She almost followed it – the big yellow school bus rumbling down their street as she left for work that early September morning.

It just reminded her of it, that she hadn't packed a lunch with gold fish crackers for Eric in years, not that he'd need one at Cal Tech, and she hadn't watched Alex slip tiger shaped animal crackers into Abbey's lunch in ages, except as a joke, and it wasn't like she'd need them in LA, and she hadn't packed Katie a peanut butter and hot sauce sandwich – sliced diagonally, or it would go uneaten as a matter of some bizarre, unspoken principle - since the eighth grade, and it wasn't like she'd need it in Florida, where she probably lived on fish she caught herself and fresh coconuts and oranges and lemons snagged from the trees outside her colorful little beach house, at least, that was how April imagined it.

It was all worlds away from Seattle – the labs at Cal Tech, the fashion scene in LA, the Atlantic Ocean – and it wasn't like they needed her for any of it, since it wasn't like she could do it, build a walking spider for Introduction to Robotics, and it wasn't like she could do it, film sharks actually mating – even if it wasn't exactly pornographic – and it wasn't like she'd gotten it, ever, what made one dress the height of fashion, while another just missed it entirely – whatever it was – since that had always been more Beth's thing, or Dani's, and they still sometimes sternly supervised her own shopping trips just because of it.

It was different now, though, she reminded herself as she pulled into the hospital parking lot, and it was a fresh start, or it could be, since it was calmer now, the house, without hurricane Katie blowing through, and it was neater now, without Eric's ski gear everywhere, just booby trapping the stair case for his sisters, as far as she saw it, and it was quieter now, without Abbey always chattering on it – her phone, with her two hundred and fifty six best friends, or at least, it had always seemed like it.

She could focus more on her work, too, she reminded herself, as she pulled on her lab coat, and she could finally put it into place – her latest protocol for training the newest crop of interns.

She could finally get the Emergency Medicine Department completely organized to her liking, too, and she could finally get ahead of all the paperwork the state of Washington required for their periodic inspection of Level One Trauma Centers.

She might even have more time for publishing her work in journals, since she was still about it, being the go to chick in trauma, and she'd done it while raising it three kids, and she'd point that out to Cari, again, too, the next time her sister bragged about it – her latest award for her ground breaking cancer research – since, it wasn't like April would get snippy or snarky about it, no matter what their mother said about it, it was just that Cari was so freaking competitive about it, ever since she'd won it, that fellowship at Hopkins, and really, well, she always started it.

"More paper work?" April asked later that day, trying not to giggle.

It wasn't that Alex had brought it with him to the cafeteria. It was just that she could tell, just by how he was stabbing at his little pudding cup.

"It's only for two months," he scowled, doing a perfect imitation of Bailey's voice, and she couldn't help laughing.

It had happened again, another abrupt resignation in the NICU, and he was stuck being the interim head of it, again, and she really hoped Bailey was right that a new chair would be in place by the middle of November, because really, Alex was a great surgeon, but he hated the paperwork part of it, and he was terrible at it, the organizing part.

It wasn't like that should be a surprise, either, since he still did it – filed the cheese doodles under "R" in the pantry, long after she'd stopped arguing about it with him – giving them to Tobey and Gracie – since really, it wasn't like they weren't close enough to their ideal weights, and it wasn't like they all hadn't put a few pounds on over the years – except Mrs. DuBois of course she reminded herself, frowning and poking at her lunch and unconsciously sucking it in, her stomach, or at least, what she could of it.

"You'll finish it," she assured him, nodding and sipping her coffee.

She had no idea if it was true, and sometimes she could imagine it, that the new Chief of Surgery twenty years from then would find it all someday, mountains of unfinished requisition forms and progress and staff evaluations stuffed haphazardly in dusty file cabinets in the dark hospital tunnels, just because Alex could only take it for so long before he lost all patience with it.

She'd offer to help him with it, too – since it wasn't like she didn't have time for it now, and she really was great at it. But he'd never accept it, anyway, and he'd probably just grumble about it being like the freaking pantry but worse.

"I heard from Abbey," he said a moment later, happily gnawing on his cheese burger.

"Did she ask you for it?" April asked casually, digging into her yogurt.

It wasn't like Abbey needed it, exactly, help with her rent money. It was just that April might have mentioned it to Abbey once or twice, that Alex would really like to help her with it – no matter what he said about it, LA in general – and it hadn't taken any more than that for Abbey to get it, that he sort of needed to give it, even if she could technically manage without it.

"I sent it," he said, smiling and nodding briskly and savoring his French Fries.

He'd never see it, she imagined, how much it mattered to him – that Abbey would accept it, and Katie wouldn't, his help – and he'd never see it, she thought, that it was why Katie and he would never see eye to eye about it, since they were entirely too much alike about it, even if they'd both deny it.

"She really loves it," April said, almost wistfully, and it could've meant LA, or it could've meant Florida, or it could've meant fashion, or it could've meant marine biology, or it could've meant something else entirely, even if Abbey reveled in it, while Katie resisted it at every turn.

Not that it might not matter at all, she reminded herself, if Abbey followed up on it – the envelop that still sat under the wicker mail basket.

