Atlas

by darlingwrecks

There is distance and there is silence. Whether or not this is what she wants though, this is, really, all she has left. Sometimes the kisses cover the guilt. Mark/Addison (and Derek), pre-Grey's. Includes flashbacks to Addison's (kinda bleak, if you watched Private Practice) childhood, Mark's childhood, and works off the fact that the "he was just here" comment was not accurate.

17. We'd Share Each Other Like an Island

A/N: Chapter title is a lyric in the song "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol AKA A SONG THAT HAS ALWAYS MADE ME THINK OF ADDISON/DEREK/MARK.

I'd also like to just say in advance of this chapter, thank you for your patience with the flashbacks that might not always seem like flashbacks at first. I was adamant about not doing flashbacks in italics because of how long some of them might be (visually, I was having issues with it, especially since I'm prone to hitting the italicize button), and I also didn't want to box myself in with a "three years earlier" type thing in case I ended up changing my mind about the order of things (math is hard, yo). I've also always wanted the flashbacks to feel a bit more open-ended, more fluid, and make the reader question things, because so much of Mark and Addison's relationship is just a complex and indiscernible push and pull. They are forever oscillating between comfort (sexual and otherwise) and chaos (sexual and otherwise), with peaks and valleys along the way. This is why most of the chapter titles are more nature/element themed, save for a few…more on that later though. If at any point you're not clear on something though, please message me and hopefully I can clear it up!

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Chapter 17. We'd Share Each Other Like an Island

The frothy, white-whipped shoreline begins to fall behind Mark and Addison as they swim out into the Atlantic on Sunday morning. They churn slashes of water behind them until they are deep enough to alternate between treading water and digging their feet into the sea floor, each variance occurring with the push and pull of retreating waves.

Addison throws her arms around Mark's shoulders, and water flushes off the exposed parts of her wetsuit when she anchors her legs over his waist. Mark presses a palm to her lower back to steady her as a wave rolls past them.

"Having fun?" He teases, knowing the answer. Addison didn't want to do this, and it truly is freezing, even with the comfort of their sealed wetsuits.

"No!" She insists, but she's laughing anyway. "I hate this. Hate-hate. But…" her words are absorbed when Mark brushes his lips against her sea-slicked mouth. Addison tries again when he eases back: "I'm so, so happy right now."

Mark smiles and buries his face in the curve of her neck. The rich, salty smell of the ocean is overpowering, but he can still detect the vanilla and something-else-he-can-never-place scent of Addison's perfume fighting underneath the shimmering flecks of salt.

"Me too, Red," he murmurs.

It's cold, but they are here and they are together. Nothing else really matters.

. .
. .

About a year before Amy showed up in the Hamptons with a man named Hunter, there was a man named Brandon. Three Weeks Brandon – that's how Mark referred to him. And at the time, Mark truly couldn't have imagined a more awkward situation between himself, Addison, Derek, and Amy, but on that particular day in May, it sure felt like things couldn't get more tension-filled.

"Hey. So, uh, that's quite the news about Amy." Mark grins with uncertainty when Addison opens the door. Mark is here to watch the Yankees-Red Sox game, and on the cab ride over, he received a call from a resigned-sounding Carolyn Shepherd, letting him know Amy has gotten engaged to a man she has known all of three weeks, and Amy wants them all to meet Brandon on Saturday. "Derek's mom called," Mark elaborates. "I guess Amy wanted to invite me to the thing at Bamonte's, too. It seems…like it's gonna be awkward. Please tell me I don't have to go, Red. I'm not technically her brother, after all."

"It is indeed going to be awkward, and no, Mark, you don't have to attend," Addison replies. "I think Amy just wanted to be sure she extended the invite to the dinner – engagement dinner just seems so…wrong. It's gonna take me a minute to get used to that one. And unfortunately you've walked right into the middle of a fight about said dinner."

"Hey, Mark," Derek greets as he walks back into the living room with drinks in hand. "If you want to have a beer and just sit down…" he glances warily at his wife. "Addison, let's just go upstairs for a sec, or talk about this later…later would be better…"

"I'm not going anywhere." Addison's hands are like claws on her hips. "Mark is a big boy. He can leave the room if he's uncomfortable. Derek, the way you're acting -"

"I am opening up Cece Grant's head tomorrow night. You get that, right? Also, welcome to the Trust Triangle, Mark, since I just name-dropped a patient." Derek holds out a beer for him.

