"Paging me 69 isn't all that much more appropriate, you know," Derek said, catching one of her arms while she slammed the supply cabinet door closed with her other hand.
"Kept you from worrying. Got you here. I win."
"That's fai—mmph…."
She could feel him consider breaking the kiss several times, trying to figure out how to phrase, "Mer, WTF?" without making her all mad and tearful. As much protecting her as not wanting to be the target of her batshit hormones. Which was so like him. She almost teared up from the sweetness of it. She admitted to having emotions now. Couldn't that be enough?
Once, it could've. These days, not so much. She'd considered texting him supply closet sex, but she'd worried he'd miss the last word. Also, her last pro-bono day lap choles had run over, so it would've been a misrepresentation of the situation.
Once his hands were on her hips, under her lab coat, a sign that his initial bemusement had dissipated, she drew back. "I…." She cringed. She was gonna regret this phrasing, she knew that, but it would also work on the corny egoist.
"Hmm?" He circled his thumb over the center of her back along with the murmurer, and she shivered, her self-consciousness falling away.
She rose up on the balls of her feet, and kissed up his jaw. His was at the perfect place, not enough to snag, and not so closely shaven that she had to press to feel the tingling scrape."I…need a hand," she muttered, and then let her head thump against his shoulder.
Along with the laugh that said he'd caught her meaning, he started running his palm up her back. "You're saying you're leaving me home alone all night, and you're asking me to take care of you first?"
"Putting it that way…. I've just…. Screw it, I am a grown-ass, adult woman who should be able to take care of things herself. Hell, any other time, I could put a leg up on one of those shelves and rub one out, but thanks to you, I can't reach my fucking clit without being in a position that'd end in flashing Ross my whole qui—"
"Hey." Derek tapped the bottom of her chin. "Take a breath. I am more than happy to oblige. You know that."
"I guess."
"You—" He kissed her forehead. "Know." and the tip of her nose. She wrinkled it at him. "It's in here." He smoothed the flyaways in her hair down, keeping his fingers on her scalp when she tugged the elastic off the tip of her messy braid. "What's drowning it out?"
She bridged the distance between them, hoping to distract him from the question, but the hand on the top of her head held her back. She scowled. "You're not being convincing."
"Talk to me, and I'll show you convincing."
"There's nothing…. We've talked…. It's not…not a thing." She waved toward the corner of the closet, and her wrist itched. The thin pink line was almost gone, and if she accidentally clawed it open…could it really be called accidental?
"It doesn't have to be," Derek said. "But small things become big things."
"Oh, believe me, I've figured that out."
His laugh made it difficult to find the edges of the niggling feeling she'd carried with her since his pager had gone off this morning. She'd known her mind would go straight back to where they'd been as soon as she lay down, even once the physical frustration had passed.
She'd spent her life being insecure about everything except her body. Once they moved to Boston, her mother and various other adults kept her from appearing totally feral, and by the time the nuances mattered, she'd learned how to observe and adapt. She'd never had to put in much effort to get the attention she wanted. She was grateful for that, and she didn't think much beyond it. Until Derek came along, she'd never played the will you still love me if… game. Physical changes took too long for her to worry about losing someone because of them.
No one had ever told her that if she did, they didn't deserve her, like she'd tell Zola. Her mother said "worry about your mind before you worry about mascara," but also, "it takes time for a man to let himself be intimidated by your intelligence. How you keep their attention to that point won't matter in the long run." (Meredith threw that one back at her, once, and then repeated her mother's response the next time she'd said, "you're intelligent enough, Meredith, if you'd just use it." If she'd repeated those things under the heading of my mother says, would someone have been able to make her see the contradictions?)
"I just…I don't feel like I'm supposed to be."
"What? Turned on? The book has a whole sidebar—"
"Yeah, and you know most people buy the books and let them sit on their bedside table. You'd think, at a hospital, but…." She shrugged, started to cross her arms, and realized that would be ridiculous when there was only enough room between them because of the fetus. "It's not even me. Yeah, I feel kinda frumpy. I'm wearing mismatched sized scrubs, I had to loosen my watch this morning, I can't get on any shoes that aren't sneakers, and I dropped a pair of pick-ups in the E.R. today. That stuff is normal, because pregnancy is harboring a parasite." Whenever she said that, his eye twitched, just a little. He probably regretted not picking that battle, but she couldn't stop poking it. "People….They register baby on board, and suddenly that's it. I'm 'mama' and the only person I want to hear that from for the next year or so is Zola. And you know how when someone asks how you are, they don't actually want to know? That's exponentially more true. Everyone's constantly asking me if I'm okay, and treating me like I'm sick, as though women haven't been doing this since the dawn of time—If I said anything about being annoyed that you got called in while we were showering? The best I'd get is someone saying she didn't want her husband touching her for the last four months of her pregnancy, and there's this…this nod that goes around. I start getting the feeling that I've missed a step, which hasn't been happening nearly as much in the past couple years.
"You're not supposed to say scared before excited like we haven't seen women out of their mind with pain. They say, oh, she has pregnancy brain, but then I let a resident close yesterday because I had to pee, and you should've seen the anesthesiologist's face."
"Who was it?"
"One of the new guys. It doesn't matter. It's…Everyone has to share their opinions. They want to know about stuff I haven't thought about yet. Makes me feel like I've already failed this kid by only taking on what I can handle. One of the cashiers in the cafeteria tells me to take a brownie 'cause I'm eating for two, and the next day the other one is bragging that she only gained twelve pounds with her youngest. Yesterday, my patient's wife asked if I was getting enough Omega-3s.
"It's like the rest of my life has stopped. But it never does." She took in a breath that stood in place of her next thought, she didn't want to go there. "And again, thinking any of this? Totally failing him."
"You're not."
"You don't think so. That's not…you don't look at me and see an incubator."
"I don't." He confirmed it by kissing her. "That does explain why you're dragging me down hallways for assignations."
"I did not—"
"It really shouldn't be like that, but I'm still working with HR on staffing."
"We can't fire everyone who judges me. No one would be left."
"You'd be surprised.
"You're not going numb or shutting off. That's good."
"It's not….,It's more real now. But I'm also…I'm more anxious about the board meeting."
"Because that's days away, not weeks. It's okay. And," he added. "It's okay to be annoyed that you can't just ignore it all in the O.R. Just in case that crossed your mind.
"After all." He took one of her hands and raised it, guiding her through a pirouette that put her back against him. "You're at work now, aren't you?" She heard the click of the lock, and her body responded with a pavlovian rush of desire to match the arousal she hadn't managed to shake. "You're at work. I'm at work. But I'm also your husband." He didn't waste time, taking advantage of the stretchiness of her maternity bra to pull it far enough out that he could get his hand on her tit. "Doesn't mean I can do this as much as I want to. You know why?"
