Lightning Strikes Twice - Part 53A

[ariaadagio]

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

~~~~~

Derek had left her.

Meredith tapped her nails against the side of the cup.  A twist of steam curled from the lip of the ceramic mug, wafting the bitter scent of cocoa toward her nose.  Her nostrils fluttered as she inhaled the warmth without thinking, and all the while, her fingers never stopped.  Tap, tap, tap.  Tap, tap, tap.  Quin's playful barking rumbled through the house amidst a torrent of human laughter.  The dog was a ginormous hit with the kids, and he apparently liked to ham it up for a big audience.  The taps of her fingernails intermingled with the clacking of his claws on Ellen's poor hardwood floors.

Meredith glanced across the coffee table at Ellen, who sat on the couch, looking as though nothing unusual were happening.  Her fingers twisted to make repetitive stitch after stitch as she worked with a needle at the red fabric in her hands.  The project sprawled against Ellen's lap and worn work apron.  She had her legs crossed at the ankles, and with her weathered, pale skin alight with the blaze of the fireplace and the Christmas tree, she formed a collective, mothering image that, for Meredith, made it impossible to descend entirely into panic.  Which was good.  Not panicking.  A warm smile tempered Ellen's look of concentration.  Her eyes twinkled, and she seemed to be enjoying the mayhem hammering at her eardrums.  Barking.  Talking.  Laughing.  Kids.  Feet.  Noise.  Everywhere.

Meredith sighed, wishing she could understand the sentiment.  The living room looked like Izzie had run a rampage through it.  A nine-foot Christmas tree towered in the corner of the room.  Thick clots of lights and reflective, multicolored ornaments made the thing practically nuclear.  It had a corona.  Christmas trees were not supposed to have coronas.  Were they?  The corner of the room where the tree stood was slightly hot, and the only other light turned on in the room was the lamp that cast its glow on Ellen's work.

Stockings covered every inch of the mantle over the fireplace and ran down the sides.  Everyone had one.  The ones belonging to the original Shepherd family and Mark looked older than the ones that had been put up for the newer members.  The fabric of the older stockings was a dark, deep red, and showed fraying signs of wear and tear.  Meredith had smiled despite her upset when she'd paused her exploration of the room on Derek's stocking, her fingers brushing the smooth, soft, old material.  At the toe, she'd found a small pop in the seam, and she'd wondered how often his own fingers had passed over the same spot, the same thready entrails.

A manger sat on the mantle between a pair of glowing candles.  Holly strings framed the edge of the mantle, hiding the mounts for the stockings.  She still couldn't get over that.  Holly strings.  She thought that was only from the song.  Deck the Halls or whatever.  But people, apparently, actually used holly to decorate.

And the presents...  The presents not from 'Santa' had already been put out.  There were tons.  Freaking.  Tons.  Big boxes.  Little boxes.  Big bows.  Bags.  Tissue paper.  Ribbons.  Stickers.  Wrapping paper covered with elves and wreathes and Santas and reindeer and candy canes and presents.  Wrapping paper covered with presents.  That was a bit...  Recursive.  And weird.

"It helps to drink it, dear," Ellen said, her low, warm, earthy voice a soothing balm against the sensory overload in the room.  The sensory overload Derek had left her with.  Just left her.

Meredith's gaze ticked nervously down to her cup of hot chocolate.  "I...  Yeah."  She took a sip, except she was nervous, and the sip became a gigantic swallow, and a gigantic swallow was a bit more than her taste buds were equipped to deal with.  "Ow," she commented as she held her mouth open and breathed.  "Ish hot!"  She waved her hands like she was trying to flick water off of her skin.  Not that it helped with the heat.  But it felt like it should, damn it.

Ellen grinned.  "Well, it's not a rum shot, dear," she said, though there was no bite of insult in the words.  Just observation.  "You sip."

Meredith licked her lips.  "I'm sorry.  It's just that..."  She was doing it wrong.  Already.  She stared at the piles of gifts.  The kids had huge piles.  The adults got smaller stacks.  But, still.  Stacks.  Derek had a stack, which she had contributed precisely zero presents to thus far.  She had a stack, mostly from Derek, which was terrifying.  Nothing from him looked like it would fit in an envelope.  Not even close.  Which was bad.  It was awful.  Derek had bought a store for her.  Or...  Bad.  Stop.