"I get that you can't make it," Addison says while Mark quietly accepts the beer and nods his thanks. "I get that. It's way too last minute of an ask from your sister, and I know you and the Chief have gone to certain lengths to ensure the privacy of the patient, which includes surgery at a later time on a quieter night – I'm not upset about that."

For once you're not, Mark thinks, a little uncharitably. And maybe Derek is thinking it too, he considers. Mark feels like Addison is often angry about Derek's private practice and surgery prioritization these days, and he doesn't really blame her. It has to be hard, to be married to a person who is equally married to his career. Surgeons always have two spouses, and that goes for Addison, too. She also works long hours and sometimes has to put surgeries and medical crises ahead of getting home at a reasonable hour, and she sometimes has to cancel plans, too. Some days, Mark just doesn't see how a marriage – any marriage – is sustainable when your profession is also a calling. But maybe even with or without a calling, maybe some people just don't or wouldn't make good spouses. Mark knows he wouldn't, for instance.

"What I'm saying," Addison continues, and her clipped tone is enough to make Mark refocus on the argument happening before him, "is that this can't be your reaction, Derek – or not how you react when you talk to Amy, at least."

"Wait. Cece Grant…like Cecilia Grant?" Mark asks. It's just occurred to him. "As in -"

"Yeah," Derek answers. "The governor's wife. Meningioma, about the size of a lemon."

"Anything for that tax break," Mark quips, mostly to try to diffuse some of the tension. It's like he's a kid right now and his parents are divorcing. He hasn't witnessed many spats between Addison and Derek during their marriage – coming up on ten years – but he knows what to expect. Derek can injure with words, and sometimes loses the plot because he sees the world in black and white. And Addison can be petty and will furnish receipts out of nowhere regarding any minor marital complaint she's been holding onto; she can be passive-aggressive at times. "Especially when it comes to a governor who will probably announce his intention to run for the big job soon."

"Right." Derek looks back at Addison. "So -"

"I'm just saying this is about giving Amy our love and support. And maybe…maybe this will work out? It's doubtful, but still, you never know. And Derek, she works so hard and she has such a kind heart. I know this is impulsive, but on a list of Amy-related impulsive acts, this isn't too -"

"I'm well aware of the impulsive acts, thanks, and I could really, really do without the reminder."

"Oh, you're being such an ass, you know that?" Addison snaps back. "I wasn't trying to bring that up. I'm just saying it could be worse, and whether or not we think this is a good idea…we need to be supportive, because in the event the engagement or marriage blows up, or Amy needs a shoulder to lean on…she needs a safety net, not just as a human being with feelings, but also as a recovering addict. This is your baby sister, Derek. The least you can do -"

"Addison." Derek says her name like a warning, and it makes Mark's chest constrict. Derek has done this before, and Mark doesn't like it. It sounds mean. "Can we just…not do this in front of Mark, please? I can't interpret girl flip out while I'm standing next to my best friend and while the Yankees are blowing a three-run lead in the foreground. Let's discuss this later. It can wait."

"Well, for what it's worth, Mark also thinks you're being an ass."

Mark clears his throat uncomfortably. "I'm standing right here, Red." He raises his hands in a way that indicates his innocence. "I didn't say that."

"But you're thinking it. I could tell."

"What are you, his girlfriend?" Derek sneers. "You can read his mind now?"

"Okay. I'm gonna go in the kitchen and just…give you two lovebirds a minute," Mark mumbles as he backs away. This exchange was briefly tolerable to bear witness to, but not anymore. And Addison was sort of reading his mind, which is freaky. Mark was thinking that Derek can be unforgiving and critical at times, especially when it comes to family members' mistakes.

A few minutes later, Derek comes into the kitchen, looking a little tired, but no longer angry.

"Sorry about that," he says quietly.

"I don't think I'm the one you need to apologize to, man." Mark takes a long swig of his second beer. He doesn't elaborate. Let Derek decide if he's talking about Addison, Amy, or both.

"I know. I said sorry to Addie. We both apologized. She – well, you know her. She's pretty forgiving. We patched it up, and then right after that, Bizzy called. She's upstairs talking with her now…as though this evening didn't suck enough for her." Derek sighs remorsefully. "It's just, this Amy thing is unbelievable and yet so completely predictable at the same time."