"Brain tumors." She smiled to herself at the reverberations of his chuckle, and then turned her head to reach her his neck with her lips.
"Nasty stubborn tumors, and aneurysms, and hematomas…. Seeing you operate, hearing you teach the interns, the way you demand respect, when what's being said rattles you— If I didn't make those a priority here, I would be pulling you into closets, and exam rooms—How's the master key list coming?"
Even with his knuckles traveling back and forth on the side of her boob, and the pulsing heat been her legs, her first thought was how easy it'd be if Zola's lovey was forgotten again—Stupid, they would have a twenty-four hour daycare, soon enough.
"There's no list!" she lied. This time it was on her phone. He'd have far fewer responsibilities next fall than he had as Chief.
She could feel the indent her teeth were making against his skin in her attempt to hold back the noise the memories and the pads of his fingers on her nipple had built up in her. Once she started, stopping, de-escalating, pulling back, none of it would happen.
"You can reach these," he observed. "If this doesn't solve the problem for tonight, you think that might help? If you sleep on the couch in my office—which you should do, anyway, it's more comfortable than the on call beds. It'd give you some extra positioning choices, too." He tilted his head, obviously considering the geometry.
"Oh, yeah. There are possibilities. Smart brain surgeon."
"Seems like I'm always the one coming up with these solutions."
"'Cause I have placenta brain. And you're sex-crazed."
"Oh, who's talking?" He let go of her hand, and she stiffened with anticipation. When he removed his other hand, she started to protest. He kissed her temple, and cleared her hair from the nape of her neck before moving his lips there while he peeled off her lab coat. He draped it, and then his, over a shelf.
She could feel the brush of his fingers against her arms on every tingling inch of her skin, and she hoped she could lock it in as motivation to avoid needing to wear long sleeves.
"Where's your Valentine's Day toy?" he asked, taking her unattended breast in hand. "If I'd had one last consult, you'd have been in the exact situation I bought it for."
"Took it out of my purse. Zo kept thinking she found a 'pretty stick.' She's too smart. I told her it looked nice, but then she tested it on her arm…mmm—."
"Bet there'd be some color if I used that pretty stick up here. Will that incentivize you to bring it back?"
She swallowed, and strength from her knees shifted up. She'd never been into having a vibrator anywhere near her boobs, but last month she'd let him try rolling her bullet over them. She wouldn't have to be convinced to try more direct application of the new one.
This was all another example of her being slightly off, in her opinion. The book ended almost every sentence with but all pregnancies are different! but it definitely implied painfully whenever it mentioned tender nipples. That did happen sometimes.. Just, mostly she only wanted Derek's fingers to keep twisting and tugging. Which wasn't usual.
Which is why you need to stop thinking and enjoy it while it lasts.
"Where else would we get color playing with your toy? Hmm?"
If she didn't dignify his teasing, he'd move on when she couldn't stand having him there, but it felt like an impossibility, and lately it had been. She needed him to move down; she thought she might explode the second he touched her—speaking of Valentine's Day….
The trick was getting him to go in hard enough to set her off. Derek never met an orgasm he couldn't draw out, pulling it out of her so goddamn slowly. Sometimes he chose not to, chose to blast her into obvlivion. She needed that. She needed the blast, and he—oh, yes, two could play his game. That was always the best method for taking him down a peg, in a way he appreciated.
She shifted, centering herself against him. From there, she ground her ass against the bulge that'd been steadily tightening his scrubs since he'd started talking about his office. His sharp gasp made her want to keep going; if he'd just move faster—
He caught her hips. "Message received, minx." He took his time getting her bra situated comfortably, and it was all the more frustrating to know he wasn't toying with her. He just did stuff like that, when she really wouldn't care if something was pinching.
The pulsey-heat had become a solid throbbing, and if this had been one of dozens of other trysts in this closet or its identical cousins on other floors, she could've slipped her hand down her pants so easily while he'd played with her tits. Could've let him go ahead and unclasp her bra while she flicked for a moment, maybe, if she could stand it, and then rubbed-rubbed so hard. A small spasm of pleasure pulsed through her at the thought, and she moaned into his neck.
His hands were on her belly, searching out space around the stupid support band. They didn't have time for his current obsession with the stretched skin—Sucked, having his fingertips trailing over it tingled in the best way—She grabbed his solidly healed wrist, pulling back her scrubs and underwear and guiding him under. Soon, he wouldn't be able to get his fingers on her clit from this angle either, but now he could, and he needed to do it. No more games.
Anticipating the moment was nothing compared to finally having the deliciously cool pad of his finger run all the way down, notstopping until he got to the edge of her cunt, then dragging it back up, dragging out her moan.
"Mm, you should've called for a consult sooner, Dr. Grey. Let's see, how do we want to proceed here?" He swiped his finger over the tip of her glans. "You know what?"
"Huhm?"
"Tomorrow night, we're going to get you nice and ripe, just like this, and then, sweetheart, you're going to flash that wet, warm quim at me, and I'm going to suck you dry. How's that sound?"
"Like I shoulda paged you earlier."
"Nah, because that's tomorrow's plan. Tomorrow you're gonna be a strawberry. Tonight, you're already so firm down here. Like a melon." He tapped his middle finger right beside her glans, like he was just considering what he could do, and her eye-lids flick-ered as the ev-en rhy-thm res-o-na-ted through her.
"Yeah, definitely ripe. But that's a trick you may want to hold onto for the couch—"
"No, nuh-uh, don't hafta—"
"What's more difficult for you?" He kept tapping, like he was thinking something through, like he wasn't just getting her where he needed her for whatever his plan—
He opened the fingers he'd been using resting them on either side of her glans, holding it at the metacarpophalangeal joints—One of many terms Ellis gave her without the corresponding acronym that everyone used (MCP), because "you must learn the route before the shortcut." She'd been lost when her professors used the shortcuts to teach them more of what actually mattered—as he scrubbed them down her labia and back up, his speed doubling, tripling, sending electric pulses through her. The hand across her middle angled up, massaging her breast through her bra.
"Der—oh yes-yes-yes—" A bolt of pleasure shot through her, and she hooked her arm backward around his neck. "Faster. Yeah, yeah, yeah." He moved his fingers back onto her clit, alternating stroking and circling. He always found the right combination using any one of a dozen tells, half of which she wasn't aware of. "Like that, like that. I really, really like that." For an amount of time she couldn't measure, she couldn't think of anything else, could only focus on the pleasure his fingers were sending through her. It was perfect, everything, and then, "Oh, oh, there ….Okay I need…need you to rub. Please, rub. It's right there."
