Derek's government phone rang while Meredith was unpacking the craft store bag that held everything she needed for Zola's "Christmas hair." Derek was going to be getting Bailey ready for a nap, so she thought it was coming through the baby monitor until she heard his laugh coming from downstairs. She glanced around the room, spotting it on the bedside table as the screen went dark.
Dr. Shepherd can't answer the phone rig Ïht now, it's Christmas.
With her whole body sprawled diagonally along the bed, she still had to crawl up a couple feet to nab it off of the bedside table. Seriously, did they even use the whole thing having sex? She wasn't sure, but thinking of downsizing made her imagine a day where both kids didn't fit in-between them. It wasn't an image she wanted to come to life.
Dr. Shepherd can't answer right now, he's with his family.
The phone lit up again with a voicemail notification. Meredith blinked. She'd expected to see NIH like she would have on his personal phone. It made sense that he'd have his coworker's names programed in to this one, but she came to that rational conclusion after she'd hit play next to the message. She was triaging. He shouldn't have to worry that B.B. wouldn't know him six weeks from now. Or whenever. (Derek's birthday was January thirteenth. A definite no. After that, there was hers in April, but with Bailey's less than a month later)—
"Dr. Shepherd this is Renée. Collier. I'm doing the patch-tracing work? Um, I'm in the lab and I have some questions, so I offered to call with today's update. I guess I'll try again later. Bye!"
Meredith did not throw the phone at the wall.
Forty-seven saves. Forty-seven examples of her being fine without him. He'd acted so freaking proud that he didn't need him standing behind her.
RENÉE COLLIER M.D. did.
Did he breathe her hair in, too?
Dr. Shepherd can't return your call right now, he's tired
Without acknowledging what she was doing, Meredith opened the call history. One other call, from eight forty-seven, December 17th. Probably from the lab. Probably. No texts. No sign that he'd become entranced by a girl. Just her research. She grabbed a pillow off the bed, and almost flung it before what'd happened the last time flashed before her eyes. She screamed into it instead, and pulled her knees up, burying herself in the darkness.
"Look who's ninety-five percent less stick—Mer?"
Meredith sucked a breath in through her teeth and looked up at Amelia, who had her hands wrapped on Zola's shoulders.
"Hey, sweet girl, all clean and ready for Christmas Hair?" she asked, ignoring her sister-in-law's wariness. From what she'd heard, Meredith could give her lessons in not letting her own issues poison a holiday.
"Yes, yes, yes!" Zola tugged away from her aunt and scrambled onto the bed. Her knee came down on the end of her fluffy, purple bathrobe, pinning her halfway across the comforter. Meredith took over, easing her into a somersault to sit her directly in front of her. Zola shrieked, and mimicked Meredith's cross-legged position, still giggling. "Go away, Auntie Melia, it's a prize!"
"A sur-prise?" Amelia asked, her eyebrows drawing in. Zola knew that word well.
"No, a prize. It's special for Christmas."
"Okay. A prize is usually something you've won in a contest, or a game, or something."
"Uh-huh, but at school, at school you gotta sometimes bring in something little for everyone on special 'caisons, and it's not a sur-prise. Even chocolate wrapped in shiny, like dreidel coins! Um, it can be not-nice to say Black colored body parts are food stuff, but…but I said it, and I'm a person with color, and…and no one's gonna eat my hair." Zola frowned.
"That one got away from you, huh?" Meredith asked, picking up the DVD remote to turn on A Muppet Christmas Carol.
"A sorta."
A sorta. Man, she loved this kid. Amelia shared the sentiment, saying, "Zola? You are always a prize."
"But my hair isn't, so you gotta go. Sugar-please-and-thank-you."
"All-righty then."
There was a lull after Amelia shut the door, except for the monitor relaying the sounds of Derek talking to Bailey as they went into his room. She should've turned it off, but she didn't.
"Momma, do you think Grams is gonna buy more presents on her tour?"
"Maybe." That was exactly why Derek was taking Carolyn downtown once Bailey went down. Meredith had told him the "taking-Gram-on-a-tour" ruse wasn't going to work.
"There were a lotta presents in the cousins pictures."
"There are a lot of cousins."
"Uh-huh. They're big. They have a daddy from Barbiedudes."
I'll have to text Der—Her thought was interrupted by his laugh coming through the speaker. She'd have to tell Derek that one. She edited her next statement, not correcting Zola's pronunciation so he might get to hearit from the source. "A few of them do."
"Yup. That's not in Africa."
"No it's—"
"Ooh, Mommy!" Zola waved her hand toward the monitor. "Listen to it! Daddy's reading Mr. WIllowby!" She started to twist, and Meredith caught her shoulder. She'd known from the start that this would be one of those times where it would've been nice if the high-chair was still an option. "He's not mad about not doing my hair?"
"Absolutely not."
"Good."
Before his mother started her pointed questions about the island, he'd offered to take this task. Zola had run to Meredith with her hands over her head. "Nooo! You can't do Christmas Hair! Mommy, tell him it's special!"
"That's okay, then, princess. I should've known there was a plan."
"We've practiced," Meredith had offered.
