Lightning Strikes Twice - Part 52A

[ariaadagio]

Title: Lightning Strikes Twice
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Duh. (Mer/Der)
Rating: M
Timeline: Post Time After Time.

Well, y'all get this first, because there's no way I can spend time posting this everywhere tonight.  I hope you enjoy :)  Thank you, beta readers.  You're awesome.

~~~~~

They approached the waiting rental SUV as a twisting, tripping mass of limbs and luggage and dog.  Derek hobbled, off balance, with the leash that tugged against his knuckles in one hand, the handle of the very unwieldy crate they'd bought for transport clutched in the grip of the other hand.  The two-year-old yellow Labrador they'd adopted almost two months before trailed behind Derek.  The dog's tail whipped back and forth with a regular, energetic swish, swish, swishing rhythm - or thump, thump, thumping, depending on the vicinity of walls or other solid objects -- as he panted, round, chocolate-colored eyes wide, expression cheerful.  Meredith trundled their shared suitcase behind her as its wheels squealed in protest.  Her shoulders ached as their two carryon bags dragged down on her shoulders.

Quin let loose an excited yip at the strange new friend towering before him, lowering his dark nose to sniff at its black tires.  And then he licked them to express his approval.

"Quin, stop it," Derek said, his tone strained and not entirely happy.  He looked...  Frazzled.  His newly replenished curls flew loose and unkempt in a torrent about his head, and his pallor hovered in the grip of an alabaster color that didn't quite suit him.  His rumpled, wrinkled shirt poked out from underneath his dark sweater at the waistline and sleeves, completing the ensemble of I-don't-travel-well.  Derek's fingers wrapped more tightly around the leash, and he pulled back, adding, "Tires are not food."  He quirked a weak smile at the dog.  "If I were you, I'd rethink the whole rubber fetish.  The girl dogs will think you're a little weird."

Quin did not agree, but quickly lost interest as he explored wherever his nose took him.  Derek gave him a little leeway.  The dog yapped again, looking back with a perplexed expression when Derek wouldn't let him loose any further.

It figured.  The dog was freaking ecstatic about the adventure.  Derek was not.  Meredith just felt tired, though a little excited.  Family.  Family thing.  She was going to get a chance to do it right this time.

She wandered to the driver's side of the large white Expedition and grabbed the keys out of the ignition to pop the trunk.  Derek lugged the big carrier into the trunk and came around to relieve her of their luggage.  She smiled as his fingertips brushed her shoulder and curled around the nylon strap that kept her duffel bag airborne.  His lips twitched, and the ghosted, nervous look on his face fleeted, replaced by a hint of pleasure.

The trip hadn't been nearly as bad as it could have been.  This had been the first time they'd flown since the return trip to Seattle.  Meredith had gone onto the plane clutching Derek's waist, white-knuckled and ready for the ride to be a veritable Hell.  He'd refused to take anything beforehand for his nerves.  Dilantin was enough to trip his brain on, he'd said.  He didn't need more stuff circulating.

He hadn't needed it.  His reaction to the flight had been a bit more severe than her first plane trip with him had been, but he'd been fine.  Shaky and tense, but talking.  Joking.  Smiling, if a bit quivery.  Derek-y.

She'd relaxed against his shoulder, and they'd flipped through a magazine together for a while before she'd nodded off to the rise and fall of his chest while his warm palm stroked her shoulder.  She hadn't woken up again until the plane had thunked down onto the runway in what she had decided was the worst landing she'd ever experienced.  One wheel had skipped onto the pavement and off again.  The whole plane had bounced, leveled out again, and smacked down like a pile of bricks on wheels.  Inertia combined with the hard press of the plane's brakes had sent her tilting forward in her chair, and when she'd finally taken a breath and looked around, she'd noticed Derek hadn't quite dealt with that so well.

But at least it had been over.  He hadn't had to endure a five-hour trip in the gripping agony of too much tension, and as soon as he'd gotten off the plane ten minutes later, he'd been...  Mostly okay again, if a bit shaken.

Really, after brain surgery, after all the crap that had happened, she'd been ecstatic he'd dealt with everything so well.  They hadn't really figured out yet if he was having anxiety problems.  Though he did when he needed to, he didn't like to talk about it very much, and it was hard to reconcile his understandable frustration over adjusting to the laggard pace of his healing with what could have been genuine nervous problems.  The plane seemed to have proven he was indeed fine, though, for the most part.

