A/N: I know I'm not the only person who stopped and said "this song is freaking Addison and Derek circa season 3" after hearing Taylor Swift's Mr. Perfectly Fine. It's unreal how the song captures their relationship and what Addison was going through. Was hoping to write a story about it, but a plot bunny didn't come until recently. This is a oneshot, a quickly written one at that, which takes a lot of reference from the song. Hope you guys enjoy. I know Addek isn't a huge ship in the Grey's verse anymore, but I seem to be stuck.

This is set in the future, after the plane crash, so Mark is sadly gone.

There's a chill in the New York air that Addison isn't used to anymore. She's been in California for too long to still be well-acquainted with the crisp fall air just turning into winter on this side of the country. She's here for a friend. And reluctant though she was to leave Henry back in LA, Jake assured her they would be fine, and a little man to man bonding would be perfect for them. Never mind that Henry had just turned one—he adored Jake completely.

She's straightening her peacoat as she walks into Mt. Sinai. Her old boss, Christopher Jones, a dear friend and the chief of surgery when things got ugly between her and Derek, was finally retiring. And the hospital was throwing a small retirement party for him. She couldn't not go. She owed much of her surgical career to the old doctor, and she had nothing but gratitude when he allowed her to chase after Derek in Seattle on such short notice.

She shook that off. Things were different now. The last time she was here, she was an absolute wreck. But she had her life put together now, or as much as put together it could be all things considered—she was married to a perfect man, had the most perfect child, and for the first time in her life, absolutely nothing seemed to be missing.

She's depositing her coat and then making her way to the function room somewhere in the hospital, her feet working on muscle memory. She's clad in a black boatneck dress, her short red hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail, stilettos clacking as they hit the linoleum floor. She muses she doesn't wear black nearly as often in California. She wears bright colors now, her wardrobe suddenly just as sunshiny as the weather, and she finds she's not exactly mad about it.

There's a crowd as she enters the room, balloons and streamers and a loud sign that said "Happy Retirement, Dr. Jones". She's smiling now—some things never change. These retirement parties were always too tacky for her taste, but they were always sincere and well-attended. Christopher was well-liked, and she's not the least bit surprised that nurses and residents and interns and attendings mingled to wish him well.

Her eyes search the crowd for him. She hopes he'll stand out with his white hair, and she spots him in the corner talking to a few of the nurses. She makes his way to him, sashaying gracefully like she always did, a bright smile on her face as he turns and recognizes her.

"Addison Montgomery, as I live and breathe," he says jovially, opening his arms wide for a hug.

She leans in without second thought. "Christopher, I can't believe you're finally retiring."

He laughs at that, pulling Addison just a little closer before releasing her. "You and me both," he smiles. "How have you been?"

"I've been great," she answers, and the sincerity in her voice was not to be missed. "California is… well… it's not New York. But it's home now."

"I'm glad," he tells her, assessing Addison and how much younger she looks. In the final years before she left New York, she was immaculately polished on the outside, but he could tell she was a mess inside. Derek was steadily pulling away from her, taking surgery after surgery after surgery even when it wasn't quite necessary, and Addison fighting to keep their marriage intact despite the laborious hours they both kept. "Happiness looks good on you," he settles sincerely.

Addison's grin widens. "Thank you. I really am very happy."

"As you should be."

"Retirement will make you happy too," Addison teases. "I'm sure your wife is ready to have you home and all to herself."

"I think Lana is a little afraid."

Addison raises a brow. "Afraid?"

"I might operate on her roast chicken if things get too stifling."

Addison laughs, a hearty laugh which reminds her of the many times she's shared light moments with her mentor. "Send Lana my love, would you?"

Christopher nods, and then he is whisked away by a parade of surgical interns who wanted him to take a shot. In the middle of the day. In the middle of work. But before he allows himself to be pulled away completely, he tells her, "Go and mingle. I'll come find you again later. We have much to catch up on."

She smiles as he's led away, and then her eyes scan the room for a corner in which to settle. She helps herself to some punch (bright pink and sugary and much too cliché) and then heads to an empty table where she sits and watches, tucks one leg behind the other (like Bizzy taught her), looking for a familiar face in the crowd.

