Author's Note: Oh, look. It's the shorter chapter I promised, except it's really long. Well, these things happen. Everyone who's reviewed, thank you and please keep it up - I'll just be all manipulative and say that it makes me update faster. (It's true, though!)
The Climbing Way
Chapter Seven
Five minutes past midnight. Christmas is over now. Everything else, just beginning.
He holds the edges of the plastic bag carefully, almost reverentially. A flat rectangle of red woven cloth with frayed edges. Clusters of embroidered mistletoe - French knots. How does he remember that? Someone must have told him at some point. Then the lettering. Large block letters, the type a young child can read, divided by silver stars.
Large, blocked and unfinished:
R*O*W*A*
"You...recognize it?"
Anywhere.
Derek holds it gently aloft between his fingers.
"It belongs to your wife?"
He nods, and this time no one snaps at him to speak up. They wait, and they keep waiting. They wait long enough for the larger detective who'd been questioning him - Bromley - to join them.
Finally Derek speaks.
"It was - well, it would have been - it's part of a stocking."
"A stocking?"
"A Christmas stocking."
Ask your mother. That's what I want.
They're still waiting. "She - well, my mother, uh, does this part - embroiders it, I guess, and then sews it into a stocking. When it's finished."
Bromley looks at him, his head cocked. "I'm not following. I'm sorry."
He draws a deep breath.
"I think this is what she-"
She's still holding on, Derek. You have to talk to her. You have to help her let go.
They're still waiting. The air in the hall is hot and close. He takes a deep breath, and says the words:
"We had a son."
He can feel their knowing exhalations of breath.
"He was born prematurely."
To be a good surgeon, you need to learn distance.
Cut, suture, close.
The incident discovered on hospital property.
"His internal organs were underdeveloped. He lived for ... six days."
He doesn't have to meet the detectives' eyes to know what their faces will look like. It's the Tragedy Olympics, special baby version. They'll win. They always win
"I'm very sorry."
The detective gestures at the strip of red cloth. "So this is -"
"It's his, it just - it wasn't finished. You can see here where she made the first stitch for the N. It, uh, it would have been his name."
Except that they ran out of time.
The detective frowns at the letters, reads aloud: "Row-"
Derek cuts him off before he can speak the name: "Rowan."
It's the first time he's said his son's name aloud in - long enough for it to taste strange on his tongue. Unfamiliar.
Rowan.
Rowan Christopher Montgomery Shepherd.
They went back and forth on names for weeks. He found two middle names pretentious; she considered hyphenated surnames tacky. She lobbied for Rowan - "It works for a boy or a girl," she beamed, prompting him to question why that mattered when they would find the sex out halfway through the pregnancy anyway. At her scowl he kissed her, assured her he liked the name just fine. Truthfully, he preferred Christopher Rowan, but she insisted Rowan Christopher was the better choice.
"Otherwise it sounds too much like Christopher Robin," she pointed out.
"Who?" he asked, and she shook her head in amazement.
"Christopher Robin? The Hundred Acre Wood? Winnie the Pooh?" He shook his head to indicate his lack of recognition. "Honey, these are things you're going to have to know when your son is born."
Her tone was light, teasing, but it stuck with him. He slipped out of the hospital on a rare break, bought the Winnie the Pooh Treasury at Barnes and Noble and left it in the nursery for her as a surprise. She was asleep when he got home the next night but when he crawled into bed after her she rolled over into his arms and molded herself to him, all long limbs and growing belly, and whispered: I love it.
During the agonizing six days their son lived, he read to him from the book while Addison slowly regained her strength.
Neither of them managed to speak at his funeral. Not publicly, and not to each other. But the pastor read from A.A. Milne: Promise me you'll never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.
As he listened to the muffled sounds from the pews surrounding him and maintained a grip at his wife's ramrod-stiff back, the painful parallel washed over him like tears. Rowan, the pastor seemed to be saying, had been able to let go because he knew his parents would always remember him.
Promise me you'll never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.
What would his son think now of that promise? Would it seem that, like so many others, it had been broken?
I didn't forget you. The thought rises unbidden, fierce. It was just too hard.
So I just stopped remembering.
But this is what he has learned: that sometimes you don't have to do anything to break a promise. A promise can be broken just as easily by doing nothing at all.
The detective's voice cuts into his thoughts: "Your wife - newborns are her specialty, is that right?"
