We did it. We did it. We did it.
The words didn't feel any more real than they had when they came to her in that hotel, or when she'd said it in the car on the way to an impromptu celebratory brunch. She'd repeated it in disbelief until Zola had echoed her, adding, "Yay! Los hicimos!" That had led to her marching ahead of them onto the restaurant's heated patio, and trying to repeat every translation they could give her.
"We did it!"
"Ce l'abbiamo fatta!" Meredith said, rolling the Italian in her mouth. When Zola turned her eyes on him, Derek stammered,"On a réussi?" Cristina nodded at him. "On a réussi!"
"Nos vicimus!" Lexie's sheepish Latin.
Callie offered "Re kgonne," before expressing her amazement that she remembered anything from the Setswana she'd picked up in the Peace Corps.
Arizona had to use her phone to jog enough of the German she'd learned during her father's deployment to Germany while she was in college. "Wir haben's geschafft!"
Cristina added "הִצְלַחְנוּ.*" and "우리는 그것을했다.*"
Finally, Meredith found the Chichewa translation site she usually only used on the computer. "Tinapambana," she said, repeating the computerized voice. Literally It translated as "we won," which felt truer than any of the others. Technically, Richard and Catherine did it, but she'd take the victory.
They recorded Zola going through them again, with prompting but not nearly as much as Meredith would've needed, and then started a looping medley of world languages, the syllables mixing as she recited them. She'd watched the video over and over on the ferry, always happy to see herself perform, and after Meredith put her down for her nap, she'd heard her chanting herself to sleep over the monitor. "Gerafft! Ce la bi-a-mama! Wreck haben'! We did it! Tinapambana-ba-na-ba-na! Hoo-way!"
It didn't matter if she remembered a syllable once she woke up; the moment was enough.
The day had barely progressed into afternoon, and the light that passed through the gauzy layer of their curtains made being in their bedroom feel incredibly decadent. She sat on the bed and kicked her shoes off as Derek sprawled sideways facing her. "We did it."
"It's done, anyway."
"Nuh-uh. Not doing that. If we hadn't done everything we did—if you, specifically, hadn't gone to get him yesterday, Catherine would have talked Richard into Boston. More importantly, we set out to buy the hospital, and we did."
"I guess we did. We own a hospital." My hospital.
"Your hospital," he said, and she had to let her eyelids linger after a blink to wait out the pin-pricks. "We did it. You did. You made through."
"I…I got close."
"That makes it more amazing. Mer, do you not get how proud you can be about this being a good week? It doesn't matter if something happens tomorrow—or tonight. You've gotten through sixteen…almost seventeen very emotionally trying days."
"Do I get a prize?"
He shook his head at her, but couldn't control his smile. She'd hit exactly the note of sarcasm and innuendo she was going for. Then, he did the tilted head consideration thing, and she saw the lightbulb turn on. "You know what? Yeah."
"Seriously?"
"Maybe not a prize Wyatt would condone."
"Those," she said. "Are the best kind."
He laughed, and one of his hands snaked around her back, and up. This time she could feel her body standing at attention in the seconds before he unhooked her bra one-handed. His left. Would that always be hot?
"A couple things we've discussed recently made me think: there are other things you do on your knees, you're right. One that doesn't have to involve looking at my face."
"What? Obviously I got over…. Wait…." Not looking at his face. On her knees. A prize for her. "Ooo," she said like the fireworks had started, not been on the horizon. (Better than that seeing them, she'd feel them.) "Can I, really?"
"Yeah, mincina." He pushed up to kiss her starting to ease her backward, but she put a hand on his chest.
"No, I mean, really, can I? I won't, like, suffocate you? There was a really fatphobic episode of CSI like that."
"When did you ever watch…?"
"Summers, med school, Mom's place."
"Ah. I don't think so. You're still carrying high. Of course, the baby's growing steadily—" he teased.
"Let's do this," she said, shucking her t-shirt. Her bra slid off in the process. "C'mon, take off what you're taking off." He reached over and unbuttoned her pants. "Not what I meant."
"My hands are going to be too busy with you."
"If—Agh, don't!" She jerked back from his other hand. "Sorry."
He held it up in surrender, and she laced their fingers together,. "That's my line. I forgot to ask. Sore?"
"Super. Oh! I ordered the belly-band thing. Do you wanna wait—?"
"I want—" he said, turning their hands so he could trail his over her abdomen."—you to feel that. If you wanna do this in a few weeks, or something else where it'd be uncomfortable without it, we'll do that, too."
"A few weeks, huh?"
"Whenever. Whatever you want from here, Mer…unless I can come up with something better." He winked, and she let herself pout.
He'd never agree to a blanket ban on just a minute, Mer. It'll be that much stronger. You have told me you never regret this. It'd taken him a while to convince her that he'd never flat-out stop, and there was an upper-limit on times he could fake her out—unless renegotiated beforehand—but it'd been a long time since she'd been more than frustrated by it.
She could get over stuff.
He dropped her pants on the foot of the bed and ran his nails over the crotch of her panties.
She groaned. "That shouldn't feel that good."
"Someone's excited." He kept it up while he kissed her, sucking around her collarbone like a preview of coming attractions.
She clawed his shirt off, wanting to have her hands on his skin. He increased the speed of the buffing motion, and she whimpered as the syrupy warmth that had leapt into her stomach as soon as he started spread through her body.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and prodded him into flipping them. Spreading her legs to straddle him gave him more space, and he used it, sweeping his nails first horizontally then vertically. She could feel herself expanding in response, her pelvis straining toward him.
"Look at that. You swell up so nice, Mer." He turned his hand over and flicked three fingers up and down against her, drawing the tip of his middle finger over the top of her glans each time.
"Fuck, Derek. Too good."
He drew his hand back a quarter of an inch. "You want me to stop?"
"I wanna…want my prize," she gasped.
"That's not all you want now, is it?" He nudged his knuckle against her clit, and she moaned. Behind her she could feel his cock respond, and she wasn't above giving into the instinct to keep the movement going, undulating against him. She appreciated his magnanimity in not jerking off while she sat on his face; he'd be more motivated if he wanted to. "You're gonna get it. Zola'll sleep for ninety minutes, minimum, and I have a plan. All you have to do is keep enjoying this…think of it as a foreprize. Okay?"
