"Sweet boy. You want to rock a little longer?" Meredith sat back in the glider. Letting Bay fall asleep in her arms wouldn't be a bad end to Christmas, and she wasn't sure she could contend with another meltdown. "You had a big day, huh? Big day for Baby Bailey." She tensed, but instead of objecting to the nickname, he snuggled in closer. "Still my baby aren't you? Baby Bailey," she repeated, half-singing the words to the tune of "The Little Drummer Boy". "Pa rum pum pum pum." She tapped the rhythm out on his back. "I used to do that, you know. Yeah. Momma would play the drum and pa rum pum pum pum. I liked it more than piano. Between you and me, I don't think that's the piano's fault.

"Baby Bailey," she sang again, committing to the tune. "Pa rum pum pum pum/ For you a true story/ pa rum pum pum pum/ Once, I used to think pa rum pum pum pum,/Surgery was not for me pa rum pum pum pum, /That allt I could do pa rum pum pum pum, /Was bang a drum."

She rocked him to the rhythm of the song. That was what had come most naturally to her, once she'd gotten past the relief of being allowed to hit as hard and as much as she's needed to. "Mom, she hated it pa rum pum pum pum, /Called it a waste of time. pa rum pum pum pum," His eyelids were visibly heavy, but he clung to awareness. She couldn't blame him for wanting to hold onto today. The drummer girl in her head couldn't fathom this life, where Christmases only got better.

"Sweetest baby, pa rum pum pum pum,/ I'll believe in you pa rum pum pum pum/ I will believe in you./ Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum/ You can do anything /Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum/ Surgery was best for me/ Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum Rum-pum-pum-pum Rum-pum-pum-pum

"You wonder how I knew?/ Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum/ Pum-pum-pum-pum/ I doubted / Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum For a long, long time. Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum/ I almost lost my way/ Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum/ But here on my first day/ Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum/ Rum-pum-pum-pum" Bailey's breath was evening out into it's own got up from the chair, swaying him in a practiced rhythm that kept him from waking. "Your daddy smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum and I was done."

Humming the last rum pum pum pums, she tucked Tiggy in on one side, and Elmo on the other. In Zola's room, the bright white of her new stuffed unicorn's fur stood out on her bed, illuminated by the clock she'd insisted on setting up immediately, "because it's Christmas colors!" Meredith assumed it would still be glowing red when Zola came into their room. It was never the worst thing. They were already getting too big, too fast.

She paused when heard Carolyn's voice coming from behind Amelia's door. She didn't want to eavesdrop, but if they were having an argument that could escalate into waking the kids, she was going to intercede.

"My fault…capable of love…."

She backed away, sliding her bare feet over the rug. Derek was waiting for her on their bed.

"Not a mouse is stirring," she declared, closing the door.

"Are Owen and my sister a thing?"

She flopped down on the bed. "You're twelve!"

"She's twelve, and I saw—"

"Mommy kissing Santa Claus?"

His expression became even more horrified. "No! But they were under the mistletoe."

"Scandalous. Put down your shovel, big brother. Last I heard, they were TBD, and the choice was hers. She's older than him, by the way."

"Wait, really?"

"Yup. Soldier boy is my age, just, y'know, a soldier boy. Some people live up to their potential. Some people are geniuses, some get . Teddy and Cristina are the same age. Maggie is twelve, but younger…would've been younger than Lexie the preschooler. It's all relative."

He smoothed his hand over her forehead. She made a face, and somehow that was what finally got him to lean in and kiss her. "I know what to get you for your birthday."

"Oh, yeah?" It'd been hours since she'd last drained a cup of eggnog, but hearing him planning ahead to April gave her a light-headed rush like twirling with Zola.

"A drum kit."

"Little pricey. Don't get me wrong, I'd prefer it to—" His fingers tapped out a rhythm on her lower back. Pa rum pum pum pum. "The fu—How? Oh my…." Meredith found herself thinking nonononono, but the bottom of the spiral didn't represent anything close to the same type of fall. "The monitor." She groaned. Her little moments of espionage had come along to chomp her ass. "Teach me to give the freaking ox and lamb a night off. I know the actual words to one! Mostly."

"You're a talented lyricist. Zola has always preferred your versions."

"Hmph."

He traced her spine as he added, "Did I push too hard today?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I put you on the spot."

"If I hadn't been okay with doing that, I wouldn't have done it. I'm not really that…I just didn't have a clue you were listening."

He rested his chin between her shoulder blades. "You still never regret giving it up?"

"Obviously not." She pushed him up to roll over. "I do wish my mother hadn't presented my options as 'surgeon versus useless eater,' but because I might've started out more sure of myself.

"Did I love playing? Sure. I was an angry teenager who got take it out on a kit every night. Without that outlet…. I would've gotten into real trouble. Performing, I got attention without having to reveal anything. I wanted to travel.… Except…I only went on, like, a tour and a half because of school, but every time I woke up somewhere different, I knew I was running. It would've become spiralling, and...playing bars in the city or practicing in a shed in Dorchester wasn't like that. I didn't want to end up hating something I loved. Now I love surgery. And that life never would've led to this.

