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Still Secrets Remaining

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A/N: Two scenes take place in the present of If/Then.

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Mark is looking at her in abstract horror. In the afterglow, maybe it wasn't the best plan. She can see the fury beginning to build in his eyes as she dabs her face with the tissue once more. Maybe if she sniffles enough she can get out of this, that used to work with him. Just the threat of emotion was enough to send him running for the hills.

"Wh-at did you do?" He stammers angrily after watching Derek storm from the room.

She doesn't have an answer. It seemed right at the time, it felt like the only beacon in a sea of tumultuous waves that she's been trying not to drown in. She's a little furious that Derek believed her when she implied it was Mark's baby, well when she told him it wasn't his and he immediately jumped to thinking it was his best friend's. The fact that Mark came strolling out shirtless didn't help the situation, but that's nothing that hasn't happened in their storied past.

"Addison," Mark shakes his head. "What are you doing?"

"Letting him go," she whispers and then Mark is already halfway out the door too, struggling to get his damp, ruined shirt back on.

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"Archer's settled," Addison announces, coming in through the kitchen, dusting her hands off like she actually did something.

"Great," Derek replies, a cup placed in front of his bowl of fruit.

Addison insisted that Archer stay in the guest house situated above the garage for a few weeks after she talked him out of flying home. She hired around the clock supervision, got the place decorated and comfortable, and ordered his favorite brand of coffee from somewhere in South America all in under 48 hours. Money is truly amazing sometimes, he has learned that from her. It can do things, both good and evil. He tries to use his for good, that is when he isn't busy ignoring the fact that he now has so much of it.

Since coming from relatively nothing he's upgraded his thread count in bedding, his wardrobe, much needed hair products, and his vehicle to something with an actual motor from a bike. But he still likes simple things- a day out in the woods, a game of pick up basketball, a good paperback book. He likes to think he hasn't changed that much. But that day in New York,months ago, the frosty wind biting the back of his neck, he couldn't discern his actions from that of a total stranger. And he's had plenty of time to try. A lot of free time spent at the trailer.

Archer presents a problem. Always has, always will. His dying devotion to his sister means he isn't willing to hear anyone out on any matter than concerns her. Even if he only thinks it concerns her, when it very much does not. And Archer has never been above using someone's secrets against them for long term gain and short term entertainment.

"Hey, do you still have that old leather journal you never used?"

"Somewhere," Derek says uncommitted. It may be around. It also may be in a dumpster.

"I was thinking maybe Archer would like to work on his next book while he recovers."

"Doesn't he use a ghostwriter?"

"Yeah, but maybe just for some ideas."

"I'd buy a new one," Derek laments. It was an odd gift, from a year ago, from Kathleen who thinks he needs to "journal his feelings instead of running from them". He's pretty sure it's stuffed in a box in the garage and they'll never find it.

"Ok," she replies, hair lit by the refrigerator she's poking her head into. "Do you think he'd want the rest of these apples, we have too many, we'll never eat them."

"I don't know," Derek moans. She's always so excited when he's around. And a complete disaster when it's her whole family.

"I'll ask later, he is supposed to be resting now. I told the nurses they were free to use the main house if they needed anything, ok?"

"Yeah." The main house grates on his nerves. It's just a house. And there happens to be a room situated on top of the garage overflowing with all of their old memories and pictures of better times that they are using for their first and hopefully only guest to visit them in Seattle.

"Their shifts vary-"

"Addie, I'm sure you have it all under control." She smiles at him when she turns around, an apple for herself. "Relax."

"I just want him to be ok," she tells her husband.

"He will be. The hard part is over."

They stare at each other thinking about all the cases they've had where the surgery was the easiest part but neither says anything before she drifts to the living room, apple forgotten on the counter. He doesn't know how to be more reassuring for her, to her. It's never been this close to home before, it's never been in his home.

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She does try and thank him. Many times. Many ways. But nothing seems to ease the pain he's had of the last week wherein her brother put him through the ringer with one of the most bizarre cases of parasites in the brain and now won't let him tell a single soul.

