Disclaimer and Author Notes: See Chapter 1.

Warning: Explicit (although not graphic) sexual content in this chapter. Mature readers only.

Additional Warning: The phrase "freshman orientation" is used despite the current consensus that the term is both sexist and Eurocentric. I'm assuming that that our favorite Seattle Grace/Seattle Grace Mercy West/Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital went to college before such activities were renamed as "first year introductions to campus life," and so I'm using the old term for historical accuracy.

Note to Guest Reviewer: Thanks ever so much for spotting that error on Mark's middle name. It's fixed now. (Good guess on the timeline. I've been working on this story on and off-more off than on-for five years.)

In this story, I put Derek in the middle of his sisters-Kathleen, Nancy, Derek, Lizzie, and Amy-since the show has been contradictory in the way it shows the relationships. I can see Derek as acting as if he is the oldest; judgmental attitudes are stereotypically associated with oldest children, and Derek is nothing if not a judgmental character. I also think his drive to be the "knight in shining whatever" and his devastation when he realized he couldn't save Meredith if she didn't want to be saved also plays into a need for control associated with oldest children, since parents often rely on them to help to some extent with caring for their younger siblings. In Derek's case, I think these tendencies would have been exacerbated after his father's murder; people often unthinkingly exhort only sons and eldest sons to be "the man of the house" after the death of a father. no matter how age-inappropriate such exhortations might be. Besides, I think that a history of Derek trying to act as an inappropriately quasi-parental figure to his sisters would generate a certain amount of tension along with the love, and would account for how aggressively they tease him.

No, I haven't seen Painkiller Jane. Netflix has a series called Painkiller Jane, but ED is not mentioned in the cast list. Too bad; it sounds like fun.

Move On

Perhaps

Chapter 3

Addison sighed as she slipped into Mark's terrycloth bathrobe. She'd taken a long, hot shower—her third of the day—in the hope that it would soothe her nerves and her cramps, only to be disappointed on both fronts. She looked at her prunified fingers with disgust. "You're almost forty," she addressed her fingers. "A few decades more and you'll look like this all the time. What will you do then, hmmm?" She turned her hands around, inspecting both front and back closely. "Old and alone. No baby. No man. Just the ten of you stuck with the rest of me."

She shook her hands briskly, as if to shake off her crazed babbling. "Talking to your fingers, Addison?" she thought. "When Mark comes back, he'll be signing you onto the psych ward." Addison mused briefly about the possibility of a 72-hour hold. It had its advantages. Mark couldn't hold her responsible for what she'd done if she was declared temporarily insane.

"You must be insane to be thinking this way!" she lectured her image in the bathroom mirror matter-of-factly as she started drying her hair with a fluffy beige towel. "This is Mark you're talking about. He'll yell, you'll yell, he'll storm out, get drunk, screw another nurse, and then we'll pretend the past few days never happened. Right? Right." The speech would have been more convincing if she hadn't seen the apprehension lurking in the eyes of her reflection. Despite her bravado, Addison couldn't escape the notion that she'd passed a point of no return, having alienated in a few short weeks the two men who'd loved her and killed what could have become her own child as part of the bargain. Surely, she couldn't expect Mark to stick around after what she'd done. Maybe it wasn't such a stretch of the imagination to imagine spending her old age alone with her prunified fingers. Karma could be a bitch.

"Enough!" she exploded, throwing the towel into the hamper and then cinching her bathrobe with enough vigor to earn a protest from her sore stomach muscles. "I am Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd, a board certified OB/GYN with fellowships in maternal fetal medicine and medical genetics as well as one of the foremost neonatal surgeons in this country. I'm doctor enough to know that I was barely pregnant. I will not let these stupid hormones destroy what's left of my mind."

Addison decided she should eat something. Consoling herself with the thought that she could always call for a delivery from that Thai place around the corner if Mark's purchases were unappetizing, she headed toward the kitchen.

The contents of the cupboards met with her approval, especially the Saltines. They might come in handy. The contents of the refrigerator—well, Mark had certainly been busy. In addition to their usual staples (milk, green juice, orange juice, fruits, yoghurt, and coffee), it looked like Mark had bought out the deli counter. Cold cuts, cheeses, three types of pickle—she certainly wouldn't have been in danger of letting her salt levels drop, she thought dryly. The most interesting part came when she opened the freezer and saw three pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. It wasn't what she'd normally eat for comfort food, but it was a decadent sort of self-indulgence, and that was exactly what she was in the mood for. Frozen juju, right? With a shrug, she grabbed the Phish Food and a spoon and decided she had what she needed for dinner.

Wandering into the living room, she turned on the radio for WQXR, sighing with pleasure when she recognized Beethoven's Emperor Concerto. She could do with a bit of one of her favorite composers just then. She curled up on the couch, took a big spoonful of ice cream, and waited for the music to carry her away to some peaceful place. Unfortunately, peace was not to be so easily found. The image of Mark's face as he'd waited by the door—clearly hoping that she would change her mind—wouldn't leave her. Irrationally—although she would have claimed she wasn't truly irrational since she recognized how irrational she was being—she was angry with him for his feelings. Loving her. Wanting her. Wanting to be there for her. He was Mark—manwhore extraordinaire, incapable of dating a woman for more than a few weeks, and never exclusively for more than one night—if that. Why should his relationship with her have been any different? Somehow, the situation just didn't seem fair.

