Thank you for the comments on the previous chapter. I am so grateful, especially to those of you who've been chugging along commenting every chapter. I love this story, and I love hearing from you about it, so thank you!
I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Plans
Gestational Age: Twenty Weeks, One Day
Baby is the Size of: an artichoke (yes, it took two more books to escape the unacceptably pudgy cantaloupe … but at least Bizzy will be leaving town soon, and even if an artichoke is somewhat rounded, it's still a vegetable, so that must count for something)
Said Maternal Grandmother: is in Seattle, in baby's mother's office at this very moment
Baby's Mother: had the bright idea to confront her
The Other Shoe: just might be dropping
..
Addison's words hang in the air after she says them.
You never wanted us, Archer and me … did you?
There's one long, weighty moment of silence before her mother speaks.
"No," Bizzy says simply, "I didn't."
The answer shouldn't surprise her; still, somehow, it stings.
If she knows Bizzy the subject is closed, except …
"Your father wanted children," she continues, her face unreadable.
He has a fine way of showing it, but in fairness Addison can remember odd moments of playfulness from her earliest years, sailing with him on breezy afternoons in the country, chasing the old foxhounds at Bizzy's estate, sitting atop his shoulders while he skated on the frozen lake. They were short lived, perhaps, and overshadowed by what he put her through afterwards, but she can grudgingly admit her father seemed on occasion to get some enjoyment from his children.
Bizzy, though? She has no such memories featuring her.
The Captain wanted children, then. And he didn't want monogamy. So …
She takes a deep breath and asks.
"Why did you marry him? Did you love him?"
"Really, Addison." Bizzy frowns. "I'm not one of those – modern mothers who think their children are their friends. It's not an appropriate question."
"I know it's not, but I'm asking it anyway."
Bizzy just studies her for a moment and Addison waits to be rebuffed.
She's not going to answer.
Obviously.
"… he was nice," Bizzy says after a long silence.
"H was nice?" Addison echoes. "Even when—"
She stops talking.
Bizzy's expression has changed; it's subtle but it's there. The visual version of speaking WASP. Addison realizes she's broken an unspoken agreement not to bring up the other women, the cheating, the lies.
"I'm sorry," she says hesitantly. "I didn't mean to bring up … I realize that was later …." Her voice trails off.
"If you're finished?" Bizzy asks coolly.
"I'm finished," she says, feeling about eight years old. What are the rules in this new world, this room where her mother answers questions?
Bizzy just nods, a nod Addison knows well: it's slight, it's regal and resigned all at once: finally, you've acceded to my wishes—took long enough.
"So … he was nice," Addison repeats thoughtfully. "That's why you married him?"
"Don't dismiss nice, Addison, if you knew some of the boys who …" Bizzy shakes her head. "Your father was nice. He was smart, and he had interests. He wanted to be a surgeon."
And he became one.
Of course: he's the Captain. He always gets what he wants.
"He was passionate about things," Bizzy continues.
Things like … women?
"Sailing," Bizzy clarifies, an eyebrow arched as if she'd read her mind. "He wanted to do things. If I had to meet one more … suitor who was running his grandfather's company or managing his great-grandparents' estate I would have screamed. The Captain was different. He didn't talk to me like he expected me just to … twitter and giggle and drop my handkerchief to entice him to pick it up. He knew I had my own thoughts."
It's the most her mother has ever said and Addison is almost afraid to respond in case she hasn't realized she's actually … sharing something.
"Your brains don't just come from your father, you know," Bizzy says, looking down at her hands in her lap before looking up again. "He may be a surgeon, but those thick books you used to drag everywhere—" and get scolded for it, too – "that was from me."
Addison blinks.
"I used to read, before—when I had time to do things I wanted to do. I used to read things. I used to think things. I wasn't always someone's wife, you know. Someone's mother."
You never wanted to be someone's mother. She doesn't say it out loud: You wouldn't even let us call you mother.
"I could have done things," Bizzy continues. "I could have been things, but I was a Bradford Forbes and I was expected to be quiet and stay out of the papers and marry well and … raise children."