Thanks for twisting the knife, Detective. "Yes," he says briefly.
"Losing a baby like that must have been terrible. I'm sorry to hear it."
Canned words. Canned thoughts.
The thing is, they don't even know the worst part. But at least they've stopped asking questions.
"Thank you," Derek says briefly.
When he looks up, the expression in the detectives' eyes is familiar. Pity. Understanding. Like he gets them. Understands what they went through. It's how people look when they know.
With the painful click of something falling into place, he wonders if that's one of the things that drew him so strongly to Meredith.
She didn't know.
He swallows hard on the unwelcome thought that this is no longer the case.
"Can I keep it?" he asks quietly, still holding the evidence bag. The words stick in his throat.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Shepherd, but it's evidence and we need to preserve the chain of custody."
Oh. Of course. He keeps his tone as even as he can, fingers the familiar embroidery through the plastic. "After the, um-"
"We'll take good care of it until the investigation is closed," the detective says kindly, holding out a large palm. Carefully, Derek passes over the bag.
It always feels like too soon to say good-bye.
He walks slowly down the hall, feeling disconnected from time and space. The embroidery. The red cloth. The last time he'd seen it - but now here it is again. It followed them here, like everything else he thought he could leave behind in New York.
He has the feeling he remembers as an intern, that he is moving slowly while the rest of the hospital speeds around him. Exhaustion. He knows, clinically, that he should sleep at some point. He meets briefly with the surgical team first and confirms they'll start first thing in the morning. She's been dosed with medication to ensure she sleeps tonight, but he can see her before she goes to pre-op.
He sets an alarm, stretches out on a less-than-comfortable on-call room bed, and forces himself to sleep. To be a surgeon, you have to be able to sleep even when you don't want to. You can't cut if you can't concentrate and you can't concentrate if you don't steal every last possible moment to let your body regenerate itself.
The sleep is thankfully dreamless. Three hours, just like that: and then the morning light wakes him. He's slept alone at a hospital more nights than he can count, but he's also slept beside Addison for the better part of the last decade and a half. He forgets she's not there sometimes, like a phantom limb, and he rolls over alone in the narrow bed, rises, and tracks the bustling halls to her secluded room.
Liu is walking out of Addison's room as he approaches.
"How is she?"
"Vitals are holding. She's awake. They're going to take her down for prep in a few minutes."
Her visible eye is closed when he walks in, despite the doctor's comment, and he takes a moment to study her face. As he has been trained to do, he looks at the covered flesh and sees the images he reviewed onscreen. The damage underneath. He's comfortable with the plan: they're going to deal with the compound fracture of her arm and the burn team will do some exploratory work on the damage to her right side. The bones in her face will be preliminarily set in this initial procedure, with more work to come. He watches her chest right and fall under the blanket. He doesn't know how aware she is, and the responsibility of telling her settles on him like a weight.
He's reaching a hand toward her, intending to touch her good arm, when her uninjured eye opens. Soft pale blue today, almost no hint of green.
"Derek?" her voice is soft.
"Hi." He adjusts the blanket so it's even, covering her up to the neck with just her good left arm exposed.
"Are - are my parents here?" she asks, just like the last time. He touches her hand lightly. Just like the last time, he wonders whether the truth or a lie will hurt her more.
"No," he says quietly. "They're not."
She blinks, lifting her chin in a kind of half nod.
"Do you want me to call them?" It's been so long - more than four years - he's not sure what he'll do if she says yes.
"No, I - they're busy. I don't - it's too far."
"Because we're in Seattle." He searches her face for recognition. "You know that, right?"
"Seattle," she repeats slowly. "I know."
He brushes her fingers again. "What else do you remember, Addie?"
Her eyes remain open, technically, but any readable expression within them disappears. "I don't know."
He knows her and he knows the effects of sedation and he can tell the difference. He studies her face and waits, and she says nothing. But like so many times in their marriage, he lets the lie go. He hopes this one won't fester. He just looks at her, thinking of the red square of embroidery cloth, the unfinished name. Thinks of her stashing it in the rental car, refusing to leave without it. Almost giving up her life for it. They'll have to talk about it eventually, perhaps. But - also like many times in their marriage - he chooses to talk about medicine instead.
"Addison, they're going to prep you for surgery. Did Dr. Liu explain everything?"
"Yeah." Her lips curve in what could be a smile if her face were less swollen. "You going to watch?"