"You sure you're ready?" he asked, circling her swollen clit with a finger."
"Uh-uh," she admitted. She could let him toy with her like that for-fucking-ever, and they didn't have that. "I hafta be done."
"Fair enough." If she let him keep playing she wouldn't be able to tolerate what she wanted; he'd be poised to tip her over the edge repeatedly until she couldn't stand, but there wasn't time for that. "Hey, bright eyes?"
"Huh?" She looked up, and he kissed her; hot, hard, stubble prickling against her upper lip. It caught her cry as he replaced his fingers with the heel of his palm.
She supported her belly with her free arm, pulling up to give him room, but with the unexpected benefit of additional tension. He jerked his palm in circles, pressing down slowly.
"Uh-uh-uh-almost-oh-Oh-OH, yeah, there, just like that." Her hips mimicked the circles he was moving her in, and she arced her pelvis forward to keep her ass off his cock this time.
"Stop that." He tightened his arm below her ribs. "I want to feel you. I love the way you move, Mer. I love it when you give into your body like that."
"G-Good, 'cause I can't—I hafta— Oh, boy, oh, boy, Derek, Deeerek—" it was all that came to her when she refused to beg, wanted desperately to say help. She strained against his hand.
"I've got you, Mer. Let it build."
Her head bobbed against his shoulder as her hips bucked, her knees bending in response; like her body wanted to be pumping him, proof of concept for how he'd be rewarded the next night. Not that he demanded reciprocity. Sometimes she decided that every layer of coherency he could strip off her was its own reward for him.
"You're so full down here, beautiful. Your clit is incredible, but it can't hold on much longer. Any second now, it's gonna try to hide from us, but I know its tricks. All you have to do is let yourself come nice and strong—Oh, good girl." As promised, he rearranged his hand without missing a beat,
"Three—yeah, like that. All of me, cover—yeah, yeah, that's it. Rub. Rub it outta me, all out, all—fast-fast-faster, faster, rub me raw, don't stop, don't ever, ah-ah-almost—yes sweet holy fuck nails just do that just do that to me forever I want that forever okay? Yeah, oooh, press harder harder yes, yes fuck coming-there-coming Derek take me take me through—" She had to be pulling too hard with the arm around his neck, but he countered like it was nothing; locking his legs and lifting her slightly off the ground through the time her body spent stretching and folding in on itself. "—go go go guh—" Her voice stopped, vocal chords as caught up as any other muscle, luckily without catching the air surging out of her lungs; a silent scream. His other hand did an admirable job of keeping pace until she sagged against him, both hands clinging to the arm bracing her.
"Okay?" he murmured against her ear.
She managed a dry-mouthed confirmation and shifted to put her head on his shoulder without dislocating hers. It'd been months since the last time she demonstrated the monkey bars for Zola, and she'd felt like it was going to happen then, before her joints started going haywire. In a year or two, Zola would be showing her little brother how to cross them. Assuming his arms were strong enough for that.
"What are you smiling about, gorgeous?"
"You, saying I'm gorgeous right now. I'm all sweaty, and it doesn't matter because I'm always sweaty, and swollen, and cranky about it."
"Swollen isn't always a problem."
"Don't."
"Feeling suggestible?" He buffed his nails against the skin of her arm, and she whined at the spasm it sent through her. "Didn't think so.
"You're incredibly gorgeous. I always love it when you're all flushed and glistening, and a little bit loopy."
"M'not."
"No? What were you smiling at, then?"
"I was just thinking of how Zola's going to be old enough to teach him how to do the monkey bars. Assuming he doesn't have—"
"Mer." Derek rested his forehead on the crown of her head. "He's gonna be fine."
She reached up, patting his hair to keep it from looking obviously mussed. "He doesn't have any genetic issues or abnormalities in utero. The birth could still cause any number of disabilities, and…I know I freak you out. It's not…. When I was moonlighting on OB, and y'know, clinicals, and everything. People say, 'oh, we just want them to be healthy,' but then if they're not…. I've been in the room where oxygen issues cause potential cerebral palsy, or they didn't get an amnio and the baby has Down Syndrome, or even just has a really visible birthmark—those are the almost routine things, and I'm never routine—It happens, and the family…. I understand that it's overwhelming, and I've never been through anything directly comparable, but…but these families spend the first few days of their baby's life mourning the baby they didn't have. Writing off stuff they assume this baby won't do, not even knowing what they'll want to do! Imagine being that kid and figuring out that your mom was devestated about some condition that maybe impacts your whole identity. I'd never want to put that on a kid. Not that I think anyone does. I just…if I think of the stuff that could happen, I can kind of…adjust to the idea of that, and I know we can handle anything, so…. The stuff you say to counter me helps, you know. I just try to...to not have that hypothetical healthy baby in my head, because he's gonna be perfect no matter what. So, if he's blind, or deaf, or and deaf...?"
"Helen Keller went to Harvard," he said, echoing himself from the other night. She could hear his smile. "You're something else."
"Actually, that's been bugging me," she said, rotating in his arms again to kiss him. "She went to Radcliffe."
"Same difference. Amelia's undergrad degree says Harvard-Radcliffe."
"Yeah, because she graduated before '99, right?"
"Uh, yeah, Class of '96, I think? She started her internship in 2000."
"In the 18-whatevers, Radcliffe was the Harvard Annex, but they had to become their own thing when the big H decided giving women degrees was a 'risky experiment.' Until the second time all the men went to war, and they had to rely on professors being willing to lecture at both places. From there, they had all Harvard classes, but they didn't get Harvard degrees until the seventies."
"Wait. Kathleen applied to all Seven Sisters, and she still emails the whole family any study about how female students do better in single-sex classrooms. They'd have had classes with men, and none of the side benefits of being at Harvard?"
"Yeah, exactly. I had a lot of teachers who went there, and asking what they thought of the Harvard-Radcliffe merger was a great way to kill a class period. Some of them preferred the small women's college feel, but it's the same work for less prestige. Less privilege. Less power. Mom pushed me to consider one of the Sisters. She didn't know I woulda been 'distracted' either way. I liked Smith, but I was desperate to get out of Massachusetts. Ivy trumped Sister."
"You and Cristina would've met sooner."
"Probably better we didn't. I was like a combination of the types of Smith girls she hated. I mean, she hates that part of me now."
He tightened his hold on her, and nuzzled his check against the top of her head.
