Lightning Strikes Twice - Part 54A

[ariaadagio]

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

Christmas morning! Finally done. And it doesn't fit in one post. Who'd have thought I'd get 35k words out of Christmas when the whole thing was originally supposed to be about 5 pages?  Thank you so much for all the feedback -- I apologize for being so behind on replying to it all!

~~~~~

For a vague moment, Meredith knew she was dreaming. Pictures sprawled behind her eyes like filaments in a larger gossamer web. Pictures of sparkling engagement rings and globs of dough and Sarah smiling. Pictures of children and snow and a sopping, wet Quin as he'd come in from another romp outside with a guilty-looking Mark. Pictures like an album, old and pasty and yellow at the edges. Flip, flip, flip through the book she went, dream fingers pausing against the soft, slippery edges of every page, until she came to the last one. Wait. Not the last one. So much more remained... She tried to turn the page again, only to fail when she couldn't find a purchase for her grip. Stuck. Her mind was stuck despite the fact that page after page after page sat thickly underneath her hands, waiting to be explored and remembered.

“But we have more pages to fill in,” she said. “It's not done!”

She looked down, dismayed, when the pages wouldn't turn.

Derek stood there in a nightmarish dying clown tie and nothing else, smiling, smiling like he did whenever he looked at her. I want sex, said his eyes. I want sex and love and touching, and I want it now because you're here, now, too. His fingertips stroked the silk, blotting out the orange, red, purple, and green, the polka dots and stripes with the pale flesh tones of his skin. His perfect surgeon hands paused at the tip, which rested at his navel, just above the whorl of soft, black hair that collapsed from its spiral pattern into a thin line that led downward.

“I love the tie,” he said. “But let's take it off.”

She tried. She did try, but much like the page, the tie wouldn't budge. The knot wouldn't loosen even as she dug her fingernails deep into the folds of fabric. He leaned toward her, his Adam's apple bobbling along the line of his throat, and he stood there, close to her. Naked.

“We can't do this, Meredith. Not until you take it off.”

His body hovered close to hers, soft and musk-scented, and the only words she could think to say fell from her lips like tears. “I'm sorry I ruined it. I didn't mean to get you a crappy tie.”

“I guess we're stuck here forever,” Derek replied.

Meredith's eyes snapped open, and the awful clown tie bled out of sight into mushy darkness. For one blink, she knew what she'd been dreaming. By blink number two, memories of it fled into the ether, never to be touched again. By blink number three, the mushy darkness gave her a new picture in which to bask.

His warm, even breathing caressed her neck as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. In slumber, he'd buried his nose and chin against her hair, her ear. His arm draped across her chest, but his hand didn't dangle. His fingers curled around her bicep in a way that made her feel loved, not like a simple pillow, but like a small piece of safety for him to clutch.

She breathed, quick, sharp, something that would have been a laugh were she to grant it any vocal power. Mere, Mere, wake up! Wake up, it's Christmas! That's what she'd expected from him. Not this. Not him drifting onward with Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod while she stared at the ceiling.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, relishing the warm feel of his bare skin against hers. Sounds below began to flutter into the room, distant and soft and blurry at first, and then loud like herding elephants. Footsteps. Talking. Clatters of pots and pans and the coffee grinder. Children. The children were all awake. She could tell from the thunder of movement through the house and the small giggles. Quin, probably caught in the whirlwind of people, skidded across the hardwood floors and thudded on the rugs, excited yips escaping every once in a while. Meredith tilted her head, but Derek blocked her view of the clock. Dim, white light broke into the room around the shades, though she imagined it would have been darker without the snow blanketing the world outside. It was definitely morning, but very early.

Derek shifted in his sleep, his hand curling tightly around her arm. He muttered something and burrowed closer. His bare knee found her thigh, he slid against her, snuggling, and she became aware of the line of warmth along her body that he provided like a second blanket. Snorting with amusement, she blew on his ear. His lips parted, and a thick, sleepy sound erupted from deep within his chest as his hand left her arm to swat at his face, only to flop against her as his unconscious will dissipated, and he submersed in dreaming again. Another set of loud thumps plodded through the hallway underneath them, and she frowned when he didn't stir at all. Derek never slept like--

She glanced again, frowning as she caught the dim reflection of light where the dark of his ear canal should have been. Her palms went to her lips, reflexive, unwanted, and she half-sighed, half-growled. Her snoring. She should have known.

