Disclaimer: If we owned Grey's Anatomy when Katie's net broke last night she wouldn't have gotten mad. She would have sighed and gone and slept with Paddy.
"Mommy," Dillon's voice woke me up two mornings later. "Mommy, where's my blue shirt? The one with Ninja turtles?"
"I don't know Dill," Meredith mumbled, not moving her head from the pillow.
"I gotta wear it today," he insisted, poking her arm. "Charlie and I are gonna be Ninja turtles in the tree house. Please, Mommy."
"Dill, it's early," Meredith groaned, rolling over.
"It's nine thirty," he said. "And Charlie and I are gonna be Ninja turtles at eleven. I need my blue shirt."
"Dill, I really shouldn't..." Meredith began.
"Mommy, please," he insisted. "Please."
I decided it was time that I spoke up. "Bud, you know what we said about Mommy having to stay in bed."
"I know," he said. "But she washed it. She'll know where it is. You won't know."
"I can look," I shrugged, sitting up a little too quickly and causing my head to swim slightly. I was too tired to move this quickly but Meredith had been trying to get up for two days, and if I moved too slowly she would.
"No, no, it's fine," Meredith sighed. "I can find it. You'll never find it, Derek."
"Meredith, bed rest. Just tell me where to look," I said, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"The laundry basket," she sighed. "In the garage. The yellow one."
"I can find that easily," I nodded, getting out of bed completely. "Come on, bud."
Dillon nodded and followed behind me closely. "You gotta find it, Daddy Derek."
"I will find it," I nodded, frowning. None of my family seemed to have any confidence with me on this one.
We went out to the garage where I found two yellow baskets. I looked down at Dillon, who had a frown on his face. "Daddy Derek, there are two yellow baskets. Maybe we should get Mommy."
"No, no, we can do this bud," I shook my head. "It's only two, we can look through both of them."
"But if we mess up Mom's piles, she'll get really angry," he said wisely.
"We can fix them," I nodded, staring down at one of the very full baskets. Of course laundry had been Meredith's duty. When you can't cook you're usually delegated to laundry. And that was fine when Meredith was good. But well, it left us in a small problem right now.
"Okay," he said slowly as he started digging through the first yellow basket, throwing the clothes to the side.
"Dill, be a little more careful, so there's less fixing," I laughed.
"It's not in here," he sighed. "Daddy Derek, if I don't wear the shirt, I can't be a Ninja turtle."
"We will find it, bud. You will be a ninja turtle," I nodded, rifling through my own yellow basket.
"And if I'm not a Ninja turtle then I can't play in the tree house," he continued. "And then I'll be bored all day."
"Dillon, you will be a Ninja turtle," I said again.
"And if I'm bored all day then I'm going to watch TV all day and Mommy says watching TV all day is really bad," he ignored me.
"Dillon!" I sighed, exasperated. "You will be a Ninja turtle."
"But I can't without my shirt!" he exclaimed. "And we can't find it!"
"The shirt has to be somewhere," I sighed.
"Is it in your basket?" he asked.
"Well...no," I said, looking around at the other baskets. "But unless you left it at your Daddy's it has to be here."
"I'm going to get Mommy," he sighed, starting to go back inside.
"Dillon, Mommy can't get out of bed," I reminded him grabbing his arm. "We can do this."
"But you can't find it," he insisted. "And she gets out of bed to go potty. So she can get out for a second to find my shirt. Cause Daddy Derek, I need my shirt."
"I can find it. And she can't look for a shirt. If she looks for a shirt Mommy might get sick again, and then Aunt Addie won't be happy with us," I explained.
He frowned for a second. "If you don't find my shirt, I'll never talk to you again. Mommy would have found it by now."
"So our whole entire relationship lays on this shirt?" I looked at him increduously.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I need my shirt, Daddy Derek. I need it."
"And we will find it," I nodded. I really needed to find this shirt.
I started to dig around in other baskets, wondering how in the world Meredith had it all sorted. The shirt was missing. It was absolutely missing. "We're not going to find it," he sighed.
"Not with that attitude," I said pointedly. "Do you remember the last time you wore it?"
"I wore it last week, the day before I went to Daddy's," he said. "Cause we played Ninja Turtles then and I got pizza on it and Mommy was really angry at me. But I had to, because Ninja turtles eat pizza."