Not that she was thinking about it, since really, all it could do was blow their family apart, no matter how hard she'd worked at it, and tear Abbey and Katie away from them, no matter how much they'd put into it, and have it all blow up in their faces – just like Alex was obviously still worrying it would, not that he'd ever admit it – and it would probably almost kill him, she thought, if Abbey took it all away from him – the baby saving, hard-working Russian immigrant, pecan pancake eating, rent paying for his daughter swagger that came with it - not that April was thinking about it.

"Yeah," he smirked, pulling his phone out. "She sent me a picture of it," he added, rolling his eyes and pushing the phone toward her. "Mrs. DuBois' Thanksgiving get up."

"I like it," April replied quickly, focusing more closely on the image.

Not that it would ever fit her by then with that cut, she imagined, since she could already picture it – Beth's banana cream pie, made just like Aunt Edna's, and Dani's cream pastries, flown in from New York City's finest bakery, and Jenny's triple fudge brownies, which she could smell from the car, and Cari's lasagna, which she made from scratch, and she was already planning on eating all of it, since it might be their last happy Thanksgiving together, not that she was worried about it.

"It'd look hot on you," Alex agreed, nodding and studying it more intently, before glancing her over again.

"My fat ass?" she smirked and she just couldn't help it, since he still wanted her to wear it – her Wonder Woman costume – even if, as far as she could tell, it didn't quite cover it.

"I love it," he protested, nodding at her bright eyed and eagerly before answering his pager.

It was a freaking hard case, with sick preemie twins, and it spilled over into October, and he didn't care that it piled up – the paperwork – since he was a freaking surgeon, not a secretary, and he reminded Bailey of that again when she squawked at him about it.

He just grumbled and scowled and snarled a week later, too – when one of the twins didn't make it – and it was almost fucking worse, that the crying parents said they understood it, and that they'd been warned about it – that it was risky, the whole pregnancy – as if any of that made any fucking sense of it, that they were burying a kid even though they wanted it, while another one waited in the NICU for someone from Social Services to come get it.

It wasn't like it wasn't good, though, he reminded himself, when the other little girl finally went home, and he smirked as he watched it – her mother putting the little pumpkin one-sie on her, since it was Halloween, and he was home in time to get dressed for it, and April was already ready for it – the onslaught of trick-or-treaters – and it would be him and Nicholas as Wolverine and the Green Lantern that year, and they did too count as Super Heroes, no matter what the League of Justice said about it.

"Tight, is it?" she teased, eyeing it over closely, his costume, and she could snicker at it all she wanted, but it wasn't like anybody ever called witches for help, when you got right down to it.

"It's supposed to be," he huffed, sucking it in a little. It was, really, and it wasn't like it didn't look bulkier with the cape around it, and it wasn't like it wasn't supposed to be cold that night, and he was going to be ready for it this time, since it might be the last year, anyway, since next year Nicholas might be a little too big for it, the whole trick or treating thing.

"So, I'm doing it with the Green Lantern tonight?" she teased, lightly fingering it.

"Count on it," he insisted, nodding smugly as she reached into the candy cauldron and dug out a stash of miniature Snickers bars, just to set aside for it.

It was the perfect night for Halloween, clear and chilly with a howling wind. It was creepy as hell, too, the big old empty house up the block, and he smirked as he remembered the stories Abbey made up about it, which had kept Eric awake for weeks – not that he'd admit to it – while Katie just snickered and rolled her eyes at it, the whole idea that headless creek monsters had taken up residence in it, as if stranger things than that hadn't happened, no matter how hard the government tried to cover it up, at least, to hear the Discovery Channel tell it.

It was a big candy haul for Nicholas, though, and he smirked again as he remembered the kids all squabbling over it, as if it was even that freaking hard to sort out, anyway – since Katie only liked candy if it was red, and Eric wouldn't eat chocolate with anything else in it except almonds, and they both caved when Abbey insisted that Mrs. DuBois get her cut of it – not that it was a big deal, since Mrs. DuBois preferred dark chocolate and anything nougat, and inexplicably, Kit Kats – so it wasn't like they were squabbling over anything more than just for the hell of it, at least, as far as he saw it.

It would be like that the following month, too, he suspected – even though Katie wouldn't be making it home for Thanksgiving, at least, as far as he could tell from April and her sisters – since they were still sometimes arguing just out of the habit of it, too, at least, from the looks of it – since really, did it freaking matter if two of them wore the same color, or which of them saw it first, the over-priced designer hand bag, or who had actually done it – spilled gravy on their mother's favorite table cloth, over twenty years before – even if Jenny had been unjustly punished for it, at least, to hear her tell it.

It wasn't exactly like that with Abbey and Eric, though, he noticed when they both got home that month, since Eric had mostly been quiet about his first few months of school, and Abbey was encouraging him about it – that it was really hard the first full semester, until you got used to it, that it got better, if you just stuck with it, that it was obviously something he could do, since he's always been good at it.

Not that it wasn't all wedged in between the usual snickering about girls and snarking on fashion majors and smirking at nerds and eye rolling at math phobias – not that Alex blamed Abbey for it, since failing a calculus exam or two wasn't exactly unheard of, not that he wanted to talk about it - it was just that it wasn't squabbling over gum balls and Hersey bars anymore, either, no matter how he looked at it.