"I used to think that for me making it would mean being a mediocre surgeon with a studio apartment and.… Christmas parties that end with cocoa and carols? Forget it. I'm sure Mom would rather have worked it and taken off two days when I wasn't around—or not at all. And see? I'm already invoking her when I speculate about that version of me.

"If I haven't been clear, and I appreciate that I'm not always, I love this crap. I don't show it the way other people do, because I'm made of hang-ups, but the weeks I've spent retooling lists, looking at blueprints for a princess tower, and mix-and-matching Sesame Street toys? I loved it more than...No. Not more than is allowed, or acceptable, or whatever. I'm their mom. I love it.

"I also love that dorky grin Alex got opening the frame-by-frame Star Wars book. I love that Richard recognized that visual history of surgery I put on the coffee table as the one he gave us our first Christmas here. I love that Miranda got so excited about the DVD of Billie Holiday Live that Callie got her; it hasn't been all that long since they were rivals! I love that Bailey told your mom 'thank you' without being prompted, even though Sofia was the one opening the present." Derek laughed. "I...I love that Maggie knew she could still come here when her plans fell through. That our kids have people who make things for them. And it...I think it's what you told me a family should be."

He lowered his gaze, and she touched his cheek.

"I'm not saying anything here. Well... I'm saying what I've said. I don't want to leave this place; it confused me that you did, but….You lost your brother and a sister. Lexie was as much yours as mine. More, maybe."

"That's not—"

"I'm being honest. We were good, and I loved...love her, but you spent more time with her. I didn't even…I'm not good at stopping to mourn. Death isn't all that different from people leavng after Mom scared them off. When Brooks died…I told you to go get Zola, because she's how we got out of the woods, but I didn. 't say that."

"You didn't have to. Mer, you were effectively running the hospital while on painkillers, having just had a baby and an organ taken out of you. And...maybe I'm reaching here, but I know you were scared going into the C. You and Bails survived. I didn't know what to do with how relieved I was about that, with with Heather, and Frank, and Richard,…and then Callie and Arizona falling apart... You'd already dealt with so much survivor's guilt from the plane crash. It'd make sense if you weren't ready to process that fully."

Meredith pressed her knuckles against her mouth, letting her front teeth push into her bottom lip not quite hard enough to break the skin. Shouldn't that line be harder to walk at this point in her life? Derek's hand stilled, and her pulse rushed in her ears. She could not go back to fearing he'd lose interest every time it took her a minute to get her thoughts together, or afraid he should've held his in. She wanted him to think before he spoke. That didn't mean she wanted silence.

"It's possible," she admitted. "I remember how much I wanted to operate, but once we got the swaddling and shushing down, feeding clusters and Sesame Street were a whole lot less stressful than being a first year attending, and I probably needed the break. But you..." The hairs on the nape of her neck was standing up, but he wouldn't notice, unless—until?—he took the clip out of her hair. "Should I not have made you stay home with me?"

"Huh? Mer, I loved being home with you guys."

"I know," she said, cringing at the shock in his voice. "What I mean… you 'd faced losing a big part of who you are. I put effort into not being a surgeon, and I couldn't manage it. I was still working on personhood at that point, but I did try to find a job that spoke to my interests, or whatever. You weren't ready to just teach, and the major leagues would've had a problem with the hand thing, too." He gave an amused huff. "I was scared for you…for…." She swallowed. "Us. I didn't tell you that you were enough—you are.. I'm sorry. I'm grateful that you stayed home with me, but after that….I'm sorry I let you step back when you really needed to focus on being a surgeon again. I should've waited. Gotten better at balancing the surgeon thing and the mom thing. I didn't need to stand out in comparison to Cristina. I'm doing it on my own."

He reached over, fingertips on her face encouraging her to face him. "You are. You're a diamond."

She kissed him where normally she would've added commentary. She didn't want to reference the approaching new year when it meant he'd be leaving. Not when the joke would be that while he might've obliquely referenced her birthstone more than five times over the past year, he hadn't been addressing her.

That'd been the deal they'd made when he'd first identified her birthstone. He only got to use that word in regards to her five times a year. At this point, he'd almost always used them up, and she'd make a big deal of allowing him an extra on New Year's.

This year, there were a few in the bank.

"This job cemented that after three surgeries, and a lot of frustration, you were still Dr. Shepherd, a world-class surgeon and innovator. It had nothing to do with me, or Mark, or Addison. If that's what you need to thrive right now, it's okay. But we need to stop pretending that this is all about our careers. It's about you and me. We can't stay on hold like this. I'll visit you. I'll bring the kids, buy you need to find out what it takes to come home more regularly. You're the boss. Be the boss. We can be an unconventional family, but we need to be a family. I think…. No, you do…you think about us more than when you call."

His eyes went wide. Wounded. "Of course I do."

Months of arguing made Meredith want to let the jolt that sent through her out in fury. He wasn't dismissing her. His expression was sincere. "Derek, I could title my memoir Out of Sight, Out of Mind. How'm I supposed to get to 'of course?'"

"You…. I…I haven't given you indication of anything different."