She bit her lip, thinking about the little business envelope she'd bought.  Little hollies laced the border, and she'd thought it was pretty.  She'd licked it closed, and now... Now it was sitting in her carryon.  Getting wrinkled.  Because she didn't want to bring it out and put it on Derek's stack of boxes.  Huge boxes that shouted her inadequacy for all the Shepherds to see.  Huge boxes all wrapped in much prettier paper than her holly-strung envelope.  She didn't want to put her little envelope on Derek's stack when he'd set out a pile for her.  A pile.  A freaking.  Pile.

The back of her throat stung.  Derek had left her, she'd gotten him a crappy present, she didn't know what the hell she was supposed to be doing, and everyone was having fun and enjoying themselves, which made her feel like a little Christmas wart or something.  Even Quin, who she'd thought would be traumatized by the whole process of airline travel, was behaving like he'd sucked down a bit too much nog.  How could people be this happy?  It was...

Derek had left her.  That was the problem.  She'd hopped in the shower to warm up, and he hadn't joined her, which, while she hadn't really expected it, she'd sure hoped he would.  He liked to do it at home a lot.  But he hadn't.  And then when she'd gone into the bedroom to change, he'd been gone, and she hadn't seen him since.

He'd left her.

"I like to sit out here by myself and listen, sometimes," Ellen offered.  As if it would help.  "It's less overwhelming that way."

"Sure," Meredith agreed, trying to keep her voice steady.

Overwhelming.  She was past overwhelmed.  She was a vast mountain of earthquake-y goodness.  Epicenters had nothing on her.  She was in a pit of family noise.  Laugh, laugh, laugh.  Talk, talk, talk.  Step, step, step.  Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark.  Quin kept adding his exclamation points to the fray, and suddenly, she found the noise grating.

The cacophony made her want to shriek.  Yes.  Yes, I'm a freaking scrooge-y humbug who doesn't have a clue how to do this.  I'm hiding in the living room with the nuclear light show instead of standing out there adding to the laugh, laugh, laugh, talk, talk, talk, step, step, step.  And I suck.  I just.  Suck.

Meredith sipped at her cocoa.  Carefully.  She tried to hold the cup steady despite her shaky hands.  The smooth, warm chocolate flowed down her throat and settled in her stomach.  The room seemed to heat up with just that small infusion.  She took another sip and crossed her legs.

She had to calm down.  She should just... go find the crowd.  And stand there.  And talk.  Or something.  Except sitting away from the crowd while Ellen sewed... whatever... seemed so much less daunting.

"Mere," Derek said, his voice low and worshipping as he came into the room.  "When did you get out of the shower?"

He sat down next to her, and she felt her muscles loosening as the cushions sank with his weight, tilting her into his body.  He wrapped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her against him, and she felt her grip slackening.  She sighed and leaned into his chest, inhaling the soft cinnamon scent wafting from his damp, cold clothes.  He hadn't even changed yet.  What?  What had he been doing that he didn't even have time to change?

"About twenty minutes ago," she said, guestimating.  Her freak-outs tended to make time seem slower by powers of ten.  Or possibly twenty.

His left arm came up.  The glass pane of his wristwatch glittered in the radioactive bath of Christmas lighting.  7:45, she read from the analog face.  "Oh, wow," he said.  His fingers clutched her shoulder before slipping behind her to rub her back.  "Sorry.  I was talking with Kathy and Sarah about something important."

He quirked an apologetic grin at her, and she melted, forgetting all her discomfort.  She felt herself relaxing against him, damp clothes be damned.  Pulling her knees up with a sigh, she brushed her nose against his jaw line.

"I'm fine," she said.  Really, it was stupid for her to get upset about twenty minutes of abandonment.  It wasn't like he'd left her with strangers.  Or left at all, really.  He'd just been in another room.  Talking with his family.  He deserved to talk to his family.  He freaking loved his family.  She was...

She was a rotten person.  She was an awful, no good, Christmas wart.  She was... warty.  And clingy.  She, Meredith Grey, had become a clingy, Christmas-fearing freak.  How did that work?  Dark-and-twisty Meredith would have flipped Santa the bird.

