A/N: Thanks so much for all your kind feedback on the last chapter! I'm sorry this chapter took a while. It's a pretty long chapter, so hopefully that makes up for the delay a bit. I hope you like it and, as always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Hope you're staying well!
He feels like he's suffocating. His chest is pounding, his head is throbbing, the back of his throat is stinging. Admittedly, the last two may have something to do with how quickly he gulped down Archer's gin and tonic. Archer likes a strong drink, and Derek can attest to the fact that the drink he'd originally poured for his former brother-in-law was very strong.
Which is why he doesn't get in the car. He's not drunk. But he's also in no state to be driving.
Instead, he cuts across the lawn and starts walking toward the back of the house, where the pool is. It's off-season, so the pool has been drained; and Derek finds himself wondering when the pool was last filled. He and Addison didn't make it out to the Hamptons this summer, and it didn't seem like Addison had been renting the place out.
So, most likely, over a year.
For some reason, the thought causes a sharp pang in his stomach. And he can't explain it. He doesn't like the Hamptons (at least, not as much as Addison does); he shouldn't care.
"I thought I might find you here."
He looks up in surprise. His ex-wife is walking toward him with a tumbler in her hand.
"Here, drink this." She hands him the glass and sits down on the lounge chair next to his. And for a moment, she sits there quietly, taking all in. "Not much of a view," she says finally, motioning toward the empty pool.
He doesn't have to look at her to know she's thinking about old times. She's thinking about summers when the pool was filled with water and the house was filled with people. Savvy and Weiss, his sisters and their families, Archer. Their friends, their family ... them.
But he can't think like that. Not right now. He has enough weighing on him.
He starts to take a sip of the drink she just handed him, but pauses. "Is this ...?"
"Sparkling water."
He nods appreciatively. Technically, he wants another gin and tonic. But he knows that right now he needs something non-alcoholic.
And for better or worse, Addison knows this too.
"Thank you," he mumbles, taking a sip.
Addison nods silently and, for a moment, they just sit there watching each other.
"Look, Derek," Addison begins, clearing her throat, "I know you and my brother never saw eye to eye. And you have no obligation to try to get along with him anymore. So ... whatever he said to you ... he's Archer. He was probably just trying to look out for me ... in his way. You know how he is."
"I do know how he is," Derek says quietly. He shakes his head sadly and swallows around the lump in his throat. "Except ... he was right."
"What?"
He meets her eyes and holds contact. "I think you should move back to New York, Addie."
"Excuse me?"
"You had a life out here. You had a career out here. And you gave that up because of me."
"I have a life and a career in LA too," Addison points out.
"No," Derek shakes his head. "You have a private practice. You have a job that doesn't challenge you ... that only lets you scratch the surface of the things you're capable of doing. And that's my fault."
"Der—"
"You worked too hard and you're too good a doctor to settle like this. All those late nights studying in med school ... all those eighty-hour work weeks during residency ... all those times you had to work twice as hard as I did just to be taken seriously ... all those surgeries that only you can perform. You're settling in LA, and ..." he looks down at his hands, "I was the one who put you in that position." He shakes his head sadly. "Move back to New York, Addie."
"Derek," she swallows roughly. "Look at me. Look at me," she repeats when he refuses to meet her eyes. "You think it's your fault I'm in LA right now?"
He nods mutely.
"Is that what Archer told you?"
"He's not wrong."
"He is wrong," Addison insists. She moves from her lounge chair to his. "Derek, I may have moved to Seattle for you, but I could have left at any time. I'm not a victim. I'm not a damsel in distress. I made a choice to stay. Just like I made a choice to move to LA."
"But you're not happy there."
"I'm not happy there," she admits quietly. "But ..." she runs a hand through her hair, "that's on me. Not you."
He should feel better. She's pretty much absolving him of all the blame that Archer just heaped on him ... and that he, himself, had gone on to internalize.
But he doesn't feel better.
"Addison?"
"What?"
"Do you think I don't accept accountability?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Do you want me to answer that honestly?"
He nods mutely. Even though her response pretty much gave away her answer, he still wants to hear her say it.
"I don't think you do," she says quietly. "Not really, at least."
He instinctively looks away. It didn't matter that he was fully expecting that answer; it still stings.
And he forces himself to think about Seattle. He admitted to her that he was absent during the end of their marriage. And she confirmed it. But did he actually believe it? Did he ever do anything in Seattle to be less absent?
No and no.
She uprooted her life and came to Seattle for him. And he never gave her a chance. He cast her as Satan and an adulterous bitch from day one ... and everyone in the hospital knew it.
Sure, the situation was more complicated ... and grew increasingly more complicated the longer she stayed in Seattle. Still, he kept it black and white—he was the injured party, she was Satan.
