This has two parts...I'll post the second part as soon as I'm finished with it.

The beginning takes place about three months after Addison arrived in Seattle. (Yes, she stayed with Mark in NY. No, he didn't get her pregnant).

She and Derek didn't try to work on their marriage. In fact, they barely interacted with each other. Thus, she didn't live in the trailer and all that jazz. She sort of worked at SGH; i.e., did a few cases/helped out in the ob/gyn/neonatal departments per Richard's request.

Oh, and Mark showed up a while after Addison, and he got involved with Callie; they're not together. (but this is irrelevant until the second part)

Enjoy! :)

July 3rd, 2005

You've been in the Archfield's lobby longer than you're willing to admit—lingering, aimlessly circling around. You know she's waiting for you, but putting off the inevitable seems fitting at the moment. Once again, you wonder what provoked you to suggest meeting her there: The lingering doubt you're attempting to assuage is most likely the culprit.

Your feet all but glide across the intricate marble flooring until you come to a halt, now face to face with an elevator that seems far less appealing than normal. It's probably because that one—simple and inconsequential as it may seem—will aid in leading you to the place where you will essentially end a chapter of your life.

FIRST

The elevator pings and your eyes dart to the neon red "1" indicating the first floor. You're not one for puerile signs, but given your current situation, you can't help but relate it to her.

The first time you saw her: head held high, cerulean eyes glistening, scarlet hair flowing; in essence, a ray of sunshine as she made her way across the cold white room. As fate, destiny, luck, divine intervention (or whatever you prefer to call it) would have it, Dr. Bedford (bless his heart) assigned her as your lab partner, unknowingly instigating the beginning of Addison-and-Derek.

A sea of firsts flow through your mind, the perfect amalgamation of bitter and sweet. Like the first time you brought her home, introduced her to your family. Your sisters adored her, which certainly came as no surprise to you. But your mother...

"She's not right for you." She told you. Of course that's the euphemised version, her words were far more malicious.

The more you think about it, the more you begin to believe that she was right about your relationship with Addison. Ending it before it went too far, before you loved her too much, before she loved you too much, would have saved both of you a world of heartache.

SIXTH

Your eyes focus on the silvery walls of the elevator and occasionally skim the man in the corner who entered on the third floor, unwittingly ruining your...space.

"Are you okay?" He asked (in a way that conveyed genuine concern) a moment or two after entering.

For a second, you wondered if he knew.

"Never better." You professed. Your demeanour contradicted your words.

You steal another glance at him only to be met with an all-knowing smile. It's then you decide that you're not particularly fond of him.

The assumed venerable wisdom etched into the lines of his face and his snowy brows; he seems to be aware of all your secrets.

He shuffles his feet as the elevator doors open, and you exhale in relief because you think he's about to leave. However, the feeling is short-lived. In addition to him staying, four more people enter.

ELEVENTH

You're almost there, the sixteenth floor is your destination, and you still don't feel prepared.

Being in that elevator offers no consolation. The man is still looking at you pointedly, and two of the people who entered on the eighth floor—who you assume are a couple, given their ridiculously close proximity to each other—deemed it appropriate to stand directly in front of you.

12...13...14...

Each ping makes your heart beat a little faster and anxiety courses through your veins.

This is nothing like the first time you saw her, spoke to her—no; this situation, laced with trepidation and melancholy, is twice removed from it.

The perennial curiosity and underlying excitement and captivation that that day held is non-existent.

SIXTEENTH

Your feet sink into plush burgundy carpeting upon making your departure. Sliding your hands into the warmth and comfort of your pants pockets, you move through the serenely lit corridors with ease, knowing exactly where you're going, having been there before under similar circumstances.

1675—three raps against the steel-plated door, a surge of anxiety, and a thirty-second wait, then she appears.

She greets you with what appears to be a smile and you reciprocate it.

Her attire catches you by surprise, you assumed she would be all dressed up. But she is not clad in a variant of what you dubbed her suit of armour: silk blouse, pencil skirt, dangerously high stilettos (although the absence of stilettos is comprehensible).

Instead, she has on sandy-grey sweatpants with 'Atlantic Wellness NY' embroidered across the top left thigh and a navy blue tank top, causing you to feel slightly overdressed in your white dress shirt and silky black pants.

"I thought you got caught up at the hospital or something." She says, stepping aside to allow you entry, and you're not sure what to make of the tone of her voice.

"No, I just needed to stop somewhere before I came here." You lie, well aware that your tardiness is due to stalling in the lobby.

She tentatively nods her head, and you could be wrong, but you immediately think that she thinks your 'stop' was Meredith related. Before you can craft another sentence to rebut that thought, she continues:

"Do you want a drink?"

"Sure." You respond.

The blond wood table adjacent to the television draws your attention. There's a chair on each end and the papers are neatly laid out with a pen conveniently beside them. Ignoring the obvious setup, you situate yourself on the edge of her bed.