"I don't think Addison approves of it either, for what it's worth. Just…the family stuff is important to her."

Derek presses his palms against the counter, and gives Mark a look that displays both surprise and defensiveness. "It's not like it's not important to me," he states testily.

"No, I know," Mark quickly responds. "It's just the kind of upbringing Addison had…it's different, that's all. So when she reacts the way she does – well, she's your wife, not mine, so what the hell do I know – I'm just saying it's probably not meant to feel like she's coming at you with a scalpel."

"Right." Derek nods in agreement, and his features soften. "And I know you know that about upbringings too, Mark. That procedure though…I do feel bad, but I don't think I can just dial the main line for the New York State Capitol to ask -"

"Give Amy a call," Mark cuts in. "And score points by calling her while Addison is within earshot – and tell Amy you can't make it to the dinner because it's unfortunately too last minute and you have somewhat of a public figure who is going to be in your OR that evening, but you're happy for her and can't wait to meet the guy. Then throw out some options for nights you can take her and Mr. Three Weeks out to dinner. And send…" Mark hesitates when he almost says the word wine. No. Not appropriate for Amy. "Send flowers to be delivered to Amy's table at the restaurant. Girls eat that shit up."

"That's actually…a really great idea." Derek smiles his amusement. "What a charmer you are. So are you…are you thinking of going? I'm sure Amy would love for you to be there, but I'd understand if you don't want any part of this shitshow."

Mark shrugs. "Well, I don't have the governor's wife on my operating table two days from now and I don't have anything else going on, so I might as well. I can go in your place, if you want. You know, crack my knuckles a little, flex my forearms so ol' Bran knows I mean business. And I can take the nagging wife off your hands for a few hours."

Derek manages a smile at this playful comment. "Thanks. Probably a good idea…on both counts. You know, Addison, she…she deserves better, sometimes. That's not lost on me. Or something..." Derek runs his thumb over a weary brow. "I'm just not…I don't know how to explain it…"

"Do you…want to try to explain it?"

"No. What I want right now is another beer."

"Okay then." Mark moves towards the fridge. "Coming right up."

. .
. .

"You know, when I was…" Mark looks over at Addison when he cuts the engine after pulling into his spot in the parking garage. It has just occurred to him that he really wants to tell her something...but his words slip away when he notices tears wobbling down Addison's cheeks. "Addie…"

"It's okay," she sniffles. "I'm okay."

Mark holds a hand out, and Addison places her smaller, ring-clad one in his. "You're crying though," he acknowledges softly.

"I just wish this weekend didn't have to end. But it's…I'll be okay, Mark." She turns to face him, wiping sheepishly at her cheeks with her free hand and trying to smile. "Can we just…sit here for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, sure," he answers. He certainly shares in this feeling. "As long as you want."

"I just need a few minutes, and then I'll call for a cab. Sorry though – I kind of interrupted you. What were you saying?"

Mark grimaces. It can wait. "Never mind. I don't know if I should tell you right now, when you're upset. It's not the most…upbeat story."

Addison shakes her head. "It's okay. I want you to tell me. Please." It has occurred to her recently that although she knows a lot about Mark, she doesn't know everything, and she really does want to know everything. That's what love has shifted into for her. She wants to know Mark, every part of him, even the sad parts, and she wants him to know every part of her, too.

