All Along The Watchtower - Part 16B

[ariaadagio]

Title: All Along The Watchtower
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mer/Der
Rating: M
Summary: S6 continuation. Immediately post Sanctuary / Death and All His Friends.

All Along The Watchtower - Part 16B

They passed some sort of lab mix.  A scraggly beagle.  A husky mix with ice blue eyes.  Another row full of dogs, big and small.  And then Derek stopped so abruptly, she plowed into his back.  He grunted on the impact.  She grabbed his shoulder for balance, only to let go when she realized what she'd done.  Just because he didn't hurt as much anymore didn't mean she could hang off his shoulders as though he were a coat rack.  She shook her head and forced the spear of guilt away.  He hadn't winced or expressed pain.  No harm, no foul.

“What are you stopping for?” she said.

She froze as he knelt by the fence and stared into the cage.  A big black dog with a russet-colored feet and a dusting of russet around its mouth rose to its paws and walked to the fence.  The claws on its feet tapped on the floor as it moved.  Derek held his hand out.  The dog sniffed the air by the fence.  It didn't bark.  Or whine.  Or make any noise at all.  It pushed against the fence.  Its broad black nose wouldn't fit through the chain links.  It stared with soft brown eyes, mocha-colored like the original dog that had brought them here.  The dog's tail had been docked, but the stump twitched back and forth.  The dog sat, and it looked at Derek with an expectant, quiet gaze.

“Hi there,” Derek said, his voice soft and low.

He put his fingers near the fence.  Meredith tensed.  But the dog didn't snap or snarl.  A big, wet, pink tongue slipped out from its powerful jaws, and the dog licked him.  A smile crept across Derek's face.

“Hi,” Derek said again.

“I think this is a rottweiler,” Meredith said.

Derek shifted to read the placard on the cage wall by the latch.  “A rottweiler mix,” he said as he scanned the placard.  “Samantha.”  The dog's ears twitched as he read its name.  Derek dragged his hand along the fence.  The dog followed him.  When he stopped, the dog sat and watched with knowing eyes.  Derek pressed his hand closer and received another lick.  “Hi, Samantha,” he said.  “What are you doing here?”

“Rottweilers are bite-y and mean,” Meredith said.  “Aren't they?  I mean, statistically speaking, most bites are--”

“Pit bulls.”

“And then rottweilers, Derek,” she said.

After working in the emergency room, she knew her dog bite statistics.  She'd seen any number of wounds, from simple teeth marks to ravaged flesh and bloody muscle, but as she watched Derek watch Samantha, she had a sinking suspicion that trying to stop this love affair would be futile.  He liked this dog.  A lot.  A freaking rottweiler.  With a big, broad, hundred pound body, dangerous teeth, and staggering bite force gifted to it by its wide jaws.  Even give or take a few pounds on her eyeball estimate, she barely weighed more than the dog did.

“Unfortunately, rottweilers have a very strong drive to protect that can be turned into aggression with bad training or bad breeding,” Cassandra said, and Meredith jumped.  She hadn't even heard the receptionist approach.  Cassandra smiled apologetically.  “I'm sorry,” she said.  “I couldn't help but overhear.”  Derek broke his unblinking gaze on the dog and rose to his feet.  Cassandra glanced from Derek to Meredith.  “Toward their own families, rottweilers are actually average dogs as far as aggression goes.”

“So, they're mean and bite-y with strangers?” Meredith said.

“Most rottweilers aren't aggressive - that's more stigma than truth - but the ones who are aggressive typically display the behavior more often with strangers,” Cassandra said.

“Can I see this one in a private room?” Derek said.

“Sure,” Cassandra said.  “Let me see if our play room is open.  If not, I'm sure we can find something somewhere for you.”

“But, Derek...” Meredith said as Cassandra left them alone again.

“What?” he said.

Meredith swallowed.  He looked sold.  Already.  He'd found his dog.  She glanced at Samantha.  Samantha's jaws parted, and her tongue lolled as she tilted her head to the side in an innocent-but-smiling dog version of, Who, me?  Despite her size and her intimidating looks, Samantha was pretty cute.  Her broad face had an expressive quality to it.  An understanding, sage demeanor.  The dog stared.  Meredith blinked as the subtle feeling of approaching a cliff hit her senses.  She looked away.

Meredith sighed and returned her gaze to Derek.  “I know that you want a good guard dog, but this is a rottweiler.”

“A rottweiler mix,” he said.

“Whatever!” she said.  “The point is I'm not even sure if my home owner's insurance will cover it.”

He stuck his hand by the bars.  Samantha sniffed and then licked.  “The woman said the ones who are aggressive are more aggressive with strangers,” he said.

“So?” Meredith said.

“So, we're strangers, and look at her.”

The dog, who had yet to speak, barked.  Once.  As if she understood the gravity of this situation.  As if to say, Please, I want a home.  I promise I won't bite.  She had a deep voice.  Substantial.  One that would be scary to any intruder stupid enough to wander into a home with a rottweiler residing.  But she sounded almost melodious at the same time.  She sat by the fence, and her tongue lolled as she panted.  Derek held his hand by the chain link fence again.  Samantha pressed her nose against the fence and licked him through the chains.  Again.

“Well, that's true,” Meredith said.  “She's pretty lovey, I guess.”

“She's not mouthy,” he said.  “She hasn't put my fingers or wrist in her mouth.  She's only licked.”

“She can't fit her nose through the fence even if she were mouthy,” Meredith said.  “She's big.”

He pushed his index finger through the fence, and she tensed as she watched his livelihood resting next to jaws that could snap his bones.  Samantha's tongue appeared once more.  She licked.  That was all.  And then she stared at Meredith.  Give me a chance, her expression said.  I'm a good dog.  Honest.

The cliff approached, and Meredith couldn't tear her eyes away.  She swallowed.  “Well...”

