"I need your help."
"'melia?" Derek muttered, not sure he wasn't still asleep and stress dreaming back to his twenties. It'd happened. "What's going on? Did Herman—?" Derek held his phone away from his face. Just past six-thirty. When he put it back, he was surprised to hear Amelia saying "—not that. One of my practice tumors is on her way in. I'd scheduled her for weeks ago but bronchitis delayed things. We've got a head-on MVA with at least two CNS, and there's a patient being escorted from UW. He's getting a SANE, and EMTs say he hasn't been able to move anything past C-9."
"Jesus."
"We need him, too, but he can't stabilize a cord. This...I don't want Nelson on this. He'd be disgusted by the event; he is, but it's clear that it was targeted and you know how he can be."
"Yeah." Derek raked a hand through his hair. He'd had an affable relationship with the shadow Shepherd, and been satisfied with always ducking his invitations to golf at a club that'd probably banned the Irish at some point, let alone anyone else. Every time he looked at the man, he heard the way Meredith had said that she hated him.
"I've already okayed it with Owen. And your wife, who said something about Pride pins."
"You—" He looked over the puppy—who'd slept on top of the arc of stuffed animals for two nights before she'd gotten there first and made them unnecessary—and Zola. Meredith smiled at him, holding up her damn phone. "Did you wake her up?"
"No. I texted her."
He flinched as his phone vibrated against his face.
MEREDITH GREY: stupid cast itches. Miranda's off today, can come over. Wanted to see if "not taking her advice" is cute. Assuming Artie?
He nodded at her, and addressing both of them, said, "I haven't been in the OR in months."
Meredith rolled her eyes, and the rustling on the other side of the line made him imagine Amelia doing the same. She probably didn't make a gun sign along with it and then draw an X over her heart, but he couldn't see her, so it was possible.
"I was off for the wrist longer, drama queen."
"I'll give you Edwards," Amelia said. "You'll barely have to do anything."
"She's a second-year; you're a good teacher, not a xerox."
"Eh, it's almost July. What's six months?"
"Until she's a third year?" He sighed. "Am I taking the kids to daycare?"
"Oh, that's up to you and your wife. I need to go check on my tumor. See you in an hour."
Not if I'm bringing the kids. The phone beeped at him before he could say that, or ask which tumor. He put the device down on the bedside table and rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm not going to let the Cockroach in on this," he said, before turning back to Meredith.
"No," she signed, barely lifting her hand from the top of Artie's head. When she put it down, he watched her fingers, recognizing the way she'd handled the stuffed fox while she was in the hospital. It still lived beside her pillow. He suspected she'd needed the softness during hours where she'd woken while he slept and hadn't wanted to disturb him, or Zola and her menagerie.
"It's going to be a hate crime."
"Tell Detective M-O-O-R-E hi."
"Yeah," he muttered. It'd been two nights since she'd handed him the tablet with the Law & Order page of the ASL site pulled up. It was irrational to resent that they were likely the last of the vocabulary they'd integrate to save her from having to write the same words again and again, but everything about her upcoming meeting with the prosecutor's office felt like an irritant on an open wound to him. She seemed unconcerned about it, which concerned more than it reassured.
"Not hate crime."
"That's not actually your decision, Mer."
"Judge will drop it."
"Some of the charges," he acknowledged. Washington didn't have "attempted" on the registry, and the list on the charge sheet would get shorter as they progressed, but over the phone he'd gotten the impression that the degree of O'Grady's interest in Meredith, and assumptions about his relationship with his sister, hadn't been adequately understood.
"Past, he not know."
"You didn't tell him."
"L-I-S-S-Y not."
"I'm not—"
She hissed, pointing down at Zola. Artemis lifted her head, like she might need to intercede. Okay, so he wasn't getting the kids up and dressed. He paused for a moment. Watching her sign didn't exactly build muscle memory, but there were mirror neurons involved, and they'd seen most of the same videos.
"Not saying that," he managed. "M-I-R-A-N-D-A? How close?" He tried to read more of her expression in the light of her phone, but she flicked through the screens too quickly.
"Dock. Okay. You go."
