All Along The Watchtower - Part 20.7B (Like sleeping in on Sunday)

[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 20.7 (Like sleeping in on Sunday)

She took a moment to compose herself.  To come down off her thrumming, pleasing high.  She caught her breath as he watched with a sly expression that told her she hadn't fooled him.  He knew she wanted it, now, now, now, even if the practicality wasn't, well, practical.  She shook her head and chose to blame the pregnancy for the roaring sex drive.  And him.  She could definitely blame him.

It wasn't fair that he looked so delectable and mussed and, in that moment, radiated masculinity as though it were going out of style.  His skin was damp with a sheen of sweat from the exertion.  He had a healthy flush, and a dark, desirous look that spoke of intense hunger, darkened even more by his mask of weekend stubble and tussled, sweaty curls.

She leaned against his shoulder, leaving her right hand in his back pocket, and they kept walking.  My first real walk after a gunshot wound, and you're feeling me up, he'd said what seemed like years ago.  She smiled at the memory and gave him a squeeze.

He stared at her, his longing expression slipping into something more serious.  “It was good for you, right?  Last night?  It's what you wanted?”

She nodded.  “It was good for me.”

“Good,” he said with a definitive nod.

A jogger with a yellow lab trotted past.  The dog yipped at them, a cheerful expression twinkling in its chocolate-colored eyes.  Its dog tags jingled.  It wanted to say hi.  It pulled on the leash, its fat, otter-like tail wagging back and forth so fast Meredith couldn't see much more than a blur.  The jogger smiled at them shyly as she ran by with the dog.  Derek glanced at Meredith, a snicker on his face, as if to say, Okay, I'm possibly glad we put off the naughty forest sex.

“Sorry,” the jogger said as she yanked the lab away with a tug of its leash.

The dog almost seemed to frown, but grew distracted in moments as its owner plowed onward.  The jingling sound of the tags waned.  Meredith smiled as she watched over her shoulder at the departing pair, thinking of Samantha.

She and Derek had decided that tearing up Richard's cabin floor with claw marks and leaving a bunch of black dog hair behind probably wasn't the best way to repay him for loaning them the cabin.  They'd opted to leave the dog behind so they wouldn't have to worry about her, but Samantha would have loved the long trails here and all the open space.

She was a big dog.  She deserved space.  Meredith's mother's house was mostly house, and not a ton of lawn.  The new house would be better for Samantha.

Derek had enough space for almost anything he could want.  Meredith supposed his space was hers, now, technically.  Theirs.  She'd never really thought about it in those terms before.  He had his land and his trailer, which, though he'd technically given it to her, it'd never felt like hers.  She had her mother's house.  But...

This new house would be theirs from the beginning.  Their house.  They'd co-signed the loan and had the house built from scratch.  It was a real fresh start.  A square one.  For them.  Their family.  The dog.  Baby.  Together.

“I hope our house will be done, soon,” she said.

Derek smiled, but his expression seemed apologetic.  Not pleased.  “You've never worked with contractors before, have you?”

“Well, no.”

“They said it'll be done by Christmas, but I'll believe it when I see it,” he said.

“I thought they said Columbus Day.”

He nodded.  “They did.  Months ago.  They changed their projection.”

“Oh,” she said.  “Has Bill talked to you lately?”

“Just to give me the weekly update,” he replied.  “They're stalled right now because of some issue with the electrician, which is why I think they're going to bump the finish line back again.”

“Well, I hope it's done by Christmas,” she said.  “I don't want to deal with moving and having a baby at the same time.”  She pressed her free hand against her stomach.  “I have to be due in May, right?”

“If you're right on the conception date,” he said, his voice dripping with nonchalance, except his sparkling gaze gave him away.  He'd tried to slip that in there to see if she'd notice.

She had.  “I am right on the conception date,” she said.

“Are not.”

Her lips parted.  “Am, too!”

“Not,” he insisted.

She pushed against him.  He stumbled, a chuff of laughter spilling from his lips as she said, “Too!”

He shook his head.  “I got through birth control.”

“You're going to keep holding up a freak accident as evidence that you're flawlessly virile?”

His eyebrows raised.  “Oh, we're calling my sperm freaks, now, in addition to squiggly bullies?”

She crinkled her knows.  “Well, they are squiggly.”

“But not bullies,” he said, his voice low.  “You let them in pretty enthusiastically.”

