I kind of have a feeling some of you are expecting an update from Sick Cycle Carousel than this fic, but those chapters are much too long for me to even consider writing at the moment. I did get the first portion of CH 6 done, so that's something right? Oh and the fact that I ACTUALLY delivered Maddison fluff this time has gotta count for something too, hah. I am immensely proud of this fic because the end is in sight, and I feel like I did Maddison some justice as a couple. Let me know what you think if feedback is fitting.


Everyone Wants To Feel Like Someone Cares~ Addison

The mellowed melody of the doorbell fills the downstairs of the brownstone and sends your heart fluttering inside your chest. He's early and you recheck your watch before scurrying down the stairs in your black knee length Nine West boots he bought for you for Christmas last year. You hope he'll notice you still care about these little gestures that used to mean more than they currently do.

But as soon as you unhitch the lock at the top of the door and open it, reality hits you harder than you expect. At first your breath catches in the back of your throat and you hope your face hasn't betrayed the crushing disappointment that surrounds you.

"Mark," You try to smile, but are certain your lips curl more into a tight lipped frown.

He on the other hand, smiles with more zeal than you've ever seen before. "Addison. This," reaching from behind his back, he reveals a single snow-white calla lily, "is for you."

You bite the inside of your cheek, and try to act pleasant with him. But the fact of the matter is, you were hoping this romantic gesture was coming from your husband. "Derek, told you to keep me busy then?" Is all you can manage sardonically before grasping the earthy green stalk and disappearing into the house.

Mark takes this as an invitation inside. Closing the door behind him he tries to calm your exasperation, "Yeah, well, we both know Christmas is the-"

"Busiest time of year for neurosurgeons," You finish sullenly. "I know Mark, I've been hearing that for ten years now." You select a nice vase that was a Christmas present from Derek's mother a few years after you got married ("Don't look too excited, dear, it isn't from Macy's you know. I found it on clearance.") You fill it with water, and set inside the single ounce of sentiment you've received in months.

"Sorry," He apologizes because he doesn't know what else he can tell you that could be deemed comforting.

Pressing your palms on the granite countertop, your face turns up to his and you are certain defeat and indifference are on display. "You know, you don't have to spend time with me if you don't want to. I could always just tell him-"

"I don't mind," He shrugs and reassures you with a dazzling grin that could melt the hearts of many women. "Besides, who else is willing to freeze his ass off in order to make sure you get your annual horse drawn carriage ride?"

You roll your eyes at his callous words, finding them to be more of a mockery of your current situation than merely a joke. "We don't have to-" You try and object.

"I know we don't have to," Mark cuts in swiftly, "but maybe I want to. Maybe I want to do this for you, Addie." He cocks a brow with a bold look spreading across his face. "Did you ever consider that Derek hadn't forced me to come and be your escort for the evening?"

A shiver runs down your spine as the intense sincerity makes its way into his eyes. Déjà vu hits you unexpectedly and images of his thirtieth birthday come flashing to the forefront of your mind. Unable to continue to face the guilt and truth behind both of your actions, you focus your eyes on the intricate, weblike patterns on the counter.

You reach a hand out to stroke the white petal of the curled up calla lily as if drawing some type of strength from it. "Let's say he didn't ask you to come for me," You tilt your head up towards his and continue, "What would you have us do?"

"Well," Mark strokes the stubble at his chin while taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "For starters, I would take you out to dinner at Puttanesca. Because I know it's your favorite."

Your heartbeat quickens as he mentions your favorite Italian restaurant that Derek always forget to make reservations for.

"And then," He continues as he meanders around the counter to end up on the same side as you, "we'd freeze our asses off in Central Park, going on carriage rides and I'd buy you a hot chocolate and I'd most likely continue complaining about the cold, how the Christmas lights are too bright and cheerful, how the horses smell like shit and so on…"

You turn your body to face his and only about a foot remain the pair of you. The extent of his gaze and the close proximity of your bodies creates an uneasy tension all around you.

"Then we'd most likely come back here and share a bottle of wine." A coy smirk crosses his lips, "Or in our case two or three."

