Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your wonderful comments! :)

It should be known that I hate writing filler. But sometimes you need a little filler so the next part makes sense. So, here is a filler chapter. But just you wait for the next one! I have grand, grand plans :)

P.S. I've recently become obsessed with Castle (only four years since the premiere - so what?) and if you know any good Castle FF, let me know!

Meredith sits in my kitchen, at the small corner table, with her knees pulled to her chest. She reads the newspaper and slowly eats a bowl of cereal. She's only been here one night, but it feels like she never left. I watch her undetected for a minute. She follows the words on the page with her finger and mouths the text between bites. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She clears a fallen eyelash away from her cheek. She smiles at something. I could simply watch her all morning.

I walk into the kitchen as if I hadn't been standing there all along. "Morning."

Meredith smiles around her spoon. "Morning," she says through the milk and cereal in her mouth.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Really good. It's better than camping in a tent," she laughs. "Thanks again for this, Derek. I know a thank you doesn't really cover everything you're doing for me, but I really do appreciate it."

I grab an apple from the fridge and lean against the counter next to the sink. "You don't need to thank me. I'm happy to have you here." My phone rings in my pocket. Mark. I sigh and pick up the call, "Hi Mark." I roll my eyes at Meredith and she smiles in return.

"How was night one?"

"Fine." I step out of the kitchen and walk through to my bedroom. "We ate, Meredith went to bed, and I went to bed. It's pretty much what I usually do, but with a seventeen-year-old audience."

"Where is she now?"

"In the kitchen." I scrub my hand over my face. I left my apple in the kitchen and I'm starving.

"Where are you?"

I plop down on the edge of my bed. "If you ask me what I'm wearing next, I'm going to punch you. What's with the third degree?"

"I got an email this morning from Rick Beckett at Sinai. I guess Dr. Grey started today."

Mount Sinai is all the way uptown on the Upper East Side. Sinai is closer to the Bronx than to Christopher Street, but the thought that Ellis Grey is now sharing a city with Meredith and me is nerve-racking. The likelihood that Ellis will ever make it to the Village is slim to none, but that doesn't mean Meredith can't make it to the park or the Guggenheim, or any other location close to Sinai.

"Thanks Mark. I'll let Meredith know."

"No problem, man. So, what are you guys up to today?"

"I hadn't really gotten that far."

"Come over to my place. I had a barbecue put inand I want to fire it up this afternoon. Hamburgers, hotdogs, maybe even s 'mores."

"Where the hell are you putting a barbecue? In your living room?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's on the roof. I'm preparing everything for my birthday extravaganza this weekend."

"Ah, there it is." I try to block out Mark's birthday every year. He goes way over the top and I always end up really, really drunk. "I'll talk to Meredith. I'll text you later."

"See you at seven. Bring beer."

Mark hangs up and I walk back into the kitchen. Meredith is no longer at the table and her cereal bowl is rinsed and drying in the dish rack beside the sink. I pick up my apple and take a bite, considering Ellis's new home here in New York, and allow myself to grow distracted by a flock of pigeons flying past my window. New York City has over eight million people living within her streets; I doubt I'll ever run into Ellis.

I'm not used to anyone else being in my apartment, so when Meredith slides up next to me, I jump and almost drop my apple. She laughs at me.

"That was very manly of you," she teases me. "I guess you'll have to get used to having me in the house again."

"Yeah, guess so."

"What's wrong?" Meredith's brow furrows.

I sigh and dump my apple core in the trash. "Your mom is in New York."

"I know."

I turn to her and cross my arms over my chest. "How?" I imagine Meredith and Ellis meeting clandestinely under the cover of evening shadows.

"Her conference in DC. Remember? She told everyone she'd be taking a job at Mount Sinai."

"How'd you know she's here now?"

Meredith shrugs, "I didn't, not really. I mean, I just figured she was. Mount Sinai doesn't wait for anyone, even Dr. Ellis Grey. I knew she'd be moving here within the next few weeks." Meredith's cheeks grow pink. I wonder what it's like to know your mother is so close, but have no desire to see her. "How'd you know she'd moved?"

"Mark told me. He knows someone at Sinai." I pause, wondering if Mark's friend Rick would be okay with keeping tabs on Ellis. I revert my attention back to Meredith. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"It's weird that your mom is so close."

