This was the first time Derek Shepherd would dread being on a ferryboat. And it was the first time in four years that he'd been on the ferryboat with his mother. Now twenty-two, Derek had filled out and tamed his wild hair into a manageable coif, albeit maybe a little too greasy. But his heart was heavy today. He only hoped that what he was about to do was a good thing.

The late summer air was humid and a little cool as morning mist was parted by the wind and waves. He turned his back to the rails, not wanting to face his destination just yet, he sighed heavily, a long deep exhale from the very pit of him and stared blankly ahead.

"You're doing a good thing, dear." His mother said from her spot beside him. Unlike him, she faced forward to their destination.

"I know...I just-"

"Derek. You were a boy, playing a game. It was an accident. Mrs. Boetcher knows that, she doesn't blame you." His mother said, matter of factly.

"Hm." He rumbled, nodding. He knew that of course, but still there was that niggling feeling. If he hadn't acted out, or allowed his anger to get the best of him... if he hadn't hit Michael so hard he wouldn't be here making this trip with his mother and her casserole.

But then, would he have pursued Neuroscience?

Would he have wanted to go to medical school to be a surgeon?

For a long time he wanted to be a cop, because of his father's death. But then he realized that cops don't really fix things. Police, detectives, lawyers, prosecutors, didn't fix things... they just cleaned up messes.

Eight years ago, Derek Shepherd made a mess during an intense hockey practice session, he let Michael Boetcher get to him, and in a moment of weakness he cross-checked his teammate into the boards. Hard. They both went down.

Michael got up, shrugged it off and continued on like it was nothing.

It felt good hitting him. He would never admit that to anyone, but it felt good. Until the next day, when his mother picked him up from school and told him that Michael was in the hospital, in serious condition.

She drove him there to meet Mrs. Boetcher, Karen. They were there when the doctor explained what a pontis bleed was, and that Michael would be confined to a bed his whole life, and his only way of communicating was through blinking. Derek felt like his whole world was a mess.

Right now, he was on his way to see Michael and Karen, and to tell them in person that...

He couldn't fix Michael. The damage was already done. But because of what happened he would learn how to fix people. Save people. He would learn how to advocate for better care for concussions and head injuries, so symptoms could be detected sooner.

Because Michael Boetcher was a mess he'd spend his whole life cleaning up.

He didn't need anymore messes.

"Derek?"

"I'm going to a doctor soon, ma," he said. "Because of Michael, because I destroyed a life, a family... I-" How come bad things have to happen to force you to realize the good in life?

"Derek, you always wanted to help people. You always wanted what was right and good. You always cheered for the underdog... Your decision to be a doctor isn't about making up for what you did... it was always in your character to begin with. This accident only gave you the passion you needed to focus. And by God, you've done that."

"I just wish..." It didn't come at such a high cost.

"I know."

"What do I tell them? How do I-"

His mother sighed and ran her hands through her son's hair before cupping his face. She nodded to the oncoming shore. "Look at the horizon, son. We're moving toward something. This isn't something you should dread. You are about to tell a man who can do nothing but lie in a bed all day that he is the reason you've been accepted into Columbia University, and he is the reason you're pursuing medicine, and he is the reason that sometime soon in the future you are going to be able to save a life, many lives, in fact. And so despite Michael's condition... despite the fact that he is paralysed, you are going to act on his behalf to fix broken people."

Carolyn Shepherd always had a way with words.

Derek swallowed and turned his gaze to the shore, the horizon. She was right, he couldn't look back. He couldn't dwell on the past. He was on a Ferryboat. On his way to tell a man that he was indirectly responsible for saving hundreds of lives in the future. Put that way... it sounded good.

Ferryboats were about moving forward.