A/N: You guys, I'm so disappointed that I didn't make the Sunday cutoff - but can I get a bye since today is technically a holiday/three-day-weekend type of thing in the US? So it's kind of a de facto Sunday? Whatever day it is in your neck of the woods, I thank you for reading, responding, and being awesome, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!


Physician, Heal Thyself

Gestational Age: eleven weeks on the nose
Baby is the Size of a: lime (refreshing!)
Baby's Mother Is: sometimes wracked with guilt, very tired, but worryingly happy
Baby's Father Is: more clued in than before, but not completely aware of everything
People at Work Know: nothing (except for husband's ex-girlfriend)
People in New York Know: nothing (except for best friend)
Baby's Mother Is Also: starting to show (not that she's quite ready to admit it)
In Other Words, the Ice They're On Is: thin


"I told him."

She's speaking to Savvy on the phone, in a low voice, from her office. No more porch conversations these days, not when Derek acts like sitting outside alone in the middle of nowhere is somehow the same thing as the middle of Hell's Kitchen. All of a sudden, her safety is of grave concern. Some kind of cave impulse to protect the fruit of his … loins or whatever, but hey, she'll take it.

"You told him?" Savvy sounds impressed. "Really?"

"Really. Well." Addison pauses. "Not all of it, exactly. But some of it. A start."

A fresh start.

She recounts the conversation for Savvy.

"Oh, Addie."

Addison winces. "When you say it like that … it doesn't sound very good."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too." She leans back, crossing her legs, resting a hand on the pregnancy that's starting to show – thank goodness for high-waisted skirts and billowing lab coats.

Savvy is silent – knowing her, just thinking.

"I couldn't tell him the rest of it," Addison admits.

"I understand."

"You do?"

"I know you're scared."

I'm not scared of anything. It's her automatic, claws out, go-to, and god, it's such a lie.

Another lie.

"Yeah." That's all she says: yeah.

She can hear Savvy breathing.

"I, uh, I also told him there were no more surprises."

"… you did."

It's not exactly a question – more like reluctant confirmation.

"I did. But, uh, it's not so bad, right?" she asks, forcing heartiness into her voice. "I just have to make sure Derek never finds out. Just, you know, for the rest of our lives." She tips her head back against the chair, wishing she could have a drink right now. "How long could that be? Another forty years?"

"Fifty, with good medical care."

"I'll cancel all our appointments." Addison sighs into the phone. "I'll take up smoking, and Derek can too, and – I didn't know what else to do, Sav. I just didn't."

"I know," Savvy says quietly.

"If I had told him – "

"I know." Savvy pauses. "But otherwise, Addie? You're – you're okay?"

"Well … my dog is sick." She stops herself before she can say cancer. It seems wrong, somehow, with Savvy on the other end of the line.

"Is it serious?"

Addison is silent for a moment, envisioning the vet's serious face when they went to retrieve Doc from his picturesque little office. She was near tears, but then Doc saw them and barked joyfully, if somewhat less volubly than usual. Derek lifted him up so he wouldn't have to jump and then Addison did cry, but partly with happiness. They took turns greeting the dog before they sat down on the vet's homey-looking couch to have the Difficult Conversation – the one she's had so many times before, but never about a dog.

"Yeah. It's, uh, it's kind of serious." Addison thinks about the warm, friendly weight of Doc's furry body across her legs when they're all stretched out in bed together. Despite his provenance, he's become so very much theirs. She's not ready to let go.

There are options, that's what the vet said.

"But there's hope," Addison says, like a patient instead of a doctor, and Savvy's pleased reaction tells her it was the right move.

After they hang up, she spends as much time as she can muster just sitting at her desk in the low light – no fluorescents, only the greenish glow of the table lamp.

She looks at her left hand, studying her fourth ringer.

The man who put those rings on that finger is the same man who still hasn't put his own ring back on. The one who brushed her off the day she realized she pregnant. And the one who forgave her for not telling him about the pregnancy herself, who said he wanted a fresh start and accepted that she'd slept with Mark more than once.

That's it, she told him, in the hotel room that itself was a surprise, no more surprises.

..

He's there when they draw her blood. Non-invasive prenatal testing, that's what they call it, and it's nothing more than a brief needle stick.

As a doctor, he's not exactly new to the miracles of the human body, but the fact that there are traces of their child's DNA in its mother's blood already … he has to take a moment just to let it sink in.