He turns her fingers over carefully in his hand. "Do you want me to?"
"No. I don't know. I-"
"It's okay." He releases her hand and touches her cheek gently. "Just - I don't want you to worry about anything until you're out, okay?"
"What if I don't - if I still can't remember what happened?" Her eyes search his. She wants absolution, he thinks, the forgiveness he's withheld since the night he slammed the the door of their brownstone behind him.
"If you don't remember, then you don't remember."
It's the best he can do.
"I'm so tired, I..." Her visible eye flutters shut again. "Is it -" the eye opens. "Is it bad, Derek?"
"You have a good team, Addison. A great team. They're going to take care of you. Everything's going to be fine."
He leans over her, intending to kiss her forehead, and she blinks. "Archer."
"Addison." Alarmed, he taps lightly at her cheek. "Look at me. Who am I?"
"No, I - I want you to - call him. Archer. Will you call him?"
He hesitates only for a second. "Of course. If you want me to."
"Derek, be - nice to him."
He runs his thumb lightly over her uninjured cheekbone. "I'm glad you can still nag me when you're half sedated. I think it's a good sign for your recovery."
She makes that half smile again.
"Are you trying to laugh?" His fingers linger on her cheek. He's always loved the softness of her skin. He bites down the thought, tries not to think of her injuries.
"I still have a... sense of humor." Her words are labored, but she sounds, underneath it, like herself. He smiles back at her.
"Good. I'm glad." He looks up to see a resident and a nurse at the window waiting for his signal. "They're going to take you in now. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Derek, wait!" she closes her fingers around his hand anxiously as he pulls back and he leans over her.
"Hey, calm down."
Her voice is a whisper. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. What did you want to tell me, Addie?"
Her voice is even softer this time; he has to put his face very close to hers to hear her words: "That is what I wanted to tell you."
Her eye is welling up and he dabs lightly at it with the back of his fingers.
It's easier to distance himself when she's not speaking, when he's evaluating her sleeping form or the scans of her injuries as he would any patient. When she talks - when it's her inimitable voice; really, it was that voice that first drew him to her - then it's harder to pretend it's anyone but Addison under the disfiguring bandages and swelling.
He brings his face closer to hers, makes quiet shushing sounds. "I want you to relax now. Can you do that for me? Everything else can wait."
She nods, very slightly, and he presses his lips to her forehead. "Good."
He watches them roll her away and the he stands in her empty room, one hand resting on the cold plastic rail of her bed. Addison in surgery. He shakes his head.
Four and a Half Years Earlier
"Where is she?"
Chief Herman stops him with a hand on his chest. "Shepherd, slow down. Shepherd!"
"Is she all right? What happened?"
"She collapsed in the OR. There was a rupture-" Derek falls silent as he explains.
"Can I see her?" The words scratch his throat.
"She's already under. Shepherd, we don't have much time. You need to decide what you want to do."
"Tell me again." He holds the pen so tightly he fears for a moment it might snap in two. "The choices."
"We can do a Palmer - try to repair the tear." The Head of Neonatal. He knows her, but he's never spoken to her like this. Her voice is patient but urgent. "It's risky, but it does sometimes allow the baby to remain in utero longer. She's barely at twenty-three weeks. There's a possibility we could give the baby more time to grow. Or we can deliver now."
"The risks - of the surgery?"
"The baby could lose blood flow during the procedure. And she could - there are risks. She could bleed out. Sepsis. There's a risk of mortality."
"How high a risk?"
"A higher risk than most people would be willing to take."
"And if we deliver?"
"We transfuse her and stop the blood loss, but the baby will have to survive on its own. Twenty-three weeks is the cusp of viability. And we won't be able to analyze if any congenital issues are present until after delivery."
He stands frozen. All the planning, the Consumer Reports on cribs, the baby-proofing expert they'd hired as half a laugh, all the preparation, the certainty they could have it all, and he's powerless to make a decision.
Chief Herman stands by his side; the head of Neonatal, her arms folded, is waiting.
"If it were my wife, my child - I would sign," the Chief says quietly.
He's sitting alone with his head in his hands when the familiar voices intrude on the silence.
"Derek! We came as soon as - how is she?"
He sits up slowly. "She's in surgery. They're -"
"What happened?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know, Mom. It just - sometimes these things just happen."
She touches his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks."
"Do you want me to try her parents again, honey?"
