It has been five weeks since the train wreck, since the night that Derek had decided to work on your marriage. That night is just a blur for you – the pregnant women and Alex Karev acting like a jackass as usual – and the only thing that stands out in your mind is you walking up to him, hours before any of the people on the poles or severed legs came through the door. You had been looking for him all day and he must have known it – he never was a dumb man – because you hadn't even seen so much as the back of his lab coat or the shadow of his head turning a corner all day. But finally, there he was, sitting in the lobby of the hospital, looking like he was either going to cry or try to strangle you with his bare hands for ruining his perfect life with Meredith. You banged your briefcase against the chair to get his attention, and asked if he was going to sign the papers, and in that moment, your heart seized and you thought maybe you were having a minor heart attack, or at least a seizure. And when he said no, you were pretty sure that you had died from said heart attack/seizure and were dreaming the whole thing.
But you weren't. Because half a day later, you were leaving the hospital arm-in-arm, and he's gone back to kissing you on the temple or rubbing your back when you've had a long day, but still no sex, nothing resembling any sort of the intimacy you miss so much. You kind of wonder if maybe he wasn't impaled by the pole and you got a new Derek that night, yet you know that's not true. Because there are moments. Moments when you're together and you see him looking off into the distance and you know that he's picturing you as Meredith or recalling their last encounter together. And it makes you want to quit, want to throw in the towel and say it was good while it lasted, but now it's over and I guess we can't put it back together.
But you can't, and you don't. Addison Forbes Montgomery-Shepherd is not a quitter. Hell, even without the 'Shepherd' on the end, you aren't a quitter, and you never have been. The ultra competitiveness and perfectionism you exhibit as a surgeon has certainly spilled over into other parts of your life throughout the years, manifesting themselves in little things, like how when you're upset, you clean the entire house until every available surface is clean enough to eat off of. It used to be very useful when you and Derek were dating and then newlyweds, because those traits combined in both of you made you fantastic lovers, fighting for control and orgasms so intense and so plentiful that your legs would be shaking at the end of the night.
You've never been one to go without sex for long, with or without Derek, and it's kind of starting to get to you. When you were fighting and he was consistently referring to you as Satan, it was so much easier to ignore it, to just take care of it yourself so you didn't go insane, and move on. But now that he is acting almost husbandly, giving foot massages and occasional snuggles on the ferry to work, you are yearning for the physical intimacy. You can't bring it up though, not only because of your fear of Derek's reaction (probably laughing, or worse), but because you don't want him to be thinking of Meredith the whole time.
So you wait and hold out, hating that his small gestures keep you going, keep your faith alive in your marriage. Because you've never been dependent and you don't plan on starting now, but the careful touches after so many years of fights and sleepless nights on the couch or on-call room alone, you can't help it. And the dreams don't make it any easier – the dreams that you have almost every night, the ones of you and Derek fighting or the time he missed your birthday or, worst of all, dreams about you two when you were dating and doing it in practically every room of the hospital. You bring up marriage counseling, expecting Derek to scoff and refuse, so you're surprised when he agrees (albeit reluctantly) and you start going to sessions twice a week.
They always started out simply enough, discussing minor spats they had had since the last session, with the therapist trying to get at the root of the problem. But somehow in an hour, they always ended in a screaming match and a contest of who could keep silent longer that usually lasted for at least their next hospital shift, truces coming in the form of delivered coffee or an apology from you, but never Derek. It's gotten frustrating and the topics almost always end up being the same things – Meredith, Manhattan, and Mark.
Like now.
"I just don't understand why it's so hard for you to move out here, Addie. Just get rid of your practice in Manhattan and move here!" Derek spat out, and you shoot him a glare.
"Get rid of my practice! The practice I've spent the past nine years building up, one of the best in Manhattan, and you want me to give it up?" You ask incredulously, and Derek just nods like it's simple, which only infuriates you more. "What should I move out here for? So you can ignore me and we can never have sex and you can just think about Meredi –"
"That's not even the point here," Derek interjects, and you throw up your hands. "Unless you want to stay in Manhattan because of Mark –"
"I can't believe you just said that. You know Mark has nothing to do with this, Derek!"
"Then what, Addie? Why won't you just move here?"
You take a big breath and let it out slowly. "I just don't see why you want me to move out here when there is nothing out here for me –"
"Maybe because you haven't made anything for yourself! You could have friends, and Richard already wants you here –"
"Richard has nothing to do with this, I can get a job anywhere," you say as you feel your face flushing from the anger that is surging through your body. "And what friends am I going to have, Derek? Your interns who call me Satan behind my back?" He rolls his eyes and you let out your breath sharply.
"Addie, I just mean –"
"No, Derek, you don't get –"
"Okay!" You both turn to face the therapist, who is sitting there with a ridiculous smile on his face, almost like there is a screen separating you from him and he's been with totally different patients for the past hour. "Well, that does it for this session. You guys are making great progress." You look at him incredulously, and you turn to see that Derek is looking at him the same way. You gather your things to leave and mumble a thanks to Derek when he holds the door open for you before following behind.
