[for Meredith]

"Another day, another dollar, luv?" Sean asks, looking up from his book, some hardcover monstrosity that he's been making only minimal headway on, to watch Meredith as she comes through the door, Doc kicking up the usual fuss at her arrival. For the last few days, he's been making it a point to make sure he's always around when she gets out of the clinic, even going to so far as to subtly rearrange his schedule or stay up at odd hours whenever he can to accommodate it. It's not that he doesn't trust her to handle herself, of course, but with Lexie's disappearance still so fresh, he figures that it can't hurt to at least avail himself as much as he can in case she needs the extra bit of support.

So far, however, it seems to be a wasted effort, with Meredith going about her week as usual aside from the slightly increased workload left by another doctor's absence. Knowing her, he's not sure why he expected anything different, but in the end, it doesn't really change his approach any.

"Ye doin' all right?"

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Try as Meredith might to keep moving, people persist in asking her how she is. Is she alright? How is she holding up? Just hang in there. She's heard the ridiculous questions so many times they bleed into one another now, heard the meaningless platitudes. None of it does much of anything except annoy her.

"I'm fine," she says with a quick shrug, leaving her own book and bag on the table. It takes effort to get over that far with Doc winding around her legs, like he thinks he's half his actual size, but she manages that, too. She isn't going to fall apart just because another person leaves like they always do. "It's all splinters and sunburns as usual."

"Business as usual, then," Sean says, trying not to sound annoyed by that. If that's how she wants it, to skip on ahead with her day-to-day without dwelling, then that should be how she gets it. She has the right to decide how she deals with things (or doesn't). It just riles him up a bit, having his concern be sloughed off along with the rest of it, and maybe that's selfish, but he is what he is. "Silly t'expect anythin' different, I s'pose."

"Always is," Meredith says. That's not true and she knows it, because she's found different before and will again, more times than anyone would expect. Still, right now, she feels she was pretty silly to think things might stay good. Lexie's disappearance may not take away the rest of the good around her, but it serves as a stark reminder, nonetheless, of the fact that the only thing predictable about any of this is how easily it can all be lost. Heading over to Sean, she leans down to kiss him. "How's your day been?"

"Much the same, I'd wager," Sean says, although he suspects there was more being in a hurry to get home on his end of things. Meredith was perfectly appraised of her own condition without that added step, after all. "Better now that ye're in it again, though."

Though she's sure he knows all the same, at times like these, Meredith finds herself wanting to tell him it isn't his fault. All the things she tries to keep to herself and the way she gets down in spite of it, they have nothing to do with him, except that he's inevitably affected, because he spends more time with her than anyone else. The trouble with doing so, though, is that she'd have to admit something is wrong at all, and she doesn't want to, so the cycle continues. Perching herself on the arm of his chair, she smiles anyway. "Oh, well, as long as I can help," she teases. "I haven't become part of the usual yet?"

"Meredith, ye dinnae have single usual bone in yer body," Sean says, equal parts fond and smug as he puts his arm around her waist and pulls her into the seat with him.

If only being able to help came to naturally to everyone.

In spite of herself, Meredith laughs, slipping easily onto the seat, half beside him, half draped over him. Leaning close to kiss him again, she shakes her head. "I've got the same two hundred and six as everyone else," she says with a wry grin. "Every last one is usual."

"Liar," Sean whispers with a grin, catching her hand in his. "I mean, what's that one that lets ye do that thing wi' yer leg when we're... ye know. Definitely somethin' special goin' on there."

Meredith lets out a laugh, forehead resting against his. "That's not a bone," she says, smirking. "I'm just flexible." And practiced, but then, these days, if anyone would know about that, it's him.

"I don't know," Sean says slowly, playing at skepticism but still grinning as he lets his eyes slip shut for a moment. "Maybe I'll have ta start payin' more attention in class, make sure ye're nae tryin' to pull one over on me."

"You're terrible," Meredith says, sinking down in the seat. She can try all she likes to pretend things are fine, but it's so much easier to relax and let it be true when she's around him. "You're gonna force me to fail you if you keep it up."

"Ye wouldn't," Sean says, drawing back with a look of shocked affront before he smirks. No matter how concerned he is that this is just more of the same, her little ways of avoiding whatever issues may or not be at hand, he also can't help that it always feels like a relief to see her smile again, hear her laugh at some small thing or another. "Now how would that look?"

"Like I don't play favorites," Meredith says lightly, reaching up to tap him on the nose. "And I grade fairly. You'd just have to take the course again to pass." This is enough, this is all she needs — him and something to keep her busy, the central parts of her life now. Everything else is extra. She just has to remember that from here on out.

"Ah, now I see yer li'l scheme," Sean says, clucking his tongue in mock disapproval. "Ye know, if'n ye wanted ta keep me 'round yer class that badly, ye could've jus' asked."

"It's not a scheme," Meredith answers with a wry arch of her brow. "I can't help it if you can't keep up. Getting distracted?" Even she feels like she's losing her train of thought in class sometimes, her own thoughts intruding along with the afternoon heat.

"Constantly," Sean admits, kissing her again in clear demonstration of an example in action. His pride won't let him keep it going, though. "I can so keep up, though."

"Then pay attention," Meredith says, mock-admonishing. He keeps up just fine, but that isn't the point. She shifts in the seat as she speaks, sitting up and moving to face him better. "To what I'm saying, not just me."

"I do," Sean says, softer and more serious than he intends to. His smile slips just slightly a moment later. "Is there anythin' ye're sayin' now that I'm missin'?"

"No," Meredith says, shaking her head, brow arching slightly in confusion. If anything, there's too much she isn't saying, too much she doesn't even want to think about, but it feels like that's always been true, all her life. At least these days, it doesn't have anything to do with them as them. She smiles, leaning her head on his shoulder. "No, I'm not saying anything."

Maybe that's the problem. Or maybe he's just projecting his own issues about the loss of family onto her. Either way, he keeps his mouth shut about it. "Okay," he says, resting his head gently against hers for a second as he tightens the arm he has around her and pulls her close. "Jus' makin' sure what with everythin', dinnae mind me."

Meredith glances up, letting herself settle more snugly against him even as she scoffs. "What, trying to talk about my feelings?" she asks wryly. Maybe if she at least acknowledges something's there, she can convince him it's nothing to bother about. Lexie was here. Now Lexie's gone. It always happens and she should have expected it.

Sean balks for a moment, but he can't keep it up, because she really does have him dead to rights on this one. "Well, a'right, everything's gonna sound ridiculous if'n ye say it like that," he counters, defensive but good-natured about it. Pointing out his own hypocrisy and the likely futility of the gesture isn't enough to lessen his concern. "'Twas jus' a thought, okay?"

Ridiculous is exactly how she wants it to sound. Ridiculous is a hell of a lot easier to shut down than reasonable. "I didn't say it was ridiculous," she says, though. "But it kind of is. I'm fine. There's nothing to talk about. You don't have to worry about me."

"Will anyway. Ye know that," Sean says, but it's casual, a simple statement of facts. If there's one thing that he never wants to do, it's pointlessly press at something, but she's his wife. If nothing else, he gets to worry. "Jus' sayin', ye're nae the only one who's lost family to this place." And since he's honestly not sure whether the vastly different situations make this easier or harder for Meredith, he has to double check.

"A half-sister," Meredith says, "not a daughter. I barely knew her anyway." They grew a lot closer toward the end, admittedly, or Lexie got easier to bear, whichever it is, but that doesn't mean they were best friends. She just has to keep remembering it doesn't matter. "Besides, she'll be happier in Seattle."

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