AN: Hello and welcome to this story of pure shit.
Remember that one scene from 3x05, shortly after the Addek divorce, when Mark asked Addison who got the brownstone because he had left his bike in the basement. I'm probably the only one that wanted to know how that bike got there. But nonetheless, here's my version of what could have happened in the past, in Seattle and later in LA.
x
Old, Green and Ugly
Addison was sitting on the couch in the brownstone's living room. Her brownstone now, apparently, considering that Derek still hadn't confirmed if he was even alive, since he had left New York that night – but he must be because he had sent her to voicemail every single time she had tried to call him, same for Mark.
She felt nausea rise in her stomach and quickly grabbed the trashcan she had placed under the couch table.
When she was finished throwing up, she looked up again. Out of the window that faced the street. And the sight made her laugh.
She didn't stop until she had opened the front door. "What the hell?" she asked, a grin on her face.
Mark smiled at her from the bottom of the steps, still sitting on a bike. A really ugly, green bike that was much too small for his tall figure. "Hey, Addie."
"Since when… I've known you for sixteen years and haven't seen you ride a bike one single time."
"Which would explain why this thing is old and… hideous." He placed it against the banister and made his way up the few steps to kiss her cheek.
"Seriously," she asked, "why? You don't need it. Your apartment is two blocks away and the hospital another three."
"To make you laugh."
Her smile dropped.
"You're miserable all day," he continued. "I just wanted a minute of joy for you."
"Well, that worked."
"Also, in a few years I have to teach our little boy - or girl - how to ride a bike, so…"
She froze. He didn't seem to notice because he just continued to tell her something, but she didn't listen. She couldn't. There was too much guilt, shame, the fear to tell him. He wouldn't let her go tomorrow, of that she was sure.
"Mark," she interrupted him. "If you want to still have a bike tomorrow, you should probably park it in the basement." She reached inside the house to give him the keys.
He took them. "Yeah, you're right."
x
"Better?"
"I think so." She slowly got up from where she had been kneeling in front of the toilet and he released the hair he had been holding back.
"Good." Mark held out a towel which she gratefully accepted.
How was she supposed to do it tomorrow, when he was doing things, saying things, being more supportive than Derek had ever been in the last year or so?
"Can't you take meds against nausea?" he asked, helping her clean her face.
"I am, Mark," she snapped back. "But they don't work that well."
"Okay." He raised his arms in defense, then smiled at her, softly.
"I'm sorry."
"I know. The hormones."
"Yeah." He was understanding. Why was he understanding while he lied to her face, slept with one woman after the next? But she could do it. She had to do it. Otherwise she would be stuck, unhappy for the rest of her life, knowing that she had made the wrong decision by keeping it.
She flinched, when suddenly both their pagers went off at the same time. Hers was in the living room, so he was faster.
"911. It's our bus crash victim."
Right. Their shared patient. A pregnant woman with severe burn injuries.
"I'll drive," she decided.
"Are you sure? I mean, the nausea-"
"I'm not mentally challenged, Mark! I have to throw up every once in a while, but I'm fine now:"
He shrugged. "Okay, then. What about my bike?"
"You can get it once we're back."
The thing was, that they never did. They slept at the hospital. The next morning, she left for the clinic. Still cramping, she drove to his apartment, only to find him with that peds nurse - Charlene or something. "I aborted your baby!" she yelled at him, then left.
Two days later, she was on a plane to Seattle. And from that moment on, she would never look back. New York was past, just like Mark was - just that he wasn't.
x
"Who got the brownstone?" he asked one day - the day the divorce had been finalized.
"That's none of your business." She muttered back, not even looking up from the chart in her hand.
He chuckled. "I left my bike in the basement. I just wanna know who to talk to, to get it back."
"Buy a new bike!"
"You know, this angry divorcée thing really turns me on."
She stopped in her tracks, looking at him. "I got the brownstone. And you'll get your bike back when you come to your senses and go back home."
Of course he didn't. He was Mark, after all. And that was why that night she found herself in bed with him. Again.
x
"Hey, Mark," she said when they were lying on the floor of her office in Los Angeles, panting and sweating. Naked, of course.
"Huh?" He looked at her, his eyes filled with lust once again.
She had to laugh. "What ever happened to your bike?"
"I have no idea. And I never even cared, I just needed an excuse to talk to you." His hand travelled up her thigh. "What ever happened to the brownstone?"
"I sold it to some family." A gasp escaped her when he kissed the sensitive spot on her collar bone.
"Then maybe they are teaching their kids how to ride a bike with that old thing."
She sighed with satisfaction and sad reminiscence at the same time. "Or they just brought it to the next… junk yard."
"Stop talking about the bike, Addie."
And even if she would have wanted to, she couldn't have because he was doing things to her that left her speechless.
He paused. "Unless you want me to stop."
"No, please. Go on."
x
This is it. The story doesn't really have a meaning or something, just some random Maddison backstory.
Hope you liked it anyway.