"I'll have to stay away from the park," she smirks. "Or at least the East Side."

"Nothing happens on the East Side anyway."

Meredith fiddles with the bottom of her tee shirt. "Thanks for telling me, Derek. I know you already have enough to worry about without me stealing all the hot water and eating all your eggs. The last thing you need to worry about is my mother on top of everything else."

"I'm not worried about your mother and I don't need to worry about you. You're a smart girl, Meredith. And you can use as much hot water as you like," I tease.

Her mouth turns into a grin. "So, what are you doing today?"

"Who, besides Mark Sloan, puts a barbecue in right before his birthday?" Meredith asks as we walk from 72nd street to 80th.

I carry a black plastic bag with a six-pack of Heineken and Meredith carries a chocolate cake from Magnolia's. "Unfortunately, Mark has done some pretty crazy shit for his birthday. For his nineteenth, he rented an island in the Caribbean and flew all his friends down for the weekend. He didn't even ask anyone for a cent. And then, for his twenty-first, his ten best friends and him visited Ireland and we got drunk every single night."

"What's the point of that? He'd been legal in Ireland since eighteen."

"With Mark, it's all about the shock. I'm sure this year will be just as over-the-top."

Meredith and I enter Mark's building—right across from the Museum of Natural History—and wait while the doorman calls upstairs. Mark has been rich since birth. His father works on Wall Street and his mother owns an art gallery in Tribeca. Before his parents, his grandparents were wealthy, too. When Mark decided to attend Columbia, his mother immediately called her real estate agent and found the best apartment she could on the Upper West Side—a $5.7 million, three bedroom, four bathroom condo right across the street from the park. What a twenty-one year old needs with a three bedroom apartment—especially when his parents own two other apartments in the city—is beside me.

I barely notice the lobby anymore, but Meredith looks around fascinated. "Mark's in the penthouse, of course."

"Of course," Meredith sighs. "Lifestyles of the rich and the famous."

"I saw your mom's house. It didn't look like you were struggling back then."

Meredith nods, "No, we weren't. But there's a difference between owning a house with a yard with the ocean in your backyard and a Central Park condo. Real estate is only about your cross streets in Manhattan."

"True, but Mark does have a pretty sweet rooftop."

"I'm sure he does."

The doorman allows us to pass and we ride the penthouse elevator to the fortieth floor. Mark throws his door open with a grin. "Ah, it's the teenage runaway!"

Meredith rolls her eyes, "It's nice to see you too, Mark."

"Bring it in for the real thing." Mark wraps his arms around Meredith's shoulders and she hands the cake off to me before it crashes to the ground. Meredith doesn't seem to reject Mark's advances and I'm equal parts happy and jealous of their reunion; I've barely touched Meredith since she showed up, let alone hugged her. Mark whispers something into her ear which makes her laugh and then push him away.

"Ew, Mark!" she smacks his arm.

He laughs and his eyes meet mine. "Come on in. I have to show you the roof."

Mark leads us through his apartment—which is swimming in boxes and party supplies—and up the back stairwell that leads to the roof. When Mark and I first moved to the city—during our sophomore year—we spent a lot of time on his barren roof drinking and smoking. It took me months to realize being a doctor and a smoker was not a good mix and quit the latter. But since then, I haven't been on Mark's roof once. All I can remember is dirt from the rain staining my shoes and—

The barren roof no longer exists. The one-thousand square foot space has been transformed into a garden oasis, outfitted with potted plants, low colorful planters, and vines creeping up around a trellis that covers half the roof. Under the trellis is a state-of-the-art hot tub surrounded by lounge chairs. The hot tub is already bubbling and every few minutes the water color changes from blue to green to red to yellow and back to blue. On the other end of the roof is a long, glass dining table surrounded by ten chairs and a barbecue and ample counter space. A teak bar monopolizes the area and is stocked with liquor, beer, and wine. All along the roof edge is a new railing, each section wrapped in twinkling lights.

"Holy shit," Meredith says. She dips her hand into the hot tub.

"When did you do all of this?"

Mark slides his hands into his pockets and I can see that he's very pleased with himself. "I've had my interior decorator working on it for weeks. She just finished two days ago, actually. Just in time for my party."

"When's your party?" Meredith asks.