She stops talking as if she's just remembered one of those children is present.
"You didn't want to be a mother," Addison summarizes quietly.
"I didn't get a say!"
Addison stares. Bizzy doesn't raise her voice, Bizzy would never raise her voice.
"No one asked me. No one would have—can you imagine, telling my mother I didn't want to get married? That I didn't want children?"
"Bizzy …"
"These days, you can say those sorts of things. You can say you never would have chosen motherhood, you can say it's difficult and tedious and a waste of your skills and people call you brave. No one said that when I was young."
Her voice sounds tired now.
"… So no, Addison, I didn't want to have children. And I didn't like being pregnant. I hated it. I know that's not what you want to hear. It felt … wrong, and strange, like someone I didn't invite showing up to a party and just … taking over. I hated every minute of it."
"I get it." Addison finds herself resting a hand unconsciously over her bump, as if to reassure her son.
"But I didn't hate you."
She looks up at her mother's voice.
"I didn't hate you, and I didn't hate your brother. It wasn't your fault."
..
Finally. Derek leaves the exam room, waiting until he's outside to give the fellow instructions tinged with annoyance for how long this has taken. He'll feel guilty about that later, once he works everything out. That's just the way it is sometimes; Derek hasn't always been senior.
And Addison still isn't answering her phone.
He makes his way toward her office on instinct, feeling strongly that she wouldn't have left the hospital without giving him some sort of signal. Still, where Bizzy is involved … anything is possible.
The walls are thick, with privacy in mind, and there's no internal view of her office. But as he approaches, needing only half a second for the smile that always touches his lips when he sees her very long nameplate … he hears voices.
Voices that are familiar, but seem to actually be conversing.
He stands there another moment, not caring if he's attracting attention all but eavesdropping through the closed door of his wife's office, before he decides to trust his judgment and his decade and a half of Montgomery experience and leave the two of them to it.
..
" … but the petals were thinner than expected."
"That's disappointing," Addison says.
"Yes. There's always next year." Bizzy adjusts her scarf, and Addison takes a deep breath, still processing what happened in this office before they started speaking WASP again.
She indulged her mother, if you can call it that, after her surprisingly honest-sounding outburst.
And now, after a series of back and forth deeply neutral, incredibly not honest-sounding discussion of flowers … Addison stops again to marvel at what happened before.
She and Bizzy talked.
They actually talked.
In many ways, it's more than she ever expected, it's just …
She thinks sometimes, if she had even one memory, something to sustain. Even as small as the brief glimpses of the Captain when she was small, sailing or skating. Moments, that's all.
Just … something.
It's so weak, so … pathetic, to say it:
Did you ever like me?
Did I ever make you happy?
Were you ever glad I existed?
Was I ever anything but a reminder of how you never got to be what you wanted?
The need to ask is building up, but before she can—
"Red Riding Hood," Bizzy says suddenly, without introduction.
"… what? I mean, pardon?"
"Red Riding Hood," Bizzy repeats. "It was your birthday. You were seven. No … six. You wore a red velvet cape I had my dressmaker put together, with a silk lining. Do you remember?"
"I think I remember," Addison says, trying not to sound doubtful, still not sure where the story is going. Bizzy was responsible for most if not all of the clothes in Addison's oversized closet, many of them stiff and uncomfortable, none of them what she would have chosen. What's so special about a red cape?
"You don't remember."
Addison shakes her head.
"Ivy Bishop. Do you remember her?"
"I remember Ivy." Addison wrinkles her nose automatically. Ivy would be … thirty nine now, she must be, but Addison calls to mind the little girl with perfect silky black hair and not a single freckle, who used to tease Addison on every one of the uneven playing fields of their youth. The country club, the playground of their all-girls school, at parties and country weekends where their parents would require them to mingle, dancing school and the formal benefits of their teenage years.
"Yes. Well, her mother wasn't much different." Bizzy actually sounds almost … mischievous for a moment. "You wanted to be Little Red Riding Hood in the school … Christmas play, or whatever nonsense that was. Ivy told you that you couldn't because—"
" – the cape would clash with my hair," Addison remembers as she says it, the memory of her burning cheeks crashing into her present day self, the one who wears whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.
