Author's Note: So, where do I begin … this idea came to me during the week between Christmas and the New Year, alas … it ended up being a lot more than the two-shot I intended, now completed in a string of six (smallish) chapters.

Sorry for the long wait on updates to my other two stories, but now that this is wrapped up, I'll get to editing those. Thanks in advance for your time and I truly hope you had a joyous holiday season.

The song I used for this is one of my all time favorite tunes from The Beatles, though I think one of the best versions I have ever heard came from Bette Midler in the film, "For the Boys". Take a listen wherever you can.

In My Life

There are places I'll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

###

In My Life – 'I can't get away from him,'

Meredith sighed and blinked and even though her life stunk, she had to admit, the twinkling lights were beautiful and somewhat calming … red, green, white and sometimes blue and yellow, they were gorgeous. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes, her shoulder touching Izzie's as she lay next to her on the floor, the rustic and earthy aroma of the Christmas tree filling her lungs, the wild fire crackling with life as it danced on the hearth and warmed her feet.

She exhaled and felt an unexpected tear jerk just under her eyelid. She sniffled as it slipped free and traveled down and into her hairline where it became lost, but not forgotten. She cleared her throat and opened her eyes, finding with ease now the shimmering star of hope looming high above them.

Exhaustion claimed her, and as it did, her thoughts of course drifted to Derek where she failed to stop her head from spinning in the wrong direction. Where was he? How was he? Was he happy? What was happiness anyway?

Her stomach twisted and she scoffed inside, loathing the weakling she'd become, though she fully accepted now that happiness and everything that came with it was somewhat relative … relative, she surmised to certain other ranges of unhappiness. The star of hope became blurred, its precise edges marred by a small storm of waiting tears that welled in the jewels of her emerald green eyes … blink, blink, she set them free. Izzie remained calm and still and simply reached for her hand.

A quick flurry of footsteps interrupted her internal tirade, a smile crept upon her face: Doc. She closed her eyes again; the holiday lights and her new smile faded away, though the emptiness she'd been besieged with did not. Her mother popped into her head, but she quickly set her free, realizing, that even though it seemed like Santa Claus had thrown up in the living room, her mother's home had never looked this festive before. The footsteps were back, though different this time, she still smiled. She opened her eyes … the star twinkled high above her.

"What are we doing?" came George's voice.

"Lights," Izzie breathed softly, squeezing Meredith's hand as she did.

George shuffled into the room, stepped over their legs and took his spot next to Meredith on her left. He exhaled sharply and scooted closer to her, his forearm flanking hers as Doc barked into the seemingly empty room and came to settle himself down by the fire. She sighed and met George's large brown eyes briefly before she doted on Doc, watching the shadows from the fire cascade over his relaxed form. He breathed in and out and she watched his eyes close before she turned her attention back to the twinkle of the lights and their silent melody.

She pushed out a breath and held her gaze upon a single red light and counted its cheery beat as it blinked in harmony within its string of lights. She shifted her weight and thought briefly about sitting up – about moving out from under the tree – she thought about moving on … but to where?

Where does one go when she or he is lost or haunted by the past? She could ask her mother that question, for how ironic was it that she too, was haunted and lost. Like mother, like daughter … or was it the other way around?

The cards were stacked against her; of course she knew that the moment Addison had shown up out of nowhere. Of course she knew that Derek wasn't strong enough to fully own or accept what they had started together, for if he were, Addison would not have been a surprise at all. If he had been ready to … 'pick her or chose her' … he would have done so with conviction and been sure of the changes he wanted to make in his life. He wouldn't have been a coward about their 'relationship' as he liked to call it; he would have been sure enough to tell her about his relative … freedom, for everything was relative in the end.

And of course, as it turned out, Addison was a strong woman – his wife of eleven years – and to that end, who was Meredith to belittle that? For the last thing she wanted to be was some kind of selfish home wrecker, like her mother was. She struggled to breathe at the thought, the air under the tree hardly refreshing now – inadequate, fragrant and hot – it funneled in and out of her lungs but hardly made a difference at all during this mild panic attack.