Ever since his concussion and subsequent brain surgery, he'd been going to bed without the earplugs. At first, he'd just been sleeping that heavily. Sedation and recurring exhaustion had been enough to keep excessive noise from bothering him too much. After a while, though, he'd been fine, and he still hadn't needed them.

I guess I got used to it? he'd muttered with a sloppy grin when she'd asked him about it before work one morning.

Every once in a while, she still drove him crazy, but as a rule, he didn't need them anymore, and that was nice. Nice for him to be able to sleep next to her as a spontaneous thing instead of something requiring ritual.

She sighed. Christmas snoring as a thank you for the heart-stopping proposal and the inevitable store he'd bought her that was right that moment sitting under the Shepherds' nuclear tree. “Sorry,” she whispered at him.

As if he'd heard her worrying, his discarded hand came to life, found her bicep, stroked her twice, and resettled into the safety-clutch she'd woken up with. She smiled, trying to decide whether to just lie there until something happened to make him wake, whether to disentangle herself and join the fray downstairs, or... What?

The air seemed to sharpen around her at the question, and her gaze snapped to the left as her eyes widened. The brass doorknob flickered in the dim light, its glow shifting as it moved. Moved... Why moved? The hinges moaned, and a triangular sliver of light bisected the room as it plunged toward the bed.

Meredith blinked at the glare. “Go forth, my Christmas morning minion,” a soft, male voice whispered. “Remember the law.”

“Nobody gets ta' sleep past six-thirty on Chrismus,” a high-pitched, girly voice replied.

“Exactly,” the male replied, and Meredith watched as a small, blurry form wobbled into the room.

Two-feet tall, swathed in a one-piece, sky-blue fleece pajama thing with flipper feet, the little person blinked, eyes wide and shining and excited as she sucked on her thumb and clutched a big, frothy security blanket that dragged behind her body. Her messy, brown hair fell to her shoulders, lightly curled and soft. She turned and stared expectantly toward the door.

“Go on,” said the man. “Drown them in the antsy, jumpy morning cuteness all of us Shepherds have to endure.” Meredith grinned as she saw Stewart's tall, lanky form shift into the light.

“Stewart!” hissed a woman. The tall form of Stewart plowed back from the door, replaced by Natalie. “What are you doing with my daughter?”

“What?” Stewart said. “She's very cute. Cuter than any other three-year-old we've got in our ranks, I'd say.”

“She's the only three-year-old, Stu.”

“Well, yes,” he replied. “But still, very cute.”

Natalie turned toward the door and peered into the room. Meredith waved at her. “Sorry,” Natalie mouthed, but it was too late to stop the little bouncing bundle. The sharp patters of excited footsteps ceased. The edge of the mattress shifted, and a small, breathing, warm body crawled into the bed.

“Crud,” said Stewart. “You two are decent, I hope. I forgot about--”

“You still heard us?” Meredith blurted. “I barely even whimpered!”

“Um,” Stewart said. “Well, I just meant with the proposal...”

“Oh,” Meredith said with a sigh. “Yes, we're...” She thought of her t-shirt, which smelled of Derek and fit more like a dress than anything else. It stopped at mid-thigh, but she hadn't yet donned underwear or anything to cover her legs. She'd stolen it from him. The shirt. Because of the scent and because it felt warmer than her own things for some reason. Not that he'd minded. He'd stared at her with hooded, sexed eyes, and purred with approval. She scrunched up her bare toes and ran her foot down his bare, hair-dusted leg, enjoying his sighing breath as he shifted closer. Mmm. He had his boxers on, but that was it. “We're more decent than we could be, at least.” She thanked herself for breathlessly demanding, Clothes, Der. We need. We can't sleep like... Your family. Christmas. Christmas-y... Sex. We had... No. Put something on.

He'd chuckled instead of arguing with her, slipping across the room toward their suitcase with nothing but his skin to cover him, and the thoughts she'd managed to collect had disappeared. He hadn't brought her anything back from the bag.

You bastard, she'd said as he'd resettled under the covers with a wicked grin.

I want a show, too.

Fine, but I'm taking your freaking shirt because I like it.

Please, do, he'd murmured.