She doesn't notice when someone slides into the seat next to her smoothly after a moment, but she's assaulted by a familiar scent that she knows without even turning who it would be.

"Derek," she says brightly.

"Hey Addie," he grins, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Long time no see."

"Yes," she answers, turning to look at him. He looks a little older. His hair, just a bit grayer, shorter than the last time she saw him, when Callie was in the hospital. She's surprised he's here. She didn't think he'd ever return to New York after everything. "How've you been?"

"Very good, thank you," he smiles, eyeing Addison's punch and taking a sip from it. Addison only raises a brow at him but doesn't question it. Some things you don't question after eleven years of marriage. Like how Addison doesn't really drink punch, and Derek drinks all of hers.

It feels odd to be here without Mark. After the plane crash, things shifted. Her views on life changed. And things were never quite the way they were. She didn't make it to Seattle for the funeral. She couldn't. Her heart weighed heavy at the thought of bidding an old friend farewell when it was far too soon to do so. She grieved in her own way.

"How's Meredith?" she ventures.

He's quiet before he flashes her a grin. "Meredith is good. Still a little shaken up by Lexie's passing, but she's doing better."

"I'm glad," she answers. She knows what it feels like to lose a sibling. Well, not lose a sibling per se. But she knows the immense fear it comes with, remembers how fearful she was when it was Archer's life on the line. "And Amelia?"

"A pain the ass," he replies frankly. "But she's doing well. She talks a lot about your son… Henry, is it?"

Addison is surprised that Derek knows. She wasn't too keen on sharing that part of her life now, but Amelia, her son's godmother, doted heavily on Henry, so really she shouldn't have been surprised that even Seattle had heard bits and pieces of him.

"Yeah," she smiles without thought, her mind flickering to the little cherub boy waiting for her in LA. "Henry."

"She's very fond of him," Derek observes neutrally.

Addison nods in satisfaction. "The feeling is mutual."

"Hmmmm," he hums thoughtfully, his eyes catching the rings on Addison's finger as he moves to reach for the punch again. There's a bit of an ache he can't describe, but he blinks and smiles at her. "Seems it's not just Henry Amelia is fond of," he says casually.

Addison turns to him, curiosity clear in her features, but doesn't say anything.

"She mentioned your boyfriend. Jake."

Addison beams unconsciously at that. Amelia's relationship with Jake was her saving grace. He took care of her so well when she was nothing but a ball of grief and resentment, patiently walking side by side with her when she absolutely refused anyone else's help.

"Jake is my husband now," she corrects with lightness. "And yes, Jake and Amelia are very close." She doesn't tell Derek it shouldn't have been Jake holding Amelia's hand. Jake was, for all intents and purposes, an absolute stranger. She had a perfectly capable brother who could do precisely that. But Addison shuts her mouth about it. Knowing Amelia, she probably hasn't mentioned the tragedy that was her unicorn baby to anyone in Seattle.

It bothers Derek, how his own sister seemed to gravitate to Addison and Jake. But he was well aware he had no right to be bothered. He signed off on those rights when he abandoned her to the wolves in her most trying times. Only Addison ever cared to keep picking her up after each fall. And apparently, Jake did too.

"You're married," he states, eyes on the rings again. He looks up to smile at her. "Congratulations. I don't think Amy mentioned that."

She shrugs. "Thank you," she answers scratchily, a little surprised by the well-wish. "Jake is good to me. I lucked out."

He smiles at her with warmth. "I'm happy for you. You deserve it."

She returns the smile briefly, his blue eyes once home to her now tainted with an unfamiliarity Addison wasn't surprised was there. She and Derek were different people now. And while she would always hold a special place for him in her heart, she had come to accept that while what they once had was true and sacred, they had moved on.

"You're happy too," she says carefully. "But you've always been fine and dandy," she adds, not bitingly, but with just a dash of resentment she couldn't help in that moment.

Derek tilts his head in confusion, but doesn't respond. Instead, he looks at her expectantly.

"Or was it bright and shiny? I forget now," Addison continues cheekily, taking a small sip her punch to give her mouth something else to do than betray some long pent-up emotions about Derek Shepherd.

"Bright and shiny," Derek says after a beat, looking at Addison with amusement.

"There you go. Always bright and shiny," she answers, grinning, but there's a flash of something in her eye.