There'd been hours of planning, in fact, but it was the first time Zola had ever expressed a real preference for one of them in this. He'd lost the crestfallen look fast, but if she'd been sure she could make the schedule work, she'd have talked Zola into letting him do it for tonight, and fit in another styling session before their guests appeared tomorrow.
She remembered Thatcher running a brush vaguely over the top while she ate her cereal. She'd scream "ow, ow, stopit! Only Mommy does it right," and he'd give up. (She could be tender headed, but she doubted that'd actually hurt.) Usually, Mom would say, "don't be tiresome, Meredith." A hat might be jammed in her head, or not, and to day-care she would go. It wasn't until they moved to Boston that brushing it out had become part of their morning routine, but if she wasn't home for breakfast, Meredith's beanie would do double-duty. She'd gotten along that way until she was twelve. Mom had started taking forty-eights, and grumbling about childishness. Even then, if she needed to be "presentable," she'd be intercepted and shoved down onto a stool to be jabbed with bobby pins.
Derek was better than her at braids; her specialty was knots and twists. He'd have likely done better with "Christmas Hair," if he'd been here to plan it. He hadn't been. She'd had six weeks of successful surgeries and, with a few exceptions where Amelia took over, styling shifts.
Zola went quiet, her head tilted toward the low murmur of her father's voice. If only Meredith could reassure herself that easily. Not that she thought he was currently mad. That, she could recognize.
Bailey went down after another book, one of several Christmas-related titles in their Little Critter collection, and Derek knocked on the door to let them know he and Carolyn were leaving. (He didn't say anything about his work phone. Was he not expecting the update that girl—his researcher—mentioned?)
Meredith had said Derek could hang out with them, but she was selfishly glad Carolyn had kept him from taking her up on it. She loved this time being close to Zola and hearing her go over her days, working out preschool friend dynamics, or reciting rhymes that were really her first mnemonics. She loved that Zola didn't hesitate to share her thoughts, or worry that her words weren't worth her mother's time. This time, she paused the movie after the first song.
"Momma, what are Muppets?"
"Puppets with an 'M.'"
"Are they Muppet-American? They're not all talking British."
As silly as it was, the consideration she'd obviously put into the question made Meredith want to give her a good answer. They'd filmed the Muppet Show in England, and Labyrinth. Were they still doing that in the nineties? She didn't have time to risk the Google black-hole. Besides, the nationality of the Muppeteers meant nothing to Zola.
Santa, no. Muppets, yes.
"That's called a continuity error, but I think they did it on purpose. They want people to recognize the Muppets' voices. You noticed something important: actors do different accents. That means voices don't tell a lot about where they're from, and the Muppets are supposed to be a bunch of theater people. They could be from anywhere.
"I think Sam the Eagle is definitely American, and the guys in The Muppet Movie, Kermit, Fozzie, Gonzo…. He's acting as Charles Dickens in this. That's the guy who wrote the story A Christmas Carol, and he was definitely British. There are some who use British accents in The Muppet Caper. We can watch that one, and you can tell me whether you think they're pretending."
"I will," Zola said, confident in her ability as a trained voice coach.
"Did you know there are Sesames in a lot of countries? There's one in England. Maybe that's are where the British Muppets grow up. Most of the time, it's a street, but some places there's a tree where animal Muppets live. That's what it is in Northern Ireland. It's a street in Japan. In Nigeria—"
"That's in Africa!"
"That's right."
"Ours is in New York. Do you think Grams knows it?"
"I'm sure. You should ask her if she knows how to get there."
Zola giggled. "Momma, you're the silliest."
"You are one of two people I'd take that as a compliment from."
"Is the other B.B., or Daddy?"
"It's…" Huh. Lately, only Bailey, but the girl had a point. "Maybe three."
"B.B.'s so lucky he shares his 'nitials with Big Bird."
"Really, his initials are D.B.S."
"I do know that. He's Derek Bailey Shepherd. Daddy is Derek Christopher Shepherd, and Grams is a Shepherd, and all the cousins…."
Crap. Meredith should've set her up in front of a mirror; there was too much excitement in the air to read her silences.
"In India, a big lion lives on the street, instead of a bird, but did you know that Big Bird has a lot of cousins, just like you? They're very colorful, and they live all over the world, and speak lots of languages, like Spanish from Spain and Mexico. Turkish—and he's not a turkey!"
Zola giggled into her hands, and then took on a deep voice to say, "Toorkey-woorkey. That's my chef-man accsmell."
"It's a great one." The Swedish Chef thinking Big Bird was the Christmas turkey was a whole thread in the Muppet Family Christmas. "He has a cousin in Brazil who speaks Portuguese. One who speaks two kinds of Arabic in Egypt —that's in Africa. Can you guess where they speak Zulu and Afrikaans on Sesame?"
"Like Jamela?" Zola exclaimed, and Meredith kept a hand on her shoulder while she vibrated with excitement. "Like my books?"
"Yup! Where's Jamela from?" Jamela was the protagonist of several books Zola loved and having her teacher reading one to her class had quadrupled her interest. In the one they'd read most recently, Jamela gets too attached to Christmas-the chicken her family is raising for the holiday dinner table—and apparently that was a running theme in Christmas media. She had never thought this would be the holiday that made her children into vegetarians.