Cassandra returned carrying a brown leather leash, and again, Meredith jumped when the woman announced her presence with a cheerful, “All right.  The play room is open.”  Cassandra approached the latch on the cage.  Samantha backed away from the door.  The remnant of her tail wagged back and forth, and she sat.  Patiently.  Cassandra stepped into the cage and leashed Samantha.  Cassandra jiggled the leash once, and Samantha stood, but she didn't barrel through the door or push her way through.  She waited for Cassandra to exit first and then followed.

“We're trying to have a baby,” Meredith said as Cassandra led them down the row of cages.

“Oh?” Cassandra said.  “Congratulations!”

“But, I mean...”  Meredith swallowed.  “Are rottweilers good with kids?  Little kids?”

“Rottweilers can be excellent, loyal, loving family dogs,” Cassandra replied.

They walked out of the main area with all the barking dogs.  The door closed behind them, and the barking decreased in volume.  Cassandra led Meredith, Derek, and the dog down a small white hallway, to a twelve-by-twelve room at the end.  The room had a counter top and a hand sink along the side, but was otherwise bare.  Samantha's nails tapped on the scratched, tiled floor as they entered.

Meredith glanced at Derek, but he was watching Samantha.  Not her.  The dog peered at the new environment with a curious gaze.  She sniffed the floor.  Cassandra let her wander the edges of the room, exploring.  The dog didn't pull when her leash ran out of slack.  She changed directions and explored further in the provided radius.

“I'm just not sure this is a good idea,” Meredith said.

Cassandra nodded.  “Most bites involving children from any dog involve lack of supervision.  Teach your child to treat the dog respectfully, and never leave them alone together before the child is old enough to know better about pulling tails and stealing dog food, no matter what.  Even if you're just going into the next room to pick up the phone.  That's advice I give everyone, not just rottweiler parents.”

“Is she socialized with kids?” Derek said.

“I believe so,” Cassandra said.  “She greets every family that walks through, kids included.”

Derek nodded.  “Why is she here?”

“The owner couldn't keep her anymore.”

“Why?” Meredith said.  “Behavior issues?”

“No, nothing like that,” Cassandra said.  “I don't know the specifics, but I gather there was a death in the family, which caused some unexpected financial burdens.”

A lump formed in Meredith's throat as she watched Samantha finish her circuit of the room.  She sat by Cassandra's feet and stared at them.  Samantha didn't bark.  Or pull on the leash.  Or bounce around in a kinetic frenzy of muscle and fur.  She watched, a hopeful light in her brown eyes, as the stump of her tail wagged back and forth.

Meredith wondered who in the family had died.  Samantha's person?  Or maybe Samantha's person's person?  The dog had been trained rigorously.  That much was obvious.  Which meant the owner had spent a lot of time with her.  And now that owner was gone.  A deep, chilling sense of loss swelled inside of Meredith, and the room flashed away for an instant.

Please, don't die, she'd begged.  Please, Derek. You can't leave me.

She blinked, and the bright room with its painful fluorescence pierced her memories.  She stared at Derek, haunted, and pushed closer to him.  His arm wrapped around her waist.  Warmth pressed against her.  She swallowed, and she glanced at Samantha.  Samantha whined, as if she could sense distress, and moved to Meredith's legs, where she sat, her broad body pressing into Meredith's knees, not so hard as to trip her, but more like...  Support.  The dog stared at Meredith, and Meredith's eyes watered as she peered into concerned brown eyes.

“She likes you,” Cassandra said.

“Yeah,” Meredith said.  She pushed the word out of her throat before her voice could crack.  Anthropomorphizing.  She was being irresponsible, and projecting, and...  Derek frowned at her.  A concerned expression spread across his face, almost a perfect match for Samantha's, and her grief turned into a chuckle.  “Yeah,” she said, and this time her voice didn't falter.  Derek stroked her back.

Samantha stared up at her, and a sliver of doubt pierced Meredith's haze.  This wasn't anthropomorphizing.  Maybe dogs didn't have people feelings, but dogs had feelings.  They helped sick people by offering comfort - she'd seen it any number of times at Seattle Grace.  That's why so many support groups used animals.  Dogs guarded their families.  They could experience grief.  Maybe not people grief, but grief.  She'd read too many stories about dogs who wouldn't eat after their owners had died, or...

She swallowed.

“How long has she been here?” Meredith said.

“A while,” Cassandra replied.  “She's not a puppy.  She's an unpopular breed.  And we typically have a hard time placing black dogs.”

“Really?” said Derek.  “Why?”

Cassandra shrugged.  “It's been speculated that they don't stand out as well in their cages.  Plus, they have a bad rap, courtesy of Hollywood.”

“Do you like her?” Meredith said.

Cassandra smiled, and her voice dropped in pitch to something conspiratorial.  “Truth be told, she's my favorite dog here.  I'd take her home if my husband hadn't put his foot down about more pets.  We already have three dogs and two cats.”

“Could we have a small bowl and kibble?” Derek said.

“Absolutely,” Cassandra said.  “Spend some time together.  See if you mesh well.  I'll be back in a few minutes with some kibble and a few toys.”  She handed the leash to Derek.  He grasped the leather lead.  Samantha watched, and Cassandra left, leaving them in silence.

“What do you think so far?” Derek said.

“I don't know,” Meredith said.

He nodded.  “Would you hold the leash?”

“Sure,” she said.  She took the leash from Derek.  The braided leather felt thick and substantial in her grasp.  Samantha didn't pull or try to back away, despite the fact that she could easily overpower Meredith if she wished.

Derek knelt on the ground.  His jeans skidded on the dirty floor.  Meredith watched his muscles bunch, watched his hands as he stretched into the dog's personal space.  He put his palm on Samantha's neck, and he stroked her head to stumpy tale.

“What are you doing?” Meredith said, watching with fascination as he ran his hands along the shiny black coat.  He touched the dog's ribs and stomach.  He stroked Samantha legs to the paws.  He touched the dog's face, at which point Samantha pushed forward, but only to lick Derek's face.