She's six years old again, hot tears in her eyes at the reminder of her ugly orange hair, her freckles, her ungainly long legs that left her at the back of every line when they gathered in size order.
She came home crying at the indignity of it—just to her nanny, she wasn't an idiot, but she can recall Bizzy stalking through the parlor to see her in disarray and scolding her for her lack of control before sending her to what was still known as the nursery.
It wasn't the first or the last time; it was a lesson she heard over and over: save your tears for the privacy of your room, Addison. Not in public, Addison. Not here, Addison. Control yourself, Addison.
"I remember Ivy," Addison says finally, "and I remember what she said, but I don't remember your being very … sympathetic, to be honest."
"That's fair." Bizzy studies her hands for a moment.
"You told me I was being dramatic."
"Well, you were being dramatic." Bizzy looks at her. "I'm not going to apologize for it, Addison. I wanted you to learn to control your temper and your … emotions. You were always too open. It made it too easy for Ivy."
To hurt me, that's the end of the sentence. A confirmation that Addison opened herself up to pain by … having feelings. By expressing them. Was that Bizzy's experience too?
Addison tries to remember the point of the story. She cried about Ivy's words, Bizzy sent her upstairs—not without some scathing commentary on her lack of control—and then what, the nanny asked Bizzy later to have a cape made? Did she end up with the part?
"The cape was my idea," Bizzy continues. "I had it made for you and I gave it to you to wear at your party—oh, don't make that face, Addison, I'm not going to discuss this if you're going to be emotional."
"Sorry."
Bizzy nods. "You wore it for your birthday party. Ivy was there, of course, and all the other little girls loved your cape and made a fuss over it."
"You never told me the cape was from you," Addison recalls.
"I didn't want you to be spoiled, Addison. That wasn't the point."
"What was the point?"
"I didn't want that … child … telling you that you couldn't be what you wanted to be. That you had to … be constrained, because of something beyond your control."
"You never liked my hair, either."
"That's not the point, dear. And besides … you grew into it." For a moment, Bizzy looks almost fond.
Addison blinks. "Did I—"
"Let's not be indulgent."
So the story is over, then.
It's something, though.
A memory
A moment.
Bizzy was looking out for her. Maybe not in the way Addison wanted, maybe not in the way she needed, but in her way. It's … something.
Not something she can put on the mantel in the nursery.
But something.
"There's a picture of it somewhere," Bizzy says. "In your father's files or one of the offices … I'm not sure where. I recall the photograph, though, because the light was just right that afternoon—" she had a winter birthday, not a convenient one either – "and the red actually didn't clash."
"It didn't?"
"No." Bizzy adjusts her scarf. "Not that day, it didn't."
..
Derek looks up at the knock on his office door.
"How was it?" he asks as he stands and Addison makes a half-rueful face that looks … tired.
Very tired.
"It was … tiring," she says. She leans against him for a moment, then lets him lead her to the couch, where he sits down beside her. "It was tiring, and it was … a lot. But it was something."
She pauses.
"Does that make any sense?"
"Actually … it does."
"Yeah?" She looks up at him with tired eyes. "Derek … you may be spending too much time with me."
"I doubt it," he says, and she looks much less tired when a smile lights her face.
..
She wasn't kidding about being tired.
She's not even sorry that Bizzy, after their uncharacteristically open conversation—by Montgomery standards anyway—tells her cryptically that she has affairs to take care of tonight and won't be joining her for dinner.
Which is … fine, considering how much Bizzy time she's logged today, except that her brother is supposed to be joining them for dinner, too.
Not that he's bothered to call and update her with flight information, but then, that's typical Archer. She can't complain about it, when she wants him to come here and be all … Archer, right?
Except she's not fully sure what she expects from tonight … or even whether it's going to happen at this point. She hasn't warned Bizzy. Has Archer? Her mother has never been fond of surprises, so … how is this going to go, exactly?
Option One. Archer Tells Bizzy. It's simple, it's clean, it acknowledges the fact that her brother talks to her mother far more than she does, and most importantly, it leaves Addison out of the surprise equation. She likes this option.