"She's…She's…She's from South Africa!"
"She is." That was how she knew any of this; her "Malawi + kids media" research had taken her there within a page of Googling. Anything actually Malawian had taken more effort.
"Malawi is close to there."
"Kind of," Meredith reminded her. "They're both in the south of Africa. Malawi is a little further north. They have some traditions that are different, and some this same."
"So we dunno if my bio-log-ical family did Christmas like Jamela."
"Exactly."
"Grams says that my cousins, my cousins like Lucas who is Daddy's friend, they don't do Kwanzaa. It's 'cause Barbiedose isn't Africa?"
"You'd have to ask, but that's good logic."
"Am I Malawian and African and American?"
"You were born in Malawi, which is in Africa, and you are now American, which means you live in the United States." They'd gone over about similar points after a recent, tantrum-inspired declaration of "I'M GONNA GO LIVE IN MALAWI BY MYSELF!" "Usually, you'd only say 'African' if you live there. Kwanzaa is mostly to celebrate people who grew up in America, but their ancestors are African. Do you know what 'ancestors' means?"
"Umm. A sorta."
"Daddy's ancestors are from Ireland, but his parents and grandparents lived in America. Does that help?"
"It's old family?"
Meredith laughed. "It's family who lived before you whose stories you might not know. Sometimes you don't know exactly where they came from. Kwanzaa combines parts of different African countries to celebrate ancestors from all over Africa and African-American ancestors."
"Kwanzaa is African-American is Black?"
"Black can be African-American. Mostly…hm…people whose ancestors didn't live anywhere else, in-between would say African-American. Black people live all over the world, and have African ancestors."
"And black-brown colored skin? What about my cousins? Are they mixed-up like Jackson and Aunt Maggie? She says we are both brilliant Black girls. Is she really mixed up?"
Meredith thought of Lizzie saying her kids almost didn't believe there was a brown baby in the family and wondered if Carolyn had said something while showing her pictures. For the most part, she doubted it. Zola would've said so.
"No, sweetheart. In fact, she can probably explain better answer to all of these questions than I can."
"I want your answer. You're my momma."
Meredith put down the spray bottle she was using and took Zola's head in her hands, tipping her backward. "Zola G., do you see me?"
Zola puffed out her cheeks, saying "yes," through kissy-lips.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Yes," she repeated, a little more seriously.
"Do you know what the truest truth in the world is?"
"You love me."
The speed and certainty of her answer amazed Meredith.
She lowered her face to Zola's, kissing her forehead and taking a moment to close her eyes. "The truest truth is, I am your momma, Daddy's your daddy, and we love you." She kissed her cheeks and prodded her back into sitting up straight. "I'm gonna do my best to explain how things are different and the same for you and your cousins. I will always do my best to answer your questions, but I've only lived one life. I don't know everything."
"You know a lot."
"That's true. But I don't know the future. I don't know what it's like to grow up with skin that's a different color from my parents, or to be adopted, or to have lots of cousins. That's okay. You're not supposed to have the life I had. You are gonna have the best life I can give you. Sometimes that might mean asking someone who has had a certain life to help us out, but I'll still be right there with you to help you understand. Okay?"
"Like you helped me understand Santa, and baby brothers, and Aunt Lexie? Those are good answers."
Meredith opened her mouth to say she probably didn't even remember two of those. But that was the point, wasn't it? Those were big things, possibly traumatic things, but Zola accepted them. She wouldn't have to seek out the close parenthesis on her own. She wasn't afraid of the next big thing. At four, Meredith hadn't either, but she had already been lost.
"I'm glad you think so, love-bug." She took up the spray bottle again. It would take time to untangle exactly what Zola wanted to know. These were topics they were going to revisit throughout her life. She wasn't going to make a single proclamation and expect that to suffice. Her answer didn't have to be all-encompassing. It had to provide a foundation for their next conversation, and the one after that. Just like this didn't have to be the best Christmas hairstyle—she'd be expected to outdo herself in the future, she had no doubt.
The movie was never turned back on. The conversation moved to the stories Meredith could tell her about "the cousins" who seemed to awe and intimidate Zola in a way Meredith could relate to. When she said, "The Barnyard sounds like a lot, Momma," Meredith more than agreed, but she could feel Zola's curiosity.
A holiday on the east coast was an experience her kids should have. Maybe they'd make it their first big trip; go to Sesame Place before Zola and Bailey were too old for it, or something else that made Christmas with the Shepherd's seem less overwhelming. Maybe they'd just meet Derek in D.C. and go up from there. All she could really be certain of was that whatever going to New York looked like, she'd regret missing even one holiday in Seattle. They didn't spend Christmas Eve out on the town, because there home was more warm and inviting, but Meredith had unintentionally adapted the childhood tradition that had mattered to her. One-on-one mother-daughter time wasn't a miracle to Zola, but in Meredith's opinion, that only made it more precious.
Meredith had thought she was alone, not just in the bathroom, but the master suite. Luckily, when Derek opened the shower door, he was seriously single-minded. He wrapped one arm over her waist and the other pulling her against his bare chest. Not facing her. She wasn't being caught. He must've undressed in the bedroom, and snuck into the bathroom. Their shower was loud, and she'd ended up alone in more public bathrooms than in her own since...well, her internship, but she'd started the thought meaning Zola.
