I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated this story! Meatspace is more hectic these days, so I don't have the luxury of updating whenever I want to (because believe me, I always want to update!). Thank you for sticking with this story, and me, and still loving Addek after all these years as much as I do!


Belonging


She freezes, her voice coming out as a squeak. "You know?"

He smiles at her. "I know."

"How … "

"It's pretty obvious. Isn't it?"

She returns his smile weakly. So much for her Oscar-worthy performance, so much for Bizzy's supposedly helpful tips, so much for instinct.

Derek looks pensive for a moment. "I guess the main giveaway is your hair."

"My hair?"

Does that mean she arrived in this universe with shorter hair than the Addison who used to sleep in this bed? Isn't that something the spirit-guide version of Bizzy could have fixed – especially considering her feelings on Addison's shorter haircut?

Derek nods. "Your hair. Or more specifically … the lack of those – feathered little bangs."

He brushes her forehead with his fingertips.

"Feathered bangs?" She's confused. "I haven't had those since nineteen…"

... ninety-four.

Oh.

She looks at Derek's twinkling blue eyes. "Just to be clear … I prefer you to the woman I married," he adds, and then his eyes change, looking concerned.

He must have noticed the tears in hers.

Swiftly she pushes the emotion down. "My hair has definitely improved … but I think yours improved more," she teases him.

"All thanks to you. You took me to that salon."

"You balked."

"I balked," he admits, "but I gave in, didn't I?"

"You did." She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. "And you never looked back."

But I'm looking back. I'm looking back and wondering what I'm supposed to fix. What did I do wrong?

… and then it comes slamming back to her. Mark. Mark, who's going to be waiting for her in the morning.

And Derek, who's looking at her now with intent in his eyes.

Does it always come back to Mark, and Derek?

He's kissing her now but she can't melt into it because even though his lips are warm and his hands deliciously familiar, she feels like she's … cheating.

Cheating on the real Addison, the one who should be here.

She's wondering whether she's fated to be a cheater in every universe when she hears a cry from down the hall and they jump apart.

"I'll go," she says quickly, needing space to gather herself, and she hastily straightens her pajama top on her way out of the room.

It's Ellie who cried out, and she finds her sitting up in bed teary-eyed amidst a mountain of plush toys and rumpled polka-dot sheets; she holds out both small hands the moment she sees Addison.

"Mommy," she whimpers, and Addison feels a powerful rush of protectiveness, motherhood is instinct, and she gathers the little girl into her arms.

As she rocks her and feels their heartbeats matching each other's rhythm she's lulled herself, feeling the faintest tips of memories of soothing Ellie to sleep in the glider that still sits in the corner of her room.

She waits until Ellie is deeply asleep to tuck her back into bed and finds herself guiltily relieved that Derek, too, is slumbering when she returns to the bedroom. He drapes a sleepy arm over her waist when she crawls in beside him and the warmth of his body soothes her quickly to sleep.

It's going to be hard going back to an alarm clock.

When she leaves – because this isn't real, this place, this family home into which she was thrust – it's going to be hard.

She's slipping, she's letting herself get used to being wakened by excited voices and little hands patting her and dips in the bed as her children crawl over them to tell them it's morning.

Early morning.

"I'm hungry," Ellie says cheerfully, lolling against her, no sign of her bad dream from the night before. Addison finds herself playing with the ends of her silky reddish-brown hair, enjoying the coziness of the bed and both children's little voices.

It's my turn to make breakfast.

This thought pops into her head and she can tell from Derek's expression it's accurate. Damn.

"Can I help?" Nicky asks eagerly.

Yes, please. I need all the help I can get.

"You sure can," she tells him gratefully.

In the kitchen, they face each other in aprons – it took her two tries to get hers tied correctly, but luckily Nicky didn't seem to notice.

"What are we making, Mommy?"

Nicky is looking at her with bright guileless eyes and the import of his words sinks in. Making. "Um … remind me what we made last time, sweetie?"

