A/N: I know it's been a while since I've written anything, but I inevitably got swept up in the Addek Revolution that's taking place. So, I'm back with a new one-shot. This story is based on winter machine's request—an Addek-style rewrite of the episode where Addison goes back home for Bizzy's funeral. I hope you like it, and hopefully I'm not too rusty. Thanks so much for reading!
Living In Your Heart
If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard.
And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.
― Ranata Suzuki
"That was uncomfortable," Mark mutters.
Derek doesn't say anything. Just keeps his eyes fixed on the road as he drives their rental car toward the Montgomery family's estate.
They had just come from Bizzy's funeral, and Mark wasn't wrong. It was uncomfortable. And stiff. And downright weird.
Derek had chosen to stand near the back, away from everyone, during the funeral service. Mark had given him a hard time about this. Because Mark, of course, had no problems sitting right up front with Amelia, Sam, Naomi, and all of Addison's new colleagues. But Derek couldn't do this.
Maybe there was some unspoken rule that as the ex-husband he had to keep his distance (despite the glaringly obvious fact that with the exception of Addison, Archer, and the Captain, he probably knew Bizzy better than anyone else in that room). But, regardless, he was glad he kept his distance. Because it was hard enough watching Addison from afar. He couldn't imagine doing it up close.
He'd lost his father as a young child. And while Addison had never met his father, she was always there to honor his memory with Derek on his birthday, Father's Day, and those random Tuesdays when Derek was missing his dad. Time and time again, Addison had been there for him … supporting him, offering whatever comfort she could, and sometimes just being there. He'd always assumed that when the time came, and it was one of her parents they were mourning, he'd return the favor.
And that's why it was so hard for him to see her deliver Bizzy's eulogy in that dull, lifeless, detached tone. All he could do was dig his nails into his palm (so hard he drew blood) as Addison gave a book report on her mother's life.
"I had no idea Bizzy was an athlete," Mark adds, ripping Derek from his thoughts. "That swim stat is impressive."
Again, Derek makes no effort to respond or let alone indicate that he's even heard his friend. He doesn't want to talk about the eulogy Addison had given. Just thinking about it is hellish enough. Because of what it indicates. That Addison is alone. The fact that she gave that eulogy in that tone shows that on a day that Derek knows has to be one of the hardest days of her life—despite the fact that she's surrounded by family and friends—Addison has no one.
"Okay, you're being weird, Derek. And today is already going to be weird enough without you adding on to it. Besides," Mark continues, "I'm pretty sure Addison already has the monopoly on weird today."
"Fair enough," Derek agrees, speaking for the first time.
They arrive at the Montgomery estate ten minutes later and make their way toward the front door.
Archer answers in typical Archer fashion. "What are you doing here?" he asks Derek, not bothering with formalities. "Divorcing your wife means divorcing her family too. I thought we were through with you."
"I'm here to pay my respects," Derek answers simply.
"Why?" Archer asks bluntly. "Bizzy never liked you. And it's okay for me to say that. I'm grieving." He turns to Mark. "Thanks for coming. Come on in. Let me get you a drink."
They follow Archer inside, and Derek immediately begins looking for Addison. But she's nowhere to be seen.
"I'm surprised you're here," Amelia says, joining her brother in the living room.
"Why's that?" Derek asks, doing his best to hide his annoyance. "Bizzy was my mother-in-law for over eleven years. I knew her for practically a third of my life."
"Yeah, but that's not why you're here," Amelia assesses sagely. "Not really, at least."
She's, of course, right. But that's not a conversation he's about to have with his sister. Not here. Not now. And most likely, not ever.
He swallows thickly. "It would be wrong for me not to be here."
Amelia nods. "I'm glad you came." She looks around and lowers her voice. "Addie's hurting. She's in so much pain. And nobody can get through to her."
None of this is news to Derek. He saw the eulogy. "Where is she now?"
"Upstairs with Sam. I think he's trying to get her to talk to him."
Derek nods mutely. He knows Addison and Sam are dating. He also knows that he has no right to have an opinion on the matter. But he, of course, does.
"It's weird being in this house without Bizzy," Amelia comments, ripping Derek from his thoughts. "Probably weirder for you than for me since you spent more time here than I did."
Derek nods in agreement. Everything about this situation is weird. And uncomfortable. And stilted. And, honestly, not that different than it was when Bizzy was alive.