She snickered as they came to a stop.  He panted.  She brushed a flying bug away from her face.  It buzzed away.  “Are we really arguing about this?” she said.

He shrugged.  His eyes gleamed.  “We seem to be.”

They walked.  A hiker dressed in a neon orange windbreaker strode past with a walking stick.  The man, a slightly overweight guy in his fifties, gave them a nod as he passed, his silver hair gleaming.

She lowered her eyelids and let the verdant scenery roll by as she walked with him.  In his space.  Interlocked with him.  He matched her hand in his pocket with his own in hers.  He breathed hard.  Sweat glistened at his brow.  His pace had slowed a bit more.  She wondered if the exertion he'd put forth to catch her earlier had tired him.  Was that the first time he'd sprinted since before he'd been shot?  She kissed his arm through his shirt, and she slowed to match his lagging pace.  She didn't mention the drop in speed.

“They're bullies,” she said.

“I prefer to think of them as suave.”

“Suave sperm,” she said, her voice flat with amused disbelief.

“Yep,” he said.  He kissed her cheek as they walked.  “Suave.  They probably seduced your egg.”

“So, now, your sperm are like Don Juan?”

“Your egg might have begged them for a good fertilizing with a single, smoldering look,” he said, a sly grin curling his lips.  “They probably couldn't resist.”

“So, my egg was like Cindy Crawford in that Pepsi commercial?”

“It was beeyootiful,” he said with a cheerful expression.

She snickered.  “Don Juan and Cindy Crawford happened in my uterus?”

He shrugged.  “I'm not ruling anything out.”

“Except bullying, and the fact that I'm right,” she countered.  “Conception date and sex.  I'm totally imbued with mother's intuition, now.  I can feel it.”

He snorted.  He stumbled, but he caught himself quickly, and he said nothing about tripping.  She could see from the slump in his shoulders and his tired expression, he was flagging, but he'd said nothing about it.  He hid behind a quirky grin.

“I think the intuition is probably intestinal distress,” he said, breathless.

Her mouth fell open.  She glared.  “Shut up.  It is not!”

His eyebrows waggled.  “Feeling sick, now?” he teased.

“Oh, my god, don't jinx me!” she said.

“Wouldn't want that,” he said.  His haughty smirk made her snarl playfully.  She pushed him, and he laughed again.  Laughed at her.

“Well, fix it!” she said.  “Fix it before you make me sick!”

He pulled her into his arms, wrapped himself around her.  He pressed a quick kiss against her lips.  “Better?” he whispered against her skin.  His eyelids dipped, and his body seemed to tremble.  He was pushing himself too hard, but he seemed happy tired.  Not making himself sick tired.

“Um,” she said as she struggled for intelligent thought.  “Yes.  Yes, better.  But I'm still right.”

He grinned and didn't comment.  She rubbed her belly, looking down at her stomach with a frown.  “Tangents aside,” she said, “what are we going to do if the house isn't ready until April or May?”

He stared at her.  “We'll deal with it.  I promise.”

“How?” she said.  “I'll be carrying around a bowling ball that might pop out at any second by then.”

She stopped short when she realized what she'd said.  A bowling ball...

Time for the bowling ball to come out.

The last patient Meredith had had on Friday had said that just before she'd screamed with the incoming crush of new contraction.  The woman, Gina, had been wasted by the end.  Sweaty.  So spent she couldn't lift her head off the pillow and could barely push.  Couldn't push.  They'd wheeled her away for an emergency c-section after twenty hours of exhausting, agonizing labor that had gone precisely nowhere except infant distress, a wife who couldn't even talk anymore she was so hoarse from screaming, and a husband so sick with nerves he'd thrown up all over the delivery room.  They'd all been fine and delighted in the end, but...

Meredith looked down at herself, her breaths quickening as she heard Gina's grating scream in her head.

A person was growing inside her body.  Her body felt full enough with only her innards and a few extra cells, now.  How would she fit a bowling ball?

And, in a while, she would have to give birth.  To the bowling ball.  She'd thought about Baby a lot in the past week and a half, but the idea of giving birth - the bloody part with pain and suffering where she would need to push the bowling ball out of a space that typically felt full with just a penis in it -- had sort of been a blank.  When Gina had given birth to baby Timothy, Meredith had managed to detach herself from logical, connecting thoughts.  She'd held the woman's hand, and she hadn't thought anything about Baby.  The horrific birth aspect had been an un-relatable blank.  A censored bleep.  In nine months, you'll bleep.  And bleeping was the pretty widely accepted as one of the most painful things a woman could experience.