"Like this?" He gestured to his pajamas, and she shook her head, smiling. He paused in the bathroom doorway. "Don't think she told him. Think he heard. School. Later. Twenty years." Something registered with her, and he wasn't sure what. "Wait." He angled the door to keep the light from blinding her, also cutting off her means of conversation. It wasn't fair to use her limitations against her, but it wouldn't be long before her voice chased him in here again. She'd be following, too.
She didn't want to think her friend had told her secrets; especially to the brother who might've been hurting—molesting—her. But Meredith already knew that part of her story wasn't going to be taken into account. Not without corroboration from Boston, and his impression had been that the family wasn't revealing much.
Additional antipathy toward Meredith would only add to motive, even if the tag of "hate crime" didn't stick. She hadn't been out in years. Not openly, if that was the way to put it, but she'd said she was done denying anything after the last wave of press. Was she worried it'd be a negative? That it was something they'd have to prove? They weren't going to track down Layla; they'd both been minors. Sadie wasn't an ideal witness, but she'd known first—Hadn't she? He wasn't a hundred percent sure what the order had been. Meredith had been out in Seattle at fifteen, and she'd kissed girls prior to that. At a school where each year had a hundred kids who'd been there for most of their lives, that would've spread. She was so sure O'Grady didn't know, but about what? Layla? Her sexuality overall? That Felicia knew for sure? What had she told Felicia? When had she told Felicia?
"Meredith?" he asked, after dumping his clothes on the dresser rather than the bed. "Why he hurt her? Not your fault."
He made those three signs sharply, and although her last hearing test had put her at normal hearing, forming them felt like the first time he'd made an incision. New motions that his hands knew would become familiar.
"I know." She made the sign broad: I really know, shut up about it. Then, with a sigh that bordered on her bull-noise. "Then, I told L-I-S-S-Y, I'd go leave her."
Go leave her? "That summer, here?"
"No!" She snapped her fingers shut, and Artemis's head rose. Meredith turned to touch her with her left hand. "Leave. Leave!" He was missing something. "E-X-I-T—E-X-E—"
"Exeter!" he exclaimed and then grimaced. Zola didn't stir.
"Both," Meredith signed around the index finger of her left hand, Artie's watchful eyes following her movements.
He managed not to let sound out when his mouth fell open, but his eyebrows shot up."You?" She growled. "Sorry! Sorry. Early." He paused. They'd decided that not knowing insults was the best way to keep the kids from picking them up to use on unsuspecting people. "I'm S-T-U-P-I-D."
"I look better on paper, too."
If it'd been any brighter he'd have foregone his button-up and put on his sweater just to hide his expression. "Then, you wanted? Not your people." It didn't seem like they would've been Felicia's either. He was sure that Exeter had had its riot grrrls, but they wouldn't have been on the brochure. "Fifteen-year-old you," he added, thinking of the early school pictures, and the few images from her second stint at Dartmouth, at home in cardigans made for a picturesque New England autumn.
"No. S-N-O-B-B-Y S-E-X-I-S-T, P-A-T-R-I-A-R-C-H-A-L, H-O-M-O-P-H-O-B-I-C…." Her fingers flew through the letters, like he'd known they would once she had the basics. "Mom send me away? Never. Then, I knew. Now, I know more. L-I-S-S-Y, I knew... I believed. She needed different school. I pretended." Meredith's head ducked, and Artemis raised hers to lick her human's cheeks.
Of course. He thought of the two girls in the yearbook photo. With or without an older boyfriend, it did seem like Felicia would have benefited from leaving before college, but he wondered if they'd gotten close enough for Meredith to be subconsciously setting herself up for rejection.
"Your idea. You think he knows?"
Meredith shrugged. "I stole her."
"Maybe he saw friends, maybe more…."
"Yeah. Don't know. Why Boston marry confused."
"What?"
Meredith rolled her eyes, stopping at the white board, and then shook her head. "M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E-S. Later, I'll teach you."
"You teach me a lot." He picked up his phone. He had a list of things to bring up when she could talk, but they were surprisingly trivial. They'd figured out communicating the important things.
He'd just sat down on the bed to put on socks when the monitor lit up signaling that Bailey was moving. When his voice came over the speaker, Meredith's smile was a light that stayed with Derek as he went into the hallway.
"Mama, Maaama, Mama…Daddy, I wake up!" Bailey sing-singed as Derek opened his door.
