In this chapter I address what is arguably the thing Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice have most in common: no one locks the effing door. Addison especially? You have 572 specialties, girl. How is locking the door before sexy time such a difficult thing for you?! Also, I've been trying to blend fluff (and how weird little kids are, because honestly) and angst, since depression is a monster and healing is just very, very messy and doesn't happen overnight...so I really wanted to take my time with this storyline. It feels like it would have been a disservice to rush this. Hopeful that hasn't deterred anyone. ANYWAY. The PPD storyline is about wrapped up, and I'm hoping to end this beast maybe around chapter 60 (or 62. Because even number obvs). In the original I took the kids up to ages 11 and 6, but I might end this one sooner – that said, there is a thirteen years-old sequel I may revisit at some point and the thirteen years-old original, so if you're interested in either, just PM me (because lol wow trying to share links on this site) and I can get that to you. Thank you for reading!


Chapter 56. Ribbons and All

Mark brings his hand down on top of the alarm clock to hit the snooze button the way he usually does – ridiculously melodramatic. Addison makes a demure, sleepy noise of acknowledgement when he fits himself back around her and traces his fingers along her jawline.

"Happy Anniversary," he whispers, breath warm against her neck. "Kate and Henry got you flowers."

"I'm sure they did." Addison replies in a not-at-all-shocked tone. "Smart man. I see you found a workaround to our – well, my – decision to not exchange gifts this year…"

"Just flowers," Mark says. "I promise. Well…and to-be-purchased-later iron frames. That one was pre-approved though." This was an Addison suggestion because there was no way her husband wasn't going to be annoyingly insistent about a traditional anniversary gift. Addison told him she wanted to have Darcy come in the New Year and take family photos. They had photos taken when Henry was a newborn, but beyond that, the last time a non-iPhone photo with decent lighting was taken was probably when Kate was three. And the traditional anniversary gift for year six is supposed to iron, and photos need frames, so: iron frames. Easy.

"Anyway…" Mark adds. "Kate picked the flowers out. And, well. Red poinsettias. Orange sunflowers. And then a bunch of roses in different colors. And sword ferns she for damn sure only selected because it's kind of a cool name. The florist was utterly charmed by her."

"Wow. That's a choice. It actually sounds lovely though."

"Yeah. They're in the kitchen. She's pretty…" he stifles a yawn. "Pretty excited for you to see them." Mark strokes Addison's hip and thigh beneath the covers while she vines her fingers around his other hand. Occasionally his lips connect with the soft slope dividing her neck and shoulder, but for the most part, they are subdued, hovering between relaxed and anticipation-tensed as they wait for the alarm to sound again. And this time, they'll need to get up.

It is just gentle touching, cuddling, and drowsy kisses most mornings. Especially on weekdays. Their kids – a tangible part of their love story, or, on days they are feeling less generous, absolute pains in the ass – make getting out of the house something of an ordeal. Pre-kids, they had a lot of morning sex. A lot. Possibly an unreasonable amount, if that can be considered a thing. There were times they would be completely ready for work and then Mark would be, well, Mark. And then Addison would head to Bellevue with hair that was…fine. A little rumpled, perhaps, but nothing that outright screamed her husband-then-boyfriend had tugged her back down on the bed and basically flung her around like a sexual dish towel before they left (not that she ever complained).

But they still have options, at least. Their kids might be early birds, but they are also deep, deep sleepers. And Henry sleeps through the night now.

"See you back here later?" Mark says, which makes her laugh.

"Looking forward to it."


It is freezing out – there is no other way they can think to describe the coldness settling deep in their joints on Friday as they make their way back inside their home after a nice dinner to celebrate their anniversary. It is a beautiful night though. A deep blue sky with crystalline stars hangs overhead. But, still. Inside means warmth. And adult-specific activities, once they relieve their nanny.

"Kate left you a note, by the way," Lauren says as she puts her coat on.

"A check-the-box thing to see if we went in to tell her good night while she was asleep?" Addison asks.

"Yes. And…" Lauren grins. "You both need to go in. There are check boxes, but there are also lines for you to sign your names. So unless one of you is really, really good at forgery…"

Mark shakes his head in amusement. "God, I adore that clever little weirdo."