It takes about a week.

Addison casts a nervous glance at him as they sign out, and he takes her free hand in his as they walk toward the covered garage, tucking it into his arm. She gives him a lopsided smile, the kind that's half something else. She's been all over the place since the night they spent in the hotel, from brushing him off to anxiously clinging to performing one of her trademark diatribes about their substandard living conditions. She's exhausted, he knows this, still nauseated half the time, and now nervous about the prenatal testing as well. He gets it. All he has to do is slide his gaze down her torso where she's concealing their secret to afford her a little generosity.

"You okay, Addie?" he asks as he unlocks the jeep.

"No. I'm high-risk," she says, and ducks into her seat before he can read her expression.

"You're the one who told me high-risk is just a category," he reminds her.

"Yeah, a category of pregnant women who are high risk."

"Addie … ."

"Forget it. We don't know anything yet anyway." She leans her head back against the seat, and he can see her eyes are closed behind her oversized sunglasses.

When he doesn't turn the ignition she opens her eyes again, lowering her sunglasses just enough to look at him. "Are you waiting for something?"

"I'm waiting for you," he says neutrally, not particularly surprised when she tears up.

Mood swings is an understatement of a term, that's what he's learned, though he wouldn't say it out loud for fear of getting a pointy-toed shoe or worse thrown at his skull. Anything relating to tests, particularly those suggested or required based on age, seem to set her off the most.

Now he just waits patiently while she removes her sunglasses and dabs at her eyes.

"Addie."

"Don't tell me to relax." She shakes her head. "Or to try to relax, or – whatever. It's too early to relax."

"It's not that early," he says automatically, glancing at his watch.

"Too early in the pregnancy, Derek!"

"You're eleven weeks."

She looks over her shoulder as if she's trying to make sure no one is spying on them, which would be … well, amusing, and even cute, if he didn't think she'd also hurl a shoe for that particular sentiment.

"I'm eleven weeks," she repeats, "and that's too early. I told you that."

"I know you did," he says patiently. "And I agreed with you, and said we can wait to tell everyone if that's what you want."

"Stop being so reasonable," she scowls.

"Okay, if that's what you want."

"And so – accommodating! Don't accommodate me."

"Can you write this down somewhere?" he asks, patting his pockets for a pen. "And sign it?"

He can't resist teasing her a little; he's recognized the change in her face and sure enough, she smiles now.

"Don't be all … lovable, either," she scolds.

"Well, that one I can't help," he says. He gives her a fairly smug smile as he turns over the ignition. "But I'll try my best."

..

At night, in the dark … that's when he thinks.

A fresh start.

That's what he told Addison, that night in the hotel. That this baby is a fresh start for them.

He didn't miss the relief in her eyes – he may not want to recall it too closely, but he's aware he didn't react quite as calmly to the first news of Addison's adultery. Not that it was news so much as a newsreel, a horrible visual without warning – but no, that reaction was different.

Now, in the light of a new day, with a new baby on the way, with magnanimity, he's willing to see it as a fresh start.

To see her that way: his wife.

She's sleeping right now, next to him, her body curved slightly away. He's tracing the curve of her waist with his hand: they've been battling semi-seriously over the changes their baby is slowly making.

Doc is flopped across the foot of the bed in the area left bare by Addison's drawn-up legs. It feels right, having him at home again. Even if his future is uncertain.

Even if everything is uncertain.

I need to tell you something.

Addison and Mark.

There were a few more times after that.

More than once, more than that night.

A few more times.

A several night stand.

He told her that night it was a fresh start, and he meant it.

But now, tonight, in the trailer … he needs a little time to process it.

To process everything, in fairness. It's always been his way.

In the fifth grade, when Mrs. Weatherfield unexpectedly left midway through to attend to a sudden illness, and Miss Crosby took her place, Mark and the other boys considered this a stroke of luck. Miss Crosby was about half their former teacher's age, with long black hair and a big toothpaste-ad smile and – most importantly – a collection of tight angora sweaters. But Derek was the one who marched up to their new teacher the first week to ask about the status of her contract. How long was she going to be there?

He liked to know what was going to happen. He's never liked surprises.

And that was before.

That was just who he was.

Addison and Mark.