"Amy is giving B.B. his bath," he said, his hand moving along her chest. Every breath made her tits feel heavier. "She'll put him in play clothes if she somehow finishes more than half an hour before our reservations. Zo is showing off—I mean showing Mom Anatomy Joanne, and the half of the bookshelf we don't read every night."
You don't. Fuck, the man had bought copies of three of their favorites to read over Facetime, what more did she want from him?
A lot. Much of it not G-rated.
"You're a good sneaker," she acknowledged grateful that her voice stayed steady. "A-Are—?" She swallowed. His cock was barely touching her, but noticeably hard. "Obviously, you're sure."
"Not if you aren't."
So many responses occurred to her that it made her dizzy, and she couldn't grab sensible words. His hands started to pull away, and she caught his arm while holding back the noise that had leapt into her throat.
She stepped closer to him, and lifted one leg, letting her calf glide along his erection. He let out a heavy breath. The nails of one hand traveled over her belly while the other did more wandering, snaking between her boobs to do so. She moaned at him simply cupping one, finally. That, she wanted that.
She let her whole body react to his fingers massaging her, and grinding against him in the same circle he was using on her nipple. The water hitting her hyper- sensitized skin, the beat of his heart in her ear, the familiar tickle of his chest hair on her back; all coming together and flowing right into her clit. Almost all. The knot in her throat wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she swallowed. Maybe if she could force it down? She had a lot of presents to arrange tonight, but being on her knees for—
"Meant to say—" He glided the hand that'd been on her hip over and up, resting his palm on her mons.
Bub, you just cheated yourself out of. Cheated.
…. the patching one….
"—I've never seen Z that attached to a cap."
"It's 'prize-hair." Meredith imitated. Her body was taut and focused on where he was touching her, and where he needed to be, and the words would've been compressed anyway.
"She's so proud that you 'made up' her Christmas Hair. I am too. Not just for that. She adored that butterfly-themed party. And you've adapted to having my mom here like it's nothing. It's not just a surgery streak in my opinion."
She tilted her head up toward to faucet, so glad she'd vetoed putting a mirror in here. She could hold on until he didn't need her voice. Get rid of this burn that kept building behind her nose, and the freaking mists that kept forming over her eyes. She sure as shit wasn't pregnant, so there was no excuse.
His lips traveled along her neck. Fifteen? Did she count him picking them up and—His finger ran up and down, pressing to stimulate less visible parts of her clit. It resonated deeper than she was used to this early. She moaned again. She wanted him to keep doing that, but it was getting hard—she was, technically and not having that friction up and to the right was maddening. She made a point of not begging him—never again—but if he knew—"ohhhhhhh!" she moaned at having his thumb make contact with her glans.
"That sounded promising." He slid his hand over, and one finger traveled together up the lips of her cunt. Her clit was pulsing throbbing desperate— "Ooo-ooo-ooo."
She bucked with his movements, and her own hooting squeak that she'd tried to hold back when one night became more. Drawing it out had been the first challenge he'd set himself, and today she didn't care if he'd suddenly decided it was unbecoming. She would be fucking heard.
"I should've done a preliminary exam. You're so plumped up, sweetheart." He drew two fingers down her labia, and she felt how far he could bury them in her folds. Then he circled her clit in all directions. "Full enough for all of the tricks you love."
Sweetheart. How long since he'd said that? How about when he wasn't between her legs? Probably why it sent a frisson of desire through her. He started working with two fingers while she rode it out and another wave crested in her belly before shooting down her legs and up again. She surfaced certain of one moment in her future.
It's gone happen. This time it will.
"Just, just, just stay. Stay there…that's real…really…. Ooh, yeah, I'm…faster faster yeah yeah so intense please just let me… ohhhh crap, yes!" She was close real close at the place that made her feel giddy and almost afraid of what came next. What if—? No, he was here, and she was so close. Too close for that.
"You want intense, baby?" Derek reached around her, his hand on the attachment control. It was built in, and sprayed without diverting another faucet. She wasn't sure she could take it, but he hadn't asked that. She nodded. He'd done this for her when all they had was the bathtub faucet and it's single setting. He knew how to gauge where and how much. He moan escalated to a scream of pleasure once he arranged the spray to hit her clit, his fingers holding back her labia, parted excruciatingly slowly. (Like this, she could forget that direct contact could also be excruciating.) She couldn't twist quite enough to scream into his shoulder, and she couldn't stop it from escaping. She pulled against his arm hard enough to end up off the ground, kicking until her legs tensed and she pressed her feet against the wall.-
She wanted him she wanted him knowing her. She never never ever wanted anyone else.
He kept supporting her when she dropped, squeezing her legs shut against the suddenly overwhelming pounding.
What does this mean? She didn't hear Derek's voice saying it. She heard Cristina mocking him. Mocking her. It meant she hadn't stopped him. It meant they were married, and they were them. They were them. It meant they were them. Didn't it?
She reached a hand back to his clock, thinking that she could keep using this position.
"Slow down, feral Meredith."
