~..~ Letters To You ~..~

So, I'm trying something different. It should be quite the experience – getting Addek back together just using letters.
Grey's belongs to Shonda and abc. Only disclaimer I'm writing.
Oh, and a note on the dates. The date of the title is the date that the letter (or in this case, email) is received, not the day it is sent.

~ Distance is only a test to see how far love can travel ~

August 31, 2009

Despite ocher sunlight frosting individual grains of sand and melting them into incandescent specks, despite the sight of water and earth engaged in their endless war, frothy foam staining the beach a darker, duller gold, and despite that she has about a half a million things to think about, Addison Montgomery can only focus on one thing. Ironically, it is a piece of machinery.

It isn't really the laptop; it is the all-devouring duty the laptop represents, sitting there innocently, bathed in sun, urging her to get a move on. Procrastination has become an uncomfortably close friend, but really, there are only so many new pairs of Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos she can order, as she won't be here to receive them, and only so many times she can change her outfit before she achieves perfection.

Suitcases, too many for a single person, litter her marble entryway, admonishing her misery, because really, emailing her ex-husband whom she has not seen in a year, maybe two, okay, three, should be much easier.

But it's not. Derek's handsome, charming face, brilliantly sky blue eyes, coal curls and all, hangs out behind her eyelids, taunting her with all the things she once possessed and instilling self-hatred for still wanting them.

Sure, it's ironic, perhaps, that his email address is the only one she can remember. And that she thinks of him far too much. What can she say, after such an abrupt parting? Does he still blame her for the death of Jen and the relative destruction of his life that followed, or does he remember happier times, the song he sang her, the hot dog Thanksgiving, mornings spent in the Brownstone spent making love and breakfast at random intervals, tasting jelly on her lips and love on her tongue?

Surely neither, Addison thinks as she sinks down into one of her expensive white deck chairs, her body melting to the fabric and wood as she glares at her computer. He has his twelve-year-old, Meredith, he's her responsibility, her 'person', her happiness now. What few claims she has on him have weakened until they are mere tendrils of nostalgia.

Somehow, the fact that she is farthest from his mind makes it easier. It is one email, one email in which she can pretend she has completely and utterly moved on as well. Hugging her sweater a little closer, as if the thin cashmere can protect her heart, and hand tangled in her crimson locks, she begins to type.

Derek,

Look, I know this isn't a task I should be entrusting to my ex-husband. I promise I won't ever ask you to pick up your socks again or mow the damn lawn. It's just that everyone decided that they were going to be unavailable today. Oh, and also I kind of lost my Blackberry. Okay, it fell in the ocean. Don't ask how. (Fine, since I know you'll wonder, somebody threw it.)

Anyway, your email address is so generic that it's the only one I could remember off the top of my head and my flight leaves in about two hours so I've really got to get going. Just … remind anyone who calls that I'm going to Africa. I know for a fact that Archer is going to forget and call me fifty thousand times, and Savvy probably will too and have some sort of total flip out because I'm not answering my phone. So, if they call you, tell them that I went on a mission trip with the practice.

We're going to Africa. Did I mention that? Sudan, actually.

Yeah, Pete, this guy that I work with (not my boyfriend, Derek Shepherd, so don't even go there) got us involved in Doctors Without Borders. Things with the practice have been hectic these last few years and we all really need to get out of LA. So against my better judgment, I am headed to a place with virtually no shopping, no plumbing, and no ORs within at least 400 miles. I can't talk about it anymore, or else I'm going to forget why I agreed.

I know we haven't seen each other in what, more than three years? I suppose I should thank you once again for saving my brother. Even though I almost regretted it, seeing as he proceeded to break Naomi's heart not too long after. Okay, sorry, this was supposed to be like a two sentence email. I have to go now anyway. But I won't have internet access there and roaming will cost like fifty million dollars, if I can find service at all, so if anyone wants to contact me, they can send a letter. Ha. I doubt anyone wants to talk to me that badly.

Thanks Der. Hope you and Meredith are doing … well. There's one letter I might get, right? An invitation to the wedding? Just kidding. You don't have to invite me. Okay, done rambling. Wow, that was stupid. I am going to just stop typing now.

Addison

P.S. We are NOT talking about it. Ever.

Derek Shepherd is lost in the early morning dew of dawn, staring at nothing, trying to banish his lingering guilt. He'd lost a diabetic patient to an aneurism the day before, and, being the doctor he is, he simply can't let the case fade into the monolith of ended lives and lost opportunities that he carries wherever he goes. He'd tossed and turned for hours and then finally got up, hoping that statistics could make him feel better.

The computer gives a soft chime, alerting him to the fact that an email lays waiting for him to read. He starts and maneuvers the mouse quickly, until the flashing signal goes away and he is looking at a name he quite honestly never expected to see again.

Evanescent warmth permeates him and he unintentionally allows a tiny grin to capture his lips. God, he hasn't heard from her in so long. That doesn't explain away the nervous fluttering in his stomach, or the way fiery curls, skin distilled from cream, never-ending legs, and eyes the essence of earth and sky themselves swim in front of his eyes in ways they shouldn't.

Meredith's sleeping silhouette is a tribute to her ignorance of his current actions, but he convinces himself that it is innocent. He and Addie are friends – or, were working on friendship before her disastrous journey to save her brother. After three years of silence, he could only conclude that she was angry about the events that transpired, and he elected to give her space instead of shoving his attentions and apologies upon her. Now, he wonders if he was wrong to do so.

Derek laughs as he reads, trying in vain to picture immaculate, put-together, city-girl Addison in the wispy fawn colored sand of Sudan. He hopes she has the sense to leave her stilettos behind, but somehow he doubts that is the case. Her favorite Manolo Blahniks, encased in mud and decorated with sand, he would pay to see that.

And elephants? Giraffes? Hyenas? He doesn't know if these animals inhabit the part of Africa she's visiting but picturing them interacting with his ex-wife is downright hilarious. Thinking about it makes him want to see it, which makes him want to be there with her. The first symptoms of danger go ignored.

Maybe … maybe he'll write a letter back, say hello. After all, Addison's in Africa. Nothing could possibly happen when she's a sea and two continents away. Right?

Yes, not everything that happened in the three years they've been apart has been explained. It will be. Eventually.

And thanks in advance for reviews throughout the duration of the story because I won't be writing any more ANs. It messes up the flow. So, anyway, love to hear from you …