She shrugged. "You were working. You talk to me when you call. The way things were, I'd understand not doing that. Going forward…. Mom could forget me for entire shifts, but off-the clock, I existed. My father…. "

"And they're just the tip of the iceberg," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.

"I was getting ghosted before it was a thing. I wouldn't…I wasn't gonna be floored if Cristina didn't call, or if every week became every other, every month, six months. Disappointed, yeah. But in my life, people go away to start over. To forget."

"You are not forgetable. I'm so sorry."

Don't be sorry, be better, her mom would say. That dichotomy was bullshit. If you had to say that, the improvement wouldn't matter if you didn't believe it was purposeful.

"When you told me to go—"

"I knew you'd come back," she interrupted. He leaned back, one eyebrow raised enough to almost be at an angle. She sighed. "…for the kids."

"Thank you." He kissed her jawline. "Meredith, I will come home to you as long as you want me to. I don't think I'm capable of staying away. I love you." He covered her mouth with his before she could respond, like he didn't want to hear it back as much as he wanted to prove it.

She closed her eyes as he started tracing the cables on her dress. The lights playing against the backs of her eyelids went from the flashing bulbs wrapped around the tree to the colors of Zola's clock, shifting from red to green.

Nothing that had snuffed out the flame he'd lit in her under the Christmas tree had changed. In a few hours, he would be obligated to answer that freaking phone again, and she'd be sanctioning an open-ended pause.

Not open. Not an ending. She wouldn't be getting on a plane fearing that she'd become the wife in the lobby. He'd said that yesterday, but part of knowing, and loving, Derek, was learning to wait before weighing his words. Those were reactionary. His actions could be, too, but given time he'd reveal the truth. That was in the bracelet's perfect fit, in the synergy of their music, in the times she'd caught him smiling at her from across the room. She wasn't an obligation, she wasn't being naive, and she wasn't giving in. That could be enough for tonight.

He unfastened the thin belt around her waist, and started trawling his hands over the cabled patterns on her dress. She worked one of her legs underneath his, but the fabric had absolutely no give. She twisted her hips to force the ribbed hem to ride up, groaning as she finally got pressure against the tight crotch of her leggings

"Better?" Derek murmured.

"You're no help."

"We'll see about that." As he nipped at her neck, before pulling the dress off over her head, it occurred to her that she wouldn't mind if he left a mark, just to keep him on her skin for a little longer. He flipped the dress right-side out, draping it over the corner of the bed. When he turned back to her, he cupped her face, his thumbs on the corners of her smile. "Tell me you wouldn't have dumped that on the floor."

"When you met me, I would've."

"You would've claimed dry-clean only is a con, and shrunk it in the washer," he said, unclasping her necklace. "That would've been a shame." He knelt over her, holding the chain like a Kreskin's Krystal, brushing it over her middle and up between her breasts. "But that's not the case, these days."

"It can be bad for the environment, but the place where we go—What?"

He kept shaking his head, letting the necklace pool on her belly, and yanking it up until he could snaked an inch of silver around on her skin. "You, that's all. Just when I think I know how impressive you are, you surprise me."

"I've been using the same dry cleaner for three years."

"It's not that." He spiraled the ruby pendant, his smirk at her shiver not changing the thoughtfulness of his focus. "You're a gift to so many people, you know? But you're still afraid that you're not doing enough, or you're doing it wrong."

"I'm better than I used to be. Today was amazing, and I put it together. I've learned to do all these things that bring people together. But it's not just me. Even in the OR…." She hesitated. Going into what Alex had said today might take them backward again, and that was decidedly not what she wanted. "Even then, the attending surgeon is a conductor. My mom knew how valuable scrub nurses were. We have a lot of specific skills, and experience, but we can't do it alone.

"It doesn't take much more…more of all the attention, appreciation, praise stuff to be more than I got growing up. That's not enough for most people. It shouldn't be. So…I don't always know what's too much, and there are definitely people who are offended when I say spending limits are bullshit. I get that they want to keep things even, but what I mean is that sometimes something that costs a dollar is the best gift someone gets.

"We make a point of taking time for our families. All of us. Christmas isn't…it's not our only holiday. Just, usually, we can't all be off at the same time. It'd be nice if the day we did was actually a secular holiday, but we're surgeons. We work with what we have. You...you've heard most of that."

"Not in that exact order," Derek said, moving to pull off her leggings. "Our first Christmas, everything you said seemed like part of a puzzle. It'd sounded like your Christmases had been so similar, but there was so much depth to how you approached it. I didn't realize, what you and your mom did, who was in your life…. I was the one whose holiday history blurred together. You make every year stand out, Your perspective—on Christmas, and…other stuff I thought had concrete definitions—it's still evolving, and I think that's how it should be."

Other stuff? Families, maybe? What else? How much of that was—

"That's something I've thought for a long time," he admitted. "Working it into a conversation where you'd be receptive…. I didn't make a point of laying the groundwork."

"You can say I would've shot you down." She reached for the bottom of his t-shirt, but he caught her wrist. "Hey!"

"There's something else I…I'm hoping you'll be receptive to."

"Excuse you?" she demanded, laughing at the satisfied way he smiled over managing to loop back.