Addison regarded the ice cream, wryly acknowledging how happy it would have made her if Derek had been the one to buy it for her. On the other hand, she couldn't even remember the last time Derek had bought her anything, so. . . .

She shoved the container onto the coffee table; its chocolaty rich goodness had suddenly become cloying. "Damn," she said wearily, not really caring whether it was the ice cream, Derek, Mark, and/or herself she was consigning to perdition. Everything had just gone to hell, and she had no clue whatsoever as to how to get out.

How did this happen? Addison thought back to the night their affair started—another night the three of them were supposed to go out for dinner, another night Derek stood them up for yet another surgery. Another night of drinking pre-dinner cocktails while Mark let her complain about the travesty her marriage had become. Another night that should have ended with him kissing her on the forehead and then leaving to see if he could manage to score a "date" in what was left of the evening. Another night to feel lonely and useless. Another night—but that night, it was . . . different. When he'd held her while she cried that time, his touch felt . . . different, somehow firmer, and his breathing had quickened.

She looked up at him quizzically and saw . . . Desire. Passion. Need. All those things that had been missing in Derek's eyes for so long, she saw in Mark's, and they transformed her resentful misery into something more primal, an overpowering longing to fulfill some of her own needs. She needed to feel desirable. Desired. She needed to have a man in her bed who wanted her. And somehow, Mark had magically become that man. Addison saw no need to question her good luck. Someone wanted her, even if Derek didn't. Derek should know that someone thought she was worth wanting. Derek should be here to see this. Screw Derek.

She could see Mark becoming more uncomfortable with each passing second, the moment of passion being replaced by confusion and panic. If she didn't recapture his attention right now, he'd leave. As he began to lean toward her for the ritual good-bye peck at the front door, she turned her face upward and grabbed his face with both her hands as she held on to him in for a long, passionate kiss. He stiffened at first, but as her tongue played with his lips, he let her in little by little. The next thing she knew, he had his hands in her hair, and she happily abandoned herself to the pure bliss of feeling wanted again.

Her memory of what happened after that point is hazy—and even now, she isn't sure how much of the haze is due to alcohol, passion, and/or a guilty conscience. She can't even remember the moment when they decided to have sex, although she's reasonably sure she remembers throwing Mark's jacket on the floor before they went into the bedroom.

That was something she really appreciated about Mark, that he knew how sex could be deliciously dirty. Oh, sex with Derek was good—even wonderful—when it happened. He was a very considerate lover who never would have dreamed of ending a session of lovemaking without making sure she'd been fully sated. Back in the days when he'd actually taken the time to have a sex life instead of devoting himself solely to his career, he'd been quite creative in matters of time, and place, and technique—but those weren't the only things that made him good. What she missed most about being in Derek's arms was the way he'd made her feel loved—that she was the only woman he would ever love and that he'd want to keep her in his arms forever. She'd had no reason at all to complain. Really no reason at all.

But Mark—Mark had opened up a completely new world to her. Well, not completely new. She'd known there were people in the world who had sex that wasn't, for want of a better word, tame. Civilized? Ugh. What was it Mark had called sex with Derek? Vanilla. That was it! Vanilla sex—which was a rather odd combination of concepts, she had to admit—but if she had to compare the sex she had with Mark with the sex she had with Derek, Mark would definitely be the chocolate to Derek's vanilla.

Addison's adolescence as a freakishly tall, uncoordinated band geek with braces and a lisp had left her certain of her own unattractiveness. Going away to college had let her experiment with her persona to some degree, but she wasn't convinced that she'd made any real improvements until Derek convinced her that he saw her as a beautiful woman. A special woman. A woman who deserved special treatment because she was beautiful. The old-fashioned manners he'd learned at home, his protectiveness—made her feel special. Although she wanted and expected him to treat her as his equal in their professional lives, in their personal lives, she liked playing the lady to his gentleman. But sometimes—sometimes in bed—Addison didn't want to be a lady, and she couldn't quite figure out how to communicate this to Derek. On those rare occasions she would bring up an idea or a fantasy that pushed beyond the boundaries of their usual lovemaking by saying she'd heard about it from a patient or some other person Derek was unlikely to have a conversation with, she'd always feel obliged to preface or conclude the observation with a laugh or a mocking comment for fear that Derek might think less of her for wanting to explore the darker side of her sexuality. And Derek just laughed along with her.

But Mark—mmmm. Mark's . . . the range of Mark's experience was . . . well, disgusting, quite frankly, but it did offer some advantages—chief among them being the fact that he couldn't be either shocked or judgmental. Immediately following Derek's departure, Addison had vacillated between bouts of hysterical tears and vicious tirades against all things Derek, including his "puritanical" taste in sex. The next very evening, Mark had taken her to a shop in Greenwich Village that had quite literally taken her breath away as she stared at the many aisles of costumes and "toys." He'd then handed her his credit card and promised to join her in whatever fantasies she wanted to indulge.

