Atlas

by darlingwrecks

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

30. The Grasp of the Sea

Chapter title is a lyric from the song "Pacific Blues," by Sleeping At Last.

This was one of my favorite chapters to write so far (and also a long one…but you knew that intuitively). There is angst, but also some fluff/cheesy stuff in between the angst. And, well. Smut. Also smut. I've had the majority of this chapter written for a few months, hence the speedy update (the next update will be less speedy).

The flashbacks in this one are set in January (NYE, technically) of the year before Mark and Addison started sleeping together. If you recall, the first time they slept together in this fic was in October, but they started consistently sleeping together in January. I think this timeframe is eventually made clear in the flashbacks, but I'd rather you have that information upfront. Look, would it have been easier on all of us if I'd gone with italics and "[insert number here] years earlier" for flashbacks throughout this fic? Yes, yes it would have, but I'm in too deep now (but always open to answering questions if any timeline-related queries come up for you). Plus, sometimes I inadvertently just choose to do things the hard (LOL, an excellent/awful word choice, and you'll see why when you read the flashbacks) way. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 30. The Grasp of the Sea

Mark glances at the calendar hanging on his office wall, eyes scanning the second row of empty June squares. The calendar is a Lynette purchase; she gets him a new one each January (this year's theme is national parks), primarily for decorative purposes since Mark's appointments are kept on an Outlook calendar. It occurs to him though that maybe he should get a calendar for his apartment. He finds himself more aware of dates now, of their relevance.

It has been almost three weeks since Derek walked in on them. Almost two weeks since Addison started staying with him. And four days since they went to get Mark's bike, and Addison immediately burst into tears upon entering the brownstone.

Mark's gaze shifts to the right and drops down, taking in the twenty-sixth box: Addison and Derek's anniversary. He always remembers it is a late-twenty number, but their wedding was so long ago some of its specifics are no longer filed in his brain. He discreetly texted Naomi this morning to get the actual date, feigning casualness – Hey, this is random, but – as though the answer is of no consequence. Like maybe he's going to give his best friends a card or something. In actuality, it simply occurred to Mark that he should probably know.

"She cries, like…all the time," Mark tells Lynette that afternoon. Sometimes Addison will cry in front of him, and when she does, he hugs her and tries to offer words of support, but sometimes it's not happening in front of him. The shower, for instance, when they are on different morning schedules and don't have time to spend with one another while getting ready for work. Plus, trying-to-get-out-the-door urgency aside, it feels too intrusive for Mark to bridge the gap when she doesn't seek him out for comfort. And there are other unseen times too, he knows, because sometimes Addison will come into a room and have the ashen-faced look of someone who has been crying recently.

Lynette raises her eyebrows at Mark's comment. "Did you think she wouldn't?"

"I don't know what I thought, Lynnie. Sometimes it seems like she's happy and likes staying with me, but other times…I don't know. I know she's hurting, but she's making me feel like it's still an affair. Like I'm just the dirty mistress and that's all I'll ever get to be. I guess an argument could be made that it's still an affair, but -"

"A different kind of affair now, if you're going to view it through that lens. It's more just that you're in a new space in the relationship and you two have way more to figure out than the average two people who care about each other do." Lynette rests her knuckles against her chin as she thinks. "There's baggage and history. But, Mark, before you start spiraling -"

"Too late for that."

"Right. Well, I'm just going to say crying doesn't necessarily mean she doesn't love you or want to be with you. I'm sure there's a lot of crying because Addison does love you, actually. Her heart is broken, Mark. This was her husband…her family. And she feels guilty. And just because you're there, being a friend and a dry shoulder and a – well, whatever you two knuckleheads consider yourselves to be to each other – that isn't something that's going to go away right away." Lynette gives him a light pat on the shoulder. "You have to be patient with her, Mark."

. .
. .

"If we don't go, that's two years in a row we've missed their party," Addison says, failing to keep the frustration out of her voice. She felt bad missing Savvy and Weiss's New Year's Eve party last year, but one of her patients who had a high-risk pregnancy went into labor. It couldn't really be helped. The difference is that this year hers and Derek's presence can be helped.