She tried scheduling a lunch at his favorite place near the hospital after checking to make sure he had the afternoon off, but he didn't answer her page. She tried to entice him with a little get up he had been dying to see her in, but was too tired to stay awake until he got home, and fell asleep in the middle of the living room, tied into lace and delicate silk. And she verbalized her gratefulness at least ten times before he begged her to stop talking about it.

She figured if he couldn't discuss it, he probably didn't want her bringing it up. But she feels indebted to him. Chained to him in appreciation of his skill and for literally saving her brother's life. And that's a hard thing to repay.

There are a few things that Derek's always wanted that she's been loathe to oblige. A nurse's costume, that old ratty sports car his uncle owns, naming their first child after his mentor from their second year- Melvin, and a dog. Man's best friend. If she was going to budge on any of them she should probably swing on by a Halloween supply store but instead finds herself at a shelter, the piercing barks pounding in her ears.

It smells disgusting, she notes, as she follows the the shelter director, sidestepping a suspicious puddle with her $900 shoe. He's explaining how animals come to be here, what they do for them when they arrive, and which ones are available for adoption. They vary in sizes, colors, breeds. Most of them either ran away or were surrendered because people couldn't handle them. Which means to Addison that she probably couldn't handle them either.

Their backyard is large, and fenced, and largely unused as of yet. A dog would enjoy it she thinks. She sits with at least three different ones, all but one jumping up onto her lap boisterously before she thinks better of the whole thing. On her way out she walks through the hallway full of cats and decides that seems more their speed. Or hers really, since her husband is never home.

She reasons that if he wanted a dog, really wanted one, he would have tried to bring one home already at some point in their lives. James gives her the basics while she scribbles her signature on copy after copy of paper, but later she finds herself googling in the car all about cat needs while her new housemate scratches at the cardboard container holding him in.

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"I need you to have lunch with the president of the board of the Wallington school tomorrow," she tells her husband as he saunters into the attending's lounge.

He looks around, checks for witnesses, before replying. "I did that last week, went great remember."

"That was the Weston school," Addison corrects.

"How many of these are we going to do? It's a preschool Addison, not med school."

"Is our child's education not important to you?" She challenges, setting aside her magazine, noting that she can hear footsteps in the hallway.

"It is," he grimaces with a pained smile as Arizona Robbins joins them. "Just tell me when, ok?" He kisses the top of her head and takes the seat next to her, stealing half of her sandwich.

She smiles back knowing that the sandwich has mustard on it and he's going to hate it. Normally, that's not something she's into but the baby wanted to try it so she did. And she found it wholly unappetizing as well.

"Are you guys still interviewing at preschools?" Arizona chats excitedly.

"You can never be too prepared, right Addie?"

He's grinning at her, gagging on the bite he's taken, washing it down with water, and she wonders what preparation he's done for the baby. Read nothing, as far as she can tell. Forgot to join her for the birthing classes she started two weeks ago. Hasn't built the crib or even looked around to discover that their child, as of now, has no place to sleep of their own. He hasn't approached her on the safety of current car seat models or debated how long a pacifier is really handy for. They've haven't decided on sleep training, on whether or not they think bottles are evil, or even discussed possible names.

"Exactly," she says, slapping at Derek's hand when he tries to slide her pudding cup out of view.

"I really like the Bryson school," Arizona tells them, beginning to lay out all of the reasons it should be a better choice than the ones they've already looked at.

Derek gets stuck having lunch with them. He's doting and funny, naturally filling in the silences with witty remarks and thoughtful questions. When they finish he darts from the room without so much as a goodbye. He says he hopes their child becomes a doctor like them, that he likes the name Theodore, and that he hopes their baby has her hair. All of which he's never managed to mutter to her before now.

It sends her into a tailspin that she can't recover from.

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Meredith Grey has got to be the most annoying resident of them all. Or maybe she's just jealous. But she cannot listen to another minute of when this girl thinks her boyfriend is going to propose. This whole god damn surgery has been a debate between her usual go-to Kepner and Grey about where it will happen, when, what he'll be wearing, and Addison is willing a stitch not to hold and drench them with blood so they will shut the hell up.

She tells them she will close on her own, and to both go round on her post-op patients. Anything that gets them out of the room. The ancient scrub nurse also looks relieved. At least there can be two of them reveling in the regrets of other lifetimes.

