A/N: Here we go - just one more chapter and the epilogue after this one. One more huge thank you to everyone who's been reading, especially to those of you who've regularly reviewed - which is no small feat when I've been posting at crazy speed. I appreciate it so very much!
FYI, I'm currently in the early stages of writing a Season 11 MerDer story … in large part due to the encouragement of MerDer shippers who read this story and made suggestions. Which is just to say … if you like my writing but wish I'd write a different ship, I am totally open to suggestions and prompts (I can't write all of them, but I can definitely consider them - assuming I know and get the characters).
...and one last THANK YOU. Hard to believe this story is almost done (for me at least)!
watch the road and memorize this life that passed before my eyes
"Tell me again what we're doing."
Mark glances at his wife out of his peripheral vision, not taking his eyes off the road. "I'm driving, and you're navigating. Or at least you're supposed to be navigating."
"No, the whole thing."
"We're driving to the woods," he says obediently. "We're driving to the woods to Derek's place because he lives in the woods so we can celebrate his license and … eat … and our … kids can play together, and … " his voice trails off.
"How is this our life?"
"I don't know." He grins at her. "But ... a little less sentimentality and a little more map-reading would be great."
He can see her stick her tongue out at him from the corner of his eye.
In the back seat of the car, Annabel and Max are playing Concentration, which seems to involve a lot of clapping and snapping; Amy recommended it for Annabel and Max has been typically game for any activity involving his sister.
"What are you doing back there?"
"Listing animals," Annabel says, "and now we have to start again because you broke our concentration."
"Well, then." Mark rests a hand on Addison's leg. "I guess they don't need us anymore."
"It's not too soon to celebrate," Addison says nervously, "right?"
"Right," he agrees. "Derek got his license back. That's the biggest hurdle. He can work anywhere he wants and anywhere would be lucky to have him."
"Anywhere he wants except Seattle Grace," Addison points out. "Until the hospital board votes."
Neither of them speaks for a moment; they don't need to remind each other how important it can feel for a doctor to keep his patients, his practice – and that's leaving aside sentimental attachment and logistical convenience.
"The board is meeting Friday?"
"First thing Friday morning." Addison sighs. "Richard said that was the soonest they could convene."
"Does Derek … "
"No. He doesn't get to be there or speak or … it just feels unfair, you know?"
"I know." He moves the hand on her thigh a few times in a comforting gesture, then lifts it back to the wheel to take a curve in the road. "They'd be stupid not to rehire him."
"I know that and you know that, but … Karev's strategy with the DVE kind of made the hospital look stupid. So if the board cares more about looking stupid than being stupid…"
Her voice trails off. "Triceratops!" Max yells joyfully from the back seat, as the clapping and snapping continue until Mark eases the car – thankful he rented one with four-wheel drive – up a long rural path, stopping in view of a craftsman-style house, a clearing with an already-glowing fire pit, and endless green woods.
Addison inhales deeply as she opens the back door. "It smells good. It smells like … nature – hey, stay close," Addison calls, corralling Max as he starts to run up the path. Mark has a grip on Annabel's hand; he'd prefer to carry her over the uneven ground but also isn't eager to provoke her frustration this early in their evening.
"Max!"
Thomas bounds across the grass to them and Max bounces eagerly on his toes.
A large, loopy-haired dog runs out after him. Annabel squeaks with surprise and now Mark does pick her up, overprotectiveness be damned.
"Down, Pete." Derek follows them down the path. "Not everyone needs their face washed. Mark, Addie … any trouble finding the place?"
"No," Mark says immediately. "Meredith's directions were excellent."
"Thank you," Meredith sounds amused, crouching down to Thomas's level as he and Max take turns petting him. "My doggie," Thomas explains helpfully.
"Is she okay with dogs?" Derek gestures toward Annabel. "He's very gentle, but I can put him in the back if we need to."
Mark squats down and rests Annabel on his knee; Pete ambles over, apparently reading the room enough to calm down, and Mark guides Annabel to extending her hand for him to sniff. Pete can't seem to resist licking her hand, and then her arm, but he leaves it there. Annabel giggles. "He's nice."