Not that he understood it, exactly, since it was different from April and her sisters, and it was different than him and Amber – even if she was right there in the middle of it, chattering away with Beth and Dani while Nicholas tugged at it, his tie, and Andrew just glanced nervously at it, not that Alex blamed him for it, since really – it was a lot of estrogen, six chicks going at it – not that Amber couldn't hold her own in it, even if she'd only ever had brothers before it, not that it mattered, since it was all just part of the family now, at least, to hear April and her sisters talk about it.

It was all still cause for thanks, too, he reminded himself, as they sat down for the meal – since it wasn't like Bailey hadn't finally freed him of it, the interim position in the NICU, and it wasn't like he wasn't just rocking it again, his surgeries.

It wasn't like Abbey hadn't asked him for it again, either, help with her rent, and it wasn't like Eric hadn't mentioned it, that his scholarship didn't quite cover his pricey ski team fees, never mind gas money – and probably condoms, not that he'd mention it, since really, they'd already discussed it, and it was implied, he was sure, whenever he reminded Eric of it – seat belt at all times – that that sort of included condoms, too, and it wasn't like Katie hadn't promised it, that she'd still be home for Christmas, even if she would miss out on some awesome Florida surfing for it, at least, to hear her tell it.

"How's it coming?" April asked, surveying the cookie sheets skeptically.

"Great," Abbey said cheerfully. "They're snakeheads," she giggled. "And dinosaurs."

"The Christmas spirit," April agreed, nodding sarcastically.

Of course they were dinosaurs, because it would make perfect sense in her family, to make holiday sugar cookies shaped like sea monsters, since Jurassic Park was a holiday classic, to hear them tell it.

"Not the 'It's a Wonderful Life' lecture again?" Abbey teased.

And it wasn't, April insisted to herself. It had never been a lecture – no matter what they said - it was just that that was a legitimate Christmas classic, no matter what her snarky family said about it.

"You know what dad would say about it," Abbey added, smirking as she slid another tray of sugar cookie dough into the top oven, that tray covered with space aliens and pyramids, from the looks of it.

"It's all just the freaking lighting," Abbey continued, giggling as she imitated his voice.

Of course Alex would say that, April reminded herself – since they'd heard it all before – about how it was all just the snowy special effects and the sappy music and the fancy houses all decked out like the ones in the freaking decorating magazines – or Beth's - that made people watch them.

Of course it was, she snickered incredulously, as if any movie that featured big-boobed Martians or mutant seaweed that could run on dry land or vegetables that grew legs could ever qualify as a holiday classic no matter what the Discovery channel said about it.

"Did you ask him about it?" April asked, almost hesitantly.

It wasn't like it should be any different that month, but it was, and it might be forever, and she was still struggling to find words for it.

"He already sent the rent money to me," Abbey replied, sounding vaguely puzzled.

"Good," April agreed, exhaling heavily as she nervously stirred it, her third cup of coffee, since it wasn't like she had been sleeping well, not that she was thinking about it.

"Something wrong, mom?" Abbey asked.

It was more curious than concerned, Abbey's look, but she just couldn't meet it.

She just couldn't help picturing it – four year old Abbey sitting at the counter waiting for it, the plate of animal crackers and the glass of milk Alex had fixed for her, back when she'd first arrived and was just getting used to it, even if it was 3 a.m., and even if they sort of knew she was faking it, the nightmares, not that that would've stopped Alex from spoiling her, no matter what April had said about it.

"No," April said slowly.

It wasn't really, since she'd promised herself it years ago – that she wouldn't discourage the girls if they wanted it, to know more about their biological parents.

It was just that it had all seemed so different back then, back before they were a family for real – no matter what the freaking system said about it. She'd never believed it, either, when Alex had warned her about it, that it was all just about the system, and not about the kids.

It was just that it had looked more and more like he said it did, when she saw it up close, and it wasn't like she even wanted to admit it, that maybe he'd been right about it.

"I was just wondering-" she started.

It wasn't like it would change anything, she reminded herself fiercely, since she'd do it all over again, bring Katie and Abbey home.

It wasn't like it would wipe out all the time they spent together, either, nearly twenty years, and it wasn't like it would make her stop feeling it – that she was their mother, no matter what the envelop said about it – and it was selfish, it was, to want to keep them all to herself.

It was just that, at the moment, she wasn't sure how to stop feeling it.

"Wondering what?" Abbey asked, rolling out another batch of cookies, in more traditional designs this time, bells and snowmen and reindeer and steeple topped churches.

She hesitated briefly, and it occurred to her vaguely that if this all went wrong, she'd probably blame Alex and herself and the system and her sisters and the dogs and Eric and the flower garden and the hospital and Aunt Edna and even God for it.

"If you…decided," she said finally, and she was sure she could hear it, her heart pounding in her ears, and she was sure she could feel it, the cold shiver running up her spine, and she was sure it was already roiling – her stomach – and it might even be spinning a little, either the warm, sweet smelling kitchen or her throbbing head, not that she was entirely clear on it.

"Oh," Abbey said quietly, running her finger along a spoon to clear it of cookie mix.

"I talked to Katie about it," she added, shrugging and frowning awkwardly. "She doesn't want anything to do with it," she continued wryly.

"Do you?" April asked.