Ever.

“That's a huge freaking deal by itself.  A new house just makes it...” she said, but her voice sounded far away in her head.  In nine-ish months, she'd bleep.  The dull whine of oncoming panic throbbed behind her eyes like a heartbeat.  Thu-thump.  Thu-thump.  She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, and she squeezed.  “How does it take a year to build a freaking house, anyway?  I can build a person faster than that.  You'd think a person would be more complicated than a house.”

The forest seemed to spin around her.  His larger body eclipsed hers.

She'd lost their first baby.  A stupid quirk of fate.  A bad egg or a bad sperm had made defective magic together, and the result hadn't been viable.  Her body had voided the result before it had ever become something threatening and ominous like a bowling ball.  Before it had become a him or a her or anything but a fanciful idea about playing house with a real family in her head.  She remembered the sharp, stinging pains that had nearly knocked her over they'd been so intense, and knew that pain would be nothing in comparison.

She rubbed her stomach, agitated.

He pulled her close, and he whispered in her ear, as if he'd sensed her panic.  Or she'd screamed.  Maybe, she'd screamed.  That would be a reasonable thing to do, she decided, when realizing one would have to bleep.  Screaming.

How was she going to do this?

“Derek, I'm building a person,” she whispered.  She couldn't find air.  There wasn't enough air.

He stroked her back.  “You are.”

“It just hit me.  Like really, really hit me, and I...”   Words failed.  She lost vocabulary in the din of crushing worry.

“Just take a deep breath,” he murmured.

Except how would that help with the bleeping?  She clutched his shirt.  “It's going to hurt at the end.”

He nodded.  “It will,” he said, which, really, wasn't the most comforting thing he could have chosen to say, if she were allowed an opinion on the matter, and she was.  She clenched her teeth.  Her eyes watered.

“It'll really, really hurt, Derek.”

“I know, but it will be worth it,” he said.  Which sounded exactly like what a man who didn't have to bleep would say.  Because he didn't have to bleep.  He just had to be the cheerleader and watch her do all the freaking work.

“Easy for you to say,” she snapped, like a fox gnawing at a trapped limb to escape.  Derek was her claw trap as he tried to comfort her.  Her face heated.  Why was she terrified?  She shouldn't be terrified.  Bleeping was good.  In the end, it was good.  Right?  They'd made life out of love.  Bleeping was--  Really.  Freaking.  Painful.  “You don't have to shove a bowling ball out your hoo-hoo.”

She was being mean.  Her hormone roller coaster did an upside down loop.  She blinked tears at his stricken look.  She hadn't meant to yell.  They'd made a person, and that was special, and why was she so--

“It's not easy for me to say,” he said, his voice quiet.  His dark, understanding gaze made her stomach twist.  He shook his head.  “I know giving birth isn't the same at all, but...”  She watched as he touched his chest.  Over where his bullet wound had been.  The fabric rasped underneath his palm.  “I do understand what it's like to feel pain that you think might break you,” Derek said.  “And I don't think lightly about the idea of you hurting like that.”

She swallowed against the inexplicable lump in her throat.  “Oh,” she said.

She looked at the ground.  Mud covered her black Chucks.  She blinked as the ground bleached of color.  She saw him sprawled at her feet on a shiny white floor, a pool of red spreading underneath his body in a crimson lake.  Please, don't die, she'd begged him.  The lapping water and the wind and the bird songs of the forest background splintered under the jarring memory of his unadulterated screams of pain.  Screams she'd been helpless to fix or soothe, because they'd needed to move him.  Needed to make him move.  He would have died if they hadn't.

She didn't know if the prospect that he could commiserate with the physical aspects of giving birth made her feel better, or worse.  Worse, she decided.  A whole lot worse.  She'd seen the cloud of suffering in his eyes.  She felt like a coward, but going through that sort of agony for untold hours was not something she looked forward to.  At all.

Her jaw clenched.  The world swam before her eyes, and she swayed, nauseous.  Terrified.

A freak out to end all freak outs.

Breathe, that sometimes annoying voice in her head told her.  Inhale.  Keep going.  Stiff upper lip, right?  You can do it.