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Come on, you big, floppy lummox,” she said, tearing Meredith away from her musing. Meredith blinked, trying to ignore the squirming, small body in the bed. Kid. Kid approaching. Stop thinking about sex with Derek. Sex that would someday lead to... Kids. Had Derek given this one the talk? No, too young for that. Right? All semblance of logical thought dissolved. Kid. In the bed. Giggling and squeaking with excitement. Was this what it would be like for them on Christmas morning in a few years? Was she ready? Would she ever be?

Hi, she started to say to the girl, but the word came out as a panicked breath. She couldn't. She couldn't... She breathed. No. Could. She could. She clenched her teeth. She damned well could.

Natalie clutched at Stewart's ratty bathrobe. He windmilled to keep his balance, but followed obligingly once he'd recouped it. Natalie called back over her shoulder, eyes flashing as she smiled. “See you downstairs, Meredith.”

Meredith grinned, refusing to let her lips waver as the little girl somehow located space between her and Derek and collapsed on her back over the top of their down comforter. The girl sucked her thumb as she stared at them with wide, blue eyes that looked so much like Derek's, and the comforter hissed as her small body settled with a thud. Aunt. Aunty Meredith. She could do the aunt thing if not the mother thing. Right? She could do the mother thing. Eventually. Not now, but soon.

The girl's small body shivered with pent excitement and energy, and her eyes grew wide. Derek mumbled something and rolled onto his back, tossing the arm he'd used to clutch at Meredith over his face. “Hi,” Meredith said, unable to resist the urge to splay a palm against the kid's small body and rub affectionately. So small. She smiled. Aunty. Keep going, the small voice said. You can. “Sam, right?”

The girl nodded. “S'mantha,” she said around her thumb.

“Samantha,” Meredith confirmed. “That's a pretty name.”

Samantha stared. “Unca Stu said ta' wake you up cuz we gotta do presents,” she said. “And we can't do presents when peoples is still sleepin'.”

Meredith nodded conspiratorially. “Well, I'm awake. Uncle Derek needs help, though, I think.”

“Kay,” Samantha said. Her cuteness, it seemed, was camouflage for the hyper child within. In a swift, spry motion, her blanket ended up sprawled on Derek's head. She jumped on his stomach, straddling him, as the pent energy exploded into action and flailing limbs, and then she hollered, “Wake up, wake up, wake up, Unca Derk. It's Chrismus!” while she bounced.

Derek wheezed with the impact, and the blanket over his head jerked, only to resettle. For a moment, he lay there, still and silent, collecting his thoughts, perhaps, or reassembling the puzzle pieces of sentience into something that resembled a picture, however skewed. His arm found Samantha and his hand splayed against her back.

“Are you sure it's Christmas morning?” he said, his voice muffled under Samantha's fuzzy blanket. “It seems very dark in here. I don't think Santa came yet. Go back to bed.”

Samantha laughed and pulled the blanket away. His eyes widened in mock surprise, alight with all sorts of things that Meredith wished were there more often. Alight and... Just right. “There you are,” he said to the girl as he wagged his eyebrows playfully. Meredith leaned on her elbow and watched as his lashes lowered in consideration, and the expression on his face changed from blinking sleepiness to a smile that matched the thrill reflected in his pupils. Lazy happiness morphed again as the skin around his eyes pinched with a longing that made Meredith feel a little sad. He growled as he rolled onto his side, his torso expanded with a deep, relaxed inhalation, and Samantha shrieked at the sudden shifting of the world below her. She resettled between him and Meredith. Her thumb found her mouth, which Derek didn't scold her for at all. He bopped her nose with his index finger and relinquished Samantha's safety blanket back into her keeping. She laughed, eyes sparkling with delight, wet thumb forgotten as she curled the blanket to her chest.

Derek leaned forward. “You were good this year, right?” Derek whispered in the girl's ear and then shifted so that he was nose to nose with her small face.

“Uh huh,” she said, her expression earnest. “I went ta' bed on time and put away my blocks and dolls and I didn't cut the kitty's hair. I swear.”

Derek's body shifted as he inhaled the scent of the girl, and then he leaned back on his side, a lazy, sleepy smile making him looked almost drugged. “Okay, so long as you swear,” he replied. He leaned on his elbow in a position mirroring Meredith's, and as his eyes caught Meredith in the frame, the longing, pinched look relaxed into happiness and adoration. Dreams for the future sparkled behind his eyes, and Meredith reached across the small canyon between them to rub his arm.