"Saturday night. And your attendance is mandatory."

"Mark, she's seventeen."

Meredith glares at me.

"So? We did a lot worse than attend a safe house party at the age of seventeen."

I glance at Meredith and she's since crossed her arms over her chest. All I imagine is Meredith falling over the side of the building from one too many vodka cranberries. I promised myself I wouldn't be her father and keeping her home would have me stepping right into that role. Instead I smile and nod, "Yeah, of course we'll both be here."

Meredith beams.

"Let's take this grill out for a trial run. Burgers and hotdogs?" Mark asks over his shoulder.

"I'm starving," Meredith calls after Mark and follows him back down the steps.

I stay on the roof to look out over the park. I've stood here and looked in the same direction more times than I could ever count, but it seems different now. My life seems different now. The park looks quiet from up here, but as the sun sets, I know its bustling with joggers, bicyclists, dog walkers, little leaguers, drunks, performance artists, men, women, children, dogs, horses, pigeons, and every other walk of life NYC has to offer. And all I can think of is Meredith being chased down the long, winding paths, not knowing if she's running deeper into the trees or headed toward safety.

I wonder how many women have been followed in Central Park. I wonder how many women have been dragged underneath one of the dark bridges and forced against their will. How many women haven't been as lucky as Meredith? I imagine if it were my mom or my sisters; I imagine what I would feel if one of them had been dragged behind a rock formation with a hand pressed over her mouth to keep her from screaming. I shutter and try to push the thoughts away, but with the list of important women growing in my life, I can only imagine all the horrors that they face every day.

However, at the end of the day, Meredith is tough. Hell, my mom and sisters are tough. They're not the kind of women to take anything lying down. Kathy and Nancy are tougher broads than any I know. I'm not saying they could take down multiple men, but if presented in the situation, I wholeheartedly believe that Nancy, Kathleen, and my mother could all take down a single assailant. I imagine Meredith being able to hold her own as well, but then I remember her pinned against the alleyway on Perry Street. How, when Meredith is so strong, had he gained the upper hand?

"Hey," Meredith pulls me from my daydreams. "Hamburger or hotdog? Or both?"

She's here and she's very much alive. She's fine. She'll continue to be fine.

"One of each."

While Mark mans the grill, he grills Meredith on almost every subject we have yet to tackle. I had wanted to wait before harassing Meredith about her plans for school and work and just day-to-day living, but Mark isn't good at minding his own business. I had promised Meredith I would look around for a job for her, but after glancing the newspaper in the morning and walking along the streets to and from work, it seems like jobs just don't exist; especially jobs for young women who have no papers to validate who they are.

But even with the subject matter, Meredith seems unfazed. "I can't start school in the fall," she tells Mark and reiterates what I already know. "I'm doing some research, but I really don't want to jump in and get my GED. It'll look bad. I'm thinking of starting in October, but with a private tutor and finishing my junior year and then I'll only have to do my senior year. I can do my senior year in a rapid course method and have my degree by June of next year."

"That sounds pretty good. Would your transcripts reflect the months you spent away from school?"

Meredith hands Mark a package of cheese for the burgers. "Yes, but I think my runaway story may help persuade college admissions offices to allow me to attend."

"Derek is the king of admissions essays. Tell her about the one that got you into Harvard."

"You got into Harvard?" Meredith seems impressed.

I never expected to be accepted, but I think the only reason I was was reflected in my essay. "I didn't want to go to school in Massachusetts, but I wanted to see if I could get in. I did. Anyway, I wrote about being poor growing up and then suddenly having money."

"He made it sound like a burden," Mark laughs. "As if he was in severe pain to have so much money."

"I did not. I wrote about the change it brought to every aspect of my life. All of a sudden people liked me in my school. Girls noticed me and guys picked me to play soccer at lunch. I know most of the students at Harvard are well-off, or at least middle class, so I compared growing up with nothing and having money to going to high school where you learn nothing useful to heading off to Harvard where the world is laid out at your feet."

"He was pretentious," Mark plates the burgers. "Everyone hated him our freshman year."

"I wasn't pretentious. It was the truth. What did you write about, then?"

"I didn't apply to Harvard, remember?"

I take the plate from Mark and set it down on the table. "Yeah, but what about your application to Columbia? Tell Meredith what you wrote to get in."