"I have the distinct feeling you're going to go all hotdog Thanksgiving on me all over again."

It was Addison's turn to look confused, taken aback by Derek's observation. "Hotdog Thanksgiving?"

He shrugs. "We were in the OR and you were losing it and you brought up that Thanksgiving when my mother broke her wrist and you gave Nancy salmonella," he explains. "No," he corrects himself, "not brought up. You exploded."

Addison looks incredulous for a split second. "You think I'm going to explode?"

He frowns at that. "Not explode," he says slowly. "But bright and shiny seems like it's triggering something in you. You can go ahead and say it, you know."

"Derek," she warns, not really willing to delve into the whole mess that was Seattle post-divorce.

"You forget we were married for eleven years. I know that look. Or rather, I know that tone. Something's coming."

Addison scowls at Derek's cheeky assumption. "I don't know Derek, was I the one who forgot we were married for eleven years? I seem to recall that was you."

Derek's face falls, looks defensive for a quick moment, and then he's grinning. "And here we go," he says, shaking his head. "Let's hear it."

Addison scoffs, raising a finger. "Don't needle me like that."

"Just lay it all out in the open," he tells her, gesturing with his hand. "We're friends. We're mature. We can talk about it. Our friendship can take it."

"When did you ever want to talk about things," Addison mutters as she rolls her eyes, wishing the punch was spiked bitter instead of unbearably saccharine.

Derek watches her amusedly as she takes another sip of the unfortunately virgin drink. "I was bright and shiny," he prompts, both brows raised expectantly.

She groans in exasperation. "Yes, you were bright and shiny," she says, noting how Derek has that exact same look he had when she had poison oak and he was trying hard not to laugh at her. "And I was an unbelievable mess after the divorce. I wasn't the one who forgot we were married for eleven years. That was you. You moved on so swiftly to Meredith, sometimes I wonder if I ever meant anything to you."

She says it with a tone so light, it could almost be called joking. But there's meaning that cannot be misunderstood, more history beneath the surface of the lightness in her tone.

Derek looks confused for a moment, fully aware of Addison's attempt at keeping things easy, and then suddenly he's sheepish. "Addie, it wasn't like that."

She snorts, ignores the voice in her head that sounds terribly like Bizzy telling her snorting was uncouth, so unladylike. "It was exactly like that Derek. You were Mister Perfectly Fine, and I was the pathetic ex-wife who still pined for you." In that moment, she realized what Derek meant by hotdog Thanksgiving. You make a cavalier statement, and I have to do all the work….

"Addie, we tried," he says, something in his chest tightening at the word tried. Guilt maybe. They were far removed from the situation by now that he could admit he hadn't been the best husband. But a part of him also rebelled—wasn't Addison the queen of pretending things were fine, too? Wasn't she the Montgomery that she was, a master of keeping up appearances, Queen of the Land of Passive Aggressiva? He squashes the uncharitable thoughts. Addison never pretended, and if she did, it was only to pretend she wasn't hurt by blow after blow she was dealt with.

She shakes her head then. "No Derek, I tried. You only pretended to try," she tells him point blank, looking at him straight in the eye. "You had the compulsive need to be the good guy, so you apologized insincerely and stayed with me, but really all you wanted to do was forget I even existed so you wouldn't be obligated to try."

She sighs then—honestly there was no use bringing up the past. She had moved on and she was happy. But she and Derek—they were in a weird limbo where she didn't feel like she had to filter things anymore. She had forgiven herself for Mark. She was now thinking straight enough to know Derek had treated her like absolute shit through her entire time in Seattle, and she wasn't going to let him think he did her a favor by staying in their marriage.

Derek purses his lips at her words, letting the meaning wash over him.

"You moved on so quickly," Addison continues, not sure why she was finding it necessary to elaborate on it any further at this point. "Not 2 seconds after the divorce, you were back with Meredith while I was busy picking up the pieces of my heart," she says tiredly. "I don't begrudge you anymore, really. You and Meredith—you're good together and you've made a home with her. But back then, it sucked. You were cruel to me, but you know, subtly, so no one would think you weren't McDreamy. And after the divorce, you didn't see how difficult it was to keep myself together." By then, Derek was terribly blind—either that, or he was dense or just plain sadistic—to her subsequent challenges post-divorce. "You were just happy and bright and shiny with your new girl, and I… I was a glorious mess."