"Ninja turtles do eat pizza," I nodded in agreement. "Did you give it to Mommy to wash?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "She said she'd wash it while I was at Daddy's."
"Okay, do you know where she puts the dirty clothes before she washes them?" I asked looking around the room.
"In the yellow basket," he said. "By the washing machine."
"Let's check there," I sighed walking towards it.
"What if it's dirty?" he asked. "Will Mommy wash it?"
"I will wash it," I answered.
He stared at me incredulously. "Um...Daddy Derek, do you know how?"
"Of course I know how, I lived by myself before I met you guys," I laughed, and left out the detail that I usually had my mom do the wash.
He reached into the basket and, sure enough, there was the t-shirt. "Shit," he muttered.
"Pardon me?" I asked him.
"Uncle Mark says it," he shrugged. "Shit."
"Dillon, you know you shouldn't repeat anything that comes out of Uncle Mark's mouth," I shook my head.
"Uncle Mark said when something really bad happens you should say shit," he told me. "And my shirt is dirty. And that's bad. So shit."
"Shit is a bad word Dillon. If your mom heard it you would lose your toys," I warned him, taking the shirt.
"It has pizza on it," he sighed.
"It has pizza on it, but we can take care of that," I nodded.
"Are you sure you know how?" he stared at me as he climbed onto a chair next to the washing machine.
"How hard can it be?" I shrugged looking at the buttons on the machine. This couldn't be hard. I had never really done it, trailers didn't lead to having washing machines. But it couldn't be hard. The machine didn't have that many buttons. And I'm a brain surgeon. I operate on brains, I save lives, I can wash a little boy's shirt.
I looked at the shirt, glancing at the pizza stain on it. Soap. I would need soap. But what kind of soap? I looked at the tag and found washing instructions, nodding firmly. Okay, this wouldn't be bad. But the stain. I needed to get the stain out. "Um, Daddy Derek?" Dillon said slowly.
"Yeah, bud?" I asked, almost hoping he'd have some ingenious answer.
"You don't know, do you?" he asked.
"No. But I'm a brain surgeon. I can figure this out," I nodded. Nodding was good, I had been doing that a lot today. But nodding, nodding was good. It made me feel like I wasn't clueless.
"Maybe we should ask Mom," he said carefully.
"If we ask Mom she's going to want out of bed," I told him. "No asking Mom."
"But Daddy Derek," he sighed.
"What bud?" I sighed myself.
"I need my shirt," he repeated. "And Mommy can clean it."
"Mommy can't get out of bed," I replied. "And we can do this."
"I can't," he shook his head. "I'm not allowed."
"Why aren't you allowed?" I asked him confused.
"Because I'm too small," he answered. "Mom says I'll ruin the clothes."
"I say you can help. Now do you know if Mom has any stain remover?" I asked.
He nodded and pointed to the shelf above the washing machine. "Up there."
"Good, that's good," I nodded, looking through the bottles for the stain remover.
"She sprays it," he said wisely.
"We can spray it," I stated, grabbing the bottle. I quickly glanced at the directions and sure enough Dillon was right. I placed the dirty shirt on the washer and sprayed the stain.
"And then rub it," he stated. "Rub it really hard."
"Okay," I nodded, grabbing a sponge. A sponge seemed like the best thing to rub it with. It seemed...right.
"That's not how Mommy does it," he suddenly said.
"And how does mommy do it?" I sighed.
"She rubs the shirt together one the spot," he answered. "Maybe we should go get her."
"We are not going to get her," I groaned. Because she had to stay in bed. And if she had any idea that I had no idea how to clean a shirt I would never hear the end of it. Ever. I grabbed the shirt and rubbed it the way Meredith did. "Is that better?"
"Yeah," he shrugged.
"We can do this," I nodded again, examining the shirt to see how the stain was looking.
"Is it off?" he asked, standing on the chair to examine the shirt with me.
"I think so," I said.
"Now what?" he looked expectantly at me.
"I guess we wash it now," I shrugged, looking at the washing machine and all it's buttons once again. It looked more complicated than the human brain. And I would know.
"So we need soap," he said. "Right?"
"Soap. Soap would be good," I nodded in agreement.
"Mommy has powder soap and liquid soap," he reported. "Which one do we use?"
"I don't know," I sighed looking at both of them. "Which one does she use usually?"
He shrugged. "She uses them the same," he frowned. "Maybe we should get her."
"Bud, we don't need her," I shook my head. "We'll use...liquid."
