A/N: There are about 425 Shonda could have handled this (and a lot of things come end S3) better; this is just one. Which is a friendly poke at Shonda rather than a testament to the quality of this. You be the judge and all that jazz.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Have no money whatsoever. Not from this or, sadly anything else I produce.

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"So. Is this another night when it's all about you?" Callie puts her bag on the bar and sits down next to her friend.

"Well, hello to you too," Addison smiles at her, "And isn't it always?"

"Sorry. Crappy day."

"I hear you. If you want to talk about it... it doesn't have to be about me at all.

"God no," Callie exclaims with a sigh, not even wanting to think about Izzie Stevens and the uncomfortable confrontation in the elevator. "I'm here to listen. You suffer, I wallow in it. It's how we work."

When Joe brings her drink, Addison takes it possessively, "Then at least let me buy you one."

"Scratch that. This is why I'm here." She orders then turns to Addison, "So. How's your bet going?"

"It's not. He slept with someone." It seems convenient to Addison to leave out the part where she slept with Karev for now. Mark had cheated on her before so she calls dibs on playing the martyr for the time being. There's also another reason, one that –

"He did?" Callie asks, frowning, breaking Addison's rapid trail of thoughts.

"You sound surprised."

"I am," she admits, as though her reaction is a wonder to her as well. Thinking it over for a moment, Callie continues, "Manwhore that he may be, he seemed adamant to prove he can actually do it. Weird."

And that's the other reason Addison brought it up promptly, appropriately neglecting to mention Karev. It was strange – their conversation on the stairwell – especially when she thought back on their morning exchange in the elevator. It was so... off, the mere fact he came clean about his – escapades - she puts it politely. And when doubled with everything else that transpired between them...

"I thought so, too," Addison voices her thoughts, taking a sip of her drink. Then again, her feeling could be wrong. Because, "It's Mark. Mark," she sighed, "Unable to keep it zipped after all." Her inner moral compass is all but raging at this point, and she can't determine who she's more disappointed with. Even if Mark is all about the sex, she once held herself to a higher standard. That was before she cheated on her husband, of course.

"Maybe. Yeah. Why are you that surprised? It's not like you ever gave him credit for anything beyond a good fuck."

Addison's head shoots up at this, and she knows Callie is right. "I didn't, did I."

Callie shrugs. "Look, Addie. I'm not defending him here. Because he's Mark Sloan but mostly 'cause you're my friend. And as a friend, I gotta tell you; nothing would make me happier than to know that if I called George from New Mexico tomorrow and told him to fly over, he'd leave everything and be on the next plane there. But I can't." Callie casts her eyes down on her drink. When Addison lays a hand on her shoulder, she looks at her again. "And no. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. You can't help me when you're such a mess yourself."

Addie chuckles, "Fair enough. But according to that logic, I should shut the hell up about now."

"I'm not a mess." Addison raises her eyebrow and Callie concedes, "Okay, I am, but I'm much better in keeping my emotions in check."

"True," Addison admits with a smile, taking a sip.

"My point was... Sloan has -- potential," Callie grimaces at that last word, not quite satisfied with how she put it but unable to think of anything better. "At least with you."

"It was a booty call! Sex is beyond implied!"

"And I'm sure New York is full of disgusting women," Callie pauses to finish her drink then looks at Addison, "I bet you're a firecracker in bed, Addie. You're not that good."

Addison's laugh is contagious and Callie uses the opportunity to laugh this weird day off with her friend. They haven't had a lot to sincerely laugh about in the past few weeks.

Drinks ordered and laughter subsiding, Addison feels that this is as good a moment as any to fess up. "Speaking of carnal pleasures... I slept with Karev."

She expects reprimanding, because it's no less than she deserves, but she's friends with this woman for a reason, "What's he like?"

"Fast," she responds automatically and now it's Callie's turn to laugh.

"I'm, um, sorry?", she offers and Addison's smile gradually fades.