He shakes his head.
"Derek." Nancy's there too, and she hugs him. He's too preoccupied to put his arms around her, but what he notices when she pulls back is that there are tears in his eyes. In the eyes of his sister, the experienced obstetrician, and that - more than anything - is what the curdles the anxiety in his stomach into true terror.
He grips the back of a chair, tries to control his breathing. In front of him, his mother's broad, kind face is lined with worry. She fiddles with something in her purse; a corner of red fabric peeks up from the battered black leather. He watches her rub it between two fingers and finally asks.
"What is that?"
"Nothing." She stuffs it back inside her bag hurriedly. "I was just working on - it's nothing."
"Can we do anything?" Nancy hovers.
"No." He shakes his head. "We just have to let the surgeons do their job."
Let the surgeons to their job. He thinks about this as he leaves her room. They'll let him know before they start operating, so he can watch if he still wants to.
He sees Mark - the hospital feels like a maze today, like he can't avoid anything. Or maybe he doesn't want to avoid him, because to his surprise, Mark is sitting where he's supposed to be - at the viewing table - and his posture looks defeated.
Derek, I'm so sorry, man. I saw the board, I came as soon as I got out of the OR. I don't understand what happened.
Me neither, he'd said then. Or had it been: Neither do we. Not that different, really.
Or maybe it made all the difference in the world.
"How is she?" Mark asks now, all trace of mocking gone from his tone.
"Same." Derek sees Bailey approaching and nods for her to join them. "Surgery's this morning."
"Who's on the team?"
Bailey looks at Derek, who nods his approval tiredly. "Glazer's supervising. Vincent. Liu."
"Glazer's good." Mark pauses. "He's good, but I'm better."
Bailey cuts in: "Dr. Sloan, I don't know how you do it in New York, but as I know Chief Webber told you, we do not allow patients in this hospital to be treated by family, close friends or - whatever it is that you are."
"So what can I-"
"If Derek okays it, you can watch from the gallery with him."
Mark jerks his thumb at Bailey, turning to Derek. "Am I wrong or is she just a resident?"
Derek shrugs, catching what almost looks like a wink from Bailey. "Welcome to Seattle."
Mark opens his mouth, then closes it. Finally, he turns back to Derek. "Can I watch?"
Derek looks away from his pleading eyes, nodding shortly. "Fine. Someone will let you know when it's time."
"Thank you for the scans," Mark says quietly.
Derek nods shortly.
"Did you tell Addison that I'm-"
"Don't push it, Mark."
As Mark walks off, Bailey looks with interest at Derek.
"I let him see the scans," Derek admits.
Bailey doesn't say anything.
"Mark - I let him see the scans," he says again when she doesn't respond.
She nods. "I guess you care about her more than you hate him."
"Yeah, I - wait, what did you say?" He frowns. "That's what Mark said."
She turns wide eyes on him, shrugging. "I guess it's a popular thought."
"Dr. Bailey-"
"I'm just going to go check on the pre-op team."
"Dr. Bailey!"
She disappears, crossing paths with Meredith, who's carrying what he now recognizes as Addison's file. He nods at her.
"You scrubbing in?"
"I don't know."
He nods, accepting it. "Have you slept?"
"Have you?"
He shrugs. "Enough."
"You let him look at the scans," she says quietly.
He nods.
"That was - he does seem to know what he's doing."
"I see you talked to Mark."
"No - well, a little. Just when he was looking at the scans."
"Did he-" Derek breaks off, unsure how to end the sentence. Behave? No, that's not right.
"He was all business. There was an orderly with him."
"Not a female orderly, I hope."
Meredith smiles tiredly. "A guy, actually."
"Good."
"He said he's the best at what he does."
"Have you met a surgeon yet who doesn't say that?"
"No." She laughs shortly. "Is it true? For him?"
He nods reluctantly. "He's very good. In the OR, that is."
"Are you going to let him talk to the team?"
"It's only exploratory at this point - the part he'd be concerned about. Before the second - well, if he has insights, he can bring them to me."
"Right." She nods. "Are you - how are you doing?"
There's no real answer to that, of course. He taps distractedly at the wheel of his blackberry.
"I'm sorry about everything."
He glances up at her now. Everyone's sorry. "Everything?" he repeats.
"Well, Addison, and - having Mark here. I know that's - hard for you."