"There," Ellen said.  "All done."  She pulled the needle away from her project and stared at it.  A satisfied smile crinkled around her eyes, and she looked just like Derek did when he was pleased.  Her face... just like Derek's.  In that moment.  Meredith blinked, running a hand against his damp sweater.

"What are you making, Mom?" Derek said.

Ellen held it up for them to see, and Meredith felt like her world was stopping.  Just.  Stopping.  "I get a stocking?" she blurted as she stared at the bright red corduroy clutched in Ellen's hands.  Looping, embroidered cursive declared Meredith's name against the white lining at the top.  She stared, and then she felt dumb, and a blush snarled across her skin.  "I mean...  I mean...  I do?"

"Every Shepherd gets a stocking," Ellen said, as if it were writ, as if it were...

Every Shepherd.  Meredith felt her muscles stiffen, and she couldn't breathe.  For a minute, she couldn't do more than stare.  Every Shepherd.

"If the family keeps burgeoning like this, we'll need a backup fireplace," Derek joked.  And then he turned to her.  She felt him breathing next to her ear.  "Oh, Meredith.  Are you okay?"

"No.  Yes.  I mean.  I don't know," she babbled.  "Maybe?"

Derek chuckled.  "That was fairly vague, given how many words were involved."

"I'm sorry," she said, and suddenly all the pent-up, twisted words unwound and fell out of her like water from a pitcher.  Tip.  Tipping.  Tipped.  Splash.  "I'm sorry.  I'm.  I got a horrible present.  You'll hate it.    I'm awful at buying presents.  And shopping.  And I've only ever gotten you that cap, but it was something you needed, like socks or whatever, which makes it easy, but you don't need this, and I don't know....  It's...  I can't...  I don't know what I'm doing.  I don't...  I'm...  You probably spent a fortune or something, or you didn't, and now you'll feel guilty, because you'll assume I wanted you to spend a fortune because I'm assuming you did spend a fortune because I have a stack, or...  You have a stack by the tree, Derek.  And they're all big things, and I'm a horrible person because you deserve to spend time with your freaking family for twenty minutes."

She couldn't help but wince as she listened to her rambling change from gnarled, Meredith-brain words to yucky, spoken words.  He stared at her with this understanding, gooey look of love.  The one he reserved for her when he adored her every feature, every curve, every hair.  Except she was ugly and blushing and sniveling, and she'd gotten him a horrible present, and how could he possibly be so Derek-y right then?  It was all wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  She was doing this terribly wrong.  She cringed.

The warm ceramic slipped from her lax fingers as he took her cocoa mug away.  She heard it clink onto the table as he set it down on a sparkling, crystal coaster, and then she found herself wrapped in his arms.  Whispers hit her ears.  His arms and hands and body were all warm and perfect and there.  Past the blur of tears and damp sweater and Derek and the halo of too many lights, she saw Ellen shift like a blot of paint in a work of impressionism.

"This one definitely goes in the middle," Ellen stated, her voice definitive and calm and sympathetic despite the fact that everything felt like it was exploding.  Her blur moved out of sight as she shifted across the floor.  Meredith blinked, feeling hot tears slip down her face.

"Meredith," Derek said against her ear, his voice low and soothing.  "Whatever you got me is perfect.  Stop worrying about what I'll think."

She sniffled.  "How can you say that?"

He shrugged.  "It's from you, and you're here."

She rubbed a finger against her nose, clutching at his sweater.  The wool was damp and cool with melted snow, but she didn't care.  She just didn't.  "What if I got you a crappy tie?"

His arms tightened around her.  "You're here.  I'll wear it."

"Even if it looks like a clown died on it or something?"

"I can make anything look sexy," he replied.  "Even dying clown ties from my colorblind fiancé."

She elbowed him, unable to stop herself from laughing.  Some of the tension and wondering leaked away.  "You're an ass," she said.

"A sexy ass," he said with a definitive nod.

"Well, I have been working out," Stewart said as he tromped into the room carrying a small, wrapped package.  Meredith looked up to find him wheeling around to inspect his hindquarters with a discerning, humorous stare.  Ellen clucked her tongue and laughed as she finished mounting Meredith's stocking.

Meredith sighed.  Her name.  Meredith.  She had her own red stocking.  Ellen had put hers and Derek's right in the middle.