You nod slowly in agreement, knowing that Mark and you always went through the wine rack a lot faster than you did when Derek was around. Your pale green eyes remain trained on him as you consider this proposition, it not seeming like a bad way to spend Christmas Eve.

"And then?" You prompt, daring him to continue on with this strictly hypothetical scenario as if the ideas were all his and not suggested by Derek.

"And then," Mark takes in a deep breath and steps forward.

You instinctively back away, your heart beating madly against your ribcage. Mark this close to you is now an uncomfortable circumstance ever since his birthday a few months prior. You can practically feel the electricity forming between the two of you as he advances with that glint of desire in his eyes.

"I'd tell you how great of a time I had with you," He remarks softly.

Your lower back hits against the lip of the countertop, and you grip it to keep your knees from crumbling underneath you.

"Brush your hair out of your face," His fingers reach out to brush a flyaway from your face. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing circles across your cheekbone. "And kiss you goodnight."

He leans forward until his hot breath is mingling with yours. Your lips part open with anticipation for another prohibited kiss you are about to share with him until you hear the squealing of the front door.

Mark lets go of your face and puts immediate distance between your bodies. He pretends to lean nonchalantly against the countertop as Derek calls out to you.

"Addison!"

"We're in here, Derek!" You return, before fanning your face, trying to dispel the heat from rising in your cheeks from nearly crossing another undefined yet inappropriate line with Mark.

Your husband enters and notices Mark's presence, but doesn't think anything of it. "Oh hey Mark," He nods with a smile and then notices the flower. You catch him discreetly give his friend a thumbs up and wink, and in that moment you realize that Mark wasn't here because he wanted to be.

You shouldn't feel hurt but you do. And as your husband takes your lips in his own, you tell yourself this is what you want as you attempt to push away forbidden images of kissing another man.

Things progress like they always have for Mark and you; with such a rapid pace that it makes your curl inside your own skin. But this time things are different. He's truly changed from being the loose manwhore, who wouldn't think twice about screwing another woman with you nearby, to a reformed almost gentleman type, who considers you before he considers himself. The latter Mark used to scare you at first because you couldn't read his next move, or discover his true intentions with your heart.

Slowly, but surely you find yourself more trusting and able to believe that when he tells you 'I love you' that it's the truth. And so at three months of utilizing the ten-year plan, he's moved in with you (because the difference between how much he has versus how much you do is astronomical) and the pair of you have informally committed to spending the rest of your lives together.

"Are you sure you don't want to even venture down to city hall?" He question uncertainly, feeling the need that your love should be unified in an effort to keep you forever, since your track record of leaving him speaks against you. "We could make it really simple...just you and me, the judge, and maybe Callie and Derek to serve as our witnesses."

"Mark," You eye him seriously, "if I learned anything about marriage from previous experience, it's that rushing into it ultimately leads to divorce or staying together for all the wrong reasons." It's a reasonable assessment as you recall Derek and you and then your own parents, respectively. "Besides, do you really think it wouldn't be weird having Derek there?" You quirk a brow, using this as more ammunition in your defense against re-marrying.

He opens his mouth to object, but you place both hands on either side of his face and urge your lips onto his. It's quick and chaste, your crimson lipstick smearing against his pale, chapped lips. You brush a thumb across his mouth in an attempt to do away with the bright stain.

"Trust me," You insist softly, your lips curving into a genuine smile, "I'm not going anywhere."

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly and relents, "Ok." His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "You know, even if you did try and make a break for it, I could still catch you." Mark can't help but tease you, despite the solemnity of any conversation. And you must admit, it's partially why you love him so much.

Therefore you giggle at his idea of a joke. "Yes, I know. The heels look fabulous, but they do slow me down."

"Then always wear the heels," He quips with a coy smirk and then crushes your lips against yours in a more passionate, open-mouthed kiss.

"Mark," You moan out, as his lips continue moving along your jaw line and then the length of your neck. "Mark," You try to protest again, pulling his head back away from you so the pair of you can actually carry on a conversation. "As much as I would love for you to ravish me right now, we have plans."