"Ye—" She abandoned the word for a sigh of relief as he started up again. "Uh, foreprize? Sounds like something Stan would ask about."
"Anteprize?"
"Worse. Kinda love it."
"You'd kinda love a lot of things right now."
"T-True. Ah, yeees!" She tipped forward, catching herself on his chest at the peak of a shudder that was, for a second, incredibly satisfying. The spark in Derek's eyes as he watched her was so close to the one he got while operating. To him it was the same kind of puzzle. It was familiar; he knew what he was doing, but a slight change could provide a challenge.
He focused on the tip of her glans again, the backs of his fingers moving straight up and down. Every few strokes she moaned as her muscles clenched in a bid to hold onto the sensation shooting through her.
"No 'ow' this time, huh?" After tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, Derek traced the skin there with his thumb. Like they were all controlled by microneurons, every sensory nerve in her body tried to mimic the tingling.
"Uh-uh. Oh! " Her back arced, her fingers digging into his chest. "More, fast. Ah, yeah!" She bucked frantically, pushing through another surge of ecstasy. "Press, okay? I need…needta…." He drew his fingertips over her clit, and she could feel the pull, her body a breath away from the chase. It wouldn't take long, any amount of pressure, and she'd implode….
Derek brought his hand down from her face, pulled her panties down off her ass, and yanked to drag them along until the elastic was around her thighs. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and her clit was pulsing with it.
"C'mere, love." He put his hand on the small of her back.
She shifted onto her knees and started to crawl up toward the headboard. Just before she climbed over him, she put her hand on his face and lowered hers to hover a half an inch above his. "None of it could've been done without you," she said. "We couldn't have saved the hospital. I would've gotten worked up enough to do something stu…that I shouldn't," she course-corrected at the drawing in of his eyebrows. "You helped me not do that. I know there were a billion times you wanted to intercede for me, but you didn't. I know that's harder for you. Never, ever think I don't notice." An objection formed in his eyes, but she kissed him before he could make it.
She grabbed the headboard, raising up as far as she could. He took her hips and nudged her closer. Without saying anything about it, he put a hand on her belly as he eased her down, proving that it wouldn't be an obstacle.
"I want to hear from you, baby."
Pressing her lips together didn't totally block the mewling sound she made as his breath passed over her clit. The chuckle that followed wasn't any better. She pressed her forehead against the headboard, and narrowed her eyes at Derek when he tilted his head back to look at her.
"If you ask if I'm ready…."
"I can see that." He ran his index finger along her slit, and her pulse began to rush again in the seconds before he trailed it over her clit. "You're ripe."
That was the closest thing to warning she got before he put his mouth over her. With his lips working on the bump and his tongue swirling around her glans, it was impossible that she'd ever wanted anything else.
"Good plan. Really, y'know, for someone so good at…at split-second decisions you…cuh-rap…you make good plans." She felt him smile, and maybe it was that, or maybe there just wasn't anything more her nerves could hold without something giving. "Der-ek. I-I can't…gonna come…can't…can't be better, okay? Let me…. Lemme." Her hips bucked, and he hooked his arms under her knees, holding her in place. "Yes, yes, yes."
Waves were the right comparison, but not like ocean waves. They didn't all crest and break at the same time. They were sound waves, hitting before the last stopped resonating. A drum solo, the kind that rose to crescendo with such a steady cadence that you didn't—
Derek's lips pursed around her clit, pulling as it tried to retract, his tongue continuing to stroke her glans. She pushed back against the headboard, feeling the suction all the way through like her muscles were taffy. he was pulling. "That, sweet fuck, that, so strong, so good, Der, feels so good…oh, oh, oh fuuuck." There wasn't a chase, wasn't an almost, there was just…"Just…just don't stop, don't….Pulling so much outta me, Der. So…Sooo-ooo" The last part of the word was more sob than sound as her climax peaked.
Derek parted his lips and slid one hand up over her ass and along the curve of her spine. She'd drooped against the headboard, her forehead on her arms, trying to take as much weight on them as she could while the twitches finished with her legs. He waited a moment before he drew his tongue lightly over her clit.
"Still good. Still really good." She moaned softly as he rolled his tongue around her glans. "Increased blood flow for the win."
His snort hit her mons, and with the judgement of someone whose bloodstream was mostly endorphins and oxytocin, she let the thought that occurred to her out. "Am I s'pposed to shave, or wax, or whatever before…? I've delivered how many babies, and I genuinely can't remember a bush or lack thereof. Proof that it doesn't matter, I guess? You'd have to be a contortionist to shave yourself. It'd be an infection risk, but so's douching, and that's still a…. Chances are I'll crap on the table; they can't care—but is it, like, an understood thing I don't know because I'm a third feral on a good day?"
Derek, far too used to her at this point, did not miss a beat. He brought his hand around from her back and found hers, squeezing it.
"I'm okay. Really, really okay. Great. We own a hospital. That's far more important and immediate. Nothin's gonna be worth worrying about for months, and…and you'll be in there. Not like Cristina's had a baby. Not even a sibling. She…just…she knows stuff. And I'm not…I can find out the stuff. That's what books are for. PubMed. It's…. Even if we're okay…. People can kinda lose it, and I'd be…. I'd be worried something'd make her think told you you couldn't handle this, or that I should be able to handle it, 'cause isn't pain supposed to calm me down? It's not like that," she added, so he'd be sure she knew that. Not to remind herself. "Kinda wish it was."
Derek's other hand glided up and down along the curve of her spine. He knew that if she wanted a response, she'd have said, and more importantly, he was respecting that.
Whether his goal was to reassure, calm, or distract her, he definitely gave it his all. He shifted from licking around her clit, anywhere else it'd probably qualify as tickling—any other situation it'd be gross, which really proved how conditioned people—to wrapping his tongue around it again. He toyed with her, prodding and circling, between the longer strokes that made her sigh and shiver.