She was trying to sound neutral about it, she was, and she was trying to be a good person about it, she was, and she was trying to be fair about it. It was just that she couldn't help it – whatever it was that was all caught up in her throat – as she imagined it all slowly slipping away.

"I don't know," Abbey replied, shrugging again and not looking at her.

April didn't know how to read it, either, since it wasn't like she sounded excited and it wasn't like she sounded scared and it wasn't like she sounded anything like her, really, when you got right down to it.

"I should, I guess," she volunteered reluctantly. "I mean, I get it, they did a lot for me," she said, sighing quietly.

"Yeah, they did," April agreed.

It wasn't like she could deny it – since at least the girls' mother had done it, allowed the adoption – even if it wouldn't have been necessary if the woman had protected them from it in the first place, their father's behavior, not that she was really capable of it, April reminded herself, and it had all sucked all around for them, when you got right down to it.

"I don't want to, though," she admitted reluctantly, turning away abruptly and pulling a steaming tray out of the bottom oven. "I know it's selfish, but-" she continued, her voice dropping away.

"But what?" April asked, eying Abbey closely as she glanced back at her hesitantly.

"Are you afraid we'd be upset about it?" she asked a moment later.

It wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't, for Abbey not to do it just because she didn't want them to be mad about it, and it wasn't like she hadn't promised herself years before that whatever she did – she wouldn't do that, make the girls feel guilty about it, if they ever asked about it.

"Dad would be," Abbey said wryly. "Not that he'd ever admit it."

It wasn't like April could argue it, either, since it wasn't like Alex ever said anything about it, but it wasn't like it would matter anyway, since it wasn't like Abbey couldn't read him like a wide open book just like April could, no matter how much he would've scoffed at the whole freaking idea of it.

"You'd be, too," Abbey added softly.

"I'd-" April started, but she couldn't quite finish it.

It wasn't like she was going to lie about it, not when it wasn't like Abbey wouldn't see right through it.

"I'd… get used to it," April finished, shrugging reluctantly.

She wasn't sure of it, really. But it was the best she could manage, no matter how much she'd thought about it, and how much she worried about it, and how hard she worked at it.

"I don't want it," Abbey said more carefully, scrapping a batch of cookies off the sheet. "It's not like they asked for it," she added, frowning wryly.

"That's what the letter said?" April asked. "I thought maybe they wanted-"

"It wasn't a letter from them," Abbey corrected, sighing and wiping her hands off. "It was just a form, with an old address on it. It's not like they asked to see me or anything," she shrugged.

"Did you want them to?" April asked.

"Katie did," Abbey admitted reluctantly.

"I don't think she wanted to actually meet them," Abbey added wryly. "I think she just wanted to know that they-" she paused, sighing and groping for words.

"That they cared about you?" April added hesitantly.

"Yeah," Abbey agreed, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling another tray of cookies from the oven.

"I thought you'd be the one to want to meet them," April admitted, smirking wryly.

"I thought I should probably want to do it, you know, just for them," Abbey continued, frowning again.

"But you don't?" April added, more as an observation then a question.

"I already have a family," she said, shrugging again. "I'm Abbey Elizabeth Karev," she added proudly. "I've never wanted to be anyone else."

"And you don't want any of it to change?" April filled in, smirking again.

"You sound like your dad," April teased.

"I know," Abbey admitted, smiling wryly. "I always tease him about it. You know, fashion always changes and he… doesn't," she said, rolling her eyes and almost giggling at it. "But I love that about him," she said, smiling shyly. "He's just… dad. He always will be. I don't want to lose that."

"You know he'll always love you," April reminded her. "Even if he doesn't say it," she added wryly.

"He says it all the time," Abbey smirked, shrugging again, "just not with words."

"Yeah," April agreed, nodding again and smiling wryly, "he does."

"I don't want any of it to change," Abbey insisted, poking at another mound of cookie mix. "This," she said, motioning between them. "Us, me and Katie, me and Eric, I just want it to stay like it is."

"Yeah, me too," April admitted, smirking again. "I just didn't want-" she stammered.

"To pressure me, I know," Abbey pointed out.

"It was that obvious?" April asked, looking back at her seriously.

"Well, it wasn't "seat belt every time," obvious," she teased, imitating Alex's voice again. "But, yeah, it was pretty obvious."

"Have you told your dad?" April asked.

"I was just getting ready to," she said, motioning to the plate of cookies as if it was perfectly obvious.

"Why else would I make snakehead shaped Christmas cookies?" she asked, frowning seriously at April.

And really, April realized, it should've been perfectly obvious, once she thought about it.

"You know that's biologically impossible right?" Katie snickered.

She'd actually kept her promise to come home for it. Not that he'd doubted it, but he was sure April had been worried about it, since it was her thing and all, that they all be together every year for it, even if it was just a fake holiday for hyper-active kids to wring cool new over-priced toys out of their parents, when you got right down with it.

"Is that what you learned in whale-hugging school?" Eric chortled at Katie, his eyes lighting up as he reached for the steaming plate of cookies Abbey had just placed on the coffee table.

He'd passed it, too, apparently, Calculus I, even if he had gotten a C in it – and would be hearing about it from his sisters for weeks.

He'd be hearing about it from his father, too, Alex grumbled to himself, if he didn't shut about it, about how he'd re-hang the giant candy canes lining the porch, since, Eric swore – according to mom – dad just couldn't get the hang of it.