"There's some space for the kids to play; we did some … creative childproofing. Come and see," Derek beckons and they all follow him. Mark sees that they've fenced an area for the kids to run around with even grass, but it's all visible from the seating around the fire pit.
Max and Thomas throw a stick for Pete – Mark, who grew up outdoors, still has to tamp down his urban parental sensibilities and encourage them not to touch sticks, but he reminds himself that little boys have been throwing sticks for dogs pretty much since the beginning of time.
The fire pit is enclosed with glass. The seating looks like long, rough hewn logs but are surprisingly comfortable – ergonomic, even. The air smells fresh, green, and the view is undeniably beautiful. He wouldn't want to live here, but there's something undeniably peaceful in this serene setting that makes it clear why someone would.
"You've thought of everything." Addison is impressed.
"Can I go play too?" Annabel has been lounging against her mother while the grownups talk, hanging back from Thomas, Max, and Pete, fidgeting with a rubik's cube and growing increasingly bored.
Addison exchanges an uncertain look with Mark.
"The ground is level," Meredith assures them.
"Bel, I don't want you to run around too much," Addison says gently.
"No," Annabel responds immediately, sensing the direction of the conversation. "I'm not gonna wear a helmet just to play outside, that's not fair!"
"Hey." Addison glances at Mark, then leans closer to their daughter, speaking soothingly. "Annabel, there's no need to get upset."
"Yeah, there is too." Annabel swipes the back of one hand across her eyes. "I don't want a helmet. I won't run, just walk."
"Bel." Mark shoots an apologetic look at Derek and Meredith.
"No one else has to wear a helmet," she scowls.
"Caitlin does," Mark says simply, "because she just had surgery, just like you did."
Annabel considers this.
"Come on, I'll go with you." Addison holds out her hand. "As long as you're not running, you don't need the helmet tonight."
There's a peaceful feeling in the air; the sun is hanging low and the smell wafting up from Derek's grill are enticing, promising a delicious meal. Mark glances at Meredith; she's sitting between Derek's outstretched legs, leaning back against him. He hasn't spent time with her outside the hospital and their hotel suite – which, in the days leading up to Annabel's surgery, really felt like an extension of the hospital. It's different to see both Meredith and Derek so relaxed, bundled in casual sweaters and vests, looking rather like an advertisement for the woodsman lifestyle. Meredith's hair is loose around her face; Derek doesn't look like he's shaved today, and both of them are watching their son scampering in the grass with expressions of pure love.
In the clearing, Annabel is laughing while Pete licks her hands and then jumps up on Addison, who scratches his ears obligingly. Max seems to find this hysterically funny as he and Thomas throw another stick for the dog.
Addison leans against Mark when she climbs back into her seat around the fire pit; he wraps an arm around her as she settles in. All four of the adults watch the flickering flames and children playing at the same time, the occasional bark of laughter or shout of joy echoing across the clearing.
Mark glances over once to see Derek; his face very soft, his gaze focused on the dark-haired little boy currently scratching his happily panting dog, and one of his hands on resting on Meredith's stomach.
Then Mark has to blink hard; damn if the sparks from the fire pit aren't irritating his eyes.
..
"Where are you going?" Annabel stands in the doorway the next morning watching him prop his foot on the low table in their bedroom to tie his sneaker. She's in a reasonably good mood, even letting Meredith examine her briefly when she stopped by the hotel suite before her shift at the hospital.
"For a run." He smiles at her. "I won't be gone long. You going to do some PT while I'm out?"
She nods. "Are you going to see Mr. Johnson?"
"Yeah, I am. Why, you want me to pass a message on to Caitlin?"
She giggles. "No. Maybe. Dad … can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Mr. Johnson … he's Caitlin's dad and Tess's dad too, right?"
"Right."
"Do you think him and Tess look alike?"
He studies her face for a moment, trying to figure out why she's asking.
"Sure. They both wear glasses, first of all," and he summons a picture in his mind to consider it further, "and their smiles look alike - plus Tess is taller like her dad, not a little peanut like Caitlin and her mom."
Annabel smiles a little bit at this.
"But her skin is different…" Annabel's voice trails off.