She couldn't handle being still for long on her own in any position that involved the wet heat of his mouth. It didn't take long for him to have to take hold of her again, responding to her need to thrust with suction. Not the strong, insistent variety; slower, like he was drinking from her and wanted to savor it.
One second she was basking in the sensation, and in the next that moment mattered less than the next and the next. "More, fast. Yeah, oh yeah, that's it that's gonna be—oh, boy, oh, oh wow, oh wow. Forgot… I always forget how—" She lost the word, lost words, there was nothing but Derek, using his lips to hold her glans between her labia. It was enough for him to circle and rub that way with his fingers; like this he had options. He worried her labia between his lips, tapped his tongue against the tip of her glans, generally sent her brain too many sensations to process at once. She was sure it was going to short circuit before she was hit by the train rushing in her ears. The words he wanted to hear came out as word salad, punctuated by moans and whimpers as she braced for impact.
Then, carefully but with intent, he let his teeth rest on her clit and slid then carefully back. The blast was sudden, and Derek moved his hold up, his hands on her back, his arms bracing her. The addition of that restraint held that much more tension in her body, and she screamed as it released.
This time he didn't so much as pause, and she was there again in what felt like seconds. She finished panting, dripping with sweat, and he started to pull back. She grasped his hair. "Don't! Don't stop."
Incredibly, he didn't. He eased up when she indicated, but didn't stop, peeling layers of coherence away from her. The last time even the soreness in her boobs mattered less than the deeper ache that led her to grab them, digging her fingers in as Derek's lips twisting her clit.
She barely caught herself on the headboard which she had to cling to to stay upright. "Gotta stop. No more legs."
He laughed again, and she hissed at the aftershock that rippled through her, leaving her twitching as she flopped on the bed. She stretched one leg out and let the other fall.
Derek took her hand and for a while there was no sound in the room except their breathing. Then he rolled onto his side, clearing her hair from her face and tracing her cheekbones. He kissed along her neck and down to her chest.
"For the record," he started, and she giggled. Forget wanting her, the whole time he'd wanted to answer her question, and it was the most Derek thing. "They used to shave everyone, in the days of twilight sleep labor."
"So…not doing it is gettin' one up on the OB patriarchy? Win. Should I've known that?"
"Not your specialty." Or his.
"Yeah, but I'm gonna have to do the thing. I haven't been in many normal deliveries, and I know it's a field where stuff is done 'because we say so' so I have to know what's bogus, but…um…. Doing the research for Zo…. There were rabbit holes."
"Foster care?"
"Some. Some…other stuff. I don't wanna… 'Nother time, okay?"
"Of course, love." She'd have focused on his eyebrows even if he hadn't been tracing hers, while he tried to recall the glimpses he'd gotten of her late nights with Google. He might be able to figure out when, if not what. He knew her that well. In the past, that would've scared her on the same level. Now, it was reassuring, as long as he didn't dig himself into a hole.
"I already know a lot of what can go wrong for the fetus. I know the stages of labor, and that it'll probably take forever because it's the first time. But…choices-wise…."
"Huh. It's like there aren't two scientists in this marriage."
"But—"
"I want you safe, the baby safe, and you comfortable. If you don't know all your options, you won't be. I can present them objectively."
"It's abstract."
"Yeah." He hesitated, and then said, "There's always the third-party option."
She shook her head. "I know the research says that doulas increase good outcomes. I just—"
He braced himself directly above her. "You're not gonna benefit if it's not something you're comfortable with. I'll be there. If you decide to ask someone else, that's fine. If not, we'll be fine, just us." He kissed her and then nudged her nose with his, proving that he remembered the last time he'd said it.
"Got plenty of nap-time left," she added.
"Gonna give you a minute."
"Always ready."
"Mm, little bit of an overstatement. Not much," he acknowledged. "And that's the thing, if I want to build you all over again."
"Wanna ask your OB-GYN sources if they've ever seen clitoral stretch-marks?"
"Mm, I prefer doing my own research."
She laughed, and buried her hand in his hair. "You can do it at our hospital."
"Yup. We're going to have a new masterkey."
"Not what I meant!"
"Your face when I said it means there'll be a new list by Monday."
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Did you see Jackson's face this morning? If I didn't know we had different experiences with our overbearing surgeon moms, it wouldn't have been the hospital purchase that told me. It was that what did she do now? look. In my household that was aimed at me."
"Your mom didn't have a foundation."
"Not yet. Harper Avery was her mentor early on. I think if she'd worked another ten years, with my schooling paid for…. She wanted to write another book…." She sighed. "Her foundation would've been like the Woman in Neurosurgery. Supporting surgeons, not patients."
"Speaking of." He rested his chin on his arm, the other hand drawing idly on her belly. "What you said about Larkin yesterday was powerful. Once we're actively working on this…. You should let them know your plans. I'd like to talk about a neuro residency program, and I think we'd benefit from hearing your thoughts about where you're training."
Powerful. Even in the OR she hadn't felt like much lately. "I think you're right."
Derek's face lit up, and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her, his hands cradling her face. "I love you so much."
I know, and sometimes I don't understand how that's possible. What makes it worth it for you to take care of me like you do?
"I love you, too," she said, and his next kiss was deeper, harder, hungrier. When he sat up a few minutes later, before lifting her legs to enter her, he paused, his hands gently caressing the globe of her belly.
That wasn't why he loved her, she knew that. But she also knew that if there was a heathy baby in the basinette next summer, she might be able to believe she deserved it for a while.
hitzlachnu
urineun geugeoseulhaetda.
"Ecksy?" Zola's voice coming from the pillow beside her pulled Lexie out of an uneasy sleep. The smell hit her next, and her pulse shot up. No, no, no. Moving the blanket confirmed it: her ostomy bag had blown.
"Uh-oh!"
Heat flooded Lexie's face and behind her eyes. "Get out of here, Zo."
"Yuck," the little girl responded, and the heat gathered in Lexie's chest. "It z'okay," she continued, patting her shoulder. "Accident happen."
Lexie shrugged her off. "I said, go!"
Zola's face went stormy, and she slapped at Lexie's arm, delivering a pinch before she started wailing. The perfect illustration of her place on the spectrum between toddler and preschooler. Her language and empathy made it easy to forget that her feelings were bigger than her vocabulary.