Most…too much of her triumph got lost in that. He knew how….. Feral Meredith. Desperate Meredith. Too-intense Meredith. Not anymore. She'd reclaimed it. A long time ago. It was a joke. That was all. It hadn't bothered her in years. (It did now. Should he have anticipated that? Debatable.)
What did you mean? Derek, what did you mean?
"I'm not…we don't have a lot of time. Zo-Zo's gonna tell your mom religion is opioid of the masses or something."
"Been introducing Bedtime Marx?"
"Yeah, right between Llama Llama and No, David—Derek!" He'd slipped his hand back between her legs, and he knew exactly how to touch her while her nerves were still overwhelmed, and she didn't even notice uh-uh slipping into oh, oh. When it did, he took his hand away lifted her onto the shower seat.
"Look at you, beautiful." Her quim, he meant that, but his hand was on her face. Then he got a look—no, no looks.
She couldn't do this. She turned away, staring at the door. "We gotta hurry. You're not even soaped up yet."
"You're enough of a slippery fish. We've got plenty of time, Mer, I promise."
"No, yeah, good, just, still, just…you've gotta want… you don't have to..."
"I want to suck that much more tension out of you. First Christmas Eve gift."
That was it. Her walls were gone, he smiled them away. He knelt, thank Santa, so she could tilt her head toward one of the "light spray misters" basically built for this.
He licked her clit as he adjusted, but then he ecurled his tongue, pushing her in her personal Korammi code. A surge of sucking and holding her tenderly in his mouth. She breathed in careful gasps, but it all went to shit when the second orgasm hit. She wasn't frozen; not with him. Here, supporting her, knowing her, loving her. She melted into was a gooey mess, inside and out, and it didn't matter if she could just stay one step ahead of him—Giving in was a release of so much pressure but only part of it, the flighty feeling never lasted. She needed—deserved—more. She pressed her feet against the porcelain and used the friction to get her arms around him so he had no choice but to pick her up at the perfect angle for her to slide down onto his cock.
He turned them, pushing her up against the wall. His body blocked the spray, and hot tears kept dripping off her chin. If she could just arrange it so he'd assume it was coming from the ends of her hair. "Stand up for me, gorgeous."
She grabbed the towel bar with one hand while his fingers started a round of experiments with her clit.
"Derek, I want you."
"You're going to get me, baby. Every millimeter you can take. Right in here." He circled the inside of her cunt with a fingertip, and she closed her rolling eyes. Mistake. "Once we build you— Meredith?" He swiped a finger under her lashes, and it made the pinch of holding back the next round hurt more. "My love, are you crying?"
My love. He always meant that. She'd felt privileged every time she heard it. Was it the same now? For her, yes. For him?
She grabbed the back of his head and jerked him down, crushing his lips with hers. He was stronger, and his fingers were flicking. He slid his lips over, and she didn't understand what he was doing until his tongue dabbed at her cheek.
"Meredith, what is it?"
"It'll stop." There was steam, nothing should be making her ribs tighter.
"That's not the problem."
"The problem is, I want you to fuck me before you burst." He took his hand off of her, and her breath started coming too quickly. Three snorty gasps per exhale. "Don't! I'll stop. It's not your fault." Stay here.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. "I'm not going to leave or be mad, because you're crying. That's always true."
Was it? Was anything he'd promised her true? "I'm not that intern anymore. You can—"
"The crappy things that happened to you, happened to you, whether you were an intern or not."
"I w-w-wanted you, remember? I…I… cried because no one else could do it for me." She was a cartoon, trying to be sexy while she can't stop fucking sobbing. She needed action. She let go of him with one hand and stretched the arm down. Words weren't how they did this. His prick all but jumped into her hand. "You haven't felt truly empty in….in…weeks, have you? I can fix that." This was playing dirty, and that'd always worked.
He disengaged her hand.
"Haveyou actually been fucking someone up there?" The oxygen loss, the snot, and this made her stomach turn over. She'd seen nothing of his personal phone. Had he really been that bad at compartmentalizing?
"What?"
"The last time we were here you couldn't get that hot, trembling cock in my 'just right' cunt fast enough. But in—"
"You weren't crying then!" There it was. That determined snarl he got whenever she fell into old cycles. "Meredith, I would never…you know that. How I feel about our vows—including yours to kill me. I'd never…."
Her head felt like it was a spin cycle. "You did. With me. Because she…she did it first."
His face went dark with rage but not long enough to represent a full thought. "No. I don't know what you're doing here, but you…you don't do that."
"N-Not even wh-when I was a whore, right?"
"Mer—"
"But…you d-didn't…. Fuck." Meredith tried to get herself under control, but even with the steam her sinuses were blocking, and she couldn't stop the freaking stupid sheets of tears. It wasn't like she hadn't cried about this. "With them, it wasn't the sex…it was the…the betrayal. "
He stared down at her, his mouth partially open, and she wanted to simply pull him to her and stick her tongue past his lips, and not care, just like she'd wanted seven years ago with Rose—Rose. Renée. It meant nothing, but there was always something.—but she couldn't, because she did care.
"Okay," he said. "I can see that. But I don't get—"
"Refusing to move? When I'd said no to Boston, too? You had a great job, and I took that, and I'm supposed to support you like…like you were gonna do. That's how you see it, so, so…of course. Of course it's a betrayal."