Flames flickered in the fireplace, dancing across the wooden logs.  While she was there, Ellen turned some of the wood with a poker.  A roaring hiss erupted as one of the logs shifted, and a plume of sparks flew up into the chimney.  Stewart wandered over to the tree and set the box he carried on Sarah's stack.

Derek's fingers tensed.  "Stu," he said, leaning forward in his seat, and Meredith couldn't help noticing the excitement twisting up his voice.  "I need to talk to you about...  Um..."  Derek looked at Meredith, a doubtful expression on his face as some of the rabid excitement deflated.  "Are you-"

"I'm fine, Der," she said, wiping furiously at her face.  It was so stupid to cry.  This was happy.  Right?  Happy.  Family happy.  Happy family.  She had a stocking.  She'd made it all week on her own with them before, when Derek had been sick.  Why was now being so difficult?

She was making it difficult.  And she was being clingy.  Clingy, clingy, clingy.  She took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out, and a little more tension leaked away.  She was with Derek's family.  Her family.  People she knew and was starting to love.  People she...  Breathe.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.

"I'm just-" she stuttered.  "It was a minor...  I..."

Derek's thumb shifted to rub her clavicle, and he didn't move.

"Seriously," she added.  She could do this.  She could.  It was the family thing.  It was the holiday thing.  It was the family holiday thing, and she could do this.  If she could do the family amnesia thing, she could do the family holiday thing.  Family amnesia was way more difficult than family holiday.  Santa and his freakish, mutant reindeer with glowing noses had nothing on brain injuries and memory loss.  Right?  Right.  Exactly.

Another deep breath, and the noise didn't seem so grating.  The cinnamon didn't seem so cloying.  Hell, she half wanted to drag Derek under some mistletoe.  There had to be some in the house.  Somewhere.  What nuclear Christmas celebration would be complete without mistletoe?

"Mere, honey," Sarah called as she plodded into the room in red flip-flops.  She wore old, holey jeans and a festive, red shirt that matched her shoes.  Her beat-up apron hung against her body in shambles, flour-caked and covered with other... things.  Izzie things.  "Come help in the kitchen," she added as she raised the wooden spoon in her hand to her lips to lick it.

"Sarah," Ellen scolded.

Sarah drew the spoon away and smiled.  She shrugged as if to say, it was there, and she was hungry.  It was family.  Not like anyone would complain about the cooties.

Meredith stood, brushing her shaky palms on her knit pants.  She could do this.  She could enjoy this holiday even if she wasn't glued to Derek's side like a freakish post-it note.  She could give Derek an opportunity to change out of his wet clothes and talk to his family.  She could.  She could do that even if her present for him sucked.

"Just stirring, right?" she asked.  "I can stir.  I just...  Anything else is bad.  For the kitchen, I mean.  Bad for...  I really don't want to blow anything up on Christmas Eve," she rambled, shuffling across the floor.  Away.  Away from Derek.  "But I can stir.  Maybe."

"I know you can stir," Sarah said with a nod.  "You can't get out of it."

Meredith felt Sarah's thin arms wrap over her shoulders.  Being hugged.  Hugging.  For a moment, Meredith blinked and stood, speechless, non-functional.  Then her fingers found the small of the woman's back, and Meredith returned the gesture.  That was...  Warm.  And nice.

"We're all very glad you could come," Sarah added.

"I'm not trying to get out of-" Meredith said, her voice weak and hoarse as she drew away, stunned.  "But what about the mixer thing?"

Sarah grinned.  "I'm conveniently forgetting about it again."  She spun on her heels and clomped back into the kitchen, her heels smacking against her flip-flops in an even rhythm.

Quin barked and barked, his expressions of excitement caught in a torrent of giggles and laughter somewhere else in the house.  The den, maybe.   Voices.  People.  Everywhere.

Meredith turned with a small grin and found Derek eyeing her, his lips twitching as though he were trying hard to suppress a smile.  Trying hard and failing.  The grin pulled his face into a wide expression of mirth and adoration that left her breathless.

"I'm fine," Meredith said.  "Go change or whatever.  And talk to Stu.  Do family stuff."

"Okay," he replied, his voice deep and soft, like a feather trailing up her spine.  His eyelids dipped in acquiescence.  He ran his fingers through his damp, tangled hair, and turned toward Stewart as she left him.  Left him.  Left him.

