You guys blew my mind with the reviews on the first chapter! Like, to smithereens. Little bitty bits.I seriously love you so so so much.
And now, chapter two, without further ado. (rhyme. haha.)
There are approximately a hundred things she could say to him right now.
Like oh my god your wife just walked in on us. Because she did.
Or that was amazing. Which it was.
Or I'm sorry. Not about the sex. About the look on Addison's face.
But she's Meredith Grey, McAwkward, so she says what does this mean Derek?
Three times, actually, while he drags his pants up from around his ankles and knots his tie while he tries to breathe normally and she frantically hunts for her panties and attempts to tame her sex-hair.
He answers her the third time, sounding distant already. I don't know.
He doesn't know what they're going to do, he doesn't know where her panties are, he doesn't know what this means. Neither does she.
All they know is that whatever this is, they need to be all in or all out. No more halfways and no more maybes.
He's just tucking in his shirt when Callie slams into the room, her strident voice faltering at the obvious scene in front of her.
"It's Izzie," she says softly. "You should come."
And then she ties the sash of her dress for her, a little too tight, and she whispers for Addison as she propels her out the door.
We're AddisonandDerek, we don't quit.
Her voice echoes in his pounding head, shrill and anguished, as he watches Torres drag a wild-eyed Meredith out of the room.
But they do quit. They have. He'll admit he was the first, he withdrew, he was cold and inattentive and indifferent. And then she chose to hurt him in the worst possible way, by sleeping with his best friend.
And then he hurt her in an even worse way; he let her hope that they were getting better when they weren't. He put her back together and then ripped her apart again, and it was easier the second time, tearing her along barely healed fault lines he knows so well.
"Derek," Richard is calling as he races through the silvery lobby, music still thumping behind them.
"I can't." he says automatically.
"Denny Duquette passed away." he says heavily.
"I guess that puts an end to the evening, doesn't it." he replies as he walks through the double doors of the hospital.
It's not raining tonight, it's clear, and out on his -their- property it'll be beautiful, stars peeking through shadowed trees. She said as much to him, as they left the trailer.
She said it's beautiful tonight and he murmured in agreement but he wasn't looking up at the sky.
There. He did tell her she looked beautiful. He noticed. Somehow, right now, it matters.
She accused Derek of walking away, of not caring enough to stay. To fight.
But when it came down right down to it, didn't she do the same thing? Maybe they're more alike than she thought. Perfectly matched. Equal.
They hurt each other back, exactly the same way.
What's that trite little line... opposites attract , right?
And like repels.
Well, maybe they're too much the same. Maybe they've always been pushing away from each other, bouncing off invisible force fields that leave them bruised and sore.
Sore is what she feels as she flings a few clothes into a suitcase, mindlessly rifling through the racks and racks of things she has no idea why she ever wanted; they're hollow replacements at best for what she's always craved, love and attention and as much as she hates to admit it, approval.
And he's been nothing if not disapproving of her as a whole the last few months , so she does what she knows needs to be done, sliding the rings off her finger with considerably less effort than it used to take. She saves the eating for when she's going through a breakup; during the breakdown she prefers alcohol and it's starting to show.
The dress feels like clouds as it pools at her feet and she kicks at it, annoyed when it tangles around her ankle. He used to like her in red; she spent way too long agonising over this dress in an unfamiliar boutique while a overly made up sales assistant cooed at her credit card.
Well, Finn said it looked nice. That's something.
God. She's clinging to the vet's compliments now, this is even worse than the whole patients husband thing. Next thing she knows she'll be dating him. And then maybe Derek will notice. But it'll be too late, because she's leaving.
It's time to leave, to let go, to move on. It's been like a riptide, this past year, it's caught her up in its fierce rush and torn her far from everything she knows, stripping bits of her away, her confidence and her self esteem and battering her into the barely recognisable woman who stares back with defeated eyes.