Cristina had gone to Smith because boys were a distraction. She would not have appreciated party-bi Meredith; flashcards by day, nearest rave, club, or occasional sports bar by night, sleep by never. The freedom of college had saved her from reaching the heights of self-hatred that she had in high school, and would again in her twenties. Some of that was due to being able to pick up a bottle or a boy whenever she felt it creeping up on her, close to finals and vacations. It'd been self-destructive; her grades would've improved if she'd been able to push the future out of her mind. It hadn't seemed worth it when Mom wouldn't be satisfied by a 4.0—She hadn't grasped doing well for herself. That she still managed to scrape her way onto the Dean's List infuriated the Cristinas of Dartmouth.
"You should go," she told Derek.
"I should," he agreed. It took him another minute to release his hold on her. She leaned up to kiss him deeply enough to sustain her for the next twelve hours. "Try to get some rest tonight."
"See, the thing is, if that happens, it means I didn't have anything to do, and I didn't have to be here. I'd rather work tonight, and sleep 'til you get home tomorrow."
"You've come up with worse plans."
"Maybe I'll take Zo with me. She'd love that surprise," she suggested reaching for the closet door with one hand, and taking his hand with the other. They headed down the hall together. There was a time when they one of them would've been hanging back for five minutes to keep anyone from noticing they'd been in there together. Now, well, they owned the hospital. As long as they locked the door to avoid traumatizing the residents, they'd be left alone.
"That eliminates the sleeping part of your plan."
"She naps. I miss her. We went from being home all the time to pulling doubles to get this place going. It won't become a thing."
"Uh-huh."
"Any reason she'd object to daycare hooky?"
"Other than not seeing 'Soapy?'"Meredith laughed at his disgruntled look. "She can say Sofi!"
"She can say Sofia. For this week Sofia is Soapy. And it's adorable."
"I'm sure the first time was."
Sofia had slept over on a night her moms got stuck and Derek was on call. Meredith had said 'soapy Sofi' while they were in the bath, and the toddlers had giggled for half an hour. She'd think they'd gone to sleep, and then over the monitor she'd hear hear a tiny voice say 'Soapy,', and there'd be another minute of laughter. "If it bothered Sofia, there would've been tears. And pinches. And more tears."
"That's true," he allowed. "It's not a big deal. I just…I love that they were in each other's first few words, you know? That's always going to be something they have."
"Exactly. Always. Sofia doesn't call Zola 'La' anymore, but that was still her fourth word."
"Fourth?" he asked as they approached the elevator lobby.
"I think. 'Mama,' 'ni-ni,' 'Dada,' 'La.'"
"Wasn't 'So' fourth for Zola, too?"
"'Ba-Ba,' 'Gee' for Gigi, 'Mama,' and 'So.' Yeah. Four. You were five. I have a list at home that goes up to twenty, but they came so fast after that…."
She'd come to them ready to talk. She rarely stopped these days.
Meredith had a few reasons for not being impressed by her foster placements. One of them was that she'd been babbling constantly when she'd been taken from them. When she came home, there'd been some new sounds, and a real thing for "eeee," but no words. That she'd had five within six weeks did not speak well for them. Or they didn't speak much to her.
"I'll call as close to reading time as I can," she said. "Don't let her con you into going through the pile twice. She'll expect it, and one rotation makes me want to burn some of them on the fire pit."
"I've been telling her you can only read one Llama Llama unless you have on red pajamas."
"She doesn't have…. Oh, that's clever."
"So far, it hasn't been worth the llama drama, but if we both enforce it, maybe…. Of course, if we get her to read fewer Llama books she is going to want to replace them."
"I like the mouse book," she said. "It's a great intro to slippery slope fallacy. Like, The Giving Tree is an intro to toxic relationships, and that's why we don't own it. Take the milk cup this time."
"I did that once, and I went back for it when she was asleep! I can handle putting our two-year-old to bed."
"I know you can. You've had to do more than your share lately."
"Okay, not only is that not true, it's…?"
"Not something I can change, not my fault, not a problem," she intoned.
It never ceased to amaze her that she could feel incredibly stupid repeating those things, but then Derek smiled, and they settled as probably true.
"And," he said, and lowered his voice. "You've been working your gorgeous ass off to put together a daycare system that will give both of us more time with her, and more time together."
"That's the goal," she allowed. With twenty-four seven daycare, they hoped to overlap their on call nights as much as possible. At least one of them could go down at bedtime. Ideally, it'd give Zola a more predictable routine. "If Lexie—" He raised his eyebrow, and she smiled, ruefully. "We'll work that out after."
After the baby. After their parental leave. After she was back in neuro.
The elevator doors slid open. "Sure you don't want to come down?"
"I can't. I wouldn't be able to stay. It confuses her. Just. Tell her I love her, and I'll see her tomorrow."
"Okay." He kissed her, and before disappearing into the car said, "She loves you, too. A few overnights a month will not hurt her.
"I al-Zo love you. A lot."
"I love you, too."
"Sleep, for the sake of both our kids, not just you."
"Good night, Derek." She walked away, and didn't hear the elevator doors close until she turned a corner.
She ended up being more grateful that he could respond to that page than she'd anticipated, though not from lying awake in an on call room bed. She never saw one of those.
Some nights, the difference between trauma and general was significant. It'd been how she'd explained away Hunt's sister-tracking initially, figuring the line got more solid once you were an attending whose time mattered. It was, in a way, true. There were more residents; they could be taken off other services, but they couldn't do back-to-back appys and punctures unsupervised.
They also couldn't take two organs and most of the bowel of a kid who'd lost control of the convertible he'd gotten for his sweet sixteen last month. His parents didn't know he wasn't home in his bed.
They'd have been sent to the Pit after that flatline was followed by another that took three surgeons trying to keep blood inside a twenty-year-old with braces. He'd been home when he shouldn't have been, gotten on the wrong side of a burglar's gun, and helicoptered over to them.
If a resident had scrubbed in on the teenager who'd been struck by the Seattle Center monorail while tagging a building, their attending would not make them speak to a third family. Richard had been sent by Owen to assist her on that one, and she could tell he wanted to handle on the final task for her. If he'd asked, she might've let him, but he came at it sideways—"Dr. Grey, have you had a break tonight?" "I've got a clear docket from here, if there's anything else you'd like me to take care of"—Ordinarily, she'd have snapped at him for a straight offer, but she didn't bother. They were her patients. She wasn't a resident.
The weight a loss put on her was nothing compared to how the weight in her womb seemed to compound each time she approached the waiting room. It felt perverse to stand in front of a family in a body capable of—relatively—passively keeping a baby alive while she told them she couldn't actively do the same for theirs.