"Remember when our whole family made the trip out here for dinner shortly after you and Addison had gotten engaged?" Amelia asks. "I was so nervous. I'd never been in a house like this before … around people like this before."
"I remember."
"This is where Addison lives?" teenage Amelia asks in wonderment. It's a palace."
"Her house is massive," Lizzie agrees. "I mean, I knew she was rich. It's just I didn't realize she was this rich."
"They're not going to make us eat weird, rich-people food for dinner, are they?" Amelia asks.
"Get it all out now," Derek warns his sisters as he and his family make their way toward the front door of the Montgomery family's estate. "Because you can't say things like this in front of Addison's family."
"Seriously," Nancy mutters, shooting her sisters a look of condescension. "You're all acting like you've never seen a big house before."
Amelia shakes her head. "I know you married into money, Nancy … and that you're doing very well in your career. And you have a really nice house in Connecticut. But compared to Addison's house, your house looks like a shack."
"Addison definitely comes from another world," Kathleen comments, while Nancy slings an insult Amelia's way.
"Well I wouldn't trade this house for ours," Carolyn says. "All the unused empty space … it must be so lonely."
"I'd trade in a heartbeat," Amelia says quickly.
"Okay," Derek cuts in. "Before we go in, I just … Addison's family is different. But they're going to be my family too, so please try to get along with them."
"Of course, Derek." Nancy agrees. "We love Addison. I'm sure her family can't be that bad."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Derek mutters. "Which reminds me …" He turns to his sisters and gives them a warning look. "Whatever you do, watch out for Archer Montgomery."
Derek looks at Amelia, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I believe you dropped your fork three times during that dinner."
"Four," Amelia corrects. "And I spilled water all over myself."
"That's right," Derek nods.
"I was nervous," Amelia defends. "Luckily, Addison decided to one-up me and spill her glass of red wine all over Bizzy's expensive table cloth. After that, no one was looking and pointing at me anymore." She pauses for a moment, suddenly gaining a sense of perspective her teenage self didn't have. "Addie did that on purpose, didn't she?"
"Yes," Derek nods, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his sister's naivety. "Of course she did."
Amelia shakes her head. "It's pretty amazing that Addison turned out the way she did in spite of all this." She makes a general gesture toward the room they're currently standing in for emphasis, and Derek surveys the scene in front of him. Archer is shamelessly flirting with Naomi. The captain is badgering one of Addison's new coworkers.
Amelia has a point.
And then he sees Sam making his way down the stairs, looking tired and frustrated. He's known Sam for years and he knows what Sam's silent, calculated brooding means—that things with Addison hadn't gone well. Though Derek could have predicted that from the beginning.
Amelia turns to her brother, her eyes full of concern.
"I'll go," he responds to the question she doesn't ask.
He meets Mark's eyes as he's making his way toward the stairs, and Mark gives him a questioning look, silently asking if he should go upstairs too. Derek simply shakes his head no.
He makes his way towards Addison's childhood bedroom and taps on the door gently. "Addison? It's me."
When she doesn't answer, he carefully pushes the door open and finds Addison sitting on her bed, staring blankly into space.
"Addison?" he tries again, hoping to provoke some type of response from her.
"Derek," she greets him in a lifeless, monotone voice. "Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to Bizzy."
"Archer seems to think otherwise."
"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Addison defends, her voice still flat. "He's grieving."
Derek sits down on the bed next to her. He knows there's no point in quibbling over Archer. He and Addison never saw eye to eye when it came to her older brother. And right now Archer Montgomery is the least of Derek's concerns.
"Your bedroom looks the same," he observes, opting for neutral conversation.
Addison shrugs impassively.
"I still remember the first time I saw your childhood bedroom. It was the first time I met your family. You brought me here for Bizzy's birthday."
Addison nods mutely. And even though she doesn't say a word, Derek knows she remembers.
"This was my room," Addison tells Derek, pushing open the door to her childhood bedroom and letting her boyfriend inside.
Derek raises an eyebrow. "This was your room?"
"Yeah. What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing," Derek says quickly. "It's just … it looks a lot like the guest room your parents are having me stay in tonight." He turns to his girlfriend. "Did your parents turn your room into a guest room after you left for college?"
"No," Addison says shaking her head. "My room has pretty much always looked like this."
Derek's eyes scan the very neutral room. "I can't really imagine a little girl growing up in this room," he admits.
