A/N: Please Review! The song is 'False Alarm', sung by Kt Tunstall.

Disclaimer: I own zilch of Grey's Anatomy, Kt Tunstall or anything related.

"It was eight years ago."

The stifling room suddenly seemed very, very small.

"Eight years ago." A hollow voice filled the room, claiming every corner of the space. That voice seemed strange; unrecognizable. It was a voice that had not been used in a long time.

He sat there, motionless, numbness engulfing his entire body.

"We were young. We had our careers to think about, and we didn't want to rush into anything. Especially—especially something like that."

Those words pierced him like a scalpel, cutting right into his body, and tearing straight through his heart.

"So we got rid of it." Guilt. It had such a strong hold on him; so strong that it wouldn't let him go.

I'm trying to put this thing to bed

I've drugged it in its sleep

There isn't many memories

I'm comfortable to keep

He still remembered that night. When he'd found her, sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around herself, face stone cold. She had looked so pale; so dead. Emotionless, like she'd lost a part of herself, a piece that could never be regained.

"I had a miscarriage." A baby. She'd lost a baby. They'd lost a baby. Vaguely, he thought about the baby, had she been in their lives. Would they be happy?

"The next day, I got up. I got up, and I went to work. Pretending that everything was okay; that I was okay. But there was this hole, a part of me missing. No one could see it. And I didn't know how or what to do to fill it."

This ball keeps rolling on

It's heading for the streets

Keep expecting you to send for me

The invitation never comes

Silence penetrated the walls of the room. Silence filled him with fear. He wasn't brave enough to break that bitter silence.

"We never talked about it. We'd both decided it was for the best by then. The baby," Her voice caught painfully, "the baby would have been neglected. But sometimes-sometimes I wonder whether…I'd killed her, somehow. That's what made me decide to be a neo-natal surgeon. I know it sounds foolish, but I thought I could compensate for the loss, make up for the mistake I made years ago."

"A hole that perhaps could be filled. My child…I just remember feeling her inside of me, growing day by day..." A sob tried to escape her throat, but she choked it back. "Still, I resented her – just that little bit." Addison lowered her voice.

"I realized that I loved her, but by that time, she was gone." She despised that word. Gone meant never coming back. "And Derek and I grew apart…because I was so selfish. I wanted him to forgive me, but really, I couldn't forgive myself." Addison stated simply, hands outstretched in her lap.

In the far distance, he heard another, a different voice murmur. But it was too far away from him. All he knew was that those words were wrong. So wrong it was almost unbearable. He wanted to scream. And shout, protest, he knew he should.

It was wrong. She was wrong. But he couldn't. His voice had failed him.

All his words and thoughts were unspoken. Buried, deep down inside of him, emotions and feelings and words that he knew could never surface.

Each time I turn around

There's nothing there at all

So tell me why I feel like

I'm up against a wall

"Years passed." Her voice filtered through to him again. "By then, we were so dedicated to work, communication was impossible. I was working long hours; he was busy at his hospital. And the anger piled up. Small things. But it led to anger. We shared a house, but it seemed like neither of us was living in it. We were strangers to each other, and ourselves. Even when we were there, ignoring each other seemed the best option. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore."

She stopped, for a split second, she faltered. It had taken all her strong will to get this far. If she gave up now, their relationship would only suffer for it.

"Mark tried to understand what I was going through. He tried to be unbiased. He told me it wasn't my fault," She didn't know why, but she laughed bitterly at that.

Maybe because it was a lie. She always could tell when someone was lying.

"He wasn't using me. I wasn't using him. I was lonely. That's…why."

At last, she turned to him. Her eyes were desperate, pleading for him to understand her feelings. He was sitting motionless, his features blank and frozen, showing no sign of emotion or anger.

"I was lonely. I needed someone to hold me. And touch me. I was lonely, Derek."

But maybe it's a false alarm

And all the answers sound the same

Just colours bleeding into one

That doesn't have a name

Maybe I can't see

Maybe it's just me

Then, all her pretense of control fell apart. Silent, salty tears fell fast and hard down her cheek. She did not reach up and wipe them away. Instead, they provided her harsh comfort.

He didn't speak. He made no move to even look at her. It was as if she had just slapped him. Her fraught, painful words were beating him up inside. Derek had never considered himself anything less than a man. But whenever he was with her, or spoke to her, he felt like the harshness and resentment was just building up a gigantic wall between them. It shielded him from confronting his guilt.

Derek didn't know why he treated Addison with such contempt. Maybe because he was struggling to deal with his own burdening weight of remorse.

Now the curtain's coming up

The audience is still

I'm struggling to cater for

The space I'm meant to fill

And distance doesn't care

Each time I turn around

Maybe it's a false alarm

Derek couldn't speak, because all her words rang true. He was stupid, negligent, unsympathetic, unforgiving. He had driven her to Mark. He'd caused the death of their baby. Yet for years, he had convinced himself she was to blame.

Derek had convinced her shewas the one to blame. When, really, he was only trying to convince himself that he wasn't to blame. That he was not the 'evil' one.

The drive home was agonizing. Addison had insisted that she drive. He had agreed, seeing as he was switched on autopilot. All his answers and movements were automatic, robotic. His anger, anger at himself, was gnawing away at his insides. It was a raging sea and couldn't be calmed, no matter how hard he tried to silence the rage.

It was simmering. He provoked it, added fuel to his unexhausted fire.

"Do you remember that day, Derek?" She asked, quietly. She didn't want to hear his answer. He didn't reply. He just kept on staring out the window, past the blurry shapes. There was an outlandish empty feeling inside of him. A hole, he distinctly recalled Addison's hurt words. Was that the empty feeling inside of him?

Was that the feeling of emptiness inside of him? A hole, in bleak, cold darkness - that couldn't be filled.

I'm trying to put this thing to bed

I drugged it in its sleep

Remember what you said

Are you comfortable to keep it?