What's odd is that they're emblazoned in his memory … yet somehow impossible to picture together. It's just too strange. So many of his memories from the last decade and a half feature the two of them, in every position from arguing over study techniques in medical school to sharing the front seat when it was Derek's turn to sleep on long drives to playing each other in tennis in the Hamptons when Derek got tired of their incessant smack-talking and left the court for a dip in the pool.

Addison and Mark. But they were just … there. Addison was his, and Mark was also his, and so the three of them were a unit. DerekAndAddison was the natural outgrowth of DerekAndMark, the title of his former, formative years. Then they were DerekAndAddison…AndMark, like that. How could they possibly sever him when he was, ostensibly at least, the one holding both of them together?

His best friend.

What's the duty of a best friend?

Savvy and Weiss are some of their closest friends, their closest adults-in-the-city friends, and he summon any memory that's even remotely comparable other than one time the two couples were having dinner, Weiss was late, and Addison went to warn the maître d', and Savvy – who always kept military-precise time on a simple-looking watch that he wouldn't have known before marrying Addison actually cost about twice as much as his first car – looked at Derek and said something like, I can't believe he's late after how hard it was to get this table.

Derek said something like, he was probably delayed on the train, I know he remembered the reservation, and Savvy looked slightly mollified – maybe thinking of how unpleasant those delays were in high summer, which it was – and then Addison came back to the table and said something like, I took care of it, and she and Savvy exchanged one of their private looks that he knew from experience had something to do with the way they were always getting things from people he didn't quite understand.

And that was that.

Was that how it happened with Addison and Mark? That's what she's implied, anyway, that she was lonely and neglected and Mark was just there, and shouldn't a man's best friend who was just there defend him, in a situation like that? Like he did with Weiss? Tell Addison he was just busy at work, that he knew about their reservations, and their anniversaries, and her awards dinner and his mother's birthday and all of the bits and pieces of things she was always accusing him of forgetting?

How does a man take that opening and use it to get his best friend's wife in bed?

What kind of a man does that?

Derek tries to re-envision that late summer dinner that feels like a lifetime ago, when Savvy complained about Weiss's tardiness. What else would he have said? He tries to imagine taking advantage of the situation. I can't believe he's late either, Sav. Weiss is such an ass. Hey, want to have sex with me instead, since we're waiting anyway?

No, that's laughable. Maybe planting seeds, though: such a shame. I know how long you've waited for this table. Pause, look empathetic: and how busy you are at work.

But he has no interest in sleeping with Savvy, regardless of her objective attractiveness, and before Meredith he had no interest in sleeping with anyone other than Addison. And since Mark was the catalyst for Meredith, really before Mark he had no interest in anyone other than Addison.

It all comes down to Mark.

The man who used to be his brother, whose name now is enough to set his teeth on edge, to make some primeval combination of rage and anxiety hum in his ears.

The good thing is … Mark is gone.

He never has to see him, or talk to him, again.

At least there's that.

..

The results will take a week, and worrying won't make them come faster.

(But that's logic, and pregnancy – at least hers – defies logic.)

And it's not like she gets any distance from pregnancy at work, either.

Addison is well aware that pregnant patients are an occupational hazard when you're a trained OB-GYN, fine. But there are still just so many of them. She's in the pregnancy closet at work – yes, still – and sometimes she thinks she catches the spark of something in a patient's eye.

Something knowing.

And other times she thinks she's just paranoid.

(You can be paranoid even if someone's chasing you – that's the thing.)

And still other times, her patients are perfectly lovely – and exhausted, and harried, and pregnant with their seventh (seventh!) child, and she has to balance medical ethics with her duty to her patient.

Which is fine. She can handle that.

And some of those times … there's a mouthy intern to deal with.

Outside the patient's room, she starts to dress him down. Any points he might have earned with Savvy are long gone at this point.

He just smirks, which makes her see red.

"No offense, but I have no interest in obstetrics or gynecology, Dr. Shepherd. So if you want to throw me off the case, feel free."

"Oh, I feel very free, Dr. Karev, you don't have to worry about that." She keeps her tone calm, but scathing. "One of the many benefits of being a world-class surgeon – I'm sorry, am I supposed to pretend otherwise? Are you only used to hearing the male attendings talk about themselves this way?"

She pauses, enjoying his discomfort.