Addison shrugs. "Bizzy's not like most mothers, so a pink bedroom or a princess-themed bedroom would have been out of the question."
"Would you have wanted a pink bedroom?"
"I don't know. As a child, growing up … maybe. But it wouldn't have mattered."
Derek gives his girlfriend's hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Well, I guess we've just got to look at the up side."
"And what's that?"
"All the bedrooms in your house look the same. Tonight, when I go to bed, I might 'accidentally' get lost and end up in here with you and-"
"Don't even think about it," a voice rings out from the hall.
"Bizzy," Addison gasps.
Bizzy is standing there, arms crossed, lips pressed together tightly. "Look," she begins coolly. "I'm not completely oblivious. I'm sure you two regularly share a bed and engage in … well, anyway. But in this house, appearances matter. So, no, Derek, you will not get lost on your way to bed tonight." She gives Addison and Derek a tight smile that communicates that this is not up for debate. "I'm so glad we're all in agreement about this."
"I wasn't even talking that loud," Derek reflects. "Your mother had bat-like hearing."
"I should have put that in the eulogy," Addison says flatly.
"Ad-" he begins to reprimand her, but thinks better of it. She doesn't need that. Not from him. And certainly not today.
He notices a framed photo, sitting on her dresser, and smiles. The picture is of him and her back when they were medical students. They look so young. So happy.
She follows his gaze. "I … um …" she stammers, trying but failing to offer some type of justification as to why the picture is still there; but he doesn't seem to mind.
"A hint of pink," he says quietly.
"A hint of pink," she echoes.
"Open it," Derek insists, handing his girlfriend a present wrapped in red and green striped wrapping paper.
"But it's not Christmas," Addison points out. "It's Christmas Eve."
Derek nods. "But you're celebrating Christmas with my family. And my family always opens one small gift on Christmas Eve. So … here."
"Okay." She accepts the gift with a smile. "Thanks, Derek."
"Before you open it, you have to promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"You need to put this gift in your childhood bedroom."
"What?" she asks in confusion. "But I never go back there. That makes no sense."
"Open the gift."
She does what she's told, and unwraps a framed picture of the two of them. "Derek," she smiles. "I love it. But why would I put this in my childhood bedroom where I'll never get to see it?"
He points to the pink shirt she's wearing in the framed picture. "You never got your pink bedroom when you were growing up. This isn't much, but it's something."
Addison smiles. "A hint of pink."
"Yeah," Derek agrees before kissing his girlfriend deeply. "A hint of pink."
He likes the fact that the picture is still there—her pink shirt the only pop of color in the otherwise neutral room.
He knows, in reality, the picture is most likely still there because Addison hasn't been back to her parents' house or her childhood bedroom since the divorce. But, regardless, it's there. And he likes it.
He wonders if Sam noticed it when he was in Addison's room. And a petty part of him hopes he did.
He turns to Addison; her eyes are still focused on the picture.
"I brought you something," he says after a moment. "I thought it might take the edge off."
"Tonic?" she asks incredulously as he hands her the bottle he pinched from downstairs.
He has to admit he's thrilled to hear something besides flatness in her voice.
"There's no alcohol in this," she points out.
"I know," he nods. "But if I know you and your family … which I do … I know that plenty of alcohol will be consumed today. And you need to hydrate."
She looks at him skeptically.
"Okay," he concedes. "I need to hydrate. You and I both know I'm not a great WASP. If I'm going to keep up with your family today, I need to hydrate."
Addison shakes her head. "We should really get gin."
"Addie," Derek says gently. "You can't drink this away."
"I can try."
"Addison." He tries to keep his voice gentle, sympathetic … not condescending. The last thing she needs right now is condescension. People telling her how to act and what to feel.
She sighs heavily. She knows he's right. As much as she wants to, she can't drink this away. "Okay," she concedes. "I'll drink it."
He smiles. "There's just one condition."
"I don't want to talk about it," she warns.
He shakes his head. "You don't have to. But you do have to share the tonic with me."
A slight smile plays on her face. Over the years, she and Derek have shared countless cups of juju and several bottles of wine and beer … and now they apparently share tonic. Sharing drinks with Derek is familiar. And right now she needs familiar.
She opens the bottle and takes a small sip before handing it to Derek. "This would be a lot better with gin."