“Hey,” she said.

His lips twitched. “Hey,” he replied. “It seems to be Christmas.”

“It does,” Meredith replied.

“Are we goin' downstairs, now?” Samantha asked. “I wanna do presents!”

Derek laughed. “All right. All right, we're up.”

“Kay!” Samantha said. She crawled over Meredith, paying no mind to what body parts her elbows and feet impacted with. Meredith grunted, unable to stop from laughing as the little girl tumbled off the bed to her feet. Samantha ran to the door, excitement putting a spring in every step, billowing blanket trailing behind.

“Ready?” Derek said as Samantha thumped down the hall, her flippered feet rustling against the carpet. “It'll be a little... Well, it'll be a lot hectic.”

“I'm ready if you are,” Meredith replied, her voice low and throaty as she leaned forward and drank in the taste of him close to her. She scooted close to him and ran her fingers through his hair as she tasted the line of his clavicle. “You're okay with hectic, right?”

His calm, relaxed breaths fell against her skin like waves crashing to shore. “You're here,” he said. “I'm ready.”

The scene she found downstairs after they'd dressed wasn't really hectic so much as utter chaos. Kids ran everywhere. Adults lumbered, steaming coffee cups clutched near the folds of an endless sea of fuzzy bathrobes. A chorus of groaning good-mornings from the adults and excited cheers from the kids attacked her and Derek as soon as they hit the landing at the foot of the staircase.

We need to go to the ER. Now.

She blinked, realizing she'd stood there in this exact spot five months ago with a trembling Derek clutched in her arms. Except now? Now, it was different, and then? Then, she didn't ever think there'd be a now like this.

She offered the room a wavering smile, trying not to flinch or appear too much in shock as a herd of adults pulled her into the living room like an honored guest, and the chaos around her spiraled into practiced order. A dazed-looking Kathy thrust two coffee mugs at Meredith and Derek as they sat down on the sofa facing the tree, though her expression revealed nothing but envy. You got to sleep in, you lucky bastards, her eyes seemed to say, though her jealousy had such a loving, sincerely smiling edge to it that the knives in her gaze were dull.

“Thank you,” Meredith said, her voice stuttering and weak, as kids clustered and thumped and shuffled as they fought for seats on the floor by the tree. Kathy nodded with a grin, and the chaos continued to collapse. Adults found chairs if there were any, though Kathy and John and Mark seemed to prefer leaning against the stocking-covered fireplace. Fire crackled in the fireplace, bathing the room with a subtle warmth, and Meredith couldn't help noticing as her gaze darted from person to person to person how central she seemed to be in the spiral. No one had said a word about it, but she felt as though they'd placed her in the middle like royalty on purpose.

Her gaze ticked to Derek, who shrugged and offered her a lopsided, pleased grin. He winked at her. Trust me, his expression said. You'll like this. Except he was freaking biased. This was his family, and... You’re here, and… That makes it perfect. His body seemed to hum with excitement, as if he were one of the kids bouncing on the floor, and he couldn't quite keep all his energy inside.

With a sigh, she leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. She could do this, and she wasn't ruining it, she decided. They gave her the good seat and doted on her, and that was disconcerting, but okay. Because she could. She could freaking do the Christmas thing. Even if her present was rotten and wrapped in a wrinkled business envelope. Even then.

Derek set his coffee cup on the table with a clink and curled around her. You're here, his embrace seemed to say. You're here, and I couldn't be happier. His splayed palm rubbed her back, and in the midst of shrieking voices and laughter and words and movement, she found an island of peace and stillness. Better, she decided, as she let her eyes lose focus, and the tree lights melted into a nebula of color. Okay. Okay, she could.

Quin's tail thumped as it hit the floor over and over and over, and Meredith found his furry body jammed up against her knees, pinning her to the couch with his muscled frame. His chocolate eyes completed the happy-go-lucky expression that began with his excited panting and cocked head. “You always take his side,” she said with a soft laugh. “Dogs can be grinches, you know. It's allowed.”

Quin's paws found her knees. The thumping of his tail stopped as he leaned up and gave her nose a lick.

Okay, so the grinchy dog thing was out. “Get down, Quin,” Derek said, and the dog sat. The thumping of Quin's tail resumed, and his scolded expression lasted for about two nanoseconds before his tongue fell out the side of his mouth and the panting resumed as well.