"You sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure," I nodded.
"Okay," he nodded. "How much?"
"Well...ummm..." I cleared my throat. "How much does the bottle say?"
"Ummm," he stared at it. "I dunno. It says a lot of things."
"Let me see," I said, grabbing the bottle from him and looking at the side. "Okay, we need enough to fill this cup."
"Maybe we should do more," he frowned. "It's really dirty."
"No, I think the one cup should be enough," I nodded.
"Okay," he said, though he sounded doubtful. "Now what?"
"Now we turn the washer on," I said, staring at the buttons.
"What button is it?" he stood on his chair again, staring with me at the many buttons.
"That's a good question," I sighed.
"Maybe we should get Mommy," he said yet again.
"We don't need Mommy," I shook my head. "I think the start button would be good."
"There are lots of words," he said. "De-deli-delicate. What's that mean?"
"It means tiny things that get ripped easily, like lace and stuff," I explained.
"Heavy," he read next. "Normal. Which one?"
"Normal, this would be normal," I said. "And we should probably throw some other stuff in."
"What kind of stuff?" he asked, ducking his head into the dirty clothes yellow basket.
"What stuff is there?" I asked.
"Underwear and t-shirts," he said. "And a blanket. And sweaters."
"Sounds good, but it can't be white. You can't mix whites with colours," I said confidently, happy to know something.
"Derek?" Meredith appeared in the doorway, her hand on her belly. "What is taking so long?"
"Nothing, we're fine," I smiled. "And you should be in bed."
"Mommy, Daddy Derek doesn't know how to wash my shirt," Dillon reported.
"That's a lie, I know how to wash his shirt," I argued.
"Nu uh," Dillon shook his head. "He doesn't know how to turn on the machine. And don't call me a liar, Daddy Derek. You're a liar."
"That wasn't a lie. We're working on it, we're figuring it out," I nodded, smiling at Meredith's amused glance.
"Figuring it out?" Meredith asked, stepping in front of the machine, quickly turning it on and throwing other similarly colored shirts in with the ninja turtle shirt. "You're forty years old and you're just now figuring out how to use a washing machine?"
I cleared my throat and smiled sheepishly at her. "I didn't have room for one in the trailer."
"Do not tell me you made your poor mother do your wash," she sighed as she poured the liquid soap into the wash and then closed the top, turning to stare at me.
"She wanted to do my wash," I argued. "She liked being involved in my life."
"You're pathetic, Derek Shepherd," she rolled her eyes.
"And you're supposed to be in bed," I argued.
"I know," she nodded. "I was just getting worried."
"And now you know I haven't killed our son you should be back in bed," I said, turning her so she faced the door.
"I'm going, I'm going," she sighed as she moved into the kitchen. I couldn't help but smile as I noticed she was waddling a little. "Do you know how to work a dryer?"
"We can figure it out," I reassured her.
"Oh God," she sighed. "Dill, come get me when it's time to dry your shirt, okay?"
"Meredith you will be in bed, no one will come and get you," I shook my head.
"Dillon, promise me," she looked at her son. "Because Daddy Derek is going to end up blowing up the house."
"I am not going to blow up the house," I groaned.
"I promise, Mom," Dillon nodded with a smile on his face.
"You know I found your shirt for you, you should be on my side," I pointed out.
"I have to have my shirt really soon though," he said. "And I like my room. I don't want it to blow up."
"Nothing is going to blow up," I sighed. "Except for maybe me."
"Why are you gonna blow up?" he asked me as we watched Meredith make her way up the stairs.
"Because living with Greys is enough to make a man blow up," I laughed.
"I heard that," Meredith called. "And you have a trailer."
"I have to get rid of that trailer so you can stop using that as a threat," I yelled back.
"You can stay with Mark if you want," she threatened.
"You would leave me with him?" I gasped.
"I wouldn't want you blowing up," she replied. "Mark is the better option of the two."
"I don't know about that, Mer," I laughed. "Besides what would you ever do without me?"
"I'd find a way to deal," she replied. "Now, feed our son and bring me breakfast."
"You'd starve without me," I laughed heading to the kitchen.
"Pancakes," Dillon ordered as he climbed onto the stools at the bar.
"Wouldn't dream of making anything else," I said, grabbing the flour out of the cupboard.
"You make the best pancakes, Daddy Derek," he smiled as he played with some army men he had left on the counter.
