Author's Notes: Chapter title is a lyric from the song "Nothing Without You" by Vienna Teng. I've had this chapter almost-all-the-way written for weeks now, hence the quick update. Full title is Maps Will Only Show Me How to Lose My Way - but FF got cranky about the length of it, so I had to cut it down when entering the actual title.

Timeline reminder. Well, MY timeline, at least: Meredith's internship started July first. In early season 1 Grey's, Derek said that he'd been living in Seattle for six weeks...that puts him in Seattle in late May (give or take). All that to say, we are pretty darn close to the *boom* now.

There's another trio flashback in this chapter, and more on the way! Those are always a lot of fun to write...and uh, other than that, this chapter is a BUMMER (I'm great at talking my writing up). A compelling-to-read bummer, I hope, but a bummer all the same. So...enjoy?

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Chapter 19. Maps Will Only Show Me How to Lose My Way

The chocolate chip cookies from the café on the Vagelos campus smell exactly how Addison remembers. And they're still enormous, too, practically human-head size – she would usually split one with Derek or Naomi, depending on who was with her at the time. They bring back good memories, too, she muses while walking down West 168th. Mark's practice is close to their former med school stomping grounds and NYP, so bringing a cookie for them to share seemed like a good idea. They were just talking about these cookies a few days ago.

"Hi," Lynette greets when Addison approaches the reception counter. Mark's receptionist might not like her, Addison knows, but she still always smiles and maintains some degree of politeness when Addison stops by around lunchtime (usually once a week). "Mark actually just stepped out to grab a bite to eat."

"Oh." Addison glances behind her to a bank of vacant waiting room chairs. "I can wait for a bit, if…if you don't mind? I have the afternoon off." She has an appointment with her OB/GYN at Weill Cornell this afternoon. It's just a regular exam that Addison is definitely overdue for, and while she has considered telling Doctor O'Leary that she and Derek have discussed trying to get pregnant soon (well, planned), she's not exactly obligated to share this information.

"It might be better if…" Lynette clears her throat uneasily. "It's actually a sit-down lunch, a long restaurant lunch, so I don't know how…how long he'll be out. His next appointment isn't until two-thirty. Mark didn't – he wouldn't have gone out if he'd known you were coming." Lynette says the last part so softly, so kindly, that it makes Addison want to cry. She feels bad that Lynette feels bad, and of course she feels bad because without even saying it, she knows exactly what Mark's receptionist is saying.

"It sounds like it's not a sit-down-alone sort of lunch," Addison volunteers with a weak smile.

Lynette hesitates. "I shouldn't…it's not really my place to say anything, but…I'm sorry, Addison."

"You don't have to be sorry for anything," she replies quickly. "I'm the bad guy here."

And it's true, isn't it? Addison catalogues all the truths she knows, all the names and labels that have descended upon her in the past seven months: an adulterous bitch. A liar. A cheater. A cold, manipulative wife who has decided to refill her birth control prescription when she runs out in early June, just in case. A selfish person who cannot – will not, as of yet – leave her husband, but also does not want the "other man" in her life to leave her.

Lynette shakes her head. "Well…you're still a nice person and you have feelings. Should I tell Mark you came by, or…?"

"No, it's okay. I'll connect with him later. Here though…" Addison slides the treat bag under the Plexiglas shield. "No, really, I insist," she says when Lynette attempts to push it back. "I already had one. Take it, Lynette. I want you to have my cookie; go ahead."

"Glad he's not around to make a sleazy joke about that," Lynette mumbles, pinching her fingers around the bag. She genuinely does feel bad for Addison, but she is perfectly happy to accept the cookie once the redhead made it clear she wouldn't be leaving with it.

And that would have been the end of it, it really would have, but when Mark arrives back at the practice around two, his naturally observant eyes see past the invoices, file folders, and Post-it tabs. He recognizes the small logo on the front of the bag. The subject of these particular cookies came up recently, and of course Addison would get him one if she was in the area. Of course she would; that's just the kind of person she is, he knows.

April showers bring May flowers, Mark thinks absently. Lynette's grandson Rowan was at the office yesterday afternoon, and he happily told Mark this learned-in-preschool expression while coloring a picture. April also brings May acceptance, Mark decides sardonically. It's been four weeks since he told Addison he'd wait, and it's becoming more and more clear she's not going to leave her husband. And then a few days ago when Mark was talking with Derek, he found out that Addison and Derek…no. He tries to refocus on Lynette. Don't think about that right now.