Mark offered to wait outside in case she wanted to surprise him, but Addison firmly refused to be left alone. So, they wandered the aisles together while Mark explained some of the more esoteric items. In the end, she didn't purchase much. But the trip had convinced her that Mark truly was open to anything she might propose, and she'd had an exciting time experimenting with a few mild bondage and S & M games. (And those didn't even include the sex injuries when they weren't playing S & M games. The man was a real genius at figuring out mind-blowingly erotic ways to push past her body's comfort zone.) She'd also let Mark taken dozens of nude and near-nude pictures of her; some of the costumes and poses were her idea, but the majority of them were his. (Although she'd insist on deleting all of them from his camera a day or two after each session, she knew she'd never be able to erase them from her memory—and if Mark was to be believed, his, either.) Mark's open, unflagging interest in whatever she proposed and his perpetual insistence that "this" (whatever the activity was) was the hottest he'd ever seen her, whether she was dressed in leather or lace, healed wounds she hadn't realized she owned. (Okay, the man could be turned on automatically, like a light bulb, but still.) With Mark, she had felt sexy in an I-want-to-have-have-sex-with-you-because-you're-so -hot way, not an I-love-you-therefore-I-want-to-express-my-love-by- having-sex-with-you way. With Mark, she could express her inner slut and still be a lady, and the experience was intoxicating.

"Except it wasn't that, after all," she thought, chagrined. "Mark loves me, too. Or At least he thinks he does. Unbelievable." Here she'd thought she'd turned herself into some kind of femme fatale, and all she'd done was make him fall in love with her. She was verge of crying from sheer disappointment and frustration when she remembered their last photo shoot just three days earlier. Mark's frank admiration and enjoyment of the way her body looked—and the "punishment" he'd inflicted afterward as payment for her "naughtiness"—included an erotic intensity she'd never experienced before, and she shivered with remembered heat. Whether Mark loved her or not, sex with him was an entirely different experience than sex with Derek.

"Too bad I can't keep both of them," she thought with a crooked smile.

Addison got up to return the softening ice cream back to the freezer. Then, deciding soup was the comfort food she craved, she called in her order of tom kha gai to the Thai restaurant. That done, she stared fixedly at the phone, wondering whether Mark would call to check up on her, even though she had told him she wanted to be alone. "What is wrong with you?' she asked herself, softly knocking her head against the living room wall. "You just had an abortion because you know this man is not someone you can build a life with. And—he's probably going to kick you out anyway once he finds out what you've done. Start packing, Addison. It's time to move on with the rest of your life."

Despite her intuition that she'd probably made her first sensible statement of the day, Addison remained motionless. Although she'd had to admit to herself that she didn't want a long-term future with Mark, she also had to admit she didn't want to be alone, either. Besides, where would she go? The brownstone was unthinkable; she couldn't set foot inside the place without remembering the night Derek found them in bed together. A hotel? Too cold and impersonal. Her family? Hell, no! She hadn't yet told them anything about what had happened, and she'd be damned before she presented herself to the Captain and Bizzy like a homeless waif and admit that Derek had left her and she had nowhere to go.

Where else was left? Savvy? Oh, Savvy! Addison flushed uneasily because she'd been ducking her best friend's messages ever since things blew up; she might not be one of Savvy's favorite people right now. Plus, she wasn't quite sure how Savvy would react to news of the affair; she could be rather judgmental about such things. Still, she and Weiss did have room to put her up, and it would be wonderful finally to talk things over with someone.

"Hi, Savvy! It's me, Addison. . . . . Ah, it's a good thing I introduced myself because you'd forgotten what my voice sounds like? Funny. . . . Yeah, well, life's been . . . complicated, lately. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. . . . No, everything is fine-just complicated. (Addison crossed her fingers at that one.) How are things with you? . . . Can we get together for lunch tomorrow? . . . Your cafeteria or mine? . . . You want to meet at Serendipity?" Addison frowned. "Sav, is everything okay with you and Weiss?"

Addison listened to her best friend's "fine"; it sounded as convincing as her own had been. No wonder she wanted to meet at the ice cream parlor masquerading as a restaurant. "O.K. See you at 12:30. . . . Give my love to Weiss. . . . Yes, I'll give your love to Derek as soon as I see him. . . . O.K. . . . Good-night."

As Addison hung up the phone, she made a mental note to ask her admin to clear her afternoon schedule. It sounded like it was going to be a long lunch. Besides, she was supposed to be taking it easy for a few days, anyway. That being decided, Addison spent a few minutes speculating about the cause of Savvy's distress, but couldn't come up with any likely suspects that she wouldn't talk about on the phone, other than it probably involved her husband. Fear of being eavesdropped on would explain her uncommunicativeness. She decided to put off any further speculation. Tomorrow held time enough to deal with Savvy's problem.

Dismissing Savvy's problems left Addison with nothing to ponder but her own problems. Bad idea. In an effort to distract herself, she turned off the radio and turned on the television, but a couple of minutes of channel surfing failed to turn up anything sufficiently compelling to distract her from her own thoughts. She then wandered out to the balcony, taking care to leave the door propped wide open so that she'd hear the doorman calling to verify that she'd ordered something once the delivery guy arrived.

The gentle June breeze felt good, as did the peace and quiet afforded by being over thirty stories above New York traffic. As she stared back inside at the condo, she had to admit Mark had a lovely home even if the decorator she'd recommended had been forced to work around that ugly futon couch she and Derek had passed on to him shortly before the wedding. She'd done a good job of using the print on the futon cover without making the color palette overpowering. Dark browns and black were plentifully represented in the furniture and carpeting, but they were balanced with white walls and plenty of chrome and white in the furniture so that the overall effect was sophisticated rather than gloomy. If it weren't for the lack of adequate closet space, well. . . . She was going to miss the apartment itself as well as the convenience of living in a full-service building. And Mark, too, of course.