A laugh chuffed from his lips as he rolled back onto his haunches and stood.  “She's not skittish at all,” Derek said.

“She is pretty sweet,” Meredith admitted.  She gave the leash back to Derek.

Cassandra returned with a bowl of food and a chew toy, and Meredith watched as Derek put the bowl down and tried to pet the dog while she ate.  Her tongue rasped against the bowl.  Wet, slopping sounds filled the air as Samantha shoveled food.  She didn't snap or snarl as Derek touched her.  She stopped chewing on her kibble, looked at him, cocked her head, and whuffed, as if to say, I'm eating right now.  I'll play in a minute.  Then she buried her face in the kibble once more.

“She is pretty well-mannered,” Meredith said.  “Is she house-broken?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

When Samantha finished her kibble, Derek threw the chew toy.  Nails scrabbled on the floor.  The dog launched at it and caught it in her mouth at the far corner of the room.  She yipped, a deep, energetic bark that dripped with ecstasy.  Cassandra laughed as Samantha groaned and rolled onto her back, exposing her black belly to the ceiling.  Her paws flopped.  She chewed.

“She's a bit of a clown sometimes,” Cassandra said.

They took the dog for a walk in the small yard behind the shelter next.  Though it had been sunny that day, the rain had been torrential the day before, and reminders of the downpour had slicked the earth into a muddy mess.  Footprints of all sizes, both people and dog, marred the wet earth, and only wisps of grass remained un-flattened by the weight of water.  A chewed, dirty yellow Frisbee rested by the far fence.  A tennis ball marked the middle of the space like a chartreuse cherry on top of a sundae.

Derek held the leash in his loose grasp.  Samantha didn't pull or leap or run.  She trotted across the sopping earth until she ran out of slack, looked back, and Meredith smiled as she saw that familiar head-tip again.  Why aren't you walking faster?  This is mud, and I like mud, Samantha seemed to be saying.  But she didn't press the issue when Derek didn't speed up.  She slowed to a loping walk that showed off her powerful muscles and stocky legs.

“I think you were holding out on me,” Meredith said as they took a lap around the small yard.

Derek didn't tear his eyes from the dog.  The dirt made sucking noises underneath Meredith's feet, and Derek's cross trainers splurched in a soaked, deep patch of mud.  “Holding out?” he said as he bit his lip and navigated around the obstacle.

“You so totally had a dog-picking strategy, Derek.  This whole time.”

“I read a guide on how to pick a shelter dog,” he said.

“You did?” she said.  He didn't have a chance to answer before slippery mud gave way, and the earth sent her sliding.

“Don't fall!” he said with a soft laugh, and he caught her.  His arms wrapped around her body, and her fall became stillness.  She rested against him, breathing as he held her.

Samantha, excited by the commotion, barked once, twice.  She circled them in a wide arc, drawing the leash around their hips.  She ended by Derek's knees, barked once in approval of her handiwork, and sat beside them, staring up with her tongue lolling in a dog-version of a smile.  Her cheerful brown gaze dashed back and forth between them as though she were watching a tennis match.

Meredith stared at Derek.  His blue eyes met hers, but in the bright daylight and broad shadows, they seemed almost gray or green or a sea-washed mix of the two.  “I think your clown dog is trying to get us to kiss,” Meredith said.

“My clown dog?” he said.

Samantha barked as if to say, Yes, please.

Meredith couldn't help but laugh.  “She must have heard about our no kissing strategy or something.”

“I told you it would be a tough strategy to follow, Mere,” he said.  He closed the meager distance between them, and he pressed his lips against her forehead.  He held the leash in one hand over her shoulder.  With the thumb of his other hand, he traced the sharp edge of her jaw and tipped up her gaze.  He stared at her.  “Do you like her, Mere?”

Meredith swallowed.  “I know it's not fair, but her breed worries me.”

He frowned.  “How much?”

“Just a little,” she said.

“I wouldn't ever want to get a dog that might hurt our kid, Mere,” he said.  “I just...”  He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.  He glanced at the big black matchmaker at their feet and sighed.

Meredith smiled.  “You just like her.”

“I do,” he said.  “But we can put her back if you really aren't comfortable with her.  This is supposed to be our dog.  Not my dog.”

She grabbed the leash from his hand.  He relinquished his hold without hesitation.  She stared down at Samantha.  “Unwrap, please.”  Samantha didn't quite seem to get it, and so Meredith found herself spinning around Derek's lithe body.  She pointed to the far fence.  “Go over there, Derek,” she said.

“Why?”

“I want a minute with her without you making puppy eyes at me.”

“Puppy eyes?”

“Yes,” Meredith said.  “You have this expression you use when you want something that makes you impossible to resist, and I want to make a non-brainwashed decision.”

“Brainwashed,” he said.

“Yes,” she insisted.  “Brainwashed.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “You think I brainwash you?” he said.

She snorted.  “You know you brainwash me.  I have a weakness for the word please whenever it's uttered by you, and you know it.”

He scoffed.  “Have I said please?”

“Not yet,” she said.  “Go away before you can't resist the urge anymore.”

He smirked.  “I love you, too,” he said, and he sauntered to the far side of the yard.  He caught his elbow against the top rung of the fence, and he leaned as he stared at her with a dark-but-mischievous look.  His eyes sparkled.  Her heart sped as she took in the sight of him in frayed, threadbare jeans, his tight shirt, muddy shoes, hair askew, and a light dusting of stubble that never seemed to go away no matter how much he shaved.

“No leaning!” Meredith said.

“I can't lean now, either?”

“Just go away,” she said.  “Seriously.”

He laughed.  His teeth flashed as his lips parted, and her body began to melt at the sight of him enjoying the moment in his full, snarky glory.  “I'll go inside,” he said after he'd recovered.  He pulled his fingers through his hair, and he winked at her.  “But when I get back, I'm leaning.”  His gaze on her lingered. Samantha stepped forward and whined, but she didn't pull on the leash.  Her feet sploshed in the mud.