"Thanks, bud," I smiled, and gave him a quick kiss on his head.
"You wouldn't really go away, would you?" he asked.
"No, I wouldn't really go away. Ever," I answered.
"And you're not gonna blow up, right?"
"I'm not going to blow up," I laughed. "And neither is the dryer."
"When will Mommy be able to get out of bed?" he asked as he made shooting noises.
"Tomorrow," I sighed. "But she's still going to have to take it easy, which means we're both going to have to do more."
"Like what?" he asked.
"A whole bunch of things, like the laundry and dishes. And we have to make sure we keep the house clean," I answered.
"Are we gonna go shopping again?" he asked, tears in his eyes.
"Yeah, bud. We're going to have to, why?"
"We can't go to the toy store," he said softly. "Mommy might get sick again."
"Mommy won't be able to come with us," I sighed, walking over and wrapping an arm around him. "And bud, the toy store had nothing to do with Mommy getting sick."
"She got sick when we were there," he said. "So no more toy store. What if you get sick? Or I get sick?"
"Bud, the toy store didn't make her sick," I sighed. "Mommy has had a long pregnancy, a lot has happened and she's been tired. That made her sick, not the store."
"How come she didn't get sick at the other stores?" he asked seriously.
"I don't know bud, it was just a timing thing, nothing more," I explained.
"Are you sure?" he stared at me.
"I'm sure. The toy store is safe."
"Okay," he nodded. "Daddy Derek, are we gonna finish Megan's room? Or is Mommy gonna do it?"
"We're going to do it," I nodded.
"Mom Kimmy said she'd help," he told me.
"Good. We can give her a call," I suggested.
"We should," he nodded. "Cause she said she'll make Megan's room into a little girl's dream."
"Then we definitely have to call her," I laughed.
"Do we call her now?" he asked.
"It's a little early, we'll call her later," I told him.
"Okay," he nodded as I put a plate in front of him. "Daddy Derek, my daddy says that if Megan comes early, she might have to have surgeons. Would you surgeon her?"
"No, I can't surgeon on family," I explained.
"You surgeoned Grandma," he stated.
"That was...different," I sighed.
"Why?" he asked as he poured syrup liberally over his pancakes.
"It was an emergency," I tried to tell him.
"But Megan would be a 'mergency," he pushed the plate toward me, waiting for me to cut his pancakes.
"She would be bud, but...Grandma didn't need surgery, she just needed...taking care of. Megan might need surgery and I'm not allowed to do that. Besides if Megan comes early your mommy is going to need me."
"Okay," he nodded as he took the first bite of his pancakes. "You better go give Mommy her breakfast, Daddy Derek. Or she'll make you go to Uncle Mark's house."
"I'm on my way," I said, grabbing the plate and a glass of orange juice.
I went upstairs to find Meredith in bed, her hand on her stomach and a pregnancy book in her hands. "Pancakes?" she smiled as she put the book aside.
"Our son demanded them," I smiled.
She laughed lightly as she took the plate from my hands. "They smell good," she told me. "Lay down with me?"
"Of course," I nodded, sliding onto the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," she said, taking a bite. "My back hurts a little, but I'm fine. And your daughter has apparently discovered that kicking me in the ribs repeatedly hurts and gets my attention."
"Want me to tell her to stop?" I laughed.
"You could," she nodded, "but I doubt it would do any good."
"Megan listens to me," I reminded her and then looked at her stomach. "Meggie, stop kicking your mom."
Meredith laughed. "Now, she listens. But when she's born, I think you'll be listening to her," she grinned at me. "Dill's birthday is in two weeks."
"Is it?" I asked, running my hand over her stomach.
"Yes," she nodded. "Two weeks. He's going to want a party."
"That's okay, we can handle a party," I smiled.
"There will be about twenty kids invited," she told me. "And I promised him a big one this year. Now, I don't mind planning it. The cake and the presents. I just wanted to warn you."
"You don't have to plan it," I shook my head. "You'll be nearly 8 months by then and will be taking it easy. I've got this."
"Derek," she sighed, "you can't work a washer. Do you really think you can plan a seven year old's birthday party?"
"Do seven year old's birthday parties include working washers?" I asked in a serious tone.
"No," she shook her head. "But there's the cake and the decorations and the entertainment and watching the kids. And the activities."
"I can do all that," I sighed. "I'll get Lucas to help."