"We do?" He lifts a curious brow, feigning surprise by this statement.

"Yes," A soft peal of laughter erupts from your throat, "you said earlier that you had a surprise for me." You purse your lips into a flirtatious grin, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Damn, I hate that you remember everything I tell you." He grumbles before smiling down at you. Despite the failed sexual attempt, he appreciates you caring enough to remember, even if he doesn't vocalize this thought.

"I want my surprise," You demand sweetly.

"How do you know sex isn't the surprise?" Mark jests suggestively, trying to warm you up to the idea.

"Because with you, that's more like an expectation than a surprise." You counter smartly with a smirk.

"So why deviate from expectation?" He questions with the same air of wit that you also possess.

You tilt your head to the side and shoot him an incredulous look that causes him to loosen his grip on your waist.

"Ok fine," He moves towards the doorway, offering you your coat. "I'm done trying to seduce you."

You manage to slip both arms in the sleeves before Mark arranges it over your shoulders. As you tighten the belt around your waist and wait for him to sling his black leather jacket around himself you inform him, "Don't feel defeated, Sloan. I might need seducing later."

"Ooh," He perks up whenever you introduce the idea of sex just not until later. Swinging open the door and gesturing for you to exit first, Mark continues, "Then I better bring my A-game."

You step outside of the apartment and into the hallway. His hand delivers a light smack to your ass, which produces a squeal of delight followed by a laughing fit as he wraps an arm over both shoulders and pulls you close. You both walk out into the cold December air side-by-side, contented.


Mark stops the car in front of a brownstone two-story home with a broad porch that frames the façade. You peer out of the tinted window with a curious expression on your face. Floodlights illuminate the front walkway and the dying shrubs along the perimeter.

"Mark?" You turn to ask him what on earth you're doing there, but he's already killed the engine and is getting out of the car.

You follow suit, your brow still furrowed in confusion. He pops open the trunk and you walk around to see what he's up to. He pulls out a duffle bag and then slams the trunk shut.

"What are we doing here?" You inquire again; puzzled by the confident grin spreading across his lips with the more questions you toss his way.

"You'll see," He grabs your hand and then proceeds to lead you up the walkway to the darkened house.

"Who lives here?" You probe again, but he pretends like he doesn't hear you.

You both stop short of the wooden porch and Mark deposits the bag on the ground to fish a set of keys out from his coat pocket. As he stuffs one into the lock and jiggles it in an attempt to force open the door, both of you are met with a haunting glow from inside.

"Couldn't this be considered breaking and entering?" You muse with a twisted grin.

"No," Mark steps over the threshold and pulls you inside with him, "I have a key remember?" He lifts the bronze object up for you to see, "Besides, I'm not going to call the cops on us for wanting to check out our own home."

Your heart literally stops beating for a moment, and your entire body tenses at these words. "Wh-what did you just say?" You practically whisper with widened eyes, clearly not expecting him to purchase a house for them without her knowledge.

His lips twist into an uncertain grin as he gestures to the walls surrounding the two of you, "I bought you a house. Surprise."

You gape at him. It's clear the language portion of your brain has shut down and you can only stare up at him against the backdrop of thousands of flickering tea candles that attempt to light up the rest of the house.

Your hand unclasps his and you take a step back, like running is the only defensive mechanism you have in this moment. Because it's all happening so quickly, he's trying to cram what took years of adjustment between Derek and you in a mere three months.

But he reaches for your hand anyway and determinedly walks you through the house.

You notice the grand atrium with a staircase leading upstairs to the right side of the home. Mark leads you further down the hall and to your immediate left is another room with a stone fireplace on the wall farthest from you.

"I figured this would be the living room," He explains briefly. He then stifles your wordless concerns by adding, "And don't worry, I already measured all of our furniture and it fits in here. If anything we'll have more space." He guides further down the hallway, and you notice the hardwood floors pale painted walls against the dim glow of the candles.