She nods, slowly, "Me too." Dipping the straw in and out of her drink, she muses out loud, "I don't know. It seems I can't get anything right lately."

"The way I see it, you did everything by the book. At least before the Sloan train wreck. Married the right guy –"

Addison snorts at this, "Yeah. Seemed that way. Then he stopped sleeping in my bed. Our bed."

"At least you knew he was sleeping alone." Callie knows Sloan is not the only one she's alluding to. The thought scares her, and she pushes it away. "And you kept yourself busy, built a nice career for yourself in the process. You're allowed to make some mistakes now. For the sake of balance. Or whatever."

"Maybe." Addison isn't convinced. She doesn't like mistakes and she downright hates the life-altering ones. "God, I am a mess. I feel like I've wasted half of my life and now—"

"Now you feel you have one last shot to get it right before you wither and die. And how that last shot isn't Mark Sloan."

"He's not exactly poster-boy for familial bliss. Of that I am sure."

"You were sure about Shepherd too," she shrugs, "And that guy probably is, just—"

"Not for me," Addison finishes for her, the corner of her mouth twitching in bitter regret and yearning for something she's afraid she'll never have. She raises her drink at Callie, "Thanks for that."

"I'm sorry. I had a long day and I'm blunt and rude," Callie purses her lips as a way of apology.

"No, you're right. Which says nothing about Mark though."

"I'm just sayin'. You have these categories and boxes, and people just don't work that way." She briefly thinks of George again – the sweetest guy, your perfect family man. She wonders if he is that person for her. God, she hopes he is.

"So, what? You're saying Mark hasn't been that guy for anyone ever but now all of a sudden..." Addison trails off, shakes her head. That doesn't go with the image she created a long time ago, back in New York. And she needs that image, she needs it as a constant reminder, the only valid reason for aborting her baby. Their baby.

"I'm saying that stranger things have happened, s'all."

Addison wants to point out he cheated on her – today, actually – which would prove her point nicely. She stops herself when she realizes she doesn't believe it. It's not an unusual thing, Addison doubting Mark, it's become almost a reflex by now; but it's usually about the things he doesn't tell her. It's usually about the hidden betrayals. She's known Mark Sloan for fifteen years. She knows his MO. And this... isn't.

But she can't allow herself to be completely wrong either. It would imply so many things that were unacceptable now that everything was past salvation. "He's still not going to barbecue or –"

"If you mention playing catch one more time, I'm going to have to smack that pretty red head of yours!"

"Well, it's important!" Addison whines, turning her palms up, and pouts – not that she's hurt, but this is her MO so she does it anyway. Callie, however, seems unfazed by this.

"I have no idea where you get your ideas of the perfect family – and I get what you're generally trying to say – but whatever pamphlet you read it in, you do know you don't have to follow it word by word. Right?" Callie checks because by this point she's not sure if Addison understands that playing catch – and not, say, playing chess – is not be-all end-all of all that is domestic.
There's also this thing where she needs to believe that marriage can be perfect and blissful even if it was approved by Elvis, consumed in a heart-shaped bed with mirrors above it and is currently residing in a hotel room. There are no clean-cut departments for successful and the not so much.

"It was a metaphor," Addison states, more to please her friend as she is quite attached to the image of Mark teaching a kid to play catch. Dad teaching their kid to play catch. Not Mark. A dad. A faceless one, she decides.

"Good. Good," Callie nods and takes a swig. "'Cause even the non-perfect husbands," she pauses, "the non-perfect dads, they love their kid. Even if they're bad and terrible and don't show it and apparently, um, refuse to play catch. It's their kid, you know?"

Addison doesn't see her casting a glance her way. She's too busy staring at absolutely nothing with pained expression of understanding. It may or may not have initially been about trumping Derek, but that doesn't matter, not when she can finally see.

"Addison?" Callie waves her hand in front of her face, and Addison turns her head to her so suddenly her neck muscles give an unpleasant tug.