Meredith closed her eyes and breathed. The room smelled like cinnamon and holly and fresh things, like steaming coffee, dirty dog and Derek's musk, and she found it relaxing despite the constriction of the world around her. The room was freakin' crowded, and it seemed smaller. Smaller, now, filled with Christmas decorations and people than when she'd been sitting in a wingback leather chair where the tree resided, calling the insurance agents about the smashed rental car.

Smaller.

Except huge.

Derek squeezed her shoulder and they shared a look. She reached up and ran a palm against his cheek, her skin rasping against his morning stubble. A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat as Ellen clapped her hands. “What's first this year?” Ellen asked.

“Can Meredith open her stuff, now?” Derek asked, and for all her self-convincing that this would be okay, she couldn't breathe. Everything froze, and her eyes darted guiltily to everyone in the room. The kids pouted.

“Derek...” she hissed. “The kids... Maybe they should...”

“No, it's just,” Derek stuttered. “It's part of a thing.”

“A thing?”

“She definitely should,” Mark offered.

“Oh?” Stewart asked. His eyes gleamed. “What is it?”

“A thing,” Mark said, a smile pursing his lips.

Meredith glanced back and forth between Derek and Mark and Mark and Derek. Mark had helped Derek? With... With buying a store? For her? When had that happened?

Chris, who sat closest to the tree, was the first to move. He cradled in his beefy arms the large stack, the store, 'the thing' Derek had bought for her, and he carried it over, deftly stepping around kids and presents and other roadblocks. The stack seemed bigger, somehow, when Chris carried it. Chris was very big. And muscular. And... big. Why did they need the possibly-a-body-builder to lift her store/pile/thing?

Everyone cheered, as if their Christmas schedule hadn't been ruined and nothing drastic had happened. She was just another person in the family who happened to be opening stuff first. She stared wide-eyed as Quin moved over to lean against Derek's legs, and Chris set her pile down in front of her. She stared at the pile. The pile was an army of stuff arrayed against her, ready to fire off a shot. Not just any ordinary stuff.

“What is it?” Mark called, which Meredith found weird since he already seemed to know what it was. Then she realized, by the glimmer in his eyes, that he was playing. Playing along. Was this a... Ritual? Guess the... Guess the present? She swallowed. She was a crappy guesser. She was a crap--

“Any guesses?” Natalie added, and everyone appeared to ponder the idea.

“Hopefully not socks,” said Stewart. “Socks are a rotten present.”

Sarah smacked him. “It only took you four years to figure that out, too.”

“Tickle-Me-Elmo?” Mary offered.

“I think probably not, sweetheart,” Nancy replied with a pursed grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. She seemed distant, and Meredith had the feeling that it had nothing to do with who was present this Christmas, but who was absent. Meredith could relate. She swallowed before a downward spiral of memory sucked her under and ruined her progress. Progress at being okay. Okay, and...

Not okay.

Meredith stared down at the pile of boxes by her feet as everyone offered their opinions, feeling a little like she'd been left out of a conspiracy in the room. How many people knew what all this stuff was and were guessing haphazardly anyway? Four boxes. A store. Three from Derek, one labeled as being from everyone, but was it really from everyone, or had Derek given it on their behalf to make her feel included or something? Families did that. Mailed Christmas cards that were signed by everyone, except not. Lies. On a card. At Christmas. She could vaguely recall Thatcher sitting at their dining room table, signing one pretty glittery card after another after another, making their lives look happy and fine when nothing at all was happy or fine. Because less than four months later he'd been gone. Stop. Stop, it. The little card said everyone, so, it must be from everyone. Right?

She fingered the first box, letting the paper squeak as she drew her index finger down the side. Surgical tape hugged the corners and seams on this box and all the others. The shiny paper gleamed, wreathes and other things flashing under the assault of Christmas tree lights. The ribbons that gripped the box had even been curled. You did that with scissors by scraping the edge along the ridges of the ribbon. She vaguely recalled Thatcher teaching her that before he'd disappeared. The ribbon rustled as she toyed with the curl. All for her. Derek really did wrap well, she decided as her throat clogged up, and suddenly she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Everyone stared at her, and the world blurred.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her hoarse voice sounding awful to her ears. “I'm sorry, I'm not very good at...”