There's a woman at his gym he flirts with sometimes: Daphne. Nothing about dating a woman – even one as hot as Daphne – sounds appealing, but Mark's therapist said it was in his best interest to at least try to make steps towards moving on. And having lunch with someone would indicate a healthier moving-on approach than a quick fuck, he figures.

"She was here," Mark states, and before Lynette can play dumb, he nods towards the half-crumpled treat bag. "I recognize the bag."

"I saved half for you." Lynette's lips pleat together. "I didn't…it caught me by surprise. I didn't tell her the truth, but I didn't lie, either. She seemed like she figured it out though. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Mark. Are you okay?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Lynnie. And I'm okay," Mark says, trying to force a smile onto his face, "just as long as that's a cookie in there and not a macaron."

Lynette grins at this remark. "We've been over this before: you like macarons. It's macaroons you don't like. But yes, this is a cookie." She pushes the bag towards him, expression growing serious. "Hey…just because you went out to lunch with someone…you didn't do anything wrong. You know that, right?"

Then why do I feel like shit? Mark wants to ask.

"Did she seem upset?" He asks instead, voice low.

"I'm not going to answer that, Mark."

So yes, then.

. .
. .

Derek comes to a stop when they reach their row in the 504 section, and he glances back at Addison, a question playing at his lips. "Did you want to sit in the middle, or…?"

"No point in that." Addison jerks her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Mark, who is standing behind her. She walks into the row first, taking the third seat over. "You'll just keep leaning around me to talk to each other about the game. I'm fine on this side. I've got my beer – or will, I mean. I'm just going to be staring dreamily at Jeter the whole time anyway."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," Derek says, fighting back a laugh. His eyes are sparkling particularly bright today. All of theirs are – Derek's, Mark's, and Addison's. Spring term has ended, grades are in the books, and they have two months off before they start their second year of med school. "But on that note," he adds, "I'll go get the beers."

Addison reaches for her purse (in her lap, because she certainly isn't going to put it on the ground here). "Do you -"

"No, I'll get this round," Derek says. "Mark can get the next. And you can get the one after if it gets to that point." Addison still goes for her wallet out of habit – genuinely, not just doing a "pretend grab" thing – and Derek usually shakes her off. They occasionally split meals if she can wear him down enough, but she can at least comfort herself with the notion that they don't ever go anywhere fancy or spend too much (overpriced beers at Yankee Stadium aside).

"Can I ask you something?" Addison says to Mark once Derek has headed back up the steps to go to the food area. Mark leans towards her – they have a seat between them – but even without this gesture, Addison wasn't actually going to wait for an affirming response. Mark is usually pretty direct, both in asking questions and answering them. "You're from money, right? I know the first rule of Old Money is you don't talk about Old Money, but -"

"It's okay." Mark chuckles. "I won't alert the other club members of your serious rule violation. But yeah, I am. Probably more like middle-aged money compared to your family though."

"What has Derek told you?"

"Not much," he answers, which helps push away some of the anxiousness ghosting over Addison's face. "He's pretty private with relationship details, and I'm not the kind of person who pries about that stuff…he just said you're really wealthy, and you referred to yourself as a WASP, once. He didn't actually have to tell me any of that though. You sort of look rich and you carry yourself that way – which isn't an insult. You're really nice and you're not snobby or anything. I could just tell. Money recognizes money, I guess. Oh, and the last names, too. I bet your trust fund is killer. You have one, right?"

Addison nods weakly. "He doesn't know about that yet." She and Derek have been dating for almost eight months. It is her longest relationship to date (and arguably her happiest one, too).

"Derek isn't dating you because he's envisioning potential dollar signs and Scrooge McDuck money. It won't change anything."

"No, I know." Her eyes briefly flicker away from Mark, but then she looks back and gives him a smile. "I just brought it up because…well. My parents are going to be in the city next week, and when I mentioned this in passing to Derek, he…he wants to meet them. So we're getting dinner with them, and it's like…it's like leading a lamb to the slaughter, it feels like? So I brought this up because I just…I was wondering if you've had similar experiences, I guess, when you've dated women who might not have been born with like eleven silver spoons."

"I usually just try not to introduce anyone to Jenny and Everett. It's been awhile since I've dated someone seriously anyway…so I'm not much help there."