"Same. You guys made some good ones. Well, I'm gonna head out -"

"Text -" they both interject like the parents they are.

"I swear I'll text when I get home, Mom and Dad," Lauren says with a tolerant, but appreciative smile. "And I just texted Delaney to let her know I'm on my way, so. All bases covered."

"All right. I'll sign first." Addison makes this decision after they wave goodbye and Mark closes the front door. "How about you just stand here for a sec and think whatever sexual base-related puns and jokes you need to in your head so I don't have to hear them."

"I'm okay with that. But anniversary iron rod and pole jokes aren't off the table yet, just so you know."

"I figured."

Addison glances down at the tulle cups and Italian satin holding up her breasts, and beneath them, the matching panties slung low on her hips. She is back to her pre-baby weight, but has to remind herself anyway not to pinch experimentally at her stomach or the skin around her hips. Mark doesn't care. And she mostly doesn't care. It's gotten better, at least. Depression meant – or it might have been separate from depression and was just one more tremendously shitty mindfuck of a thing to have to deal with on top of feeling depressed – lower self-esteem. It didn't necessarily matter how much sex they had and how often Mark's hands were all over her; it still took time to feel good about her body again. Addison busies herself now with fingering a bra strap while she waits for her husband to come down from the third floor. Deep blue. A pretty color, but not her usual choice for lingerie. Mark loves her in black, but she has so much black stuff already, and realistically, he probably likes her in anything. And the look on Mark's face when he shuts the door behind him and finds Addison sitting on the edge of the bed, palms stretched back against the comforter, definitely confirms it.

"Damn," Mark says, eyes unapologetically wandering up and down her body. He hungrily drinks in her appearance. Addison grins and blinks up at him through a flutter of thick lashes, eyes seductive and heavy-lidded. Yes, she wanted to go up first so she wouldn't have to hear any of his stupid rounding third and sliding into home comments, but Mark knows now that the head start also allowed her to slip out of her dress. "Look at you. How did I get so lucky?"

"It's no French Maid costume, but I figured you'd like it…" she grins teasingly and lies back when Mark settles next to her on the bed, propped up on an elbow to continue checking her out. "Though I imagine you'll like it even better when it's on the floor," Addison tacks on, leaning towards him when his fingers drag through her hair, gently pulling. She closes the remaining inches between them, kissing him deeply and slinking her tongue against his.

"You're beautiful," Mark murmurs, breaking away from her lips to trail kisses along the curve of her jawline. Because it's true. The change in Addison's breathing – the subtle increase of air being drawn in and out – is evident as soon as he sucks on a section of skin under her ear. "And really…" the hand not in her hair moves along her thighs, inching closer to where she is wordlessly trying to direct him. Mark stalls briefly to listen to the little noises of encouragement she's making. "Really fucking hot." Also true. Just less romantic. Not that Addison minds, especially when Mark – somehow everywhere at once – cups her through her panties. She rocks her hips in response, trying to increase the friction. Mark gives her what she wants, and she sighs in pleasure when he hooks two fingers inside the lace barrier between them. She shares a husky whisper in his ear, words very non-Connecticut as she tells him how much she wants him. What he does to her.

Mark groans into her shoulder, wrist flicking and fingers building a steady rhythm inside her. "Fuck. You're too good for my ego, you know."

"Believe me, I know…" Addison inhales sharply, knowing she needs to pump the brakes for a moment. "But, hey. Sorry. You need to get up -"

"Already up."

"Yeah, I'm aware. Oh…" she shudders when his thumb grazes over her. "I was going to say you need to get up and go lock our bedroom door." With a lot of effort (a lot), Addison uses her elbows to push herself back, exposing Mark's fingers again. He sighs in disappointment, but complies with her request. "It occurred to me recently…" Addison continues. "And why only just recently, I don't know…but it has occurred to me how incredibly dumb we are when we start fooling around. I blame you for that," she says, which isn't entirely fair. "But we need to be better about locks since, you know…"

Mark offers a quiet response over his shoulder. "It's probably a good idea to not scar our children for life. Especially the non-ambulatory one."