"I'll drive," Derek said.  He came around to the door and leaned against the weather stripping, his feet crossed at his ankles, cocky, self-assured, like he knew he'd win the argument before it even got past go.  He smiled at her, eyes sparkling, and she sighed, caught in his adoring gaze.  Melting.  She was.  Melt...  Bad.  Bad, Meredith.  But...  His color had returned, and he looked...  Perfect.  He looked perfect.  And he was right.  He would win this time.  Not that she cared.  Much.  It wasn't even arguing.  It was more of a collective... thing.  A collection of...

Quin yipped as his gaze darted between the two of them.  She reached down absently to rub his ears.  His soft, velvet fur ruffled under her fingertips, but her attention refused to peel away from Derek, whose black sweater suddenly looked delectable to stroke.  Or remove.  Or both.

"You'll drive?" she countered, trying to contain the smile she felt tearing at her lips, because he was looking at her like he always did, and he really did seem fine, which was a relief all by itself, minus the looking.  The looking that said he loved her in a soul-consuming way, it was wonderful, life was good, and she was the embodiment of his future.  She was Meredith.  She was Derek's Meredith, and whenever he looked at her like that, the world tended to drop away.  She could never get over how flawless she felt whenever he drank her in that way.  It was addictive, and even though he would win the collective non-argument of the day, she was definitely Queen of England in that moment.  "You always drive," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.  "What if I want to drive?"

"I got my license back, you know," he said.  "It's conducive to me driving."  His eyes mischievously flicked to the keys as she jingled them in what she hoped was her best, seductive, stripper-like motion that didn't actually involve stripping.  Purr.  She wouldn't win.  But she could try.

"I know.  A month ago," she said.  "You got your license back a month ago, Derek."

He shifted.  "You try having me as your chauffeur for over three months.  I promise, you'd really want to drive again."

She raised an eyebrow, leaning forward into the space where his scent lingered, spicy and male and...  Hers.  Closer.  "Are you implying that I'm a crappy chauffeur?" she said in a low, sultry voice.

"Oh, no," he replied, his voice equally deep and dangerous.  "You're an excellent chauffeur.  I love it when you drive."

"Except you won't let me anymore unless it's a shopping cart," she managed as the heat began to crawl across her skin.  The sweater.  The sweater looked...  "Or sex."  She nipped at him, and he loosed a tiny, breathy, aroused chuckle that made her melt even more.

Their noses touched, and she breathed him in.  Her arms wouldn't hold still anymore.  She placed the flat of her palms against the plane of his stomach and ran them up over his shoulders in a quiet pet that made the space between them rustle.  He breathed.  His arms slipped under her shoulders, and she felt Quin nudging at her shins, but she couldn't bring herself to care.  The dog's claws tapped on the pavement as he maneuvered back and forth, his tail thwapping at their legs while he tried to get their attention.  He whined, but to no avail.

Derek won over Quin.  Hands down.  Well, usually.  Except when Derek was being dumb.  But the apologies made those times worth it.  The keys loosened in her palm as Derek bent in to inhale her, pushing her throat back as he ran his lips against her skin.  He felt good.  He felt very good, and he seemed... very fine.  Very...  Very...  Um.  She felt the leash dig into her back as Quin yipped and tore a circle around them, and it brought her back from the brink of total dissolution.

She paused to realize they were in a parking lot.  Their dog was staring at them in horror, his head cocked to the side, tongue fluttering as he panted.  He wanted attention.  What was this PDA nonsense?  Disgusting.  That's what.  Except it totally wasn't disgusting.  It felt rather nice, especially after five hours on a stupid, cramped plane full of stupid, talking people.

Derek's expression pulled back into a nonplussed smirk.  "I'm still in the escape from Driving Miss Daisy phase of my recuperation," he said, and she couldn't help but snort as she regained traction with reality.  He frowned, backing up to peer at her.  "What?" he said.

"Nothing," she replied with a laugh.  "I'm just trying to picture you in the backseat with a cute little hat and a scowl."

Though the twinkle in his eyes didn't wane, his frown shifted into a scowl just like the one she'd imagined, and she couldn't help but let loose a hearty laugh.  The scowl deepened.  "Give me the keys," he said, leaning forward against her body, reaching.  His free hand snaked down the length of her arm, fighting for possession of her palm.