“He'll be back in a minute,” Meredith said as she watched Derek slip through the doorway.  His silhouette hovered in the glass pane a moment longer, and then even that disappeared as he gave her her requested lean-free, please-free, Derek-free space.

Meredith brushed the braided leash with her fingertips.  The bumps in the leather felt smooth under her palm.  Slightly oily.  Well-used.  Black, aged streaks marred light brown leather that had, at one point, probably been resplendent.  She wondered how many dogs this leash had brought outside to meet their prospective parents.

Samantha sat at Meredith's feet.

“Hi, Samantha,” Meredith said.  The dog's ears ticked at the sound of her name, and her head shifted.  “Or do you prefer Sam?”

Samantha stared.

“I guess you have no idea what I'm talking about,” Meredith said.  She reached with her palm and put her hand flat against the dog's skull.  Soft, silky fur touched her hand.  The dog whuffed and pressed into Meredith's hand, forcing the motion to become a full blown stroke from the top of the dog's head and down her neck.  Samantha's remaining bit of tail wagged, and Meredith couldn't help but repeat the stroke.  The dog had a soft coat.  Really soft.  And shiny.  And the dog was sort of relaxing just to pet.  Meredith bit her lip.

“You like my husband, don't you?” Meredith said, which felt a little stupid.  As smart as she suspected this dog was, it wouldn't understand a question like that.  Or respond.  Just like it hadn't understood the preference question.

Meredith glanced around the yard.  Beyond the wooden fence, parked cars spread out in a sea of metal sparkling in the sunlight, and she wondered if she'd parked in the wrong spot.  In the distance beyond that, a large hill rose up into the sky.  Houses buried in green trees dotted the rolling horizon.  A man rode by on a yellow bicycle down the street that ran parallel to the parking lot.  The bicycle wheels squeaked.  In the background, she could hear the roar of cars from the busy street in front of the shelter.

Meredith stroked Samantha's head once more.   She laughed when the dog licked her and then watched with a bright gaze.  More, please, said Samantha's eyes.

“You are sweet, aren't you?” Meredith said.

Samantha shook her black coat as she stood.  Meredith took a lap around the muddy yard with her.  The dog ambled with a lazy gait.  Samantha remained beside Meredith, her body pressing against Meredith's legs.  Again, not hard.  Not as an obvious attempt to get Meredith to fall over or some sort of dominance play.  Just... reassuring.

Meredith stroked Samantha's back.  In all Meredith's days, she'd never expected to be in the back lot of an animal shelter, petting a clown rottweiler who liked chew toys and kissing.  “Derek's had a really rough time, and he's pretty sad right now,” she said.  “Do you think you could maybe help with that?  He's trying not to be pushy about it, but he likes you.”

Samantha said nothing.

The faucet dripped and mingled with the sounds of her sniffles.  Meredith brushed her nose with the back of her palm.  She sat on the toilet seat, shaking.  Beyond the blur of her tears, the floor tiles and stained grout spaced and separated as her eyes slipped out of focus.

The door to the restroom swung open, and Meredith winced.  She swallowed, trying to force her tears into silence.  She didn't want to deal with questions.  She couldn't do this.  She couldn't.  Not right now.

“Meredith Grey,” said Dr. Bailey's soft, rich voice, “I know you're in here.  I'm not leaving until you come out.”

Meredith shook her head and stood.  She unlatched the door, and she stepped out to face the wolves.  Or wolf, really.  Just one.  The long row of bathroom stalls spread out like a firing squad at her back.  Dr. Bailey stared, her eyebrows raised.  Meredith scrubbed her face.  Her stomach churned with sickening flips and flops, unsettled and unable to deal with the pancakes she'd eaten while Derek had been receiving his post-op scans.

“I'm sorry,” Meredith said.  Her throat felt full.  She swallowed.  The remnant taste of syrup nauseated her.  A red-eyed Medusa reflected from the mirror back at her.  Meredith pushed loose, tangled hair away from her face.

“I'm not the one who needs an apology,” said Dr. Bailey.

Derek had been crying when Dr. Bailey had returned him to his ICU room.  Crying.  Unmoving.  Silent.  His eyes had gotten wet the night before, but Meredith had gotten the distinct impression that his pain had been emotional, and she'd left him alone to sort things out.  This time, though?  Physical.  He'd hurt so badly he cried.  All he'd done was stare at the ceiling while his eyes leaked, as though his body were some sort of torture chamber and his soul had been left on the rack.  He hadn't tried to reassure her.  He'd just lain there.  She'd never seen Derek cry before, not like that, and the sight of him suffering that much had snapped her.  She'd fled the room to keep him from seeing her fall apart all over again.

“I'm...” Meredith's voice cracked.  Tears exploded in a deluge, and she couldn't breathe.  “I don't know what to do.  Please, I don't...  I can't.  I'm.  I...   He's...”

Dr. Bailey's gaze softened.  “I had the nurse increase his morphine.  He's doing much better.”

“His scans--”

“Were absolutely fine for a man who's been shot in the chest,” Dr. Bailey said.  “Which I would have told you if you hadn't bolted like your damned hair was on fire.”

“Then why is he--”

“Anesthesia, Grey,” said Bailey.  “It's all gone, now.  And you, as one of Seattle Grace's most talented residents, should know that.”

“I'm sorry,” Meredith said.

Dr. Bailey shook her head.  “Again, wrong person.”

“When I saw him...”

Dr. Bailey nodded.  “I know it's hard.”

“He's really hurt,” said Meredith.  “I just don't know what to do.  I want it to be better, and I--”

Meredith sighed as Dr. Bailey's warm hand touched her shoulder.  Meredith met Dr. Bailey's hard  gaze.  “You go back in there, and you sit with him,” Dr. Bailey said.  “That's what you do.  Just like you've been doing all night.  And that's what will make it better.”

“Okay,” Meredith said in a small voice.  “Okay.”  She wiped her face once more.  She swallowed down against the clot in her throat.  She smoothed her shirt as she tried to muster resolve.