Mark is confused. Caitlin is far from Annabel's first mixed-race friend; her classmates, her friends from skating and from dance, have always reflected a diversity of backgrounds. Caitlin's complexion is somewhat lighter than Tess's, whose coloring favors her mother a bit more, but Annabel has many playmates with parents whose different ethnic backgrounds express themselves differently in siblings.
Annabel rarely asks questions for no reason, but he's usually better at figuring out why.
"Well," and he sits down on the edge of the bed, motioning her forward and then drawing her in closer. "You know kids are a mix of whoever … made them, so for Caitlin and Tess, that's Mr. and Mrs. Johnson." Silently, he begs forgiveness from his Genetics professor. "That doesn't mean every kid looks the same amount like each parent. They might look a little more like their mom or a little more like their dad or just look like their own selves." He pokes her gently. "That's why I don't have any redheaded kids."
Annabel smiles at this, then twists a lock of her dark hair. "The Captain doesn't have red hair," she says.
"No."
"Does Mommy's mother have red hair?"
An unwilling image of Bizzy's coolly disapproving face rises in front of him. "No, it's … blonde, or at least it used to be." He smiles at her. "Red hair is just one of things … sometimes it pops up. Like Eleanor," he names one of her school friends. "She has red hair and her parents don't."
Annabel nods slowly.
He tries again, since why do you ask didn't work. "What made you think about that, Bel?"
Annabel shrugs. "I don't know."
"Are you sure?"
She nods.
"Okay." He smiles down at her. "Any other questions?"
"Can I have a cookie?"
He's happy to see her have any appetite, so he concedes without even pretending to offer a healthier choice.
..
They run along the same trail as the last time; it's starting to feel familiar. Mark glances at Stuart as their path inclines.
"How's Caitlin doing on the other side?"
"Cranky," Stuart winces slightly. "Cranky, but settling in. In terms of physical recovery, though … she's doing very well, thankfully."
"She's been really great with Annabel. For her to have someone else around her age that she can look up to, going through the same thing … we really appreciate it."
"We should keep them in contact when you leave town. Skype or … whatever the kids are doing these days. Supervised, of course," he adds, perhaps seeing Mark's expression.
They run for a while without speaking.
"Annabel's seven," Mark says finally, surprising himself somewhat.
"Does that make you feel old?"
"No. Yes." He grimaces a little as they run along the trail. "Maybe. I was thinking, though, Addison seemed…" his voice trails off. "I don't know."
He sees Stuart look at him for a moment. "Sometimes it can bring things up, for someone in Addison's position, when their own child reaches the age they were at the time."
He nods.
"So what do I do?"
"You want my opinion as a therapist or as a husband?"
"You've said you're not my therapist and you're definitely not my husband…" Mark smirks at his own joke. "Whatever, just ... tell me what to do."
"What kind of attitude is that? Look," and Stuart's tone softens, "just be there. Maybe let her take the lead, maybe bring it up if it seems like you should. You know her a lot better than I do and, I'd wager, a lot better than maybe anyone else does. You'll know what to do."
Mark snorts a little.
"You don't think so?"
"If I knew what to do, maybe she would have told me earlier."
"Now who's blaming themselves?"
"This is different."
"It's always different." Stuart looks at him again. "You must be doing something right; she did tell you, didn't she?"
"Yeah." He speeds up a little around the next curve in the dirt trail. "She did tell me."
There's another period of thoughtful silence, then Mark speaks. "Seeing Derek yesterday and our kids playing together, in his space this time, you know ... It was nice. It felt like closure. And don't tell me closure isn't real, you're not my first therapist."
"I'm not your therapist at all."
"Well, you're definitely not my personal trainer. Can we pick up the pace, or should we see if there's a senior citizens' running club we can join?"
"Say something personal, then cover it up with some macho so you don't lose your man card … is that right?"
Mark frowns. "No. Yes. Maybe."
Stuart looks at him for a moment. "Did you ever wonder?"
Mark doesn't have to ask what he means. "If Annabel was mine? Not for a second. First of all, I had an unfortunate front row seat to the end of that marriage and I know it would have been biologically impossible. And later … Addison would have made sure to confirm it, scientifically speaking, if there were any question. She wouldn't have kept Derek's child from him."