"You know," Addison says, "you never really talk much about your family. Your parents are the God-forbid-their-identity-be-defined-by-being-called-mother-and-father type, too?"

"Yep. We probably have more in common than you think. But Derek – he can hold his own. It won't rattle him, Red, and it won't change anything between you guys." Mark leans a little closer. "Can I say something…sort of feelings-ish?"

"I didn't know you were capable of that, Mark Sloan."

"I have many talents," he responds with a wink. "Look. My guess is you're dreading the dinner almost more for yourself than you are for Derek. Like, you're worried about what Derek will think and observe. But, your parents…whatever criticisms they lob…no matter what they do or say or pick you apart over in the presence of your unsuspecting boyfriend…don't let it get to you. Be proud of yourself and everything you've accomplished – some of which you've probably accomplished in spite of your upbringing. You don't have to fight for their approval. You're at the top of your class at one of the best med schools in the country, and you're, well." Mark shrugs. "You're pretty great, you know. I can see why Derek likes you so much. And hey, if the dinner sucks? It's only one day. You're more than whatever crap you had to deal with as a kid. Man…" he shakes his head, laughing quietly. "That was a lot of feelings. As soon as Derek gets his ass back here, I'm chugging my beer so I can feel like a man again."

"You know that you're more than the things you had to deal with too, right?" Addison says, voice lilting and soft to Mark's ears.

"Yeah. I do, but we're not talking about me right now."

"Thank you, Mark – for saying all that. It's sort of been eating at me. You're a really good friend. Not just to Derek, but to me as well. I know it's cheesy, but I'm glad we've gotten to know each other better over the past few months. You don't always know what you're going to get into when you meet your boyfriend's friends…even though I basically met you a half-second after I met him. But I'm just saying I'm glad the three of us get to do things together sometimes, even if it involves stupid baseball."

"Glad you feel that way, because Derek and I are kind of a package deal. Can't have one without the other." Mark shifts back into his seat. "And there's your man, by the way. No," he adds when Addison cranes her head to watch for Derek coming down the steps. "The other Derek." Mark tips his chin up to indicate the Yankee players who have come onto the field to warm up.

"Both Dereks are pretty dreamy."

"Stop before I barf."

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. .

"Everything okay with Mark?" Derek asks curiously that evening while Addison is rinsing out the glass of wine she just finished. It takes her a moment to process the question, because she's still a bit trapped in her head; today wasn't particularly good. There was the incident with Lynette at lunch, of course, and then after that too, because while Addison's appointment went fine, it's not like any woman enjoys having a speculum inside her body.

But then Addison's heart beats faster when Derek brings her cell phone over to her – it was on the kitchen island, on silent mode – and she sees there is a text message from Mark on the screen.

I'm sorry about earlier.

"Sorry," Derek says while Addison panics about the fact that maybe she looks like she is panicking. She inhales slowly, trying to settle her emotions, while Derek expands: "I wasn't trying to snoop. I saw the screen light up and for a second I thought it was my phone."

"It's okay," Addison reassures with a placid shake of her head. She's certainly made that mistake before, too. It's sort of instinctual to read what's on the lock screen, right? "And, yeah, everything's okay. It was a…Charlene-related thing," she says. "Mark wanted me to talk to her, you know, to try and smooth things over after some sort of argument they had. I told him it was inappropriate though, and that I wouldn't."

"And when Mark didn't like your answer he got grumpy?" Derek replies, and she smiles and nods. It's definitely believable. "Do I need to kick his ass?" He jokes.

Yes, but not because of the reason you're asking.

"Nah, it's okay," Addison says, still smiling. Her cheeks hurt from the strain. "I'll text him back later."

She doesn't text Mark back, but Derek is on-call the following night so she takes a chance and shows up at Mark's apartment building unannounced. He's there – he's there alone, more significantly – so he lets her in. Addison tells him about how Derek saw the text, and then she bristles when Mark sort of snorts over what her excuse to her husband was.

"Wowwww. You're really going to mock my lie?" Addison snarls. "After your carelessness?" Her fingernails dig into her palms. Never mind that she shouldn't have been so careless as to leave her phone unattended in the first place. "I didn't want to say it was a consult or something surgical…there's always a chance Derek skimmed the board, you know? That would have been too specific of a lie anyway. And it's not like our professions have much overlap. Not unless it's something that's serious and actually matters."

And now it's Mark's turn to bristle. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He rolls his eyes. "Not everyone has a meaningful fucking job like you do, Addison."