"Probably," he agrees, taking a sip. "I guess this isn't really a great way to honor Bizzy either. Your mother never had a problem holding her liquor."
Addison nods in agreement and they continue to pass the tonic back and forth.
"Not never," she mumbles after a moment.
He turns to look at her, surprised that she's so voluntarily taking part in a conversation about her mother.
"Our graduation from medical school …"
A hearty, unexpected laugh escapes Derek's lips. He'd completely forgotten about that.
Maybe it's the genuineness of his laugh. Maybe it's because, unlike everyone else, he's not tiptoeing around her or whispering things about her. (She can hear her colleagues saying things; she's grieving, not deaf). Maybe it's the familiarity of sharing a drink with Derek in a world that has become anything but familiar.
Whatever it is, she finds herself talking. "She was so sloppy that day."
"Not sloppy," Derek disagrees. "Inappropriate."
"So Mrs. Bennett," Bizzy slurs, draining yet another martini.
"Dee," Mrs. Bennett corrects.
"Dee," Bizzy repeats. "Have you seen the movie Amistad?"
"I have."
"Oh, good. Because I recently saw the movie with some of the women from the Junior League and I was wondering … is the movie an accurate depiction of slavery?"
Addison pales and Derek blushes brightly. Even Archer, the king of inappropriateness, nearly chokes on the piece of bread he's eating.
Bizzy, of course, is too drunk to read the room and realize something is amiss.
"Is the movie an accurate depiction of slavery?" she repeats.
Sam's mother rolls her eyes in disgust. "I'll ask my slave friends and get back to you."
"Now, Dear," Bizzy says, the irritation clear in her voice, "I don't appreciate that tone. I asked you an innocent question. There's no reason to make a scene or get-"
"Oh, look, Bizzy," Derek interrupts. "Your martini glass is empty. Come to the bar with me and get another drink."
"No need to go to the bar, Derek. We can just ask the waiter to get us more drinks," Bizzy points out.
"Yeah, but come with me anyway," Derek persists.
"Okay, fine," Bizzy slurs, standing up and wobbling a little. "The service is unbearably slow here anyway."
Derek chuckles at the memory. "That inexcusable moment of racism aside, you've got to hand it to her; your mother really pulled it together the next morning at brunch. Nobody ever would have guessed she drank as much as she did the night before. She was as poised and put together as ever."
"Yeah, well … Bizzy was good at maintaining appearances." She lowers her voice and shakes her head sadly. "Right until the very end."
"What?"
"I, uh, nothing."
"Addison."
She's clutching the tonic tightly; and he gently pries her fingers from the bottle and places her hand in his. He half expects her to pull her hand away; but she doesn't.
Instead, she does the opposite and tightens her grip on his hand.
He squeezes her hand reassuringly, and she looks up and meets his eyes.
"It wasn't an aneurism," she admits quietly, almost inaudibly.
"What?"
Addison swallows thickly. "Bizzy … she didn't die of an aneurism. She killed herself. I found her. And in the note she left for me, she told me to say she died of an aneurism. She thought it would be too humiliating to tell people the truth. Unbecoming."
He nods slowly, letting Addison's words sink in. "What do you think?"
She hesitates a moment. "I-I think I need to honor her wishes."
"Which you did," he says, gently stroking the top of her hand with his thumb. "But … uh …" he trails off, struggling to find the right words. "When my dad died all I wanted to do was cry. And scream. But mostly cry. But I didn't. Because, in my mind, I was the man of the house and I needed to be strong for my mother and sisters. So I went my father's entire funeral without crying, even though all I wanted to do was cry." He meets her eyes. "If there were no rules today … no self-imposed or familial expectations, what would you do? What would you have done differently?"
She stands up and motions for him to do the same. And he's worried he overstepped his boundaries. Pushed her too far. But her eyes soften.
"If there were no rules, I would have thanked you for coming by giving you a hug … not whatever stiff greeting I gave you earlier today."
She wraps her arms around him, and he holds her closely. Neither of them seems set on letting go any time soon.
He knows from his eleven-plus years with Addison that the Montgomery family is not big on hugging. But as he feels Addison's exhausted body trembling against his, he knows this is exactly what she needs.
So he holds her tighter. Their bodies have always fit well together. But he keeps that thought to himself.
He eases them both down on the bed, keeping his arms wrapped around her. Reassuringly. Protectively. And whether they want to admit it or not, lovingly.