"Not for me. Not really." He brought her balled fist to her lips, and then let go. "Touch yourself, Mer."

"You…you found the thing."

"The…? Oh, yeah, while I was doing a last wrapping paper sweep."

"I…L-Look, I…I should've taken it out."

"Why? Don't worry, that zipper was definitely too small for both kids. We're gonna be in trouble when they master that board." He grinned at her, but it quickly faltered. "Mer? You've…."

Lost me. He cut himself off because she'd made him worry that two words would make her breakdown. The backs of his fingers ran up and down over her ribs before he placed his palm directly over her heart. For the first time, she connected the way he'd been constantly reaching for her to the time after the plane crash, when they both needed confirmation that they'd survived. He thought they'd survived. That it was over. She wanted it to be over.

"Mer? What is it?"

It was pathetic. It was better. It'd taken hundreds, thousands, of other words to get them—her—them to this point.

"It was .… I was being…." Petty, bitter, shrew wife. "…mean when I bought it."

He smiled. "That's not a shock. I'm not…I wasn't thinking about it, but it probably still seems like…." He carded a hand through his hair. She'd gotten used to that happening a lot earlier in the conversation...arguement, with far more ferocity. "I'm not trying to be mean. You've been doing everything to take care of everyone else, and I thought maybe now taking care of yourself might be…easier. You can be sure yesterday wasn't the last time. I don't want it ever to be the last time."

"Me either. That's why.… I can take care of myself."

"Yeah? Prove it," he challenged. "Show me."

"I don't have to." She wrinkled her nose. She sounded like their four-year-old being asked to try new food.

"No, you don't," he assured her, undoing her hair clip. "Never, if you don't want to."

Her jaw clenched. "I told you—"

"Wanting isn't the problem." he finished, his fingers smoothing her hair and massaging her scalp. So far from where she'd prefer to have his hands.

She'd want, then, her mind would go to that fight, her eyes would go to that crack over the Post-it, and the bed would be too damn big, and she'd be gasping for reasons that weren't at all sexy.

She decided to keep bantering with him—she'd never call that arguing again—and he'd cave. He always did, even if it seemed like he'd finally manage to tease her indefinitely. He couldn't resist.

They weren't fighting. She wasn't alone. He was lying diagonally across the majority of the bed. His eyes were blue enough to keep her from searching out any other shade.

She'd stall, and Zola would appear at the door. Their children would provide a buffer—until tomorrow night, when they wouldn't. He'd be here at least that long. He'd committed, and no research would require his attention that quickly. He said he'd be here for a week, and hadn't she just told him that he'd have to learn how to stand firm? If it took this much to convince herself that he meant what he was saying, maybe she did have something to prove.

He'd put the necklace on the bedside table. He didn't need it; his fingers really weren't fair. They were sliding over her like she was the freaking neck of the stupid—not stupid, not really—guitar, she'd had in the back of her mind for hours, and she was one unexpected tingle from squealing like the strings. It'd been a good day, but a really long one. He'd watched her for most of it, which only made those thoughts worse. There were no more distractions, and wanting wasn't the—

"Fuuuck." As in: where the fuuuck was all the sex-strike willpower she'd wielded multiple times? Gone, apparently, her body had given in before her brain called it. Exactly how she'd ended up married to the jackass, with the smirk that made her move the finger she'd planted on the edge of her clit faster. Even with him watching, giving in to a sigh of pleasure felt like letting him win.

No. No way. She was definitely winning. For now. But now was good. She'd take now.

"There you go, sweetheart. I love how blissful your face gets as soon as you let yourself touch your glans. The difference between whether you can tease over your hood, or if it's already pulled back for you to work the whole swelling bud of your clit. Your eyes get mystified every time, like you just can't believe you get to feel this good. And that's just the start….Off?" He hooked his thumbs in the elastic of her lacy panties—Black. Why had she chosen black?—She lifted her hips, and they were gone, slingshot into the bathroom hamper with no comment on them. "Still got it."

She giggled, high on the cycle of anxiety and relief as much as the chemicals releasing into her system. "For all I know, you spend your leisure time up there practicing."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Whenever I'm not talking to the kids, constant panty-flinging. I measured it out and everything."

"That's what I picture." It didn't come out in the mocking tone she'd aimed for. She couldn't picture it. Her early fantasies had revolved around him coming home, for the most part, ending in passion, even if they were born from fury. She vaguely remembered finding satisfaction in the idea of him in the Foggy Bottom house he'd used trying to woo her the way the NIH wooed him, alone without sisters or kids to disguise the creaking.

The man who'd visited a month ago hadn't been interested in having it out with her, in any sense. The dreamiest dreamer she knew wasn't hanging on to the hope that his original dream would come to fruition. She'd had no context for where he'd be when she thought of him from then on. Trying brought forth a flip book's worth of hotel and motel rooms, studio apartments, beach houses, and dorm rooms.

"Derek? Can I see your place? Your apartment?"

"You…can." Why would you want to? That was the entire meaning of the pause. Eventually, she'd be able to just know that, like she didn't know how many times he'd kissed her.

