Her black nails hung like beetles on the ends of her fingers, glinting as she stepped out of her beat up van in sweatpants and one of her dad's old t-shirts, the bump of her stomach concealed half-heartedly, earrings jangling lightly against her ears. She was seven months pregnant, and her once-vibrant pink hair had faded to a burnt orange. Her face had aged ten years in the last few months, mainly because of the combined stress of her mother, school and, of course, the unfortunate side affect of sex without condoms, but also influenced by the disappearance of the one person who she'd thought would always understand.

Her ex was gone, off to college in New York City where they'd always wanted to go. He had left a note, a paragraph of writing things that he hadn't had the courage to say. She'd read it at least a dozen times, and the paper was dotted with water marks from her tears and crinkled at the edges from use.

Slipping a protective hand underneath her sweatshirt, she spread her fingers into a spider web across her stomach, feeling a light kick of acknowledgement. She smiled to herself, a gentle upturn of the lips meant only for her and her baby. Then, in a soft coo of a voice, she began to speak, letting the sound carry across the nearly empty park, muffled against the August heat.

"What about…Evelyn?" she asked, pausing as if expecting an answer. She stayed there a moment, soaking in the moment before lifting a textbook out of the van and dragging it over to a nearby tree. Her breath was shallow with the effort, and she winced while awkwardly lowering herself down to rest on the grass, the book clutched tightly in one hand.

Willow branches dipped in front of her and behind, shading them as she flipped through the pages with practiced fingers. It was her mother's book, a book that she often stole from Ellis' bedside table just to skim over the diagrams, just to stare at the sketched outlines of brains and hearts and lungs. She poured over them, relishing the only connection she had with her mother; their love for science.

She propped the book underneath her stomach, hitching up her legs and giggling softly at the ridiculous notion that her baby could read along with her, that they could both drink in the diagrams, three generations of Grey women finding their own solace within the pages. Her mind was separated from the book this time, though, the usual calm not coming as easily to her as before.

She was debating adoption, debating the thought of handing over her baby girl to a stranger, someone who she wasn't sure would give her daughter everything. Of course, she knew that she wouldn't be able to give her daughter everything either.

"Hippocampus, Parietal lobe, Cerebellum."

The words sounded familiar and exotic at the same time, tainting her tongue. She spread her hand over her stomach again, sighing at the comfort that small, significant heartbeat gave her. She glanced up; clouds, branches, light. She sighed, closing the textbook, feeling the familiar sting of tears.

"What are we going to do, baby?" she asked, "should you be Evelyn or someone else?"

--

It had been two months since she'd given in to Derek's persistent stalking. Two dreamy months that had her practically begging to move in with him. But that was the thing- the thing that had her analyzing every aspect of their relationship from every possible angle- he wasn't begging her to move in with him.

He had hinted at it, flirting with the idea, but whenever she casually slipped it into a conversation, he'd change the subject abruptly. At first, she accepted it as nerves, maybe even insecurity. But, as time went on and things got even more serious, she started to notice other annoyingly miniscule details that got her wondering if everything was really as happily-ever-after as she'd hoped it would be. Like the fact that he wouldn't tell her about his family, or about where he lived before Seattle. Or that he shifted his feet awkwardly and changed the subject whenever she mentioned taking things a step forward. It wouldn't have bothered her so much if she wasn't falling so hard so fast, dangling on the edge between like and love and wondering why he wasn't sharing the feeling, why he wasn't dangling right along with her.

She wanted him to love her, to whisper the insignificant details to her late at night while her hair was splayed out over his chest, his fingers running lightly up and down her arm. She wanted him to fall as hard and as fast as she was, at the same pace so she wouldn't feel vulnerable and needy.

But, after another long shift and another long day, all he did was hold out his hand for her to take, grinning at her under masked eyes.

"Home?" he questioned rhetorically.

"Home," she sighed, not taking his offered hand.

"Mer…"

"Don't," she snapped, surprising both of them with the fire lacing the word "I've had a long shift and I don't want to argue about whether or not this is a relationship."

"Huh? Who says we're arguing?"

"I say we're arguing."

"But you just said-"

"Derek," she warned, "don't."

He held up his hands mockingly, staring at her back disbelievingly while she stalked ahead of him. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to think, to breathe. Seconds slip by before he sighs, jogging to catch up to her. He's almost to her when suddenly she's in his arms, both of them stunned at the sudden impact. Meredith, eyes trained on the obstacle before her, blindly tries to shrug off Derek's hold.

"Oh my god," a strangely familiar voice says, "I am so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going, see, because I was looking for…Dad!"

She launched into his arms, burrowing into his neck and leaning on the arm that wasn't still warily attached to Meredith. Hannah's arms snaked around his neck tightly, and Meredith was struggling to contain the flashes of emotion; shock, disbelief, pain. Her eyes blinked, and it was like she was moving in slow motion or paralyzed, willing her mind to move but frustrated to learn that it couldn't.

For Derek, the feeling that sparked when they were both in his arms was what he expected it should have been like if he had had children with Addison. It was quick, like a jolt of memory, unexpected but not unwelcome, their honey-blonde hair identical in a way that was utterly unbelievable to him. Was it possible for two unrelated people to look so much alike? Was it possible for him to almost-fall-in-love with someone who looked almost exactly like his nine year old daughter?

Within seconds it was over, the spell broken by a trembling Meredith who had finally gained control over her movement. When she was free of Derek's grasp, she took a few wavering steps forward, stumbling towards the sliding glass doors that held her only hope for escape.

"So," a voice called from the chairs off to her right, "you must be the woman who's been screwing my husband."

AN: I know, mean. But I will explain why Addison's there, I promise. In the meantime…review!!!