"I really hurt him, didn't I?"

It takes a moment for Callie to register what she's referring to, but when she does she wishes someone had taught her to fucking think before she speaks. "Oh, fuck. Shit. Shit, fuck, I'm sorry, Addie, I didn't think of... I didn't think."

"No, it's okay," she says slowly, looking at something of no relevance over Callie's shoulder. "I just realized that it hurt him. Actually hurt."

"He'll live," she states gently, placatingly, trying not to shrug. It's not something you want to shrug off, she knows, but she also knows Mark Sloan is hardly a delicate flower. Neither is her friend, despite all her usual whining. Callie smiles at that. "And you will too. You'll be fine. You two could even be fine together, in the world with no nurses, interns and, apparently, catch balls."

"And barbecues," Addison adds as if it means anything. It's mostly because she needs to say something to get herself out of this trance.

"O-kay. That too. Gotta say, odds are against you. Big time."

"They always have been," Addison says around her straw, half drinking, half chewing.

"So. You gonna do some damage control?" Addison frowns at her, mostly because, even if she could, she wouldn't know where to start. "Karev and the dirty delicious slightly adulterous intern sex?"

"Oh. That's done. We're done."

"I'm sure you are, but I also doubt Seattle Grace rumor mill will feel that way."

Addison sits up straighter and asks the question that she finds redundant even before she voices it. "Do you think Mark knows?"

Callie shrugs, "No idea. But that place," she points her thumb at the door, as if Seattle Grace is lurking right outside it, "is cursed. He's bound to find out."

Addison could tell her she doesn't care; that they're through and it doesn't matter; that he couldn't hold out either. She bites her tongue though. Of all the things she may be – adulterous whore being the worst – she's not a liar.

And of all those things she could say? She believes in none.

So she finishes her drink and asks Callie if she could give her a ride to the hotel. In return, Callie only nods. She isn't particularly privy and she'll find out about it tomorrow as it is. As she waits for Joe to get her change, Addison is already mentally prepping herself for what she is going to say. This is new to her – usually he's the one knocking on her door – but she concedes perhaps it's time to abandon her own MO.

It did her no good so far.

She meets Callie at the car and suddenly she remembers something her friend told her earlier that evening. A firecracker, was that what she called her?

Opening the door, Addison winks at her over the roof of the car, "Oh, and Callie. You bet your sweet ass I'm that good!", before her red hair disappears inside and Callie follows suite, laughing her sweet ass off.

Addison stands in the empty hallway only long enough to draw one deep breath before her knuckles are rapping adamantly against the closed hotel room door. Inside, Mark is loudly shuffling and groaning, making his stumbly way over to open it. He's standing in front of her the next moment wearing only his sweat pants and a deep frown. She thinks he looks surprised.

He would describe it as confusion.

"Addis –," his question is cut short by her unyielding voice.

"You scare me," she states firmly, almost angrily and even though he has no idea what the hell this one is about, Mark automatically feels defensive. After a beat, she's pushing past him and into the room, leaving a stunned Mark to close the door behind them. Arms crossed over his bare chest, he waits for the continuation he knows is coming.

Turning around and pointing his finger at him in a manner he would identify as accusing – Addison thinks it's making a point – she repeats, "You scare me, Mark. You're not reliable in any conventional sense. You're not predictable and you sure as hell are not picket fence material." She pauses, losing her initial wind. Breathing out a dejected breath of air, she adds, defeated, "And you don't barbecue," as if that thought alone is what crushed her.

"No. I don't," he confirms.

"I want that. I need that." Her voice is now completely lacking the fight it had earlier and she thinks it's because she doesn't have the fight left in her. She can't remember why and what she is fighting against. All she wants now is to make him understand. "I need stability and order or else I feel lost. You make me feel lost. And the fact that I fell for you, and then almost fell for you again... that scares me. It scares me because I'm not twenty anymore and I don't know how to live in the devil may care manner you're so fond of."