In the shower, close to dawn, she remembered what she'd told Derek and wondered if there was something to it. Maybe "placenta brain" was stealing too much of her mental energy. Maybe she was looking for an excuse to blame her failures on her kid. As the water pecked her skin, changing the pressure in the doctors' showers an indulgence that they'd regretfully and unanimously voted to shove down the list, she went over her part in the procedures step-by-step.
She had told the truth each time she said the words "we did all we could" to families whose lives had been upended by a middle-of-the night phone call. She pressed her hand against the last spot where she'd felt a limb jab her from the inside, checking her watch so she could calculate the time it took to feel nine more. Jokes about her mental bug-out bag aside, Lexie's situation had likely protected her from a certain amount of panic. They'd gone in aware that even Zola's mild form of spina bifida could have future complications, and she had considered that it would be easier to face a disability without the adjustment period.
Three movements. Four.
Having these thoughts would not cause something to happen. She wanted her children to start their lives unlimited, having me for a mother is enough of a setback.
Not true. Feels true. Not true.
Days ago, she'd imagined having a boy exactly like Derek,—five—but tonight every wave of activity found her urging caution, hoping her thoughts did have an effect minutes after assuring herself of the opposite. He hadn't been the one to crash his Mustang, but he'd still thought riding motorcycles was cool enough to use it to woo her, even while ensuring she didn't think of him as a neurosurgeon too—six—dumb to wear a helmet. So far, he'd only mentioned putting their kids in T-ball, but neither his job nor the story he'd told her in the Roseridge parking lot had kept his sisters from letting theirs play contact sports. One of Liz's girls was playing NCAA hockey—seven—Kathleen's daughter Stevie, the family klutz, had played volleyball through high school. There was rugby, lacrosse—Derek would side with her on no football, but who was she to have an opinion on the rest of it? She'd staged a P.E. boycott in junior high.
She'd also done a whole lot of stupid shit that could've given her far worse injuries. She'd wanted riding lessons, before they'd left Seattle. She'd forgotten that. Molly had mentioned Lexie's toy horses when they were out that day. Had she been into live ones? Seattle kids went rock-climbing, and parasailing. Hiking was tame. She could use Alex as proof of why they shouldn't go out for wrestling—but really—eight—she wasn't going to be able to keep them in bubbles. It terrified her that the distraught parents in the waiting room had seemed to be attentive ones who didn't work through bed-time at least one night a week.
But she didn't know that.
If they did, had they all but bought out their workplace to arrange for twenty-four hour daycare?
Her mother hadn't known where she was at eleven p.m. on most nights, and Meredith had no idea how aware of that she'd been. Nights like the last showed—nine—that that having obedient kids with cell-phones didn't ensure that they would be safe. Sitting on a shower bench, focusing on it, she could track the fetus's every movement, but that he was literally part of her didn't mean she could register them all throughout the—ten—day.
She checked her watch again. Thirteen minutes. "Yup. You're gonna be all sporty." Another jab. Part of her wanted to start counting again; she always did, but she held herself to the recommended twice-a-day routine. "It's okay if you're not. Not trying to be all gender essentialist on you. Your sister already wants to be a 'bays-ball pitter.' Whatever you want to do, your dad and I will just have to figure it out. Within limits. I still draw a line at football. You should see those studies."
She found a text from Derek once she'd dressed.
DEREK SHEPHERD: Morning, beautiful. We're on our way. LMK if you want me to take her in, or meet you in the lobby.
Below that was a selfie taken by the side of the ferry. Zola was in the red dress with white polka dots, her hair in "Mee-Mouse" bunches. He'd caught her mid-laugh, her cheeks dimpling. Morning sun made the sky and water behind them almost indistinguishable. It seemed impossible that the picture had come from a few miles away.
She slapped a bandaid on her calf before getting on her pants, a precaution more than a necessity. There was nothing she needed to do for her forearm, and she hated—she was ashamed of the unsettled feeling that left her with. There was something cleansing in the process of wrapping it, from the sound of the sterile packaging to securing the crisp, white gauze around her wrist. It was a clean start, and for a while even the scent of the gauze brought back some of the calm she felt at the time she made the cut, without the approaching storm of self-condemnation. If only she got that from doing the same thing for patients dozens of times a day.
She didn't realize she was running her nails over the sliver of scabbing left on the scar until she heard the attending's lounge door open. She closed her hand over her wrist, and then removed it, hunching forward as she rotated it toward Cristina. Nothing to see there.
"You okay?"
Her initial thoughts (do you really want to know?) warred with the CBT corrections (she's trying).Wyatt would have her aim at herself. "Is Alex on call?"
"Yeah, we drove in together; he's checking on a kid with a fever. Do you need—?"
"I'm taking Zo for the day, and I wanted to ask if we could spend the morning at the house. Hit up the playground of yesteryear. See if that burger place will let us in after the Great Ketchup Spill. "
"Gotcha." Cristina crossed her arms. "Fine with me, and I pay rent."
"I'll text him. Wilson just got off a forty-eight—"
"That's done. They had a tiff over the gynny-guy she's seeing."
"Huh." Meredith sent the text telling Alex why he might come home to find everything breakable moved to a surface three feet up.
"I was thinking, uh, we should keep a tally of missed opportunities, then hit up Joe's once you squeeze the kid out."
Meredith laughed. "Retroactive? You're on. Might, uh, might be longer. Assumming my breast milk isn't toxic…."
"Mer."
"I used to think I'd be fine because they're, you know, proportionately great. Apparently that means nothing. My stupid WASPy foremothers stopped doing something that bonds you with your baby. I hope the 'fifteen percent can't breastfeed' number is a result of that, because otherwise it's shitty evolution." To keep her hands busy, Meredith pulled her ponytail around and started braiding it. "Hopefully, he'll eat—"
"He?" Cristina turned around from her locker. The set-up on that side was so much like intern lounge that fatigue gave Meredith a strange sense of déjà vu.
"Oh, yeah, you didn't hear? I told Alex…." Meredith trailed off.
"Yeah he's not about to tell anyone something you might not want spread around," Cristina confirmed. "Plus, we don't exactly gossip over dinner." The image made Meredith laugh. "I'm surprised Shepherd isn't dancing in the halls."
"He's happy. We both are, but, you know, we'd be happy with girls. He's got sisters, and he had more time with the nieces than the nephews."
"Mmm, I bet Carolyn said the same thing, and look how that went."
Meredith rolled her eyes. "He was happy with just Zola. We both wanted her to have a sibling, but he was happy when we didn't think it'd happen."
"That's because my goddaughter is perfect."
"Hey!" Meredith put a band on her belly at the spot of the last punch. "Give Fetus a chance. He's going to learn from her mistakes, and never decide to give his lovey a bath."