"You know what things look like here." She closed her eyes to resist the magnetic pull of the Post-it. When had he first seen that? Last week, or…? She should've fixed it. No. That would've been too easy. He moved his hand higher, along the side of her boob, and she imagined him plucking her tit like a guitar string. "You could help."

She could still feel the words in her mouth when he rolled away, without explanation. Her stomach twisted with confusion and disappointment. She'd gotten eager across, she was sure. Normally, she'd berate herself for reminding him of the rules of the game, but he would've pointed it out. He'd be staring her down, trying to get her to start wheedling. She definitely wasn't going to do that now. She wasn't exactly sure what to do. He hadn't gotten off the bed, but if she'd screwed up, she should find out what. He couldn't just not tell her. Not when he'd promised he wouldn't let yesterday—

"Here." He turned back to her, holding his phone. Of course. What had she thought? She hadn't, or she'd have consciously wondered what he was reaching for. Unless unconscious assumptions were the source of her overblown reaction "I meant to 'computer'…." His smile seemed to slip off as his head tilted. Everything from how wide her eyes had gone, her mouth gapping, could attributed to arousal. It'd be easier if he didn't know her nuances. Comprehension passed over his face. "You meant…."

"S'okay," she said, an extra huff of breath hanging onto the word.

"Hmm. How about you hold this?" He handed her the phone, open to a page of photos. She tapped the first one, accidentally zooming in when he strummed her nipple. She hadn't spent enough time in the study to notice the picture missing, but she recognized it immediately. It'd been taken on the ferry, with her crouched by the stroller, the sun lighting them well enough that she'd believe it'd been edited if she hadn't been there. Within the same few minutes, they'd gotten shots of Bailey, Zola, Bailey and Zola, and all four of them, framing all of them. He'd specifically chosen this configuration.

She zoomed out to see it sat on the side table in a sitting room. A couple of swipes revealed a hotel suite floorplan; albeit of the swankier variety. There was a full kitchen with the feel of a kitchenette with a square table for four. It looked well stocked, but she could see several cereal bowls in the sink and no pans, The farthest side of the room held an L shaped computer desk and a bookshelf that held only piles of paperwork.

All the furniture was IKEA. There was mail on the coffee table, and a line of generic mugs ready go hang out with the bowls. She flipped to a view of the bedroom. There were signs of him there, but the bedding had definitely been supplied.

"You'll have better sheets. That wasn't petty. Or... you could find an apartment. One with a room for the kids."

He smiled at her, and his eyes were so intent that she had to look away. To keep him from making assumptions, she opened her knees. Let him see. Let him get desperate to help.

Not that she needed….

She didn't want….

She didn't want to want his help.

She'd wanted to be able to see him in this new place, where there was no trace of her, but he'd been able to picture her, anyway. Where he hadn't worried that fantasy was all they had left. Had he assumed it when he left for the airport? Had he been ready to get on a plane and start over?

"Hey, where are you, little spider?"

She blinked, and reality came back into focus. Derek was right there, smiling at her like he always did when he caught her off spinning webs It didn't matter what he'd been willing to do. He hadn't wanted their marriage to end, either.

she started to say, I'm with you, her usual refrain when he had to pull her back to the moment. "Be with me. N-Not helping. Just…with me."

Would he get it?

His smirk was vulpine, and he reached over her to open the bedside table drawer, and pulling out the oblong sex toy she'd tossed into a briefcase that smelled like leather and professionalism.

"You're not gonna take it with you?"

His eyebrows reacted so strongly to the suggestion that she laughed. "Au contraire. I'm modeling good behavior. We put our toys up so we always know where they are…. Right?"

"R-Right."

They didn't always add when it's time to go, but of course her brain did. (It'd be nice if her webs would go back to being almost too unrelated for him to trace.)

The point was, he'd gotten it, or close enough. Maybe this would be what her brain needed to adjust. It might be the first step, it might take a phone call, or something, to prove for certain that they could be together without proximity. Maybe they'd already done enough. Their marriage wasn't over, or on hold. But they needed to be equal. She knew he wanted her, here. When she'd been refusing him, she'd known she'd been all he had in his head when he'd emerged from their bathroom flaccid and frustrated. There was nothing of her up there.

Maybe she hadn't been being entirely mean when she ordered the Fleshlight after overhearing a strange conversation in the Pit. She'd felt mean. Mean, cold, callous. She'd imagine him finding it in the new bag he'd stuffed all his Christmas gifts into, maybe thinking she was sending a message about how fine she was without him, like the times she'd purposefully left a vibrator cord hanging from the drawer when he'd be home alone after a night on call. She'd never thought he'd know she had nothing to be smug over. Had it been meant as a reminder of where he could stick it? He'd have been sure she didn't trust him.

How self-destructive had she been?

"Hey, get back here. Gimme your band."

"Huh?" He held out the squirt bottle of lube. "Oh."

Was that her problem? That she couldn't freaking focus? Before she'd seen a real-life dick, she'd been able to distract herself from her life by slipping her hand under her waistband. Adding a partner multiplied the effect exponentially, but whenever her wandering mind started drifting to fantasies that were more hope than help, she'd never had an issue being on her own again. Not this sort of trouble.