The worst part she realizes, just about to declare the surgery a success, is that with Hunt and Torres out sick she has four more surgeries today with those two buffoons. And nothing to quell her rising desire to outright throttle them. She spends her time scrubbing out devising a strategy to keep them legitimately separated.

She picks wrong when she elects to have Grey occupy the interns with rounds and lab work and keep Kepner to herself. Mostly because Kepner already knows the way she works and she has to yell less with her around which is understated but important given the levels of exhaustion beginning to pull at her eyelids. Ellis, however, informs her how vital it is for Meredith to have a fleshed out training program, to which Addison does not dare disagree and swaps them mid-day.

She regrets it almost immediately. Grey is bubbly, and talkative, and not without talent. But if ever there was a day and a city and a time that Addison wasn't interested in making small talk with an inferior, now is it. She tries to be good with the underlings, tries to teach and not assume and give them the time of day. Despite her upbringing, people in those positions, in those situations can help. And she's supposed to train them, she's being paid for that at least.

She's two minutes into this crash ovarian torsion when the girl starts in again. "Where did Dr. Shepherd propose?"

"I'm sorry?" Addison asks, looking up, keeping the scalpel steady, there's no way she's going to be able to save this ovary, it's been decaying too long.

"Your husband, Dr. Shepherd, where'd he propose? Did he? He's always so grumpy."

Grey is astute, she'll give her that. Grumpy would be an understatement.

"We call him McDreary-"

Addison laughs. And laughs. And then has herself a few more laughs. It's a very apt nickname. Her staff is looking at her like she's crazy, and she's well on her way to that state of mind so she clears her throat and commands a solemn tone. "Dr. Grey do you want to be a surgeon or do you want to sit here and talk about the men in our lives."

"Surgeon."

"Then hold that retractor like one."

"You can have both right?" Grey asks her later as they scrub out.

Sure, she has a marriage and is a surgeon. She's doing way better at one than the other though, which she doesn't mention, just assures the resident that you can be both a doctor and a wife. The titles are relevant, even if it's nothing more than that lately.

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Addison names the cat Oliver. Because she won't be using it or Olive on her unborn baby and it seems dignified enough for her feline companion. He came with the name Toby but it was all wrong. Oliver likes tuna, napping, and chasing a purple feather toy the kid at the pet store said he might enjoy. She's got him curled around her legs, on top of a blanket, browsing a catalog trying to decide if she needs monogrammed blankets. A debate she has been having with herself for three months and has made no progress with.

"Addie, I'm headed out," Derek announces, racing down the stairs, gym bag over his shoulders.

"-kay," she says, not bothering to look in his direction. No point in asking where he's going or when he's coming back. She hears his shoes screech to a halt. And she can't even remember how many times she's asked him not to wear them inside the house.

"What's that?" Derek points to the white, fluffy creature currently wound in a ball.

"That's Oliver."

"Do we know Oliver?"

"We own Oliver," Addison elaborates, but barely.

"I'm allergic to cats Addison."

"Huh," Addison shrugs. She's pretty sure she would have recalled that after fifteen years together but there's never been a time where she's seen him have a reaction or mention an affliction involving cats. He's over-dramatic, at times, with change. She's keeping Oliver anyway, pets are supposed to be good for children. "He can be mine then," she offers weakly, feeling a little bad, and he just walks away.

Like usual.

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Derek is stuck between misery and relief when Mark joins him at the bar. He's been entertaining Ellis Grey's daughter who is apparently having as bad of a day as he is. He's into his fourth scotch when the bar stool next to him squeaks.

"Derek."

"Don't," Derek slurs, taking a glance at the man he used to call a best friend. That is until this afternoon when betrayal made an ugly appearance center stage.

"Or what?" Mark dares, ordering his first drink. "You'll hit me. You'll never win-"

"That's right, I never win." Derek tells Meredith and looks back over at his ex-friend. "You know what, you can have her. Best of luck."

"Have her," Mark repeats, and then takes a sip.

"Go ahead, you take what you want all of the time. Why should this be any different than Jenny Marshall-"

"That was second grade, Derek."

"And Holly Richardson-"

"Fifth grade."

"And Jennifer Campbell," Derek continues, not discouraged.