Addison shook her head ruefully. How did Mark get to be an afterthought? How did she get from destroying her marriage over a one-night stand with this man to barely thinking about him at all? She sighed. If only he weren't so damned sexy that she found it hard to keep her thoughts anywhere but in the moment. . . . No. Scratch that thought. She just plain found it hard to think at all whenever he was around.

An involuntary smirk curved Addison's lips as she remembered how well Mark had kept her from thinking the previous evening. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel Mark's body on hers, his warm hands tracing a teasing path around her nipples, and then his lips ever so slowly nibbling their way down her throat and then her cleavage, her body arching under his touch as he-

"Enough!" she scolded, forcing herself to take a deep breath. "Mark's expertise is not the problem here."

Returning to the problem she was supposed to be trying to solve, Addison flushed guiltily as she thought about the way she'd told Mark she was pregnant and then gone ahead with the abortion without letting him have any part in making her decision about terminating the pregnancy. No matter how she felt about the procedure, it would have been easier on Mark if she'd kept him in the dark.

"How could I have known?" Addison protested to her suddenly guilty conscience, annoyed to be put in such a perverse position. "He's Mark! The only contribution he ever made as a parent was to pay for three abortions. He never wanted a child before. How was I supposed to know this time would be different?"

As the silent minutes lengthened, Addison begrudgingly admitted that she could have read the signs differently-maybe. 20-20 hindsight and all that. She could have at least admitted the possibility that there was something different about Mark's feelings for her if she'd ever taken the time to go beyond her previous assumptions. The Mark she'd spent time with in the last two months was different from the Mark she'd known before. Oh, he'd still been Mark-cockily boasting about the many ways he'd pleased many women over the years-but that hadn't stopped him from focusing all (O.K., most) of his efforts on pleasing her. Even taking care of her-which was a talent she hadn't suspected Mark Sloan would have had for anyone but himself.

She thought back again to the night they'd been discovered—hearing Derek yell her name after he'd slammed open the bedroom door. She'd screamed, and in the split second it took for Mark to stop moving, she'd shoved him to the side and screamed at him to get out. The three of them stood paralyzed until Mark, after carefully looking at the both of them, acceded to her wishes and retired to the bathroom, allowing them some privacy—not that it mattered. The ensuing fight had been loud enough for him to hear the majority of what came after. By the time it was all over, while she was still huddled in hysterics at the bottom of the stairs, a fully dressed Mark came for her. Once she'd cried herself out, he carried her into the living room and then went outside to collect the sodden clothing and bedding. After that, he forced her to get dressed and come with him to the condo because he didn't want to leave her alone. In the following days, he'd taken care of getting her things picked up and making sure that there had been plenty of . . . distractions from her worries about Derek and the future. He'd certainly been an excellent distraction, Addison thought. She was still amazed that he'd been turned on by almost every single activity she'd suggested, even the ones she'd wound up not liking as much as she'd thought she might. She was grateful to him for all that he'd done for her battered self-esteem after the years of Derek's neglect.

There was the truth. She was grateful to Mark for the past few weeks, but she didn't love him. She did, damn it, still love Derek. What the hell was she doing by having an affair with Mark?

"If anyone had told me fifteen years ago that I'd be having an affair with Mark Sloan, I would have had that person committed," Addison announced to the walls around her. Over the years, she'd at first despised him as a bad influence on Derek, then fought with him for first place in Derek's affections, and eventually accepted him as a regular third wheel in their relationship. She knew having Mark in his life made Derek happy, so she tolerated the man's barbaric attitude toward women, his uncomfortable habit of being bluntly honest about matters civilized people knew to gloss over, and his occasional insinuations that Derek had been pussy-whipped into settling for domesticity.

Over time, he'd maybe even become a kind of friend, since his ubiquity at Derek's side engendered a large degree of familiarity. He'd been useful as a funny and charming addition to their dinner parties in his own right and a useful emergency date for the occasional single woman (all of whom had been warned in advance by Derek as well as herself not to take Mark's flirting seriously). He'd even become one of the limited number of people allowed to tease her without retribution as well as a person she felt comfortable calling on in emergencies, even the embarrassing ones. She'd even go so far as to say she'd developed a tolerant affection for him-and would have bet good money that he felt the same way about her. But love? Passion? How the hell did they wind up grabbing at each other like a pair of sex-starved teenagers that night? She had no clear recollection of what they were drinking, but she resolved to find out so that she'd remember never to stock it again.

The ringing telephone brought her back to the present. A few minutes later, she was back on the balcony with an open container of tom kha gai. Although the soup smelled as wonderful as it always had, her mood had soured her appetite, and she seriously considered just putting it away. However, after the first few spoonfuls, her body's need for nourishment convinced her otherwise. By the time she was done, the spicy, hot liquid had gone a long way toward relieving her cramps as well as awakening her appetite. In short order, she found herself putting together some prosciutto and honeydew along with some hot green tea as a follow-up.

Seated at the kitchen island with her food in front of her, Addison felt slightly less flummoxed about the past two months than she had out on the balcony, although she still had no idea how to go about fixing the mess she'd gotten herself into. She hoped Savvy would have some words of wisdom for her because she saw no way out.

