The Shepherd Legacy

Walk on Water

The Shepherd household was unusually quiet that morning, the kind of silence that seemed to press down, heavy with unspoken thoughts and memories that lingered like ghosts. Derek, having risen with the sun, found himself navigating the dimly lit corridors of their home, drawn to the kitchen by the need for something as normal as a morning coffee. Yet, the sight that greeted him was anything but normal.

Mary, the youngest Shepherd, sat on the floor, her back against the cabinets, a cup clasped in her hands as if it were a lifeline. The early morning light filtered through the window, casting her in a soft glow, but it did little to mask the shadows beneath her eyes or the way her gaze seemed fixed on some distant point outside.

"What are you doing up so early?" Derek asked, his voice breaking the silence. Mary looked up, as if noticing him for the first time, and hastily stood, trying to brush past the concern she saw written on his face.

"I just wanted to get up a little earlier," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting away from his.

Derek reached out, stopping her with a gentle touch, his eyes searching hers for the truth she was so clearly hiding. "Are you okay?" he asked, the weight of his own emotions making his voice softer than he intended.

Mary nodded, a too-quick motion that betrayed her words. Derek pulled her into a hug, an attempt to offer comfort, to bridge the gap that trauma had wedged between them. "You know you can take the day off if you need to," he said, his voice muffled against her hair. "I'm the chief—I can make it happen. Just say the word."

She pulled away, offering him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's okay," she insisted, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Come on, Mare, it's me. Talk to me," he said gently, trying to remind her of the bond they shared, of the countless moments of vulnerability and strength that had defined their relationship. But she was already retreating, her insistence on normalcy pushing her towards the stairs and away from the conversation.

He sighed, watching her go, the feeling of helplessness settling in his chest once more. It was a sensation that had become all too familiar in the aftermath of the shooting, a reminder of the scars that ran deeper than skin, of wounds that were slow to heal.

Meredith's arrival, her footsteps soft on the stairs, pulled him from his thoughts. She found him standing in the middle of the kitchen, the coffee forgotten, his concern for Mary written clearly on his face.

"What's wrong with Mary?" she asked, her own worry mirroring his.

Derek could only shrug, the weight of his responsibilities as chief, brother, and guardian heavy on his shoulders. "She seems out of it," he admitted, struggling to articulate the depth of his concern, the fear that, despite their best efforts, Mary was slipping away from them, lost in the shadows of her own mind.

Meredith stepped closer. "She's been through a lot," she reminded him, her voice a soft caress against the sharp edges of his worry. "We all have. Maybe she just needs time."

"Time," Derek repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. Time was a luxury they didn't seem to have, each day bringing its own challenges, its own reminders of the fragility of life and the strength it took to face it head-on.

"But she's not alone," Meredith continued, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining in a silent vow of support. "She has us. We're a family, Derek. We'll get through this together."

--

Less than an hour later, the Shepherd-Grey household was a flurry of activity as each member prepared for the day ahead. Mary, her headphones in, seemed lost in her own world, a temporary escape provided by her music. Mark and Lexie, in contrast, were deep in discussion over the details of a surgery they were planning, their conversation a blend of professional insight and personal connection.