Except she managed to win people over—Burke, Karev, Torres. And that last one hurts.
It's not that he and Torres were great friends or anything. Not even close. But Torres caught him and Meredith the night of the prom ... and then covered for them. Repeatedly.
And they let her.
"Addison ... after the prom, I—"
But he cuts himself off when he sees the look of surprise on her face. He blushes in embarrassment; Addison may know him better than anyone, but she's not a mind-reader.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "Not much of a segue."
"None, whatsoever," Addison says drily. "But now that we're on the topic ..." she continues sarcastically, "by all means, go ahead ..."
"Right." He looks down in embarrassment. "After the prom, I didn't feel bad about what I did. I, um ... I was actually angry at you."
"You were angry at me because you slept with someone else?" Addison asks slowly.
"I was angry at you for hanging Meredith's panties on the bulletin board," Derek clarifies. "I was angry at you for trying to embarrass her and for trying to undermine what I thought was a big moment for me and Meredith. Those were my initial reactions." He swallows roughly. "It wasn't until later that I acknowledged what I had done or even felt bad about it. And I'm not sure Meredith ever did." He shakes his head sadly. "Torres pretended the panties were hers. And Meredith let her. I don't think anyone bought it, but still ..."
"Derek, why are you telling me this?"
"What do you mean?" Derek's eyes widen in surprise. "I'm trying to tell you that Meredith—"
"Really isn't of any interest to me," Addison fills in quickly.
"But—"
"Derek, I don't really care about whether Meredith felt bad about sleeping with my husband or whether Meredith accepts accountability. I wasn't in love with her. I wasn't married to her for eleven years. But you ..." she looks at him squarely, "if you want to talk about you, then that's something I'm interested in discussing." She shrugs nonchalantly. "The ball's in your court."
"I want to talk about me," Derek says quickly. "I want to talk about us."
"Us?" Addison shakes her head sadly. "Derek, there is no us."
"Addison, I ..." he runs a hand through his hair. This isn't how he imagined this conversation going. He wanted to convince her to move back to New York. He wanted to make things better for her. And she flipped all that on its head.
Now, somehow, it's him who's under fire. And what's worse, it's his own fault; he was the one who brought up the prom.
"If I could undo the prom, I would," he says quietly.
"Only because your relationship with Meredith didn't work out," she retorts without missing a beat.
"No, that's not why," he insists. "Our marriage didn't work out and I wouldn't undo it. I told you that on the beach and I meant it."
"But you'd undo prom?" she asks slowly.
"Without thought or hesitation."
She nods mutely, and he can tell she's taking it all in. He can also tell that she believes him. Which is good because it's the truth. He may not have realized it until right now, but that doesn't make it any less true.
She looks at him in confusion. "Why are you telling me this?"
He shakes his head. "Honestly, I don't know."
Another truth. Being back here with her has caused something to shift, and he can't explain it.
Despite her insistence that Archer's wrong, and despite her insistence that she chose to stay in Seattle and that she's choosing to stay in LA, he can't help seeing Archer's side of things.
He can't help feeling guilty.
He knows better than to tell her that; she'd tell him not to flatter himself. But, still, the whole thing has him off-balance (in a way that has nothing to do with the gin and tonic he downed).
"Shepherd!"
Derek looks up in surprise. Archer walking toward him and Addison.
"Shepherd," Archer calls out again as he walks closer. "You're still here? I thought you left."
"Sorry to disappoint," Derek mutters.
"Who said I'm disappointed?" Archer smirks. "I still need someone to make me that drink."
"Archer," Addison chides.
"What? He knows I'm kidding," Archer insists. "Kind of," he smirks. But he quickly grows serious and turns to his sister. "I thought you left."
"No," Addison shakes her head. "Not yet."
Derek's not sure whether he's imagining it, but he almost swears he sees a look of relief cross Archer's face. It surprises him. But then again, those rare occasions where Archer shows actual human emotion always manage to catch him off guard.
But maybe he shouldn't be surprised this time. Archer's an ass, no question about it. But he's an ass who loves his sister. Maybe Archer wasn't just trying to provoke him before when said that Addison wasn't the only person that got hurt when she uprooted her life and moved to Seattle ... and then LA.
Maybe that was Archer's attempt at being vulnerable.
Archer and Addison are close—Derek knows that. He knows how much Archer means to Addison. But maybe he underestimated how much Addison means to Archer.
And, again, something starts to shift.
"Do you still want that drink, Archer?" he finds himself asking, the words tumbling from his mouth as if independent from his brain.
And Archer looks equally surprised.
"It's the least I can do," Derek shrugs nonchalantly. "After all, I drank yours."