And that's when Dr. Bailey's lip quivered.  Meredith froze at the odd sight.  “He lived, Dr. Grey,” Dr. Bailey said.  Dr. Bailey blinked, and her eyes seemed to swim, but no tears fell.  “Some didn't.”

“I know,” Meredith said, her voice soft.

They stood in silence, sharing pain for several moments, before Dr. Bailey's forlorn look shifted into a glare.  “Well?” she snapped.  “Go sit with your fool husband.”

By the time Meredith returned to Derek's ICU cubicle, her tears had dried, and her eyes had stopped burning quite as much.  She hoped she didn't look like some sort of scary freak monster.  Derek lay in a mess of wires and periwinkle blankets, unmoving, eyes closed.  Meredith glanced at his heart monitor.  Fine.  He did look better.  His breaths rasped softly in the quiet space instead of jabbing at the air like knives.  When she sat, the stool Nurse Kent had left behind for her squawked.

Derek shifted.  His eyes opened to slivers.

“It's just me,” said Meredith.

His lips spread into a wide, lazy smile.  “Hey,” he said, the word stretched and quiet.  His eyes shut.

“Hey,” she replied.  “I'm sorry I left, Derek.  I'm really sorry.”

She waited for condemnation, but it never arrived.  She watched his chest rise and fall.  His hair hung in a lusterless, greasy shell around his head that was, over the hours, turning to untamed frizz.  Stubble had sprouted all across his face in a prickly forest.  His skin was pale, and he looked...

Sick.

The lump returned to her throat, and her eyes pricked.  Her inner volcano of stifled grief threatened to erupt.  She tensed, but she forced herself to lean forward and pet his arm and his hand.  His soft skin pressed back against her fingertips.  She couldn't help but glance at the intravenous line snaking into his vein.

At least he'd relaxed.  Red still hugged the skin around his eyes, and his temples glistened with the evaporating skeletons of what had been tears.

She bit her lip.  “Do you feel better?”

“Bailey gave me more morphine,” he said, though his vowels stuck in his mouth and took forever to complete.  Another smile stretched across his face.  He blinked, and his eyelids rested at half-mast.

A shaky laugh fell from her lips.  “I know,” she said.  She grabbed his hand and squeezed.  “I know she did.”

“M'okay, Mere,” he muttered.  “You shh... shouldn' worry.”

She sniffed and brushed his face.  “No pain, now?”

“Even if there was,” he said, his voice soft and weary.  “I don' think I'd remember it.”

He drifted, then.  She let him sleep while she watched.

In the silence, Meredith's eyes watered.  She sniffed and wiped her face with her palms.  “I don't know why I'm being so emotional today,” she told the dog.  “I've really been okay.”

Samantha had no answers for her.

Meredith wandered to the center of the yard and picked up the lone tennis ball.  Dark stains smudged the chartreuse fur of the ball, and it smelled like wet dog, but, given that she'd been given a tongue bath already, today, the unsanitary nature of the toy didn't seem to matter much.  She squeezed her hand around the dirty ball.

“Do you like to play fetch?” Meredith said.  Samantha's gaze traced the ball as it moved.  Her tail wagged.  “Guess so,” said Meredith.

Meredith un-clipped the leash and let the tennis ball fly across the yard.  The ball bounced off the back fence.  The dog launched.  Her claws had no traction on the wet earth, and for what felt like eons, Samantha churned ground, but didn't move.  Mud and water spewed everywhere.  Flecks of dirt landed on Meredith's jeans.  And her shirt.  And her face.  She laughed as she watched Samantha gain a foothold and fly after the ball, which had settled in the muck.  The dog barked.  She attacked the ball with gleeful ferocity and chewed it with her big, chomp-y jaws as she trotted back to Meredith with her bounty.  The dog dropped the ball at Meredith's feet, sat on her haunches, looked up and barked. “Again!” said her gaze.

For several minutes, the pair of them played a sedate game of fetch.  On what Meredith intended to be the last throw, she tossed the ball against the fence, but with the force of her throw, the wet earth churned underneath her as though she'd stepped on a banana peel.  Just like in the cartoons.  She careened hands first into the mud with a shriek.  A hundred pounds of muddy dog danced around her in an excited circle and then bounded for the fence.  Cold, wet dirt seeped through her jeans and drenched her socks as Meredith clawed for footing.  By the time she struggled to her feet, she imagined she looked a bit like Frankenstein with her hair in frenetic, dirty disarray and mud streaking her clothes and skin.  She found Samantha staring up at her, yellow ball in her mouth.  Samantha dropped the tennis ball at Meredith's muddy feet and woofed.

Meredith stood there, muddy and disheveled, and she laughed.  She couldn't stop.  This was so ridiculous.

“Okay,” Meredith said.  “I guess we can keep you if Derek lets you in his car after this.”

The muddy dog whuffed with appreciation and stood still while Meredith re-clipped the leash.  Meredith brought the dog back inside the shelter building and slogged down the empty hallway.  She found Derek talking with the receptionist around the corner.  He leaned against the wall.  Leaned!

Meredith snorted as she approached, muddy dog trailing behind.  Cassandra and Derek both stared at her.  Derek's jaw dropped, but he closed it before speaking.  He straightened.  She watched worry creep into his gaze.  His expression danced, and she could see the words on the tip of his tongue.

Jesus Christ, what happened?  He'd say it just like that.  If he were to open his mouth.  He didn't.

“Let's take her home,” Meredith said.

He blinked.  “Really?” he said.

“Yes, really.  I think she deserves a chance.”

“Okay,” he said.  For a moment, he stared.  His gaze traced her head to toe.  He didn't say anything about the mud on her or the dog.  “If your insurance won't cover it, I'll find a policy that does.  I'll pay for it, Mere.”

“We'll figure it out,” Meredith said.