Derek held her close.  Held her upright.  “I know it's scary.  I do,” he said in a soft, murmuring voice that made it hard to think about anything, let alone pain or something bad.  “We both want this, though.  And it's not a platitude when I say it will be worth it.  I mean it, Meredith.  It will be worth it.”

She pressed her nose against his chest.  He smelled musky.  Hers.  She clutched him.  Her eyes watered.  The forest blurred as she blinked.  A pair of tears slipped down her face and stained his shirt.  She brushed her cheeks as she sniffed.  First panic, then fury, and now blubbering.  Great.  This was just freaking--

He kissed her.  “You'll do great.  I can't say it won't hurt, but you'll do great.  And I'll be there the whole time.  I promise.”

“I know, but...”  Her breaths hitched.  She squeezed her eyes shut so hard she saw spots.  “I'm still scared,” she said in a small, cracking voice.

The world shifted as he whispered in her ear, soft and shushing like a rush of water.  He pulled her down to the ground with him.  The damp earth soiled the back of her jeans.  She felt wet cold creeping in through the seat of her pants, but he was so warm, she couldn't care.  He shook, and the heat of exertion radiated from his skin.  She curled against him and pressed her ear to his chest.  His pulse raced as he wrapped his arms around her.

She clutched her belly, and she sighed.  Exhaustion swept over her like a crushing wave.  Emotional whiplash apparently caused headaches.  And, now, she really did feel sort of nauseated.  Her fluffernutter lunch churned in her stomach.  Or, maybe that was nerves.  Big, huge nerves about bowling balls and--

She leaned over his elbow, out of the cocoon he provided her, and threw up into the ferns.  Her throat and nose burned, and she couldn't breathe because of the stench.  She scrambled away, out of Derek's arms, away from the horrible smell.  She kept heaving as she retreated past a thick, overturned log covered in a carpet of moss by the side of the trail.  The log was a bit too small to use as a chair.  She stumbled to the next usable tree where the air didn't reek of vomit, and she collapsed next to it as she swallowed back the remnants of bile in her throat.  Her eyes watered.

She watched Derek get up and shuffle toward her.  He moved torpidly.  She'd been so happy not to see shuffling before.  She saw it, now.  His entire demeanor seemed weighted down by an invisible anchor dragging behind him in the wet earth.  He collapsed next to her, breathing hard, sweating.

“Sorry,” she croaked.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, his voice soft as he caught his breath.  “It's okay.”

He pulled her against him, his back to the thick trunk of the towering hemlock tree she'd chosen, and she curled up.  “Shh,” he breathed more than said against her ear.  Her tense muscles loosened at the sound of his soothing voice.  She had no idea how far they'd walked.  She'd lost track of the time, but the sun hung low in the sky.  The water in the far distance glittered.  He rested, shushing her, his eyes half open and glassy.

He was tired.  She was tired.

They made a banged up pair, marred with bad battle scars and damaged psyches.

But she was in his arms, and she found it hard to feel frightened of anything, then.  Which, really?  Ludicrous.  If a hungry pack of bears popped out of the woods to eat them, she doubted he could save her.  If another Gary Clark with a gun found them here, there wouldn't be much of a contest.  If she started miscarrying, again, there wasn't much Derek could do for that, either.  Fate held her steering wheel and made her course changes more than anything else.  But...

He made her safe.

Despite all the reason and twisted logic her tired brain could throw at her.

She felt safe.

She let her eyelids creep shut as he whispered nonsensical things in her ear, meant only to soothe and not to tell her anything coherent.  She swallowed as her burning eyes dried.  Her septum bubbled as she inhaled noisily.

“It'll be okay,” he assured her, a bone deep weariness in his tone.

She sniffed.  “You're going to let me squeeze your hand until it's broken, and call you all sorts of obscene names that I don't really mean?”

He grinned as he kissed her.  His eyes were wet and red, too.  “Absolutely,” he said, soft and low against her ear.  “You have a carte blanche to call me whatever you want the day Baby is born.”

“And break your hand?”

“You can break both, as long as you explain it to my insurance company.”

She wiped her face and gave him a weak smile.  “Will you give birth for me?”

He laughed.  It was a soft, soothing sound.  “I wish it worked that way,” he said.