“Nonsense!” Stewart trumpeted. “You're doing much better than I did. The kids thought I was rather funny my first time.”

“Drunk,” Sarah said.

“Funny,” Stewart countered.

“Drunk, man,” Mark said.

“I'm telling you, it makes the lights much prettier,” Stewart said.

Mark shrugged. “I might have tried it, but I was six when I started with the Shepherd Christmas shindig.”

“True enough,” Stewart said with a nod. “Open something, Meredith. We castoffs are all narcissistic, self-involved masters of histrionics. If you let us start whining, it will never end.”

Quin barked in agreement as Derek wrapped his arms over her shoulder and squeezed. “If you can cut open a brain,” he said, “You can definitely tear open a Christmas present.”

“I don't usually get to keep the brains, though,” Meredith replied.

He snorted against her ear and kissed her. “All the same, please? For me, please?”

You walked away, and now it's too late. There's too much water under the thing or whatever.

Meredith... Please?

He stared at her, unblinking, longing, as if just the mere act of watching her open stuff was the only Christmas present he ever wanted. She swallowed and blinked and wiped at her face. She sucked at saying no when he did that. Sucked at... Anything remotely resembling willpower.

“Okay,” she said, offering him a soft, hesitant smile as she leaned forward and pulled the first present into her lap. The box was larger than a DVD case or a hardback book, and something heavy shifted inside when she tilted it.

“Guess!” John demanded.

“I um,” she said. “Is this a shakeable thing or will I break it?”

Derek just winked, as if to say what kind of wrapper would I be if I didn't pad something breakable?

“That's what I love about you,” she said. “You're very helpful or whatever.”

His sly grin spoke for him. I know. I try.

She shook the box. The thing inside shifted with a rustle of movement. It was heavy. And clunky, and... Huh. She really had no idea. “A surge protector,” she blurted.

“That would be worse than socks, I think,” Stewart judged.

“Unless it was on a list, right?” Chris said. “Because...”

“Yes, dear,” Natalie replied as she rolled her eyes.

Derek snorted, and she leaned against him. “What?” she said, laughter overcoming the shiver of nerves in the pit of her stomach. “I really have no idea.” She rolled her head back and stared up at him, resisting the urge to kiss his throat as she settled, pulling the box closer. His arms wrapped underneath hers and pulled her close. He watched over her shoulder, and she felt him breathing against her neck. There was no tension in his grip, nothing expectant or nervous or fast-paced about the way he inhaled and exhaled. He knew she'd like it. Knew. But when did Derek ever not know something? Derek was a freaking master at appearing cool and confident even when he really wasn't at all. Unless he was drugged perpetually on morphine and depressed. But that was... That was another thing entirely. And she... No. Stop.

Present. For her. From Derek. She scraped at the first line of tape, careful not peel off a layer of the paper with it.

“Uh oh. She's one of those,” Kathy said.

“Those?” Meredith said.

“Wrapping paper is not art. You can rip it.”

“It's pretty.”

“See?” Kathy said. “One of those.”

Meredith snorted as she removed the paper, giving it a reverential sort of look as she folded it neatly and put it beside her hip. That would... It was pretty. And it was from Derek. Even if it was crappy paper from CVS, it wasn't crappy. Because it was her first Christmas present from him, and it... It just...

She blinked, trying to ignore the thrum in the room. The impatient thrum. Get to it. Open it. We want to see. What the hell is it? Damn it, open the box! Nobody said anything, as if they knew it was a delicate moment, but she could tell they were all thinking it, everyone except Derek and Mark. Mark stood, relaxed and uncaring by the mantle, a smooth grin on his face that told her in no uncertain terms he knew exactly what was in the box. Derek seemed to be relishing the fact that she was folding wrapping paper and taking forever, as if he wanted to bask in the moment as long as he could, and his confident, relaxed... relaxation whatever continued.

Tearing the box open was easier. She didn't care about the tape. Tape could be ripped and torn asunder and balled up like a sticky, projectile weapon. It could-- She gasped when she opened the box and stared at the first of Derek's three presents.