"Apple-zucchini muffins," he tells her solemnly, then closes his eyes at the apparently sweet memory. "They were so yummy."

"Right." She smiles at him.

So this Addison makes muffins. Of course she does.

She wonders if Derek would notice if she spirited Nicky into a cab and whipped through the park to Zabar's. That's kind of like cooking, isn't it?

… probably not to the apron-wearing Nicky or the two Shepherds waiting for them upstairs. She closes her own eyes for a moment, briefly, and summons strength from every time she convinced a child patient that an IV was a magical butterfly or one of her nieces that the bee that stung them was just trying to give them superpowers.

"Nicky," she says conspiratorially, "you know what I just thought of … but I don't know if it will work…"

"What?"

"We could make … no, I'm not sure."

"What is it?" He bounces eagerly on his toes.

She leans closer and lowers her voice to an excited whisper. "Cereal."

Nicky looks puzzled for a moment, and then her enthusiasm apparently catches on. "Yeah!"

She sends a grateful prayer to whoever's listening – Bizzy? – that this sweet little boy is easy to distract and then she makes a big production of finding bananas and blueberries to add to the cereal. Of course Derek has a box of muesli – he hasn't changed that much in this universe – and there are corn flakes, too.

She grandly suggests that Nicky select bowls for the four of them – which makes him happy, but also keeps her from looking foolish the way she did when she had to find Ellie's favorite cup. Then Nick wants to slice the bananas, and she hesitantly finds the dullest knife she can.

"No, I need my knife. My knife doesn't have the things." Nicky points to the serrated edge of the one she's holding. "See?" Patiently, he shows her where his little knife sits in the drawer.

After breakfast of cereal and fruit – Ellie is immediately enraptured with their "cooking" and Derek at least pretends to be, as far as she can tell – and Addison falls a bit more in love with both children.

Maybe with all three of them, come to think.

Derek cleans up and there's time to admire the fragrant tree and discuss the plan to decorate it this afternoon, and then she excuses herself to get ready.

For … pilates.

With a lump in her stomach that comes from lying – which seems strange, since her whole existence in this universe is a lie – she treks upstairs alone to find that this Addison keeps her exercise clothes in the same place she herself did in the brownstone. For some reason … it's comforting.

At the door she adds cozy shearling boots and a slim-fitted down coat that she didn't buy, but she finds she likes.

"Thank you," she says as Derek leans over to kiss her goodbye.

"For what?"

Everything.

"For liking breakfast," she says a little mischievously, wondering if she's playing too close to the edge, but he chuckles.

"Not every morning is a muffin morning."

"Did you read that in a fortune cookie?"

"Don't mock my wisdom," he teases. "I didn't mock your cereal."

"Fair's fair," she agrees.

They smile at each other and for a fleeting second she forgets it's not real.

Then the children pull at her for goodbye hugs and she remembers.

9:30 at Café Luna. 9:30 at Café Luna. She recites this to herself on the way. It doesn't sound so terrible … does it?

But then neither did Mark dropping by on a weekend afternoon to watch the game.

The man himself is already at the counter when she gets there, wearing the leather jacket that's as familiar to her as he is, and she lifts a weak hand in greeting.

"You made it," he says when she reaches his side.

Was he wondering?

"Last night it seemed like you might have changed your mind."

"I didn't change my mind," she says bravely.

Because she's decided that if this Addison is … reckless enough to endanger the family in the brownstone she left behind, then she must be here to stop it.

And she's going to stop it.

As soon as she figures out what it is.

Mark hands her a coffee – the way she likes it. But then she sees him dumping sugar into his coffee, the strangest thing he's done in this universe yet, and also ordering a bacon, egg, and cheese.

Apparently this Mark doesn't treat his body like a temple, but then neither did the other Mark until he turned 35 and his metabolism stopped cooperating. Maybe in this dream-world everyone can eat what they want without getting fat.

… it's certainly no stranger than a happy Bizzy.

He leads her outside with a coffee in each hand – somewhat extreme even for Mark, but she's seen him do it before.