"You can still go," Derek says, words chased by a sigh. "I'll text Mark – I'm sure he'll still want to go, and if he doesn't, you can probably weasel him into going with you. Addie, Thoreson asked me to switch. Begged, practically. I know it's last minute, but I owe him because he traded on-call shifts with me a few weeks ago so we could go to that ridiculously painful dinner with your parents and brother. He has little kids. I'm not going to deprive him of the chance to spend time with them. And I'm trying to study up for a procedure the day after tomorrow. I told you about it, right? The patient with parasites in his brain, clogging the left ventricle. I think if I can go one at a time and suction out the fluid really carefully, I can get them all and save the guy's life. And if the procedure is successful, it'll get published…it'll be good for us."

For us. Nine years of marriage and Derek still tries that sometimes. The kids comment stings, too, because the implication hangs there long after Derek stops speaking. He is always good, it feels like to Addison, at making her feel like everything is her fault.

"No. Publication will be good for you," she counters while Derek puts his coat on. He'll leave before they've resolved anything; he does that now. "I don't think Addison Montgomery-Shepherd is going to come up in The New England Journal of Medicine for a neuro procedure."

Addison feels bad when Mark shows up a half hour later, right as she is starting to think about slipping out of her dress, purchased a few weeks ago with this party in mind. Derek said he would text Mark (if he forgot though, it wouldn't be the first time), but Addison knows she should have texted too, to tell Mark she's sorry, but she doesn't feel like going out anymore. She'll weave together a work-related excuse for Savvy and make it up to her later.

"Hey," Mark greets when Addison opens the door for him. His eyes quickly sweep over her while she steps back so he can enter. She's wearing a navy blue, fitted dress with a square neckline framed low on her chest. "You look great," he adds while he thinks the outfit through. She's definitely still dressed to go out, but the mixture of sadness and disappointment etched on her face is telling a different story. Mark figured she would change her mind as soon as Derek said he was no longer able to go. Or as soon as Derek no longer wanted to go, he thinks. "Do you still want to go tonight, Red? I was already halfway here when Derek texted, and I was too scared to tell my taxi driver to turn around. He was in a bad mood…you know how much it has to suck to be a driver on a night like this. Oh, and the couple hosting…I always remember his name – because it rhymes with rice – but what's the name of the cute blonde again?"

Addison smirks. "The cute blonde is named Savvy. And you look nice too, by the way," she says, waving a hand at Mark's cashmere sweater and slacks while he removes his coat and tucks it over the arm of the couch.

"Thanks. One time – this was a while ago – Savvy offered to represent me for free for my first divorce. First because I'm pretty sure she thinks there will be at least three."

Addison laughs. "I remember that…though I'm not convinced she remembers, because it was her birthday and she was pretty drunk. And I wouldn't have her be your attorney anyway, if I were you. Savvy's a prosecutor. I'm sure she would do an admirable job because she's an absolute beast in the courtroom, but you still probably want someone who specializes in that area of law when the time comes."

"And someone who won't have a pretty good idea of how to frame me for murder when all is said and done," he jokes.

"Mark…would you hate it, if we didn't go tonight? I'm just not…I'm not really in the mood. Things with Derek were…" Addison shakes her head. "You can stay, if you want to hang out for a bit?" She offers him a smile. "I want to hang out with you, but I just…I don't think I can socialize with other people right now. We can order pizza or something?"

"Yeah, I'll stay." This sounds better than the party to Mark. He would have pushed through his lack of enthusiasm and gone if Addison wanted to go, or if things were a bit different and Addison and Derek were both able and wanting to go, same thing. It's just a weird time of year for Mark. His birthday is on the second, which is one of the shorter-drawn straws when it comes to the ideal date to have a birthday, given its proximity to New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, and just the feeling of melancholia that seems to envelop January anyway. He talked to Olivia about it once before – he doesn't get depressed this time of year, he doesn't think, but he does always feels a bit off his game. "That sounds good," he adds. His eyes flicker past Addison to the coffee table, where a checkers board is set up. "Hey…" he points a finger. "Who's playing?"

"Oh. No one right now. We watched Kathleen's brood last weekend and brought out some of the games we still have lying around. The younger two didn't know how to play, but once I taught them, they became obsessed."

Mark grins. "I haven't played since I was a kid. I don't think I even know all the rules anymore. How about you teach me again once we've ordered that pizza?"

. .
. .

"Hi," Addison says to Mark when she steps out of the shower. He shows her a smile while brushing his teeth, and starts to move in the direction of the door to grab her bathrobe for her – she left it on one of the over-the-door hooks – but she surprises him by just comfortably walking across the cool tiles, naked and dripping excess water everywhere.