"Gonna assume it wasn't Gigi?"
"Rawr. In the sink, but still had bubbles. She blew a gasket when he wasn't dry for night-night ten minutes later."
"I don't envy you," Cristina said. Of course you don't, Meredith thought. I'm sitting here talking about loveys and night-night after losing three patients. Then, she added, "It's cute though. She loves baths, of course she's sure Rawr would love them. Can't fault the logic."
"Sometimes you can. She does want him to do everything she does. We let her help put him in the dryer, and talked about how different things get cleaned. Lexie thinks she'll spray him with a hose next."
"Like they would at the zoo? Sounds likely."
"She misses you."
"Seriously?"
"You're her godmother. Actually, that re—" The ding of her phone demanded her attention. "They're almost here. Anyway, yeah. You're in her 'people who love me' book. Everyone in there is a 'love-me one.'" Meredith stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I know that's cutesy—"
Cristina shrugged. "She's a cute kid. You're a great mom, Mer." Meredith looked up, sharply. "I never thought…. Now's not the time for this."
"For what?"
"Just.… Go hang out with Zo."
The door opened before Meredith responded. "Grey! Richard said you'd be in here. He—"
"I'm fine."
Bailey smirked. "Yeah, I don't miss being in your shoes. Least you can still get them on."
"Pretty sure the interns have bets about that," Meredith grumbled.
"And you think I couldn't hear you little brats discussing my cankles?"
Cristina held up a hand. "I, for one, have never used the word 'cankle.'
Bailey narrowed her eyes, and Cristina shrugged. "Wanted the record clear."
"It's crystal."
Meredith went around her to get to the door, and was surprised that Cristina was the one who called her name. "I do need to—"
"Your birthday is next week."
"Yes?" Meredith drew the word out, unable to stifle her suspicion. "Derek didn't get you in on the thing, did he?"
"What thing?"
"No thing! He wants…. His mom doesn't get that it'd be totally gauche to have been given thirty mill, bought the hospital, and then have a baby shower."
"Yeah, that's clearly the wrong time to celebrate new life," Bailey said.
"Exactly."
"You don't have to plan it. That's the joy of it. You sit in the center and pretend to love all the colored burp cloths that'll get washed to the point of unrecognisability, and let folks fuss over you."
"What of that is supposed to appeal to me? That's my worst nightmare."
"You'd be bringing people together as a community, and showing everyone how this place is gonna help them prioritize their families without shirking patient care."
"Did you eat a brochure for breakfast?" Cristina scoffed.
"She's trying to make it sound like an event where I'd be in the spotlight as a brood mare wouldn't be about me."
"All I'm saying is you supposedly built that house to have people over, didn't have a housewarming party—"
"We'll have you for dinner! Not for my birthday." She swung her bag onto her shoulder and turned to Cristina. "And what about it?"
"I thought…Owen and I are both off that night. We could take Zola."
It wasn't a totally unprecedented offer, but it'd been since last spring—possibly Meredith's last birthday. A lot had happened in that interim. "Oh, you don't—"
"I know you're not about to say no to free child care, Meredith Grey."
Cristina's mouth twitched. Meredith held her eyes for a moment, and then shrugged. "Sure, if you want."
"I do."
"Great."
"Cool."
Meredith nodded, and then finally let herself out into the hall. On the elevator, she slumped against the rail, running her thumb over the scar on her wrist. Were she and Cristina going to be able to just move past this? Not do the feelings and the crying? It wasn't going to be an issue in the future.
It could be.
And would there be something else Cristina deemed too much? She could cope, she just needed to know. For herself, but also for the kids who had her on the list of adults to turn to in a crisis.
She took a breath as she stepped over the metal plate separating the elevator from the lobby. She'd done the shower thing, put in the eyedrops, even gone through the goofy stretches the YouTube videos recommended. Not all of the tricks she'd learned as an adolescent insomniac, but most of what she could do that was safe for the body using hers—yeah, Wyatt, I hear it—The residue from the night still clung to her, judging by Derek's expression right before he pointed her out to Zola, and then put her down.
"Mama, Mama, Mama, I see you!"
"I see you, too, love-bug." She picked her up, and carried her back to her frowning father. He had a breakfast set up for them on one of the small lobby tables; all her favorite pastries from the coffee cart already divided onto plates. He was generally a health nut, he'd never forced it on her other than by doing the cooking. He also believed in treats, to the point where she was sure that a younger Derek had bought into the juju whole-heartedly.
The sick feeling might be hunger, ironically, or nerves, or guilt. She hadn't been expressly told that the physicality of the emotions she'd struggled with would rewire; she could only hope it would reverse. "Are we going to have a Team Mommy and Zo-Zo day?"
"Yeah, team! Daddy, also?"
That was a true also, but it didn't mean the princess hadn't made a proclamation. Meredith took one for the team while emotions she knew very well played out on Derek's face, and attempted to clip the tantrum before it burst. "We're on a team with Daddy, but at work he's on the surgery team. He's gonna fix…?"
"B'ains!" Zola clapped her hands on her bunches.
"You got it! Most days you're on Team Daycare during work. You could go there," she said, berating herself for giving her the choice. "That's a big team. But I don't have to work today. You and I are a little team."
"But a strong one," Derek said, snapping a bib around Zola's neck. "That was your first team."
Meredith closed her eyes and breathed in the shampoo that gave them Soapy Sofi, trying to hold on to how it felt to have him acknowledge that that night had been something special between her and their baby.
He put a hand on the small of her back, and held up a carrier with one to-go cup left in it. She took it, gratefully. This early, the lounge coffee was leftover and burnt, unless you were the person with the time and motivation to refresh it.
She put Zola down in front of a tiny cup that held steamed milk flavored with hazelnut syrup; the coffee cart's version of Starbucks' Babyccino. She grabbed it, eagerly, and held it up. "Chee's, Mama."
"Cheers, baby bear." Meredith tapped Zola's cup with hers. Under Zola's enthusiastic cheersing with Derek, she murmured, "L'chaim."
"To life," Derek echoed, putting his cup down to put both arms around her. "Rough night, Goldilocks?"
No matter how frequently she learned differently, her instinct was that surgeons should be stoic. If her mother's tears were ever over a patient, she'd never known—She'd also never considered that could be what led to her evening glasses of wine.
This wouldn't be the last time she bit her lip and looked away before giving in, but as she nodded against his shoulder, she knew the conclusion would be an important one.
"Three. All under twenty-one."
"Oh, Mer." Derek kissed the side of her head.
"Nothing happened. No big catastrophe. Not a pile-up. Three kids with entirely different lives died in my O.R. In some places, that's what a general surgeon can expect in a year. Responsive on-site. ACS scores weren't great, but…."