Option Two. Archer Shows Up Unannounced … but Bizzy Doesn't Notice. This is actually less about her mother's traditionally neglectful parenting and more pure logistics, but if she can manage to pick her brother up or at least route him somewhere and then tell her mother … that could work. Or even better:
Option Three. Archer Shows Up Unannounced … and Then She Makes Him Tell Bizzy. This one might be her top choice. She doesn't have to tell her mother, but she doesn't have to be there when Bizzy finds out her children were (gasp) talking behind her back. Not just talking … planning. She'll just … tell Archer she's too pregnant for difficult conversations. Her brother has never liked to discuss pregnancy—probably his own nightmarish fear of causing one—so she's planning to use that excuse a lot.
Option Four. Bizzy Gets Surprised … but Addison Pleads Pregnancy. This one is definitely inferior to the previous list's fourth entry, but as long as Archer is in the room, "I'm too pregnant for … " is going to become her excuse of choice. If she really gets in a jam, she'll just use the word cervix in there. There's no way her brother will be able to handle it. (Child support might be worse, but there's no real way to use that as an excuse to leave the dinner table at twenty weeks.)
Option Five. Addison Tells Bizzy. This involves standing up tall, throwing her shoulders back, and marching up to her mother with confidence to tell her that Archer is coming because Addison called him, and that he's here to usher Bizzy home. This option will not be happening.
Option Six. Archer and Bizzy Run into Each Other in the Archfield Lobby. This is not her favorite option. It involves too much four for her liking (this week's four, thank you very much) without leaving her enough time to toss around dilation or placenta to distract her brother. She'll get blamed. She always gets blamed.
Option Seven. Archer Tells Bizzy, and Then Quietly Leaves with Her. Oh, glorious seven. Much like five, this option will also not be happening.
Option Eight. Addison and Derek Move to Cleveland and Leave Bizzy and Archer to Their Own Devices. This option? Is tempting. Very tempting.
…she's actually considering a call to her travel agent to ask about Ohio real estate when her brother finally deigns to call and update her that he's still stuck in California.
Great.
She's worn out from the conversation with Bizzy and attempting halfheartedly to scheme Archer's involvement; when she finally gets him on the phone, he's all apologies and promises—typical—and swears he'll get on a flight in the morning. She almost tells him not to bother, but truthfully … she'd like to see him.
And even if she and Bizzy reached something of an understanding in her office today … well, that was today. It doesn't cover what Bizzy is expecting tomorrow morning.
She's trying to figure out how to handle that expectation of tomorrow morning … including telling her husband about it … when she finds herself at the nurses' station next to Meredith Grey.
… who looks quite a bit like the way she feels, maybe a little more shellshocked.
"Are you okay?" Addison asks after a moment.
"Cristina broke up with Burke," Meredith says, staring straight ahead at … nothing. Or maybe where Yang was minutes before; Addison wouldn't know.
"She did?" Admittedly, she's surprised.
Very surprised.
Meredith nods. "She did. And … she also said she talked to your mother … ."
Addison swallows hard, wondering what Bizzy said to make her change her mind.
" … but she didn't tell me what she said." Meredith tilts her head. "She did say your mom didn't really seem like the give-your-friends-advice type."
"She's not." Briefly, Addison wonders if that's why Yang wanted to talk to her. It seems just contrary enough to make sense to that particular intern, if she were to try to get into her head.
And Addison also doesn't know what they discussed. She's been so consumed by the conversation she had with her mother in her office—the most honest they've ever had, surely, even if the bar is low—but she remembers now how curious she was about Bizzy's conversation with Yang.
"How is she?" Addison asks carefully.
"… she's okay. She's strong," Meredith adds, then pauses. "She might be drunk later. I might be drunk later too, actually."
Addison's eyes widen. "Did you—"
"No break-ups for me. Not today, anyway."
She's not sure whether to inquire further, not wanting to pry, when O'Malley jogs up.
"Your mother," he says, breathless, looking like he'd rather not be delivering the news. "She's here. In the hospital."