She sighed as his fingers brushed hers, only to step back at the last moment.  "How long does this whole cars-are-great thing generally last?" she said.  She jingled the keys.  He peered at them.  His tongue appeared between his lips, briefly.  It was an expression of determination and frustration and... other things.

"I don't know," he said, stepping into her space again.  His lips found her earlobe.  "I'll let you know."

"You'll let me know when I can drive?" she countered, tilting her head to the side to give him more of her body.  His fingers snaked through her hair.  His warm palm slid against her cheek as he brought his grip forward to cup her chin.

"Yes, exactly," he murmured, his eyes hooded with distraction as his irises ticked back and forth, laving each crease of her skin with attention.

"How very male chauvinist of you or whatever," she said.

His whole body shivered, and she felt a perverse sense of glee when he took a step back and took several short breaths.  She'd rattled him.  He was...  Maybe he wouldn't win.  "Meredith..." he said, though it was more a sigh than a word.

"Derek..." she replied.

His voice found its purchase again as he blinked.  "Keys."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!" he said, and the dance of flirtation collapsed into desperate fruition when he crushed against her and swept the world away from her senses.  His lips flattened against hers, his tongue parted her before she had a chance to say a word, and they melded.  For a moment.  In the parking lot.  With the dog staring.  People everywhere dodging heaped, melting snow piles.  She just didn't care.  It didn't even feel cold, and she didn't care that their coats were still in their suitcase.  Their suitcase.  Theirs.  She...  He tasted good.  He smelled good.  He was fine.

And he won.

The keys jingled as he took them from her nerveless grasp and pulled back.  His face had flushed to a healthy pink, and his pupils had shifted from starkly clear to glassy.

"You cheating bastard!" she snarled.

He blinked, a perplexed look on his face.  "Kissing is cheating?"

"It's totally cheating.  It ranks with tickling.  Lips off is the rule," she said.

"Tickling," he replied with a grin as he pulled open the back door of the Expedition, a smirk slowly replacing his befuddled, lingering arousal.  She'd almost won, damn it.  She'd almost...   He slapped the seat.  Quin hopped inside the car, yipped his approval, and pressed his nose against the glass as Derek closed the door.  Derek turned to her, his lower lip pressed underneath his incisors in an expression of haughty, sexy, hungry consideration.  He peered her up and down.  "Hmm."

"Don't you start," she said.

"I guess I like cheating after all," he said.  "More cheating, I say."

"And I say you suck," she replied.  "I can't believe you stole the keys with a kiss."

"Yes, you can," he replied with a smirk as he settled himself behind the steering wheel.  "Get in."  As she walked around the car, glowering, she heard his voice, distant, continuing in her absence.  He'd left the door open so she could hear.  "And since when have there been rules?  There weren't rules before.  You won with a kiss last week.  I think you're changing things up on me to keep me confused."

"I hate you," she said as she collapsed tiredly into the passenger side seat and yanked the door shut.  She started fumbling with her seatbelt, only to stop and add in a considering tone, "And your stupid hair.  I think you should get a handicap for that.  Your hair.  Being stupid, I mean."

His lip twitched as he turned the key in the ignition.  Quin stuck his head between the seats to peer out the front window as the engine started with a rumble.  Derek reached back and scratched the dog's head.  "You love me and my stupid hair," Derek said.

She sighed, turning to him.  "Well..." she began.

He looked sharply at her.

"Okay, okay," Meredith replied with a laugh.  "I do," she agreed with a relaxed smile.  "I really, really do.  Usually."

He regarded her for a moment.  His eyelashes lowered as his skin ticked, and the deep blue of his irises seemed fathomless in the grip of that moment.  Lighter flecks of gray and cerulean snaked against the deeper tones, and she lost herself in them.  She loved the way they turned almost black sometimes when it was dark.

"Usually being pretty much always," she added.

"Pretty much?"

"That's a majority, you know.  I'd be happy if I were you."

He sighed, histrionics dragging his shoulders into a pronounced slouch.  "I suppose the honeymoon is over."