Derek nods. "He was my best friend. Well," he allows himself one mirthless chuckle, "so was she. So, you know." He pauses. "Things change."
She nods. "Yeah. I do know."
Three Years Earlier
"You could have called."
Her words slam into him like the door he releases, hard, letting a gust of winter wind blow it closed with a resounding crash.
"I'm tired. Let's not argue." His cheeks are burning from the central heat in the foyer, still cold under the skin. It's chilly mid-December. It will be Christmas soon, and if that doesn't improve her mood - nothing will.
Typically, she chooses only to address the first part: "Well, I'm tired too."
"Addison." He sighs. "I have been standing in an OR for the last nine hours."
"And what do you think I'm doing when I'm in the OR, Derek? Sitting in a rocking chair with a fetus, playing pat-a-cake and feeding it strained peas?"
There's a moment of silence, her jab too close to the thing they don't talk about, and he attempts to make a joke even though he knows he should accept the night's a lost cause.
"So you really don't find brain surgery impressive at all?"
"You think this is funny?"
"No, Addison." He keeps his tone as patient as possible, despite the headache growing at the bridge of his nose. "I think it's ridiculous. I said I was sorry-"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"You actually didn't say you were sorry. You said you were tired."
"I am tired."
"But not sorry."
"Addison."
"Just want to be clear."
He looks her up and down briefly. Her posture seems poised for a fight. He's anything but. "I'm going to bed."
"Because you're tired."
"Exactly."
"But not sorry."
I'm sorry I came home at all.
The thought surprises him. He's not a man normally surprised by his own instincts. He's a thinker, a planner, and he pauses for a minute to see if he can gauge when banter, or maybe nagging, started to turn into a real argument. They'd been arguing less, lately, but - she's standing there, brow quirked, waiting for him to say something. He steps forward and kisses her cheek.
"Good night."
"Are you punishing me for Connecticut, Derek?" She calls it after him as he approaches the staircase. He doesn't turn around. "Because I'm not changing my mind."
Of course not.
He hears her behind him as he climbs the stairs, but doesn't turn around.
"Derek. Are you listening to me?"
He pauses outside the door to their bedroom, stops her with a hand on her shoulder. His mother liked to tell him never to go to bed angry. But he's not angry, exactly. He's just - tired.
"I have to be up in four hours, Addison. I need sleep. I need quiet."
She looks stung and he regrets it for a moment until she starts in again.
"What about what I need?"
"Can it wait another night, please?"
"Of course it can. It's waited all this time."
He chooses to read her sarcasm as sincerity and releases her shoulder, opening the bedroom door.
Her movements are fast and furious as she readies herself for bed, disappears into the en-suite and doesn't come out until he's already under the covers, most of the room in darkness except for her bedside lamp. She slides under the covers, the rasp of silk against cotton sheets. She's wearing those shiny, slippery red pajamas that make it impossible to hold onto her - not that he plans to make any attempts tonight - the ones he used to jokingly call her stop sign.
"Addie."
"Now you want to talk?" Her voice sounds muffled.
"Your lamp."
"Oh. Of course."
His eyes are screwed tight against the glare, but he hears the pull and release of the chain as the room descends into welcome darkness and even more welcome silence. He's nearly asleep, half his mind walking through the steps of the craniotomy he's performing in the morning, when he hears it.
Another sound escapes from her side of the bed and he presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, willing away his annoyance. When he opens his eyes, there's just enough moonlight to see shadowy silhouettes: her face pressed into her pillow, not muffling everything.
"Addison." He sighs. It's so like her. He counts to ten, silently.
"Addison, stop."
She ignores him.
Rolling onto his side, he reaches across the bed to touch her shaking shoulder and she pulls away. His fingers slide off the silky fabric. Frustrated, he drops back against his pillows.
What does she want from me?
"I'm still doing this. I'm not changing my mind." The words are muffled by her pillow and he lets them linger unanswered, doesn't try to touch her again.
He pretends her sniffles are white noise and his guilt is exhaustion as he drifts off to sleep.
He doesn't see her again for two days. They're on reverse schedules, one procedure after another, and when they finally pass each other on the third floor hallway of the hospital it could be dawn or dusk. Her open white coat reveals a shiny blue dress and her heels so high he has to tilt his chin to kiss her cheek.
"Rain check?"
She shrugs, looking at her blackberry. "Probably too difficult to plan. We'll just do it spontaneously next time we're both off."