She pressed her ear against his chest and listened.  They didn't speak.  The silver-haired hiker who'd passed them earlier returned, headed in the opposite direction.  He stopped to ask them if they were all right.  They assured him they were, that they were just resting, which was true.  The hiker moved on, and the forest opened up again with sound and sights and smells.  It was nice just to watch, for a while.  Nice to watch and rest and not think about anything.

She could totally get why Derek liked it here.

She got the getting perspective thing.

“Are you really nervous?” Meredith said eventually.

He swallowed.  “Yes.”

“We'll be okay, right?”

“We will.”

“What if I'm a bad mother?” she said.

Silence stretched.  He looked down at her.  He stroked her back.  “You won't be.”

“How do you know?” she said.  “I'm not working off the best blueprint.”

He shrugged.  “Because I know you.”

“But--”

“Meredith,” he said, his tone admonishing.  He smiled.  The tree towering over them swayed in the balmy breeze.  “Your mother's house is full of people right now.”

“So?”

“You say you're not good at families,” he said, “but I've never met a woman more tenacious about supporting her family than you.”

“Oh,” she said.

He held her tightly, and she liked it.  Liked sitting with him.  Doing nothing.  Letting the world go by.  Passive and at peace.  She watched the distant water sparkle and shift, and she listened to the rustling leaves all around.  She hadn't been able to tell him he was her best friend.  That would have been a lie, semantically speaking.

She's your person.  I'm your arm.  Got it, he'd said with a stoned, goofy laugh.

She smiled as she rested against him, feeling warm and loved.  He got it, at least, even if she didn't know how to say it with words that made any sense.  She kissed his sternum through his soft shirt, but when she peered up at him, she saw turmoil coiling in his gaze.

“What is it?” she said.

He flinched as if torn from deep musing.  “Hmm?”

She gave him a soft jab with her elbow.  “Derek, c'mon, I showed you mine.”

His lip twitched.  “Showed me your what?”

“Incredibly embarrassing, vomit-inducing fear.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Well?” she prodded.  She stroked his arm.

He frowned and shook his head, his gaze distant.   “What if I'm a bad father?”

“You won't be.”

“I am, mentally speaking, scrambled eggs right now,” he said.

“You're not, Derek, you're just...”  She sighed.  “You'll get better.”

“In eight months or less,” he said, not a question.  His tone dripped with disbelief.  “You're sure of that.”

“I'm sure.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “Intuition?”

“No.”

“Intestinal distress?”

She shook her head as she chuckled.  “No.  Absolute fact.”

He kissed her.  His stubble tickled.  “If I can't be a bad father, you can't be a bad mother.  It isn't allowed.  Deal?”

She smiled at him.  “Okay.”

He smiled back, and then with a grunt, he stood.  He held out his hand to help her up.  Their palms touched.  Their fingers interlocked.  His expression remained even as he supported her.  He didn't flinch with discomfort, even when his elbow snapped straight, and she fought gravity in earnest, though she tried not to pull too hard, just in case.  Damp earth kicked under her feet.  She brushed off her dirty jeans once she gained her balance.

The sun hung very low over the horizon.  The bright, sparkly saturation of the light hitting the water had turned darker.  More orange.  The stringy wisps of cirrus clouds that painted the sky had turned a subtle pinkish color.

They turned back in the direction they'd come.  She wished she had a clue how far they'd come, and how far they still had to go to get back.  Derek moved sluggishly, but not laboriously.  He didn't seem to be in pain or suffering.  Just... worn out.  Worn out, but relaxed, happy, and not hurting.  He wasn't  as quick-tempered or as easily startled out here, either.  Overall... better.  So much better, she found herself regretting that they would have to go back to the roommates situation.  To civilization.  He clearly thrived without either, but...

“Derek?”

He looked at her with a hooded expression.  “Hmm?”

“If everything gets messed up, and the baby comes before the house is finished, I can't kick Alex and Lexie out.  I just can't.  I know it'll be crowded, but... they're my family, and I can't do it.  They don't have anywhere else to go.”

“That's okay,” he said.

She frowned.  “But you hate them there.”

“Well, they're not following us when we move, are they?”

“No,” she said.  “I'm going to rent my mother's house to them.  My only goal is to break even on the monthly mortgage payment.  If they move out, I'll sell it, but, until then, it's theirs.”

“So, we have a known time limit.”