"Says the man who makes fun of my job constantly."

"I do not," Mark says defensively, but he knows that's not true. Gynie squad. Pink and squishy. He's certainly said things before, delved deep into mockery. But it's not like Addison hasn't mocked his profession right back…for its shallowness, its weakness, its irrelevance, even though it's not always those things and that's not even why Mark went into plastics in the first place. He's never told her about that, actually, and now…now is certainly not the time. "I won't text again," he continues brusquely. "Sorry. Except, you know…I shouldn't be sorry. That's the thing: I didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't say that you did."

"But you were upset," he counters. "Lynette said so."

Addison sinks her teeth into the inside of her cheek before answering. "Of course I was upset," she tells him. "I know I don't have any right to be, but of course I get jealous, of course I get sad. Of course I wonder if whoever you're with is prettier than me, or more fun to spend time with, or better in the sack, or is the person you'd actually rather be with, or -"

"It's not about any of that, Red. And even if any of those things were true, what would it matter?" Mark snaps. They are so close now, maybe just a foot apart, and the volume of both their voices has started to climb. "You're not going to leave Derek anyway."

"What would it be like, Mark…if I left him? I'm asking. I'm honestly asking about the long-term. What is it that you want?"

"I want you. How the fuck can you not know that?"

"You want me as what though? A warm body after we have sex? A girlfriend? A wife? What?"

"What is it that you want, Addison?" He counters, jaw feeling tight. "Oh wait, I forgot – you don't know. You have no idea what it is you want. And it just…I know that I'm not him. I'll always be the 'other guy' to 'the great guy.' I'm the dog, the dirt bag dirty mistress, whatever the shit else that makes me the lesser in this equation. I'm the one your friends and colleagues and parents would probably say Why? about if you told them we were seriously together. And yeah, it's better than never getting on the podium at all, but still."

"Mark…" she says quietly. "That's not…you're not -"

"You told me once that Bizzy accused you of being a passive spectator…when you didn't…when you didn't feel it was the right call to operate on Susan. And -"

"It wasn't."

"I know it wasn't," Mark assures when he sees the stricken cross over Addison's face. "That's not what I'm getting at, and when we were sitting together in the hallway and I was holding your hand, I would have told you that then, too, if you had shared what was going on. I'm just trying to say that, yeah, clearly Bizzy was spiteful and hurting when she was making the accusation, but don't you also think that maybe…maybe she was projecting? She might have had a great life with Susan for the time they had together, but it was still a behind-closed-doors life. There was never a chance it could be more or that Bizzy could be free. She was never going to leave your dad for Susan – she'll never leave him, period, even if it means she'll never be in love with someone ever again. You can't…" Mark exhales roughly and shakes his head. "You can't have us both, Red. And right now all you're doing is being a spectator in your own life. And, yeah, I'm an idiot who will probably take whatever scraps you throw my way for longer than I should, but I can't make the choice for you – at some point, you have to choose. You shouldn't wait for a choice to be made for you or wait for your life to happen or something…but if you wait long enough, that's what's going to happen. Either I'll wise up and leave or he'll leave…or hell, maybe we both leave…but Derek will only leave if he finds out what's been going on between us. He's not going anywhere if you don't give him a reason to; that's just who he is. So we're all stuck. We're stuck because you won't act."

"I know. I know all that. And I know none of this is fair to you, Mark. It's just…" Addison shrugs limply, feeling so stupid that it has all come down to this. "It's just really hard."

"It's hard for me too. You think I don't get jealous or sad? You think I don't know that you still sleep with him, that he can touch you whenever he wants, that you make plans with him, that you want to have a fucking baby with him soon?"

Addison takes a step back. "He told you?" She asks, eyes widening.

"Not…not on purpose," Mark says quickly, and great, he thinks, that's just one more thing to fucking feel bad and guilty about if she somehow blows up at Derek over this reveal. It truly was an accident, after all. "It just sort of slipped out when we were in the scrub room – we had surgeries around the same time. He immediately felt bad about it and made me promise I wouldn't say anything. It's not like…I mean, you guys would both be such great parents…I figured it would happen eventually, that you'd both want kids. Just." Mark crosses his arms. "I just didn't think trying to have a baby would be something you're going to pursue this summer while we are…whatever we are. It's sort of…I don't know. Cruel. Yeah, cruel. That's what it is. Cruel to both of us. " He can see the glossy tears brimming in Addison's eyes now, so he turns sideways, angling himself away from her. He can't look at her; he's enough of a sucker that he'll hold her and comfort her if he sees that she's crying. "And all of that just makes it really clear that you don't in fact have any plans to walk away from your marriage."