It's a strange thing to think about – or maybe just a stupid thing – but it didn't occur to Mark before now just how often they'd be naked in front of each other in a non-sexual way – getting in and out of the shower, changing into work clothes, Addison immediately kicking out of her pants while heading down the hallway in search of sweatpants after one really long day this week. The domestic components that somehow substantiate living together continue to surprise Mark.

He finishes brushing his teeth, and it isn't until he's putting his toothbrush back in the toothbrush holder that he catches sight of a now-robed Addison in the mirror. She has gone completely still and her eyes are trained on the granite counter top, wide with worry. Mark immediately feels bad for forgetting to say something, and worse, wonders if maybe she thinks he did something cruel on purpose.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry." He quickly gestures to the far side of the counter, where Addison's engagement ring and wedding band are now situated. She almost always takes her rings off before she showers, but the side the rings are now located on is not the side Addison left them on. The new side is, however, the one further away from the toilet and one of the double sinks. "Right over there," Mark continues. "I moved them while I was shaving…just in case. I don't think I'd be stupid enough to accidentally knock them into the toilet or down the drain, but…the corner by the wall seemed like a safer bet."

"Got it," Addison replies quietly, moving around him to retrieve the rings. "Thank you," she says while sliding them back on her finger. "I should probably do that next time, too."

"Addie…have you thought about leaving them off?" Mark turns to face her, leaning one of his hips against the front edge of the counter. It is too damn early to be having this conversation, and not the ideal way to start their Friday, but it's been a few days since he brought the subject up. He can't help it; the sheer sight of the rings makes him feel nauseous sometimes. Just like how he can't help thinking about how much he actually would like to toss the rings in the toilet and push the handle down. He wouldn't, but sometimes it truly is a nice thought.

"I think maybe they're stuck…figuratively stuck, I mean." Addison sidles closer, replicating his posture and pressing against the counter. "I'm sorry. I know it upsets you."

"In case you've forgotten, he's not wearing his. His band is somewhere in your house because he threw it in the gutter, remember?" Mark crosses his arms. "Some husband," he scoffs.

Addison inhales shakily. "I know Derek is…it's clearly not the same sort of mourning process for him. I know that. I know he doesn't want me back. I'm…I'm here though, Mark. I'm staying here – living here – and I care about you and I'm trying to mentally, like, detach from him." She pauses, searching Mark's face. There's a glimmer of empathy from him – there usually is – but right now, there's mostly just anger. And Addison is trying, she really is, but detachment implies attachment, and it's not easy to just end that with a person, to discard her rings and marriage and the life she created with Derek. "It's not like…look, I'm not going to run off to Seattle to reminisce over wedding photos, get drunk, fall into bed with him, and make him realize he can't live without me. But taking off my rings, announcing that I'm separated from my husband, filing for divorce, dividing assets, going back to just Montgomery, no longer having a set of 'usual plans' for Christmas, figuring out what to do with old pictures and a wedding dress, and doing something as momentous as telling people we're together and holding your hand at work or something…" Addison quiets for a moment. "I'm not ready for any of that yet. Mark, I want to be with you, I do, but those things I mentioned…they're all so real. Frighteningly real. It's a lot to work through and I'm doing the best I can. I know you want more, and I want more too, but -"

"No," Mark snaps, "you want more when I'm fucking you and your eyes are rolling back in your head. That's when you want more."

"That's not…you're not being fair." Her voice cracks and Mark looks away, feeling bad. Addison has always been able to unintentionally make him feel awful when she gets emotional. "And I'm not going to have this conversation with you if you're going to be coarse. And hurtful."

You're being hurtful, too, Mark wants to yell.

"Sorry," he mutters, although he sort of isn't, even though he does feel bad for upsetting her. This has always been how it is though: Addison takes what she needs and nothing more. There is never any more when it comes to her. "I'm trying to be understanding, Red. You were married a long time, and -"

"I'm still married, technically."

"Yeah, technically. You're married because neither of you has filed for divorce yet, because you're too scared to pull the trigger and he doesn't care enough to pull the trigger. You might still want to be married to Derek, but he doesn't want to be married to you. I'm sorry – I know that's hard to hear, but it's the truth. He's not coming back. You might be trying, but…it's sort of not good enough. And I'm here and I'm trying and…I'm either what you're looking for or I'm not. And if you could maybe figure that out, it'd be a hell of a lot easier on the both of us. I'm here and I'm ready. You're not."