She left Derek, feeling slightly proud about that fact, and ambled into the kitchen.  Ambled.  In a fashion that suggested she was neither sick with nerves nor lacking enjoyment about fact that she was walking.  Walking into the kitchen.  Another feat to be proud of.  That she'd managed that.  Without looking like she was walking the plank, anyway.  Well, she hoped she'd managed that.

The oven window glowed faintly golden, like the color of a sunlight shaft, and she couldn't resist peeking inside to stare at the rising globs of dough.  Chocolate chips dotted each one, and they bubbled with a moist sort of sheen that spread as the dough flattened.  The air smelled of warmth and dough and sugar, and it made her want to sit at the table and inhale rather than bake.

"So, why are we forgetting about the mixer thing again?" Meredith asked as she drew her fingertips down the frosted glass.  Sarah looked up from her current cookie sheet and grinned.  She pointed her spoon toward the mixer.  Dough covered the beaters, and the bowl appeared to be well-used.

"Meredith," Sarah said.  "Sister thing.  Remember?"

"Oh.  Well.  I don't have to stir, you know.  I could just... Stand here.  I promise not to dart."

Sarah snorted.  "Nope.  You're helping.  Pick up a spoon and start stirring."  Sarah gestured vaguely toward the bowl across from her.  Dough and chips had already been heaped in the middle.  "This is technically for Santa," Sarah explained.  "But our Santas usually fight over who gets to clean the plate.  I figured I'd be proactive this year and just make extra batches."

"Santas?"

"Stewart and John are a pair of nightmares," Sarah said, leaning back against the stove.  A slow grin spread across her face.  "And Derek.  Derek gets a kick out of helping put all the presents down.  We usually set aside the complicated stuff for him to wrap.  He's good.  At wrapping.  If you give him paper and some surgical tape, he'll figure it out, regardless of how wonky the box is."

Meredith smiled at the thought.  Derek would do that.  Have fun in those borrowed moments.  She blinked, watching him behind her eyelids.  He'd help Stewart and John and Nancy wrap all their weird presents, his eyes glowing with a youthful exuberance as he put his skillful surgeon's hands to use, finessing every slab of tape and every curl of ribbon.  Unlike Meredith, who wrapped things until they were covered and considered it done, he'd be one of those people who focused on every fold and crease.  It was all about the presentation.  And Santa would never let his elves wrap stuff in ways that lacked symmetry or art.  Then he'd carry stacks of stuff for his sisters' kids down to the tree, and in that moment, the moment when he'd place the boxes down against the tree skirt, make a beeline for the cookies, let himself suffer some unhealthy food for a moment, he would have kids.  Even if they weren't really his.

Meredith bit her lip, leaning forward against the counter.  The edge of the granite bit into her stomach, just below her bellybutton, and she sighed, suddenly wishing she hadn't volunteered to come bake cookies with Sarah.  Not because she wanted to be clingy, or because she was afraid to be away and find things to enjoy on her own, but because she'd give anything to watch that.  Him.  Wrapping stuff.  Scissors.  Tape.  Retractor.  Good.  Explain to me, Dr. Grey, how this fold enhances the symmetry of this package.  Playing pretend as he measured oblong, curvy, weird-shaped boxes and tried to figure out how to conquer.  She loved the glimmer he got in his eyes when he was playing.  And being happy.  And enjoying himself.  It was the best thing in the world to watch.  Somehow, she had a feeling, were she to catch a glimpse of it, that playful kid he harbored behind his sparkling blue eyes, she wouldn't have any trouble getting into the Christmas spirit.

"They don't wear suits or whatever," Meredith said.  She leaned forward, wrapping her fingers around the spoon that sat propped up in the waiting bowl.  "I hope."

Sarah smirked.  "Oh, no.  Nobody wears a Santa suit.  Well, Mark...  But that was...  There was lots of beer.  He and Stewart dared each other to--  Never mind."  Just as Meredith began to exert force on the spoon, Sarah reached across the island, her lithe, boney fingers brushed against Meredith's left ring finger.  "Oh, honey, you probably want to take that off.  You'll get dough and gook caught in the setting, and it takes forever to clean out.  Trust me."

Meredith clenched her teeth as happy thoughts of happy Derek bled away.  "I.  Off?" she blurted as she looked down at her hand.  She yanked her fingers away from the spoon as though the cool wood had shocked her.  She stared down at the setting.