Cassandra grinned.  “Wonderful!  Let's go fill out the paperwork.”  She glanced at Samantha.  “And maybe we can get one of the techs to give this girl a bath.  Sorry for the mud outside.”

Meredith shrugged.  “It's Seattle.  There's mud.”

“Spoken like a native,” said Cassandra.

Meredith handed Derek the muddy leash.  He took it without a grimace or a comment.  “You do the paperwork,” she said.  “I'm dripping dirt.”

She left him gaping at her as she went to the bathroom to clean up her hair and face.  Her clothes were a loss, but she could make herself a bit less like an automatic stain on Derek's upholstery.  Maybe.  Possibly.  Nope, she decided after spending twenty minutes scraping at herself with a paper towel.  In fact, after careful work, she felt a bit like all she'd done was grind dirt further into her jeans.  She gave up.

She found Derek sans dog in the lobby, filling out the pet owner's agreement with a gold ball point pen that he had to stop and shake for ink twice as she approached.  She plopped into the chair next to him just as he signed his name on the dotted line.  He handed her the pen and the clipboard.  She signed underneath his name.  Meredith Grey.

In another twenty minutes, a tall, wiry man with brown hair and blue eyes led Samantha from the back of the shelter.  Her damp fur was free of mud and glossy.  Meredith watched the man as he left Samantha with Cassandra at the front desk.  His name tag said Marvin.

Meredith bit her lip.  She watched Derek as he watched the dog.  The skin around his eyes crinkled, and he watched the newest addition to their family trot toward him.  A smile curved his lips as Cassandra smiled, brought him the dog, and said, “All right.  I'll take the forms.  You take the dog.  Thank you so much for supporting the animal shelter.”

Samantha barked once, and after they'd all exchanged a few last minute pleasantries and Cassandra had double checked the forms, Derek, Meredith, and Samantha left through the glass door.  The bell dinged overhead, signaling their departure.  They crossed the threshold, moved out onto the street.  Meredith couldn't stop from beaming.  She skipped down the last step.

“We have a dog,” she said.

Derek returned her grin.  “Yes, we do,” he said.

Samantha woofed.

And with that, after some juggling, and a pause for Derek to retrieve a towel from his trunk to cover Meredith's seat, they headed home with Meredith at the wheel.  Samantha rode in the backseat, sprawled across Derek's shiny leather upholstery.

“Never thought I'd see the day,” Meredith said, unable to stop the grin from splitting her face.  Sunny streets churned past the windows.

“What day?” Derek said.

“There's a dog in your backseat, and I look like I won in a mud wrestling match.”

He smirked.  “Oh, you won, huh?”

“Yes,” Meredith said.  “In this hypothetical mud wrestling match, I would have won.”

He nodded.  “You would have.  You're a scrapper.  And you're feisty.”  He watched her, his lashes low over his eyes.  She glanced at him.  His relaxed posture and the simple awe in his gaze blurred the bright metal rainbow of passing cars beyond his window.  “So,” he said.  “What's wrong with a dog in my back seat and you looking like you won a mud wrestling match?”

“Nothing.  It's just a lot of dirt, and it's in your car.  And you're not mad.”

“Hmm,” he said.  He glanced at the frothy terrycloth towel he'd placed under her tiny body.  Brown stains marred indigo blue.  “Samantha is clean,” he said.  “It's just you tracking mud all over.”

She scoffed.  “Are you calling me dirty?”

“I might be,” he said.  Out of the corner of her eye, movement flickered.  His seat moaned.  The solid, sure feeling of something there beside her, inches away and closing, made her smile.  “But it's sexy dirt,” he said, his voice a low rumble by her ear.

“I'm trying to watch the road,” she said.  His breaths touched her skin.  A warm hand gripped her shoulder.  He kissed her throat.  She leaned into it, unable to stop herself.

“Hmm,” was all he said.

Breaths tightened in her chest.  She pulled the car to a stop at a red light.  She turned.  His blue eyes shimmered close to hers.  He traced her gaze with his own.  She swallowed.

He kissed her, his lips to hers, and the car disappeared in a torrent of fire.  She moaned into his mouth.  They dueled across the parking brake, gaining and losing ground in equal measures.  Until something wet that wasn't Derek touched her right ear, and she shrieked and jumped.  In a whorl of sights and sounds and colors, she caught a glimpse of big, brown eyes and sharp teeth.  Lips parted, revealing a drooping, pink tongue.  Their newest addition made her best impression of a smile as Meredith wiped her face with the back of her hand, and Derek laughed, and laughed.

“I guess she doesn't like hanky panky in the car,” Derek said.  Samantha hovered in the space between their seats.  He leaned over the seat and stroked her fur as she panted.

“No, she likes it,” said Meredith.  “She kissed me.  I think she just felt left out.”  The light turned green, and she accelerated.  The car pressed her back into her seat.  Derek's body swayed in the grips of inertia, and he, too, sat back.  Samantha wobbled but didn't budge.

“We can save the hanky panky for later,” Derek said.

Meredith licked her lips.  “Promises, promises.”

She'd meant to be playful, but his smile slipped out of his expression like liquid.  Derek said nothing.  He looked away from her, and he stared out the window, stroking Samantha while he watched the world go by.

Her chest tightened.  Glass.  Every conversation with him was like a piece of glass, ready to drop and break into thousands of pieces, from the highest heights to the bowels of low in an instant.  For a moment, she hovered in bewilderment, wondering how her throaty, playful attempt at banter had gone so wrong.  And then she thought of him, his cold, trembling, clammy hand clutched in hers.  He stared at her through glassy, hooded eyes, and he'd said, I'm not gonna die.  I promise.

His voice echoed in her head.  Over and over.  She swallowed as a lump formed in her throat, all hints of levity or lust gone.

Promised I wouldn' die, didn' I? he'd slurred a few hours later.  He'd said that before he'd had much chance to reflect on the situation.  Before he'd become a survivor in his mind.  He'd just been...  Alive.  He'd been doped and barely lucid, but alive.  Alive, and...