"You pulled a hard right there, huh, bud?"
"Good mornin'!"
"Evading the question?" He swung him up out of the crib, tickling the Yoda on his Star Wars pajamas. "Your mother in you, I see."
"See Mama?"
"Yup." It felt like an eternity since he'd had to say no, but it'd only been a few weeks. He wasn't a stranger to having his whole life change in a matter of days, but it was never less jarring in retrospect. Not that they were in retrospect, yet. "Let's get you dry. Then, you can remind your namesake that she can't say I've never done anything for her."
When he took the freshly-diapered baby into their bedroom, he found Zola sitting up, or something close to it, considering that most of her body was draped on her mother's.
The next time they were alone, he was going to find a tactful way to point out that after having breaks from each of them, their kids shown a solid preference for her. She'd have an argument, likely to do with "Mama milk" in Bailey's case, but there wasn't an obvious explanation for Zola, other than that she was Mommy's girl.
"Mama, I wake!"
"I heard. Daddy's a N-E-R-D." She grinned cheesily at Derek. "R-H-Y-M-E."
"Caught that."
"Daddy eedyot," Bailey said, pausing halfway through crawling up toward Meredith to hold a hand up to his forehead in an approximation of the sign for "Daddy."
"That's okay. We love him."
"Aw, sweetheart, I'm touched," Derek said, dropping the handful of saline flushes he'd taken from the lockbox onto her bedside table. Meredith growled at him, which made Zola giggle.
"Up, happy Z-O," she signed. Zola rolled over, her arm going around Artemis's neck. The dog's tail thumped the coverlet.
"Nice woof-woof," Bailey said, a tiny bit of hesitance left in his tone. He squirmed into the spot his sister had left, grabbing the neck of Meredith's shirt. Derek didn't think she had a conscious thought prior to her gaze starting to cast around frantically for his. Her breathing hitched, and he had his hand hovering over her chest before he curled his fingers into his palm. He took hers quickly, and she squeezed her eyes shut. With the other arm, he hooked Bailey, rolling him away from Meredith and jiggling him until his giggles drowned out even the birds starting to greet the morning.
"Silly, silwy!" he squealed.
Meredith's eyes snapped open.
"Say that again?" Derek prompted.
"Silly! Silwy, silwy!"
"Listen to you. Good talking!"
"He's still getting it wrong," Zola pointed out.
"That's okay. He's trying, and he's learning. Like he's learning how to pet the doggie. Can you show us how you do that, Bails?"
The toddler brought his hand down on Artemis's head in a steady rhythm more suited for bongos than bone.
Derek ripped the top of an alcohol pad off with his teeth and squeezed Meredith's hand. The corner of her lip turned up, slightly. Bailey's new sound had kept her eyes from going dull, but it'd been a narrow escape. It was painful how quickly she could be disheartened. To this point, her recovery had been essentially straight-forward, but if the physical part had been loop-the-loops he doubted backslides, especially small ones, would've frustrated her as much. She'd comment on other people's failings, but underneath her patience ran deep for everyone but herself.
"No problems," he told her. "Not your fault." He unhooked the PNN, and took his time wiping down her catheter. "Meds or baby?" She pointed at Bailey. "Good call. Let's not give the puppy brain damage."
Zola's head popped up. "You're a brain doctor, Daddy."
"I'm not a dog brain doctor." A vet. They needed to find a vet, because the closest option was not an option.
"That's a veterfarian."
He might not have registered Meredith's huff of amusement if he hadn't had two fingers under the shoulder strap of her sling. He kissed the apple of her cheek. The curve was sharper than it'd been in a long time, but he'd be able to cook for her soon; she could work on dexterity by chopping for him.
The way the words going domestic, Shepherd? appeared in his head must've been how Meredith heard some of the voices from her past. They could've belonged to any of a half-dozen people, and he would've told all of them yes.
"Veterinarian is a big word, princess," he said. Correction by modeling was one of the techniques Meredith had found that didn't seem like it'd make a difference before he'd seen it work. "Do you think you'd want to be one someday?"
"I like doggies."
"You're very good with Artie. Were you careful climbing over her to snuggle with Mommy?"
"'Course. Lemme show you."