She felt tiny beads of sweat soak her brow as she dared herself not to think about Bonnie and Tom and the desperation of their situation, about pole and the aorta and Derek's impending decision, his choice. She tried not to think about it, about the logical medical 'choice' to save one to forgo the life of the other: Bonnie, her aorta, Meredith, 'what about her … what about her' … what about them? Thick, salty tears stung her eyes and a swarm of unruly sadness claimed her, the loss just too great, for it was true … 'if love were enough', she would still be here … and perhaps so he would also still be here … with her.

Her heart quaked and her eyes welled up with those collected tears, her emptiness consuming her now as she once again came to terms with Derek's hasty departure within days of that trauma. Her mind effortlessly drifting to his land now, the forty acres as vacant and as barren as she felt now: lonely, unloved, forgotten, bleak … and without the twinkling star of hope to shine upon it. Already for sale (Gulfstream included). Already now a sad sight against the backdrop of the pale, damp Seattle winter. Still listed as of this morning … still available … and still Derek's, though oh so desolate now as it mocked and betrayed the very idea of all that it once stood for: a new beginning, a place of his own, a breakaway from the mundane.

"I miss him …Derek … I miss him," she found herself confessing into the quiet. "And it's not the holidays, I hate the holidays – I've never longed for anything or anyone in my entire life – not even my father," she rambled softly.

"What does Cristina say?" Izzie asked as she turned her head, Meredith fastened her eyes to the looming star.

"I'm not sure," Meredith mused, for Derek and any feelings she had for him had become taboo between the two of them.

"You're not over him yet," George offered. "Did you love him?" he wondered softly.

"Yes," she answered candidly.

He shifted next to her and she could tell that he had pinned his eyes to her face. "Well, did you ever tell him that?" he asked, his voice pitched higher.

"Yes," she answered. And then she blinked and turned toward him, her friend, her confidant.

"And what did he say?" he asked as he stared at her, the lights playing with his tufts of wild hair. She imagined he looked a lot like the boy he once was a long time ago.

She smiled. "Nothing," she sighed.

"He said 'nothing'?" Izzie exclaimed harshly, her wide innocent eyes narrowing as Meredith turned toward her.

"I gave him the choice, remember?" Meredith prompted. "Joe's … sign the papers or … don't – I said, 'pick me' – but before I said all that … I told him I loved him," she smiled weakly, her cheeks pink now.

"Oh … that was painful, watching you that night," Izzie sighed, her recollection resurfacing. "He left right after that, right after that train wreck," she stated evenly.

"He left a mess," George sighed, his eyes still on Meredith. "He chose wrong," he defended firmly.

"Yeah," Meredith scoffed. "That's what I'm going with too," she sighed breathlessly. "Still doesn't change the fact that I miss him …," she whispered into the confessional just between friends. "Doesn't change the fact that I feel haunted, day and night … and suddenly the holidays make it all seem so much worse," she lamented sadly.

"The holidays can do that," Izzie corroborated. "They can make us think of what might have been," she whispered. "Of … where we went wrong or what we might have … given up …," she muttered, her voice trailing off with uncertainty.

Meredith listened to Izzie and watched as a forlorn, unreadable expression suddenly passed over her round, cherubic face. Her eyes so hollow, they startled Meredith and added another layer of depth to her complexity, for she was mourning something much greater than her failed attempt at a relationship with Alex. She was so sad in that moment that the most gracious thing Meredith could have done was to avert her eyes – to offer her friend a modicum of privacy – and yet, so dumbfounded was she that she could not look away for fear of losing the moment of reflection.

She tilted her head. "Izzie … I … what … happened …," she prompted hesitantly, her voice trailing off as she scanned her eyes … brilliant with color, still a magnetic blue, despite the layer of sadness now seen throughout their depths.