"Would you still have married her?"
"That doesn't sound like a therapist's question."
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not your therapist?"
"If she had been pregnant with Derek's child?" He considers it. "I would have stepped back, I guess, if they tried to work it out for the baby, but …" he knows what a potentially disastrous idea that would have been. "It wouldn't change how I felt about her."
"Would you have raised his child?"
"Sure. But he would have too. I know Derek very well, and he would never not be involved with his child. Just like Addison wouldn't have hidden her paternity. We would have had to figure out some crazy unconventional way to do it, but … we could have done it. If we had to."
"Makes sense," Stuart says simply.
"Wait ... you're not going to tell me how that represents anger from my childhood or whatever? Use it to get into my head?"
"Who says I'm trying to get into your head? Maybe I was just being nosy."
"You-"
"Heads up," Stuart warns casually, and Mark has just a second to duck under a low hanging branch.
..
He's already showered, changed, and halfway through a reviving cup of coffee when Addison returns from the greenspace with both kids and Annabel's purple helmet dangling from her wrist. Max drops his soccer ball to climb on him and Mark can't help but smile at his son's enthusiasm.
"Did you have fun?" He drops a kiss on the top of Max's sandy head as he nods vigorously.
Addison reaches out her hand to touch Mark's cheek. "How was your run?"
"It was good." He smiles at her.
"Max …" Addison holds out a hand. "Bath."
"But I'm not dirty!" Max's voice is utterly guileless; he's grass-stained and the little palms Mark turns over in his own hand are marked with brownish dirt.
Once a protesting Max has disappeared into the children's room, Mark turns to Annabel, who is busily untying her little cleats; he notes the coordination in her fingers with approval.
"How was it up there?"
"Good." She pushes her hair out of her face. "Mommy's a meaner goalie than you are."
"But I bet you still got some through."
He pours her a cup of chocolate milk; at this point in her recovery, calories are calories; he'll deal with nutrition later.
"Yeah, I did." She takes a sip of her drink. Another few sips and she pushes it away.
"What do you feel like eating for lunch, babe?"
Annabel looks like the word lunch itself is unappealing; they've been trying to hold to Amy's suggestion of scheduled mealtimes.
"Nothing."
"Sorry, we're all out of that." He grabs her and tickles her like he used to, and her delighted laugh reminds him she's not as fragile as she looks. When he kisses the side of her face, he sees a pensive look in her eyes.
"Bel …" He holds onto her. "Talk to me for a minute."
She fidgets, toying with the hem of her shirt.
"Is something upsetting you?"
She shrugs.
He tries again. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"
She hesitates for a minute. "...you know Dr. Shepherd?"
He smiles a little bit at this tic of speech. "I do know him, yeah. What about him?"
"You already knew him and Mom used to be married, right?" Annabel asks Mark, who tries not to smile at her serious tone.
"Yeah, I already knew that." He decides it's not the right time to correct her grammar. "I know you and Mom talked. Do you have any questions about it?"
She shakes her head, then pauses. "Just if Mom was married to Dr. Shepherd…"
She's looking at him uncertainly.
"What is it, babe?"
"Is that why he thought he was my dad?"
Mark freezes for a moment, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He reaches down to take her hands in his. "Where did you hear that?"
"I don't remember."
"Bel…"
"No, I don't care," her lips tremble and she tries to pull her hands out of his.
"Hey." He releases her hands and takes her face between his palms, directing her gaze. "Annabel. Look at me."
He waits for her eyes to meet his. "I don't know what you heard. I wish you had told me when you heard it so I could have straightened it out then. I'm your dad. You are mine. You're mine and Mom's and that's it. Dr. Shepherd knows that, because that's the truth. You got it?"
Her lower lip catches between her teeth.
"Bel?" He releases her face and tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears. "Talk to me, sweetheart."
"When I was in the hospital," her voice is small and hurt, "And I wasn't sleeping but I was in bed I heard them talking. Some people I didn't know."
For a moment anger courses through his veins, but he tamps it down quickly. Is he angry at the people who caused Annabel this concern while she was recovering from surgery? Damn straight he is. But he realizes it's not going to help soothe her fears and it's ultimately not his most productive emotion. He focuses on his daughter instead and keeps his tone calm.