"Mm. Thought so. Where was I? Right – I've already been an intern, Karev. An excellent one. And a resident, and a fellow, and now I am your attending and you are annoying me. Which is fine – I'm happy to leave black marks all over your record. But you don't take it out on a patient. You keep your mouth shut and you do your job. Understood?"

He looks like he's fighting an internal battle, one she's not particularly interested in, but –

"Understood," he mutters.

She's this close to stalking off but something compels her back into the patient's room.

Rose glances up, looking exhausted.

Understandably so – six children, thirty-eight weeks pregnant?

"Is something wrong, Dr. Shepherd?" she asks nervously. "You're still going to help me, right?"

"Rose." Addison pulls out the chair next to her. "We need to talk."

..

Meredith catches up to him in the hall, surprising him. He didn't even notice her, which is – also a surprise. For months her light, quick footsteps were pretty much all he heard in the hallways.

"How's Doc doing?" she asks.

"The vet is running some more tests," Derek says, sidestepping her question a bit. He's unprepared for this conversation, for the way people's faces change at the word cancer. "He's not quite himself," Derek admits, "but he's hanging in there." Derek glances at her. "What about you?"

She shakes her head. "Don't."

"What did I do?" he asks.

When she's silent he frowns a little.

Aren't they still all … friends? Just because he hasn't been walking Doc with her, just because he's been preoccupied with his life, with his marriage, he's still aware – maybe even a tiny bit embarrassed – that before that happened, Meredith was having problems with her friends.

He tilts his head, studying her for a moment. "How are you doing?" he tries again.

"Don't do that either."

"Meredith – "

"I just wanted to know how Doc is."

"And I told you. And I just wanted to know how you are," he adds. "Which seems like a fair trade."

"I bet it does." She shakes her head. "Can I see him?"

"Doc?"

"Yes, Doc." She looks over her shoulder for a moment as if she's expecting someone to catch them.

Not that they're doing anything wrong.

"If he's sick, I want to see him. If he's that sick, I mean."

"What's that sick?" he asks.

"I want to say goodbye, Derek," she says, raising her voice slightly. "If he's that sick, if he's dying, I want to say goodbye. I should get to say goodbye."

They attract a few glances now; he takes her arm to steer her around the corner and she pulls it away from him barely two steps later. She's staring at the floor, ignoring him, but she doesn't leave.

"Meredith … Doc isn't dying," he says quietly.

Now she looks up. "How do you know that?"

"How do I … ." His voice trails off. "I just do," he says finally. "Doc isn't dying," he repeats.

"But what if he is?"

"If he is, I'll tell you. If he is, you can say goodbye, if that's what you want."

"Yeah." She looks pensive. "You're not just going to spring it on me?"

It feels unfair in the moment – Derek is the one people spring things on, the one whose wife didn't tell him she was pregnant, who showed up in the middle of life in Seattle without a word of word of warning, not to mention all the other –

But Meredith's gaze reminds him she's been surprised too.

"No, I won't just spring it on you."

"Okay, then."

He pauses. "Didn't you say Doc isn't your dog anymore?"

"He's not."

"But you still want to know how he's doing?"

"Yes."

"And you still want to say goodbye, if he's – you still want to say goodbye?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Just because he's not my dog anymore doesn't mean I don't worry about him. Maybe I shouldn't, maybe I'm not supposed to, but I do."

He considers this. "Meredith – "

"So you'll tell me, if I need to see him. If I need to say goodbye."

"I'll tell you."

"Okay." Slowly, she nods. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Meredith," he says when she starts to turn away. "Are you okay?"

She smiles slightly, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry about it," she says. "Not my dog anymore, remember?"

..

" … I can't."

"Rose, I get it." Addison leans forward in her chair, trying to communicate the importance of her message to her very pregnant patient.

Her very pregnant patient who's already a mother six times over. The one she almost agreed to risk her career for because her patient was afraid of telling her husband the truth.

Familiar? That's an understatement.

"Believe me, I get it," she repeats.

"How can you? You're a doctor," Rose says, her tired face bleak. "Your husband is a doctor too – right?"

Addison nods.

"I'm guessing he approves of birth control."

Not as much as I used to.

"He does," Addison admits. "And I know yours doesn't. And I know they're different, Rose, but what they have in common, what all marriages have in common, is that keeping secrets is a bad idea. It's dangerous."

