on the baby's face.

"You'd be grumpy too if you'd just been forcibly evicted from your cushy little hot tub world," Emily said. She lay back on the couch, resting the baby on her chest, rubbing his back. Her tender ministrations seemed to soothe him, his expression slowly turning into a peaceful contented one.

Derek was immediately at her side, taking pictures. And, though Emily had never been the most photogenic person, she was silently grateful for Derek and his camera-happy attitude. She turned to look at him, a soft smile on her lips.

"The camera loves you," Derek said, donning a silly accent. "Make love to the lens. Just like that."

She burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound lest she irritate the baby. "Would youpleaseput the camera down for five minutes?" she begged.

Obliging, he put the camera away. "So, how does it feel to be home?" he asked. "Feel any more Mom-like?"

She shrugged slightly, as best she could while lying down. "I'm getting the hang of it," she said. "But I'm nervous."

"You're going to do great," he promised. "I know you will – I can already see how much you love him – when you look at him, it's like he's the only thing that exists in the whole world. He's a very lucky kid to have you for a mom. Of that, I'm certain."

She smiled her thanks, but couldn't seem to muster any words.

A few moments of silence passed as he returned her smile, tenderly smoothed her hair away from her face. Then, even though he hadn't planned on it, he leaned in to kiss her. His lips were gentle on hers, as if she were incredibly fragile, but there was no doubting the way he felt about her.

For the briefest of moments, she returned the kiss, tender and affectionate, saying everything with her lips that she couldn't say with words. But it only lasted the briefest of moments before Derek pulled back.

"Oh, Em... I'm sorry," he whispered, sounding hoarse. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Derek..." she tried to interject, tried to stop his obviously spiralling mind from running amok.

He shook his head. "I know you made yourself clear on where you stand and I respect that..."

"Derek," she repeated, firmer, more insistent. When he trailed off, turned to look at her, she said seriously, "Derek, I'm not upset."

He blinked a few times, surprised. "You're not?" he asked as if he wasn't entirely sure he believed her.

She shook her head. "I kissed you back."

A beat.

"But..." he prompted, knowing all too well that that wasn't the end of the sentence.

"But this doesn't change anything," she finished. Her expression seemed almost sad and all too apologetic.

He nodded slowly. "I should go," he announced suddenly.

She seemed surprised by his sudden urge to depart when he'd seemed entirely at home there, with her and her son. "Derek..."

"You need your space," he insisted. "Time to bond with your little guy. I'll leave you two alone." He stood, grabbing the camera and heading to the door."

"Derek, wait," she called after him, but not loud enough to disturb the baby. She couldn't exactly chase after him or she risked waking the baby from his recently achieved slumber.

He was already out the door, though.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Fran asked. She sat on the edge of his bed watching him move through the room like a man possessed, stuffing possessions into his suitcase.

He nodded his insistence that he was, in fact, certain.

Fran hummed a note that clearly betrayed the fact that, try as she might to be supportive, she wasn't exactly thrilled with this development. "But it's almost Christmas," she said. "Can't it wait three days?"

"No, Mama, it can't," he insisted.

"But..." she tried to protest.

He sighed, frustrated, but not so much with his mother as with the situation. "Mama, I just had my heart stomped on a little bit," he reminded her.

She fixed him with a serious expression. "Derek, you're being childish," she informed him.

"Hey!" he yelped. "Mama, you're supposed to be on my side here..."

"I'm always on your side, Derek," she insisted. "But it's my duty as your mother to tell you when you're acting like a big baby." She gave him a pointed look, daring him to challenge her.

He tried to resist rolling his eyes because she was, afterall, his mother. But that didn't stop him from arguing, "I don't see how..."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Derek James Morgan, I love you, but you need to stop thinking about yourself right now."

"I'm trying, Mama," he maintained, "And I think it would be better for everyone if I leave."