Derek frowned a little when she held her hand up without complaining about the interruption. The way he took her fingers reminded her of the way he'd put a ring on her, only two days ago. She thought "delicate," and then "precious." Then he turned her hand over, guiding her it back to her clit.

Her spine contracted as her body worked through the sudden increase of sensation, and she could feel herself swelling under her swirling finger. Her heart leapt and lodged itself in her throat.

She wanted this.

She wanted him.

She didn't need him to fix her.

She didn't want to need him to fix her.

Did she need him to fix her?

Derek's pupils were taking over the blue of his irises. It wasn't the same as his eyes going dark. Not at all. They could. Some new reason could come out of the blue—Derek-blue, not Post-it blue. He was here, still planning to love her for another sixty-two years. He was right fucking there, but whenever she closed her own eyes, she was sure that he'd be gone when they opened. What was the difference, if she couldn't feel him? She'd heard him on the phone, and the strength of his scent hardly meant anything after the months he'd been here and gone.

Finding every trace of him cleared out of her room after Jen Harmon's death had triggered an understanding she'd gained at five years old when Thatcher's empty bookshelves had been emptied. The memory still made her flinch in the middle of the night—but clean breaks were easier to set. This had been far much more like an open fracture. The infection had cleared; the uncertainty was over, but the healing had barely started.

She let her free hand fall between them, turning it up toward him. Any time they'd done this in the past—a whispered show me, an early arrival, a midnight discovery—they'd been connected that way. He moved to the corner of the bed, letting his pants drop to the floor, and turned back to her, staying in place. Maybe he hadn't noticed. If he had, well, it was almost an unfair ask. Derek was a stickler, and taking her hand would be helping. Offering it, he'd know, was the closest she'd come to asking for it. She curled her fingers to her palm, ending the potential dilemma. His position blocked the Post-it. That helped enough.

His cock was full, and she could feel it it filling her. She couldn't let her fingers glide anymore. She pressed them down, moaning at the pulse that shot up from her clit. The lube clattered onto the bedside table, and his hand clamped on it to keep the spout from sending her necklace to the floor.

All those officials who thought he was so perfect.

They were just as bad as each other.

"What's that smirk about?"

"You. That…. That I have you."

The way his lip curled was kinda perfect.

"Always, Mer." His voice caught before her name, and she assumed it had to do with the glistening trail his hand was spreading over his cock. Then he did it again as he inserted it into the condom-lined sheath of silicon, almost choking between a low "oh," and grunting her name.

Something clicked. Her subconscious, her psyche, whatever, finally figuring out a lock on a massive busy board. "I think..." She moved her legs to give herself more room, and then couldn't make them stop thrashing. "No, I mean, yes, yes, yeees. Gonna come. I...I... oh...oh... oh yeah. That's good. So good. We're so good."

"You're good, Mer." He swallowed as he said her name, the muscles around his Adam's apple tightening. "You're doing that. That's you. You're—God, Mer—" He thrust into the cylinder, and her cunt clenched at the thought of him holding her up to do the same, yesterday, his hands cupping her ass, pellets of water rolling over her back and tits.

Was she going to be reaching for a memory of shower sex for another six weeks, or more? No. Christmas was—Her eyes darted, searching not words, but numbers—not over. Not for hours. They weren't gonna start fighting at midnight like they'd been under some freaking magic spell.

Just...just maybe they should wait to go out. His mom was here. They didn't have to fill hours on their own. Not until she went home, and Amelia was taking out cool tumors, leaving them alone with the kids, and cold made quiet into silence, and the wrong thing was said, and his phone rang—No.

She held her breath until she could exhale along with him, matching the pace of his movements. Perfect. They were perfectly in sync here; they always had been. Her bracelet bounced on her wrist; everything they were and had been and would be. They were flames that won't going out unless they were snuffed, and they weren't going to—Derek's eyelids covered the blue.

So what? Not like they always got there at the same time. She could just—She strained, knowing the bed was too damn big for her foot to hit him. Suppressing the whimper that coincided with the retreat of the certainty meant clenching her jaw almost hard enough to hurt. Nonononono. There was no reason for this latch to be beyond her ability level. C'mon, Grey, just power through, and he won't have to know—

"Jesus-God-Meredith!"

She watched him arch backward, visually tracing the scar on the right side of his chest, the movement of his abs, his shoulder blades rippling before he slumped forward. That was what she'd wanted. She could live without it for months at a time. She'd proven that.

Just…just wanna be…no…not gonna be finished…just finish… nutcase…just wanna…(pleasepleaseplease) no deity, no Derek, begging my own stupid brain—c'mon, Grey, you can—you did—I did this—did this to myself—by myself—(rubrubharder)—come on—come on—have to, have to show him, prove this, right there, right there now, now, ow, ow, owww.)

"Aagh." She jerked her legs up, curling away from him, in spite of there being no point to it. The ruby in her necklace glinted from the floor, mocking her understanding of her supposed transformation.

"Mer." Her name was an exhalation; his immediate thought. He really had been right here. "Are you…? You didn't—?"

"Who'd I be if I wasn't a fucking screw-up somehow, right? Literally, a fucking screw-up."