"Mark…" Addison says, voice breaking. "I'm sorry you're -"

"You're sorry I'm hurting or you're sorry? Please just go, Addison. Go home to your husband. I really...I really don't want to see you right now."

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It has been six days since Addison found her mother unconscious and bleeding on the floor of the wine cellar. Blood slick and sticky, the ruins of broken glass glittering, the room itself cold and almost damp-feeling. The details stick with Addison – they probably always will, she thinks as she unlocks the front door of the brownstone. She just wants to crawl into bed – it's six PM, so Derek probably isn't home from work yet. And for this, she is grateful.

"Oh," Derek says in the form of a greeting while Addison is shrugging off a short trench coat, and she almost jumps in surprise. It is clearly an early day for him. "You're back." He comes towards her, and wraps her in a quick hug. "I thought you weren't getting back until tomorrow."

"I decided to come back early," she says. "Bizzy is home now. She's started taking an antidepressant, and a therapist came by to talk to her yesterday, because apparently house calls are still a thing, and...and she's mostly taking it easy…and it sort of became clear that she'd prefer Archer and I go back to our lives. Far away from her." Addison steps back, nearly wrenching herself out of her husband's embrace. "Derek…"

"What is it?"

"You left," Addison says, feeling her throat tighten. She doubts she'll cry though; it feels like she used up all her tears when she was in Connecticut. "You just…you left me there. By myself. It didn't matter that the Captain was there, that my brother was there, that whatever shell-version of my mother was there and still breathing…you know in some ways that still meant I was by myself. How could you just leave me there?"

"Addie…you told me to go. You sort of insisted, actually," Derek replies, and Addison wonders if that is true. It is hard to remember exactly how that hospital hallway conversation played out once Derek looked at his work phone, but her husband isn't the type of person to gaslight anyone, least of all her. And admittedly, the past few days have been a heavy fog. But even if Addison did tell Derek to go back to New York, had forcefully insisted upon it…doesn't he know her well enough to see past the frozen grin masking her pain?

"You can't…you can't expect me…" Derek continues, words clipped by an exasperated sigh. And then his expression softens. "Look. I'm really sorry, honey. I should have – I should have thought it through more. I'm here now though. I'm here, okay?"

"I just want to go lie down."

"Sure." Derek nods. "I'll come with you."

"No. Don't bother."

Addison climbs up the stairs without her husband. She is not sure what exactly she wants from Derek, but right now, for this specific moment, she just knows that she does not want him.

. .
. .

"I need a little bit more clarification on what Governor Grant – hell, maybe President Grant – even wants me to say," Derek tells Addison with a happy shrug. He looks a little sheepish, but he's talking animatedly while lacing up his running shoes. He received a call from the governor this morning, who will be announcing his intent to run for president. "I'm guessing just to talk a little to the press about his wife's procedure, early detection…stuff like that. There will be other people talking before he comes on too."

Addison smiles teasingly. "You keep saying 'governor,' but I feel like you get to call him by his first name now, right? His status aside…you did save his wife's life. I'm so happy for you though. And you said next Saturday?"

"Yeah, next Saturday – early morning. And then I was thinking we could go see Nancy, John, and their kiddos, if you wanted to? Hartford isn't too far from where…" Derek trails off for a moment, and Addison stares at him questioningly. "So. The thing is, the press conference is going to be held outside of Greenwich Hospital." He watches as Addison bites her lip and looks down at their bedroom floor. That was where Bizzy was transported following her suicide attempt. "Governor Grant's mother was a nurse there for years, I guess, so that's where he wants to announce his candidacy. Or why there, I guess. Affordable healthcare is going to be a big part of his platform. And I want you to come, but…well." Derek pauses and dips his head, trying to catch her gaze. "I'd understand if -"

"I don't think…" Addison interrupts. She takes a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "I…I want to hear your speech – and witness history, of course – and I'm so, so proud of you that you get to do something this big, but being at that hospital…I know it's been a few years, but I don't think…I don't think I can do it." She finally raises her head to look at Derek. "Would you be upset if your biggest fan wasn't there?"