"Mark, I don't…I don't want to fight."

"I don't either," Mark says, feeling his voice grow thick with emotion. He lost his best friend. He lost his mother. He lost a part of his father – who still grieves so strongly for Jenny – when his mother died. He effectively lost Derek's family because of his actions. He has something like a surrogate mother still, but there's a particular void that that can't fill, a void he's always had that has felt less like a void ever since he fell in love. "Addison," he croaks. "It's just…you're all I have left."

Addison reaches a hand out, resting her palm on Mark's arm. He pulls her against him, burying his face in her neck and the strands of hair hanging down her chest, still soaked from the shower. It is not lost on her, the way Mark's voice heartbreakingly broke on the last word. And she knows the same logic applies to her. Yes, she has her immediate family – for whatever that's worth, and she can't imagine telling them about her current circumstances anytime soon – and Savvy, and Nai, sort of, but it's just not the same as having this kind of supplemental warmth and love. And whether or not this is what she wants, this is, really, everything she has left, too.

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. .

"You're so quiet." Mark observes Addison while she studies the checkers board. They are a few moves into their third game of the night, their first one since taking a break to eat some pizza. "I've never seen you this quiet before."

"I'm concentrating." Addison lifts her head and smirks at him. "I refuse to lose to someone who swears it's been like twenty-something years since he last played. You picked this up quickly. And I don't like it." She reaches across the coffee table for his beer. Mark watches as her full lips – darkened with a pinkish-red lipstick that reminds him of raspberries – close around the bottle, sucking and pulling down a large gulp. "You know I'm a sore loser."

"Want me to go get you another beer?" He offers.

"No. We can share." Addison takes another sip, and then gives him a quick smile before looking back at the board. "Unless you want to go grab another one."

"Nope. I think I'll wait until the next game then, because I'm not convinced you won't mess with the board while I'm out of the room."

"Smart man."

Addison leans forward, a hand hovering over one of her checkers, and her posture offers Mark a generous view of her cleavage, the soft swells of her breasts cushioned above the fabric of her dress. Her hair spills over her shoulders in the process, and although it always looks nice, he figures she spent extra time styling it tonight, in the way he knows women do for a night out. Its layers seem shinier; they keep catching in the light from a nearby floor lamp. Mark's gaze creeps a little lower once he has confirmed Addison is still studying the board. He usually doesn't observe her so intensely – inappropriately – out of respect to his best friend. And out of respect to her too, maybe. Addison doesn't know he's looking though, and it's just…looking. It's not a problem.

Mark swallows. Addison's legs are folded beneath her body and she's seated slightly sideways to avoid exposing herself, but there's really nothing she can do about the slit running up one of the sides of her dress. The gap in the fabric draws attention to a toned, creamy thigh. She shifts a little, and Mark sees a leg muscle tense and relax. Just a few inches higher and whatever she is wearing underneath the dress would be visible, too.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. No no no no. There is a swell of pressure under his stomach, and then Mark can feel himself getting hard. Fuck. It's not obvious, he thinks, even if Addison were to look directly at his package (and there's no way she would). A coffee table leg is effectively blocking his crotch from view. It's unbearably uncomfortable though, because there's nothing he can do about it other than sit here and wait it out. Getting up wouldn't be a good idea (he is too stressed to even laugh at the double meaning, and normally he would laugh). He tries to focus on the chessboard between them, plotting out the next five moves that would guarantee he reaches the first row on Addison's side and clears all her pieces in the process, and then considers the moves he'll make instead to make the game last longer. It's difficult to concentrate though when all he really wants to do is shove a hand in his pants and rub himself until he feels relief. There is no other option, because one: it would never happen, and two: thinking about it is just going to cause more problems down there, so he can't think about it or imagine it.

Addison is ridiculously sexy, especially tonight in that dress and with the little bit of extra attention she applied to her hair and makeup. Just, objectively sexy – Mark thinks of all those warbling product commercials, such-and-such recommends or agrees, and he is certain ten out of ten men – hell, ten out of ten people – with adequate vision would agree Addison is stunning. The dress isn't helping at present because it somehow seems like it was made for the curves of her body, but still, Mark being attracted to her in a way that doesn't feel…entirely objective? This isn't okay. It's worrisome, problematic. You're fine, Mark reminds himself after a moment, his voice bullhorn-loud inside his head. It doesn't mean anything. You're just horny and there's the leg thing and those C-cup tits practically falling out of her dress. And the way she was hollowing her cheeks to suck on your beer bottle didn't help either. You just need to get laid.