She glances as subtly as she can up at the ceiling. If the Ward family's god is real, now seems about the time he would smite her for hypocrisy, right? Is hypocrisy even one of the seven deadly sins? She's not sure, come to think of it, but she's almost positive gluttony is, so the baseball-sized chocolate-chip muffin she and her breakfast-loving fetus ate this morning in a fit of hormonal hunger probably already doomed her anyway.

"I'm pregnant," Addison says quietly. "Eleven weeks."

"You are?" Rose glances down at her midsection. "It must be your first."

Addison nods. "And it wasn't planned."

Rose's eyes widen. "Your husband – "

"He knows," Addison says. "But he didn't know right away. I waited to tell him because I couldn't figure out how and then he found out from the wrong person in the wrong way and it was so much worse than if I'd actually been honest."

Do you hear yourself, Addie?

But that's the thing. She can give the advice she can't take. Everyone can.

Physician, heal thyself, and all of that.

"You told him, though," Rose says, looking up at Addison, her hand resting on the swell of her pregnancy.

"I told him. And I'm glad I did."

But he doesn't know the rest, and if tubal ligation is enough to send you to confession, I really don't think you want to hear it either.

Rose just looks at her, tears in her eyes. "Chris loves babies."

"I know," Addison says quietly.

"And he loves me. I mean, I'm certain he does. I'm positive. It's just … ."

Her voice trails off.

It's just you don't have a guarantee he'd still be with you without the baby. That things would be the same if you weren't carrying his child.

"Rose," she says gently, "Chris loves you. Anyone can see that. He loves you, and he cares about your safety. I know he does."

Rose looks away, worrying the edge of the blanket, her body almost comically swollen with pregnancy. Her eyes are visibly anxious.

"Look … I can't tell you what to do," Addison says quietly. "But I can tell you what I'm willing to do. I can talk to your husband for you. With you, without you, whatever you'd prefer. I can help him understand the toll these pregnancies have taken on your body and on your health. And I can help him understand that there's a choice between abstinence and something a lot easier for him to get behind … so to speak."

Rose actually smiles a little, her eyes teary.

"You think that's going to work?"

"I think so. I hope so." Addison looks down at her hands. "As for what I'm not willing to do … I can't perform a procedure without leaving a record, Rose. That puts both of us in danger."

"Telling my husband – "

" – doesn't put you in danger," Addison interrupts, gently. "It's uncomfortable, even painful … but it's not dangerous."

She knows this, and Karev took it upon himself to confirm it too, earlier, the smartass.

… okay, fine, he was actually doing his job, and being somewhat caring of the patient, but that doesn't matter right now.

Rose, meanwhile, is quiet, her expression conflicted.

Addison waits.

"You'll talk to Chris for me?"

"I'll talk to Chris for you."

And then Addison breathes a sigh of relief as Rose slowly … but surely … nods her head.

..

"Disaster averted," Addison announces.

Derek turns the nurses' desk, where he's apparently been studying a chart. "That's an interesting greeting."

"Yeah?" She inclines her cheek for a kiss, which he grants her.

"Yeah." He scans her briefly – she knows she looks tired, not that she'd say that out loud, but they both know the first trimester exhaustion she won't disclose to their colleagues has made a strenuous job even harder. And she's wearing street clothes, her light spring jacket thrown over her arm. Finished earlier than she expected.

He tilts his head. "What kind of a disaster are we talking about?"

"You really want to know?"

He looks at her curiously. "I asked, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You asked." She studies the lines on his face, faint but familiar. "Okay. How much time do you have?"

"I have – "

And then his pager goes off.

Okay, maybe this is the Wards' god getting back at her. Seems about right.

"I'm sorry." He leans in to kiss her cheek again. "You're leaving?"

She nods.

"Let me know when you get home," he calls over his shoulder and she just nods, watching him go.

She's leaving earlier than expected, he's leaving later.

Marriage is a give and take.

As much as she's appreciated Derek's solicitousness of late, as much as she's always needed, thrived on, basked in his attention, she needs moments of solitude too, to appreciate their opposite.

So she enjoys her solo drive home – it's relaxing rather than isolating – and then she lets herself into the trailer ready to unwind with a glass of Perrier and the soothing sound of the light rain drizzling onto the porch.

But like so many of her plans … it's thwarted.

..