She hadn't paid any sort of attention to it recently.  She always wore it.  Always.  Except in surgery, but that was different.  Unavoidable.  Had to stay sterile.  The square gem sparkled as she tilted her finger to catch the kitchen lights.  Princess cut.  Princess.  Derek had gotten it for her.  For her.  Derek.  She smiled.  Her ring.  "Take it off...  But..."

"Fetch the sock, Quin.  Fetch!" someone said.  Someone small and giggly.

"Does he know how to fetch yet?"

Bark, bark, bark.  Thump.  Crash.

"Mommy, can we get a puppy?"

"No."

A chorus of disappointed sniffles wound through the air.

"Don't worry," Sarah replied.  She moved to the other end of the island and pointed next to the napkin holder.  Her gold rings sat in a little dish, sparkling and brilliant.  "See?  Mine are right here.  It's not even on the same counter as the sink, and nobody would ever touch it."

Meredith clenched her fingers around her ring until the diamond hurt as it poked into her skin.  She breathed.  Taking rings off for baking was normal.  Right?  She stared at Sarah's.  Sarah had done it.  Sarah was...  She...

"Okay," Meredith said.  She yanked and plopped the little ring down into the dish with Sarah's pair of rings.  Gold and platinum mixed in a shiny, expensive display.  For the space between one blink and the next, she allowed herself to stare at the pile -- her ring and Sarah's pair -- and then she pulled her eyes away.  It would be fine.  She tried to ignore the slight dent in her skin the absent ring had left behind.

"So, how are you and Derek doing?" Sarah asked as Meredith returned to her bowl.  The tip of Sarah's tongue poked out of her mouth as she ground her spoon into her own bowl.  Meredith couldn't help but smile as she thought she caught Sarah's longing glance at the electric mixer.  Sarah grunted.  Her biceps shook as she shoveled heavy dough and mashed it.  "Is he okay?  He seemed okay, but...  He hides things."

Meredith rolled her eyes.  At least she'd slowly beat that out of him.  Slowly.  "Oh, he's a lot better," she said.  "He's really...  He's not back to cutting yet, and, every once in a while, he gets a really awful headache, but, other than that, you'd never guess he'd ever been sick at this point.  He reads.  And drives.  Too much.  He drives too freaking much.  He doesn't take naps anymore.  He's back up to full shifts.  Three months ago, this family thing with all the noise and people would have really bothered him, but he seems okay with it for now."

"That's good," Sarah said.  She raised a manicured nail to her lips and sucked it.  "I was worried."

"You didn't...  You were worried?"

He's my brother, Meredith.  My big brother.  I've known him my entire life.  I know him.  He's Derek.

Meredith blinked.  Sarah had seemed so sure.  The whole time.  Sure.  But...

"Just that..."  Sarah shrugged.  "Maybe something permanent...  Nobody on this earth deserves something like that, but I couldn't imagine Derek..."  Her voice trailed away, and her expression flickered to somewhere dark and worried and frightened.  Meredith sighed when she realized she hadn't been the only one freaking out.  Sarah blinked, and she managed a watery smile.  "But he's fine," Sarah said.

Mere, we should go to the pound.

Now?

Yeah.  Now.  It's our day off.  We could get our dog today.

You want to get our dog today?

Derek had nodded, a soft smile pulling his lips into a muted expression of pleasure.  I want to get him while my shifts are still shorter.  I have an appointment with Dr. Weller in five days.

Him, huh.  You have this planned out?

Oh, yes, he'd said as he'd pressed up against her and breathed against her hair.  I have plans.

Five days?

Yes, but I feel fine.  I could go back fulltime, now.

Okay, she'd said as she'd spun in his arms to face him.  She'd drawn her palm against his cheek and pulled it back through his hair, scrunching her fingers as she traveled over his ear.  Let's go find a dog.

A little bounce had pushed itself through his body, and she'd felt him shift in her grasp.  He'd smiled.  Our dog, he'd corrected her.

Yes, ours.

A smile crept across Meredith's lips.  She leaned forward onto her elbows and stared at Sarah, losing herself in the fact that Derek had a worried family who'd cared for him his whole life, and for once, in that moment, she knew him best anyway.