What would have happened, she wondered, if she'd decided to pursue Mark instead of Derek and wound up marrying him? Would he, too, have become preoccupied with his career? She laughed mirthlessly. As good as Mark was at his job, it didn't even come close to his first preoccupation. Too bad he was like the Captain-quantity over quality.

But what if she had married Mark? Would she then have chosen to have an affair with Derek? Addison restrained the urge to laugh again. Not unless one of his neurosurgeon buddies gave him a brain transplant. Derek was practically a virgin when they started having sex; there was no way he would have committed adultery even if she'd wanted to.

She sighed. Might it all have worked out happily ever after if she'd chosen Mark instead of Derek the first night they'd met? Not likely-but . . . maybe? Too bad she didn't have a time machine so she could go back and see what would have happened if things had turned out differently. Actually, it would be nice if she had a time machine so she could go back and see for herself what had really happened. She'd been so excited and nervous that night that most of her "memories" consisted of what she'd been told or teased about by Mark, Derek, and Savvy.

divider-divider-divider

It was the end of the first full day of freshman orientation at Bowdoin, and the Student Union's common room had been set up for a mixer—their "chance to get to know the other first-years informally," according to their RA. They'd been told that the dance started at 9:00—which, according to Mark, meant that only morons would be there before 11:00. Yet here he was at 10:00 p.m., the latest he could persuade Derek to show up.

Mark held his tongue as Derek's gaze flickered nervously over the minimally lit room. He'd done his best to prep Derek for the event, even going so far as to insist that Derek use the hair product recommended by the barber after he'd finally convinced him to ditch the Afro he'd been sporting all through high school. And picking out his clothes.

"Hey, big shot," said Derek, his bravado carrying an undercurrent of resentment, "lots of guys here are wearing T-shirts. Including you. How come I'm not wearing one?"

"If you'd played anything more athletic than a saxophone, you wouldn't have to ask that question," was the first answer that ran through Mark's mind, but he kept it to himself. He'd put a lot of thought into a plan that would give Derek a fighting chance of walking on to the campus without branding himself as a geek. He was doing this partly for Derek's sake, partly to honor their promises to Mrs. Shepherd that they'd watch out for each other, and mostly to avoid another four years of aggravation from his jock friends about hanging out with such a nerd.

"Look around you, Derek." Mark smiled through gritted teeth. There are only about a dozen students here. That's not a lot of anything. We're early. Besides, you look good."

Derek looked down at the button-down Oxford shirt, cuffed khakis, and loafers he was wearing, and then at Mark, his unspoken question clear. If these were the right things to wear, why wasn't Mark wearing them, too?

Mark realized that he'd better talk fast or Derek was going to go back to the dorm and God only knew what he'd come back in. Besides, the sooner he got Derek talking to a girl, the sooner he could cut out and cruise Brunswick's bars for a shot at some real action. "Dude, I picked that shirt because it's your favorite color."

"No you didn't."

"Yes, Derek, I did," Mark enunciated testily.

"But the shirt is dark blue" Derek pointed out. "My favorite color is indigo, not dark blue. Indigo is closer to purple."

"You have got to be kidding me." Nonplussed, Mark rallied with, "Anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is that it matches your eyes. Chicks like that stuff."

Derek grinned and raised his fists. Mark had dressed himself in a skin-tight black T-shirt and straight-leg black jeans. "Does this mean you want me to give you a couple of black eyes?"

"Funny, Derek. Very funny." Derek feinted a punch or two while Mark pretended to block. Good humor restored, Mark pointed expansively toward the rest of the room. "This is a dance, little brother. The object of a dance is to meet women. As your wingman, I will help you to meet any woman here you desire. Who do we talk to first?"

Derek frowned momentarily, but then scanned the room. He pointed to a girl sitting off to the side and watching everyone else mingle. "Her."

Mark stifled a groan. Derek had good taste, but he was aiming way out of his league. A tall, leggy brunette with alabaster skin, the woman was dressed casually, but the kind of casual that cost serious money. He recognized the look from the girls at his parents' dinner parties—soft, sky blue cashmere sweater tied around her shoulders, white cotton tank top that showed off her tan, black jeans, white sandals and jewelry that looked real. Given that she was content just to stare at the stragglers who'd shown up so far, Mark guessed that she'd been dragged to the party by one of her girlfriends and was just waiting for a chance to escape. (Maybe he'd see her in town later.) Derek would be shot down before he had a chance to open his mouth.

"Nah, you don't want her. She looks stuck up. What about her?" asked Mark, trying to redirect Derek's attention to a bubbly little blond who looked like she might try out for the cheerleading squad. Cheerleaders could be very friendly.

Derek looked at the blond for all of two seconds before he redirected his attention to the brunette. "No. I want her," he maintained. He looked at Mark. "You coming?"

Mark shrugged. They could always try the cheerleader later. "Don't say I didn't warn you," Mark cautioned him as they set off for supplies at the open bar.

Drinks in hand (with Derek holding a fresh white wine for the brunette), they approached her table. "Hi, I'm Mark Sloan, and this is Derek Shepherd." He deliberately broadened his smile. "And you are . . . ?"

"Addie. Addison. I mean," she stammered as she fidgeted with her bracelet. "Addison Forbes Montgomery. Hi."