"Mer—"

"Aren't you tired, Derek?" she snapped, letting every ounce of cold, bitter meanness she had left coat the words he'd stabbed her with a month ago.

"Not of us."

She lifted her head from the pillow she'd buried it in, not quite looking at his face straight on. Was it pity? Disapproval? Vindication? "I need you, okay? That's all there is to it."

"I don't think that's true." Concern. Regret. Guilt.

"I don't lie to you," she insisted before putting her face back in the pillow.

"I'm not saying you do. I'm saying…." He scooted closer, and put his hand on her back. She almost stiffened, which was crazy, but she was crazy. Every time she thought she wasn't—"When you were punishing me…. You were using abstinence to prove you could be celibate. Those are different expectations. I don't know if it has anything to do with the stupid, horrible things I implied about your sex life, years ago—"

"Don't worry, I never thought I had to revirginize for you."

"Not quite. But that was sort of what the waiting was, wasn't it? A mix of you worrying that what? You were fast? Because I think I was the one with the house plans." She snorted. "And that sex was all I wanted from you. We ended up only having sex."

"And mockery. Like how I was about to mock you for saying 'fast' by saying you've been around youir mom too much. But…it wasn't enough. I was broken. I'm…It doesn't matter. We're not broken."

"We're not. You're not. You made your boundaries clear last year, and when it was my turn…I reacted in the worst possible…. God, the look on your face…I had no idea how I could ever make it up to you. You have every right to be mixed up. You've been scared."

"I haven't…." There wasn't a true way to finish that sentence. She hadn't wanted him to notice the backtracking and skittishness. He'd married strong and independent.

"You thought Zola's birthday would be a step forward. What I did made you think we could be over after all. And…you haven't been with anyone else since… O'Malley."

"If had screwed the pooch doctor I had would you have said it like that?" Her face went hot, and the rest of her veins were ice cold. She worked her arm between her mouth and the pillow, letting her teeth dig into the skin.

"Stop that." Derek put a hand on her forehead to lift her head up. She jerked away, putting her arms on either side of her head, surrendering. "How'd I say it?"

"Like I'm traumatized by a dumb mistake with George."

Sleeping with me was that bad for you?

"You don't think it was a little more than that?"

She shrugged. I think mentioning Finn was supposed to make you jealous enough to flip me over and remind me who I chose. Instead, he was running her hand up and down her spine, making it impossible for her hackles to rise.

"You don't need me to be an incredible surgeon or a brilliant mom. You don't have to need me for this."

"I do! I do, Derek, I need you."

"You don't have to. That's all I'm saying, okay? You can. This isn't….You are enough. You, whatever you need, or don't need. I'm going to be here. For anything. We'll get it figured out. You're not holding me back, I have learned that much." For a minute all she could hear was both of their breathing, his still more jagged than hers. "You are so capable. I don't need for you to be more, and I don't want you to be less than you are."

"Goldilocks," she murmured.

"That's right. You can need me for nothing. I don't need you to need me. I want to be someone you trust enough to lean on, but I know I lost a lot of that trust. I don't have a lot of clout here, but Mer…please stop tearing yourself down based on what you think I'd say.

"I'm…." I'm not. But was she sure about that? "I'll work on it. The kids and the streak are a lot, you know."

"So are you. Still a project."

"Not finished with me?"

"Not if you don't want to be."

She rolled over, slowly, feeling silly and exposed, which was especially stupid since he was as unclothed. He lay down next to her and held his hand up to her. She clasped it.

"You're doing so much for everyone. You think about everyone. You made so many people happy today." He kissed her shoulder, up the curve of her neck.

She glanced at the clock over his shoulder. Still Chris— "Ack!" She squirmed at the feeling of his tongue prodding her earring. "Derek! You're such a weirdo!"

"Takes one to whatever one. You love it."—I put up with it. I tolerate it. Those were her canned responses, but they weren't true. I do. I don't want anyone else. Never. "This won't be the last time."

"That you're a weirdo? I know."

He closed his lips over her pulse point, and moving her hand coaxed a syrupy warmth down into her clit. She squirmed as it spread up into her belly. The suction stopped. "Derek."

"You've got this one, Mer. Tell me what you feel."

He'd hesitated before saying her name again, and she recognized it as the pause they all took wherever they thought better of calling B. "Baby" Bailey. Derek had almost totally ended his pet naming in public before she'd learned to tolerate—even like—them, but sex came with a lot of exceptions. He was purposefully not using them. Long ago, in a lifetime far away, she'd screwed guys—people, but this was a mostly dude thing—who said your name to remind you they knew it. They did it to prove they wouldn't say someone else's. Derek had never done that; he wouldn't start now. He was saying he saw her.

"I…It's nice… it just…feels better than anything else. So much better. Be great if I didn't want more."

"But you do."

"Mmhmm. Wanna have it everywhere. Ohhh….Doesn't always happen. Can't get past better."

"You don't get turned on."

"Uh-uh. Might give up too fast. Shouldn't. This is—Past it…way past it. I might….Oh-oh-oh-oh…." The promise sparked at the edge of her brain as she circled two fingers over her clit. "I wanna make it."

"You can. You can do that."