Suddenly, Lexie was six years old, sitting at Dad's desk with her homework. He'd demanded to know what she was doing, and she'd said, "working like you!"
He'd snatched the paper out from under her pencil. "You think the work I do can be compared to circling capital letters?"
Now, she could identify the nerve she'd hit as clearly as she could label the brachial plexus; the years he'd spent being made to feel as though his job was inherently inferior. Signing Meredith away hadn't given him the fresh start he'd anticipated. That wasn't how people worked.
Speaking of her sister. "Did you yell at her?" she demanded, picking Zola up in a smooth scooping motion.
Zola gulped. "Ecksy accident, Mama. Yell, 'Go away, Zola!'"
"Those can make you feel upset, can't they? Embarrassed, and sometimes angry? But does that make it okay to be mean?"
"No. We don't be meanies."
Shame prickled Lexie's mind, but it was behind irritation. "If she hadn't barged in here—"
"We're working on knocking, aren't we? And saying 'can I come in?' However, you've never cared about that. I did tell you to let Lexie sleep," she added, cupping her and over the top of Zola's head. "But you love saying 'good morning' even more than you like saying 'good night and sweet dreams,' huh? Daddy's making pancakes. You want to go help him, and I'll help Aunt Lexie?"
Zola nodded against Meredith's shoulder. "I best help."
The bag on Lexie's powerchair was just within reach if she stretched, ignoring the searing pain in her back as she did so. She jerked the zipper open and fumbled with the pill bottle tucked into an inside compartment. She had to use her teeth to flip off the lid. At least this time it didn't go flying. She looked in the bottle, hoping they'd multiplied overnight.
Nope. Still five. She'd taken number six and seven two nights ago. Thirty-six hours to withdrawal symptoms.
She made a face at the spot on the bed. She didn't need this today. Not with lunch with Dani on the horizon. With a weight in her chest telling her that she'd regret the decision, she swallowed two, and put the vial back in place.
It would've been understandable for Meredith to leave her oozing shit for a while. That she didn't shouldn't have bugged Lexie, but it did. She was a patient. Something Meredith needed to check off the to-do list.
"I can handle it,"
Meredith turned, one eyebrow cocked. "Gonna change those sheets on your own?"
Before she could put thought into the act, Lexie shoved her off with her forearm. Meredith stumbled back, and they shared a horrified look before her hand found the nearest grab bar. That might've been it if Derek hadn't appeared in the doorway. "Hey!"
"Derek, it's fine!"
"No, it's not." His face was the hurricane she'd seen building there the day Zola picked up that pill. Like she'd meant for it to happen. "You're pregnant."
"I know that!"
"I wasn't trying to hurt her."
"But you could have." Derek leaned over her. "You're in a position to hurt her more than anyone. If you don't get how serious that is—"
"Can I never have a say about who's in my space?"
"Was that having a say? Using your words?"
Zola shrieked from the kitchen, where she must've been locked in her seat, or the kitchen helper that she'd started calling her "frame." Derek kissed Meredith on the cheek, regardless of the scowl she was giving him and went to rescue his sous chef.
The room was suddenly incredibly quiet while Meredith brought the ostomy supplies over.
"You don't have to go, you know," she said cleaning the peristomal skin to reapply the skin barrier that allowed Lexie to attach a bag to the hole in her gut.
Okay. They were doing things this way. Lexie exhaled, more than relieved. "Mer, I can't just stand her up?"
"I'd recommend you text. But you're not under any obligation to make nice with her."
Lexie didn't regret choosing not to have the ostomy reversed. Not at all. She couldn't imagine dealing with either the dry stool that was common due to paralysis slowing the digestive process, or the liquid ooze that she had to face this morning. It didn't even take actually filling the bag to cause a leak; they had to be changed at one- to two-thirds full. And she'd take all of it over having to transfer on and off a toilet constantly or risk this happening over and over.
But it would have given her an out. Most days, she liked the extra time with her sister, or welcomed Derek's honest conversation. Today it made her want to scream.
"Didn't you tell me to grow up and get over myself about her?"
"You were judging her for existing. I get that you seduced Mark—" It had taken her long enough to believe it. "—but when a guy's dating someone half his age, usually she's not the one taking advantage."
"Yeah, I've—"
"Dani seemed aware of her situation, so from there, I wasn't going to judge either of them. I'm the Daddy Issues Queen of Seattle, and that's too much for me; but how many people would say that about twelve years, or sixteen?
I had no reason to dislike her, because I didn't know her, and neither did you. If thatwas your problem, that wasn't her fault either. I can see where you'd think it, with his history, but whatever influence Susan had on him abandoning me belonged to different situation and relationship."
"You heard Mom out," Lexie reminded her while Meredith disposed of the old pouch and the wrappers from the clean supplies. She untucked the edges of the fitted sheet on the left and folded it up over the mess, and brought clean clothes over to the far side of the bed.
"The woman showed up on my doorstep in the rain. That was after days of being everywhere. Wanted me to give him a chance that much. Maybe she really wanted him to give me a chance. I'm never gonna know. I'm okay with that.
"It would've been nice to have had a parent who loved me as their child, with no expectations or strings. I didn't. I don't. But I have a family. One that's supportive and strong, and bought a freaking hospital."
"What about…?" Lexie maneuvered her shirt on, letting Cristina's name hang silently between them.
"People in families fight, don't they? My mother wasn't the only one who ever ended up estranged from a sister, or a best friend. Both. It happens to people much less abrasive than her. We see it all the time at the hospital."
"Usually when we're calling next-of-kin, because someone died."
Meredith laughed. "That's what made me seek out Thatcher. Sorta. I didn't think I had expectations." She tied one of Lexie's shoes with focused movements before continuing. "I wanted him to be glad to see me. To be interested in me. To give me a goddamn answer. He asked if I needed anything. I did—maybe I had— but by then, I knew he didn't have it to give.