Where are we going?

She can't ask it so she just follows him a quarter of a step behind, her heart thumping, and then almost skids into him when he stops on the corner.

And hands the sandwich, wrapped in a paper bag, and the sweetened coffee to a weathered man wrapped in an insulated sleeping bag. He greets Mark like he knows him and they chat for a moment.

"Temp's going to dip below freezing tonight, Ronnie. You're going to go to St. Gregory's to sleep, right?"

"Too noisy in there," the man mutters.

"I know, but just for the night, because it's too cold."

He nods. "Okay, doc, okay."

"Good." Mark smiles at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Ronnie nods again, blinking rapidly. "Same bat time, same bat channel?"

"You got it. St. Gregory's, don't forget now."

"St. Gregory's," Ronnie echoes, then seems to notice Addison for the first time and his eyes widen.

He looks – frightened, and she takes a step back, bumping into Mark, who touches her shoulder.

"You," Ronnie mutters, staring at Addison like he's seen a ghost. "You don't belong here."

Addison glances nervously at Mark.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Addison heart is thumping. "I … "

"Ronnie, it's okay," Mark says calmly. "It's just Dr. Shepherd, you know her."

"No. No, she's wrong. Look at her, man. Can't you see it? She's the wrong one."

"Okay, Ronnie, we'll keep that in mind," Mark says calmly. "Come on," he tells Addison, pulling her gently away down the sidewalk.

Her breath is leaving her mouth harshly in visible puffs of cold air.

"It's okay, Addie." He seems surprised by her reaction. "Ronnie's a good guy, you know him. He was just confused."

"So he's … said that before," Addison suggests hesitantly as they walk. "To me, I mean, or to you?"

"No," Mark shakes his head, "but why does it matter?"

"It doesn't," she lies numbly.

They end up in the garage where Mark leaves his car and she climbs into the passenger side, balancing her coffee and her doubts. She has to stay focused.

She has to stop this Addison from sleeping with Mark. She can do that.

It should be easy.

Because she remembers how she felt before she slept with him the first time. A growing, gnawing pit of despair in her stomach. She was tense all the time. Her jaw hurt. She and Derek moved through the brownstone like strangers; they slept alone most nights. They didn't bother to fight, not anymore, just cold words.

She was lonely. So, so lonely. Desperate to feel wanted, loved. To feel the touch of another person. Not to sleep alone. Empty.

Mostly … she felt empty.

But this Addison? This life? Her husband pays attention to her, the house is alive with laughter and voices and love. How could she blow up this marriage? How could she sacrifice all that happiness, those two sweet children?

"Addison … you're still acting strange." Mark signals and eases the car onto the street. "You still afraid we're going to get caught?"

"Maybe."

She wonders if that noncommittal answer will help her understand what's going on.

"Don't be," he says carelessly. "Luckily, your husband has been clueless so far. Or maybe you lucked out picking me."

"Picking you," she repeats faintly.

"You know what, Addie? I think you might need a coffee refill before we do anything. You still seem half asleep."

No. You don't understand. I was half asleep before, in the other universe. Here … I'm wide awake.

She gives him a weak smile and gulps her coffee. Maybe the extra caffeine will help. She still has no idea where he's taking her.

He starts talking about one of his residents – it's an amusing story, lighthearted and full of colorful detail, and it distracts her.

Mark was always good at distracting her.

She hardly notices the car easing onto the highway; the bridge passes unobserved. She hardly notices anything until he pulls into a vast parking lot she doesn't recognize – they can't be in the city, they're so much room.

Apparently they're here.

Wherever here is, because she still has no idea where they are. They've parked near what looks like a massive warehouse.

Is it a … hotel?

It certainly doesn't look like anything good is happening inside.

And it doesn't smell particularly good, either.

She remembers that her affair with Mark wasn't exactly romantic – there was anger on both sides, there was carelessness, it wasn't flowers-and-candy so much as desks-and-liquor, but still … she has trouble imagining him bringing her to an odorous warehouse for a rendezvous.