"They're sharks," Katie retorted smugly.

"And at least I didn't major in skiing," she added, moving to the window to check out the blizzard raging outside.

It was a challenge even if she didn't say it, and it was just a matter of time before they would all be racing down it, the hill in the back yard, because they did it every year, and he was going to win it this year, no matter what April said about it.

"Is there enough yet?" Eric asked eagerly, stuffing another hot cookie into his mouth as he followed her to the storage room to dig out the sleds.

They could cheat all they wanted at it, too – his mangy kids – waxing the bottoms of their sleds, or trimming down the sides to reduce wind shear, or whatever else it was Eric had been trying to do to his Super Spinner Deluxe Racer that week, as if no one else had seem him at it, and they could do whatever else they wanted to prepare for it, but it was his year, he could feel it – no matter what April said about it being too freaking dangerous, or about him being too freaking old for it - and he was going to win it.

"Super-Spinner Sled Race?" Abbey asked, giggling as Alex devoured another cookie.

They had to do it anyway, no matter what April said about it – about trauma surgeries and helicopters and how she'd ever explain it to the rescue team – since the kids always looked forward to it.

"You guys don't stand a chance," he said, nodding smugly.

They didn't either, and he was sick of hearing about the Valentine's Day race that ended with a freaking tie. Not that he wouldn't have won it – if she hadn't swerved into his path, and sent them headlong into the freaking fountain, though – to be fair – at least they hadn't ended up getting arrested for it.

"Have you been getting sledding tips from your patients?" Abbey asked, almost giggling.

She could joke about Peads all she wanted to, too, just like Yang and Mere did, because he saved babies – and that was more hard core than Cardio or Neuro or Trauma no matter what anyone said about it.

"Don't need them," Alex insisted, studying the snakehead cookies closely before happily grabbing another one. "Did you make the reindeer ones for Santa?" he asked, reaching for his milk glass.

"Dad," she smirked, rolling her eyes.

"What?" he protested.

"They're his favorites," Alex added seriously. They were, too, and she'd always made them for him, and she'd always had a special plate set aside for him, and she'd always labeled it with his name – to keep everyone else away from it.

"Yours, too," she giggled, poking him gently below the ribs.

Not that he wasn't still working on it, he reminded himself, losing the gut. It was just that he couldn't do it with Abbey home, not when it meant pecan pancakes in the morning, and sugar cookies in the afternoon, and it wasn't like he was giving any of that up no matter how often April teased him about it, as if it wasn't supposed to be tight, anyway, his Green Lantern costume, when you got right down to it.

"Figured that out, huh?" he replied, gnawing on another one.

It wasn't like he hadn't known it, that the kids had been totally playing April about it – the whole Santa Claus thing.

But it wasn't like she wasn't still all into it, the whole Christmas tree decorating and hanging stockings on the fireplace and gift wrapping part of it.

It wasn't like the kids didn't have fun with it, either, and it wasn't like it wasn't a great excuse to buy them Super Spinner Saucer Sleds, he recalled with a smirk, since – if it came from Santa – it wasn't like she could insist they return it.

"When I was seven," she pointed out.

He remembered it, too, vividly, her seventh Christmas, because it had been toy building hell that year, and there must have been a freaking strike at the elf factory, as far as he remembered it – since every freaking toy came in billion pieces, "some assembly required," with instructions in Swahili or Spanish or Sumatran – and it wouldn't have helped to call the toy hot lines, no matter what April said about it.

"You did not," he scoffed.

"The cookies, the carrots for the reindeer, the life savers for the elves-" he continued.

It had been quite a production, really, and it had been sappy movies with April, too, and fancy dresses for the girls – at least, until Katie started squawking about it – and always a new hat for Mrs. DuBois, since she was a Frnech woman and liked to be fashionable, at least, to hear Abbey tell it.

"Totally playing you," she smirked, grabbing a cookie for herself.

"It so worked," she added, nodding smugly.

Not that they'd needed it, the kids, he reminded himself, since it was just another fake holiday.

But it wasn't like his kids weren't going to get it – whatever they wanted – since it wasn't like it hadn't sucked, to be the kid who never got any of it, and it wasn't like that was happening to his kids, no matter what April said about it, as if she should even talk, given how spoiled her and her sisters were, just judging from how they chattered about it – even if they never did settle it – who set Aunt Mae's hair on fire the only year they tried it, candles on the Christmas tree, as if that wasn't just asking for it.

"What gave it away?" Alex smirked, rolling his eyes at her.

It wasn't like she wasn't April all over again when it came to family holidays.

But she wasn't crazed about it – and it wasn't like she'd lecture anyone about the proper way to hang jumbo candy canes, as if they wouldn't have come marked "this end up" if it actually freaking mattered.

It wasn't like she was snarky about it, either, like Katie, or baffled by it, like Eric, and it wasn't like it would ever stop her, anyway, since she'd still leave cookies out for Santa every year, even if the other kids teased her about it.

"My Barbie Dream house," she said seriously.

"Those are harder to build then they look," he protested defensively.

They were, too, and sure, he probably should've started on it sooner. But it wasn't like it warned you about it in the instructions – at least, not in any language that you could actually read about it.