Mark was surprised at the waves of nervous energy cascading from the woman in front of him, but he didn't let it show. Whatever other qualities the woman might have, being stuck up didn't seem to be among them. Maybe they'd be moving on by their own choice instead of hers. In the meantime, they were already there, so they might as well take a shot. "Well, Addison Forbes Montgomery, are these seats taken?" asked Mark.

"Yes."

Mark shot Derek an I-told-you-this-one-wouldn't-work-out glance, but was cut short as Addison continued to speak.

"No. Actually, yes and no," she prattled. "One is. Taken, that is. My friend Savvy—Savannah—is coming back. But the other two seats aren't taken."

Derek's expression clearly showed his relief at this vindication of his judgment. "Then, may we sit with you?" he asked eagerly. At Addison's quick nod, he set both drinks down on the table, putting the white wine next to Addison's half-full glass. "Mark—uh, I mean we—I mean I—I thought you might like a fresh drink."

"Smooth move, Shepherd," thought Mark as he sat unobtrusively at the other side of the table. Still, it didn't seem to matter, as Addison accepted the drink gratefully and gave Derek a smile.

Derek and Addison spent the next few minutes exchanging some background information. As it turned out, they were both from the East coast (she, Connecticut; he, New York), both had played in their respective high school bands (she, clarinet; he, saxophone), and they were both pre-med majors. As the conversation progressed and they found they had more and more in common, they relaxed. Settling back in his chair, Mark spoke when spoken to, but was content to let the conversation progress without him. If things continued to go well, he'd be able to make his escape soon. He let his gaze wander around the room in case there was anyone there he might like to speak to before he left, but his attention was soon recaptured by Derek holding out his hand for Addison's sweater.

"Of course you should put your sweater on if the air conditioning is too cold for you," said Derek with a smile. "Here. Let me help you put it on."

"Bonehead!" thought Mark with a shake of his head. Wasn't Derek bright enough to know that any girl complaining about being cold was asking him to put an arm or two around her? But Addison shook her head abashedly as she stared at her wine.

"I'm not allowed."

Addison blushed at the identically curious expressions before her, but soldiered on. "Savvy—you remember Savvy, she's my girlfriend who's had plenty of time to get back from the ladies' room by now," said Addison with an edge to her voice and a glance around the room. "She helped me pick out my outfit for tonight, and she made me promise that I would only tie the sweater around my shoulders, not actually wear it."

Mark developed a sudden coughing fit to strangle the laugh he was unable to suppress. Trust Derek to go for one of the hottest-looking women in the room and still have her turn out to be a geek who couldn't even dress herself.

Derek, clearly aware of what Mark was doing, shot him a venomous look before turning his attention to Addison. "Well, if your girlfriend ever shows up, I'll have to thank her because you look beautiful tonight," he began, but then stopped when Mark subtly shook his head. Realizing he should be complimenting Addison instead of her outfit, he then made a quick save. "-not that you wouldn't look beautiful in anything else. But I think you'd look even more beautiful with your sweater on." At that, Derek stood up, gently unwrapped the sweater from around her shoulders, and held it out so that he could help her into it. "So if Savvy gives you any trouble, you can tell her to see me."

Charmed by his smile and the gentlemanly gesture, Addison let him help her with the sweater. While her back was turned to him, Derek mouthed an angry "Shut up" to Mark, who simply grinned and gave him a thumbs up. No matter what he thought of her—and she wasn't so bad (for a geek, that is)—they seemed to like each other. It looked like he'd be able to leave soon.

"You know," said Derek with studied casualness once he'd gotten Addison properly seated, "best friends can be real pains in the ass when giving advice about clothes."

"Hey!" interjected Mark indignantly. "I don't have to sit here and take this." Inwardly, Mark grinned; it sounded like Derek was giving him his excuse to take off.

Now it was Addison's turn to look at Derek curiously. He nodded back. "Yeah. Me, too. He's the one responsible for this," he said, spreading his arms wide. Then he smiled again.

"Nice going, Derek," Mark replied sarcastically, giving Derek another thumbs up Addison couldn't see. "All that hard work to make you look good gone for nothing. I think I've just heard my cue to leave." He turned to Addison. "I take responsibility only for the clothes," he informed her solemnly. "He's on his own for the rest of it."

Addison nodded. "Thank you. He looks wonderful" she said just as solemnly. Then she giggled.

As Mark walked away, he could hear Derek complimenting Addison on the way her earrings matched the color of her eyes because he'd heard it was important to do that when dressing for special occasions, followed by more laughter from the both of them.

Checking his watch, Mark figured he had time for one more beer before leaving. Plastic cup in hand, he settled himself against an opposite wall and enjoyed watching Derek and the brunette talk to each other. He felt proud of his night's work.

"Why are you staring at my friend?"

"Huh?" Mark glanced down to see a blond staring at him with a slightly accusatory look. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"My friend, Addison. And you. Staring. You went over with your buddy to the table, you left, and yet you're still staring. Is there a problem?"

Somewhere in the middle of that speech, Mark figured out who his "attacker" was. "Savvy, right? The girlfriend Addison's waiting for back at the table?" Mark decided he liked this woman—the chaperone who had the sense to stay away when she saw her friend was already talking to two guys. "Relax. I'm not looking at Addison. I'm looking at Derek—that's the guy who's still with Addison. He's my best friend."

