Derek stuck his head into the bathroom. "Is she okay?" he asked quietly.

"She's not feeling all that good," Rose answered. "But I think she's doing okay now. Could you maybe carry her upstairs for me?"

"Yeah," he said, bending down carefully and scooping Meredith up.

"Watch her head," Rose said, cupping a hand around the top of Meredith's head to keep it from banging on the door frame.

Derek walked up the stair carefully. He went through the door, and Rose ran ahead to peel the blankets back. Placing Meredith carefully on the bed, he pulled the covers up and tucked her in.

"I'm going to sit up here for a little while longer and make sure she's okay," Rose said, "and then I'll come down."

"All right," Derek said. "I'm going to go make some phone calls."

"Okay," Rose said, draping the afghan from the back of the corner armchair across her lap.

As Derek left the room, Rose leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

"What happened to your son?" Meredith asked, so quietly that Rose almost missed it.

Meredith's eyelids felt like they were weighted. She let them drift shut again as Rose talked.

"He was six. He had acute leukemia."

"I'm sorry," Meredith whispered.

"Me too," Rose answered. She got behind the armchair and pushed it closer to the bed, leaning over to wipe the sweat off of Meredith's face. "No more getting sick on me, okay?" she teased gently.

"Okay," Meredith readily agreed. "I'm definitely good with that."

"It gets easier."

"It can't," Meredith protested weakly.

"It does still hurt, every day. But every day, it gets a little easier. Every day, it hurts a tiny bit less."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes," Rose answered firmly. "I do."

"Okay," Meredith murmured.

"You need to get some rest," Rose said, but before the sentence was out of her mouth, Meredith was already asleep.

OooooooooooooooO

Meredith shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen the next morning, leaning on the railing the entire way to keep her balance.

"Hey," Derek said, looking up from the stove. "You up to eating?"

"Maybe just a little," she answered, folding her body into one of the dining chairs to give her legs a rest.

"One pancake?"

"That sounds good."

"We have to talk about stuff," Derek said hesitantly.

"I know," she said, taking the plate that he offered. Stabbing at the pancake with her fork, she repeated. "I know."

Rose appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame and nibbling on a granola bar. "Maybe not today," she said, trying to gently guide the conversation.

"There's a memorial meeting…service…whatever you want to call it…at the big church down the road from the high school today," Meredith said, stirring a tiny piece of pancake into the syrup.

"Do you want to go?" Derek asked.

"Do you?" Meredith countered.

He nodded slightly. "Yeah, sort of. I think it would be nice."

Staring down at her plate, Meredith answered, "Maybe."

OooooooooooooooO

Addison knocked lightly on Lanie's door before pushing it open slightly.

"Hi," she said.

Lanie looked up from the notebook she was writing in. "Hey, Mom," she said, clipping the pen to the cover of the notebook and setting it aside.

"I made breakfast," Addison said, offering it as the only thing she could give to her daughter. "I thought maybe we could go downstairs and eat together?" Addison couldn't think of any other way to get her out of her room, and she didn't want Lanie to spend another whole day in there.

Pushing back the covers, Lanie slipped out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe. "Okay," she agreed, following her mother out of the room and down the stairs.

Addison pulled her chair out for her before sitting down in her own.

"Waffles," Lanie smiled slightly. It was the first Addison had seen anything even resembling a smile since the shootings. "You used to make these all the time when I was little, when you weren't gone as much." She picked up the syrup bottle and drowned the waffles in syrup just like she had done when she was smaller.

"Little waffle with your syrup?" Addison cracked.

"Of course," she answered. After a couple of bites, she asked, "Mom? Don't you have to go to work?"

"Not yet," Addison answered. "Not for a while yet."

"Oh," she answered. After eating for a couple more minutes, she reached out and pulled over the morning paper.

"Lanie," Addison said, alarmed, trying to grab it away before she could look at it.

"Mom," she snapped, pushing Addison's hand away. "It's okay! I want to see it." Unfolding the paper, she looked at the full color photo on the front page. "That's Mr. O' Malley. My homeroom teacher." Looking up at Addison, she asked, "He was Doug's father, right?"
Addison nodded carefully. "Yes, he was."

"He was my teacher. It's still…hard to believe." Lanie pushed aside her now empty plate, pulling the paper closer. "Can we…can we go to this?" she asked, pointed at an article on the lower corner of the front page.

Addison scooted her chair over so that she could look at the page beside her.

"There's a memorial service today. I'd sort of like to go," Lanie said quietly, tracing the picture of her teacher with her fingers.

"Are you sure?" Addison questioned gently.

She nodded, staring down at the table. "It's not real yet," she answered, flipping open the paper to look at several more articles about the shootings on the inside. "I need…I need to go."

"Okay," Addison agreed, not want to push any further. "We can go."

"I should go get dressed then," she said, almost absently, pushing her chair back from the table.

"Do you want help?" Addison offered.

"Nah," she shook her head. "I've got it, I think." She started up the stairs, but stopped halfway to look back over her shoulder. "I'll call you if I need you."

"All right."