"You never did," he states simply, without humor, without teasing, without defending himself or his lifestyle. He's tired as well.

"No, you're right, I didn't. I prefer to play it safe. Apparently, not the winning ticket," she smiles bitterly, "but it's the only way I know how to live. It used to be the only way I wanted to. And now it's not and I'm afraid that this one won't go over much better either." She looks fixedly down at the fingers of her right hand playing with the ones on the left, waiting for her heart to stop trying to kill her, before saying, "I'm afraid you'll hurt me again and then," she looks at him sincerely, eyes wide open, pleading him to give her an answer, "then, what am I supposed to do?"

He doesn't break eye contact, looking steadily back at her from his side of the room. Instead of giving her an answer to what he considers to be a rhetorical question anyway, Mark challenges her back, "Is that why you sabotaged us and slept with Karev?"

Addison blinks once, twice, then closes her eyes against his cold gaze. Of course, on some level she knew he knew - that was, finally, what her entire reasoning was based upon. It's different when it's so out in the open though, for you to deal with it. When you have to face what you've done outside of the scenarios playing inside your mind. But one always holds hope they would have the opportunity to admit to it themselves. It provides the needed - and in Addison's case - much needed upper hand. It also provides a chance for an explanation. And apology.

Addison suspects she's run out of chances.

"I... panicked," is all she can offer as she slumps down on the bed. Cradling her head in her hands, she pulls her hair back from her face.

Mark knows the feeling. Last thing he wants is to sympathize with her but he does know the feeling. Charlene may have been about the abortion but the other two were about the panic. It wasn't so much guilt in regards to Derek, not that there wasn't some to go about. Even the fact he had fallen for his best friend's wife – of all people – wasn't the greatest issue. The falling in love part was what sealed the deal.

It had been so many years since he'd felt vulnerable, Mark had completely forgotten the feeling. And then – bam, just like that – Addison shifts in her sleep just so, and he is inhaling her scent for a split moment too long, and he knows. He knows for certain there is no way in hell this could end well.

So he fucks a nurse. And then another one. Because the 12-year-old Mark Sloan vowed he'd never feel vulnerable again. Because, lead by some twisted logic, he thought – was absolutely sure, even – that screwing what's-her-name and what's-her-face would make Addison less. As it turned out, it made him less. And the vulnerability lingered.

So, no, he doesn't want to sympathize with Addison. He wants to be angry. He wants to keep his moral high ground for once, and make the most of it. Who knows when the hell that's gonna happen again. But with Addison, what he wants to feel has always been inferior to what he can't help but feel. So it goes, and he's tired of accusations anyway – as well as just plain tired – so he sits himself down next to her, intertwining his fingers and leaning forward with his head down.

He hopes it's enough of a truce offering – the motion, the silence – because he doesn't have the words right now, or the correct answers as he really doesn't barbecue.

She thinks it's more than she would give him, if the tables were turned.

They sit like that for the longest time, no words, no touching. After a century of merely existing, Addison is the first to speak.

"You didn't break the bet." It's not a question.

"No," he replies silently.

"You gave me an out."

"Yeah."

And she took it without knowing. Addison slowly nods to herself in the dim light, everything that happened between them sinking in. All the hurt and betrayal, it ran both ways. They're dangerous together, she knows that. Her being focused on his shortcomings, him being focused on her. Chasing her when she couldn't afford to be chased; and her, running to what was familiar, convincing herself she didn't want to be chased in the first place. The abortion. She thinks of Callie's words. The nurses. She remembers his fingers on her thigh. The booty calls, some of which felt nothing like. Him telling her he loves her; her getting angry because she didn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to hear it. She wants to live it.