"He's definitely fine, Sarah," Meredith replied, her voice low and thick with sureness.  Strength.  Her nostrils fluttered as the scent of cookies and cinnamon pushed back against her throat, and for once, she didn't feel like wincing.  She wanted to inhale more of it.

Arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed.  "Who's fine?"

"Derek!" she shrieked as his lips found her earlobe and blew.  Startled, she leapt back from the bowl she'd been working at, tearing herself out of his arms as she struggled to right her balance.

A glop of dough landed on his chin in the commotion.  Instead of attempting to catch her while she flailed, he snorted, brushing the batter away, and to her amazement, he raised his fingers to his lips and licked.  She blinked as her feet finally gifted her with balance, watching his Adam's apple roll down his throat.  A look of pleasure cascaded over his face, and he leaned forward to dip a finger into the bowl she'd abandoned.

"This is really good, Mere," he said.  Her mouth tumbled open.  Cookie dough.  Derek didn't eat...  When did Derek eat cookie dough?

Sarah smacked his hands away.  "Ow," he said.

"You can't steal any," she snapped.  "You're not making it.  You know the rules."

He frowned, running a hand through his hair.  Meredith bit her lip.  He still hadn't changed yet.  He had to be shivery and uncomfortable.  "But..." he protested.

"No," Sarah said.  She made flitting motions with her hands.  "Out.  Out of the kitchen while I chat with Meredith.  She's mine right now."

A mischievous glimmer sparkled in his eyes.  "You can have Meredith.  I just wanted cookies."  He leaned forward, almost making it, but Sarah had fast reflexes.

"Back off," Sarah growled.  "They're for Santa.  Last time I checked, you weren't a fat old man."

Derek snorted, rebuked.  "Merry Christmas to you, too, Sarah-bear."

Sarah rolled her eyes.  "Oh, shut up, Der."

His shoulders slumped, and he puffed a melodramatic sigh through his lips.  "The one time of year I allow myself cookie consumption, and you're denying me my just rewards.  I see how it is."

"Out," Sarah snarled.  "Out.  Shoo!"

"All right," he said.  "I'm going, I'm going."  He brushed against Meredith, kissing her on the cheek.  "You okay?" he murmured against her ear.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said.  She returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist.  His skin still felt chilly to the touch, and when he moved, she noticed his feet sloshed.  "God, Derek, you're still wet.  Go take a shower or something," Meredith said.  "What the hell have you been doing that you can't take the time to change out of frozen clothes?"

He blinked and pulled back.  His lashes dipped low against his cheeks, and he let loose an amused chuckle.  "Something important," he countered.

"More important than the fact that you'll be hypothermic soon?"

"Yes," he replied.  "Much."

"Get out, Der.  Go wrap something.  Or change.  Or do productive stuff like not freeze to death.  She's mine, and she's stirring," Sarah hissed.  "You had her on the plane for five hours.  Probably in more ways than one."  She came around the island and started dragging him off by the hemline of his sweater.  He clawed at the counter, chuckling with that haughty, gorgeous laugh of his.

"I was very busy not freezing to death right here, I'll have you know," he grumbled.  His fingers found purchase against the counter, and he smirked.  "It's warm in here.  And what would you know about having people on planes, Sarah?  Stewart would barely fit in one of those lavatories.  It's hard enough to maneuver with Meredith, and she's very, very tiny."

"OUT!" Sarah belted.  "I've got a corrupted letch for a brother!"

Blush snaked across her skin, and Meredith found herself spluttering, unable to say anything to contribute.  Derek finally spun on his heels and slunk out, cackling with laughter all the while.  "I'm the best brother you've got.  And, really, you're not very nice.  Not sharing.  Somebody's getting lumps of coal for Christmas."

"Yeah," Sarah said.  "You!"

"You're an ass!" Meredith finally managed in his wake.

She heard him sniggering in the other room.  "A sexy ass!" he replied.

"Enough with the swearing!" Ellen scolded.  "It's Christmas!"

"Sorry," Meredith said, a cold rod of guilt plunging down into her stomach, but it lightened somewhat when she realized Derek's voice had doubled up with hers, and Mark had chimed in, along with Stewart, from somewhere else in the house.  Meredith gripped the side of the counter, sighing briefly.  Together.  Everything felt together, and she was...

This wasn't so bad.