Carrying Doc's heavy, limp body in both arms is no easy task, shifting him to bang on the door seems hopeless, but the vet is expecting them after her frantic call and pulls the door open before she has to figure out how to manage.

"I got home and he was listless – he hadn't eaten all day – " She's out of breath, Doc is heavier than he looks, and Dr. Dandridge is taking him out of her arms a second later.

"It's okay. Let's have a look."

Addison shoves her rain-frizzed hair behind her ears, still trying to catch her breath.

"What about you, are you all right? Do you want some water?"

The vet is looking at her curiously.

"I'm fine," she pants. "Just – take care of Doc."

A creaking sound makes her turn around, and she's surprised to see –

Meredith Grey?

It is in fact Meredith Grey, descending the staircase, her hair wet, as if …

Oh.

Oh.

"Is he sick again?" Grey asks, looking at Doc.

Addison nods, glancing from the vet back to Grey – no, Meredith. They're on a first-name basis now, aren't they? After everything?

"What about you?" Meredith asks.

She's standing in front of her now – she smells like shampoo and Addison is embarrassed, for a moment, at the … dorm feeling of all this, like they're back in college and her roommate is arriving home with wet hair and her boyfriend's shirt, just announcing to the world that …

Well, in this case, that Meredith is apparently sleeping with her vet.

Better my vet than my husband.

"Addison? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just – "

"You carried him here?" Meredith looks at Doc, then back to Addison. "He's heavy."

"He's fine."

"He's sick," Meredith reminds her, unnecessarily.

"He's sick, but he's not heavy."

"You should sit down. You look exhausted. And your breathing … ." Meredith frowns at her, and Addison frowns back automatically. So she's ten years beyond looking fresh as a daisy right after showering off a romp with a vet, fine.

Meredith looks over her shoulder toward the exam room where the vet has disappeared with Doc.

"You're pregnant," Meredith whispers.

"Yes, I'm aware."

They look at each other silently for a moment, then Meredith pads across the floorboards – they're all bamboo and Pacific Northwest-y and god, she misses New York sometimes – and returns with a bottle of water.

"Thank you," Addison mutters, because it actually does help, and she even lets Meredith convince her to sit down in the artisanal vet kitchen or whatever the hell this is.

Okay, fine, she was tired. She drinks, and she takes some deep breaths.

"Better?" Meredith asks after a few moments.

"You're … here," Addison says, aware it doesn't sound particularly intelligent.

"I'm here."

"At the vet's."

Meredith nods.

"You're dating the vet," Addison replies. Dating seems so quaint a term in this instance, but … she'll put it out there.

Meredith nods again. "So … you are feeling better?" she asks

"You and the vet," Addison says, ignoring Meredith's question. "No, that's good. It's – great. It's good." She considers this for a moment.

Meredith and the vet.

Wait. How does Meredith –

"He volunteers with the place where we got Doc," she says as if she read Addison's mind.

"The pound?"

"I don't think they call it that anymore. But – yeah."

So that's how Derek found the vet. She never asked.

"You told Derek," Meredith says quietly.

At first she's confused – does she mean about the vet?

But then she realizes.

She looks up, surprised, then nods. She figures she owes the other woman that much. "How did you – uh, he told you?"

She's not sure if she'd prefer a yes, or –

"No, I just … figured."

Maybe she would prefer a yes.

Over whatever this is – that she noticed?

"Congratulations," Meredith says quietly.

Addison studies her face. Is she congratulating Addison on the pregnancy, or on finally telling her husband?

There's no hint of mockery or judgment in Meredith's expression; she looks – well, she looks tired, but it's basically required that every intern spend twelve months looking exhausted, so that's to be expected.

" ... thank you," she says after a moment.

For a moment both women are silent, and then Addison's phone rings.

Derek.

"Hi, did you get my – he's okay, I think, the vet's looking at him now." She holds the phone slightly away from her as Derek's concerned voice rings down the line. "I'm fine, it's a short – you don't have to come here, honey, I was about to leave. Really. Yes, I'm sure. Derek – fine, I will. Okay, see you soon."

Meredith looks uncomfortable, though Addison can't imagine why – a thirty-second phone call of marital shorthand surely can't be more personal than a virtual walk of shame down a vet's back staircase, can it?

She doesn't have much time to ponder that before the vet is emerging from the exam room, a solemn expression on his face.

..