"Yep." Addison takes the opportunity while the door is being locked to unhook her bra and slide her panties down her legs. Mark gives her an approving grin when he makes his way back.

"Hey there…" he hovers over her, voice low and sultry enough that she wiggles impatiently beneath him. "Scoot to the edge of the bed for me."

Addison arches an eyebrow. "And why should I do that?" She asks, keeping her tone purposely innocent.

Mark chuckles while urging her legs apart. "Cute. We might be dumb together and I'm definitely dumb independently, but you're not. You know exactly why."


Snow falls silently outside, barely visible through the window panes etched with frost. Kate rubs her lips together thoughtfully. The icy, white-covered street looks blurry from where she is sitting.

"I bet this is what it would look like on the inside of a snow globe," she says. Her mother is out of the room, in search of a mini toy broom because they both agree that would work best as a pretend paddle, since they don't have an actual paddle. Henry is in the laundry basket with Kate, but he doesn't know what she's talking about, so she is really just saying this for herself. Henry also doesn't know the laundry basket is a pirate ship and he is First Mate, but he gives Kate a big smile anyway and she smiles back. They have opposite teeth now, Kate told her dad yesterday. Henry had several teeth break the surface this fall, and Kate has lost her two front tops and bottoms. Christmas is just a week away, but, contrary to the song, Kate does not particularly want her front teeth. She likes the little space. It's like a window inside her mouth.

"Mmm…" Henry babbles. "Mmm."

"Arghhh…" Kate growls back, like a pirate. This makes her brother giggle.

She tucks Ten Little Pirates by her side since Henry doesn't seem interested in having her read it aloud. He is playing with a plush fish instead. The fish was supposed to be outside the laundry basket on the blue blanket (the sea) with other aquatic-themed toys, but the fish and the TV remote are Henry's favorite toys. And it's keeping him busy and at least he isn't trying to chew on the empty paper towel roll anymore (the spyglass). Kate mostly understands though. At least Henry can do fun things now. He can laugh and crawl and take little steps if he is holding onto furniture. Kate thinks of Bailey Shepherd, Meredith and Derek's son, who was born a few days before Halloween. It's hard to remember her brother being that little once, but he really was, and although he was cute then, Henry couldn't do anything. Now Henry is what her parents call "active." And "curious." Anyway, so even though Kate wants to meet Baby Bailey in person, she is kind of glad Mommy and Daddy said they will fly to Seattle next summer. Next summer Bailey will be old enough to be more fun.

"Found it," Addison says as she comes back into the living room, holding the toy broom. A gentle, silvery little noise bubbles from her son when he sees and hears her. Mama. Addison gasps as Henry's lips press together again. Mama.

"Mommy!" Kate yelps excitedly. "Did you hear that? He said 'mama.' Good job, Chicken Hen-Hen. You are so, so smart." They have heard lots of babbles and funny, copycat sounds before. But that. That was a word. Henry looked right at their mother and said it.

"Mama," Henry says again, even softer this time.

Addison drinks in the happy sheen in her son's blue eyes as she paces across the living room, distractedly handing the broom-paddle to her daughter and sinking down next to the laundry basket. Henry's eyes are maybe a bit greener near the pupils than hers, but for the most part, they match one another. On her son's sweet face though, his eyes remind Addison of polished gemstones. Kyanite, she thinks. It's an unexpected comparison perhaps, but she is no stranger to crystals of any sort. Kate – for sure a Celestite – has an old National Geographic all about rocks and minerals that frequently gets thumbed through.

"Yes, Hennybug," Addison says, voice thick. Henry's fingers are curled around the lip of the laundry basket, and she caresses the dimples dotting the skin on the back of his hands. "That's right. Mama. I'm your 'mama.'"

"Mommy?" Kate asks. Her eyes grow wide beneath the brim of her pirate hat. "Why are you crying?"

"Oh." Addison quickly raises her shoulder to swipe her wet cheek against her Yale sweatshirt. "It's okay, sweetie," she says. "I'm okay. These are happy tears. I didn't think Henry's first word would be 'mama,' that's all." She takes a deep breath. "It's a really nice surprise."

"He said 'mama' because you're a really good 'mama.' That's why."