She can't help thinking about how different this is from her boyfriend's attempt to get her to talk about what had happened – shaking her, yelling at her, and grabbing her wrists so tightly he left marks.
She reminds herself it's not Sam's fault. He was trying to help … in his way. It's just … Sam doesn't know her intimately enough to know what to do or say. Derek does.
She, of course, keeps this to herself.
"I get it," she whispers after a moment, allowing herself to relax a little in Derek's arms. "I get why she did what she did."
Derek looks at her intently, silently encouraging her to continue.
"Once upon a time, I would have judged her for it. For committing suicide. I would have thought it was selfish and weak and unfair to me, Archer, and the Captain. I wouldn't have been able to understand what type of person does that."
"And now?" Derek asks, gently running his hand up and down her arm.
"I still wish she wouldn't have done it," Addison admits vulnerably. "But she was so broken. She's been so broken for years. I just … I guess I didn't see it." She swallows roughly. "It must have been so hard for her," she chokes out, her eyes glistening. "Never being able to say out loud, 'This is who I am,' or 'This is what I want."
Derek nods sympathetically. He wracks his brain trying to think of even just one time in all the years he's known Bizzy where she seemed even the slightest bit not okay; but he comes up with nothing. Addison is right–Bizzy Montgomery was the master of upholding appearances.
"And I guess when she lost Susan that was it for her," Addison continues reflectively. "She was just too broken. It's one thing to be broken. But being broken and alone … I guess it was just too much for her." She turns to Derek, her eyes still watery. "I still wish she didn't do it."
"I know," he agrees. "Me too." He strokes her hair gently, just like he has so many times in the past when she was sad or upset or stressed. Her body relaxes against his. She still feels the same. And in many ways—despite all that's happened—they still feel the same.
"I really appreciate you coming today, Derek," she says sincerely. "I mean, I know we're divorced, and technically you don't have to be here, and you don't owe me any-"
"Addison," he says softly. "Our divorce ended our marriage. But it didn't end everything."
She smiles—really smiles—for the first time that day because she knows he's right. Divorces end marriages. They don't end memories. And sometimes they don't even end relationships.
She looks at Derek. His eyes are warm and caring. But as she looks closely, she sees they're also sad. Maybe he's mourning Bizzy. Maybe it's something else completely.
She doesn't ask.
Instead, she does the one thing she's been dying to do–she leans in and softly molds her lips against his. If he's surprised, he doesn't let on because he kisses her back–just as softly, just as tenderly.
When they break apart, she can see her own emotions reflected in his eyes–lust, satisfaction, and a hint of rebelliousness. What just happened wasn't exactly the prototypical divorced-couple-who-still-get-along-kiss (a quick, dry peck on the cheek). But what just happened didn't exactly feel wrong either.
She meets his eyes and he offers her a soft smile. This time he initiates and she reciprocates. She runs her fingers through his hair as he kisses her deeply. And for the first time in a long time things don't feel horribly and undeniably wrong … for either of them.
A sharp tap at the door brings them back to reality. "Addison," Archer calls out. "You've been in there for a while, and I just want to make sure you're okay. Plus, things are getting weird downstairs."
He opens the door without warning and finds his sister and her ex-husband sitting together on her bed. Both of their cheeks are flushed and both are breathing heavily. "Do I even want to know?" he asks, shooting Derek a death glare.
"Archer, what are you doing?" Addison demands.
"I told you; it's getting weird downstairs, and there's only so much I can take. I need your help."
"I'll be down in a minute," Addison promises. "Just … give us a second."
"Fine," Archer sighs. He turns to Derek. "You're like a bad cold that never goes away," he mutters.
"Thanks," Derek says dryly.
"Not a compliment. But you're actually wearing a nice-looking pair of shoes," Archer approves, looking down at Derek's feet. "I think I used to have a similar pair."
"Archer," Addison says sternly.
"Fine," Archer sighs. "I'm leaving. But you better be downstairs soon."
Derek waits until Archer is out of earshot before turning to Addison. "Can I tell you something?"
"Yeah."
"These are Archer's shoes. Remember that charity ball we went to where Bizzy received that big award?"
Addison nods, a small smile forming on her face. "I remember."
"How do I look?" Derek asks, straightening his tie.
Addison's eyes rake over her boyfriend appreciatively. "Perfect. But, uh … there's just one thing."
"Yeah?"
