Disclaimer: I've done extensive studies of Anatomy. Sadly, they have been on animals, and not on the Anatomy of, say, Derek Shepherd/Patrick Dempsey. So Patrick, if you want to donate your body to research, please send me an e-mail. Donating your body to research is a noble thing. Obviously, when it comes to Grey's Anatomy, I don't own any of the characters, their anatomy or anything related to the show, I wish I did, but there you go. I'm only borrowing these characters for a while. I promise to return them in more or less the same shape. Oh well, maybe not quite in the same shape. But I will return them. Because they don't belong to me. I'm only playing with them for a little while, with great admiration and respect.
I was quite reluctant to write this story. In fact, I was determined not to, because "everyone" is writing their alternate season three at the moment, and as I've already read too many of them, I was afraid they would influence me too much, making me unable to come up with anything even resembing being original. But resistance is futile – the story demanded to be written. The characters simply wouldn't leave me alone until I did. I had no choice but to write my first fan fiction in seven years. This is my first GA fan fic, so please be gentle. Or not.
This story starts right at the end of 227. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.
Smokey grey
There are times when you know. You just know.
Addison Montgomery-Shepherd knew the second her husband turned away from Meredith as she came walking behind Izzie, George and Alex.
It was in his eyes. She had seen it countless times before – not all that often in the last few years, granted, but often enough to remember.
As if it were a look one could ever forget.
Derek's eyes were a dark shade of smokey grey, his eyelids drooping slightly, his posture ever so slightly more relaxed than usual. She just hadn't recognised it right away because she hadn't expected it, it had been out of context.
He had come. Quite recently. And she sure as hell hadn't had anything to do with him coming.
She also recognised something else in him – he was feeling guilty. The combination of the two – sex and guilt – was, unfortunately, something she had seen lately. It was the way he had looked, every time, after the two of them had had sex since she came to Seattle. Not that it had been all that often. But it had happened, after all, and the look he had afterwards – his body sated after his release, but his mind (or was it his heart?) was not sated, not in any way. Several times, after he had fallen asleep, which thank God he did quickly now that he never seemed to want to hold her afterwards, she had allowed the pillow to absorb her tears and the sound of her almost-silent sobs. She had known that when he had sex with (not made love with) his wife, he felt that he cheated on someone else.
He had felt that he had cheated on Meredith. And the guilt was almost more than he could handle.
Meredith. Always Meredith. Meredith, whose hair and dress were now slightly more ruffled than they had been half an hour earlier. She didn't know what Meredith looked like post orgasm (that was right at the top of the list of Things You Don't Ask Your Husband About When He Has Actually Left Meredith To Take You Back Even Though He Doesn't Really Want To, tie with Do you really love me?), but she did recognise plenty of guilt in her face for sure. Meredith, who it was impossible to hate, because she was just as much the loser in the whole love triangle as she herself was.
Unable to stay and watch the two of them and their guilt in the aftermath of their passion, their averted eyes, she mumbled an excuse and fled the scene.
She knew. She didn't know exactly what she knew, and what it would mean to their lives, but she knew enough.