"I was just gonna say that I found my mother once. Not – not like you found Bizzy, but still just…in a way you're not supposed to find anyone, especially a parent. It was in the summer, and I was a kid, so I was outside all day, just doing that kid thing where you only come inside for lunch and dinner. And when I came in around lunchtime, Jenny was in bed, which was weird – usually during the summer she'd still be up and 'with it' enough to make me lunch. And when I saw her, she was lying on her back and sort of…like, jerking. And breathing funny and sputtering. And I didn't see anything just then, but something told me she was going to throw up, so I rolled her onto her side. She started crying…she was saying her stomach hurt." It made sense to Mark, even as a little boy with no guidance, to turn his mother on her side to help her clear out the toxic substances. Maybe he had the makings of a medical professional even then. "And Jenny did start vomiting over the edge of the bed, once I turned her. And when there started to be longer breaks in between her throwing up and I felt like I could leave her for a minute, I called 9-1-1, and then…then my dad walked in. Right when I was literally about to call him at work. He came home for lunch, which was kind of lucky, since he didn't do that often. And by the time the ambulance arrived, Jenny was fine…drunk and loopy and obviously riding some sort of narcotics wave, sure, but…also fine. And coherent." Mark smiles when Addison covers their joined hands with her other hand. "So Everett gave some sort of Lifetime movie version of what happened to the paramedics, you know, like Jenny was taking Valium for anxiety and then got a little carried away with some wine with friends while I was at a friend's house or something…and I'm sure he told whatever neighbors were home a similar story…I don't really remember. I do remember Everett told a joke or something in front of the paramedics at one point though because everyone was laughing, even Jenny. And Everett was able to sort of steer me away whenever a paramedic tried to ask me questions…and maybe I just knew anyway what I should and shouldn't say. And then once Jenny was assessed and the paramedics determined she was fine and just needed to stay hydrated, well…that was that. It might not even…it's hard to say for sure what I even really saw. If I think about it now…it doesn't seem like…it might not have even been an overdose; I don't know. I was a kid. It wasn't my job to know. And after the paramedics left, my dad was…sort of annoyed by the whole thing. It was like I caused a scene or something – a circus. Yeah, that was it. He said the afternoon turned into 'a circus' because of me. I'm sure some of that annoyance was reserved for Jenny and was just dumped on me instead, but the fact that the paramedics showed up and did their thing and then happily went on their way…I assume if I was living in a more run-down area and my dad didn't present so well, I'd have been walking out of there with a social worker. You know, I've never told anyone this before. Just…just you."

"How old were you? You said you were a kid, but you didn't say -"

"Nine."

Addison's face falls. "Oh, Mark…"

"I'm okay, Red. I just wanted you to know, that's all. And Jenny…she actually stopped drinking for a bit after that. That was a silver lining, I guess. She still took pills, and I don't really see why she thought one might cancel out the other, but she did try. She really tried. And she did feel bad about what happened. The next morning, she woke me up early, and asked if I wanted to do something fun, just the two of us, and I was a kid, and, like you, pretty much bursting for my mother's love, so of course I was all over that. She took me to Skaneateles Lake. She said she used to go there with her dad when she was little. And we didn't bring suits or anything, and the sun was barely up, but we took off our shoes and socks, and rolled up our pants and waded in up to our knees. And while we were standing in the water just looking out at the horizon, she put her hand on my shoulder, and…she…she told me she was sorry about what happened yesterday, and that she loved me and she knew she wasn't always a good mother, and that she'd try harder. And getting into water that stupidly cold sort of became a…thing for us." Mark smiles at the memory. "You know those polar plunges people do? We started doing our own. Jenny said the ones people do on New Year's Day are too cliché – but mostly she was just sparing us both from the fact that she'd be way too hungover on the first to leave the house – so we always did it on New Year's Eve morning. And I always knew…I always knew that if nothing else, I had that one day with Jenny. Not the whole day, mind you – she and my dad always went out on New Year's Eve – but still a decent chunk of it. We'd wake up early, head to the Finger Lakes, and then we'd be eating pancakes at this ugly-looking diner by eight. It always made me feel like…like she wanted me."

"You didn't…Mark, you think that Jenny didn't want you?"

Mark glances down. "No. I don't know." He shrugs and looks back at her. "Sometimes."

"Oh. So…those plunges…" Addison adds, attempting to draw Mark in another direction. She feels broken-hearted for him, for that little boy who turned all the lights on before he went to bed and wanted so much to spend time with his mother, and she really just wants to crawl into his lap so she can give him a hug and ask why he thinks his mother didn't want him, but she senses Mark isn't there yet; she is able to read his subtle expressions and body language now. "Is that why you like going for cold water swims and subjecting me to them?"

"Contributing factor, sure, but I'd like to think that I'm dumb and reckless even without my mother's influence," he jokes.

"Was her full name Jennifer? I'm just realizing…I don't know. I don't think I ever asked you that."

"Genevieve," Mark tells her. "I never heard anyone call her that though. We didn't even include it in her obituary, or on her gravestone. She was always just Jenny. Her mother – my grandma – her name was Genevieve. She died during childbirth. Or right after, I guess. So Jenny was named for her, and raised by her dad…my grandpa. He was also gone by the time I was born. Jenny didn't talk about him much."