"No, it's not. Not like you—Christ." He grabbed her hands. "I don't think that. I don't feel that way."
That Derek looked lost and she didn't think all the wetness on his face was from his unmolded hair wasn't satisfying or vindicating. It was frightening. This was the sort of problem he solved. She wanted him to just do that, even if it'd gotten them here. Even if she was supposed to be strong, and independent, and the sun. She was tired.
I'm tired, Meredith.
"Those two situations aren't the same. We'd planned for the end of your residency. This…I took this job for my career. That's…it is a lot like what I did then."
"It isn't—" It couldn't be, because if it was, she was in Addison's place. "You've already come back twice. I should've…The kids…they're little, they're well-adjusted…. Cristina's gone…. It was about my career, too."
"Yeah, and it was right for you." His smile meant that wasn't sarcasm. She hadn't cured death, but he was back to being Derek anyway. Why now? "You don't regret it, but you're willing to lie about that….You're scaredthat something will happen like it did with us. You haven't said anything, because you think it'd be your fault."
Why had she let him learn to follow her thoughts? "I told you to go."
"And that wasn't the end for us. But…even if it had been? If you hadn't wanted to try…" He pressed his lips together, the word registering in his eyes. "It's not trying. Not like with Addison. You are the common variable here. I couldn't get you out of my head after a couple of months. Seven years? It's possible you've ruined me for anyone else."
She narrowed her eyes at him, and droplets on her eyelashes, the shower this time, made him blur. The past two days had made so many lines she'd been ready to face with clarity wobbly or washed out. Squinting like this was already making her head hurt. That was all continuing suspicion was going to do, but it was her default. She'd been raised to look out for herself. Her mother made it clear that no one was above screwing you over, especially not a man. And how did that turn out for her?
"You've ruined me for myself," she muttered.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing…. Everything. I don't know. Being the pathetic, paranoid wife who's crying in the shower on Christmas Eve. And…we don't have time. I-I need to wash my hair."
"Let me? You got to do Zola's."
"If we hadn't—"
"That wasn't…. Mer, are you…?"
"Here." She thrust her shampoo into his chest, welcoming the chance to turn away. It wasn't like it'd make him stop.
"You're not pathetic. And…with my past…our history…your childhood…. You don't need to worry, but it's not difficult to see why you would. But I don't think that's what you meant just now."
"Sometimes you're wrong."
"Sometimes I'm not. You can tell me that, or why you were crying, because that started first."
Well, when I listened to the voicemail on the phone given to you by the federal government, which is probably a felony—but that confession wouldn't be entirely honest. If she'd really thought he'd done something, she'd have been burning his clothes on a Yule log, or something.
Sometimes, he was right. She didn't regret staying here. She definitely didn't have the right to whine about him being gone.
"I….It's just…what it sounds like. I can't…couldn't…. I haven't been able to get myself off, okay? And, apparently, it's…it's all me." Her voice warbled. She crossed her arms, but it did nothing to make her feel less ridiculous. "Should be vindicating for you."
"What? Of course it's not."
"You're freaking kidding me. I blueballsed you for weeks. Months."
"I was being a dick, and you're allowed to not want sex."
"It was never aboutthat! It has never been that!"
"I'm not…. Okay. It's not that. You haven't been able to finish? Or…what?"
"I…It's not like I'm trying constantly. Not much free time."
"Yeah, but you're you. You've run experiments."
"Don't mock me."
"I'm not. I'm sincerely asking. You didn't respond any differently just now…. "
"So, what happened to me?" she snarled, a new rush of tears belying her defensiveness.
"Meredith. Look. I'm not stupid enough to think I haven't caused bigger problems. But we have to start talking somewhere, I'm sure it's frustrating, and I…. You…you've gotten overstimulated in the past. If that's happening, it's painful."
"It's not….not…." Not what hurts. But…it all came from the same sources. Confusion and exhaustion and fear.
"Physical?" She shrugged, and he placed the shampoo on a shelf before moving his hands to her shoulders. "I haven't made anything better for you in months. I'd like to start changing that."
"You have. The past few days…. Anyway, you've probably reset me. Fixing things is what you do. I-I…. It's…it was…it's not important. Orgasms aren't everything.!"
"Okay, now I'm worried."
"Screw you." Her voice cracked. Goddamnit, Grey. "I'm not like that anymore,. We're not. We're more than that."
"I didn't mean—I never thought there was anything wrong…. JesusMaryJoseph." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I want to be us—"
"I want that, too!"
"—but I keep skipping steps, and it's hurting you "
"I'm being too sensitive. I said stuff, too. Stuff that could've made you not want that. Us. Me. It's stupid. I-I just…I get it in my head that…that the last time coulda been the last time, and I just…." Panic. "…can't."
"Oh." His breath was a puff of heat passing by her ear. "Did…? Have you felt like that since I left?"
"No," she admitted.
Derek Shepherd was not a stupid man. She knew that. She'd been hoping he'd put it together for most of this conversation, whether she'd acknowledged it to herself or not. That didn't keep her from mentally rifling through all the possible lies and distractions. None of them fit over the truth.