She nodded.  “We do.”

“And there will be no more strays after that, right?”

“None,” she said.  “I swear.”  Liar, said a voice.  Her heart sank when she realized what she'd forgotten.  Crap.  “Or...”

“What?”

“I sort of told Cristina she could have a room,” Meredith said.  “At the new house.”

His stony expression was unreadable.  “Oh,” he said.

She swallowed.  “I didn't mention that, did I?”

“You didn't.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.  “I'm really sorry, Derek.”

“Are you sorry that you offered her a room, or are you sorry that you didn't tell me?”

“Both,” Meredith insisted.

He stopped in the middle of the trail and closed his eyes with a sigh.  “Would this be like a guest room?”

“Um.  I guess,” Meredith said.  She looked at the ground.  She kicked a rock.  It skittered into the forest and bounced off a rotting tree trunk.  “A guest room with her name on it.  So, I guess more of a Cristina room.  That she wouldn't always occupy.  Because she does her own thing with Dr. Hunt, and...”

Derek looked at her, eyes still unreadable and flat, which had to mean angry.  Right?  He hated Cristina.  This would be the last straw, and he'd snap.  Meredith knew it.  She--

“What was the context of you offering?” he said, his voice soft.

“I told her that if she and Owen don't work out, and her life implodes, she could live with... us.  In her room.”

He didn't speak.  His eyes narrowed.  A sliver of some emotion Meredith couldn't identify crossed his face.

“I can tell her it won't work anymore,” Meredith said.  “I can--”

He shook his head.  “It's okay,” he said.

“I can tell her that... what?  What's okay?”

He shrugged.  “She's your family,” he said.  He started walking again.  Meredith followed.  “You should spend time with her.  I've...  She's been knocking.  Since I got shot, she's been knocking, and not barging in.  I appreciate it.”

“I didn't tell her anything,” Meredith said.

He frowned.  “I didn't say you had.”

“I wanted her to give you some space.  I just told her to give you space.  I didn't say why.”

He nodded.  “Thank you.  I needed...”

“I know,” Meredith said.  “I know you needed it.  That's why I told her to give it.”

“You shouldn't be sorry that you offered her a room.”

“But--”

“I'm not entirely happy you didn't discuss it with me first, but... she knocks,” he said.  “And she only gets in my face when she thinks I'm killing myself.”

“She thinks if you die, I'd be upset.”

He laughed, but the utterance was a self-deprecating, soft sound.  “That's kind of her.”

Meredith shrugged.  “She's Cristina.”

“She is,” he said.  “And she can have a room.”

“Really?”

“You've done a lot for me,” he said.

Meredith frowned.  “That's not an answer.”

“It is,” he said.  He rubbed her shoulder.  He seemed... almost exasperated.  “Meredith, you've done a lot for me.  I don't like the idea of Cristina having a room at our new house, because I don't really like her, but she's essentially your sister.  If one of my sisters needed a place to stay, I'd want to offer, and I know you'd let me, because you're you.  Cristina's your family, so she's my family, and I'll live with it, if it happens, for you.  Just like I live with the strays.”

“But--”

He kissed her.  “It's a compromise,” he said as he pulled away.  “Remember?  We do those now that we're married.”

Meredith raised her eyebrows.  “Oh, you're an expert on compromise, are you?”

He gave her a charming smile.  “No, but I fake it well sometimes, don't I?”

She snickered.  “You do.  Sometimes.”

His eyes shone, and his voice was deep and apologetic when he continued, “I admit, in the past, I've utterly failed at compromise.”

She shook her head.  “No more baggage crap, remember?” she said.  “Clean slate.  We decided.”

“I remember.”

“All the stuff I've done for you, I'd do it again,” she told him.

They stopped.  His gaze searched her face.  Thousands of thoughts danced on his face, encased in a blue, unblinking stare.  She plucked them from the way his expression shifted.  Read them like a primer book.  He wanted to say thank you.  That he loved her.  That he'd take another bullet without hesitation as long as it was for her.  He settled on the practical.

“And I...”  He kissed her.  “Can live...”  He kissed her again, drank her down like a fine, exotic wine.  “With Cristina.”

Meredith took his hand in hers.  “I guess we have that settled then.”

He squeezed her palm.  “I guess we do,” he said with a delighted grin, and they retreated down the path as the sun set over the mountains to the west.