She snorted.  "The honeymoon hasn't even remotely started.  We haven't even picked-"

"I love you, too," he replied, interrupting her.  "And I happen to think your hair is stupid all the time, too, you know.  Or maybe just brilliant."

"Brilliant smart," she began, "Brilliant radiant, or brill-"

He kissed her then.  Not to distract or to win or to do anything other than say what he felt with something a little more substantial.  She could tell from the reverential way he touched her, as if she were strong but fragile, iron wrapped in rose petals.  As if he were grateful.  And desirous.  And worshiping.  Not once did the touch show self-awareness.  Only she was in the car.  Only she was important.

"I really, really do," he added, whispering against her ear.  His lips brushed her skin.  He lingered against her, quiet and breathing, as if he could replenish himself simply by being close to her.

Quin nudged them with his cold nose, and they laughed as the moment dispersed like mist.  She reached to ruffle the fur on his back.  His tongue came out, and he licked her cheek, leaving wet warmth behind.  She coughed with broken laughter as she wiped the spit from her face with the back of her palm.

"We really need to train him to share," Derek murmured as he pulled away.

"Yeah, we do," Meredith said with a snort.  Derek put his arm over the back of the seat, pressed his foot down on the accelerator, and the vehicle began to crawl backward into the exit lane.  "By the way," she said as he lifted his hands and let the steering wheel correct itself in a quick but controlled spin.  "I'm driving to the airport on the way back."

His fingers flexed around the leather grip on the wheel.  He quirked a grin.  "Maybe."

"Yes!" she said.

"We'll see," he countered.

She puffed a breath out between her teeth.  "Whatever," she said as she folded her arms over her chest and settled against the window to watch the rows of cars go by.  Foggy breath snaked along the glass pane as she breathed.

"You okay?" he asked.

"About?" she said.

"Well... Christmas.  And traveling with the dog.  And seeing everyone again.  I know it's a lot."

She let her lips quiver into a sort of grin thing that she hoped would be sufficient.  "I'm more than okay, Derek.  Honest.  We couldn't have left him at a kennel.  Not after just two months.  And your family.  Our...  We...  Our family.  I want to see them again.  I want to...  I didn't do it right last time.  I didn't...  There's stuff that I need to ask and do and be.  And you're...  It's...  You deserve to have some time with them when you're not ill or traumatized or whatever.  Er...  I mean."

"It's okay.  I know what you mean," he stated simply.  "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," she said, meeting his eyes as he fumbled to retrieve his license from his pocket.  His eyes lingered on the glossy picture for a long moment.  His thumb rubbed the laminate as though it were a precious metal, like gold or silver or the platinum that always hugged her ring finger.  His lips twitched, and the skin around his eyes crinkled.  Happy.  He was happy.  And fine.

"You're okay," she said, reaching across to add her own support to his moment.

"Yes," he replied, his voice deep and sure and...  Derek.  "Yes, I am."  And then he rolled down the window to pass all the documentation to the lady at the parking lot gate.  The exchange was quick.  The lady compared the registration sheet with Derek's license, asked him gruffly if he needed directions, handed everything back to him, and sent them on their way.

The Expedition tilted back and forth, flinging them around as Derek navigated the vehicle over the anti-theft strip of spikes clawing up out of the ground under the shadow of the gate arm.  Then they were free, and the trip began much like it had before, though Derek didn't offer any sort of sexy tour narration.

She'd seen it before.  The bridge.  The way the road slowly left the towering sprawl of New York City behind.

Leafless and dead for the winter, trees sprouted up behind the brief sprawl of muddy grass that ran along the road.  Black, slushy remnants of the early winter storm that had abated two days before sat piled up against the shoulders of the road.  The pavement hissed as the vehicle tore over it, the snow's wet, melting runoff creating a damp, slick surface.  Derek stayed in the right lane, actually under the speed limit for once, despite his usual penchant for pushing the speed limits well into reckless territory, territory that, were he to be pulled over, would not get ignored no matter how much he smiled and looked sexy.  Speeding.  A remnant of the daring his motorcycle crash had ripped away from him, perhaps, strangely absent this trip, though she'd seen plenty of evidence his pedal pushing tendency had remained since he'd received the renewal for his license after his surgery.  Concerned, she watched the way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way his jaw shifted, and the way his eyes gathered in the sights.