"I'm sorry, Mark." Addison's fingers tighten around his. "For what you saw that day, and how it forced you to grow up way quicker than any little boy should, and just…for all the other struggles you've had with Jenny and your dad."

"It's okay." He shakes his head. "I'm fine, Red. I just…I just wanted to tell you, that's all."

"I'm glad you did," Addison whispers, leaning over the center console to kiss him.

. .
. .

"Hey…uh. Why?" Mark's greeting to his best friend shifts into a question when he sees the McDonald's bag Derek is holding. Mark gestures to the couch, and Derek follows him, setting the bag on the coffee table. Mark realizes he needs to start functioning again, to claw himself out of this foggy, seventy-two hours' worth of grief regarding the loss of his mother if only to get his best friends to stop showing up unannounced and then proceeding to hover with all these anxious Do you want…? Do you need…? inquiries. Well. That's not entirely fair, Mark knows. It's been nice, actually, to have them here, and at least Derek texted to say he was coming over. Mark is struggling with the feelings part of this though. It was embarrassing enough crying in front of Addison two days ago.

"Sort of an autopilot thing," Derek explains with a crooked grin. "It's just what occurred to me and before my wife could tell me it was a weird idea and that you probably don't want McDonald's, it's just…what happened. It's like when you ransacked every garden along Peridot Drive when you came to see me after you heard about my dad. It was the best idea you had. You know, after Dad died, people did that thoughtful-but-cliché thing where they brought over food – so much food. Casseroles, pot pies, lasagna roll-ups…all the sympathy staples you can put away and heat-up later, you know? And one day Nancy absolutely lost it on my mom after another do-gooder dropped something off. She yelled, 'Make them stop bringing casseroles. We just want fucking Happy Meals!' And honestly, no one, probably not even Nancy herself, was expecting that outburst, but grief is weird to navigate and you end up constantly combusting at the beginning of the process. I think we all thought Mom was going to grab a bar of soap and demand to know where my ten-year-old sister heard that word…"

Probably from me, Mark thinks.

"But instead my mom doubled over and started laughing, and then we all started to laugh…I can't even tell you how hard we laughed. It was like a release. I don't know that Amy really got it – she was so little – but she laughed because everyone else was laughing."

Mark grins. "Did you go to the golden arches afterwards?"

"We ended up going there for dinner, yeah. And I guess…on my way here, I was thinking about that and about Happy Meals. This is just fries and a Big Mac though. I figured you probably didn't want a kids' meal. Plus," Derek jokes, "you're thirty-three; I think the cutoff for Happy Meals is thirty-two."

"I might have wanted a Happy Meal if I knew what the toy was." Mark exhales slowly, feeling the craters of grief shifting inside him, easing up for a moment somehow, and also feeling grateful for his best friend's enduring presence. "Thank you, Derek," he says. "You're a good friend. I probably don't tell you that enough, but you are."

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. .

Mark doesn't take his eyes off the screen in front of him when Lynette comes into his office and asks him if it's time, but he offers a flick of his hand meant to be taken as a friendly dismissal. "You know you're always free to leave when I'm done with patients for the day," he tells her. "Go ahead."

"No," Lynette says, walking around his desk until she is standing next to him. "Time-time," she says, pointing first to the space between her eyebrows, and then pressing her index fingers to the outer corners of her eyes.

Mark chuckles. "Definitely not time," he says with certainty, but he pushes out of his chair to stand up and look closer anyway. He rakes his eyes over Lynette's features, but as expected, finds no fault. She turned fifty-eight last summer, and like most of his patients, Mark's subtle manipulations ensure she looks good, but also still realistically looks somewhere around her age group. "A few more months before we can go for another round of injections. You look great, Lynnie."

"Just checking. I've got another one on the way, you know…so the less crow's feet, the better. And don't say the 'g' word."

"Grandma or not…" Mark says, leaning away when Lynette playfully lifts a hand. "You definitely don't need anything else. Not anytime soon. I like you too much to give you a forehead as a smooth as an ice rink."

"Okay," Lynette says, moving back to the other side of his desk to straighten out a few papers she apparently isn't too happy with from an organizational perspective. "You've been acting different this week, Mark. These past few days you've been…I don't know." She shrugs, and looks up at him once she's fixed the stack. "Perky, I guess."

"You sure you're not just referencing a recent patient's boob job?" Mark teases, but when his receptionist raises an inquiring eyebrow, he grows serious. "Fine," he murmurs, a slow smile unfurling across his face. "You're right. I've been...I've just been, well. She loves me. She told me she loves me."