It's probably true. He hasn't slept with anyone since the twenty-third. He had a cold a few days after Christmas (a man cold, the woman who is the reason he is now trying to will away a throbbing erection would joke), and plus it always feels like women at his usual haunts are decidedly unavailable this time of year in order to be with their immediate families.

Mark breathes in deeply while Addison captures another one of his pieces and removes it from the board. She peeks up at him and smiles.

He reminds himself that if he's patient, it will go away.

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. .

When they finally pull apart from a hug neither of them was expecting, but both really needed, Addison strokes her knuckles over Mark's cheek. She saw him cry once after Jenny died, but that's it; today is the closest she's ever seen him come to crying again though. "What if we go to the Hamptons this weekend?" She asks, hoping the offer comes across as genuine and not like a bribe or consolation prize. "We could leave tonight after work. I know this won't solve anything, but sometimes it feels like we do better there…and it would be fun. The last few weeks have been insane, so a weekend away might be good for us. And…and maybe we can go out tomorrow night for a nice dinner, like a real date? That might be fun, right? And I'll pay," she adds with a sheepish smile, "since I'm the one here who's being difficult."

"Yeah," Mark replies. "Okay." A weekend in the Hamptons and dinner at a restaurant sounds so normal, so nice. They have never gotten to have a "date night" before, either. "That does sound good," he admits, running his palm over the back of his head. "We can take my car. And I'm paying, Red…even though knowing you, you'll order the most expensive thing on the menu just because of that."

Addison throws him a flirtatious smile. "Well, I guess if I order the most expensive thing and you pay, I'll probably have to put out, won't I?"

He laughs and tells her that he hopes so.

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. .

Montauk: a pocket area in the town of East Hampton. The end. The end of the world, Mark knows it is sometimes called; it is the easternmost point on the peninsula, the final swath of land before the Atlantic takes over. An isolated corner of the world, he has come to think of it as, because things are always easier with Addison at the Montauk house. The end of the world is a separate world for them, a less complicated one, given the distance between here and their lives in Manhattan. Mark also thinks it helps in some ways that Derek has always hated the Hamptons; he leaves less of an imprint here, which means less of an imprint on his still-wife.

Mark and Addison arrive in the Hamptons late Friday night. They spend most of Saturday in varying states of laziness – sleeping in, having lunch on the back porch, lying out by the pool (Addison in a bikini is not a sight Mark is going to forget anytime soon), and flipping through Netflix shows – before finally getting ready for dinner. Addison picked the place, something with Michelin stars on the north side of Main Street. Mark doesn't know more than that; like always, he is sort of just along for the ride, bowing to her preferences.

They get ready separately (also an Addison choice), Mark in the guest room (their room) and Addison in the master. It's a strange twist for Mark, because he's gotten so used to getting dressed and getting ready near her when they're at his apartment, a coordinated dance of weaving around one another to take pants off a hanger, to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, to locate a missing shoe, to go to the kitchen to get more coffee.

There are benefits to being surprised though, and Mark grins when Addison comes back into their room in heels that do wonders to the shape of her already great legs, and some sort of sheath-style cocktail dress. The dark green material of the dress highlights the slivers of green in her eyes.

How did I get so lucky? Mark thinks. Sort of. Lucky – or luck of any kind – feels like a weird way to describe where things currently stand with them, or where things ever really stood.

"Wow," he murmurs. "Look at you. You look amazing. This is definitely making me not want to go to dinner though. Or leave the bedroom at all. How about we stay here and I don't pay for anything, and you hike up that gorgeous dress and put out anyway?"

"I want to go out though." Addison giggles. "And good things come to those who wait. Can you please zip me up?" She smiles when Mark settles a warm hand on her waist and coaxes her zipper up her spine. She bites down a sigh threatening to escape her lips, because although she does want to go out to dinner, she cannot deny the frisson of desire she feels whenever Mark touches her. Then suddenly, the hand responsible for helping with her dress is tugging at one of her fingers. He is stunningly quick about it; her rings are off her finger and on the nightstand before she can find her voice.

"Mark…" she protests.