"You didn't drink mine," Archer corrects. "You chugged it like it was some cheap beer."
"I did do that," Derek acknowledges. "Let me make it up to you."
Archer's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and Derek has to admit it feels pretty good to catch his former brother-in-law off guard.
"Okay," Archer agrees, a slight smile forming on his face. "But don't make me a weak drink."
"Of course not," Derek nods, as the three of them make their way back toward the house. "Does Kandi want a drink too?"
Archer shakes his head. "No, she went home."
"She what?" Addison turns to her brother in surprise.
"That's the beauty of no-strings-attached sex," Archer smirks as he lets himself into the beach house. "I don't know why people are so against it."
Archer starts making his way toward the kitchen, when Derek cuts him off. "I can make the drinks. Why don't you and Addison wait in the living room? It seems like you two still have a lot to catch up on."
Again, Archer looks at Derek in surprise. "You mean that?"
"Yeah," Derek nods.
"Thank you," Archer smiles, the sincerity in his voice impossible to miss.
"Sure."
Maybe he underestimated Archer. Maybe under that snobby exterior is actually a good guy. Well, maybe not a good guy, but an okay guy.
A good brother, at the very least. Which Derek uncomfortably realizes is more than he can say about himself lately.
But this isn't about him; it's about Archer. And maybe there's more to Archer than meets the surface.
"Come on," Archer tells his sister as he ushers her into the living room. He looks over his shoulder and gives Derek his signature smirk. "And since I'm in a good mood, I'll only engage in moderate Derek-bashing."
Derek shakes his head. Maybe there's more to Archer than what meets the surface but, then again, Derek isn't one hundred percent convinced.
xxxxx
"So, why didn't you tell me you were coming home for the weekend?"
"Home?" Addison raises and eyebrow at her brother. "I live in LA."
"That's just geography."
Admittedly, her brother's comment is closer to the truth than she's ready to admit. And it's oddly insightful for Archer.
So, she pivots.
"If I had told you I was coming home, would it have stopped you from making yourself at home in my house?"
"Probably not," Archer concedes. "But you still should have told me you were coming. You know I'd want to see you."
"I know," Addison nods.
She really does know, and she can't help feeling guilty.
"It's not that we didn't want to see you, Archer, I just ... we're just here for the weekend."
"We? We're?" Archer raises an eyebrow. "You and Derek are a we again."
"No," Addison says quickly. "No. No, we're not. I'm just here for the weekend." She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm actually leaving Monday night, but still ... I'm in town for less than a hundred hours."
"And Derek?"
"What about Derek?"
"Is he also leaving Monday night?"
"No," Addison shakes her head. "He's leaving tomorrow evening."
She swallows roughly as reality sinks in. Derek is leaving in just over twenty-four hours. She only has one day left with Derek. Which should be fine ... which should be a relief, actually. Except that it's not.
"Where is Derek anyway?" Archer asks impatiently. "I mean, how long does it take to mix a couple of drinks? I swear ..."
But Addison doesn't catch the rest of what her brother is saying. Because she knows what's taking so long.
Derek is deliberately taking his time. He's giving her and Archer some time to talk.
She doesn't know if he's doing it to be a nice guy, or if he has some sort of ulterior motive. She could see it going either way.
It's been almost a year since she last saw Archer, and she's missed him. There's no doubt in her mind that Derek knows that. But Derek and Archer also strangely seem to be in agreement that she should move back to New York; maybe Derek thinks Archer will have better luck persuading her. (He won't.)
Whatever the reason, the whole thing leaves her feeling conflicted. She's happy to be spending time with her brother, but she also knows that her time left with Derek—who's currently off by himself and is likely passing time by counting the tiles on the kitchen backsplash—is dwindling.
"So, Christmas ..." Archer trails off, cutting into her thoughts. "Will you be coming home then?"
Addison narrows her eyes disapprovingly. "Stop saying that."
"Fine," Archer rolls his eyes. "Will you be coming back East then?"
"Probably not," she shakes her head, taking in Archer's clear disappointment. "Stop with the face," she chides. "You don't like Christmas anyway."
"I like Christmas," Archer insists. "That's when single doctors and nurses are feeling most vulnerable, and—"
"What I meant was you don't like the Holiday season for the same reason that most people do."
"So?" Archer shrugs. "You do. You love Christmas."
No, Addison mentally disagrees. Derek and I love Christmas. At least we used to.
"Even if I don't love Christmas for the traditional reasons," Archer continues, "it's nice to be around someone who does."
"Celebrate with Bizzy and the Captain," Addison quips.
"I'd rather sleep with someone age appropriate," Archer grimaces. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the Captain's reasons for liking the holidays are pretty similar to mine."