The best way to survive a riptide is to let it sweep you out, to go limp and let it run its course, and when it's done with you it'll spit you into still water. Fight, and you'll be dragged under.
If you're lucky, the hardest thing you have to do is swim your exhausted way back to shore; if you're not lucky, well, you drown. It's quick, though. Almost painless.
She's a good swimmer.
There's not much of them in this trailer, she notices now, no framed photographs of cheek kisses and silly smiles, no sentimental mementos or historical items.
There's plenty of him, fishing rods and tackle and damp boots and books everywhere, there's lots of her, clothes and shoes and also books everywhere.
But not much of them. It could be two roommates living here, briefly friendly in the mornings when they cross paths over cereal and then bicker about who let the milk run out.
Her phone is right there, a few inches to the left and she could do what she knows makes her feel better. Forget, for a little while.
But it's a sugar rush, sweet and sharp and giddy, fading too fast and leaving her lower than before.
She's going to be stronger this time.
She dresses without hiding in the bathroom for the first time in months, wears her favorite lipstick she's avoided so far in Seattle because it's just one more thing that says whore.
It won't matter now. Not where she's going.
One last final touch, a blue plastic folder dug out from where it's taken up residence under her socks, her hand flourishing with finality across the page where the bright pink tab points, right this way to throw away the last third of your life.
Well, at least she'll be able to fit her name on the line next time she writes it. Addison Forbes Montgomery - Shepherd always was a bit of a mouthful. Like biting off more than she could chew.
She thought she'd cry, right there in that little exam room she's sure has ruined all exam rooms for her for eternity. (unfortunate, considering her profession). Or maybe after, in the taxi with the driver who looked slightly afraid of the blank faced lady in red.
Or maybe now, packing up the dregs of her life.
She doesn't. She can't cry outside of her bedroom. And she doesn't have one here. Apparently she'll just have to wait.
She can't get the door to lock. She wants to just slam the damn thing shut, hope it jams, and seal in the memories of the past year. Suffocate them, the way she's felt for months now.
Screw it. It's not like anyone is out here to break into the tin can anyway. And if they did, they wouldn't find much.
She was hoping for a quick escape, unseen, just get it over with.
No anesthesia.
No such luck. She runs particularly low on it these days.
His headlights swivel across her the way they did on Thanksgiving, when she sat cold and miserable on these same steps for hours while he... she still doesn't know where he was that night.
She knows where he was tonight, though. And that's enough.
Enough to pry her fingers loose from something she should have let go of a long time ago. Holding on has only made it worse.
Let go or let it drag you down.
He's getting out of his car now, running his hands through the hair she was so surprised to see when she first arrived in Seattle. It reminded her of a younger Derek, easy and carefree, like he used to be. Like he was, in Seattle. At least until she showed up.
She rakes her eyes over him one last time, because she's always been a little masochistic, and the sight of his tie, a little askew, knots her throat. No one would have noticed, except for her, because she's the one who tied it for him.
He'll just have to do it on his own now.
He's closer now, still silent, his eyes somewhere by her shoes.
And even now, he can't find a single word to say to her.
It's drizzling lightly by the time he gets to the trailer, the clouds blocking out the faint stars. He turns into the clearing, breathing in relief when his headlights catch her slim form on the steps, fiddling with the keys.
Is she trying to get in? Or is she locking herself out?
She's changed out of that dress, into clothes that remind him of that first night in Seattle, black on black, her highest heels, hair loose down her back. She looks at him emotionlessly, her ocean eyes raking over him top to toe, pausing once in the middle and he thinks her eyes flicker, but no.
She doesn't cry. He doesn't say anything.
They stand there in some sort of sick staring match, and for the first time in a long while he feels himself drowning in the bottomless pools of her eyes.
"Papers are on the table," she says heavily, the words meaningless through perfectly carved coral lips as she turns away to curl bare fingers around her suitcase. Always the first to turn away.