Izzie, Cristina, Alex, and George stared back at her, posed and waving, through a shiny pane of glass as though they resided in the world behind a mirror. Bunny ears sprouted behind George's head, courtesy of Alex, though George didn't appear to notice. The sterling frame gleamed in the light. She pulled the frame out of the box and stared at it. She recognized the trees behind her friends. She recognized the bench. Seattle Grace, the sign behind them proclaimed, as if the surgical scrubs they all wore weren't enough of an indicator. Everything behind them was still green and alive, and no one wore coats, which meant... It meant Derek had done this a long, long time ago. Months. He'd been planning that long, and she gulped, suddenly feeling just a little bit intimidated again. Before... Possibly before he'd even gone back to work. Definitely before he'd been able to drive. How had... Had he actually stooped to asking Mark for a ride so she wouldn't know about it? Which... That was... Her gaze shifted to Derek, who stared at her with unblinking eyes. The picture frame in her lap felt weighted and huge and... Her present... She'd gotten it for him last week. With a simple phone call.

“When did?” she managed, unable to finish the question.

Derek's arms tightened around her. “I noticed you were missing some very important knickknacks,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.

“You got Cristina to pose? And Alex? For a picture?”

He shrugged. “I'm their boss.”

“We ganged up on them,” Mark added.

“Thank--” she managed. “Thank you. I mean... It's... Thank you.” She held the photo in her lap and stroked the frame. He hadn't bought a store. He hadn't... He... She blinked and stared at her friends staring back, and she melted. He didn't even really like her friends, particularly Cristina, but he'd... He knew she liked them. But... “How is this a thing?” she blurted.

Derek snickered. “Keep going, and you'll see. Open the big one next.”

She glanced down at her toes and brushed her fingers lightly against the big one. The one supposedly from everyone. “This?”

“Yes,” Derek said with a nod as he took the beautiful picture away and set it on the table, out of the way.

She set the next two presents from Derek to the side and lifted the box into her lap. It was freaking heavy. And it clanked. And rustled. And... Things. Many, many things. “Ten surge protectors!” she guessed before anyone had a chance to prod her. Mark snorted. The kids laughed.

Derek shrugged. “I haven't seen this one. It very well could be.”

“Right,” she replied. “You wrapped it, Romeo.”

His hand rubbed her arm as she gently peeled back the paper, and Derek settled against her like he had with the first present, awed and breathing and calm but happy. She folded the wrapping paper and set it aside. The box opened with brief, hissing complaints, and she found her hands digging into a maze of tissue paper, and...

Pictures in frames. Stacks of pictures. Stewart and Sarah and Lindsey and Annie smiled back at her, only to be replaced by Kathy and John and their children. The rest of the Shepherd subsets marched past her eyes, and she smiled when she came to a smaller, old, black-and-white one of Ellen and a man who looked exactly like Derek. Behind that, she found two small boys staring at her from a silver frame. A very young Derek peered back at her with a two raccoon eyes and a grotesquely swollen nose, and Mark held his taped up, plastered fingers as though they were a trophy.

Derek spluttered. “When was--”

Mark shrugged. “You said pictures of our families, man.”

“But I thought--”

“Flip to the next one,” Mark commanded.

Meredith did, and she found the Mark she knew smiling back at her with a shit-eating, girls-want-me grin, his arm over Derek's shoulder as though they were bending over to huddle for a football game or whatever. Derek had on the cream-colored cap that Meredith had given him, and he smiled, more reserved, but smiled. Gaunt paleness hugged his face, proclaiming him as not exactly healthy, not exactly the correct weight anymore. Meredith swallowed, the lump in her throat almost too big to let air through.

“Derek,” she whispered as her eyes started to blur again. He'd posed. For a picture. With Mark. While he'd been sick.

The time line began to fall into place. Six weeks after. Maybe eight. Had to be. When he'd first found out she wanted to start building up her picture collection. He'd stopped wearing the cap by then for the most part, though whenever he'd gone somewhere with people he knew, he'd tended to still don it, almost like a security blanket. A way to keep people from staring or trying to find the scar he hated so much.

“Where are we going to put all these?” she whispered.

“Keep going,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “It's a thing.”

She picked up the next box. It was big, too, but it didn't seem to shake. “A dictionary,” she proclaimed, and everyone groaned.

“You're very bad at this guessing thing,” Stewart said.

“Yes, Derek is far too mushy to give you a dictionary,” Mark said.

Derek snorted. “I'm not mushy.”

Everyone in the entire room grumbled at once. “You're mushy.”

Blush tore across Derek's skin, and Meredith laughed, leaning back to kiss him. “I like mushy,” she said.