But I lied. My promise was a lie. I thought... he'd said.

“I'm sorry,” Meredith said.  “I shouldn't have said that.”

A wet sound filled the car as he swallowed.  He didn't speak.

“Derek...”

He shook his head.  “I hate that I can't...” he said, but he didn't finish.  Samantha whined at him, and he stroked her neck.  The motion seemed to soothe him, but he still didn't speak.

Meredith sighed.  The car jounced and rocked as she pulled it into the driveway, and she couldn't help but notice Derek wince.  This time.  He didn't make any noise.  But he winced, and his face paled, and he folded his arm against his chest as though he were attempting to protect himself.

“Derek...” she repeated, but he wouldn't look at her.

He un-clipped his seat belt and slid out of the car before she could say more than that.  He opened the door for Samantha.  The leash jingled as he attached it.  The dog leaped down onto the pavement.

“We should take her for a long walk before we go inside,” Derek said.  “I read that it's good to get them tired first, and it's a clear day, for once.”

“But I'm muddy and gross,” Meredith said.  “I...”  Her voice trailed away as she stared at him through the gap between the door and the car.  He didn't comment on her disheveled state.  Or the mud.  And what was a long walk, anyway?  Derek still had heaps of endurance issues, and he would go by himself if she didn't budge.  What if he stranded himself a few miles away because he didn't have the good sense to turn around when his body told him he needed to stop?  She could tell from the sharp, determined look on his face that he planned to go with or without her.  She swallowed.  “I guess it doesn't matter,” she said.  “What's some sweat on top of mud?”

She exited the car and pressed the lock button on the key fob.  The Cayenne chirped.  “How long of a walk are we talking?” she said as she walked around to meet him.

He shrugged, the motion a bit listless.  “I imagine I'll be the first one calling it quits,” he said as he looked at the ground.  Her heart squeezed.  She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but she didn't want to make him more self-conscious.  She left him alone.

“Do you have baggies?  Just in case?” she said.  “I mean, I'm sure she went at the shelter, but--”

“In my pocket,” he said.

Her jaw dropped.  “Wow.  You really did plan ahead.”

“Yeah,” he said.  He didn't greet her comment with humor.  Or banter.  Or anything.

He turned on his feet and headed up the driveway toward the sidewalk.  He turned left up the walk in a vague echo of his first walk, up the pernicious hill that wasn't quite a hill.  Samantha followed, and so did Meredith.  She hoped this walk wouldn't turn out the way that first one had, with him nearly throwing up because he'd pushed himself so hard.  In her head, she repeated a long chorus of let-him-pick, let-him-pick, let-him-picks, until they'd gone several house lengths in silence.

This wasn't like before.  Over weeks of healing, his long, sure stride had returned.  She didn't have to slow herself down to stay even-paced with him.  Though he didn't relax in the presence of strangers, he didn't stop and stare at every pedestrian like he expected to be shot and killed.  Improvement.  Some.  Samantha loped along, stopping to sniff here and there, and they all moved in silence, save for Samantha's happy panting.

For ten minutes, they walked without speaking, because Meredith couldn't think of anything to say, and because his mood had gone from his version of okay, not that eight out of ten could ever be construed as okay, to awful in a whiplash turn of events.  He didn't breathe hard or slow down.  After ten minutes.  That was a vast improvement as well.  He didn't turn at the end of her block, either.  His goal wasn't a single block.  Also improvement.

They stopped as Samantha explored a fire hydrant with interest.  Derek watched the dog with fascination as she pushed her nose through the grass blades in a ring around the hydrant and then up the chipping paint to the bolt at the tip.  Meredith squeezed Derek's shoulder.  His body heat pressed against her as she pushed close to him.

“Scale of one to ten,” she said in a soft voice.

He blinked, and his eyes reddened.  Bird calls bounced through the trees.  Samantha's ears perked as a dog in a distant yard barked.  She glanced at Derek and Meredith, found no excitement there, and calmed.  She resumed exploring her more exciting fire hydrant.

“Ten,” he said, his voice rough.  “I'm sorry.  Or...”  He looked away as though he expected her to scream at him.  “I'm...”  And he ran out of things to say.  Silence stretched.  She heard him swallow.  His breaths fluttered, as though he were struggling not to lose himself in a storm of unwanted, tempestuous grief.

She wanted to say it.  Don't apologize.  But she held the words down on her tongue under heaping mountains of willpower, until her jaw muscles hurt from the strain of clenching her teeth.  From the reddening tinge on his face, and the way he wouldn't look at her, he knew she hated apologies for this kind of stuff, for his mood swings and for visceral reactions over which he had little to no control.

Samantha stopped and stared at Meredith, her dark eyes accusing, as if to say, Well?  Say something.  He's not going to do it.  She chuffed, sort of like a sneeze, and she pressed her nose back into sensory euphoria.  Grass folded under her nose.

“So, what should we name her?” Meredith said, at a loss for anything else.

For a moment, he stared at her with wet, red eyes.  He sniffed.  His gaze shifted to Samantha as Meredith watched the veritable wheels in his head churn.  He followed Meredith's rapid and random subject change.  With difficulty, but he followed it.  “You want to change her name?” he said, his voice rough with weeping that he'd withheld.

Samantha finished exploring the fire hydrant, and they resumed walking.  “I don't know,” Meredith said.  “Do you?”

“The shelter said her name is Samantha,” he said.  “We've been calling her Samantha.”

“So?”

“So, she probably grew up with that name,” he said.  They skirted around an untrimmed hedge.  Branches clawed at her muddy shirt and scratched her bare skin.  A twig dug into her neck and stung.  She hissed and rubbed her throat.  Wet bits of crumbled, black bark came away with her fingertips.  Derek stopped, twisted, and held the bush out of the way for her.  The pain ceased.  She and Samantha shuffled through.  Through the obstacle, he sniffed, and he wiped his face with his hands.  The reddened, crushed expression slathered on his face lessened.  “How would you like me to suddenly start calling you Delilah because I think it's prettier?” he said.