"Wow. Great, Mark," Lynette says, voice full of sarcasm.

"Oh, come on. You're not even a little bit happy for me? Not even a little perkiness?"

Lynette sighs. "I'm happy for you in the sense that you are a sometimes thoughtful, sometimes decent man who deserves to be loved." Mark chooses not to comment on the fact that that's not the best compliment he's ever heard (it rings true though). "But in an overall sense," Lynette continues, "in a much more real sense…no, Mark. I'm not happy for you, mainly because I'm too busy being worried for you. That woman -"

"You know her name, Lynette," Mark interrupts, half-amused and half-annoyed.

"That woman telling you that she loves you is just going to make things more complicated. I know her name, yes. And I know the husband's name, too. And I have to tell you Mark, I really have to tell you, you're in danger of becoming one of those women. Do you know what I mean?"

Mark can't help but smirk even through the stress of this conversation. "I think you know that I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah, that's fair," Lynette replies. "What I'm saying is, you're almost surrendering to a fate, here. I shouldn't be so stereotypical, but I said 'one of those women' because it usually is a woman: the kind who carries on a relationship with a married man, fully convinced – either in spite of or because of what promises the married man makes – that one day the man is going to leave his wife. She just has to wait, and the wait will be worth it because one day they'll be together. But that time…that time won't come, because there's always an excuse, always a reason not to rock the boat just yet. An anniversary is coming up. There's a thing at work. There's an in-law thing. The kids are still in school. And oh, now there's another baby. And then someone is sick. And then…well. You get it. The excuses will keep coming. You're the dirty mistress, Mark. That's what I'm telling you. And maybe that's better than being nothing, because at least this way you get something with Addison, but…there might never be more than this." Lynette swallows heavily, and Mark thinks about the fact that it's been weeks since he has seen Olivia, his therapist, but damn if she and Lynette don't always have similar expressions and outlooks when talking to him. "Is she going to leave Derek? What has she said about it?"

"She doesn't want to talk about that," Mark mumbles, feeling like an idiot.

"Of course not. And what about a baby?"

He blinks at her, still feeling like an idiot. "A baby...?"

"Are Addison and Derek trying? They want kids, right?"

"I…I don't know." His face is glowing hot with shame now. "I mean, yeah, I'm sure they do, but they've never really…talked about that with me. And it's never come up when I'm with Addison."

"Okay. I know you and Derek were classmates, but is Addison the same age as you guys?"

"Yeah. She'll be…she'll be thirty-eight in…in May…or June. May or June." Mark realizes he doesn't know. He's never been good with birthdays. He knows his parents' birthdays, Derek's, and he knows Carolyn's birthday is sometime in early December, but that's it. Derek and Addison's wedding anniversary is in June though, and Mark feels certain her birthday is close to that. So it has to be May. But…he should know this, shouldn't he? Especially now?

"Trust me then: by this age, she's given babies a fair amount of thought, and a woman like that…she'll want a baby, Mark. She'll want a baby with her husband. And once that happens, it's going to be over…people can keep affairs going once children come into the picture, but I just envision that with Addison, a child is going to be the center of her entire world. She might still care for you, but if she's not at work, she'll be with her kid. And even if she did have the time to see you, things with Derek could always end up getting back to a good place. Couples shouldn't ever have a baby to save their relationship, but having had two kids myself, I can say that a baby can strengthen a marital bond, and honestly, sometimes a baby can just change a relationship for the better. The way things currently are for you and Addison, the exact way things currently are – that won't last. It won't stand the test of time, Mark. It just won't."

"But…" Mark swallows thickly. His throat feels so tight. "But I love her."

"I know you do," Lynette replies gently. "And I'm not saying any of this to hurt you, because you know that I care about you and I want you to be happy, but I'm just trying to tell you that at some point you need to start to consider that loving Addison might mean letting her go."

. .
. .

"I just realized something." Addison's words filter slowly into Mark's head the following evening. He blinks, coming to a bit more – he was starting to drift off.

They have been apart for a few days, which always ends up making their encounters more feverish, as though they need to make up for lost time by screwing as many times as they can manage to, which inevitably makes Mark sleepy. This sort of multiple times approach has the opposite effect on Addison though, who still seems full of energy. Or she's just not allowing herself to wind down, because she needs to be mindful of the time, since she can't stay forever. Mark figures it's the latter. That makes more sense. Plus, Lynette's words are still blisteringly fresh in his head.