"Just one night, Red," he says softly. "Please. Give me one night. I know it seems stupid and I shouldn't care so much because they're symbolic at this point more than anything else, but…please." Mark watches as she gives him a small, wary nod. "Look at that." He points to the rings. "The walls didn't collapse when I took them off for you," he says, and Addison actually does smirk at this remark. "And hey…they're right there on the nightstand if you want to put them back on later, okay? They aren't going anywhere."

You know if you wear the rings to a candlelit restaurant and someone sees them, they're going to think we're married, right? Mark fights the urge to say while he drives them to the restaurant. And it feels like you don't want that to be anyone's thought about us.

Sometimes it feels like they aren't going anywhere either.

. .
. .

Mark is grateful – so grateful – that when he glances up from the game board and sees that Addison's eyes are shimmering with tears, he's flaccid again. Thank God. He feels horrible that she's starting to cry, but while he quietly passes an unused napkin across the coffee table, he knows it would have been infinitely worse and would have made him feel even dirtier than he already feels if he was still having below-the-belt problems when she started to get upset.

"Thanks." Addison dabs beneath her lower eyelids. "Sorry. Things are just…rough with Derek right now."

"Yeah, I'm picking up on that." Mark has gotten the sense that things have been difficult for a while now. "Derek hasn't said anything," he adds when he sees Addison's mouth round to ask the question. Derek might grumble to Mark about marital spats sometimes, but he would never outright say there are problems or that he's unhappy. Not to Mark, anyway. Marriage is the sort of the thing Derek has always been able to lord over his best friend's head. It is that unspoken competitiveness that shades the edges of their friendship: a wife is something Derek has and Mark does not. "I've just sort of noticed…lately. And I could tell how upset you were tonight, even before the tears started. You've been good company though and you're an excellent checkers teacher. So…" he clears his throat awkwardly. "Trouble in paradise?"

"You could say that."

"It'll get better. Call him out if he's being a dick and not paying you enough attention, but also…try to be patient with him. Sometimes Derek gets so focused on what he's doing that everything around him fades away. Especially with work. He always comes back though. I promise he'll eventually pull his head out of his ass and remember how damn lucky he is to have you."

Addison smiles. There is just something so genuinely pure about that, about how much faith Mark has in his best friend, and it's so typical Mark, too, his words the funniest combination of sweet and gruff. It's possible he's right, she decides when she gets a text from Derek close to midnight. He's about to go into surgery, but he tells her that he loves her and wishes her a Happy New Year. He also confirms their dinner plans for tomorrow with Richard and Adele Webber, who are in town visiting Adele's sister. This exchange gives Addison hope.

She tells Mark that Derek sent her a nice text and apologized (well, she muses, as close as Derek usually gets to apologizing) and Mark grins. He can see relief in her eyes before they turn their attention back to the TV, where the countdown to the ball drop in Times Square is on. Less than a minute now.

"You know…" Addison begins. "Naomi and I always used to talk about how stupidly cheesy New Year's Eve kisses are. But we were fully aware we were saying that while we had men in our lives we loved would kiss us at midnight. And now tonight…now I wish my husband was here so I could have that stupidly cheesy kiss."

"Hey, Addison…" Mark says. Her eyes are still on the TV, but he watches as her lips tilt up in a slow smile, clearly contemplating where he is going with his thought.

"I'm not going to kiss you, Mark."

"No, just look." He waits until she turns to face him, right as an explosion of celebratory noise comes through the TV. Happy New Year. Mark raises a hand near his mouth, and then blows Addison a kiss. She laughs, and then blows one back. "There," Mark says with a satisfied smirk. "That will tide you over until you get a real one from Derek."

. .
. .

"People here are maniacs," Mark decides when they get back to the Montauk house. He nudges Addison's shoulder when they walk into the guest room. "I thought drivers in New York City were bad, but man…some of the people out here are ridiculous. They drive offensively, not defensively, and while twenty-year old Mark Sloan would have been on board with that, much-older-now Mark Sloan knows that's a great way to end up careening over a median strip. A defensive strategy is how you win."

"Not when playing checkers though," Addison jokes while jiggling one foot at a time to get out of her Stuart Weitzman pumps. It's not her cleverest attempt at humor, but at least she knows Mark will get it. "And you don't have to act innocent," she adds when Mark turns to look at her. "New Year's Eve before this last one, when you came over…I was having a bad night, and you let me win all the matches. You acted like you didn't really know what you were doing, but then I found out later…that wasn't true."

