Every journey begins with a single step. It's stupid to say, and honestly, you're not in the mood for platitudes, but you can't help thinking it. You trundle your red wheeled suitcase out the door and turn around to hear the click of the hotel cardlock for the last time. You've got your contract; you've put your affairs in order, and now, your designer-clad foot hovers over the plush carpet in anticipation. And, yeah. Okay. A little regret.

Richard had shaken your hand, but his face hadn't been pleased. "Addison. What the hell are you doing?"

It does seem stupid. You've often thought about the fact that just packing up and leaving doesn't mean that you're looking for a fresh start. In fact, it looks like you're running away from something.

He'd cornered you in the on-call room, the last day that you had at Seattle Grace. "Why didn't you tell me that you were leaving?"

"Why is it any of your business?" You're amazed that your voice can seem so flippant; you're amazed that you sound so strident when you really wish to never see him again. Nevertheless, he's here; blue scrubs pressed, silver-dark hair carefully brushed. "Addison. What the hell is this supposed to mean? Running away from me?"

"Why do you think it's away from you? Why can't it be that I need a change in my life, Mark? Why can't it be that I just hate Seattle and I have a better offer in L.A.?"

"Because it is none of those things, is it?"

"I don't want to have this conversation." You try to push past him, but he grabs your arm. It's not harsh, but you try to pull away, anyway. He sighs and your lip suddenly trembles.

"I don't know who I am here, anymore. I'm just . . . not having a good time. And maybe that's stupid, and a stupid reason for leaving, but . . . it's not working between us either, Mark."

"You never gave it a chance, you know. I know you broke the bet we had."

You know he knows, but you refuse to meet his eyes. "I'm supposed to apologize for that?"

"Well, it'd be nice to know why. Or at least have a head's up. I tried for you."

"I know." Your voice is a whisper and he lets you go. "I'm just – I just need to go. I can't stay here. This place just hurts."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, but you feel his eyes on your hair. "Yeah, it does hurt. It hurts because no one really seems to get what they want here, do they?"

You tip your face up to his and he presses his lips to your forehead. "I hope you find what you want there. No matter what went down? I think you deserve it."

He's honest and you reach into your heart to wish him well. "I hope that you settle down and realize that being a manwhore won't make you happy."

"I've already realized that." He grins and you push him, playfully. "You have not."

"Okay, I lied."

You lean against him for a moment and take the opportunity to get lost in his eyes, which, despite their guarded twinkle, are actually sensitive. There's hurt there – hurt that you put there. He holds you to him.

"I'm sorry, Mark."

"Thought you said you weren't going to apologize."

"I lied."

He kisses you; his lips are soft, and the kiss is brief, but when you pull apart, there are tears in his eyes. "Don't know what I'm gonna do, not seeing you every day."

"You've got pictures."

"It's not the same thing." He wrinkles his nose and you finally pull away. "I can't, Mark. And talking to you makes it harder, so."

"Okay."

He watches you walk out the door and then calls after you. "Good luck, okay?"

"Okay."

No regrets are hard to promise. But you place the foot on the carpet, anyway.

One step. It's all it takes.