"I mean … aren't we supposed to reflect?" Izzie insisted now. "God, in some ways that's what I love about the holidays, it's also what I can't stand," she rambled on.

"I suppose," Meredith agreed soberly, still quite awestruck by the intensity of what she'd seen cross over Izzie's face.

The trio grew quiet then, falling into a bevy of reflection. And as Meredith closed her eyes briefly, she listened to the sounds of the house, the crackle of the fire, the howl of the wind from the east … the tree branch as it scraped its way across the vestibule outside. And as much as she wanted to avoid and move on and live her life without Derek, she somehow knew she couldn't let go yet. Perhaps she thought now that it was this house – this living room floor in fact – this place that had ensconced their relationship at the beginning … this place that protected them when they were hiding out together … and separately too.

Meredith opened her eyes and spoke again. "I can't get away from him," she concluded. "He's at work … he's here too … he's everywhere and I … I'm pretty sure he might have left Addison for me if that train wreck hadn't happened …," she voiced softly. "And I … I don't know if I want to get away from him," she navigated carefully. "Ghost or not, I don't know if I'm ready to let go … to stop seeing him," she reasoned.

"It takes time to get over someone," George stated evenly, though the vibration of his voice betrayed him.

Meredith turned away from the lights and smiled weakly at George. She exhaled. "You need to get over me, George," she stated evenly. She tilted her head and regarded him then, watching a façade of horror cross over his boyish features. "Resolve to get over me …," she insisted softly. "You know you deserve better than what I can give," she whispered, pressing her lips together into a thin line as she studied his face. "You and I … we'll always be friends, the best of friends and we'll be better for it," she conspired; her bright eyes still pinned on his.

George smiled and chuckled weakly as his face became flushed. "I can be pretty transparent," he replied softly. "And … I'm glad we're friends, Meredith," he smiled and she knew he meant it.

"Me too," Izzie sighed breathlessly as she stared at the lights, twinkling, bright sparks made of fun and jolly.

"You're just not over him yet," George declared again after another minute. He turned his attention back to the lights.

"No …," Meredith sighed. "As pathetic as that is … I'm not," she agreed. "I'm … waiting, I feel like I'm still stuck in that limbo he put me in, even though he's not here – even though he made his choice – even though he went back to New York … I'm helplessly stuck, here … without him," she said brazenly.

"You just need time," Izzie consoled, turning her head toward Meredith's. "Maybe another week!" she exclaimed brightly with wonder, her blue eyes shimmering against the lights. "The New Year is right around the corner, maybe all you need is some time and a brand New Year," she decided.

"Maybe," Meredith murmured softly as they looked at one another for a beat.

"You're not stuck, Meredith – you're not – you just need to let yourself fall out of love … and that's … that can be complicated, especially around the holidays," she whispered. "You'll see, you'll meet someone else – you'll move on from your past – go on a date with someone relatively unknown to you … and then Derek Shepherd won't haunt you anymore … I promise …," she sighed, her voice shaking.

Meredith sighed and shook her head, once again forcing herself to focus on the dancing lights in the tree above them and that star of hope that had somehow become her beacon for now. It was nice here, she decided. Under the Christmas tree with her 'family'. It was nice and simple and it was anything but complicated. And she needed that, if only for a moment.

But as much sense as Izzie made just now, Meredith also knew as soon as she would shut the door to her bedroom and slip into bed with Doc at her feet, that she would be plagued with restlessness and fear and loathing and … sadness. Because she wasn't lying before – she missed Derek – she longed for him and late at night, the masochist in her would rear her ugly head wherein she would inevitably heed her tortuous her call and allow herself to submit to that empty sadness he left behind.

For deep inside that void, there were a steady stream of unanswered questions she privately allowed herself to dwell upon: Did he think about her at all? Was he happy? Did he love her at all or ever … and in the same unrelenting way she still loved him? And what was he doing … right then and there … what were his sad, beautiful eyes focused upon?

In My Life – Part 2 to follow.