His irises and pupils twinkled with a subtle glee that had appeared the first time he'd gotten behind the wheel again and, for each subsequent trip in the car, had never abated.  He wasn't nervous.  This wasn't a war for him.  He was just being safe.

That was fine.

I remember, he'd said as they'd settled into bed.  She'd known what he'd meant before he'd explained.  I remembered at work today.  You were there.  But I was so nauseated I couldn't think straight.  I tried.  I tried so hard, Mere, and I couldn't get anything to work.  Everything was spinning. I was frightened. Then the words stopped making sense, my skull was pounding, and it seemed easier to just...  Give up.

She'd rested against the length of him, rubbing her palms against the ripples of his ribs.  She'd wanted to think he was imagining things, making things up to fill a void that wouldn't ever fill again.  Minor but permanent anterograde and retrograde amnesia after a severe head trauma was very common.  Both of them had thought that his memories ending with the seatbelt click in the car and resuming in the hospital room where he'd stayed overnight had been the ultimate end to his recovering recollection.  She'd been glad.  Glad that he couldn't remember the rest of it.  He hadn't said anything about it, but she had a feeling he'd been glad as well.

I know the feeling, she'd replied.

Thanks for being there.

You were there for me, too, she'd said.  And that had been the end of it.  He'd never spoken about it again, but she'd wondered.  She'd always wondered if it was because he was genuinely okay now, or because he didn't want to deal with it.  But she hadn't pressed it.

"Meredith, I love that you love me and all, and I know I'm ridiculously hot," Derek said, his tone playful, "But I think you've counted every stray piece of stubble I've got at least four times, now."

She blinked, broken from her musing.  She flicked her gaze to the left and found Quin staring at her between the gap in the seats with an apologetic look of agreement.  She'd been caught.  Red handed.  Guilty as charged and all that.  "You're always on his side," she said to Quin as she petted him.  "It's really not fair."  She turned to Derek, who glanced at them every few seconds out of the corner of his eyes.

He smiled.  "It's a guy solidarity thing," he explained.  "But really, Meredith.  I'm fine.  I'm driving again.  It's Christmas.  We're going to see everyone.  We have a dog.  And you're here."  He sighed.  "There's really nothing that could make this more perfect for me."  Silence fell into the space between them.  The heater filled the air with a soft rush of air, and the road whooshed underneath them.  "Plus," he added, "This SUV is huge.  I doubt a deer would win in sudden death match."

Her mouth fell open.  "I can't believe you just said that."

"Bambi gets it this time," Derek replied.  "Not me."

"You're an ass," Meredith replied with a chuckle.  "Deer hater."

"Hypocrite," he said.

"Not true.  I've never tried venison.  I don't know if I hate it."

"You're talking about serving it on a plate, and I'm the hater?"

"Yep," she replied.

"Okay, just so we're clear."

She smiled as Derek fumbled for the radio in the silence that followed.  He navigated to a station with little hesitation, and his fingers adjusted the volume so that the sound was the barest hum in the background.  Christmas carols.  Some rock station playing Christmas carols.  Christmas.  She shifted her feet, ready to settle in for the trip, relaxing, wondering how exactly she was going to do this.  The thing.  The family thing.  This was Christmas.

Christmas.  With Derek's family.  Their family.  Christmas.  With presents.  And Christmas carols.  And trees.  And lights.  And cookies.  And people.  Everywhere.  Children.  Santa.  Candy canes.  Wrapping paper.  Mistletoe.

She'd never done the Christmas thing.  Ever.  Her mother had always worked on Christmas.  Meredith would receive one or two small presents that night at dinner, maybe, but the mornings had always been eerily quiet, and her mother had never put up any tree.  Or decorations of any kind.  Don't be silly, Meredith.  Pointless things like decorations are just a time vacuum for the commercially brainwashed.

The week before, Meredith had been rather horrified when Derek had arrived home from his shopping trip on their day off just long enough for dinner.  He'd gotten up after cleaning off his plate and cheerfully informed her that he was going to head to FedEx to ship all the presents to Connecticut ahead of time.  All the presents.  All.  Presents.  As in many.  Many.  Lots.  She'd thought he'd come home empty-handed when he hadn't brought anything into the trailer with him.

FedEx, she'd snapped.  You bought enough that you need to FedEx it?  I thought...  FedEx?  Really?