"Not that," she giggled.

"I mean, the stairs were off center a little," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at him. "But they were also covered with the same cookie crumbs that were on your shirt the next morning."

"That was a long night," he reminded her, nodding his head, his expression growing wide eyed.

"It wouldn't have been if you'd called the help line," she teased, echoing April's voice.

"I didn't need it," he huffed.

He hadn't , and even if he had – it wouldn't have been in English, anyway, so it still wasn't the point, no matter how often April mentioned it. "And Barbie and her friends loved it."

"Yeah, they did," Abbey giggled. "I bet my daughters will, too," she added proudly.

"Huh?" Alex asked, almost choking on the milk he was drinking.

"Don't worry," she insisted, laughing and reassuring him. "It won't be for a while. But I'm planning on having three girls," she said authoritatively, as if she couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Great," Alex grumbled, rolling his eyes, "more estrogen."

"Get used to it," she teased. "They'll be here every year."

"I better fix that staircase, then," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Santa rocked it," she reassured him, shaking her head. "Even if the stair case was a little lop-sided," she added, giggling again.

"Mrs. DuBois still believes in him," he pointed out smugly.

"I do, too," Abbey protested, poking him gently below the ribs again. "He's my dad," she added, giggling as he rolled his eyes at her.

It had snowed for three days straight, huge fluffy flakes, and it was perfect weather for a Super Saucer Sled race – at least to hear her psychotic family tell it.

She didn't want to hear it, about how nothing could compete with it – a good old fashioned Super Spinner Racing Saucer – and she wouldn't even listen for it, the sound of emergency vehicles.

She'd ignore it, too, if any television news crew asked her why a certified Level One Trauma Surgeon hadn't warned them about it, about how it could be a health hazard to hurtle down it at top speed – a hulking snow covered mountain – as if it shouldn't be obvious to anyone who actually thought about it.

It was past dusk, too, when they finally came in from it, a crystal clear cold evening, and she caught just a glimpse of it through the window, the full moon hanging above the tree line, and it was teasing and laughing and snarking and squabbling until she finally caught the gist of it – that Eric had won it, again, and that Abbey had cheated at it, at least to hear Alex tell it – and that Katie had caught it on video, apparently, the flight of it – Alex's Super Racing Saucer – before he landed on it, splitting it in two – and that it was going up on U-tube for all her friends to see, no matter what he said about it.

She wasn't going to listen to it, though, the annual battle over who cheated at it, and she just rolled her eyes at it as they watched it again, as if Jurassic Park could in any way qualify as a "holiday classic" – no matter what her family said about it .

It all just bubbled around her until Eric went off to it, a party down the street, and the girls took off for it, a holiday photography event at Beth's, and it took her a bit to notice it, that Alex had left it largely untouched – the huge plate of cookies on the coffee table – and it puzzled her as she trailed it up the stairs, the path of snowy foot prints, and she rolled her eyes as she saw it, the window finally closed in their bedroom – as if they hadn't argued about it for a well over a decade – and the steam still coming from the master bathroom, and the lump burrowed under the thick plaid comforter.

It was still wrapped around him even twenty minutes later, too, she noticed, after she'd showered and changed herself, as she peeled the puffy comforter back – the huge purple and brown bath towel that would ordinarily be on the floor, no matter what she said about it.

She pretty much already knew it before she tugged it away, too, just from how stiffly he was lying all tangled in it, and she just smirked as she surveyed it, since it was already an angry blue black and purple spreading clear from his lower back down around his hip, and she just rolled her eyes as she dug into her bedside table drawer and pulled it out, warming it in her hands, the anti-inflammatory lotion for it, and she just shook her head at his groan as she kneaded the lotion into it, his fractured ass.

"You know it's broken, again," she noted clinically, working her fingers into it.

Of course it was, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like she hadn't warned him about it – that he was too old to go hurtling down that mountain on it.

It wasn't like he needed to do it, since it wasn't like the kids would be impressed by it, even if he hadn't landed on it, and landed it on U-tube. It wasn't like Katie would ever stop snarking on him about it now, either, and it wasn't like Eric wouldn't snicker about it, and it wasn't like Abbey would love him any for more it, even if she would probably show it to Mrs. DuBois, too, the video of it, since Mrs. DuBois was part of the family, too, when you got right down to it.

"It's just a bruise," he insisted, muttering through gritted teeth as her hands dug into his lower back.

"No," she corrected, frowning and studying it more closely. "It's broken," she said flatly.

"It's a good thing you've got next week off," she added, smirking again, since it wasn't like he could stand for hours bent over a table with it, and it wasn't like she couldn't already imagine it – the speculation about it on the hospital grapevine – about what had happened to it.

"It'll be gone in a few days," he countered, groaning again as she pressed more firmly into it.

She almost laughed at it, his refusal to believe her on it, and she almost considered it, hauling him to the hospital just to prove it.

She could already picture it, though, driving through Seattle with it sticking out of the convertible and pulling into the ambulance bay with it – if it didn't get them arrested for indecent exposure on the way to it – and wheeling it to the X-ray machine, all pink and frost bitten – while the giggling young nurses got an even better look at the rest of it, since it wasn't like it covered all that much of him– the blue and black and purple bruising – no matter how extensive it was, when you got right down to it.