"No. No, of course not. I get why you wouldn't want to go, and I sort of figured that would be the case. I understand – I just wanted to make sure I asked. You'll at least help me pick out a good tie to wear for the thing, right?"

"Yeah, of course. And I suppose…" Addison begins, knowing she is going to push and push and push until everything explodes, but she is unwilling to change the course. She shouldn't do this, especially not right now; Derek is leaving soon to go on a bike ride with Mark. He just bought a new bike, actually, since his "usual" one is still in the Hamptons…last ridden by Mark in October, right before Addison and Mark slept together for the first time. "I suppose you can keep this one in your back pocket for the next time I ask you to meet me somewhere or do something with me, and you're not able to…or just choose not to."

Derek's lips momentarily slide open in confusion, but it doesn't take long for critical, irritatation-laced words to follow. "Are you trying to be funny, or are you actually starting something?" He says. "It's not always my fault that I have to stay late at the practice, or that I end up being needed when I'm trying to get out of the hospital at a decent hour. You know how long the average surgery in my specialty lasts. And there are plenty of nights you work late now too, Addison."

Mainly due to being with Mark, she thinks. So maybe she doesn't get the high horse anymore.

"But at least…at least I try to talk to you," she retorts, trying to shove Mark out of her thoughts. "That's the difference. You've completely checked out of this marriage. And I won't… I won't do this forever, Derek." It slips out. It really, really just slips out, and Addison thinks that maybe she was parroting Mark, but at the same time, well. Maybe not. Did I…did I just threaten to leave him?

"What is that supposed to mean?" Derek asks, but before she can attempt to cobble together an explanation, he keeps going, voice rising. They've both always been yellers. "You're choosing to pick a fight. You do this sometimes, you know. Stop acting like I'm the only reason things between us aren't like they used to be. And right now…right now things are good. I thought they were, at least. And all…all marriages have rough patches, don't they?"

"Well, maybe good isn't..." she shakes head, considering this. "Things have been better. And this feels like…it feels like it's been a really long rough patch."

"Yeah," Derek says, voice softening as he nods in agreement. "Yeah, it has."

"And the good or better thing…I think maybe it's because of there potentially being a baby? But it's just that…" Addison begins, feeling hesitant. She knows what will happen when she shares her next thought. "If we want to have a baby together -"

"And there it is," he interrupts. "Another inevitable timeline change – so much for the anniversary – because everything is always, always about you."

"Since when? Everything is always about you, Derek. About your career. You're absent and indifferent. When's the last time you actually just sat still and…and spent time with me? And holidays don't count."

"It's kind of difficult to just sit still when you're constantly nagging and whining and just generally finding ways to make me continually wonder what you even want from me."

"I want you to care. That's all I've ever wanted. And I know you want a baby, but sometimes I feel like you only want one because it's going to force a monumental change in our relationship, that maybe we'll be more connected again or just have something to distract from the silence...I feel like you want it for one of those reasons, not because you want a baby specifically with me."

"When you're acting this insane I definitely don't want a baby with you. But I do care. Of course I care. I love you, Addison."

"But are you still in love with me? And do you still, like, want to be with me?" These questions and their potential answers terrify Addison, but she has to ask. It's progress, almost.

"Of course I'm still in love with you. And of course I want to be with you," Derek says, and now she wants to ask, Can you say it without looking at the floor? but she doesn't. "And you're acting…you always, always act like everything that's gotten us to this point – this point where we're both clearly unhappy, or at least you're unhappy – is solely my fault. And that's not true. Addison, you…you were hardly ever here during your fellowship, and you completely shut down after what happened with your mom – you shut me out for weeks, and it didn't matter what I did or said. And the thing is, when I checked my phone and saw the work emergency… the day after Bizzy tried to kill herself…you told me to go. And I didn't push back, and I should have, but it felt like…it felt like you didn't want me there."

Addison inhales sharply at this confession. "I didn't…oh. I didn't know you felt that way, Derek. I'm really sorry for what I said at the time and…how...how that all played out. I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I didn't think about it that way or from your perspective."

"It's okay, Addie. I was never mad at you about it…or it's at least not the kind of thing where I held on to the anger. I know you were hurting, and I know that because of the home you grew up in, grief is sort of hard for you to navigate."

"We should have…we should have navigated it together though. I should have let you…" Addison shakes her head and almost manages a smile. "I'm dangerously close to dropping some sort of sailing metaphor here, I think."