Well, sure, he'd replied, as if it were criminal to purchase less than enough to fill up a small dump truck.  Did you have stuff you want me to ship for you?  I put your name on all the things I got for the kids and my sisters.  You seemed...  Well...  When I mentioned shopping...

She'd dismissed the offer that morning because she'd been tired after a week straight of double shifts and being on-call, and she hadn't realized that Christmas shopping, for Derek, apparently incorporated every freaking mall in Seattle as part of a huge, sappy mecca, a winding road to peace, love, and hyped commercialism or whatever.

She thought of the small envelope tucked away in her carryon bag.  She'd...  That was it.  She hadn't bought presents for anyone else.  And ever since that moment, that moment where he'd walked out, keys jingling as he whistled happily.  To FedEx.  With a fuckload of presents.  She'd wondered if she'd done it wrong already.  Well, not really wondered.  Known.  Wondering if she'd done it wrong had changed to knowing she'd done it wrong when Derek had come home with sheets of tracking numbers.  Sheets.  Freaking sheets.  Not just one or two numbers.

That way, if one gets lost, it won't be a huge thing, he'd explained as if it were some kind of rocket science.

She twisted her fingers against her purse straps.  This was not a good line of thought.  This was bad.  This was a bad, bad, bad line of thought.  She was okay.  She was going to do the freaking Christmas thing, and just because her entire concept of the holiday fit inside a small envelope in her carryon bag did not make her a Scrooge who sucked at Christmas.  It didn't.  Derek would...  Maybe he would like it.  The present.  Maybe.

Bad thoughts.  Bad...  She wondered what he'd gotten for her.  They hadn't really set up any rules about how much to spend or exchanged any sort of lists or anything, and he had a lot more money to toss around than she did.  It felt weird to buy him gifts with money out of his own checking account, which he'd stuck her name on in November.  They'd gone to the bank.  It'd been a thing.  A big...  They had joint checks.  Derek Shepherd and Meredith Grey.  It was neat.  But...  She'd stuck to her own reserves for Christmas shopping.  And it'd...  Well, she just didn't have that much.  And he had a lot.  And...  Stop.  Stop it.  Stop, stop, stop.

She reached into her purse with twitchy fingers.  Distractions were good.  She needed a distraction.  Badly.  It was Christmas Eve, she was doing the Christmas thing surrounded by dozens of people who had all done the rocket science Christmas thing their whole lives, her present fit in an envelope, and Derek had FedEx-ed all his crap beforehand.  Definitely, this called for a distraction.

She pulled the thin white envelope containing a silver-colored writable CD out of her purse.  Izzie's writing in small black marker proclaimed the disc, "Love songs.  Pick one, for god's sake.  For me.  Please?"

"What are you doing?" Derek asked as she switched off the radio.  Carol of the Bells ceased with a hiss of static, and she stuffed the disc into the thin slot on the front panel.  Her hands were shaking.  She withdrew as soon as the CD began to disappear, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Possibly torturing you," she replied as she pulled the little index card with the track list out of the CD envelope.

Derek pressed the stop button on the radio before the first few chords of piano notes finished.  "Torturing?"

"We don't have a song yet, and you've made me sit shotgun, so, I'm going to use the time to the best of my ability, which may involve torturing you.  It's that whole pretend-to-like-your-taste-in-music thing rearing its ugly, disharmonious head.  You get to pretend, now.  Maybe."

"A song?" he said, his tone upturned at the end in question.  It was a cautious sort of expression.  One that said he didn't get it, but he didn't want to ruin anything.

She stared at Izzie's track list as though it were a critical note.  A critical piece of documentation that would allow someone to live or die.  Patient allergies.  Drug dosages.  If she stared at the card, she didn't have to see how stupid Derek thought this idea was.  Stupid and random.  And sappy.  Derek didn't dance, and she didn't know what music he liked, and he was going to think this was a horrible idea.  How could she possibly not know what music he liked already?  She should know these things.  Except all she knew about was The Clash.  And punk rock.  And his stupid need to have the radio on just for noise.  Like silence in the car was a sin.  Silence was a perfectly acceptable form of noise, as far as she was concerned.  But...

