Part One

"Addison."

She doesn't look up, preferring instead to fiddle with the charm on her bracelet and try to condense her immense ball of crazy into one short, easily solvable statement.

"Addison, we've been sitting her for the past five minutes and you have yet to say one word." His newest patient (this being the third pseudo-session they've had together, Sheldon finally feels comfortable calling her that) accosted him in the lobby last night and demanded an appointment. An early appointment too, trying he figures to avoid the curious, prying eyes of his colleagues and her friends, which is how he found himself sitting at seven o'clock in the morning across from a sullen, silent redhead who's clearly about three seconds away from bolting off the couch back to the fifth floor. If he weren't so curious, he'd be annoyed. "Would you rather we move this to the elevator? You might be more comfortable there."

"I hurt people," she finally blurts out, choosing to ignore his pathetic attempt at humor. "I don't mean to but I do."

"Okay," Sheldon nods, clicking his pen. "How –"

"Even when I'm actively trying not to hurt someone, I end up hurting someone else. It's like…" Addison rakes her fingers through her hair and slouches further into the comfort of the couch cushions. Therapy, she's come to realize, is hard. How can there be no judgment? There always is. But trying to come up with a way to spin her life story so she appears less hateful seems counterproductive, so she's giving brutal honesty a try. "It's like I shouldn't be able to interact with people. For the good of humanity I should just lock myself in my room and only come out for surgeries and pelvic exams."

"Would that be a fix? If you're so convinced the problem is you –"

"It is me."

"Well then hiding yourself away isn't going to solve anything," Sheldon declares firmly, finally laying down the law. "Because eventually Addison, you will have to interact with someone and then according to you, someone will get hurt and you'll be right back where you started."

She fixes him with the best glare she can manage pre-coffee. "I hate talking to you."

"Then let's get right to the point. What is it that you want to accomplish through our sessions?"

She wants him to fix her. To tell her the secret to being a good person, a good friend. To show her how to be around people without constantly pushing them away, burning everything to the ground before ever realizing the match has been lit.

"I just want to be… better."

"Different," he corrects gently. He believes in change and growth, in humanity's ability to move forward and break the cycles. It's how he can keep himself from wishing he came into work with spit up on his shirt, or Violet's perfume on his clothes, it how he's dating. But he also knows that you can't fix everything, and that constantly trying to force yourself into a mold you can't fit into will inevitably just lead to more cracks.

"Same thing."

-0-

Pete makes his way in her office, the floor of which she's been camped out on for the better part of the afternoon. It's been a slow day, no emergencies, no mad dashes to the hospital; normally that would mean relaxed conversation in the break room, but since the wedding everyone's preferred their own company to that of the group's. Well, 'preferred' might not be the right word, it implies some sort of choice in the matter. She'd prefer to have her friend back, but that's not up to her.

"Haven't seen you in a few days," he says by way of greeting, settling into the couch.

"I've been busy," Addison explains, briefly glancing over her shoulder at him before bowing her head back over the file. "Tired…"

He believes her. She looks frazzled today, beautiful as always, but tenser than usual, posture stiff despite her sprawled position on the ground. If they were still in the just friends zone he would have felt comfortable reaching out to touch her arm or offering up a shoulder to lean on, but the rules of intimacy have been redefined and now he's never sure how she's going to react in public. Pete likes where they are now and if she doesn't he needs to know. "Are you still okay? With us…"

"Sam found out," she interrupts, not wanting to discuss it, but their cover's been blown, they are out of the vault and Pete has a right to know that.

"What? How?"

"I don't know," Addison groans, rubbing her eyes in frustration. These people were her friends, she should have known better, stayed within the boundaries.

"Well, is he going to tell anyone else?"

"You'll have to ask him. Doesn't this seem strange to you Pete? How worried we are about staying hidden? Doesn't that make it seem like maybe we shouldn't be doing this?"

"We're not…" He gets up from the couch, too wired to stay sitting. "This has nothing to do with them Addison, it's none of their business. Violet moved on. Or is trying to move on or get better, and Sam…" He's unsure of how to finish that, never having heard the full story, or any story at all really. After her initial admission, Addison didn't trace for him the steps leading up to how she fell in love to begin with. And Sam what? "So what does this mean? Do you want to stop seeing each other or…"

"I don't know what this means now Pete, I'm trying to figure that out."

"We can figure it out together. That's what I'm hear for, to help."

"I know." He's been great, perfect really, understanding and willing to give her space and comfort. But he's wrong because they're not together that's the whole point, and it's everyone's business to a point.

"Dinner tonight. I'll cook, and after I put Lucas to sleep we can talk."

"Tomorrow, would be better," Addison relents, if only to get the privacy of her office back.

"Tomorrow," Pete nods, turning to leave. "And we will figure it out Addison. All things considered, this place has weathered much worse storms."