Derek is quiet, lets Addison get it all off her chest, allows her this chance to say what she really felt back then. And then he allows her a quick moment to compose herself. He realizes in that instant that she isn't wrong. He did move on quickly. He really was cruel—called her Satan in front of tons of hospital staff and dragged her through the Seattle Grace grapevine she never wanted to be a part of. He acted like everything was totally fine, and he could imagine now how hard that must have been for her. He had always thought, post-divorce, that they were perfectly capable of being civil and mature exes. He realizes now that while Addison tried her best, it did not come without heart ache. There's another wave of guilt that twinges at his heart.

"It wasn't always like that," Derek says finally, lamely, like it still meant something. "We were happy, before." There's a slight sense of desperation in his voice, as if he was trying to make things right by covering the wrongs with what went well between them.

Addison nods slowly. "We were," she agrees. Before life had exploded in their faces, she and Derek were happy. They stood by each other, supported each other, promised the universe and more. They were young and naïve and so blissfully in love, so sure in their relationship. Until Derek started spending more time at the hospital and she was left in the cold empty bed at the brownstone most nights.

"It wasn't always bad," he continues, not certain if he's convincing Addison or himself, or why it even matters at this point.

"No, it wasn't," Addison concedes, turning to give him a small smile. "We were happy, until work started taking priority. You were missing dinners and birthdays and anniversaries, and I was lonely. But… you know… I guess things happen for a reason."

He looks at her, really looks at her, notes how she looks much younger, happier, than the last time they saw each other. "I guess they do."

"I tried, Derek," she says quietly. "I tried my best, and I may have failed, but I'm proud that I tried. I fought for our marriage, because I loved you, and, you know… I would have stayed. Would have kept fighting."

"I know," he agrees thoughtfully. "But I couldn't. You wanted to make it work, and I was doing a half-ass job at it, and that wasn't fair to you," he says. "But you know what I think? In the end, I think, you still won. You got yourself out of a stale marriage, and you found Jake, and you have Henry, and you're happy now."

Her mind flickers to Jake, to Henry, to their cozy home by the beach in LA, her heart fluttering at the newness of it all. She wonders briefly how she ever lived her life without that much fullness in her heart.

"And you have Meredith."

He shrugs at that. "It's not how we imagined the future would be like," he says honestly. "But it worked out in the end."

She doesn't say anything to that, just lets the words hang heavy in the background noise of cheers and music. There's a small program for Dr. Jones, and they sit quietly next to each other, making small talk about cases and friends and Dr. Jones' stark white hair. It's comfortable, still. She put him in a tiny box to get out of bed each morning, but his presence, his friendship, was still stalwart, so certain.

And when the program ends, she's surprised that he walks with her to the elevator. Stands by her side as they wait for it to come. When it does and they step in, there's only the two of them. There's a palpable, indescribable energy between them, thrumming just beneath the surface. Addison fidgets lightly with the rings on her finger.

"For the record," Derek says suddenly, clearing his throat. "You're wrong. I wasn't Mister Perfectly Fine."

Addison turns to him in confusion. "What?"

"You said I practically didn't care that we divorced and I forgot all 11 years we were married," he clarifies. "Maybe, in the beginning, sure. I was pitch ready to move on and just get on with life," he admits. "But it doesn't mean our relationship didn't mean anything to me."

She's quiet, still fiddling with the rings, cursing the elevators in Mt. Sinai for still being notoriously slow-moving after all these years.

"When you left for LA, I missed you. When Archer had that health scare and you came to Seattle and you told me you put me in a box, I wasn't okay. And now with Mark gone…" he trails off, something like sorrow flashing through his features.

Addison nods then, understanding what he's trying to say even without words. With Mark gone, there was a void. She feels it too.

"The point is," he continues as he rights himself, "I wasn't always okay. I had my moments. You're right that I didn't try all that much and I did treat you poorly," he says sheepishly. "But 11 years? You don't forget 11 years."

He turns to her, leans on the wall of the elevators and meets her eyes. "I haven't forgotten. I miss you sometimes," he admits. "But you and I… we're okay where we are. You have Jake and Henry. I have Meredith and our little family. We're happy."