"What did they say?"
She hesitates for a moment. "They said, 'look at her coloring, no wonder Shepherd thought she was his daughter.' But I wasn't coloring."
At any other time, her auditory mixup would be adorable. Now, hearing the words in her small, hurt voice, it's anything but. And her questions about Tess and Stuart start to make more sense.
"Yeah, they meant a different kind of coloring, Bel. Someone's coloring means – what their hair looks like, their eyes, their skin tone."
She looks at him. "They said 'poor thing, she looks more like Shepherd than the other one.' I'm not a poor thing," her voice trembles.
"No, you're not," he says firmly. "And you don't look like Dr. Shepherd, Bel, not only shouldn't those people have said that but they're also wrong. Yes, you have dark hair and blue eyes," and he touches a lock of her hair as he says it, "and so does he and so do a whole lot of other people."
"If a lot of people have them then why did they say that?
He sighs, lifting her into his lap. "Because people are idiots."
A hint of a smile crosses her lips. "That's not a nice word."
"No, but sometimes it comes in handy."
His hand lingers on her hair. "Look, Bel, you have dark hair and blue eyes and so does Dr. Shepherd. Sometimes people see something like that on the outside and that's what they notice. Like how people are always saying Max looks just like me," she nods at this, "but we know him better so we see all the little ways he also looks like Mom. And you, Annabel, look a lot like your mom, you lucky girl." This makes both of them smile. "But," and he lightly taps her nose, "you have my nose. And actually my ears, too … sorry about that, but at least your hair covers them." She giggles at this.
"I'm just kidding. Your ears are perfect." He tugs very gently on one of them. "And your coloring, Bel," he takes a deep breath, "your coloring, which is beautiful and it's part of what makes you you, well, you got that ... from my father."
Her eyes widen. "Really?"
Mark nods. "My father had dark hair and blue eyes too, like you do. A lot of Sloans do," he adds. "The Everetts – that was my mother's name before she got married – they have lighter hair, like I do."
"Everett?" She considers this. "That's your middle name, right, Dad?"
He nods. "Right. Just like your middle name is Montgomery … for the same reason."
"His hair is like mine," she says. "Your father." She pauses, then looks at Mark. "Can I see him?"
"I'll find a picture for you."
Actually, he's still carrying the obituary.
He lifts Annabel off his lap to get his wallet, wondering if some of this could have been avoided if he'd been more open with Annabel about his family before now. He'd been so anxious for the last seven years to shrug off the shadow his parents cast over his childhood, so determined that his own children would have a different experience. He and Addison had been firmly in agreement on that from day one: purposefully and strongly, they turned inward to nurture and protect their growing family ... which required shutting everyone else out.
Or at least they used to think it did.
Annabel is watching him expectantly now, blue eyes so similar in shape to her mother's wide with interest. Mark takes out the newspaper and folds it carefully. It's a black-and-white shot but the contrast of his father's dark hair and pale blue eyes are obvious, reminding him of the black-and-white portrait of Annabel that sits in his office, the one Addison surprised him with two Father's Days ago.
He draws his daughter close again and she rests against his side, touching the newsprint lightly with one small finger. "That's your father? Him?"
Mark nods.
"Was he nice?"
"He … had his moments."
"Did you like him?"
"Let me put it this way. I liked his coloring."
Annabel smiles a little bit at that.
"Daddy … is your father coming to Seattle too?"
Mark suppresses a smile. Why shouldn't everyone from their past show up here? It's a reasonable question, considering the last few weeks.
"Actually, sweetheart ... he died."
"But you said he was alive." She looks confused. "The other time, you said."
"He was, when I told you that. He died just a little while ago, while we were here in Seattle." Mark shifts her on his lap. "But with so much going on, we didn't get to talk to you and Max about it yet."
"Oh." She takes this in. "A lot of stuff happened when we were in Seattle."
Understatement of the year, that one.
"You can say that again, sweetheart."
"Bel." She looks up. "If you hear things that confuse you or upset you, you tell us. So we can fix it. You don't have to try to work them out yourself. Okay?"