“You think Delilah is prettier than Meredith?”

“I meant it as a hypothetical.”

“But you like the name Delilah?”

“Um,” he said.  “I don't know.”

“You thought of it off the top of your head,” she said.

“She was a patient.”

“When?” Meredith said.  “You haven't operated in more than two months.”

“My last patient.”

“Oh,” she said.  She dropped her gaze to her muddy sneakers.  The pocked sidewalk blurred.  She couldn't win.  All roads led to that day.  All--

His arms wrapped around her, and she stopped.  The world stopped.  He hugged her.  He breathed against her.  For a moment, she stood, dumbfound, and then her muscles loosened.  She wrapped her arms around his back.  Toned, lean sinew pressed against her hand through his shirt as she ran her palm along the lines of his muscles.  She pressed her face against his chest and listened to the rustle of his breathing.

“It's okay,” he said, his voice soft.  “I'm okay.”  The words rumbled through his breastbone.  “I just... thought of it,” he said.  “Some things, I can...”  He breathed.  “Some things are better.”

“And this is one of those things?” she said.

“Hmm,” he said.  “I guess it is.”

He stroked her hair, careful to keep his fingers from getting stuck in the mud and snarled tangles.  She took a deep breath.  “I don't remember her,” Meredith said.  “Why was Delilah at Seattle Grace?”

He shrugged.  “Delilah Rogers.  Keyhole craniotomy to clip an aneurysm.  I was in and out in about an hour.  Nothing special.”

His bitter tone saddened her.  A year before, he hadn't minded doing small procedures.  A patient to help was a patient to help, regardless of the severity his or her problem or how complicated his or her problem was to fix.  But that had been Derek's attitude back when his entire career hadn't been relegated to the simple procedures.  Back when he still did groundbreaking casework and twenty-six plus hour surgeries to remove inoperable spinal tumors.  Now, he was limited to the things he could fit into his schedule before the mountains of paperwork and interruptions each day would crush him, which meant, really, he could do very little.

That was another discussion, though.  Another time.  She didn't want to talk about work that much when she'd only steered the conversation back to safety moments before.

“Still,” she said.  “You thought of the name over two months later.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “So?”

“So, you must like the name,” she said.

“It's a name.”

“But a good name?” she prodded.

He laughed despite the snarly, troubled look lingering on his face.  The sound of his levity made her lips turn upward.  Mission accomplished, then, however ineptly.  She'd made him forget, if only for a moment.  “Meredith, what are you trying to whittle out of me?” he said.  “Because I'd love to help you out, but I have no idea what you want me to say.”

She held out her hand.  His gaze followed the length of her outstretched arm to her splayed fingertips.  He took her palm with the hand he didn't hold the leash with.  His warm, reassuring palm touched hers.  They squeezed, and then they walked.

“Are we not naming dogs anymore?” he guessed.

“I...” she said.  The breath deflated from her chest.  Were they not naming dogs anymore?  How the hell had that happened?  And how the hell had he noticed before she had?  She really was being a freak today.  A freaky, clingy, hormonal...  “I don't know.”

A skinny woman wearing holey jeans and flip flops approached on the opposite sidewalk with a bouncy dalmatian.  Samantha perked.  She opened her black-and-russet-colored jaws, her broad torso expanded, and she barked, deep and full.  The dalmatian barked in return, and the skinny woman nearly tripped as her dog launched at the street, but she held it back.  The dalmatian pedaled empty air, its front feet off the ground.  Derek pulled on Samantha's leash before she got the same idea, though Meredith wondered if there was much either of them could do if Samantha decided to dash for a doggy meet-and-greet.  Samantha tensed.

“No,” Derek said, his voice sharp.

Samantha snorted and relaxed, quiet.  She looked up with a chastised expression, as if to say, Aww, Dad.  You're no fun.  But she kept walking, and after several strides, her stumpy tail began to wag once more.  Another block passed, and when Meredith looked back, she gasped.  She hadn't realized they'd climbed such a substantial hill.  She glanced at Derek, but he seemed okay.

“I like Susanne,” he said as he stepped off the curb into the street.  He looked both ways and proceeded.  He squeezed her hand as they reached the other side and stepped up onto the sidewalk.  The earth tipped downward again into a valley.

“Susanne Shepherd,” she said.

He nodded.  “Or Grey.  Susanne Grey.”

“I think it's a pretty first name, but it doesn't roll well,” Meredith said.

“What do you mean?”

“With our last names,” Meredith said.  “The accent on the 'anne' makes it choppy to say.  Susan works, but Susanne doesn't.”

“You'd want to use Susan?” he said.

“Fake Mommy?” said Meredith.  She cleared her throat.  “No, I just meant... I.  Example.”

“Hmm,” he said as he considered her.  She watched his lips trace the name as he presumably repeated the words in his head.  He frowned.  “Susanne does trip on the tongue a little bit.”

“Still, it's pretty,” Meredith said.  “And not weird.  I don't want to be one of those parents who names her child after a movie character, some obscure word in another language, or something not typically considered a name for a human, like Stapler or Fruit Stand.”

He grinned at her.  “Fruit Stand?” he said.

“It was a joke I heard,” she said.  “And we can't name her after me.”

“Why not?  Meredith is pretty,” he said.  “I like Meredith.  A joke?”

“Because I'm Meredith,” she said.  “I don't want another one.  And when I call you Derek, our son shouldn't wonder if he's being addressed.  And, yes, a joke.  But I don't tell it well.”

“Tell me anyway,” he said in a soft voice.  He stared at her.  His eyes twinkled.  “Please.”

“See!” she said, even as the soft sound made her innards quiver.  She pushed at him.  He shuffled a step to the side.  “You totally brainwash me.  And you do it on purpose, you evil, evil man.”

He winked.  “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

“You do.”

“I don't!”

“You do freaking too!”

He shook his head and scoffed.  “Do not.  Tell me.”