"Well, that was fun," Derek says sarcastically, and your mouth falls open slightly at his remark.
"You know, maybe the reason this is happening is because you're not willing to talk about anything, Derek. Especially not without bringing up Mark."
"You're right," he says heavily. "Let's just go back to the hospital."
"What," you say, "No comeback about Meredith? No witty remark about what a good person she is?"
"She is good, Addie," he says, and you smirk.
"I bet she is."
You're surprised when he latches onto your arm, his fingers digging into your wrists as he pulls you into an empty office and slams the door, your back slamming up against it as he gets in your face.
"You don't have the right to say anything about Meredith! You're the one who cheated on me, who betrayed me, and yet somehow I'm the bad guy for finding someone else when our marriage was over? I call you Satan for a reason, Addison. You came in here, all Wicked Witch of the East, and tried to clean up the mess you made, but you know what? It's not going to work. I love Meredith and just because we're trying doesn't make that go away."
You watch his face grow redder and angrier, his fingers pounding into the door next to your head as he tries to make his point. You watch and you say nothing. Really, there's nothing for you to say. You're not surprised that he loves Meredith, and you're really sick of fighting about her all the time. So you just remain silent, pressed up against the door with the handle sticking in your back.
"Addison." He says it with such force, such hatred. And then your lips are on his, his gasp taking away the breath from your mouth as you open his lips with your tongue and begin exploring what you haven't felt in so long. He still taste is still the same – a combination of scotch that never seems to subside and something sweet that you have never been able to figure out. He grabs your shoulders and pushes you away, slamming your head on the door and looking at you with surprise and anger in his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"You're such a fucking prick," you say, and you see his eyes glint at your choice of words. You hardly ever swear, only when you're really pissed off, and never for anyone else's sake. You figure that if looks could kill, both of you would be piles of ash on the floor right now as you stare defiantly at each other, daring the other to make the first move. And he does, pulling you roughly to his body and fisting his hand in your hair as your tongue finds his, dueling in a battle that is neither sweet nor sensual.
He pulls back to unbutton your blouse and you whimper quietly as he bites down hard on your lower lip, his hands moving under your shirt. You tug his jacket off and thread your fingers in his hair as he kisses down your neck to your chest, unclasping your bra and letting it hang on your shoulders before he pulls it off. You inhale sharply at the cold air that hits you but you don't have time to think as Derek slides his hands under your thighs and pushes you up against the door, your high-heeled clad feet wrapping around his waist. He buries his face in the softness between your breasts, laying rough kisses there before moving to your nipples, sucking and biting on one while his hand rubs the other between his fingers. He switches and you arch into his mouth and hand, moaning as you bring his face back up to yours.
This time it's your turn, and you kiss him hard, your teeth faintly knocking against his as you reach for his belt buckle. You undo the buckle and his button, sliding the zipper of his jeans down as you slide down the door, kneeling in front of him. You stroke him through his underwear before pulling him out and running your fingernails up and down his length ever so lightly. Then you take him in your mouth and grin wickedly as he groans and reaches out a blind hand to hold onto the back of one of the chairs in the room. You move your mouth around, swirling your tongue at the tip, before grazing it lightly with your teeth. You continue until you can hear him breathing heavily and then you stop, quickly releasing him from your mouth and standing up, looking into his eyes as he gives you death stare for stopping when you did.
He pulls you back to him and starts sucking on your collarbone, his other fingers dancing over your stomach. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and moan loudly when his fingers stop moving and are suddenly in you, thrusting up and out and curling each time and you know you'll be sore tomorrow. You feel your legs get weak and he pushes you back, his hand against your shoulder, and you know there will be a bruise there tomorrow. He keeps thrusting and starts circling your clit with his thumb as your head falls back against the door, banging loudly.
You can feel yourself reaching the edge and you moan his name loudly (which emits a satisfied grin from him) as you shudder around his hand, gripping his forearm hard enough to leave white marks when you remove your hand. You open your eyes and look at him, his features darkened, and you almost ask him to stop, tell him that you don't want it to be like this, this anger seeping into your lovemaking and turning it into a game.
But then he's lifting you up with his hands under your ass and he's pushing himself inside of you, and there. All coherent thoughts fly out of your head as he starts thrusting inside you, starting with a fast rhythm that you both know will have you gasping for breath. He starts moving even faster, rubbing your clit with his free hand while the other is against the door, next to your arm. You shift slightly and you both groan as he slips even deeper inside of you, and it almost hurts but then there's this warm heat spreading from your toes to your face and you feel yourself falling faster and faster until finally you feel your muscles tightening around him and he growls your name as you both come.
You're both breathing heavily when you're done, his head resting on your chest as you play with his hair, and you think that at least you're right about something. He pulls out of you without a word and you both get dressed and check the hallway before leaving the office and walking to the elevator. And you think that things couldn't get any better, that at least you finally had sex (angry sex, but really hot sex none-the-less), until you're standing in the elevator and he reaches for your hand and you think that maybe, just maybe, things will start looking up.