Derek had once thought that being able to manipulate his little sister, or his sisters' kids was a skill. He'd been wrong. They were eager to show-off, and to please. Zola climbed over the puppy without incident; a quick sign got Artemis to roll toward her, and Zola unknowingly gave her positive reinforcement by rubbing her belly. With those two distracted, he propped Meredith's arm up over the empty divot.
"Much less crowded," he said. She shrugged, a half-hearted acknowledgment. She'd taken her shirt off to feed Bailey last night, and she thought that should be it. She shouldn't be upset by having someone pulling at her collar hoping for boob access while feeling crowded, facing an unpredictable day, nine hours after her last dose of any medication.
Usually, in the mornings she sat up against a stack of pillows, with another positioned to keep Bailey from leaning against her left arm. Since he'd have to leave, he held her shirt for her to pull her right arm out, making it easier for her to get back into it. All of this would be in her control again, soon. So would whether or not she asked for help.
He didn't doubt the moment of panic would've passed. He'd noticed her have similar moments before Bailey started nursing, and they didn't last. She should see the way her lashes fluttered as she met their son's eyes. No video would really capture it.
He announced each of her medications before injecting them, and nothing spoke to her having a bad night more than her not making a face when he said "Diazepam." He'd expected an objection. It was an hour early. Miranda could administer it. She hadn't had an anxiety attack while alone with the kids.
And if she did—this soon, this far out—she'd be devastated.
He connected the syringe and then paused. Watching Bailey nurse, she'd relaxed as though it'd already taken effect, and he'd noticed that before. Maybe he'd suggest not putting a strict deadline on weaning him; especially if she hadn't gone back to work. But who knew what their world would look like in two months?
"While we were walking with Jo and Callie, I told you about the year I went to summer school, and the sounds that.…" Zola had settled with her head on Meredith's lap, and he didn't have to see her eyes to know her ears were open. Her mother in her. "…bothered me?" Meredith nodded, her brow furrowed. "There was a bell over the threshold at Dad's store. He loved that damn thing. In warm weather, he left the door propped, so you only heard it if it was your day to help open. He took one of us every morning; once Amy was born, he'd say that's why he had five kids. Someone would ask why he didn't have seven, and he'd say 'because getting up at dawn is for soldiers on Saturday and priests on Sunday.'"
Meredith bent her arm at the elbow, then flicked her wrist.
"Go fish!" Zola translated, grinning.
"Getting up to go was up to us. Forcing a kid out of bed only got you a grumpy kid, and if you set your own clock you didn't get to be unhappy about it. He didn't have to force us to go to the store. Drove Mom nuts. 'You're so eager to listen to him prostltvyze, but I need dental pliers to get you up for church?'
"Dad talked about interesting things, and you didn't have to sit still. He'd always carry our book bags. The time I got indignant about it. It was one thing for the girls, they weren't expected to be strong. He said it wasn't about who was what. He only got so much time with each of us, and he wasn't going to waste it listening to complaints about heavy bags. He'd been conditioned to march for days carting bags that weighed as much as we did. Sometimes he did put us on his back to get there, if we were dragging, or the walks weren't shoveled..
"Mom was the same about kitchen duty. Teaching us the 'value of work,' really wasn't the motive. We'd eventually pick up basic cooking skills, but if you ended up just sitting on a counter going on about some comic, that was fine. Probably easier. But kids want to help, and we made every task into a privilege. The cash register, the pricing gun. We had the notches on a doorway, but how far we could lift the shutters was the way we measured ourselves.
"Unlocking was the first thing we learned. Amelia was two when she got her key, and the yarn she strung it on was so long it hit her belly button. Of course, no one could fix it. When that bell rang, Dad would close his eyes and say, 'Beautiful.' Some days, you could get him to talk about saving pennies to buy a store with a bell over the door. He kept them in a box under the floorboards. Oh, he'd spent some on toys and movies, just like we did; he'd had other ideas about what he might do, but that bell stuck with him. Before he met Mom, imagining the sound kept him going overseas, and hanging it up was one of the proudest days of his life. He'd say, 'remember, unlikely dreams are just goals you haven't reached yet.'"
He'd gotten off track from the story he meant to tell, but it'd been a long time since he'd talked about those days in any detail. Once he started remembering, details tumbled into his mind. He'd always meant to tell Meredith more about his dad, and share what he remembered with the kids, but he hadn't found many chances. He needed to start creating them.