They're dangerous together, but for the first time in forever she wants to try. Really try. Not because of their history – ha, she laughs inwardly; if anything, it would be despite their history – nor the picture perfect future she can't quite let go of. But simply because, as much as she's afraid of trying, she's more afraid not to. And she can't help but think, if they put some effort in it, they could be less dangerous and more functional. On her part, Addison guesses she could settle for a garden, and no picket fences.

And if not... well then, she always has her back-up plan where she waves her extremely successful career in front of everyone's noses and sleeps with her MD diploma.

Tentatively, Addison looks over at Mark staring at the carpet. This is the man who loves her. This is the man she wants and she won't even ponder why; it's beyond good sense. All she can do is hope he wants her back.

She starts reaching a hand to his face but stops herself, tucking her hair behind her right ear instead.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Mark," Addison whispers, voice ragged, be it from the long silence or emotions she hopes she's conveying. "I'm truly sorry."

He nods and smiles weakly, hoping it's not a wry one. Addison thinks it's because she finally acknowledged he has feelings beyond egoistical indulgence.

He knows it's because she really means it. And not just about the coffee-fetching prick.

Who, he mentally adds, will have to fetch at least a gallon before he lets him go anywhere near one of his patients.

It frustrates her – but only a bit – when he doesn't respond in a more conversational manner. Then again, she figures the last in the line of betrayals was on her, so the ball is still in her court. She didn't think this through, she realizes as she stumbles through words in her head. Extending her metaphorical arm and waving her actual one, Addison continues, "I'll be more considerate from now on... in the, you know, future... I mean, I'll try not to make those mistakes again, using you or, or underestimating you, or whatever... You know, try and do it right."

Mark gives her a sideways glance, looking at her for the first time since he sat down, and it abruptly silences her rambling, her palms still open from all the explaining, and chewing on her bottom lip. He observes her face intently; he's not dense but he's not allowing himself to play the hopeful idiot either.

Addison's face predictably changes from expecting to defensive in a heartbeat. "I made mistakes, okay? I admit it. But you made a lot of them yourself, Sloan. I can't be the only one trying here. You'll have to do some of that too, if this," she waves her hand between them, "if us... whatever you want to call it... if it's going to, you know –"

"Work?", he provides, raising his eyebrows at her frustrated expression.

"Yes," she heaves out in a relief.

"I think they call it a relationship."

"Yes."

He smiles, broadly this time, and Addison wants to return it but he's leaning towards her almost instantly, his hand cupping her cheek followed immediately by his lips on hers, and her smile is lost in the kiss. She responds by parting her lips and he takes his cue, nibbling gently on her bottom lip before he teases her tongue with his own. She played it enough times to know it's all part of his game – the teasing, the probing and the smirking she can feel against her teeth – even more so now that he feels he's won. But when his tongue glides smoothly and oh so satisfactory against hers, she feels like she's won too and decides not to hold it against him.

His hands are in her hair where she likes them and she's being lowered on the bed when he suddenly stops. It's her turn to frown up in confusion at the soft yet intense expression he is wearing.

"What?" She tries not to sound suspicious and fails miserably.

"We're going to buy a barbecue. Big one. With all the – I don't know, barbecue kit and extensions and crap. I have no idea if I'm ever going to use it. I honestly don't." His eyes narrow in all seriousness. "But we're going to buy it. I'll own a barbecue if it kills me."

Addison looks at him, feeling herself falling – literally feeling it all the way down between her heart and her stomach – and this time she doesn't fight it and enjoys the fall instead. She wants to tell him that, she wants to tell him a lot of things, so it comes as a disappointment to her when all that leaves her mouth is a weak, "That – that would be good. Really good."

But it's heartfelt and he gets the message. Words are overrated and nobody would agree as strongly on that as Mark Sloan. He smiles down at her – not a grin, not a smirk, not a 100GW flash of teeth – but a genuine smile and she would bet her reputation she's never seen that smile before.

They will never be that couple from the Hallmark card. And suddenly, as he lowers himself on top of her, his smile melting into hers, she finds she can live with that just fine.