“But it's a manly mushy,” he protested.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Like there is such a thing.”

The room tumbled into silence again as Meredith folded the paper for the third package and set it next to the other two by her hip. She pulled the contents out of the box. It was a large purple binder with a dried, pressed lavender encased in the plastic sleeve on the front. She cracked it open. A white page greeted her. In the center, Derek had mounted a picture of the lake by Derek's trailer. One of those big blue birds she liked stuck its head out from the reeds. Below the picture, Derek had stuck a small business card. She read the name and address and, finally, the header at the top made sense. Alan Hue, architect and landscape design. The top of the page proclaimed the picture to be, “Our First House,” though the house itself was missing.

“That's where they'll go,” Derek said. “The knickknacks, I mean. At some point. I made an appointment with Alan for when we get back.”

Shivery warmth pawed through her body, and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, and she didn't care, and every nervous thought pressed out of her body as though she were the flower press that'd flattened out the lavender at the front of the book. Her eyes pinched shut and squeezed out tears, and Derek wrapped himself around her.

“There's still more, you know,” he whispered against her hair.

“But I...” she gasped. How could there be more than that? She didn't... She...

“You're going to have trouble topping this next year, sweetheart,” Ellen proclaimed, a warm, earthy smile caressing her face as she shuffled to her feet and walked around to stare over the back of the couch at all the pictures.

“I'll worry about that next year,” Derek said. “Flip the page, Mere.”

She did, and she found a picture of smoke and chaos and badness. Derek Blows Up The Kitchen At A Tender Young Age, the title said.

“Hey!” Derek growled.

Sarah burst into giggles. “I was wondering if that would make it through the wrapping process!”

Meredith leaned forward, gasping for breath as laughter overtook her. “It's all fabricated lies,” Derek assured her. “That's a stage actor. And that smoke is CGI. Seriously.”

He flipped the page for her with a gruff sigh, and she blinked, her laughter dying as a blank page greeted her. She read the title. “Our first Christmas.” She looked at Derek, whose wounded eyes had gone back to sparkling. She raised an eyebrow in question. Nobody had cameras.

“Oh,” Stewart said as if the secrets of the universe had been revealed to him. “Now, I get it! It's a thing!”

“Last one, Meredith,” Derek said, laughter in his gaze. “Go for it.”

She picked up the last box, barely noticing as Derek pulled the stuff off her lap to make room for it. The last box was smaller and more square than the previous three had been. It didn't shake at all. “A cell phone battery,” she said, producing more groans.

“Come on, honey,” Sarah said. “You have to at least try to guess.”

Meredith bit her lip and smiled. “I don't really have a lot to compare this to,” she said, but for once, she didn't find an apology falling from her lips. “It's like asking me to guess food ingredients.”

Derek's arms tightened. Stewart snapped his fingers. “So, this means we get a lot of guesses about photographs next year?” The tension broke like a tide on the rocks, and Meredith exhaled, relaxing.

She opened the last box and stared.

“So you can make more,” Derek said. “It's charged and ready to go.”

A camera. He'd gotten her a very nice digital camera. She bit her lip and took it out of the box. “So, this is the thing,” she said as all the pieces fell into place. “This is why I had to go first?”

He grinned. “Yep. Definitely a thing. It would be silly to take pictures of Christmas after Christmas is done, don't you think?” He held out his hands, and she relinquished the gift. He pressed a button. The lens popped out and the little silver camera whirred. “You just hold this button down to focus. Press firmly to take the picture.”

The world flashed white, and she blinked. “See?” he said, grinning as she blinked the sudden, painful blindness away.

“Hey!” she shrieked, leaning forward. “You always do that! Give me that!”

I look good at any angle.

She focused on his face through the view window and snapped off a picture. “My pictures are still better,” he murmured as she pulled the camera from her eyes. The device worked pretty well. Very easy to use. Sort of like her phone, which was probably why he hadn't gotten her a regular camera that used film. Film. That would certainly be a way to confound her. Film and winding... tangly filmy things. And focusing the lens on her own. Yikes.

“Thank you,” she said. She leaned into him and kissed him along the jawline, the camera falling into her lap as her grip relaxed.

“Okay, okay. This is a G-rated Christmas, folks,” Stewart proclaimed. “Sadly.”