"I don't know what you want from Dani. If it's to hear her story, great. But she did something worth judging this time. She owes you, but once you're sure everything on the bill is in her name, it might be a debt she can't pay—Oh, man, I spent way too much time listening to Stan. I can't wait until we can outsource that part of things. All I have to do with the money stuff is make a case for my dream equipment and price a few alternatives."
"We're all overseeing patient costs," Lexie pointed out. "That seven Tesla MRI machine isn't going to be worth it if we're always dealing with insurances that won't pay for MRN because it's 'experimental.'"
"Ugh. That's gonna be my fight with the Foundation's people, I know it. Making as many diagnostics as we can affordable without insurance. We can get so much more information from one of those scans than the individual ones they want to pay for."
"The LODOX will be huge for getting us back to being a L-1 trauma center. Did you know they were invented in South Africa? For scanning minors. Not of the worker's comp nightmare that job must be. To make sure they weren't stealing the diamonds by sticking them into an orafice."
"We'll be doing that, too," Meredith said, balling up Lexie's bedding. "Could be a selling point for the daycare."
"What…?" Lexie had the mining scene from Snow White playing in her head, and what daycare…."Scanning minors. Meredith!"
"Gotcha!" she called from the laundry room. "I'll have this done before you get back. I'm going through Zoie's clothes to see what she needs for spring, and what can go to Sof."
Having transferred, Lexie followed her. "You don't want to hold onto them?"
"Fetus won't be two until Sofia's outgrown all of it, and if she has some weird growth hormone issue, we won't be too impoverished to buy new stuff.
"And I need a day that's not spent surrounded by piles of journals and catalogs. Sure you don't want a ride, or a buffer?"
"I can handle it."
"Did I say otherwise?"
A sour feeling boiled in Lexie, the one that made her wish she had evidence to support saying Mer sounded like her mother. Confirmation would come from her sister's expression, and she'd feel horrible.
She managed to skip to that point by changing the subject to medicine. Lexie wasn't a doctor anymore, and it was still the easiest thing to talk to her about. "Do you think Cristina knows about the Sapien Transcatheter Heart Valve? It's for patients who can't handle surgery."
"You should ask her. So far her requisitions are all robotic systems." Meredith paused with the detergent bottle tilted, about to drip down her hand. "Jeez, Owen."
"What?" Lexie asked, and then grimaced. The sound of gas coming from her stoma didn't usually bother her, but that was because she was surrounded by people who were accustomed to the situation. Her pills would kick in by the time she went to meet Dani, but what about after that? She'd have to see if they had loperamide around here.
If that crossed the blood-brain barrier, it would be the equivalent of an opioid. Too bad there was no tested way to make that happen. Anecdotly, the methods of potentiating her pills would do it—taking them with grapefruit juice, for instance. Gross.
Putting it on the grocery list would inspire too many questions, and she'd have to drink more than a glass or two. Could she get a small bottle at a corner store while she was out?
While she thought that throught, Meredith had been side-eying her, thoughtfully. "While you were unconscious, Cristina had a psychotic episode."
"Right."
"Apparently, what helped her break through was something Owen said, about how once she felt better, he'd arrange it so that she didn't have to deal with patients' families. Actually, I think he said something about working her magic. To me it sounds like he wanted a surgical robot. Like my mom. Cristina's not that. Sometimes she wishes she wasShe cares so much it scares her sometimes."
"No wonder she's so fixated on taking care of him," Lexie observed. "Her abortion made him shut her out, but he's usually the sort of person who wants to take care of anyone who'll let him. Look at Cahill." Her stomach tightened as she remembered lying next to Mark, running her fingers through his hair to prove to him that they had more than sex.
"Yeah." Meredith drew the word out. "I didn't think of that. Until you mentioned robotics, I hadn't considered that he said that to a cardio surgeon."
"Almost impossible to do without a machine," Lexie said. "Until bypass was invented, heart surgery was one crazy GI doctor—"
"Who went to Harvard!" Meredith put in. "Sorry," she added in response to Lexie's silence.
"No, I…I like when we know the same random trivia."
"Me too.
"Mom almost went into cardio. I choose to believe it's because Gibbon's first operation on a human was in 1953, ]the year she was born."
"Isn't that…?"
"Sentimental?" Meredith slammed the washer shut. "Exactly. It's a more likely that all the hubbub after that; the TV shows and stuff inspired her, but it's the same idea. Kid with a passion. However cold and calculating my mother seemed to me, she had passion for something. I try to hold onto that." On the way out of the laundry room, Meredith took her butterfly knife trainer off a shelf and spun it idly.
"It's easier to hold onto their good qualities when they're dead," Lexie observed. "I…I don't…I'm not wishing—I'm still incredibly grateful for what you did—"
"There's the Lexie we know and love." Lexie scowled at the quip, but Meredith continued, "And yeah, sometimes. Other times, I think…what I consider good….. if I think about it too much, I realize how relative that is. Pretty often, it's stuff that shouldn't have been remarkable.
"Mom didn't like riding the T. Germaphobe. Can't blame her. Anyway, one Saturday, I was seven, maybe eight, and she'd done a consult at Children's, and needed to go down there. It must've been convocation weekend, or spent the whole walk to the Green Line trying to get a cab, but there weren't any. Way before they would've started passing her pictures around, too.
"The trolley-car was packed. She must've decided I was too big to sit on her lap a long time before, because it made the ride special. Memorable. It's nothing, but to me, it was everything."
Lexie didn't think that her sister was purposefully trying to pass on advice for her lunch-date this time. That didn't mean she could stop herself from reading into it.
By one that afternoon, she was parked at a table on the first floor of Lowell's Restaurant, looking out over the water. Any time her family had visitedo her grandmother, she'd been stir-crazy by the end of a week, and she was sure it had to do with being land-locked. In med school especially, she'd left the bubble of hospitals in Longwood to go up to the Charles, wandering to MGH and imagining working there. She'd engage strangers in conversation, which their professors recommended to practice for speaking to patients.
Had she ever stopped a woman a few years older than her, and discovered they were both from Seattle? Had she been waved off by the sister she didn't know, or had she been a welcome distraction from whatever had brought her to the riverside?
She sure was a distraction these days.
No, she was a problem.
"There you are, hun!" Dani chirped. "Did you order, or…?"