"Ok, that one is fair. But look I saved you from a hurricane if you think about it. I still don't know how she managed to catch a yacht on fire."

"Just leave Mark. Leave and take her with you. I never want to see either of you again."

Derek returns to nursing his drink, hands playing with the peanut shells on the counter. He's well on his way to drunk, but not nearly numb enough to not feel this pain.

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Despite his best instincts, Derek finds himself knees deep in the garage, surrounded by cardboard boxes. It was mostly something to keep himself busy and away from Addison and the amazingly recovering Archer who has become increasingly annoying over the last two weeks. Weaning him off narcotics and his lucidity have made living in the same space challenging since he didn't find their guest space to his liking and took up a closer residence on the third floor. The third floor that was blissfully devoid of people and furniture, full of spiderwebs and dusty windowsills.

It sent Addison into a spiral, trying to balance getting that space up to her brother's idea of elegant, and finishing the quints case that she had been roped into a month previously. It was one of the few times, so far, in Seattle where they had been able to work together and Derek was reminded, not for the first time, what an unparalleled doctor she had turned into.

She commands a presence, always has, but in the OR she's calm and calculated and refined. She's sure of what she's doing, confident in the outcome, and handles tough cases with a poise he knows from experience was hard to develop. Watching her dictate specific medical paths for each baby, seeing her study an array of papers spread over their dining room table, eavesdropping as she explained the fate of one baby to its mother, it'd been interesting.

He lauded her ability to pull through four out of the five children, monitoring them through various surgeries with arrogant surgeons who at times thought they knew better than her, himself included. They won't go home for months yet, but they are all stable. Sometimes, when she's gone home for the night, he visits them, sits silently, marveling in their sheer strength and determination to live.

Everyone said they made a wonderful team, that they were uniquely the best suited pair of surgeons on this coast. And it seemed that way, for a week. They could communicate again without words, agreed on almost everything, even shared dinner in her office a few times. It was the only time Ellis has seemed to approach him and his work with anything other than a sneer and clever remark over his perceived laziness.

But now he's back to square one with work, waiting around to be needed, hoping someone slips and hits their head, looking forward to ER pages like a hungry resident. He kind of misses working with her, they used to do it so much more frequently. Before they got important, before they stopped seeking out cases that would have them side by side.

His mind drifts in and out of memories as his hands kick up dust. Thoughts of their first consult together after they were in their residencies, the dinners they used to have in the cafeteria, too tired to leave the hospital. He's made it through an entire wall of things, old bedding with the sheets he hates, wedding presents from her family that never found a place in the brownstone, his old baseball mitt, photo albums that have people that he hasn't recognized in years looking so happy that they're complete strangers now.

He takes a desperate dive at the old dresser. They have a new bedroom set here, it's lighter and more to Addison's liking than his. He knows that he saved that stupid journal somewhere but is out of boxes unless he wants to get on a ladder, and he very much does not, but he also doesn't want to go inside during cocktail hour and have to pretend to care about dinner plans and have an opinion on Vietnamese food versus Japanese food, because his vote isn't going to count.

There are old socks, a pair of which he snags, they'll be useful when he goes out fishing. There are empty drawers, there's an old belt of Addison's that came from a different decade, and there's a manila folder. In the top left drawer, her side, but devoid of her belongings. Curiosity gets the best of him, though in hindsight, it shouldn't.

There's a pit in his stomach when he peels it from the drawer, ragged paper tearing a little as he fumbles to get it open. He doesn't know what he's expecting be it an old forgotten certificate for a random achievement, of which she has thousands, maybe an old relic from her childhood, or something sentimental from a patient that she never shared.

All of those would be normal.

The divorce papers he finds, though, her signature scrawled ten pages back, leave him grasping at the corners of the dusty wooden dresser and grappling with reality. He shoves them back together, notes the date, almost two years ago, and tries to put everything back the way it was, but his heart is pounding too loudly, rattling against his chest.

His hands become sweaty, knees weak, as the bottom drops out.

Suddenly, overwhelmingly, he's careening in a path of darkness.

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A/N: So some more fun with Derek. He's a good punching bag. And Addison gets her cat, because if ever someone needed a companion it was her. Next chapter we get whatever made Derek want to move, the baby(!), and more guests. Thanks for sticking around!