"I don't know how to say this without it sounding terrible … so I'm just going to say it. Bizzy … she doesn't like your shoes. She wants you to wear these instead."
"What?" Derek asks in confusion as he accepts the pair of dress shoes his girlfriend is handing him.
"They're Archer's." She looks at her boyfriend apologetically. "I'm sorry. It's just … she's Bizzy. She does things like this."
Derek looks at the shoes Addison gave him. "They look the same as the shoes I'm wearing," he observes. "They're both black."
Addison doesn't have the heart to tell her boyfriend that the shoes look nothing alike. Sure, they're both black. But that's where the similarities end.
"You're not the first guy she's done this to. She's made my past boyfriends wear Archer's clothes to events. She even made one of my ex-boyfriends wear one of Archer's shirts to a family dinner downstairs because she didn't think the shirt he was wearing was suitable."
"Other guys?" Derek asks. "You've brought a lot of guys to these types of events."
"Not many guys," Addison says, smiling at the hint of jealousy in her boyfriend's voice. She gives him a chaste kiss, and smooths down his suit. "But I hope you're the last."
Derek grins at his girlfriend's words. "Me too." He looks down at the shoes in his hand and sighs. "It's Bizzy's night," he concedes. "And if it means that much to her, I'll wear Archer's shoes."
"Thank you," Addison says appreciatively. "I promise you, I'll make it up to you."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Derek says. "Woah," he chuckles as he struggles to put on Archer's shoes. "Your brother has really small feet. These are really tight." He lets out a snicker. "Isn't that rich? Archer Montgomery has impossibly tiny feet. You know what they say? Small feet, small-"
"Derek, please don't finish that sentence."
"Fine," Derek sighs. Sure, Bizzy's request is insulting and humiliating. And he's definitely going to get blisters from wearing shoes that are too small. But he has to admit, the fact that Archer has small feet makes the whole situation a little more bearable.
"I can't believe you wore those," Addison says quietly.
Derek shrugs. "I knew Bizzy liked them. It felt right to wear them today."
Addison smiles. "Your feet must be killing you."
"A little," he admits.
"Take them off."
"What?"
"Take off your shoes."
Derek smiles. "Only if you let your hair down," he bargains.
"What?"
His hands move to her hair, which is pulled back severely in a tight bun. "This has to be giving you a headache. I'll take off my shoes if you let down your hair."
She nods. "Help me with the pins."
He happily acquiesces, smiling as he runs his hands through her long red locks.
"Better?" she asks.
"Better," he nods.
He can't help smiling. Take off your shoes. Take down your hair. It's only natural to follow these requests up with others. Take off your pants. Take off your dress.
He's not opposed to this. Not in the slightest. But he also knows this isn't that type of story.
"Lay down with me?" he requests.
"What?"
"You look tired," he observes. "You need to get some rest."
"I have to go downstairs. You heard Archer. Things are getting out of control down there."
"Archer's a big boy. He can handle things himself."
"I, uh … I won't be able to sleep."
"I can hold you while you try."
She smiles at that. "Okay."
She climbs into the bed first and he slots in behind her, wrapping his arms around her, enveloping her body protectively.
"Sleep well, Addie," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"You too."
She sighs contently as she feels his body relax against hers. Sure she's still devastated, and will be for a while. But at the same time, she feels inexplicably lighter.
He wraps his arms around her more securely and his thumb brushes against her dress, tracing feather-light patterns over her ribs. And she gently runs her fingers up and down his forearm before taking his hand in hers and pressing a soft kiss just below his knuckle.
Her eyes are growing heavy with sleep and she can hear his breathing begin to even out. And as he pulls her in closer she finally allows herself to give in and let his slow, rhythmic breathing lull her to sleep.
This is the eulogy she would have given. It may not have words, but that doesn't matter.
Falling asleep in the arms of the one person she wants to be with, but knows she can't be with … she can't think of a better way to honor her mother.
xxx
A/N 2: I actually re-watched the Private Practice episode "Home Again" before writing this because it's been a while. There really is a framed picture in Addison's childhood bedroom of her and a dark-haired man; and in the picture, she's wearing a pink shirt. I couldn't tell who the guy in the picture was and, admittedly, didn't put any effort into investigating. My guess would be Archer, but I thought it set up a nice Addek flashback, so I went with Derek.
Anyway, I hope you liked the story. Thanks again for reading!