She'd imagined him returning to continue the fight, and she'd burned with it. By the time she'd been alone in a SeaTac hotel that angry, fierce sex had been all she could foresee, and it'd burned her. That'd been when she'd known she was broken. She'd half wondered if she was being punished for letting her desire to see him interrupt everyone's concern for April to arrange, and then chickening out of the trip—but it hadn't started then.
"No. Since Zola's birthday," he concluded, and his forehead touched the crown of her head before his hands dropped to her shoulders. "I was an asshole."
"Yeah. You were."
She'd been prepared to explain to their daughter that Daddy would miss her Saturday party as well as her Monday birthday. Then, there'd been an email, a red-eye, and a red-eyed Derek at the door. He'd said maybe twenty words to her. Three of them had been "I'm tired, Meredith," after he'd reacted to her carefully-planned come on by dumping her on the floor.
It didn't matter that he hadn't meant to; that he'd seemed genuinely surprised; once she'd heard Amelia's car leave to return him to the airport, she'd cried for the first time since he'd left. She'd been sure she'd screwed everything up. That she'd misread the understood truce agreement. In spite of her determination to focus on the present, the past two days had given her more questions than a four-year-old doubting Santa Claus.
"It…I was…. Getting out of there was hellish. I really thought I'd deck the next person who said I couldmake it up to her."
Meredith smirked to herself. She could give a master-class on how much bullshit that was.
"They all thought they were commiserating. As though I wouldn't rather be here. My researchers are children. Most would be interns or in early residency if they were surgeons; they think every skipped family engagement gets them a gold star. That's why they don't have anywhere to go by the time they're higher-ups.
"You'd put together an incredible party, and I even left the metro toy I bought for B on the plane. I felt shown up. That's stupid. You worked so hard to make it clear how loved our little girl is, and you included Maggie, when that—"
"Her parents couldn't get out here, and thirty's a big deal. It was the least I could do."
"It wasn't. Why do you keep…? Did Richard check in? On the twenty-second?"
"Why should he? He's not my father. For him, that's just Maggie's birthday. I'm the one who has to factor it into six months of memories."
"An entire childhood. An entire life."
She drew her arms in further. She couldn't blame it on cold. Their water heater was excellent, and being naked had nothing to do with how exposed she felt. Exposed, and she hated it, delicate. She'd spent most of her first three decades having her skin thickened into scar tissue by her mother, but there were areas where layers had been peeled off, leaving a barrier as thin as tissue paper. "Alex came over to help me decorate."
"I'm glad you weren't alone. God, I pushed that flight so many times. Originally, I was getting in Thursday night, and staying through her birthday. I didn't risk even telling you that, and sure enough, within a few hours someone scheduled a meeting. Then another, then a congressional tour…" He shook his head. Water droplets flicked off the ends of his hair. "I got here feeling like I'd already let all of you down, and I…I didn't try to apologize, because I didn't want to fight." Meredith's snort was a heavy, wet hunk of a thing. "I didn't!"
"I believe you. It's...a while ago…. I got Maggie to watch the kids for the weekend. The twelfth? Not actually that long…. Seemed ominous to be visiting on a Friday the thirteenth, but I wouldn't have been flying on it. Doesn't matter. I couldn't get on a plane."
"You haven't flown commercial—"
"It wasn't that…. It was when April had the…Samuel, and—"
"That was the twelfth?"
"Yeah. Was there something important going on?" If would've been interrupting, not going had been the best choice.
"Two years ago. I'm pretty sure we got the decision about the lawsuit on December twelfth, and that was the end of your first trimester with Bailey. The day everything said you didn't need to be worried anymore, but you were…you knew something like that could happen further on."
"Oh. That sounds right. The date. And…it makes sense. I dunno. April was there for me when I had the miscarriage, and then I…I couldn't do anything. None of us could. There were more doctors in the chapel than families, but I...don't do that. I had to get away. There was stuff we should've talked through before the holiday, but I didn't want to fight or to talk about fighting. I just wanted to be with you for a while, and I was scared you wouldn't want to see me."
"Meredith." he breathed, and maybe expected her to snap at him, because it seemed to take forever for him to add, "I would've been so happy to have you there. I miss you."
"Yeah?"
"All the time. Jesus, I've been…. The last thing I want to do now is fight with you, okay?" He reached behind him for her shampoo, and her shoulders relaxed a little. "It's Christmas."
No-no-no-nonono. Even Meredith hadn't totally understood what had made her fall apart initially, but this time she felt something crack.She dug her thumb and forefinger into her eyes trying to diffuse the pressure once again building up behind them. Knowing there was no point didn't mean she wanted to give in. She had a second where she thought she might be able to breathe through the sob that was turning her inside out, but she wasn't strong enough. Was she supposed to be? She didn't want to be hard—She wasn't—
"Mer?" Derek tried to turn her again, and she grabbed the towel bar. She longed to slide the door open and run—She was shivering—trembling—she wasn't cold—she wasn't—She'd run and crack her head on the bathroom floor, and ruin Christmas—She ruined good things. "Hey. I've got you. I'm not letting go. I'm not letting you go." He positioned his arm firmly below her ribcage. He knew how to keep her breathing, but that was how he'd learned how much force it took to break her.