Mark presses his lips to her bare shoulder. "Hmm?" He prompts.

"When Amy – Amelia – overdosed and you came to St. Joseph's…I was rude to you." Addison rolls over to face him. "You said you didn't want to see her like that and I…I think I accused you of being selfish. And the thing with Jenny…"

"To be fair, it's not the first time you've accused me of being selfish," Mark says while a smile creases his cheeks. "Probably won't be the last, either." He skims his thumb along the corner of Addison's mouth, and the motion eases away the expression of concern she is showing. "It's fine, Red. You didn't know. I still should have…you know, after you all left…I did actually go in and see Amy. She was sleeping though, so it's…it's sort of like I wasn't even there."

Addison shakes her head in disagreement. "She's very wise; I've always thought that. She might have known you were there in some way. Well…I should…I should probably get moving and hop in the shower. He'll be home around eight."

"Addison…what if…what if you left him? I'm not asking you to leave him," Mark adds quickly when her eyes widen. "I'm just saying…what if you did?" He knows it's sort of the same thing though. Lynette is right; he might never get more than this. And Addison is never truly his as long as she's someone else's. There are always traces of her though, because Addison is everywhere, fucking everywhere it feels like, even when she's not here. A long, fiery strand of her hair tangled around the stopper in his bathroom sink. A smudge of pomegranate-shaded lipstick on the rim of a wine glass. A pair of pearl drop earrings on his nightstand. A crumpled receipt she abandoned on his kitchen counter. But none of that holds water. If anything, those little things are just a reminder that she isn't his.

"Other than the fact that telling him I fell in love with his best friend is unspeakably screwed up and cruel, it just…" Addison inhales tensely. "If I were to leave Derek by way of telling him the truth…you wouldn't be friends with him anymore, Mark. You wouldn't be a family – and Derek is your family."

"You're my family too."

"Mark. Listen though. You wouldn't have anything to do with Derek after this. He would never forgive you, or me. He would never forgive us." And Addison wouldn't blame Derek for that. She doesn't think you can forgive someone for something like this.

And it's not like she hasn't thought about leaving. Sometimes ending her marriage is all she thinks about, especially over the past few weeks. She thought about it extensively when she arrived back at the brownstone after her weekend away with Mark (or to Derek, her weekend away with Savvy). Derek was home when she got in, and he seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"I missed you," he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

"I missed you, too," Addison replied, words muffled into his neck, even though the truth was: I didn't even think about you. Addison couldn't even feel a semblance of excitement about the fact that her husband missed her, which at one point would have been all she wanted. She felt nervous in his embrace, wondering if she smelled like Mark. They kissed for a bit in the parking garage before they went their separate ways. Long, slow kisses. The kind people in love share. The kind people who have all the time in the world share – or people who wish they had all the time in the world, at least.

"Glad you're back, Addie," Derek said when she slipped out of his hug, citing the need for a shower. I'm not glad I'm back. "Want to do French food tonight?"

"Yeah. Sounds great."

And while she was in the shower, Addison practiced in her head what she would say, and later that night while curled in bed next to Derek, she practiced some more. All the words sounded awful though, and even now, lying here with her lover, there's just no getting around the concept that it sounded awful because it is awful. And the fact that it's not just scratching an itch, that she's somehow desperately and irrevocably in love with Mark…that makes it so much worse. No. She's much too scared to go through with confessing to Derek. She can't do it now, at least.

Mark clears his throat, jarring her from her internal angst. "Derek no longer being in my life would absolutely suck and I really, really do feel bad for hurting him, but…you're worth it. And you're kind of my best friend too, Addie. But I know that -"

"I don't think I can leave him, Mark. Not yet. I…I don't know that I even know how to leave him. Not just the telling him part, but just…just…" Addison shakes her head, overwhelmed. The idea of severing a life with someone is too upsetting to contemplate. "Can we please not talk about it anymore? There are plenty of other things we could be doing." She smirks suggestively and moves to straddle him, grateful they are both still naked. Fuck it, she can get home after Derek tonight. It will be far easier to create an excuse about a patient to cover for her absence than to tell the truth.