"Did you do all you could?"
"You know I did. So do I. It'd be easier if I could see where I did something wrong. I didn't." She lowered her eyes to their joined hands. "I didn't…do anything."
"You were worried about that," he observed, lowering his eyebrows.
"Y-You weren't? I hadn't lost a patient since…since it happened here."
"I know," he said. He brushed a couple of fingers over a short curl that didn't want to play nicely with the rest of her bangs.
"Daddy?"
They both turned to Zola. "Yes, princess?"
"Mama Bear. No Golylocks."
Derek laughed, and pulled Meredith's chair out. He sat on Zola's other side, ready to clean her quarter of the brownie off her face.
"Mama was a Goldilocks before we had a baby bear," he said. Meredith smiled, picking at a flaky piece of croissant. "Soon, we'll be more like the Berenstain Bears," he said, opening one more bag. Meredith smiled at the cardboard container of oatmeal he put by her plate. "With a Mama Bear, a Papa Bear, a Sister Bear, and…?"
"Corduroy," Zola supplied. The cinnamon packet Meredith was tearing open puffed out over her oatmeal as she laughed. After stirring that in, she considered, and then broke half of her brownie quarter into pieces, mixing that in, too.
Derek wanted to ask if she was sure about her plan yet again, she could see it. She would've loved to know what he thought he could tell Zola, who'd waved to several of her daycare mates and said, "Hi, bye-bye, Zo an' Mama team a-day!"
The biggest test came while they were packing lt up, and "SOOAAAPPY!" came in. As always, the gjrls hugged like months had passed since yesterday, and then Zola patted Sofia's hair saying, "You two al-Zo!" Since it'd only been a few weeks since she moved up to Zola's class, Sofia did not reply with duh, I know that. (Meredith knew the kid and all three of her parents. It was coming.)
She did grab Zola's wrist to end the patting and hold her hand up to Callie. "Go too?"
"We can take her," Callie oiffered, but before she could add an if, Zola burst into tears. Meredith was already hallway to her side.
"GO MAMA GO MAMA GO MAMA!"
"Hey, who's holding you, bug? Mama has you. Sofia and Auntie Callie don't know our plan. Can you say what it is?"
"They're doing things differently today, mija," Callie said, crouched by a scorned Sofia. "Zola wasn't being mean."
"Goin'…goin' Mama," Zola managed, her body quivering from the intensity of her aborted tantrum. "Team."
"We're having a special day today. While Daddy works, and Aunt Callie fixes…?"
"Bones," she mumbled into Meredith's shoulder, like looking up might get her nabbed.
"Sofia's going to the two room. Tomorrow she can tell you everything that happens, and you can tell her about what we do today. Is that a good idea, you think?"
"I t'ink Aunnie Merif," Sofia said.
"Thank you, sweetie."
Callie whispered to Sofia, and she ran over to where Arizona had hung back. Meanwhile, Callie came over to Zola. "Zola? I'm sorry I scared you. Sofia was just excited to walk down to your class together."
"You like doing that, also," Meredith reminded Zola. "We walked Sof down yesterday."
"Yesserday?"
Believe it or not. Further explanation was ended by a round of beeping and dinging. Meredith thought she might end up having to take Sofia to daycare anyway, and maybe she'd just take both of them to Alex's to avoid the possible tears. But, it turned out that only Callie and Derek had been paged. They headed off, Arizona and Sofia said goodbyes, and Meredith stood in the lobby carrying both of her babies.
Hitting up the playground first meant wiping old rain and new dew off of each piece of equipment Zola chose. It was worth it. The sugar in what Derek had called her "breakfast dessert" gave her naturally high energy levels extra oomph. Her early babyhood held her back physically most of all, but her determination made up for it. She insisted on climbing steps and crossing wobbly bridges herself while Meredith talked her through the motions. If she stopped, Zola would stop.
I'm going to be the mom in her head. Any day she could remember something I say long after I'm gone. It was a privilege, one she hoped she could be worthy of when she had to say more than, "One hand there on the bar. Pull up, you're so strong! One more to the swooshy slide." She'd picked up right and left. Meredith remembered having to look for the L on her hands when told to face left in second grade P.E.
After fifteen minutes of introduction, she was taking on some of the activities herself. Meredith filmed her climbing the even, secure ladders with wide hand rails and caught her little voice: "Fers grabba bar. Foot up. Pull pull strong Zo-Zo. Yay!" Every task done independently ended in, "Mama, you see? See Z?"
If she said, "I saw zoo! " she got peals of laughter every time.
It was nine a.m. by the time Zola started to sag; they'd taken a book break and had sandbox time. The last ten minutes was spent at the swings. Not long ago Meredith had swung both of them, with Zola on her lap. Would that seem new to her once Meredith had enough of a lap again?
"My little house?" Zola asked as they parked at Alex's.
"We did live here when you were little. Do you know who lives here now?"
"Alex…an'…Stina here?"
"No, she's at the hospital. She wants you to come over and play next week. Would that be fun?"
"Be so fun!"
I should've made more of an effort—
No. Cristina could've reached out like she did today at any point. It wasn't all on Meredith.
Inside, she set Zola up with a bag of toys from the car and the basket that stayed there, and flipped on the TV. They'd gotten there just in time for Sesame Street, and it didn't take long for Zola to climb on rhe couch with her, carrying a doll. It took her a minute to realize it was Anatomy Jane.
While Zola zeroed in on an alphabet short, Meredith dug through the basket to find the Tupperware they'd put her pieces in, like they'd done with Zola's Joanne. Idly, she started putting them in place, figuring that if they scattered, she could find them while she sorted out Zola's toys to go home. They had three months where swallowing wasn't a concern. She hadn't put anything up her nose, yet, but they got those in the E.R. up to eight. Jackson and Mark had gone in on an eleven-year-old specifically trying to touch his brain with a straw.
She kept responding to Zola's comments on the show—"funny, Mama?"—so it took only a minute for her to realize she'd stopped. Meredith looked over to meet big, brown eyes.
"Which dat?"
"That is the small bowel."
She'd had a small bowel perforation the afternoon before. In the morning light, with Zola's warmth against her arm the OR felt far away. This bright day would be dark for last night's families. Hers had had a share of those, though. She could revel in the sunshine reflected in her daughter's face as she repeated "'tumack," "heart," "lun's."
"Baby brudder?"
"Sure." Meredith attached the abdomen cover and stifled a yawn handing the doll over. Zola held her for a minute, opening and closing the compartment.
"Do again. P'ease."