Mark laughs and begins to slightly toast the hamburger buns. "I wrote about being the perfect only child. We had to write about a big event in our life and how it made us feel. I wrote about having no siblings and how it made me a better person because I was always in the spotlight and had to be perfect. And the one thing you want in a plastic surgeon is perfection."

"You want to be a plastic surgeon."

"God yeah. Plastics make the best money, especially on the West Coast. I'll move out there for med school. Probably Stanford. It's the best place in the world for money, money, and more money. Oh, and for really hot girls."

I practically choke on my beer. "Really hot fake girls, thanks to all the plastic surgeons."

Mark takes the buns and hotdogs off the grill and we all move to the table for dinner.

"What kind of surgeon do you want to be, Derek?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe cardio or neuro."

"Derek is more a see how I feel type. I take life by the balls. I knew I wanted to be a plastic surgeon when I was ten and caught a taped surgery on the medical channel. While my friends were trying to see the woman's boobs around the sensor, I was watching each cut of the blade. I knew then that I'd be a perfect plastic surgeon."

"You are shallow enough," I tease.

Mark begins fixing his plate with hamburgers, hotdogs, and grilled corn on the cob. "It's almost a prerequisite to be shallow and a plastic surgeon. Cardio surgeons are the most arrogant and serious, OBGYNs are soft and squishy," he winks and nudges me with his elbow, "ortho is fierce and scary, neuro surgeons are focused and tend to be dicks, and general surgeons are indecisive and boring."

"My mom's a general surgeon," Meredith reminds Mark.

"And can she ever make a decision?" Meredith narrows her eyes. "Is she the most interesting, or funniest, or most exciting person in a crowd? No. General surgeons are sheep. They're herded into the most boring of fields."

"You seem to know an awful lot when you're not even in med school yet."

Mark shrugs, "It's not hard to see. I've been around surgeons for years now and they're all pretty much an open book."

"I've been around surgeons since I was born and I think your assessments are pretty one sided. And you sound exactly like every other plastic surgeon I've met. They judge everyone way too harshly. Plastic surgeons just want their patients to agree to unnecessary surgery, while the other fields are life saving."

"So you're telling me there are no surgeries within plastics that would save the patient's life?"

"Of course not, but you just told us you're not in it for the medicine. You want money and to cut open hot girls. You said you have to be shallow, which basically means vain. Some plastic surgeons want to save lives, I'm sure; but by your own admission you're in it for the glory. For the fame. If you really wanted to save lives, you'd pick another specialty—any other specialty."

I sit and watch as Meredith tears Mark down point by point. He doesn't say anything in return, at first, but I can tell he's amused. If there's one thing Mark isn't used to, it's being challenged by others.

"A plastic surgeon is essentially a mirror for those who don't see themselves clearly. As a surgeon, you draw lines under boobs and across noses and you help that person to see what they want to. Cardio surgeons repair hearts; neuro surgeons repair brains; all the while, plastic surgeons are fixing people for vain reasons. Unfortunately, we need plastic surgeons to feel beautiful, but don't try to pass off your future life's work as life saving. It might be life changing but for the most part, plastic surgeons are only here to make the rest of us feel good about ourselves."

Mark's casual grin transforms into an all out smile. He lifts his hands and begins a slow clap. "You know Grey, I thought you were just a teenage screw up. From the start, I've been weary of you. You came here to scam Derek, I thought, but today, right now, you've proved me wrong. Turns out, you're a clever little thing." Mark smirks. "I might not agree with your assessment—there are plenty of life saving plastic surgeries—but I do appreciate your spunk. And, if I'm being totally honest, I'm not just going into plastics for the boob jobs, but it sounds much more interesting when you tell people you get to fondle near strangers all day and get paid for it."

Meredith laughs. I sit and watch her for a minute, completely dumbfounded. She turns to me and furrows her brow.

"You are incredible," I say without an ounce of concern.

Meredith finishes a bite of watermelon and smiles wide. "My mom's always been very passionate about the hierarchy of surgery. I guess it's rubbed off on me."

As Meredith turns back to her food, I wonder what other personality traits Meredith has inherited from her mother.

"Thanks for dinner, Mark," Meredith says politely. I can tell she's wondered if she pushed too far with the whole bashing-his-future-career thing, but Mark seems more or less the same.