She drives back to the trailer slowly, rain spitting on the windshield, her heart heavy.

The rain picks up as she pulls up the long unpaved drive.

A shadow emerges from the trailer.

"You're ridiculous," she says, affectionately, when Derek opens her car door, holding an umbrella. Her voice cracks a little, though, and she hopes he doesn't hear it.

"Fine, then get wet." But his tone is light and he helps her out of the car anyway; she's tired and she leans against him as he closes the car door for her.

"You could have waited for me," he says after he ushers her into the trailer ahead of him and then shakes the umbrella out on the porch.

"Doc was sick," she reminds him. "He needed the vet."

"I know that, Addie, but he's heavy." He closes the door against the rain. "You didn't carry him the whole way?"

"I drove," she says, avoiding some of the question.

He shakes his head. "You're wet." He helps her off with her jacket. "It's chilly out."

"Derek." She rests her hands on her husband's chest. "I appreciate it, I really do, but I'm pregnant, not consumptive. I live in a trailer, not a Victorian novel."

He frowns.

"I'm okay," she assures him.

He doesn't look totally convinced. "Get in the shower," he suggests.

"Come with me?"

He looks amused. "Maybe," he says.

She pouts a little, then glances at open shower. "It's a very small space," she says ruefully.

"This is what I get for taking you to a hotel. Now you're spoiled for the trailer." He turns on the water before she can protest. "And it's not that small," he adds.

She opens her mouth to tease him and then closes it at his expression.

The warm shower feels nice – sharing it, especially.

She leans against him, holding on tighter when the sadness about Doc washes over her in waves. She misses his warm furry presence already. He was so listless when she got home, so frightening not himself. Derek wraps his arms around her in turn and they stand under the warm spray long enough that he should start scolding her for wasting water. But he doesn't.

"Finn said he'd call in the morning," she reminds Derek when they're out and dried off. She's caught Derek up on Doc's treatment and, when he requested it, on her patient's as well.

"Finn." Derek raises an eyebrow. "You're on a first name basis now?"

"You'd prefer Doctor Dandridge?" She makes a face at him. "You're the one who said vets aren't actually real – "

"Fine, Finn." Derek gestures for her to continue. "Did he say anything else?"

"I already told you the rest." Addison sighs. "But he looked … serious, when I left."

"It's serious," Derek says quietly. "But he could still improve. If his liver enzymes stabilize – "

"He'll still be sick, though."

Derek gives her a sad half-smile. "He's in good hands right now," he says. "Finn is a good vet. Don't you think?"

Her lips part.

Meredith was there. She's sleeping with the vet.

She could say it.

She doesn't say it.

She's not sure why.

Except maybe that her stomach turns over.

Derek is at her side in a blink, supporting her, but even though she drops her to her haunches automatically and he pulls her long, damp hair into his fist, everything stays down.

"I wish I could just – " She shakes her head when she's standing and he pulls her in for a brief hug, mercifully not squeezing very hard. This on-edge, nauseating feeling is just … nauseating.

She doesn't try to talk again, not until he's brought her a cup of ginger tea – sitting in a bowl.

Her husband isn't the saucer type, not when he doesn't have a cabinet full of her wedding china.. She likes this particular ginger tea and since her life in the trailer is all teabags, no dainty little sterling infuser here, and he knows she needs somewhere to rest the teabag.

And so the bowl. Not really how tea is supposed to work, maybe, but it works for them.

And the tea works for the nausea.

And the vet is working on their dog.

And they're working on their marriage.

..

Derek lies awake in the dark that night, looking at the ceiling.

Thinking.

He's thinking alternately about Doc … and about their unborn child.

Maybe Addison was right when she called Doc their first baby.

Because right now he's lying next to his pregnant wife, who is breathing peacefully, who is fine, and he's thinking about their baby who is also fine, and he's also thinking about their dog … who is not.

"Are you awake?"

He smiles a little; he's been moving a hand over her midsection, somewhere between soothing her nausea and connecting with their baby – even though yes, he's a doctor, and he's well aware that's not exactly the same place.

"I'm awake."

"Me too," she says unnecessarily, rolling over to face him. He helps her the rest of the way and she curls into him – this is how they slept, for years, twisting and turning and always coming back to each other. Like those mechanical toys he'd see for sale on the city sidewalks, the ones who do somersaults and headstands and tumble over and under and over except they did it together.