At that, Savvy relaxed and stuck out her hand. "Savannah Rosenbauer. Hi."

"Mark Sloan. Hi." Mark took a second look. The chaperone wasn't bad looking, and she did a great job of dressing her geeky girlfriend; she might be worth his time. Maybe he'd have company going into town tonight. "Want a drink?"

Savvy hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Sure. Do they have anything decent to drink?"

Mark grimaced. "Only if you like Budweiser or cheap wine."

"How cheap?"

"Just house wine - red and white. And lots of soda."

Savvy wrinkled her nose. "How does this place stay in business?"

"It's not in business, according to the bartender," explained Mark, who'd gotten his information earlier when he complained about the scarce offerings. "Not tonight. The student government rented the place and paid for the open bar, so we get what they paid for. This place doesn't really open until classes begin next week."

"Stingy bastards," commented Savvy matter-of-factly. "How do you feel about running for student government next year so we can fight for the happiness of future freshmen classes?"

Mark decided he liked the way this woman thought. "Aside from campaign headquarters, can I get you anything?"

She shrugged. "White wine, I guess. It can't be too bad if Addison is drinking it."

In short order, Mark came back with a white wine and a fresh beer for himself. Because the room was finally filling up, they wound up settling close to the spot Mark had originally staked out.

"So, what's your friend like?"

Initially surprised by the question, Mark thought a moment about his answer. Savvy seemed to have set herself up as some kind of watchdog, and Mark wanted her to give Derek and Addison as much space as possible. It didn't take him long to decide that the truth was the easiest thing he could tell her.

"Derek's a real nice guy who comes from a nice family. He had a couple of serious girlfriends back home, but he wasn't seeing anyone in particular this summer. We're both pre-med, so we'll probably be sharing some courses with Addison. He's a geek, but since she's one, too, I think they'll probably like each other a lot."

"Addison is not a geek!" exclaimed Savvy.

Mark just looked at Savvy, wordlessly daring her to expand on that thought.

Savvy raised her hands and shrugged. "She's socially challenged?"

Mark smirked. "Turn around. It looks like they're exchanging band stories."

Sure enough, both Addison and Derek's fingers were fluttering in front of them on their phantom instruments. They watched in silence for a few moments, and then Savvy's shoulders slumped as she conceded. "You win. What's he playing? Sax?"

"Yeah."

Mark waited not so patiently for Savvy to stop looking at Derek and start looking at him. When she finally turned around, he asked, "So, is it finally time to talk about something other than Derek and Addison?"

Savvy had the good grace to blush. "Sorry. So, what would you like to talk about?"

"Anything but Derek and Addison."

So, they made small talk about how they planned to spend the next four years. He wanted the pre-med major because becoming a surgeon sounded like a cool way to make lots of money; she wanted pre-law because her father was a lawyer and a CEO, but she didn't know if she wanted to specialize in corporate law—politics also sounded interesting. For extracurricular activities, he planned on trying out for the football and baseball teams while she was planning on auditioning for the debate and gymnastics teams. Mark half-seriously tried to convince her to switch to cheerleading from debate because they'd be able to see each other at the games, but gave up when Savvy said she'd switch from gymnastics to cheerleading only if he'd switch from baseball to debate.

The small talk ran out at about the same time their drinks did. They looked at each other speculatively. "I was planning on checking out the bar scene in town. Wanna come?" he asked.

Savvy looked tempted for a moment, but then shook her head. "It's bad enough I haven't gone back to the table yet. If I leave for the evening without her, she'll kill me—painfully."

"We could double," Mark pointed out. "Derek will come with us if I tell him to."

"Nah, it's already late. By the time I talked Addie into it, the neighborhood would have already closed down." She waved her had at the rest of the dance floor. "Like it or not, this is the only action around for tonight."

While Mark knew that no place ever shuts down completely, he wasn't interested in a debate on the number of bars or coffee shops they might find within a reasonable distance from the campus. He was interested in pursuing the opportunity that had presented itself. "We could make our own action," he said, pitching his voice to its lowest register while he started moving inside Savvy's personal space.

"Hold on," Savvy temporized while putting both hands on his chest to halt his advance. "Don't you think you're rushing things a bit here?"

Mark grinned. The sudden rush of color to Savvy's cheeks and the fact that her hands were still on his chest even after he'd stopped moving were good omens for the rest of the evening. "I don't know about that. It looks to me like things are getting off to a great start," he said as he started running his fingers lightly over her hands.

It took several long seconds for Savvy to withdraw her hands—and another couple of seconds after that to find her voice. "You're good. I'll give you that," she said a touch breathlessly. "But a girl likes to get to know a guy a little better than this before she decides she wants to be that well acquainted. How about we just dance for now?"

Fuck. Mark had heard his father talk about how women extort money from men under the pretext of dating—just another form of prostitution, but one that wouldn't get them arrested. Mark wasn't sure whether he agreed with his father, but whether he did or he didn't, he wasn't stupid enough to repeat the comment to a potential score. Like it or not, that was how the game was played. "O.K.," he said, taking her cup from her and tossing it with his into the nearest trash can. "Shall we?"

After three or four dances, Savvy claimed it was finally time to check on her best friend. Mark considered cutting out, but then decided against it. He might as well spend the rest of the evening with Savvy as an investment in the future.