"More like four to six weeks," she retorted, still working her fingers over it.

He'd know it, too, if he could just get a look at it – how much it looked like it had on their honeymoon – not that it had been easy to convince him of it back then, either, she reminded herself, since it wasn't like he'd admit it.

"It's just a bruise," he repeated, groaning again.

She almost smirked at it – the grimace on his face as he tried to straighten it out – since it wasn't like she hadn't done it before, and it wasn't like she wasn't the go to chick in trauma – so she just grabbed it from her night stand and snapped it again, a high definition photo of it – and she shoved the screen in front of his eyes, since it wasn't like any doctor wouldn't notice it immediately, that it was fractured no matter how you looked at it.

"I told you so," she grumbled, frowning at him as he scowled at it.

He could squawk about it all he wanted, too. But it wasn't like he could even move it all that easily, and it wasn't like she hadn't warned him about it the last time, that he could break it again.

It wasn't like she hadn't pointed it out to him many, many times over the years, either, that he just didn't mix well with it – a snow covered mountain – and it wasn't like she didn't have the honeymoon photos – which she'd only ever showed to Beth, since really, it wasn't like she could keep it from all of her sisters forever, what had really happened on it – to prove it.

"It's… not… that… bad," he retorted, groaning again as she pressed into it.

"I could send it to Cristina for a second opinion," she noted, motioning to the photo on the camera's glowing screen again.

"Or Cari," she added, smirking at his scowl.

She could already imagine all the commentary on it as it raced along the grapevine, too, with Cari confirming that it was fractured, and Jenny adding that it might be grounds for a law suit, and Dani asking for another photo of it not bruised – just for comparison purposes – and Beth smirking about how she could get it a magazine model deal and Cristina pointing out that it should be his SGH ID staff photo and even Aunt Edna weighing in on it, since she'd always admired and teased him about it – not that he ever minded it, April reminded herself, since he'd always gotten a fresh banana cream pie out of it.

"It's…fine," he grumbled, wincing again.

She just rolled her eyes as she caught a glimpse of it, too, the half read Christmas romance novel on her nightstand, as she continued to knead the anti-inflammatory lotion into it, his still bruising ass.

She juts snickered about it, too, about how it was always firm and rounded and tanned and muscular – the way the romance novelists described it – as if the entire Y chromosome race wasn't entirely too prone to it, landing on it, and even fracturing it, while trying to prove it, whatever the hell it was they were trying to prove when they decided to do it, hurtle down a huge snow covered mountain on it, as if it wasn't asking for trouble, and as if any freaking doctor shouldn't know it.

"It's purple," April reminded him flatly, as she continued to work over it.

She almost giggled as she pictured it, too, him landing on it in a suit of shining armor, since it wouldn't have protected him, she reminded herself, wincing, the sharp metal digging into it, and it probably would've left him all frost bitten underneath it, anyway.

She could just imagine the video of it, too, of the kids trying to cut him out of it as they loaded it all into the open convertible and drove it to the hospital, and she could just imagine it – the grapevine legends that would grow up around it – about how they were doing it on a ski slope, in matching suits of shining armor - and she could already hear her sisters teasing her about it, about that being what you got when you waited for it – to do it with a knight in shining armor – as if the whole suit of shining armor wasn't completely impractical even just from a positioning stand point, Beth would no doubt remind her, when you got right down to it.

"Abbey cheated anyway," Alex muttered.

She almost laughed at it, since she could just imagine it, the sight of him landing on it, the broken red Super Spinning Racing Saucer sled, and refusing to admit it, that it had fractured him, too.

She continued to work the lotion into it, though, since it would just ache more if she didn't loosen it, and it would just bruise worse if she didn't get more circulation to it, and it would just twist him up into even more of a pretzel if she didn't keep it heated, since it was already fading, the warmth from the hot shower and the thick cushy towel, and it definitely wasn't a good groan that escaped him, no matter how you looked at it.

It wasn't like it didn't soften, though, as she worked her fingers up along it, the base of his spine, and it wasn't like she didn't notice it, the way his breathing slowed as she traced her hands along it, the long stretch of his sides, and it wasn't like she couldn't hear it, the deep sighs that followed it, and it wasn't like she couldn't feel it, how it all just melted into her hands.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen it many, many times before, either, the sleepy half smile that accompanied it – a low rumbling groan that was definitely a good groan – and it wasn't like it wasn't cheating, too, the way she stretched it along his body, her own warm skin, and it wasn't like she could help it, brushing her lips across his forehead as her hands slid around it, his smooth skin, even if it was an entirely different kind of pain in the ass, that he just wouldn't admit it.

"If you say it," she teased, running her fingers along it again, "I'll take care of it."

"Like Wonder Woman?" he smirked, trying to straighten it again as she giggled.

It still made her shiver, when he slipped it from her shoulders, her fluffy yellow robe, and it still made her sigh as it gave way, the clasp of her bra, and it still made her murmur when his warm hands peeled it away, and it still made her breath catch in her throat as he nuzzled into it, and it still made her heart flutter as he kissed lightly along it, the curve of it, as it all melted into his fingers like it always did.

"Wonder Woman might be a little too much for it for a few weeks," she reminded him, giggling again as her fingers trailed lightly over it.