Addison manages a bright smile. "Thank you, Captain Kate of the Seven Seas. That's so nice of you to tell me that. I'm okay though. I promise."

Kate studies her mother closely, still a little wary. Depression. It took a while to say the word right. She heard it a few times last spring, and it was always said in a quick whisper, so in addition to not knowing how it was pronounced, she thought maybe it was a bad word. She knows now – because she asked Daddy, and later, she asked Mommy – that it means sad. And it's not a bad word, but it is a bad feeling. It's when your brain is hurting your feelings, and it usually happens to older people, or at least not someone Kate's age. And it's not a regular sad, not really…Kate thinks that depression actually means Big Sad. It's like a bad dream where even though you are trying so, so hard, you just can't run fast enough if you are being chased or escape if you are trapped or stop your body if you start to fall – and maybe people with Big Sad feel like that when they are awake, too.

"Sometimes grownups cry because they have so much love in their hearts. Especially parents…" Addison continues, searching hastily for the words. One of her hands is still gripping Henry's, and she uses her other one to push a few long hairs off Kate's cheek. "So I'm just crying a little because I love you and Henry so much. I promise I'm okay, Kate. I'm not sad. Not sad or Big Sad, if that's what you're wondering. It's just a big feeling, that's all. I felt like this when you said your first word too. It made my heart feel happy and full. Your first word was 'Dada.'"

"Oh. I said 'Dada' first and Henry said 'Mama' first," Kate says, thinking this through. "That means you and Daddy got to hear your name first once."

Addison nods through her lingering tears. "Yes," she says with a smile and a peaceful sigh. Her heart does feel happy and full, but it also feels light. "That's true. Daddy and I both got to have this special feeling. We have it all the time with you and Henry, actually."


Mark and Addison sit on the edge of Kate's bed, quietly taking turns flipping through the pages of The Night Before Christmas. Their voices are low to ensure they don't wake Henry, who is sleeping nearby in his Pack 'N Play. Kate's stuffed elephant, pillow, and sleeping bag are positioned next to the Pack 'N Play. It has been somewhat of an eventful evening, and Christmas Eve is eventful anyway even on non-argumentative evenings. Kate desperately, desperately wanted to have a sleepover with Henry, insisting that is what siblings do the night before Christmas. They get to sleep together and wear matching pajamas. (The latter was previously handled: cozy fleece pajamas with polar bears).

"Next year," Addison said when Kate was angling to have Henry sleep in her bed with her. "Henry's still a baby, so we have to be really careful with how and where he sleeps." Kate proceeded to tear up and whine though without any hesitation (Santa is in the air right now. He can't possibly track the Naughty and Nice lists anymore) until Addison came up with a solution Kate was mostly okay with. The Pack 'N Play was already out, anyway – they will be bringing it when they head to Greenwich on the twenty-sixth to spend a few days with Addison's mother. And now their daughter has returned to her mostly-sweet self while Mark and Addison finish the bedtime story, and then usher Kate into her sleeping bag.

Mark wanders around the house to turn off all the lights, and to also handle on-off buttons and cords for any decorations still illuminated – classic dad task. It takes a few minutes, because holiday cheer has been heavily established on all three floors. When he finally gets down to the first floor, he finds Addison curled on the couch, thoughtfully taking in their Christmas tree and undoubtedly looking at a piece of tinsel she wants to move a quarter inch to the left. The lights wrapped around the tree – always the last thing to be unplugged – are still going strong.

"Hey. Should we put presents out now, or set the alarm for an ungodly hour?" Mark asks. He defers to Addison on all Christmas-related matters.

"Let's give it a half hour or so to make sure the whiny one stays put. We can hang here and enjoy the lights. I just…" her voice hitches. "I really love this time of year."

"I know you do." Mark sits down next to her. "You've been…you've been crying more lately," he says slowly. Her cheeks immediately flame with color, and he wraps both arms around her, shaking his head at any brewing apologies. "You're not a burden, Addie. It's just an observation. And…a question, I guess."

Addison manages a small nod. It's true. And it's also coming up on a year. Henry's birth. Everything that followed. And even after all this time, they both occasionally still feel a tender disbelief that this happened to her.