Addison shakes her head in disgust. Although Archer's not exactly wrong.
"You should come back," Archer insists.
Addison sighs. "I'll think about it," she mutters, more to put an end to the conversation than anything else.
"Think about what?" Derek asks as he enters the living room with everyone's drinks.
"Coming home for Christmas," Archer says, accepting his drink. He turns to Derek. "What took you so long? Were you distilling the gin yourself?"
Derek turns to Addison. "You're thinking of coming home for Christmas?" he asks, purposefully ignoring Archer.
Addison is prepared to once again remind her ex-husband and brother that New York is no longer her home, but Derek is quicker.
"Where do you think you'll stay?" he asks curiously.
"I, um ..."
She hadn't thought about that. In all fairness, she was never actually entertaining the idea of coming back to New York for Christmas ... but if she did, she's not sure where she'd stay.
She could stay with Bizzy and the Captain, but she's not sure she'd want to. She wouldn't dare stay with Archer—as a general rule, but especially during the Holiday season. She could stay with Savvy and Weiss, if they're in town. They don't celebrate Christmas, but Addison has no doubt in her mind that if she came back for Christmas, they'd not only insist she stay at their place, but also end up throwing some type of Christmas party for her, complete with festive decorations and an elaborate Christmas dinner. And having them go out of their way for her like that (even though they'd insist it was no trouble at all) would just make her feel bad.
"I don't know where I'd stay," she shrugs. "I haven't given it much thought."
Back when she and Derek were married, it was easy. They always spent Christmas at his mom's place.
She wills herself to meet Derek's eyes and she can tell by the change in his expression that he's doing what she just did. He's running through the possible scenarios of what Christmas at "home" might look like for her nowadays. And she can't help wondering if he's reached the same conclusion that she has—that New York isn't home without him.
"We have time to figure that out," Addison says quietly, casting her eyes downward. "We still have time."
"Until Christmas, yes," Derek nods. "We do have time."
And Addison can't help reflect on Derek's use of the word we ... and, okay, her use of it as well.
"But ..." Derek trails off, looking down at his watch, "we can only stay here for another half-hour, forty-five minutes, tops if want to make it to Weiss' second birthday dinner."
Addison glances at her watch and her eyes widen. "We can't miss another one of his birthday dinners."
(They do.)
"Forty-five minutes," Archer waves his hand. "You have plenty of time. And we only just started catching up. Don't forget, you two are on vacation. It's okay to relax a little."
So, they do. But not too much. After all, they have a birthday dinner to attend.
They leave their place on time. Archer (who decided against going to Weiss' birthday dinner because he feared it would be too couple-y) can attest to that.
"So ..." Addison sighs as she slides into the passenger seat of Derek's rental car. "That was ..."
"A lot," Derek fills in with a helpless shrug.
"A lot," Addison echoes.
She waits for Derek to put the key in the ignition to start the car. But, instead, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to face her.
"Are you really coming home ... I mean, coming back here for Christmas?"
"No," she shakes her head. "I'm not."
"Why not?"
She sighs and unbuckles her seatbelt so she too can turn and face him. "The truth ...?"
He nods.
"I can't," she chokes out, her throat surprisingly thick with emotion.
He blinks in confusion. "What do you mean you can't? You won't have to work, will you? I'm sure Naomi will give you time off."
"No, that's not it," Addison shakes her head. "I can't come back with here. Not without you."
He nods again, and she can tell he's taking it all in. Except he doesn't know the half of it.
"When I come back here, I'm not me. I'm—"
"Yes, you are."
"No," she shakes her head again, "I'm not. I'm we, I'm us ... but I'm not just Addison." She swallows roughly and leans in closer to him. "I don't think I know how to be just Addison here. It's too easy ... too tempting to slip back into Addison-and-Derek. And I don't know if I want to be here as just Addison. I don't know if I can be here as just—"
But she can't get the rest out because his lips are on hers and he's kissing her fiercely. And she's kissing him back just as heatedly. And it feels so right—so incredibly right—so they keep doing it.
She doesn't know which one of them removed the first piece of clothing.
(Okay, it was probably her.)
But as more clothes start to come off, and they somehow find themselves in the backseat of his rental, she momentarily finds herself thanking her lucky stars that they took the jeep Derek had rented and not her sleeker, but less roomy rental.
She pulls him on top of her, reveling in how good it feels to be close to him again. The smell of his cologne when he kisses her, the feel of his back muscles when she wraps her arms around him—she's missed this, god she's missed this.
She's missed him.
They have less than twenty-four hours together, and she's going to make the most of it.
So, she does what she always does ... what she always used to do. She wraps her arms around him tighter and kisses him deeply.
Why fight the inevitable?