He'd always liked watching her get herself off, sometimes languidly stroking his cock to ready himself to take over on the next round, sometimes memorizing her tells and twitches. He'd made a quick study of her quim, and she'd learned to listen to his guidance, even when she didn't think anything could feel better than what she had going. She needed those instructions, now. She got so close.

"I can't. You made me too different. I can't…. I won't be able to…. —unnnh—"

"You are enough. You're not too different."

"I know, I know, I know, I only…."

"You know what you need, Mer."

She had. She'd been able to do this consistently long before she met him; it'd been one of the only things that actually made her feel good about herself. Maybe he was right and she was forcing herself to be broken. If he fixed her, would he—? Focus, Grey.

She wanted him touching her, wanted him inside her, but fuck it felt nice just lying there, gliding, stroking, rubbing, with Derek looking at her like she was just as gorgeous as she'd felt walking down the stairs last night.

Getting herself off wasn't about him. Shouldn't be. Her body was hers. She'd chosen the dress she'd worn today thinking only of herself, knowing it was perfect for her. She loved what the jewelry he'd given her had added to it, but she hadn't needed it. The transformation she'd been aware of this afternoon wasn't bullshit. She'd become someone different. Someone confident in who she was as a woman, a mom, a surgeon, a host...a wife?

Yeah, hell yeah, because she'd held on. She'd gotten herself through this year without shutting down, or losing anyone. She'd learned how to hold things together: people, bodies, herself. That was good. It wasn't pink-mist; it was control. She'd let go last month and he'd left. If she let go, and he left her…It'd hurt. It'd hurt like hell, but at her core, Meredith Grey was a diamond; she could withstand pressure—so much pressure—and shine. She pulled her hand out of Derek's. He gave her a puzzled look, but he didn't question her. She was the damn sun. Bright, hot, so hot, destined to explode.

She rolled her hand, flattening the erect tissue under it, pushing her pelvis up against her palm, moaning each time she rocked forward. She was just aware enough that Derek's mother could be in the hall to turn her face into her pillow, but she couldn't keep it there. She draped her arm over her mouth instead, her teeth pressing bruisingly hard into her skin. Not because she'd messed up again. She hadn't. She hadn't screwed up. She hadn't pushed too hard.

"Mmm-mmm-MMMM!" She jerked upward. Her body finally, finally won out, or her mind undid the latch, or something, and she was gone. Her had tipped back, but the scream had subsided into a low groan of relief.

Derek was running two fingers along the inside of her arm. How long he'd been doing it was uncertain. Her head was spinny, and one of her legs was still twitching, so probably not very. His smile made her want to tell him to shut up, which was so normal that she snickered before she could.

"Yes?"

"Just your face."

"Ah, if that's all, you've reached your 'Derek looks like a Muppet' quota."

"Your daughter said that, and your mom agreed."

"I'd be blocking it out, but Zola was so cute."

"Mental blocks are my thing. Get your own neurosis."

Derek's eyebrows—Bert's eyebrows, it was so obvious, now—formed an even V. "Mer…."

"I don't wanna talk about it. D' you wanna go for real…?" She yawned. She'd been running on coffee, anticipation, exhilaration, and adrenaline, and it's all being swept out.

"I want you to get the sleep you've earned. If you wake up all hot and squirmy, you can wake me up. You don't have to."

"Not plannin' on experimenting with you here. Wast'a time."

"Not true. Don't want you convincing yourself that was a fluke." He lifted his fingers up to her cheek, and then kissed her, softly. "Listen to me, on one more thing, okay? Before I go back to that apartment, I will make sure you get to ride me as long as you want, and then I'm gonna start working on making up for missed opportunities to get you to howl. There's my list for this visit. You should start yours for the next federal holiday. Preferably one the daycare ignores. "

She grinned. "All justified. Buncha people off work equals more patients. Just, y'know, rarely on President's Day."

"My brilliant wife."

"Didn't even know I was thinking ahead."

She must've dozed off when she meant to move, because the next thing she knew, he was sitting by her legs with her pajamas in his lap.

"I got 'em." She reached for her shirt, but he got her sleeve over her arm before she could grab it. "Now you're gonna take over?" she muttered, not considering that it might sound accusatory until he'd laughed and pressed his lips to her temple.

"Yup. Up." He pulled the sheets and blanket down, and then climbed over her into the bed. When he reached over her to turn out the lamp, she grabbed his arm to make sure he lowered to rest over her.

"Demanding diamond," he teased, and then she felt his sharp inhalation. "Mer? How many?"

"Mm?"

"Don't 'mm' me. How many do I have left?"

"Umm…. Three." She made herself inhale when he stiffened.

"When?"

"Today and my birthday. Things were okay in April."

"Yeah." he sighed. "You really are a diamond, Meredith Grey."

"Two."

"We are going on a date tomorrow."

Anticipation and a little uncertainty didn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "Derek?"

"Mm?"

"Did you have a good Christmas?"

"The best."

She should doubt him, but she couldn't make herself. Not when she was curled up against him, warmer and happier than she could remember being in months. It was still Christmas. For now, she'd believe. "Me too. Merry Christmas."