"Oh God," she sighed. "This is going to be a nightmare."
"We're Dillon's fathers, you should have faith in us"
"Derek, really, I'm fine to plan this," she insisted. "It's not that stressful. I can do thsi."
"I want to do it," I frowned. "It's good bonding between son and fathers."
"Okay," she sighed. "But you have to promise me that if it gets too overwhelming, you ask me for help."
"I will come to you for help often," I nodded.
"And if you and Lucas can't do this," she looked at me seriously, "don't worry about it. I can do it. Don't worry about me."
"It's my job to worry about you," I argued.
"No, it's your job to go and worry about other people," she argued back. "Speaking of, when do you go to work this week?"
"Day after tomorrow," I sighed. I didn't want to go to work. Because the second I went to work Meredith would be trying to do everything around the house, all at once. And it would be bad. She needed me here.
"I'll be fine, Derek," she assured me, her fingers tangling themselves in my hair.
"I know, I just...I want to be here to watch out for you," I said.
"I'm going to be careful," she promised. "I want Meggie to be healthy. I'll be careful."
"Good," I kissed her, letting my mouth lingers on her for a bit. "You're my everything, Mer."
"I love you," she whispered, her tongue slipping gently into my mouth.
"I love you too," I whispered, kissing her back passionately. "And we better not start something we can't finish."
"I fully plan on finishing," she giggled as she put the plate on the bedside table before bringing me down for a long passionate kiss, her fingers lightly grazing my jaw.
"We can't," I moaned.
"Hmmm," she moaned. "I need you."
"God, Mer," I whispered, letting my hand travel to cup her breast. "I need you too. But we can't."
"This is so wrong," she sighed as she nuzzled my neck.
"I know," I mumbled. "The second we can, the second, we're giving the brats to someone else and having our weekend away."
She giggled and brought my hand to her stomach, where Megan was kicking violently. "Someone doesn't appreciate being called a brat."
I laughed and kissed her stomach. "Sorry princess, but I want to have sex with your mommy and because of you, I can't. That definitely makes you a brat."
I laughed as I felt a kick directly under my lips and Meredith ran her fingers through my hair. "Derek."
"Yeah" I asked, turning my head to look up at her.
"I know it's moved really fast," she started carefully, "and I know this probably wasn't in your plans a year ago. But I am glad you're here with me. And I am glad we're going to have Megan."
"There is no where else for me to be," I sighed happily. "This is where I belong."
"We're going to do this right though next time," she laughed. "No more kids until we're married."
"No more kids until we're married," I agreed smiling. "We have to start planning that."
"Not now," she shook her head. "Right now, we have to start talking about a birth plan and..." She was cut off by the ringing of my cell phone.
"One second," I said to her sitting up and grabbing the phone. "Shepherd."
"Derek?" Mark's voice came on the line, sounding slightly panicked.
"Yes?" I asked, reaching over and giving Meredith's hand a slight squeeze.
"Addie just called me," he said quickly. "Something about news about Mom."
"Oh, how did she sound?" I asked, trying to keep any panic out of my voice. Because Meredith didn't need panic.
"Like a doctor," he said. "I don't know. The same way we sound when we tell patients we have news about their families."
I sighed deeply into the phone. "Does she want us to meet her at the hospital?"
"Yeah," he replied. "I'm on my way now."
"I'll leave now," I said, hanging up the phone and then turning to a very concerned looking Meredith. "News about Mom."
"I'll come with you," she said, already moving to get out of bed.
"No you will not," I said, gently holding her down. "You need to be in bed and you definitely don't need this stress."
"Derek, she's...well, she's my mom too," she softly insisted.
I smiled at her words and sat back down beside her, gently stroking her cheek. "I know she is. But right now she'd want you in this bed taking care of her grandchild. I promise I will let you know what's happening."
"Okay," she sighed as she leaned into my touch. "I'll call Izzie to come over and help with Dill."
"Good plan," I smiled and kissed her quickly. "I shouldn't be gone long."
She nodded and then grabbed my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "She's going to be fine, Der."
"I hope so," I said, kissing her again. "Love you."
"Love you too," she smiled.
I headed downstairs to tell Dillon what was happening and took a deep breath. Mom had to be okay. She had been doing better, things had been starting to look up. The doctors were being a lot more positive. And now there was news. Big, scary, ominous news. She had to be okay.
"I want to lay like this forever until the sky falls down on me..."