"Like I said, in summer, you heard the bell once a week, and you'd be proud, too. In winter, especially around holidays, the door was shut, and it became the most irritating sound in the world. Every time someone came through the door, it jangled. But, if you were looking at Dad at that moment, he'd light up.
"I think we all thought that bell was one-of-a-kind, but outside the neighborhood, it'd turn up. The first time it happened to me, I was at an instrument store, about ten minutes from home. Getting to second-closest place involved changing trains, but for the rest of high school that's where I went. When I decided to propose to Addison, it was December. I swear, every jeweler in Manhattan had that bell. I didn't buy a ring until after Valentine's Day.
"It always takes me back to the shop. The men who…hurt him…they threw the door open so hard that it didn't sound the same, but I see it happening every time. Most places have electronic sensors these days, if they're small enough to have anything.
"Zo, remember our quest for] new sneakers?" He put a hand on his daughter's head.
"I can do them on myself,"
"You're so good at it, too. Do you remember where we got them?"
She tapped her finger against her lips. "The big, big ball store."
Meredith pressed her mouth against the top of Bailey's head, and Derek could see the pink creep into her cheeks. There was no greater blessing than their kids.
"Is that where Momma takes you?" he asked.
"I'd never been there, but you had a…a…I don't remember."
"A discount. An excuse. We were on the threshold of the little store you go to over here, and the bell rang. The nice lady holding the door for us might still be standing there, baffled. I did a one-eighty like it was Pavlov's bell, and I was a dog. "
Meredith huffed in amusement, but stretched her hand out to him. He took it, linking their fingers against Bailey's back.
"If a voice I don't recognize calls me on the bridge, I think it's Clark. Sometimes, my hand cramps, and I think the graft is failing. Pins and needles always take me to that OR with Callie where my hand went numb. Sometimes I expect to see Brooks beside me. It's not anything like what you're dealing with, but—"
Meredith shook her head, vehemently, and he thought of her signing "not the same, not the same," the other night. This time she meant the opposite.
"Maybe closer to when things happened. What I'm saying is…is that for most of my life, I would've said Amelia was the only one who carried trauma from that day. That's not true. You don't go through something that hurts you without wanting to avoid going through it again, even as a memory. It's bad if it's something that happens out of nowhere, but…. It was Manhattan in the seventies. We knew…things happened. Those nights in the woods were the hardest to get past right after, but what stuck with me…I think if you know there's a possibility of something living under your skin, and it happens, it's worse."
Meredith didn't move at first, but when she did, her eyes landed on Zola. Afraid of losing Zola, after taking her home alone, she'd lost her. She'd been desperate to have her back and terrified of losing him. He felt something tighten in his chest.
"Fear of losing people is always with you," he said, "But they weren't the only deep fears you were carrying that day. I'm biased on the side of hate crime, because you're a woman who is queer and that doubles the latent fear. You deserve the same rights as anyone, but that includes being able to move through the world without being afraid. If someone doesn't see that, it's their problem."
Meredith kept her attention down on Bailey for a moment, and then those serious green eyes rose to him. "I luff eu," she said. For the first time since the wires went on, she didn't flinch or turn away at the sound of her own voice.
"I love you, too. Sorry if I'm being pushy, I just…I don't want it to be seen as some sort of personal falling out."
A chime came from her phone, and she flipped it for him so see.
MIRANDA BAILEY: halfway. Ol' McDonald should head out. Boats going in are full
"Old Mc...I'm going hang onto some dignity by assuming that's AutoCorrect for McDreamy."
As he swept all the syringes into the trash, Zola asked, "What's a McDreamy?"
"You are," he said, before Meredith could sign around Bailey's body. "And your mom, and brother, and the puppy, and me. We're all McDreamys, because this is my most unlikely dream. Seriously," he added at Meredith's look. It was disbelief, but she couldn't keep hopefulness far below the surface.
Her lips were hindered by the wires, but he'd gotten accustomed to the nuance, could tell how much she wanted to pull him in. She was apprehensive about being on her own; he'd seen that while she read the text, but this was separate. He had that confirmed whenhe squeezed his arm, and after he'd leaned in to kiss Bailey, signed, "Same, same, same.