"Thank you for being so polite! See if you can tell me what the organs are as I take them out."
She was surprised that Zola could ID several pieces without prompting, but then she had her doll, stuffed toys shaped like organs, and books about body parts. Most of them had been gifts. Even Meredith had been six before getting a kid's anatomy book, but maybe that was the publishing industry's choice, not her mom's.
Regardless, the next time she took the toy, Zola slid down to the floor and laid the pieces out as she removed them.
"Which dat?"
"Liver."
"Which dat?"
"Appendix."
"Which dat?"
Sesame Street finished, and Meredith flipped off the TV. Her little vivisectionist—Jane's eyes were perinially open—was yawning. She'd moved to only consistently taking afternoon naps in the fall, but you could still get two out of her in the right circumstances.
"Zo, come up here with me. You want to read your Grover book?"
"Grover go-a hospital!" She scooped Jane up and climbed back up wiggle under Meredith's arm while she held the book open. Meredith pressed her nose against the top of her head, breathing her in until she squirmed. "Mama, say words! P'ease."
"Okay, okay."
The book was written for kids facing hospitalization; most hospital books were. It was also a little out-of-date, but not so that it mattered. Zola pointed to instruments and machines she recognized in the background of the pictures, far more than the ones being introduced to Grover and his friends. They spent a couple of minutes on a page that showed a nursery full of babies. Even that had changed since Meredith started working; babies were kept with their mothers as much as possible. As much as she loved look at the newborns, with their whole lives ahead, she was sure she'd prefer that.
While Zola kept flipping pages back and forth, Meredith tugged down the ECCH afghan she'd given Alex as an apology for keeping him out of the loop. Eventually, Zola lay down facing her. She ran her fingers over the toddler's face, smiling at the questions and observations that came up while her little mind drifted.
Her breaths turned into huffs of sleep, and Meredith let herself doze, breathing in Zola's scent like it was anesthetic. She dreamt without falling fully asleep, opening her eyes when Zola stirred and answering "which dat?" Occasionally she had to click a piece into place. They felt too big in her hands.
(Blocks clatter to the floor. A puppy barks, and Meredith freezes. Her An Ah-to-Me Jane–"Ah" is how Back East people say "all." She has to teach other kids that. An all-to-me means she doesn't have to share at daycare. She teaches them that, too—has crashed her car. Meredith has to fix her. She's happy the sound didn't make Daddy come running in like a loony.)
"Which dat?"
"Pancreas."
"I click."
(The pastry-box is very important. Messing it up can make you cuckoo. Maybe Daddy's is screwy? No, That's dumb. Mommy would operate on him. Loony and cuckoo are same-nyms, Daddy said. They both mean someone who can't stop being silly 'til doctors help them. Little girls act silly a lot, but can learn to behavior.)
"Which dat?"
"Ribs."
(Daddy says they're slang words. That means they're not the best words to use while you're being serious. She's a child. She doesn't have to be serious, yet. Maybe when she's six. She connects the green snarf to the jelly pouch. She made up the words for Jane's innards. Mommy thinks they're goofy, but Daddy says she's got a strong imagicnation.)
"Help p'ease."
(She places the twosh in as a door opens. Daddy shouts something, and Meredith grabs up Jane. Her twiggle falls right out and slides under the couch. It'll be safe, and Daddy will think the puppy knocked down the blocks. She runs for the stairs. The scratching toenails are faster than Daddy's footsteps. When she hears the jingle of tags, she presses herself against the wall and claps her hand on her leg. The puppy turns in a half circle and sees her before his tail. "C'mon, honey! You can be my scrubs nurse." She hasn't taken baby out, yet. If she hurries she can still resussicate it. "But you can't eat her gorgons!" Cotton yaps. He's happy to play with her.)
"Daddy!"
"Hey, princess."
"Shh. Mama 'sleep."
"I'm awake," Meredith murmured, half expecting to open her eyes to find only Zola, staring at her like she was loony. Instead, their daughter was in Derek's arms at the end of the couch, both of them in silhouette. "What're you doin' here?"
He kissed Zola before putting her down and holding out a hand up help Meredith sit up. "Thought I'd take my favorite team out for lunch."
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her arm and checked her watch. "It's noon."
"That is when I get a nominal break. I am on call, so—"
"Wait," Meredith said, nodding to the coffee table where Zola was shaking Anatomy Jane to tip out the last of her organs. "Watch."
He shrugged and sat, putting his arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder, inhaling him, grounding herself back in the present, where she was an adult watching her daughter happily piece together her old doll.
"Which dat, Daddy?"
"Uh, those are kidneys, Zo."
"Yeah, kiddies," she said, like she'd been testing him. "Liber. Pankees. Colon, go on. Click it? T'ank you." Derek turned, his eyebrows up, and Meredith nodded back to Zola.
While putting in Jane's twenty-four pieces, their two-year-old asked "which dat?" five more times. She'd hardly finished with "baby brudder" before Derek swept her up into the air. He kissed her cheeks and exclaimed over her.
"That's amazing, Zo!" he said, returning to the couch. "Good work, team."
"I didn't do anything," Meredith protested.
"You've been naming off organs for a month."
"Yeah, 'cause she asks me to."
He shook his head and kissed her. "Hey. This morning, you said something, and I…. Being upset, or…. Having any emotions about losing three patients in a night…. There's nothing wrong with that, no matter what your specialty is."
"I know."
"Okay." He ran his thumb along her cheek. "I'm not looking for a reason to pull out of our deal. I don't want to. I want you back on my service, and I'm sure you can handle it. I just wanted to be sure you know changing your mind is always going to be okay."
She took his hand and moved it down to return the kiss. "That did cross my mind."
"Had a feeling it might've." He smiled. "It didn't stay there?" he asked, confirming her hunch that he'd been worried that he might plant the seed. It took faith to know that if he had, they'd deal with it.
"It's not totally gone, but I give other people second chances all the time. I feel like I've gotten a lot of them." She watched Zola flip open her book again. "But I figure I can let myself take one."
"Wow. When the board starts asking questions, I'm going to let you handle them."
"Don't you dare!"
Derek tilted his head back as he laughed again, and Zola imitated him, forcing a cackle. "We'll see." He winked at her. "Let's get this little smarty fed."
"Teriyaki!"
He glanced at Meredith, who shrugged. "A true Seattle girl. I'll get her toys sorted out."
"I'll let you." She let him pull her to her feet, too. "You're a great dad, you know. That's not going to change with a boy."
"That had crossed my mind."
"I had a feeling." She reached behind him, taking Anatomy Jane off of the coffee table and tucking her carefully into the toy basket before taking Zola's hand to guide her down the front steps.