"I'll see you both Saturday, right?"

I nod and shake his hand. "We'll be here. Should I bring anything?"

"A bathing suit," Mark's eyes rack up and down Meredith's body. He smirks. "Unless you want to go into the hot tub naked."

Meredith rolls her eyes, "You wish, Sloan."

I head down the hallway and Mark calls behind us, "I'm sure your body isn't that bad Grey, but if you'd like a second opinion, I'm happy to help!"

"How are you friends with him?" she teases.

The elevator doors open and Meredith and I step in. "He's like allergies in the spring: you can't shake them, but you still stop to smell the roses."'

"Are you telling me you're smelling Mark's roses?" she quirks her eyebrow.

"As often as I can," I wink with a smile.

"Seriously though, how did you two become friends?"

We arrive in the lobby and walk out onto the sidewalk. The day is too hot to walk, but it seems like neither Meredith nor I are intend on grabbing the subway at 79th. "We met when my parents sent me to boarding school when I was thirteen. I was a loser and Mark showed me the ropes. He said he did it because he felt sorry for me, but after being there for a while, I realized no one really liked him either. He's always been this cocky," I add, as if it explains everything. And it does, really, because no one wants to hang out with an arrogant, cocky kid.

"And you stayed friends all through high school?"

"Yeah. It's weird with Mark because even when I'm at my worst, he's always been a good friend to me. I mean, he's a pig and he's an asshole, but he's genuinely a good friend. The funny thing about Mark is: he's good to be around. He's funny and when things seem absolutely terrible, it's like he makes everything better."

Meredith nods, "When I told him I was leaving, the afternoon before our beach visit, he made me feel better about it." Meredith shrugs. "I guess there are worst best friends to have, right?"

"Speaking of best friends, what are yours up to?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from Cristina or Izzie. Alex said he'd call me and keep me posted, but I think he's under a lot of stress with his mom. He didn't even tell me he arrived home safe or not."

"I'm sure he's fine," I comfort her.

"I know he is."

We walk past the 72nd street subway and I wonder if we'll walk all the way to Christopher Street.

"I'm sorry if Mark pushed for too much information about your future. Of Mark's positive qualities, his need to interrogate everyone isn't one of them."

"He didn't push too far. It's good to think about the future, no matter how much it scares me."

"You don't have to be afraid of the future. Everything's going to be okay."

A ghost of a smile passes her lips. She looks up at me as we wait for the light to change on the crosswalk. "I've spent months running Derek and I'm finally able to just sit down and wonder about my future. Since I left Massachusetts, I've only allowed myself to worry about eating enough and being safe, but now, with everything slowing down, I can only think about what comes next. I don't have a degree and I can't make plans for college. I have no idea where I'll go once I turn eighteen and even worse, I have no idea who will be there for me. At this rate, Cristina and Izzie won't be friends with me by October, so I'll only have Alex."

"And me," I remind her.

Meredith turns away from me.

"If you decide to move to France when you turn eighteen, or decide to join the Navy, or even return to your mother's home, I'll always be here for you."

"You swear?" she whispers.

I reach down and lace Meredith's left hand through my right. "I swear. I won't abandon you. I won't hurt you. And I'll never turn my back on you." It feels good to have my hand in hers. Her skin is soft and warm. She colors and turns her face away. "Meredith, I—"

A passing ambulance turns its siren on at that exact moment and Meredith jumps back, her hand falling out of mine. And with that, the moment is lost. My resolve is lost. I'm not even sure what I was going to say, but I know this moment isn't the time to say anything meaningful. Meredith looks up at me expectantly. I offer her a smile. "I think we should take a cab home."

Something in her demeanor changes, but to what I can't tell. She nods. "Okay. Can I?" she nods to the passing cabs.

I stand back and watch as Meredith hails her first New York City cab. It doesn't take long—after all, a pretty girl is much more likely to catch a cab than any guy. She smiles at me triumphantly and slides in. I feel a sense of pride in the pit of my stomach. Whether Meredith decides to stay through October, or climb the Himalayas, or train for a moon landing, I know she'll be okay in whatever she does, and at the end of the day, we'll be okay.

"Derek," she peeks her head out the window. "Come on," her smile is infectious.

I grin, slide into the cab beside Meredith, and we head home together.