Crap.  What if he expected Christmas carols or something, and was privately seething that she was ruining it?  Was this not an appropriate conversation for Christmas?  Maybe she should have waited, or...  Crap, the little voice in her head added again.  But she was...  Derek kept glancing at her expectantly for an answer.  Even Quin was staring.  Why?  Why did the stupid dog have to take Derek's side every time?

It wasn't.  Freaking.  Fair.

Scrooge! the little voice screamed.  Grinch.

"A piece of music that defines our coupledom," she explained, trying to collect the random twists of words in her head into something coherent for him.  "According to Izzie, we have to have one.  So we can play it at the reception for our first dance.  I hadn't really thought about the first dance thing, you know.  You'll have to dance in public.  And I'm...  It's a dance.  Where everyone will be watching.  It could be bad if we pick the wrong defining song thing.  Like, what if we're one of those couples that plays Every Breath You Take?  It's a freaking stalker song.  Not a wedding song.  Do people listen to the lyrics?  No.  And then everyone in the audience has to sit there cringing while the bride and groom smile and gush at each other over a song that just sucks.  But, I guess they're better off than us, because at least they have a song, even if it's a stalker song.  We have no song.  And we're getting married in five months.  Is there anything you like that's not punk rock?  I haven't looked through your iPod.  I should have, but I didn't.  I'm sorry.  Punk rock would probably be bad for a wedding."  Meredith ventured a brief look in his direction.  The skin around his eyes had crinkled up with mirth, and his lip curled in what could have been a smile if he weren't trying so hard to bludgeon it to death with a straight face.  She heaved a woeful sigh.  "Crap, you do think this is really stupid, don't you?"

"What?" he managed, and the hint of a smile dissolved into seriousness.  "No, I just..."  Then the smile came back, as though he couldn't help himself.  "You're adorable when you ramble."

"Wonderful.  I'm glad I amuse you," she snapped.  He didn't even have the good sense to look scolded.  He just kept that stupid, smirky, haughty smile on his stupid face, capped off by his stupid hair, and it was all just...  stupidly unfair.  And mean.  Not fair and mean and just...  "But that's not the point," she continued.  "The point is we need a song.  A freaking song.  Work with me, here.  We need one.  And we don't ever dance, so I don't know how we're going to come up with anything special.  The only time was at your reunion, and we're not using In The Air Tonight.  That's about drowning and retribution and stuff, and that would be... bad.  Right?  Or is it one of those surreal poet-y things that I missed the meaning of because I suck at abstracting?"

And Christmas.  She sucked at both, really.  Perhaps she should turn the stupid carols back on.  The road swished underneath them, and everything looked gray outside.  The sun hung low on the horizon, a fiery half circle just visible over the line of dead trees, and she came to the private conclusion that she was a Christmas killjoy.  A freaking Grinch-y Christmas-killing Scrooge-lady, who bought presents that sucked and worried about-

Stop.  Stop, it.  She was freaking out wasn't she?  Yes.  She really was.  Stop it.

Silence stretched, and she noticed that Derek had actually ceased his expression of private glee and appeared to be making an effort.  To humor her, or something.  Or maybe...  "Um, no," he agreed.  "In The Air Tonight is sort of...  Not good.  Are you...  Are you all right, Meredith?  You seem like you're...  A little upset."

Meredith sighed, replenishing the breath with a long and cleansing inhalation.  "I'm not upset," she said.  "It's Christmas.  It's a happy thing.  Izzie gave us this assignment.  I'm sure we can pick something that doesn't suck.  Right?"  She hit the play button again, and the brief hint of piano chords she'd heard before Derek had stopped the CD repeated.  Then guitars joined in.  And then...  "Hey," she said as the singer began.  "This has a pretty start."

"Meredith..."

She glanced at the index card.  "God Bless The Broken Road," she read.  "Rascal Flatts.  According to, um, Izzie's squiggley writing."

"It's country," Derek said, his voice flat.

"Well, yeah," she acknowledged.  There was a bit of that obvious Southern twang in the vocals.  "It is a little...  But the lyrics..."

"No," Derek said.  "It's country, Meredith."

"You don't like country?"

His fingers squeaked as he gripped the steering wheel.  His jaw-line tensed and bulged as he clenched his teeth, and she noticed he looked like he was cringing over a set of nails streaking down some chalkboard in a nightmare classroom.  "No," he said.  "Definitely not."