… if you can call that news.
Addison is about to say something no more charitable than really, O'Malley? in somewhat irritated fashion when she realizes he's not actually looking at her.
He's looking at Meredith … who doesn't look surprised.
..
"Shepherd!"
He looks away from the lightboard he's been studying.
"It's Ellis Grey," the chief says, his face grim. "She was just admitted."
"What happened?"
"She was lucid. She was lucid, at the center where she's been living, and then there were some irregularities in her labs."
"They ran a CT?"
The chief nods.
"Have someone run a stat MRI, and I'll take a look at the scans." Derek glances at the lightboard again. Richard will remember as well as he does the suddenly lucid Alzheimer's patient they worked on together in New York. Derek was a third-year resident, and based on the chief's current expression he also recalls the unfortunate way the case ended.
"Wilson's on it." Richard pauses. "She's asked for Meredith."
Derek nods distractedly, focused on the lightboard again.
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
"You should probably ask Bailey." Derek pauses to jot a quick note to himself on the pad of paper he's been using to keep track of his observations.
He's watching the chief leave when he ponders how different this visit is from the first time Ellis Grey was admitted, when Derek was still attuned to Meredith reactions, her concerns. He shouldn't have been, but he was.
There's no question for him that he's fully recommitted to his marriage—his left hand resting on the notepad is a reminder of that—so much so, perhaps, that he hasn't revisited in a while that first choice he made to reconcile. The meandering, hopeless one … the one he agreed to but never quite managed to actually work on. It all seems far away, now.
Here, in the present, there is a wife who will wait for him to leave, a mother-in-law thankfully out of the hospital, a baby on the way.
And a nineteen-year-old freshman football recruit whose brain is still lighting up his board. Mindful of the chief's interruption only as another check on his to-do list, he returns to the scans … reminding himself that while he would like to be the kind of father who embraces his child's interests …
..
" … he's not playing football," her husband says firmly without preamble as he catches up to Addison in the lobby; she looks up, a little confused.
"Who's not playing football? … oh," she says, glancing down at her bump. "Not now, no, but it definitely felt like he was earlier."
Derek's face softens. "He can play football now, but not later."
She nods. "You saw a football skull today?"
"Stealth TBI." He shakes his head. "He's only nineteen. So no football."
"No argument there." She rests a hand on his arm. "I saw Richard. He said Ellis Grey was admitted."
Derek nods. "She's stable, she's surprisingly lucid, but her scans were clear."
"It's not neurological?"
"No. There were some cardiac abnormalities. Nothing emergent; Richard said Burke would look tomorrow. Apparently he was out today."
Addison glances up. "Did Richard mention why?"
"No. Do you know why?"
"I might." Addison sighs.
"Tell me on the way to dinner?" Derek suggests, looking resigned to an evening with his brother in law … which she appreciates.
"Actually, Derek … you're going to need to try to contain your disappointment, but Archer's not flying in tonight."
"Really?" He seems to be making an effort to school his face, which she appreciates.
"He had a patient—don't make that face, Archer does have patients."
"Of course he does." Derek looks like he's trying very hard not to smirk. "Several a year … all coincidentally ripe for publication."
"You're going to be nice to him when he's here," she says firmly.
"I can be nice." Derek pauses. "I thought he wasn't flying in tonight."
"He's not. He is flying in tomorrow. Same number of Montgomerys, but more spread out, which is … something, right?"
"It is definitely something." He leans in to kiss her—just quickly, nothing Richard can complain about.
"No dinner plans," Addison confirms, which are currently the best kinds of plans she can imagine. Based on Derek's expression, he's thinking the same thing. "Unless you have a … trout to grill."
"I can rustle something up." He smiles at her. "Doc will be happy to have us home early. No Bizzy for dinner, really?"
"Really."
"Don't tell me she has a patient too."
"No, she has affairs to attend to," Addison recites dutifully, "which really sounds more like an excuse the Captain would make, don't you think?"
Derek shakes his head, looking amused. "Addie, is that what they call a … Dad Joke?"