"I think it's just…the time of year. Christmas makes me a sap anyway, especially because we have kids and the holidays are just a bit more magical with little ones. And Henry said 'mama' last week. It's kind of like I told Kate: it's not sadness. It's just Big Feelings. But today I've…I've just been thinking today that it'll be…well. Henry's birthday is next month. And I started on Zoloft in early March, so we'll blink and then it will have been a year. And I know there's no timeline or deadline. But I'm just telling you now because it's been on my mind today…I think I'd like to cut therapy down to once rather than twice a month, but I don't…" Addison forces herself to take a slow, calming breath. "I don't feel ready to attempt to wean off Zoloft yet. I don't feel anywhere near ready."

"And that's fine. Like you said: no timelines or deadlines."

"Right. It's just that sometimes I wonder if this is…if this is just who I am now." Addison's voice vaults up at the end, and like Mark's earlier comment, it is as much a question as it is a statement. Tears gather in her eyes. "I had – or have, I guess, even though it's under control – Postpartum depression. But maybe this is also who I am now, and how I'm wired. Like, even without Postpartum, maybe I'm just someone who experiences clinical depression now."

Mark guides her head to his shoulder. "If that's the case, you'll keep taking your medication. And you'll talk to Doctor C. and Renee and figure out a plan, or modify the current plan if you need to. And you'll talk to me and we'll just keep getting through it. I love who you are. I don't love that sometimes you feel terrible and I would do absolutely anything to take that away from you, but I love who you are, Addison. And if this is how your brain chooses to work now, we're just going to do whatever we can to make sure that you stay well. Because you deserve that."

"I want Henry…" Addison says quietly. She then takes a pause to give some consideration to how she wants to explain this. "I want my son, but I also wish I had the ability to mess around with time travel and make some alterations. I wish Henry could be here and that I could also go back to the day before my dad died. And that I didn't have Postpartum depression. But that's not possible. I don't think…I don't think I can ever be the person I was before this. This is just life. And I'm not always depressed or anxious anymore; I have ordinary mom guilt and worries, but most days I am staggeringly fine and I don't think it's entirely the result of my medication. I think it's just…me. It's me getting to have you and Kate and Henry. And a lot of other people. And work and other things. So if there are going to be struggles, if depression is always going to exist in the sidelines of my life, then at least – at least I have the people and things that I have. I'm grateful for that. And I just want you to know that I am happy. And sometimes I'm also sad. But I don't want you to think any of the malaise has to do with you, or anything you're doing or not doing. And I don't want the kids to think that either."

"I don't think that," Mark quickly answers. "Neither do the kids. And just so you know…you've kept your own head above water, Addison. I know we've beaten this analogy to death, but when you said back in March that the medication was a floatie and I was a floatie, that was initially true and maybe that's still true in some ways, but it's also you. Maybe some days it's easier to tread water and maybe other days you have to use every muscle in your body to not sink, but it's not just me and it's not just Zoloft. You're really, really fucking strong, you know. I hope you know that, at least."

She does know that. But the thing Mark just said is kind and sweet and the love he has for her and shares with her never ceases to amaze her. So Addison nods in response and then cries messily on his shoulder because these are, in fact, Big Feelings.

"Sorry," Addison says when she pulls back a few minutes later. She offers Mark a sheepish grin. "I think I…sprayed snot all over you."

"It's okay. I've had grosser things happen. That time when Kate was a few weeks old and spit up in my mouth, for instance. I feel like that was in some ways the day I officially became a parent, actually."

Addison laughs under her breath. She felt the same way about the first diaper blowout she had to deal with. "Thank you. For listening. For encouraging me to share. For not letting go of the water analogy. And for reminding me I'm a bad bitch. All of it. But…Mark?" Addison knows he knows, but she needs to tell him anyway. Or tell him again. Because it matters. She smooths her palms along his chest. "I'm happy. Not always, not all the time. But I just…I want you to know that I'm happy. And right now, in this moment, you make me feel incredibly happy."

Mark smiles, cupping her face in his hands. He kisses her softly while lights glow all around them. "You make me happy too, Red," he whispers.