"I can see that," Derek says, and he does actually produce a thin smile. "You know, it's kind of funny…well, funny-not-funny…but for all the shrieking you've done that my mother doesn't like you, that you don't really 'fit in' with the Shepherds…it's not like I've ever fit in with your family, either. I never really thought that mattered though, as long as we had each other. But now I just…" Derek's smile fades and he sighs. His eyes flicker to the clock on his dresser. "Mark is going to be here any minute. Listen…I'm sorry you don't feel like I'm paying you enough attention. I'm sorry for all the things I've apparently done or haven't done as your husband. Addison…I don't…I don't know what's wrong with me. But I'm sorry that you're upset," he finishes.

I'm sorry that you're… Addison hates those words. It's not an actual apology or anything that indicates a sense of accountability: Derek might as well be saying, "I'm sorry that you have so many feelings and that I have to be subjected to them." But, still. Problematic language aside, Addison sees how sad her husband is, how confused he is, and it makes her sad, too – sadder. And more confused, too. This is the most honest, raw conversation they've had in years.

She sees Derek's point about the Medical Genetics fellowship, even though he was arguably just as busy during that time period since he was getting his practice up and running. And as far as what happened after Bizzy...it was days, not weeks, when it came to how I acted and how I could barely function when I got back from Susan's funeral and from being with my family, Addison iscertain of that, that she is not remembering that time from three years ago wrong. And even if it had been weeks, she did eventually float to the surface and check back into her marriage…so why hasn't Derek?

"How did we get to this point?" Addison asks quietly. She knows how, yes. They've gotten successful. They've gotten lazy. They've gotten busy. They've gotten complacent. They've grown apart. But Addison is asking how in a bigger sense, a more abstract one, perhaps, because when you get married, when you have a fairytale wedding with the man who is supposed to be your great love, the love of your life, you don't ever think this is where you'll end up. Whenever you end up with your spouse…you're supposed to end up together.

"I don't know. But we're here now," Derek answers despondently. He mumbles something about waiting in the living room for Mark, and before Addison can saying anything else, he is leaving their bedroom and walking down the stairs.

Do you want to fix it together? Addison wants to ask. She knows the answer though. Derek will say yes…but that doesn't mean he'll truly want to, or that anything will reasonably change.

Addison is glad she didn't ask the question aloud though. It's better not to right now, she knows, because she's not even sure what she would want to have be the end result of Derek's potential answer. Does she want to fix it with him? She's not so sure anymore. She is sorry though. That she does know for sure.

It isn't until later that Addison remembers she pulled the I'm sorry that you're… line on Mark.

. .
. .

References/Nods to Various Episodes:

Grey's 3x11.

Addison: "Mark...I'm sorry you're hurting."

Mark: "You're sorry I'm hurting or you're sorry?"

Also in Grey's 3x11, Mark did refer to Addison's line of work as "squishy and pink," and called it "the gynie squad." Sigh. He was one of many, many characters who respected Addison's brilliance (that much was always clear), but crapped all over her line of work when the chance to be mocking arose (I have this very long-winded apology that Mark offers to Addison in MTGOF because this always bummed me out so much). That said, Mark did also take some crap for his specialty, and I'm sure Addison had some ThoughtsTM about plastics.

Private Practice 3x11 (wow, just realizing right this second that 3x11 in both shows were pretty big for Addison/Mark).

So, Mark described himself as a "dog" in this chapter during the Mark/Addison fight. Reference: in PP 3x11, Sam talked to Addison about "dogs" while she was operating on Mark's daughter, Sloan...which was peak Asshole Sam Energy. He described Mark as a "dachshund," and said: "They're more concerned with their own needs than they are with making you happy. They're filthy and immoral..."

The way in which Addison sarcastically responded, "Immoral? They're immoral dogs?" kind of killed me though. Oh, and then the owners of dachshunds were described by Sam as "desperate for affection" (which, let's be honest: Addison always was this way, but still).

And then Addison later puts Sam in his place and tells him (in a quote us Maddison fans collectively feel our hearts twinge over), "I care about Mark Sloan. I loved him once. And he was our best friend. And, yes, he's done a lot of stupid things, but he also let all of us do a lot of stupid things. He let us do a lot of stupid things and he never judged us. He's not a dog, Sam. Sure, he's got a screwed up moral compass, but so do I. He's a good man."

Thanks for reading!