She'd been prepared to hold it together this week, to be accused of being unsentimental, or ordinary, or untrustworthy. She'd almost convinced herself that he thought he hadn't holding back the night he'd tried it in front of the trailer. That she'd withstood it, and he'd determined "whole and healed" meant shatterproof. It explained how he could aim for her fragile points, without worrying that she would.
"Tell me what's wrong, sweetheart."
Nothing. It's Christmas. Nothing's wrong. It's nothing. Nothing's wrong at Christmas.
"There's…It's nothing. I-It's Christmas. Things've been good.… I think tomorrow's going to be really nice, and…and I feel like I'm in a falling snow-globe that's about to hit the floor."
The weight of his exhalation made her wish she could breathe the words back into her lungs, even when he kissed the side of her mouth with a whispered, "Thank you. I didn't mean—"
"I know." she insisted. It was humiliating that she'd lost it over the suggestion that the gloves would be taken up again as early as Boxing Day—Was that where that came from?—"The kids are gonna be ready. We have to—" She smelled her shampoo before hearing the lid click.
"How could you know?" he asked quietly, sweeping her hair back. "I haven't exactly been consistent, or forthcoming." He started to work shampoo into her scalp. "I know better. Addison and I did it for years. Because it's Christmas. I didn't notice, until we were here. That Christmas…the stupid Shepherd Christmas?" She nodded, slightly. Even though he couldn't see her, she tried to give him the smile he'd prompted. The result felt twisted. "She was frustrated with me, because I wasn't engaging and Christmas had always been our holiday. Which it had, in the way she meant, but at some point it'd become our holiday in that if there was anything else going on in our lives, we'd just ignore it. That didn't make for a better Christmas, it made it look better. I told her it was because Christmas made you want to be with the ones you loved, and I'd fallen in love with you."
"Oh, Derek."
"I wasn't trying to hurt her. I couldn't do it again. I won't. Maybe I should've chalked it up to missing New York, or my family, but I think… it would've been like wrapping coal."
He focused the spray of the shower attachment on her, combing his fingers through her hair as he rinsed it, his fingertips brushing her skin unpredictably enough to make her shiver. He was drawing it out to give her time to process, but she couldn't get the last image out of her head.
"Is that a thing?" She could imagine it too well, being a child, not sure if you'd been good enough, the rush of relief at finding only beautifully wrapped presents, and then having all that hope come crashing down.
"Never for our kids."
"But…is it?"
"Not that I've heard of." That was almost what she'd told Zola, not well, in normal households…. He plucked her conditioner out of the caddy. "It gave you a holiday. Your mom doing things that way. You don't do Thanksgiving. You hate Valentine's Day. Halloween scares you for the wrong reasons. And, sure, there were a lot of Christmas mainstays you'd never participated in, but you've always been game. You got Christmas. You get Christmas. You're more of a Christmas person than I am."
"Take it back," she whined.like a kid trying to protect her street cred. She was not the Christmasphile in the movies that'd been on in every patient's room for a month. She wasn't the Christmasphobe counterpart, either.
He nudged in front of her again, and put his hands on her cheeks, gently turning her face up toward him. "Think about your values. Taking care of people. Being there for your family. Giving shelter to those who need it. Making sure kids know they're loved.
"You're not that intern anymore, you are an incredible surgeon, a fantastic mother, an extraordinary woman, and nothing happened to you." He arced his thumb over her chin. "You are what I always knew you would be. If I gave you had anydoubt that I want to be with you next Christmas.…" She lost the battle against casting her eyes away. "Your world is not going to shatter in two days. This is not fake. It's not a Christmas Truce. Okay? We're not playing soccer between the trenches. My history teachers always made that sound so miraculous, but how meaningful could it be if the same guy could shoot you on Boxing Day?" Was that actually why it was called that?
"Reprieves from execution give you hope, even if you know it's only been rescheduled." Meredith sighed. "It was my only holiday with Mom. And with the stuff that isn't…isn't us…I've been okay…I've been good, but that doesn't change the fact that I want to be with you next Christmas, too."
He kissed her. "What about after that?"
She smiled. "I'm not a super long-term planner. I can give you probably." She squirted his hair stuff onto her hand—the crap was asking to activate that male-patterned baldness gene, but he wouldn't let her replace it—and then raised her lips to his.
"After that?"
"I could be convinced."
He lifted her of his own volition this time, and a minute later she'd grabbed the bar again to keep from yanking his hair with both hands. "You really think there could be anyone else?"
She shook her head, because it was almost impossible to fathom when she could feel him holding back almost as soon as he was properly inside her, forget his promise to let her take all of him. He fought to last for her, and she didn't make it easy, She wasn't questioning herself, unsure if he wanted Madonna or the whore. She knew his tells, knew exactly when poking her tongue in the shell of his ear would have the most effect. But he could pull her apart, too, make her forget about how long they had or didn't have.
He tipped her backward, both arms under her spine as he thrust into her. It wasn't until her ass was again supported by porcelain, legs splayed to give his hand full access to her clit, that she realized she never worried that he'd drop her. Not even when he lost control of everything else.