"I guess we are," she says softly.

"And you're alright. In fact, you're more than alright. You're better than I've ever seen you. How can I be sour about that?" he smiles. He picks himself up from the elevator wall, crosses the small distance between them and wraps an arm around her as he kisses her temple. After all this time, all he's ever wanted for her was her happiness—and it brings him comfort seeing how Addison is so well adjusted to her life in LA now.

She smiles warmly at that, leans in just a little and savors his scent. "Me too, I suppose. I can't really begrudge you for anything. If the entire shebang that was Seattle didn't happen, I wouldn't have Jake and I wouldn't have Henry and, well, I wouldn't be bright and shiny."

"You're not bright and shiny," Derek teases. "You still bitch and complain," he laughs. "But you're okay."

"I'm okay," she confirms.

"Good," he smiles before releasing her from his grip.

She grins at him. "God, Derek. This conversation," she says as she shakes her head, still trying to wrap her head around why there was even a need to talk about all of this. "You're not McDreamy. You're McSappy." She's rolling her eyes at him.

He protests in mock offense. "Hey!"

"That was cheesy as hell," she tells him. "I mean, you're right, about everything," she says. "But it's also all so incredibly mushy. Mark would be gagging if he could hear us."

Derek laughs then, a vivid picture of Mark making a face at them for the many times they didn't keep things behind closed doors. How he missed all of that. A beat, and then, "Mark would be happy for us, I think."

"Yeah?"

"We're Derek and Addison—"

"- Addison and Derek," she corrects hastily, brow raised.

He rolls his eyes but continues. "And we're still tethered. I think we'll always be. He would have wanted that."

She nods, thankful as the elevator doors open and they alight, suddenly without need to talk about Mark. She was still hurting over his death, still not completely believing he was really gone. But she was certain this was what he would have wanted—his two best friends on earth getting along, finding a way to each other again.

They walk slowly through the lobby, collecting their coats. Addison shrugs on her peacoat, lets Derek help her fix the collar before they continue walking.

"I'm sorry you thought 11 years didn't mean anything to me," he says sincerely as they stop by the revolving doors. Perhaps, of everything that they'd spoken of today, that was what struck him most. That he had acted bad enough for her to think, all this time, that their 11 years meant nothing to him. The reality of it was that nothing could be farther from the truth. He cherishes those 11 years, is still grateful to have once been Addison's husband, and wishes her nothing but the best. "I just thought you should know. I wasn't always perfectly fine. I had my moments. And I had my heartaches. It wasn't always easy. I'm sorry you thought you were easily discarded. You weren't. A part of me will always be yours."

She looks at him, surprise evident in her features. Cheesy as it was, she knows without doubt it's the truth—because that is exactly how she feels about him too. No amount of hurt could trump the best of their relationship. "I know," she smiles. "There's really no need to hash it all out, but I appreciate the apology."

He nods in agreement. "Still though. I don't want you to walk out of these doors thinking you didn't mean anything to me. You don't mean nothing. And even now, Addie, you still mean a whole lot to me. Surely you must know that."

"I do," she manages around the unexpected tightness around her throat. Derek is giving her those dreamy eyes, but twinkling with sincerity she didn't see directed at her while she was in Seattle. She supposes it's true what they say, that time heals all wounds.

He grins at her, pulls her in for another short hug, then lets her go. They go through the revolving doors together, stepping into the cold air, a gush of wind and memories assaulting them as they step out into the city they once called home.

"We're still Derek and Addison," he reminds her cheekily.

"Addison and Derek," she corrects, before grinning at him and kissing his cheek chastely. "I'll see you around, Mister Perfectly Fine."

He winks at her. "I'll see you around, Miss Perfectly Fine," he returns, grinning as she turns to walk in the direction of the subway. It's only the truth—she's perfectly fine now. As it should be. It's all he could ever hope for her.

He watches her figure get lost in the crowd, feels an ache in his chest, but also lightness. Only lightness. They had made peace with their past, and perhaps now, he doesn't have to pretend he was perfectly fine the entire time.

The End! It's not my best work, and I detest that I had to write Addek with MerDer and Jaddison on the side. But I think it works out. Hope you guys enjoyed. :)