-o-

"I know you're home so you might as well open up." Addison's voice cuts through the wood of his front door, sharp and angry (she can't be angry, he's angry. He's fucking furious). He's said his piece, and doesn't want to talk about it anymore, or see her, or have to listen to her explain why Pete, why now, why so soon. After being married so long to a woman whose defense mechanism was to cut, run, and shut down, he's not used to the back and forth of arguments, but here's Addison who would probably yell her points at him through the door all night until she was hoarse, so he opens up. But he's not happy about it.

She's changed out of her work clothes into pajamas, which means she's down for the night, which means she's not going to Pete, and this, this right here is why he can't see her because he can't stop wondering. "Addison we've already said everything."

"You," she points out angrily, "you've already said everything."

"What you want to say, I don't want to hear."

"Tough," Addison retorts. "You're going to be a gentleman, and let me in, and we're going to talk about this, and you're not going to shut me out and you're not going to throw away two decades of friendship at the drop of a hat because your feelings are hurt. You're not Derek, Sam." With that she pushes past him, storming through the foyer into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine from the fridge.

"You can't… Addison you can't universally decide what I am and am not allowed to be mad about," Sam complains, following her

"I never said you couldn't be mad," she mutters, pouring herself a glass. "But you're supposed to be my friend too. Pete's your friend, but so am I."

"I wanted to be more than that. And so did you, but you wouldn't –"

"I didn't want to lose my best friend," Addison yells, frustration mounting over the fact that this is looking to be unfixable. "I didn't want to hurt her."

"You're hurting me. But that you can live with?" It would be embarrassing, the things this woman pushes him to say, but it's Addison so it's not. They've seen each other's low points and accepted it, it's one of the reason why they would have been, could still be, great. If right now, she said to go for it he would. Sam's never been this guy before, but it's been weeks since they've touched and he's aching to feel her skin again.

"No!" she slams her glass down. "That's why I'm here!"

"You wouldn't even talk to Naomi, then or ever. You just… erased the possibility forever and then wanted everything to go back to normal, but I don't know how to do that yet. And now, you're talking to me, you're trying to fix things after you started seeing him, after it already happened."

"Maybe I didn't think I would ever have to worry about losing you," Addison protests weakly. It's unfair but it's true. She thinks people will be there until they're not. It's her own fault, but it hurts. Plus, she loves him. She doesn't know what to do about that yet, but she said it (to Pete, not to him, but it's still out there) and it's growing. "I'm trying to do the best I can, Sam. Giving up on us wasn't easy for me either, you have to understand that."

He'd like to believe that, he really would, but they peaked in a day and then in all came crashing down. Before when it was just comfort kisses, and late night talks, and this unspoken pact that allowed them to stand up against all the crap that kept raining down on them, before she didn't have a problem with it and Naomi's name wasn't mentioned, and he kept falling. And then he went and made it real and she backed off, instantly without pause. So yeah, maybe it wasn't easy but it sure as hell didn't seem to be a hard choice for her to make.

"Well I… don't." He never can look at her when he says these things, doesn't want to see the kind of guy he's turning into for her in her eyes. "And you… need to go."

"Sam," he hears her plead.

"Just go."

-o-

With Pete, she normally allows herself to be seduced. Have her neck kissed, her hips caressed, her dress pushed up until she's anxious, and squirming, and gasping, and one hundred percent convinced that this is the best idea they've ever had. Only tonight she doesn't need to be convinced, she needs to be distracted. To get this over with, to drive the final nail in the coffin, because she is completely alone and one of the perks to being alone is being in charge of your own life, your own body. So she's pressing herself up to him, letting her hand slide down, and he's surprised but up for it clearly as they stumble into his bedroom, Addison landing on top of him straddling his body and she yanks off her own top and captures his lips with hers, and she really should have just stayed in Seattle because at least the Archfield had room service and she could really use about eight drinks right now.

-o-

"Addison?"

During the hell that had been her pregnant teenage daughter's engagement period, Naomi had been eating way too much chocolate and avoiding way too many people, and since the elevator burned up zero calories and greatly reduced the chances of running into one of the million people she didn't feel like running into, she had been taking the stairs. It was healthy, it was reasonable. It had never before revealed her best friend slouched forlornly against one of the landings, wiping off mascara trails with a crumpled up tissue. Addison looks up at the sound of her name, and scrambles to her feet in an attempt to seem normal. "Oh, hey Nai."

"Oh hey Nai? What's wrong, why are you crying."

"It's nothing," Addison replies with a shake of her head,

"It's not nothing, Addie, you're upset," she chides, frustrated with her friend's stubbornness, furiously trying to rake through her brain for the possible cause of her tears. The truth is, although their friendship had made it through the rocky period caused by her leaving for the fourth floor, her and Addison hadn't had many heart-to-hearts lately.

"I am, but it's just… nothing that can be talked about. Long day, no sleep, that sort of thing," Addison pacifies, flashing a weak smile.

"I don't believe you."

"Okay," she nods, starting back up the stairs. "I have to get back to work."

"Addison!" Naomi yells up to her hastily escaping back. "I don't believe you!"

TBC…