Which means there's a chance …

"Addison."

Mark is giving her that same look, the why are you being so weird look, and she tries to seem as normal as she can.

He hands her a pair of wellington boots, which are in the trunk of his car for some reason, and then changes into a pair himself. She watches curiously as he shrugs out of his leather jacket, shivering, and pulls on an insulated barn coat.

Wherever he's taking her has a dress code, it seems. It occurs to her that he might have wanted her to dress for a nonexistent pilates class for that reason. Could they be going to … exercise?

Except she's not aware of any exercise class, even a trendy 21st-century exercise class, that requires wellington boots.

Then he's passing a small bag into her hands, and she doesn't have to look to see what it is. The fragrance is as familiar as anything; it's … toiletries, shower supplies, small containers of her own shampoo and conditioner and lotion. She glances uncertainly at Mark, who shrugs. "You said Derek would notice if you came home smelling different, remember?"

No.

"Yes."

The thing is, she has too many questions to separate them. Her whole life hereis a question so she changes her shoes in the parking lot like it's normal and then lets Mark lead her toward the warehouse.

Here goes nothing.

At least she hopes it's nothing.

Mark pushes open the heavy doors and ushers her in ahead of him.

The first thing she sees when her eyes grow accustomed to the dimmer light in the huge, high ceilinged space is a vast body of water.

A swimming pool?

If so, they need to call the pool boy, because it flat-out reeks. It's as if the entire place is full of –

"Well, if it is isn't my favorite fishermen!"

A large man with a bushy white beard, red plaid flannel shirt and a vest with so many pockets she loses count, greets them enthusiastically.

"Mark! Addison! Great to see you. Glad the time change worked. Your boat is all ready."

A sigh of relief courses through her entire body.

Whatever this is … is utterly bizarre.

But it's not a hotel room.

It's not an affair.

I'm sorry I doubted you, she says silently to the other Addison.

"You okay?" Mark nudges her gently.

"I'm great," she says honestly.

"See? That's why people love to fish," the bearded man says happily. "The way it makes you feel. To think the first time you came here you didn't even want to get in the boat!"

And then she realizes what the boats on the smelly water are for. She sends a few choice words to the other Addison even as she's still smiling with relief.

"If you still want to learn to fish before Christmas … there's no time to waste," the bearded man says. His voice is gruff but his eyes are twinkling. "I think today's your day, Addison. Even Mitzi managed to catch one last weekend."

A blonde with perfectly highlighted hair and a ridiculously expensive jacket that really doesn't belong anywhere in this smelly space waves a manicured hand smugly in response. She's already in her boat and somehow looks comfortable despite her out-of-place outfit.

Addison stands up straighter. That's a dare if she's ever heard one. She forgets to wonder why she needs to learn before Christmas and vows to beat this Mitzi character.

She doesn't speak again until the bearded man has helped her into the boat – there are three other boats on the water, one other two-seater and the others with just one trainee fisherman each, including Mitzi.

Mark has just finished loading the gear onto the boat and she's trying very hard not to think about what's inside their tackle box.

"You're handling this pretty well," Mark observes, looking like he's trying not to laugh at her.

"What do you mean?"

Mark cocks his head. "It's the first week you haven't chanted it's for Derek, it's for Derek when you got near the water."

"It's for Derek," she finds herself repeating, putting it together. "I'm doing this for Derek."

Mark rolls his eyes. "I guess I spoke too soon."

"So that means Derek and I, it means we really are … perfect," she marvels softly, forgetting for a moment that Mark is there.

"Perfect?" Mark's expression turns serious. "No. You're not," he says.

She gulps. "Mark –"

"Okay, folks, hold on tight!"

The bearded man grins and gives the boat a firm push with a booted foot … and in one stomach-sinking swoop, they're off.


To be continued (faster this time, I hope!). As always, I love hearing your thoughts so please share them with me! Reviews are the hot buttered rum to my August Christmas spirit.