"No, I stole someone's number." Lexie indicated the placard people that would tell the runner which order to bring to this table. Dani's smile sank into a line.
"Right. Watch this for me?" She took her wallet from her purse—the Bella du Jour—and Lexie noted, sucking in her cheek to stop herself from quipping does it do tricks? "Great!" As the purse strap slid down her arm, she hissed and muttered "stupid," to herself in a way that made Lexie remember the moment she'd realized she'd misjudged Dani the first time.
"You okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm having my tattoo removed. The laser thing? Been at it for about a year. It takes forever. You probably know that."
"I do. Not that it's…it's more a dermatologist thing than a plastic surgery thing, but some surgeons do laser treatments in addition to excision."
"I considered that. Your dad says your ex-…not Mark, um…Jack? He said he's good, but I read it's not in a good place for excision. I don't mind it taking a while. It's a good reminder of why I'm working the program."
"So why do it?" Lexie remembered Dani's lowered gaze tugging down her shirt-sleeve that day at the hospital. She couldn't have put on a shirt with those poofy peasant sleeves expecting them to cover it. She'd only been self-conscious with Lexie looking down her nose at her.
"It's unprofessional. I've covered to work nine-to-fives, but working for myself, I'm having to get rid of it. Ironic, right? Resilience has become one of my distributor's most trafficked storefronts, and my upli—supervisor asked that I either cut it out or cover it. Figured I'd save myself some time with Photoshop." She patted her purse again and trotted over to the counter. She was wearing three-inch t-strap heels, which weren't exactly seasonal, but they were cute with her dark skinny jeans.
(They also made Lexie think of Molly's reaction to seeing the tattoos in real life: "It says something that you went to 'prostitute' and not 'stripper.' Military wives get poles installed for exercise. What I don't understand are the feet. Are they meant to be curved, or are those lobster-claw heels? If so, why? No John is going to pay for foot reconstruction surgery. No, wait, are they supposed to be cloven? Because then the artist would deserve to be arrested")
Lexie couldn't remember the last time she'd worn heels. If she could ever get them on again, well, like Molly said, "why?" To be cute wasn't a justifications if she couldn't stand up. If you weren't risking ligament damage, they didn't do anything.
"Woof." Dani took her seat. "It smells so good in here. I'm not a breakfast person, so I'm always starving by lunch."
"With the hospital in flux, Meredith and Derek are home. He cooks. When he's home, he fishes. The danger is that Mer decided it's a good time for her to learn. She's a very focused surgeon. In the kitchen…. Not so much."
She could re-ehat things, and if you set a timer a minute or two short, her tendency to get involved in an article, or book, or game with Zola didn't lead to extra crispy lasagna. The weeks Derek had spent practically living in the hospital around Jen Harmon's admittance had been an object lesson in her sisters preferences for overcooked meals and cold leftovers.
"On his own, Thatcher makes do with a lot of Hamburger Helper." Dani pressed her lips together like she hadn't meant to say that. "Um…so…you can feel that? Being hungry?"
Lexie fought the urge to roll her eyes. It could be hard to remember that she'd come into having an SCI with an exponential amount of experience compared to most people. "That's dual innervated... A lot of internal organs are connected to both your spinal cord and the vagal nerves, which are cranial' they don't go through the spinal cord. They control a lot of parasympathetic functions—the things we consider automatic. Swallowing, breathing, rest and digest functions."
"They're a totally different kind of muscle. I guess that makes sense."
"Well, it's more like whether we need to be able to control them. That's why we aren't sure if the left vagal innervates the bladder— Sorry, you're probably not interested….
"We don't have to play 'dance around Dad,' Dani. I don't think we can in this situation."
Before Dani could respond, Lexie's phone buzzed. She was surprised to see a text from Jean-Philippe, considering the exchange at the top of their thread.
LEXIE GREY: So, I'm officially meeting the DSO at the Market 12 on the 27th. Wanna be my debriefer?
(AKA, please make sure I go.)
JEAN-PHILIPPE HIPOLYTE: I am going to be in Santo Domingo, zanni. We have talked about it, no? A week there to see my cousins, and then on to Tortue. That is when I get to tell my sister I know a très jolie grown-up Alix who is a doctor!
I have given you my buddy Rafael's card. He is a very good driver. Not as charming as me. This is because he is Dominican.
LEXIE GREY: And you're Haitian from the DR.
JEAN-PHILLIPPE HIPOLYTE: For 3 generations My parents, they returned to H to get away from the treatment afro-dominicans receive. Much of my family is in the DR
LEXIE GREY: I rememberrf you were going, just not when.
JEAN-PHILLIPPE HIPOLYTE: Ai! That is not like you, zanmi. buying a hospital must be a tiring endeavor.
They'd only exchanged a couple of messages since. She'd been embarrassed about forgetting the date of a trip he'd been planning for since an uncle gave him the plane ticket for Christmas. Also, it'd meant she'd had to come up with a different plan for the paper in her back pocket.
"Something interesting happen? Or someone?"
Lexie flipped the phone over, and then reversed the action. "No, just, uh, a friend. He's in Haiti, and he sent me a picture." She held up the full-screen flyover shot.
"That's gorgeous! Wow. I haven't travelled. Not yet. I'm saving. Your dad has a student spending a semester in Africa, and those pictures are gorgeous."
"Where in Africa?" Lexie tried to filter the suspicion from her voice too late. While Dr. Robbins was preparing for her trip, and Alex was starting his program, it had amazed her how many medical professionals had revealed their ignorance about the fifty-four African countries, such as that Egypt was one.
"Zimbabwe." Dani said, shortly.
If you were a doctor like us….
Her food came then, and Lexie focused on taking out her silverware. Fish tacos (or chicken, or beef) was one of about half-a-dozen dinner entrees Mer could handle.
(Allergies had taught Lexie to cook. She'd tried walking Meredith through something more complicated than Easy Mac, and ended up exasperated. "Zola follows my directions better!" she'd lamented while Zola giggled into her Dino nuggets while Meredith had dumped a pan of over-baked macoroni and cheese.)
"Look, Dani—"
"Lexie, I…."