He's somewhat taken aback, but pleased. "Well, that's ... very understanding of you."
She slides her blackberry into the pocket of her lab coat. "Don't sound so surprised."
Her shoes are loud on the linoleum floors.
She doesn't change her mind.
Meredith is watching him with an expression he can't identify. "So I'm, uh, I think I'm not going to scrub in."
"Oh." So she's decided. "Why not? It could be an interesting procedure."
"I think it's probably better if I don't. I've been here twenty-four hours; I'm still on the case, I just - well, I can watch."
"Derek!" Mark's voice interrupts before he can answer Meredith. He's striding toward Derek, Bailey hot on his heels.
"I need to talk to the surgical team."
"Forget it. I said you could see the scans. She has a highly trained team and I've reviewed their plan. They don't need you in there, Mark."
"She needs me."
Derek closes his sore fist in the pocket of his lab coat, hard. "She is in good hands."
Mark meets his eyes. "The police talked to me."
"I heard. I'm sure you told them all sorts of terrible things about me."
"Nothing but. I'm supposed to go talk to them again after she - well, after she's in surgery."
"Good for you."
Bailey looks from one of them to the other. "If you two don't mind, I'm going to head down to the OR."
"I want in," Mark insists.
Bailey raises an eyebrow. "
"I thought we already discussed this issue."
"I think it was still open," Mark begins and Derek turns away in frustration, grateful when Bailey handles it.
"Look, Dr. - Sloan, I don't know you. I don't know what you and Addison may or may not have talked about. But she's married to Dr. Shepherd. She is seriously injured. Her medical decisions are in his hands. If you want a role in her recovery, you'd better figure out a way to make sure it doesn't interfere with the work of this hospital or the wishes of her medical proxy."
He looks down. "I just want to see her."
"I'm sure you do, but that doesn't mean you get to see her. And if this -" she gestures between the two men - "squabble, or spat, or whatever it is interferes with her care, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the hospital."
"Fine. Forget the squabble. But if I can't get in there, then I need to talk to you before she goes into surgery."
"To me," Bailey repeats doubtfully. Mark nods.
Bailey looks at the clock. "You have... four minutes, then. Go."
Mark glances sideways at Derek. "Alone."
Derek raises his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"Dr. Sloan, I can't ask her husband-"
"Dr. Bailey, please trust me on this."
"Yes, you should - he's very trustworthy," Derek interjects dryly.
Bailey looks from one of them to the other.
"Please." Mark's face is set, serious.
Derek shakes his head. "Fine," he says, but he doesn't move. Mark reaches for Bailey's arm, then draws it back before making contact and leads her instead with a jerk of his chin. They're far enough away that Derek can't hear, and he stands fuming quietly, wondering why Mark still can't get out of their marriage. Why he's still a part of them, despite traveling three thousand miles.
They called you?
It's not like you were answering your pager, Derek.
Sometimes things you don't talk about can tie you together more than you'd think. He lets himself remember for a moment, losing himself in his thoughts. His head snaps up when they separate.
Bailey's expression is blank and neutral.
"What is it?" Derek looks from one of them to the other, annoyed. "Dr. Bailey-"
"Dr. Shepherd, I'm going to go scrub in."
"Can someone please tell me what's going on here?"
Bailey's expression doesn't change. "I need to go scrub in."
Derek stands helplessly as she walks away. Once again, he has no idea what's going on.
What information could Mark possibly have to give to Bailey that she wouldn't in turn share with Derek?
He looks again from Mark's flushed face - he won't meet his eye - to Bailey's retreating back.
He tracks what he knows in his mind, takes apart the information like the highly-trained surgeon he is:
Information the surgical team might need. Information Mark knows - that Derek doesn't know. That Bailey won't release to Derek, even though he's her husband.
For a flash of a second it crosses his mind - only a second - pregnant? - but no, it can't be: he tamps that down when he remembers he's seen the evidence she's not, shaking his head at his own ridiculous assumption. But then what could-
Oh.
Like in the OR, it just clicks into place.
And then, for the second time in recent memory, everything he knows just shifts.
Reviews are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated. Haven't reviewed before? Surprise me and say hi.
Next time: Derek deals with what he learned at the end of this chapter. Also: more about Mark's conversation with the police, more present-day Addison as she comes out of surgery, and additional insight into Mark, Addison and Derek in New York.