"Okay." She leans against him again.
..
Mark examines the plate he's carrying to the sink. "She did okay," he observes. Annabel managed to put away about half of the small portion of her lunch; Mark makes a mental note in the list he's been keeping in his head of restaurants that somewhat appeal to her faint appetite.
"Yeah." Addison looks distracted as she rinses the plate, leaving her hands under the running water for a while after she's set the dish in the drying rack.
"Addie?" He nudges her gently.
"Sorry," she says, turning off the water.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm okay." She looks up at him for a moment. "Can you believe she's seven already?"
"Why, you feel old?" When she doesn't answer, he snags one of the belt loops on her jeans and tugs her closer to him. "You know what helps keep you young…"
She laughs a little and pushes him away. "Nice try." She looks down for a minute.
You'll know what to do, that's what Stuart said.
"But it worries you, Addie ... that she's seven?"
Addison looks at him with some surprise in her eyes.
"No," she says firmly. "No, I'm not worried. Well, intellectually, I'm not worried." She busies her hands folding and refolding the clean kitchen towels. "It's just …"
"…that she's seven?"
Addison glances up at him. "Kind of, yeah."
He just looks at her for a moment, not saying anything. He waits for that hot, pulsing feeling of anger in his stomach, but it doesn't come; all he feels is love for the woman in front of him as well as the child she once was.
"Can't we just lock her up for a few years?" Addison makes a helpless sort of face as if she's kidding and then steps forward into his arms. He holds her tightly for a minute.
"You could try," he says into her hair. "But considering how she reacts to the helmet every time, I wouldn't bet on you in that fight."
She laughs a little into his shirt, then steps back.
He holds her face for a moment. "We can't protect them from everything. God, I wish we could."
For a moment they're both quiet. Annabel's sudden, nearly fatal, illness made that very clear.
"All we can do is – look, bad things happen, they do, but it's the twenty-first century, Addison. Our kids are growing up in a different world. And they have very different parents. People talk about these things now, okay, but it's not just that. Our kids … they talk to us. They talk to us all the time and they ask questions and they know that we listen to them."
Addison nods slowly, but doesn't look completely convinced.
He kisses her forehead and releases her, projecting his voice in the direction of the children's room. "Hey, Bel? Come here for a second."
A moment later Annabel pads into the living room, still holding a puzzle piece in her hand. He can tell from the pattern of the colors that it's part of a dinosaur and he's pleased to see she's let Max select it.
Mark sits down on the couch under the window and draws his daughter close.
"I have some questions for you."
"Okay." She shows him the puzzle piece she's holding. "But Max might get mad if I don't finish the puzzle."
"It won't take long. Bel … what do you do if a grownup asks you to keep a secret from your parents?"
Annabel looks at him like he's just asked her the color of the sky. "Say no, and tell you or Mom."
"What if it's a grownup that we're friends with, like Dr. Girl-Shepherd?" he asks, hoping Amy wouldn't be too offended at the example.
"Still say no, and tell you or Mom," Annabel says again, sounding like the answer is terribly obvious yet again.
"Okay, and what if someone does something or asks you to do something that makes you feel uncomfortable?"
"Yell no and tell a grownup."
Mark sees Addison watching out of the corner of his eye.
"What if it's a grownup who's doing it?"
"Still yell no and tell you or Mom or my teachers," Annabel says patiently.
"What if they say you'll get in trouble?"
"Still yell no and tell you or Mom or my teachers because that's not true, I won't get in trouble. Dad, I know all these. We do it at school all the time. Are you doing a memory test? Because Dr. Grey already did one this morning and she said I passed."
He smiles. "Just one more question: what if someone says your parents won't believe you?"
"That's not true, you will too believe me. You'll always believe me."
Mark glances at Addison. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, watching them, her eyes bright.
"That's right, we will. You passed again, Bel. You get an A plus-plus-plus-plus-plus this time." He pulls her close. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she says, giggling when his stubble tickles her cheek. "But, Dad, you know that's not a real grade."
Just one more chapter and the epilogue to go! Pretty please, leave me a review and let me know! (That was a poem ... not a great one, though.)
Title lyric from R.E.M.'s Find the River