"Well," Mark murmurs, groping her breasts when she stoops to kiss him. "I'm not going to complain about what's happening right now even though you're clearly just using your body to distract me." And if Addison doesn't want to talk about her marriage right now, then fine. Mark can work with that. Hell, he can feel it working already from an anatomical perspective. They'll make each other feel good. The way things currently are won't last, but for now, this is where they're at, and it's better – so much better – than nothing.

"Mmm." Addison adjusts above him so that she can drag herself over one of his thighs. "We don't even need to get in the shower. I'm already so wet. That's what you do to me."

Mark flips their positions and swallows Addison's delighted gasp between his lips when he pushes inside her. He kisses her hungrily, nearly bruisingly-hard and it really does turn him on, there's no denying that, but he's aware that Addison's language is disconcerting. She's no prude, but she never talks like that, so the words just don't sound natural coming from her.

Now, Charlene, on the other hand. There's a woman who can talk dirty.

A few days later, Mark inadvertently makes eye contact with Addison when he slips into an on-call room near the nurses' station with the Peds nurse he's slept with a handful of times over the past few months. Addison looks a little sad when she peers up from the chart she's reading and sees him.

Mark wonders if she can tell that he's sad, too.

. .
. .

---

References/Nods to Various Episodes:

Derek suggesting French food for dinner…I mean, they gotta eat, but this was a small nod to Grey's 2x12, when Addison really wanted Derek to get into the holiday spirit with her and he was absolutely. not. having. it., and she suggested, "French food and Scottish catalogs tonight around nine?" And LMAO at how specific this is. I can't imagine Derek ever being the one to SAY they should get French food, but I went with it for the purposes of this fic.

A lot of stuff with Mark and his background was alluded to in chapters 4 and 13 (if you're so inclined to skim back over that to verify), and obviously I've taken a LOT of creative liberties here with Mark's backstory, but hey, you're either here for the angst or you're not. What we do know from canon is Mark's parents were absent a lot/went out at night, Mark considered Derek to be his family, and his mom died at some point (no indication of when, but this was mentioned in Grey's 6x20).

"Hate-hate" is a nod to Grey's 2x13, when Derek brings trout into the trailer and Addison reacts like any reasonable sane person would: "I hate this! Hate, hate! I hate this trailer!" (How long Addison tolerated the trailer life was truly a testament to how much she loved Derek and wanted to make it work).

The Amelia quick engagement storyline did not happen (she saved a somewhat quick engagement for later with Owen Hunt, if memory serves), but I needed a reason for Derek and Addison to have a blow-out, and this FELT like the sort of thing Amelia would have done, so.

In Grey's 2x18, Mark refers to himself (and Meredith) as a "dirty mistress."

In Grey's 5x12, when we first meet Derek's mom (never gonna be over when Derek tells Meredith that her ponytail is alarmingly high), Carolyn Shepherd tells her son that he "see[s] things in black and white."

Other weird references thrown in because I needed something health-related and something smell-related, so why not: Kate Walsh's brain tumor from a few years ago was a meningioma about the size of a lemon (what the governor's wife had – more on that below), and I also tried to model Addison's perfume after KW's "Boyfriend" (in the ocean scene), but yeahhhhh, perfumes are stupid hard to describe and I also needed an ingredient Mark could easily pick out, not like "top notes of dark plum and myrrh" because what?

Different first name, but I chose the last name Grant for the governor/governor's wife (referenced in the first flashback of this chapter), as a nod to another Shondaland universe: President Grant of Scandal, AKA ONE OF THE MOST TOXIC MALE CHARACTERS EVER DON'T ME ON THIS IF YOU DISAGREE. The follow-up, female President Grant was much better.

Mark admits in Grey's 3x12 he isn't good with remembering birthdays (technically his answer was, "No. I don't know. Sometimes," which I worked into this fic…thanks Markie, that was definitely clear). And in this same scene, when Callie asked Mark if he likes his family and considers himself a family guy, he said, "I don't really have a family. Derek was my family."

Thank you for reading! We are inching closer to these two dummies being caught (because you knew that was coming) and then everything exploding. My goal is for a happy-but-realistic ending. The past year was crappy enough without us needing additional sad stuff. I suspect this fic will end up being between 25 and 30 chapters, but I can't hold myself to that because my ability to stick to an outline is about the same as Mark and Addison's ability to lock doors: it just doesn't really happen. :)