Pushing open back two doors that lead into the kitchen area he presses on with a shaky confidence, "And this is the kitchen. Everything's brand new, so we won't have to worry about replacing appliances a couple of years." He seems proud of this fact and you like the overall layout of the modernized kitchen area. "The realtor said this style was very in," He shrugs, not knowing much about interior designing, unlike you.

Mark then points to an adjoining room on the opposite end of the kitchen, "And this would be the dining room." You both walk over to the area in reference and you peek inside. "I know it's smaller than what you had in New York but-" He trails off uneasily.

But with the hardwood floors and grand bay windows that will let light in, you think it's perfect. You smile up at him with liquid lining the edges of your pale green eyes, "I love it."

This comment boosts his confidence because he eagerly talks about showing you the upstairs. You smile because in that moment the growth he exhibits show's he is thinking of your future together, that he's making plans. It excites you.

You ascend the steps together in a quicker fashion, hands still holding fast together. The hallway divides into three bedrooms (one for you two, one for a guest, and one for a younger Montgomery-Sloan that might someday grace you with his/her presence), two bathrooms, and a laundry room (you note this as a convenient feature).

At the end of the hallway lies your master bedroom and Mark pauses to momentarily pause and grin down back at you.

Cocking your head to the side you laugh softly up at his boyishly cute facial expression, "What?"

He turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, gesturing for you step inside first. "And this, is our bedroom."

A small gasp escapes your mouth and you bring up your hands to stifle it whenever you take in the sight laid out before you. A king sized, mahogany sleigh bed against the wall on the opposite wall, taking up space in the center of the room. A top the comforter lies what initially looked like a circular view of white flower petals, but upon further inspection, you deduce it to be heart shaped. And although cliché, somehow in this instance it doesn't feel like it.

Judging by your lack of words, he starts again uncertainly, "If you don't like it we can still return it."

You turn to face him, a tearful smile splaying across your mouth. You never expected to feel such a convoluted wave of emotions such as this. Everything from immense joy to love for him seizes your heart. Mark steps across the room towards you and you wrap your arms around his neck, your eyes looking up into his.

"I think it's perfect." You briefly peck at his lips before deepening the embrace, your chin resting a top his shoulder.

Mark squeezes you tighter than he normally would, his stubble scratching against your cheek momentarily. He's still not certain he's convinced you because he states, "And I know the landscaping needs some work, and it is farther away from the hospital than the old apartment. The neighborhood is a little pretentious too."

"Well," You inform him softly, "we're a little pretentious ourselves." You pull away just enough to look into his face, but you don't break the embrace, "I think it's a fine house for us, Mark. You did good."

"Thanks," He nods appreciatively.

You smile up at him softly, much happier than you ever thought was possible with Mark.

"What are you thinking about?" He chides, obviously reading your thoughts.

"I'm thinking," You breathe out and shrug timidly, "how happy you make me."

He grins out of pure happiness, "Kind of surprising, huh?"

"In a good way," You assure him kindly.

"So," Mark's eyes show a hint of perpetual desire and longing for something you need as well, "what do you say we test out the durability of those headboards?"

You smack the back of his head sharply before releasing you grip on his neck.

"Ow!" He rubs the back of his head where you hit him. "Oh you wanna play rough?" He asserts with a mischievous grin.

You chuckle in amusement at him, realizing the type of game you began. Trying to bypass him, you fail whenever he grabs you around the middle and tosses you over his shoulder. Your high-pitched squeals and protests of 'Mark! No! Stop that!' fall on deaf ears whenever he settles you beneath him on the bed. His mouth crashes against yours, lips parting open in fluid motions. His tongue slips in between your lips as he continues to kiss you fervently.

You bring your hands up to rake your fingers along his scalp and then down the broad shoulders of his back. Mark busies himself with trailing warm, wet kisses along your jawline and then neck. He moves the fabric of your white boatneck sweater, gaining more access to your ivory flesh. A sense of eroticism overcomes you and you will him not to stop what he's started. Your mind goes fuzzy as you allow yourself to give into desire.

The last rational thought that pulses through your mind, before the pair of you grow busy tearing off your clothing and his own, is how much you really love Christmas.