"You tell me … Dad." She smiles at him, feeling a little shy for some reason, and he gives her a genuine smile in return.
"So we're off the hook for tonight," he confirms. "Did Bizzy say anything about when she's—"
"Let's talk about it in the car." She tucks her hand through his arm, turning both of them toward the lobby doors.
..
"Bizzy wants to see the trailer," he says slowly, as if he's still processing it.
Addison, seated next to him on the porch of that very trailer, just nods.
"And she's coming to see it tomorrow," he continues.
She nods again.
"Your mother. To this trailer. Tomorrow."
"That's what I'm saying."
He drains his beer; when he finishes, though, somehow … he's smiling. And she is too.
That's on you, kiddo. She rests her free hand over the spot where their son is growing. Sure, they've put work in too, but the baby has hefted a considerable amount of weight, especially considering how tiny he is. Somehow, everything feels a little lighter, when the three of them are alone together—well, four, counting Doc. Everything feels a little better.
"Addie."
She glances up.
"Is it too late to move to Cleveland?"
She laughs at the hopeful expression on his face; he does too and then covers her hand with his over her bump.
"We can let the baby decide," he suggests. "If he still wants to stay in the trailer, he can—" He stops talking as firm pressure meets their joined hands. "He loves the trailer," Derek pronounces, though he seems slightly alarmed—understandably—at the implication that their son understood his challenge.
"It takes a while to develop good taste," Addison counters.
"Please. You know you love the trailer too," he reminds her, smirking, and she busies herself stroking Doc's ears instead of denying it; he'd just see right through her anyway. Even in the dark.
Derek pauses. "You, uh, you think he actually understood?"
"Definitely." She smiles at his expression. "Honey, he's been moving around since I sat down."
Derek looks relieved, just as she realizes she called him honey. It's not like he's going to snap at her about it, not after everything, but she didn't realize it still felt instinctual. And it seems like he didn't even notice. Like it felt as natural to him as it did to her.
"So, Yang and Burke are over?"
Addison nods.
"Did you know before…?"
"… I had an inkling."
He can tell there's more to it, but he doesn't push her.
They sit in companionable silence for another few minutes, to the rhythm of Doc's loud but contented breathing and the gently wild sounds of the outdoor night.
"I was thinking," Addison says after a moment, "about chief."
"Richard?"
"No." She turns toward him, and he can see her eyes sparkling in the soft light of the hanging lantern. "About chief in general. The race."
"Ah."
"Do you want to know what I was thinking?"
"Always," and he says it without thinking twice, and if it's any ordinary evening's banter … something he can't imagine saying a few months ago.
She pauses for a moment and he can see the significance isn't lost on her. "I was thinking that being chief is a lot of work."
"Having to deal with all the visiting mothers, you mean?"
"Well, and reigning in the pregnant surgeons." She manages to say it with dignity despite the chief having scolded them more than once for noticing the effects of their reconciliation.
"That too." Derek pauses to scratch Doc's ears.
"Being a surgeon is already a lot of work."
He's not going to argue with that.
"Derek … when Meredith went in to help the toxic patient, while you were getting suited up … Mark said something."
I bet he did. He just waits for her continue.
"He said, this is why I'm going to be chief. He, um …" Her tone changes to a more self-deprecating one, "he also said not everything is about me … or you."
"Me?"
"You." She takes a sip from her bottle of mineral water. "You, and me. The thing is, I think he's right."
"You think not everything is about us?"
"No." She laughs a little when he raises his eyebrows at her. "Fine, some things aren't. But this is."
She gestures in a way that could mean our baby and could mean our home and could mean our life.
(Assuming those three things are distinct.)
"I agree," he says after a moment, "but I'm not sure I'm following. You think Mark is right—that he's going to be chief?"
"Ooh, not that part." She takes another sip as if she's clearing her palate just at the thought of Chief Sloan, and he can't blame her. "But I think that being chief is a lot of work … a lot of extra work … on top of everything else we're doing. And if we have extra time—and I'm not saying we do—I'd rather it be for us."
She stops, sounding a little embarrassed; he's used to her sometimes backtracking when she thinks she sounds too sentimental … or too vulnerable. And her mother being in town can't be helping.