They locked eyes, not laughing the way she would've with one of her sisters, but something softened.
"You go."
Dani nodded, but then turned her bracelet around her arm. "I went too deep into your story last year. I realized it as soon as you woke up. It's possible…. Historically that's not how it's gone for me. People waking up. I'm sure you're not interested in my sob—"
"You tell it to strangers all the time. I've got more reason to be invested than they do."
"It's not that unique. Messy divorce. My uncle had Cystic Fibrosis, and one of Dad's cousins. When it wasn't passed to me, my parents were so relieved; I was spoiled, enrolled in sports, taken out to the park whenever I wanted. Four years later, Jeremy changed all of it. I learned how to do his breathing treatments, and sort out his medications.
"I loved him more than anything, and I was jealous as hell. That's how siblings are supposed to be, unless one of them is sick. You're not allowed to be jealous of the sick kid. You can't complain about having no money because it all goes to his treatments. My parents' marriage fell apart. They both insisted it had nothing to do with us. Jeremy never believed them.
"Once school became about more than being cute and clever, my grades tanked, because every infection he got meant a hospital stay. Dad moved three hours away to Berkeley for tenure and insurance. Mom had to work. I skipped constantly to be with him.
"He was my best friend, my kid, my full-time job. So, I'm sure you can imagine how I felt when he died from drug-resistant staph."
Lexie had known it was coming, but she was jarred nonetheless. She lowered her fork, and hoped that gesture resonated with someone who wasn't used to the fact that it stayed strapped to her hand. "I can't imagine."
Dani stayed quiet for another moment. "Oh." She exhaled, her shoulders sinking.."Thank you for not saying you're sorry. It's what people learn to say, but it made me so angry. Like, what right did anyone else have to be sorry? They didn't do anything wrong."
"Doesn't sound like you did either."
Up to this point, Dani had seemed to be distanced from her story, her gaze landing a little to the left of Lexie's shoulder, and the corners of her lips pointed up only slightly to give off pleasant, not weirdly pleased.
Lexie's statement did something. Her eyes darkened and her features went stiff. "You don't get to decide that."
Who does? Lexie didn't say it aloud, and Dani went back to the tone that Lexie imagined she'd used at who-knew-how-many AA meetings.
"My mom…it hit her hard. For a while, I took care of her, but even helping her and the nurses…I hadn't had that level of responsibility—long story short, utilities got shut off, she moved in with my grandmother for a few years. I moved to my dad's.
"He taught classics."
Lexie hoped her oomm sounded like it was about the food. Where was Meredith when you needed someone else whose mind was screaming Daddy issues radar bomp bomp?
"He must've been lonely…. He was always hosting these dinners with colleagues and post-docs. Before, he'd let us have a glass of wine at dinner and send us to bed before things got interesting. Without Jermey…I think he forgot I was a kid.
"I was smart enough for anyone wanting to impress my dad to fuss over me, and make me feel like an adult. Drew Barrymore, I was not. But at sixteen, well…" She took a long drink from her Coke. "I'd grab one of the bottles meant to go around the table, sneak it up to my room. By the time he was seeing people out, I'd be gone. The guys I traded the bottles to were probably Dad's grad students."
"Traded?"
"Yeah," Dani's eyelids lowered, and her cheeks went pinker than could be explained by her light dusting of blush. She couldn't help being proud of this. That upped her a little in Lexie's esteem. "Dad had this buddy who'd inherited a vineyard in Napa; he had fancy-looking reds. To a student, I might as well have unearthed them from some cave in Italy. Did you know there's a secondary market for wine? I'm sure some of them drank it, or served it to their girlfriends. If they made a profit, good for them. I wasn't interesting in putting in t he effort.
"You went to Harvard." She didn't need confirmation, but Lexie nodded anyway. "And you were in a sorority?"
"Yeah. A regular one, not the super one-percent…. Mom said it'd been a good way to make friends for her, and I was a legacy…." This was starting to remind Lexie too much of Meredith trying to peg her intern year. Her bullseyes hadn't had anything to do with who Lexie was in the aftermath of Mom's death. She didn't think anyone appreciated that.
"So you know how undergrads drink." Of course, this was part off her story. Lexie relaxed, dipping a fry in ketchup. She'd stopped thinking about the unusualness of doing that with a fork, but she did note Dani's eyes following the trajectory. "Mostly it's beer, or something you can mix with enough soda that it doesn't taste like alcohol. They might 'splurge' on a bottle of wine to act fancy. Either way, it's a social lubricant. I didn't care about that. I wanted the burn. The punishment. My preference was cheap and clear. One bottle of wine got me enough heavy stuff to keep my water bottle full until the next party. Most of the time..
"I graduated a moderately-functioning alcoholic. Was nepotized into the freshman class at Berkeley. My dad had enough sources around that there were comments about not having 'too much fun.' He's a decent guy, didn't want to slut-shame, and you can't really ask a girl if she thinks she's 'partying too hard' without it sounding that way. Not that I went to parties. All my focus was on getting a steady source of booze, and not getting kicked out of my dorm. You would think that a university town famous for its hippies would be less stringent about checking ID, but that wasn't my experience.
"I have a tame version of a typical addict's story. Having booze as my drug of choice gave me a certain privilege. I hung around student bars and developed a knack for spotting the hanger-on in groups on the patio. Ever sat with a group of people who've ordered a pitcher and notice how they get too caught up to drink it?"
"Uh. Derek and Mark were both obsessed with this one IPA at Joe's…the hospital... The bar across from the hospital. It didn't take much for them to start arguing about something, or playing darts to settle a bet. They'd leave half of it. Mer said it tasted like water in the Florentine sewer…which I hope she's only smelled…."
Dani laughed, and Lexie left it there. She hadn't thought about it, starting the story, but a couple of times last summer…the last summer she was awake for…her snatched glances at that table had caught the pitcher emptying while the boys were at the dart board. She'd heard Meredith protest leaving saying, "it's not like we've got kids t'go home to. Lexie's over there," and been annoyed at having the spotlight turned to her. It hadn't been a red-flag moment, but in retrospect, she suspected that unlike their father, having a child taken away might have become the blow that broke her sister. She'd been better once Derek stopped sulking, but not enough that Lexie could immediately let go of the worry she'd expressed to Molly in Bahrain—"Their foundation is crooked. He does better if he's doing well in the O.R., and I'm starting to worry that he needs her as a work wife more than a home wife."