Fortunately, Derek and Addison were happy to see them return, and the foursome spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other.

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"Wow!" exclaimed Addison. "I'd forgotten Savvy slept with Mark before I did." She wondered if she could use that bit of information to convince Savvy that she hadn't totally lost her mind by having the affair. It was a longshot.

Addison looked at the clock—almost ten. She decided to try to get some sleep; tomorrow was going to be a busy day, and she was going to need all the strength she could muster to get through it. She rinsed and put her dirty dishes in the dishwasher and paused for a moment by the phone on the way to the bedroom. Should she call Mark and thank him for letting her have the condo? She decided against it with a wry twist of her lips. If Mark was running true to form, he was either picking up some woman at a bar or already in his hotel room with some company for the evening. Maybe she was wrong. But if she wasn't, she'd really rather not know.

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Author's Note Chapter 3A: Just a bit of explanation about the sexual dynamics in this story for Derek fans who may be surprised and/or outraged by the supposedly puritanical streak I've attached to his character, given the lusty and uninhibited nature of the MerDer relationship.

It seems obvious that there is something irresistible to Addison about her sexual relationship with Mark, given that she keeps returning to him for sex long after she decides she wants nothing to do with him in terms of a romantic relationship. Why would sex with Mark be so irresistible if there weren't something better about her sexual satisfaction with Mark than her sexual satisfaction with Derek?

Mark's interest in BDSM is shown in a) the fantasy he spins about Erica Hahn as a "strict teacher" when encouraging Callie to explore her new-found bisexuality ("Freedom," part 2 [4.7]) ; b) the swats he delivers (and she highly enjoys) to Addison's posterior in an episode of Private Practice ("Another Second Chance" [3.11]); and c) Lexie's regretfully nostalgic references to "sex injuries" she enjoyed while with Mark after she finds out that Cristina burned her posterior on a vent while having sex with Owen ("State of Love and Trust" [6.13]).

Despite her repeated claims that she wants a husband with whom she can raise a family, the post-divorce Grey's AnatomyAddison spends her time having sex with Mark-with whom she obviously doesn't want a romantic relationship-and Alex-who is not only too young career-wise to start a family, but also quite open about his disinterest in a suburban family idyll of barbeques and small children learning how to play baseball with their dads, her supposed fantasy ("Desire" [3.21]). Her sexual attraction is toward the two "bad boys," Mark and Alex.

In a deleted scene from Season 2, Derek reacts badly when Meredith suggests that he try "that thing that you do in the shower . . . with the bending . . . thing" with Addison after she finds out that Derek and Addison are having trouble with their sex lives. His manner suggests, IMHO, that there are certain activities he enjoyed with his mistress that he's not willing to share with his wife. (I've always wondered if the infamous Addek shower sex scene ("Blues for Sister Someone" [2.23]) after Derek thinks that Meredith is sleeping with Finn was originally meant to be a follow-up to the deleted scene, a deliberate betrayal on Derek's part of his "fidelity" to Meredith by sharing with Addison a maneuver that he had originally created for Meredith's pleasure.) Given Derek's openly proclaimed fondness for Meredith's flexibility ("Save Me" [1.8]) and the frequent headboard changes at Casa Grey, I suspect that Derek enjoys a certain athleticism with Meredith that he did not enjoy with Addison.

Neither Derek nor Addison finds sexual satisfaction in their attempted reconciliation after the fun they've had with their other partners even though they both remember originally having a very satisfying sexual relationship with each other ("Blues for Sister Someone" [2.23]). Again, IMHO, this suggests that there might have been something missing in their sexual relationship (i.e., honesty with each other-and themselves?-about what they enjoy or even simply might like to experiment with). Hooking up with someone new (i.e., Mark and Meredith) gave them the comfort zone they needed to reinvent themselves (not only sexually, although that was certainly an important part of the process), and it was no longer possible for them to be satisfied in their old roles with each other.

YMMV. :)

Author's Note Chapter 3B: Derek has been seen wearing a Bowdoin College T-shirt on several episodes, but there has not been a specific reference on the show (to the best of my memory) to the college as Derek's alma mater. As I know nothing about Bowdoin, I've pretty much limited myself to a generic college setting. To any Bowdoin students, faculty, and staff, past, present, and future, I offer my apologies for not matching the setting of this story to your campus.

Also, there are some references that claim that Addison and Derek first met in medical school. My assumption is that they rely on two scenes from the extended version of "Thanks for the Memories" [2.9], when Addison tries to make Derek nostalgic for the the good old days in med school when they had Chinese food for Thanksgiving. Nowhere in the episode (or in any other episode of GA or PP, to the best of my memory) was there a mention of where Addison and Derek first met, so I'm comfortable with pushing their initial meeting back to their undergraduate days.

Author's Note Chapter 3C: Yes, Addison and Derek are both former band geeks. Addison reminisces about her awkward adolescence-complete with braces, a lisp, and Skippy Gold, an overly enthusiastic Star Wars fan-while making small talk with Derek at the Seattle Grace prom in "Losing My Religion" [2.27]. She refers to herself as a band geek but doesn't specify the instrument she played. Derek shares the tale of his awkward adolescence-complete with saxophone, Afro, acne, and 110 lb. torso-to cheer up an overwrought Miranda Bailey (another former band geek) in "Forever Young" [4.08] after she is taken advantage of by an old high school crush.