"I wanted to be in the chief's," she says slowly, "and I sort of wanted to win … but I don't actually want to be chief of surgery."
"Neither do I," he admits.
"Really?"
"Really." He realizes as he says it how much of this started out as jostling rivalry with Preston Burke and then became irritation with Mark trying to butt into their lives … and how little either of those things seems to matter compared with what's about to come for him and for Addison. "The chief of surgery should have … the ability to focus on the job. And that's why you mentioned Burke," he puts it together as he speaks, "because now that he and Yang are broken up—"
"—he has a lot of time." She looks at him. "What do you think?"
"I think we should let Burke be chief."
"Just like that." She snaps the fingers of her free hand, sounding amused.
"Just like that." He pauses. "What about Mark?"
"I don't think we should tell him." Her tone sounds slightly mischievous. "We tell him we're backing out now, he'll find some way to lord it over us or … make things more complicated … or make things difficult for Preston."
All possible.
"And Burke?"
"I say we tell Burke. He could probably use some good news."
Derek nods at this. He thinks about Burke and how frustrating he found the arrogant surgeon when they first met—but how gifted he can admit he is. And he can admit ruefully that as irritating as he found it that Mark thought he deserved to join the chief's race after barely a week in Seattle … Burke would be well within his rights to feel similarly about Derek and Addison when Burke has paid years more dues at Seattle Grace than either Shepherd has.
"What do you think?" Addison asks.
Doc seems to think the question is for him and moves slowly toward his mistress, who sets down her green bottle of mineral water to give him affection with both hands.
"Doc seems to like the idea," Derek says, "and I've always thought he was smart. … not well trained, but smart."
Addison smiles, freeing one hand to rest on her bump.
"And the baby?" Derek asks.
She tilts her head for a moment as if he's listening. "I think the baby agrees." And then she pauses, her tone turning more serious. "Twenty weeks," she says quietly.
"Twenty weeks," he agrees. Gently, he rests a hand next to hers, covering the place where their son is growing.
"Things get crazy after twenty weeks, Derek."
"Is that your medical opinion?" he can't resist teasing her, but he moves his hand to cover hers on her bump. "We can handle it," he says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He's quiet for a few moments. " … crazy how?"
She laughs a little. "Crazy like … I'm glad neither of us wants to be chief."
There's another series of moments in which they're both silently considering all the things that need to be done in preparation for a new baby.
He tries not to let his head spin, but he's cognizant that all the different roadblocks and diversions have kept them from focusing on the simple pragmatics of an impending birth. Some were bigger than others and some sadder, but from the bumps in their reconciliation to the visits from family, they haven't really had the chance to sit down and plan out, here's what we're going to do.
Coming up with a plan, and executing that plan, without any spanners thrown in the works?
Crazy.
"Addie," he begins.
"Wait." She moves their hands so hers is covering his now. "I don't want to talk about it."
"…oh."
"I mean, I do want to talk about it, just not yet. I want to get through the rest of Bizzy's visit, and I want to see my brother, and then I want them all to go really far away. Or at least back where they came from. I want to get through the second anatomy scan. And then I want to talk about it. I want to talk about all of it."
A plan … to plan. A plan for a future plan.
He's heard of crazier ones, and they've come this far without one, and he's willing to trust her vision for the next step.
"That … sounds like a plan," he says, feeling a warm curl of anticipation within him for the conversations to come (ordinary and crazy all at once, the preparation for new life)—and then there's an answering flash of movement under their palms as if their unborn son is as excited for the future as his parents are.
Twenty weeks (and one day)! The Sheplet is one fast-growing little artichoke. If you sense some foreshadowing of a time jump, you're right, but not until we finish with the Montgomerys. Still, Addison and Derek have a Plan now (to plan), and it won't be too long until they do. In the meantime, we have a nice, calm ending for this chapter ... and it may be a couple of weeks until the next one, because I am committed to finishing The Climbing Way and that takes a lot of my writing time. Thank you as always for reading and I would love to know what you think, so I hope you will review and let me know!