She'd been wrong, thankfully. They'd become ridiculously in love again, and Zola had come home. If she hadn't, would everything since have gone…differently? Regret at her behavior that morning lined the internal organs Lexie could very much feel, coupled with shame over her second thought: how would losing a sister have affected her?
"I could usually attach myself to one of those guys for a while," Dani was saying. "Too often, they were smart and sweet. They wanted to 'help' me. To me they were nothing but procurers. If I knew their middle name, it was because it was on a credit card I'd used. Borrowed. Stolen.
"So, I know what you were worried about, meeting me. I was this girl—" She gestured to her arm. "—and while I think a woman's body is hers to do with as she pleases, I wasn't always making informed decisions. I've had to deal with a lot of humiliating memories in the past five years, and Resilience started as just…a way to put those out there and have it not go to a void.
"When we first visited you, you were on a ventilator. Half of your body was casted, and your dad…he wanted to update Molly, but his hands were shaking too much to use his phone. Then, it was on the news; his co-workers had questions. I put updates on my page, and he reposted them. My followers wanted to reach out…. It snowballed. If there's a type of person who should know how that happens, it's an addict. Thing is, we also know how to work a situation to our advantage."
"Can't say I've never done that," Lexie admitted. "Throwing me in the deep end…was that retaliation or something? For…how I was at the hospital? I made you feel overwhelmed on purpose—"
Dani's curls bounced as she shook her head, making her look like she was on a movie screen in the fifties. Lexie bit her lip at the thought. She could definitely pull off a Monroe. "No. Thatch had those students over, too, and I hoped…. I hoped it'd blend, but all those ladies expected a sale-party. I wanted to come clean at Christmas, but I'd never put together a meal like that. I didn't mean to let things go down hill with Eric that way—what?"
Lexie pressed her mouth against the back of her wrist, flapping her hand at Dani while trying to swallow quickly without choking. "You….You really are just my age. When I met Mer, she was twenty-nine. That seemed so old to me, and I'm still not there. Of course she could handle Christmas dinner the next year, to my mind. But she didn't. Not alone.
"I freaked out over my boyfriend having a kid who was nine years younger than me. Then, you come into the hospital, all, oh, yeah, his daughter the doctor, like that doesn't faze you at all… Really, though, if I'm gonna be honest with us both, and I am, 'cause I don't know where we're going from here…. I was so jealous of you. More than that. I resented you from the start—like I'd been jealous of you for years."
"Why?"
"You're my age, and you could take care of him. I moved back to do that. Mom died, and I knew Dad wouldn't be able to handle it. I wanted to be there for him. But he had Scotch for that, and…do you know, I'd never touched alcohol in front of him? Mom came to Cambridge for my twenty-first, which was this whole deal, because Dad had to spend Valentine's Day without her—Molly had to insist on having a daddy-daughter date—She bought me a Cosmo, and we both pretended I went back to my dorm to study." In retrospect, it seemed pathetic that If it hadn't been a Friday, she would've. "But for the next two years, I was still one of the girls at Christmas, and if I went out on New Year's, I stayed out. Then, I got off the plane for the funeral, and I was suddenly his booze-mule.
"And I did it. I did it, because it was something I could do for my dad. I thought… I hoped if I just kept doing that…at some point he'd be my dad. My mom was dead. The parent I talked to every day. The parent who…who parented me was gone. I was twenty-three, and maybe if I'd stayed in Boston, where people knew me as an adult…. I am an adult, but I hadn't become one yet, you know? I'd graduated from med school, and that was it. No engagements, no leases. I hadn't even handled my own car insurance.
"Molly had Mom for her wedding, and her first baby, and then she and Eric got to fuck off to wherever he got deployed—and that hasn't been easy for her. If anything, I got lucky, finding Meredith and hanging on until she let herself care about me…. Truly, if I'd have been her…. I think it might've taken longer.
"Dad got sober, but he never became the parent I needed, because he never had been. Not without Mom holding him up. I don't know if things changed when I decided to be a surgeon, or if we're too different, or to similar… I'm sure I'm supposed to be having this conversation with him, but he's my dad." She squeaked out the word, uncomfortably aware that the same thing had happened while she begged Meredith for his life. He was a good Daddy. All the recitals, and softball games, and school plays….Fifth grade graduation. He didn't get that far with Meredith. I hope he would've been the same, but Ellis wouldn't have been able to show him…." She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bitching about him to you. A lot of people have parents who go hands off once they're out of the house. But mine…didn't. Not until I needed him."
"Mine tried. I talk to him, at least, but I'd stopped letting anyone parent me a long time before Jeremey died. Dad just hadn't realized it." Dani ate a few of her own fries. "Do you want me to talk to him?"
Lexie bit back her immediate response so quickly she wasn't even sure what it was. After taking a long sip from her straw, she said, "You can tell him what I said, but don't give him an opinion. Don't tell him what to do. If you can, don't let him ask anyone. I need…and I think he needs…to figure something out for himself for once."
"He got sober. That's something."
Lexie thought of Webber calling her and Meredith into his office. "That's the minimum. I'm sure it's hard…I have no idea…but so far, it hasn't been enough."
""You're not wrong. I know you have your sisters, and their families, but is there anything I can do? I don't expect to be your step-anything. That's stupid. Originally, I'd hoped we could be friends."
"Don't rule it out. I have tolerance to pay forward.
As Dani laughed, Lexie considered the quartered paper in her pocket; the one with the license number she'd hoped wouldn't be run through the system if the name the script was written out for was unrelated.
Nothing but procurers.
"Not today," she said. "I'm all right at getting things for myself."
She hadn't been able to spend much time at Roseridge over the past couple of weeks. People had probably come and gone, but some things were consistent. She found J.P.'s friend's number in her phone. She didn't have much time if she wanted to make it to Open Group.