"Papers?" His tongue feels thick in his mouth, forming words his mind isn't following. He can still taste Meredith on his lips, the warm tingle of cinnamon lip gloss.
She almost rolls her eyes at him then, seems to think better of it, and just waves him towards the open door.
"Keys." she drops cold metal into his palm; his hand rises automatically as she puts hers out and he sees something like disappointment flit across her face, half hidden in the dark, but then she stretches a little taller, shoulders back, chin high.
He still standing frozen when she steps around him, heels clicking purposefully, and he feels her brush by him, warm and familiar.
"Addie."
"Don't call me that," she exhales roughly, but the hollow sound of her shoes on wood has stopped.
"Addison," he tries again. What does he say?
I'm sorry?
Stay?
Go?
She sighs softly, and he hears the rustle of fabric against skin as she turns partway. Waiting.
"Yeah?" she breathes, and he hates himself for the little hitch of hope in her voice.
"Don't...stay." he mumbles.
He can see the arch of a raised eyebrow as she interprets the pause between his words.
"It's better if I go." she whispers.
Go, such a little word with so much meaning. Go means no more red hair in his face in the morning, no more pointy shoes littering the trailer , no more shrieking and no more running out of hot water and no more passive aggressive bitching. Go means not waking up to her soft warmth curled against him, no more cheating on the Sunday crossword in bed, no more staccato conversations where there's no need to complete sentences because she already knows what he'll say, no more toothpasty kisses and no more shared history.
God, so much history. Nearly sixteen years.
"I can't... don't go." he says lamely, and she makes a noise like a strangled laugh.
"What good would that possibly do?"
He moves closer, trapping her between his body and the chilled metal of the trailer. "This can't be the end, not like this."
She feels stiff and strange against his body, choosing to lean into cold metal instead of him.
"Don't." she snaps as she squirms free; he captures an elbow instead and she steps forward instead of back, eyes glittering with an emotion he's rarely seen in them, pure unadulterated hate.
"Don't touch me with those hands," she says, and her voice is cool like ice water trickling slowly down his back.
He lets go and she spins away, rubbing at her elbow. He's sure he didn't grip that hard.
But then again they're both pretty raw right now.
"I don't know what to do without you." he says honestly, and even he can feel how late he is.
"I'm sure you'll find something to do," she says, her tone light. Conversational. "Grey should be fine entertainment, from what I saw tonight."
"Addison."
"Sorry," she widens her eyes dramatically. "Did I hurt your...feelings?"
"I hurt yours."
"Past tense." she smiles breezily. "Oh look, my cab is here."
"Addie, please. "
"Goodbye, Derek."
"Just... I understand, okay, but this -we're not over, we can't be, so ...tell me where you're going. Please."
The driver is eyeing him suspiciously as he tosses the single suitcase into the trunk, opening the door for her. "Lady, you coming?"
"Just a minute." she says crisply.
"What are you going to do?" he begs, past pride now.
"Swim," she says. Eleven years of marriage and still he needs a thesaurus to decipher her.
"Swim." he repeats, blinking. "And me?"
She shrugs nonchalantly, tossing crimson curls over her shoulder. "I don't know, be happy. Be...shiny,new, whatever. Just don't drown, or stop swimming. Bye, Derek."
Okay, so the thing is, you've spoiled me rotten with your reviews and response to the first chapter. I'm a review brat now. I demand them, because I'm that shameless.
And also because it helps me understand what you do/don't like, what you'd like to see, and how you feel about what I've written.
And also because like I said, I'm shameless.
Does anyone read this ranty bit at the ends of chapters? I'm guilty of skipping a few myself, so let's play a game...if you read this far, comment 'Derek is an arse.
'And also, last but not least but definitely unpleasant, school has started again, vacations are over and I'm already drowning a bit so updates won't be as fast... sorry. I still love you guys, and I'll try my best. Stick with me!