Author's Note: I really wasn't planning on writing anything… but this just sort of came to me, and once I started to think about it I couldn't stop. I have a pretty decent idea on where this story is going to go. Be ready for a lot of angst. There are a lot of things these two have to work through if they ever want a real chance.

Disclaimer: I always feel so stupid writing these, obviously if I owned any aspect of this show or its characters I wouldn't be wasting my time doing this. I would have a lot of money. The end.

I don't mind where you come from, as long as you come to me

I don't care, no I wouldn't dare, to fix the twist in you

When she first walks into the bar, she actually considers turning around and leaving before he sees her, but the son of a bitch just had to be watching. Sighing, she walks over and takes the seat next to him. She's a little agitated, and he can sense it, and she knows he can sense it, so she tries to pass it off. "You know, someone could see us."

"It didn't take me any longer than an hour to realize how quickly word moves around in that hospital, and judging from its proximity, I'd say a fair amount of the hospital employees are here right now, watching us, so I think it's safe to say that if you were trying to hide me, you would've picked a different place." He shrugs, seemingly unaffected by his accusation, "which leads me to believe that you want people to see us. Things must be worse than I originally thought. Trying to make him jealous by hanging around the guy you cheated with, that's really classy, Ad. I applaud you."

"It's just a drink, Mark." Well, shit. She sounded a lot less confident than she meant to.

"It's never just a drink, just like it was never just sex, never just one night, never just because you felt so fucking sad that you needed comfort." The last part comes out too fast, and if he were trying to add it in there nonchalantly he clearly failed. He really should stop drinking. He's being too honest for his liking.

"Maybe this was a mistake." She says it like she's about to get up, but she doesn't move. She won't move, because even if all this is going to turn into is a fight it's a hell of a lot more satisfying than the silence she'll be faced with at home.

"I'm sorry; I don't know why I got so angry." Except he does, but he also knows damn well that this could be the last time he ever sees her, and if that's the case then he'd much rather spend the time memorizing every beautifully damaged part of her.

She sighs and allows her head to fall forward and meet her hands that are resting on the bar counter, this is all so frustrating, so unbelievably confusing, and yet every part of her is clinging to the moment dreading the time where (she knows) it will end.

"What are we doing, Mark?" It's the age old question, and she's aware that she's probably asked him the same thing hundreds of times over the years. It seems redundant, but really, she doesn't know. She didn't know what they were doing when they were flirting in med school, or when he started spending more time with her than her own husband cared to, and she sure as hell didn't know what they were doing when they were sleeping together. God damn this man. God damn his infuriating uncertainty.

She may have asked the question before, but she's sure she never got this answer, even if it had been forever implied, "Whatever you want us to do, Addison", and it almost sounds like he's mocking her, possibly (probably) for always calling the shots when it came to them, and usually (always) leading them to disaster.

And she'll admit, it was nice to be able to control something in her life. Her life with Derek was over before it ever really started and despite her best efforts she couldn't fix it. In the early years, having Mark around was like selfishly hoarding the remote while not even watching the t.v., but as Derek got more distant Mark got more present and all of the sudden the channels were more appealing.

The beautiful irony to all of it is that she achieved every pathetic goal she made with regards to her absent husband. She got Derek's attention, she got Derek to not spend so much time at the hospital (granted-her goal hadn't been to get him to stop working at the hospital by sending him across the country), but most importantly, she got Derek to show some form of human emotion. Four years since the last time she saw him show anything besides indifference, so really, she thinks, anger wasn't that bad.

He breaks her out of her trance when he says "I think I'm supposed to hate you. Or I think you're supposed to hate me, but I'm definitely supposed to hate you."

It probably wouldn't make sense to anyone else but she just nods, she accepts it, she was a bitch but he was a cheater but she cheated with him first and really they could play the blame game for hours but she's just to fucking exhausted for this, "Nothing turned out the way it was supposed to. Do you understand how upsetting it is to know that you wasted an entire third of your life?"

"I realize it sucks, but do you actually think that whatever you're doing here is helping? You're just pushing him to resent you even more, and honestly, Addison, it's pathetic. Grow a back bone." Okay, so it was a little harsh, but so is the scotch that's trickling down his throat and that at least seems to be helping. Besides, she wouldn't expect anything else. In fact, she'd be lying if she didn't admit that one of the reasons she actually met him at the bar was to hear someone be brutally honest with her.

"My self esteem is fine, Mark. I think this has a lot more to do with not being able to let things go."

Her self esteem was obviously not fine, and it hadn't been even since the day that he met her. To her credit, she did admit to one personal fault so he decides he'll let it slide.

"You let me go."

That's different, she thinks. Except it really isn't, and she really didn't let him go, and she still has that fucking Yankees onesie stuffed in a bag of her clothes that she never really bothered to unpack.

And suddenly it all feels a little too close for comfort; a little too personal and so Addison decides to use the only deflection that comes almost as natural to her as surgery. "Your hotel near here?" She prompts, knowing he'll understand.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was so desperate for any moment he could possibly have for her, he would've said no. He is a little angry that she's making this about sex. It's true that it's the only thing they know how to do right, but that's probably because nothing beyond that was ever really given a chance.

He extends a hand, and she takes it eagerly, ready for the distraction, ready for a night where she can finally just escape all of the shit that she's trying to make sense of.

For now, she doesn't care about the consequences. For now, the familiar touch of a man she spent years hating, avoiding, maybe even loving, was all that she needed to feel comfortable.

Go ahead and tell me you'll leave again

You'll just come back running

Holding your scarred heart in hand, it's all the same

And I'll take you for who you are, if you take me for everything