"That's cheating," he mumbled, another deep sigh echoing through him.

It was – she'd admit it – since it wasn't like he could resist it, the way her fingers trailed lazily over his body. It wasn't like he could ever shift away from it, either, even if he could actually move without wincing – even if he'd never admit it.

It wasn't like it didn't lull him to sleep, too, when she paced it just slowly enough, and it wasn't like she wasn't used to it, the way it all purred contentedly in her arms, even if it was cheating, she thought with a smirk, the way she was stroking it.

"She's not going to do it," April added moments later, almost whispering as she listened to it, the steady soft murmurs that rippled through him as she still traced her fingers along it.

"I told you so," he insisted, nodding smugly as he stretched it hesitantly again, as her fingers continued to loosen and warm it.

It would be just like him, too, April thought with a smirk, to figure that Abbey's decision not to contact her biological parents had anything to do with it – his willingness to hurtle down a snow covered mountain on it – as if it hadn't been sealed years before when he'd driven home with Mrs. DuBois in it, an open convertible, in twenty degree weather – not that she'd ever admit it.

"She likes having Santa Claus as a dad," April teased, running her fingers gently over it, and giggling as he tried to inhale it, the softening midsection below his ribs.

"I'm working on it," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as she slid her arms more closely around it, tugging it closer.

Not that he'd have any success at it until January, she imagined, since it would be Abbey's sugar cookies and Abbey's signature pecan pancakes until then, and she'd spoil him rotten with it, since it wasn't like she'd ever hid it very well, that he'd always be her first choice for a dad no matter what the forms said about it, and that she'd always be their daughter – a talented, successful descendant from hard working Russian immigrants whose families went on to save babies and to run Level One Trauma units and to rescue injured dolphins and to develop sophisticated architectural plans for sky scrapers – to hear Eric tell it - and to design stylish and fashionable clothes to look good while doing all of it.

"It's okay," she giggled, sinking her fingers into it, again.

"I don't mind it," she added, and she didn't, really, since it wasn't like Bat Man didn't like it, that she had Aunt Edna's hips, and it wasn't like Spider Man wasn't totally into it, Wonder Woman's coned top, and it wasn't like the Green Lantern hadn't convinced her of it long before, that she was freaking hot, no matter what seeing her sisters had made her feel about it – that it was all too small or too wide or too jiggly – and it wasn't like it wasn't muscled and rounded and firm, she reminded herself with a giggle, even if it was bruised black and blue and purple whenever he broke it, and came out a little pale in some photos, at least, to hear Beth's expert opinion on it.

"You love it," he smirked, almost squirming as he hesitantly tugged her closer, trying not to wince.

"I'd love it more if you'd admit it," she teased, since it obviously hurt, even if he wouldn't say it.

She'd obviously been right about it, too – all of it – even if he wouldn't admit it, and she just wanted to hear it, even if it would make him scowl, that he hadn't needed to worry about it – about what Abbey might do with it, the freaking envelop, and that it had been a bad idea, the Super Spinning Saucer sleds, and that it wasn't practical, a convertible in Seattle, and that it wasn't just her zoo – since she wasn't the only one doing it, spoiling them rotten – and that he wasn't just in the NICU at 3 am. doing it, checking his patients' vitals, no matter what he said about it, and that he actually liked her family, especially Aunt Edna, judging by the looks of it, and that Katie would finish it, her Master's degree, since she was so passionate about it, and that skiing was still dangerous, no matter how many medals Eric won for it, and that the Museum of Medical Oddities was not a normal Valentine's Day hot spot – even if she did love it.

"It's… not… bad," he mumbled again, but it was a good groan this time, definitely a good groan since she knew it all by heart, every inch of it.

It was still possibly cheating, though, how she was stroking it especially since it was broken and all.

But she still wanted to hear it, those three little words she'd waited for since the day he'd broken it the first time– "you were right," since it was too good for him, to patch things up with Amber, and he did too love it, playing with Nicholas, and it was too just easier to find things in the pantry when it was alphabetized and the carpet in the family room was still ugly even if it was comfortable – to the point of being pornographic, judging from some of the pictures that had been taken on it – and the creek monsters did not track muddy foot prints through her kitchen no matter what the Discovery channel documentaries hinted at about it, and there was too a right way to hang jumbo candy canes no matter what he said about it.

"It looks just like it did on our Honeymoon," she giggled, eying it closely again.

She certainly hadn't expected it, back when she'd said "I do" to it, his nervous, fumbling proposal after he'd fished it out of the popcorn tub – her simple butter covered engagement ring – that she'd be spending her favorite Christmas to date doing it – kneading anti-inflammatory lotion into it – as it all coiled lazily around her, murmuring happily as he nuzzled closely into it again, his lips brushing her neck.

"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

She could feel it all rippling through her again as his hands ran idly over her body, and she could feel it catching in her throat again, her breath, as his cheek grazed hers, and she could feel it trembling slightly through her limbs as it all pressed closer into her and she could feel it all quivering slightly as he wrapped it all up more tightly in his arms and she could feel it fluttering in her chest again as she caught it, the familiar shy hazel smile flickering across his face.

"It's freaking fractured," he grumbled, scowling as if he'd just bit into a lemon. "You happy now?"

"I love it," she agreed, nodding as she giggled again.