When Addison turns and discovers your new position, she raises her brow in that way she does, and a disapproving frown is in plain view, but she refrains from saying anything. Instead, she hands you a tumbler of scotch and sits adjacent to you.

You lead her in conversation, expertly evading the supposed sole purpose of your visit.

You're about ten minutes in when she begins to say something about the house in the Hamptons, but her words don't fully register, you're too busy admiring the way the light casts an ethereal orange-hued glow above her head.

Truthfully, you can't remember the last time you really looked at her—the way you are now. Hostile glances while walking down hallways, and generally, keeping a wary eye on her whenever she's in proximity to you seems to be your new Seattle norm. She valorously waltzed in and turned your world upside down...again: To say that you were disconcerted when she arrived would be a gross understatement.

Underneath the delicately woven surface of quietude, there's something lingering in that room that you are not fully aware of. Unfortunately, it makes itself apparent before you are given the opportunity to decipher it.

When she pauses and stares at you intently, you respond accordingly. But your intercourse does not continue the way you expect it to.

She stands abruptly, and you're not sure if something you said is responsible for the sudden shift, but it's clear to you that she's upset.

"Addison, what's wrong?" You ask, following her across the room.

Infidelity. You left. You've been avoiding your wife for weeks. You have a girlfriend...

Your question is almost laughable because inarguably, there are so many things amiss. But in your defence, you're referencing what just occurred.

"Nothing. Just sign the papers, Derek."

Rather than accepting the silver pen she's holding toward you, you simultaneously stare at it, and her, offensively.

Her hand falls to her side and she sighs resignedly.

"What's the point?" She whispers.

You crease your brows in confusion.

"What's the point of this, of you coming here?" She clarifies emphatically, "We work at the same hospital, we could have easily done it there, or I could've had them sent to your trailer after I signed...I–we had a lot of options, Derek. So why here? It's so–it doesn't make sense. Why do you always have to make things more complicated; why did you want to meet me here?"

When she cornered you at the nurses' station a few days ago and handed you divorce papers, you didn't question why she hadn't signed, and a few days later when you returned them to her–unsigned–reasoning that 'it'd probably be best if we went over them together' though you already had, she didn't argue, so why blame you for complicating things when she's equally culpable? How simple would it have been to sign the papers right then and there, get it over with?

You fold your arms across your chest defensively although you can sense that those questions veil what she truly wants to ask.

"Why did you agree?" You counter.

She mimics your stance and stares at you, eyes ablaze. (The way she always does when you say something that aggravates her.)

With little thought, you step closer to her, leaving a modicum of space between you.

You ask her again, only this time, it's not defensive or retaliatory,

"Why did you agree?"

I have doubts. I wanted to see you. I miss you...

She lowers her arms to her side and averts her eyes from yours in favour of the beige fluff beneath her bare feet. You, insistent on a response, tilt her head up using your thumb and forefinger.

Blue-green orbs swimming in pools of unshed tears are what you're met with when she finally re-establishes eye contact, and you can't help but acknowledge the guilt that is threatening to consume you. You've been so caught up in what this whole ordeal – preceding and succeeding the moment you found her in bed with your best friend – has done to you, that you really haven't given much thought to the way everything has affected her.

She shakily parts her lips and inhales sharply before answering,

I have doubts. I wanted to see you. I miss you...

"It doesn't matter."

The fact that she's unwillingly to answer definitively is unsurprising. How forthcoming do you expect her to be after acting as though she was invisible...dangling your new lover in front of her face?

"Of course it matters."

"Since when, Derek?" She scoffs, "When did what I want or think start to matter?"

"You always—I never—"

"Addison..." You finally settle on, as she marches pass you to the opposite end of the table.

You're both too wound up in your own emotions to think clearly, act reasonably...

Ignoring you, she flips through the papers and begins to sign and your heart beats a little faster because you don't perceive an instance of hesitation.

"Addie..." This time, it's more of a plea.

"What?" She yells, startling both of you, "Just sign the damn papers and leave, this time I'm asking; I want you to go."

You're stunned silent. The implications of her last words don't go unnoticed by you. When you met her, fell in love with her, proposed to her, said your vows and placed a ring on her finger; ending up in this situation did not seem probable.

Desertion, complacency, adultery and divorce were mere words to you regarding Addison.

Regrettably, the passionate kiss you used to place on your wife's lips when you walked in the door from work morphed into a peck on the cheek that eventually morphed into – on some days – an inability to even look up from your email inbox, and somehow, Mark and Meredith ended up between you. Indubitably, the pertinent details are much more complex; that version doesn't even scratch the surface of what conspired to bring both of you to this point.

After taking a final look at the woman with whom you expected to spend the rest of your life with, you sign, albeit with reticence and dejection.

A plethora of words left unspoken, a shameful hoard of things left undone.

You deliberately set the pen on the table loud enough for her to hear, and you vaguely register her look in your direction. Without a word, or glance, you leave.

About my other story...

I do intend to finish it, it's just...my muse ran off and I'm waiting for her to return.

Anyway, reviews are warmly welcomed and thoroughly appreciated. :)