Wordlessly, he strokes her hair.

"I'm not worried," she says. "Not about the baby."

They've been married for eleven years; he would be more surprised – more worried, even – if she just flat out said that she was worried.

"Good." He continues to stroke her hair. "There's no reason to be worried."

"There's a reason." She pulls back, looking up at him. "I'm forty."

"No, you're not."

"I'm close enough. I'm geriatric enough."

"Addison – "

"No, Derek, this isn't a – vanity thing or whatever. The baby is at risk because of my age."

"Addison. We don't have the lab work back yet."

"We wouldn't even have lab work if it weren't for my age."

"But we do have it, and it's good to have more information earlier, isn't it?" Silently, he thanks the staff at Melissa's practice, who somehow slipped multiple pamphlets on non-invasive prenatal testing into the folder they gave him the day of Addison's blood draw. It's not that he's worried about the medicine, but he doesn't want to talk to Addison as a doctor. He wants to make her feel better, and –

"That doesn't make me feel better," she says in a small voice.

"Addie."

"What if there's something wrong?"

"Then we'll deal with it."

We don't deal with things.

The thought pops into his head, unbidden, along with the idea that he'd like to change that.

"Addison – "

"Would you still be like this?" she asks quietly.

"Hm?" He's confused, but he can't get a look at her expression – her head is resting on his chest, her face obscured, while their free hands sit intertwined on his midsection. He gives hers a cautious little squeeze. "Would I still be like – what do you mean?"

"Like this," she repeats, her voice small and stubborn. "If it weren't for the baby, would you still be like this … with me?"

He eases her away; this feels too important not to see her face, but she misreads his intention and grips his shirt tighter. "No, Derek, wait – "

"Addie, it's okay – "

But she seems convinced now that he's trying to push her away and is apparently stuck between holding onto his shirt and turning away herself. Finally he gives up and just pulls her back into his arms, deciding it's less important to see her face than it is to calm her down.

"Don't get worked up." He strokes her hair, holding her securely against him. "You're – "

"Don't say you're pregnant," she mutters against his shoulder – making it sound very much like she's made a quick recovery.

He strokes her hair, and he thinks about her question.

If it weren't for the baby, would you still be like this … with me?

How to answer that question?

He knows as well as she does there's been a chasm between them in Seattle. Sometimes bigger, sometimes smaller, sometimes approachable and sometimes cavernous – but always there.

He'd be lying to say the baby hasn't changed things.

But –

"It's okay," she says quietly, her tone resigned.

"Don't." He rubs her back, feeling helpless. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

She wriggles in his arms, attempting to sit up, and he lets her, helping her up the rest of the way and then sitting up the face her. "Addison …"

"It's different, Derek. The baby … makes things different for us," she says softly.

He nods. "I know."

Her downcast eyes are getting to him.

"Addie."

She doesn't look up.

"Addison," he coaxes. "Listen to me."

"What?" she asks the bedclothes.

"The baby changes things," he repeats, "and it's … here, and it's real, so we can't guess what things would be like otherwise. It's not productive … it doesn't mean anything."

"Okay," she whispers.

"Addie …."

When she finally looks up there are tears in her eyes and he sighs, feeling helpless yet again. There's no good answer. He's trapped and the worst part is he knows Addison wasn't even trying to trap him this time: she's an unwilling Sphinx and he has no right answers … but neither does she.

"It doesn't matter," she says, her tone resigned once more.

"Addie. I'm glad the baby changes things," he says firmly, though he doesn't raise his voice above the soft night-time volume they've both been using. "Does that matter?"

She doesn't look away from him this time. Her mouth twitches slightly – as if, sometime soon, she might smile.

"It matters," she says.


Okay, then. A bit of a growth chapter. The Season 2 timeline is a national disaster area, but I've done my best with it, and I like seeing how pregnant Addison might end up interacting differently with her patients. Maybe even enough to change up some patient-endings. Next time: test results, and a scene I've kind of been dying to share. Thank you so much for reading - I know I've been slow lately since real life has been so busy, but I'll be back next Sunday and I hope to update at least one other WIP (TYALIU is next in the queue for sure) before then. I hope you'll review and let me know what you think!

(And for those keeping track of secrets, I guess we can now add Addison knowing Meredith is "dating" Finn to the list)