Mark doesn't directly confirm this information, but instead he tells her, fighting through a wave of nervousness he wasn't anticipating, "I wanted to kiss you so badly that night." This prompts Addison to come over to him, wearing a curious expression. He brushes a strand of hair away from her cheek as he looks down at her; kicking off the heels has ensured their heights no longer match. "Like, you have no idea."

"Really?" Mark is right; she had no idea. She remembers that night, and although Mark was so kind to her, nothing specifically gave off the impression that he wanted more. Nothing Addison can think of, at least.

"Yeah. I thought maybe it was just that I'd been drinking, and was lonely – you know I get a little blah that time of the year – but in retrospect, I don't know. Maybe I was starting to feel something for you. Physically, yeah, but also…emotionally."

"When did you know for sure?" Addison asks, settling her hands on his shoulders. "I always wondered…you told me you were falling for me back in February – and I completely lost my shit on you – but when did you know for sure?"

"The month before, when you came over for my birthday. You brought me that copy of The Call of the Wild, and we had sex in front of my Christmas tree and you fell asleep in my arms." He blushes, feeling the intensity of speaking this intimately. "And when you woke up, we talked…like, really talked. I felt like we understood each other so perfectly, like no one else could ever understand me in the way you could. I might have been in love with you longer than that though. I think it was longer – we started to spend more time together in the last few years…" he trails off, not needing to add the bit about why they started spending more time together, when the trio inexplicably became more of a duo. "But January was when I think my brain finally acknowledged it. It happened so…" Mark shakes his head. "It happened so quickly, probably more quickly than it's supposed to. But it happened and it's like there stopped being a before for me. You were all I could think about. Hell, you still are. There's this quote...I know this is cheesy and I'm about to lose Masculinity Points for saying it, but there's this Fitzgerald quote I saw somewhere once that always makes me think of you: I love her and that's the -"

"Beginning and end of everything," Addison finishes. "I know that one." She suspects Mark doesn't know that, no matter how beautiful the words, the backstory that accompanies them is rather tragic and one of mutual self-destruction.

"Of course you do." He smirks. "Stupid me, thinking I could seduce you with literature."

"Trust me, I'm already seduced. I don't think…" Addison says, voice catching enough that she needs to start over again. "I don't think anyone has ever loved me as much as you love me, Mark. No one has ever loved me this well." She leans up to kiss him, parting his lips and gliding her tongue over his, eliciting a quiet groan from him as her fingers work down the buttons of his shirt. Mark tangles his hands in her hair, and it's Addison's turn to groan now; it always feels so good when he drags his fingers against her scalp and tugs on her hair. He deepens their kiss, fusing his mouth to hers and pulling her onto the bed with him.

Mark is thorough with his mouth and fingers tonight, worshipping every inch of her and leaving no part of her squirming for his touch. It reminds Addison of their first time, when he purposely drew things out for her, when they were both doing everything they could to convince themselves that the first time would also be the last time.

She is trembly-limbed and exhausted from Mark's ministrations by the time he pushes inside her, but lust still somehow overpowers the satiation. Mark takes his time as he thrusts, rotating between exchanging long, tongue-heavy kisses with her and giving her breasts more attention. Addison knows he'll eventually speed up, that it will reach the point where it's just delirious pleasure and silent screaming noises from them both, but for now it's soothingly rhythmic, like a sailboat rising and falling in calm waters. He whispers unexpectedly sweet things in her ear. How beautiful she is. How good this feels. How he can't get enough of her.

He's making love to me, Addison thinks, and the thought embarrasses her because of how schmaltzy and Nora Roberts-ish it sounds in her head. And the thought terrifies her, too, because it's moments like this that she wonders how her life could possibly still be anything without this man.

She feels even more embarrassed when her eyes fill with tears, and of course Mark notices; he rarely takes his eyes off her when they're in the throes.

"You okay?" Mark stills his hips above her. "Did…" he fumbles over his words, confused. "Did I hurt you?"

Addison shakes her head. "No, I'm…being ridiculous and feeling some feelings. I just love you so much. That's all."

She never used to get emotional like this during sex. But then, it's not just what Mark feels for her: she's never loved someone quite this much before either. She's certain of it. She loved Derek. There's a part of her that still loves her husband. But she never loved him like this.

"I just love you so much too," Mark says, copying her statement. "Do you need a minute?"

"Why? Is crying not a turn-on?" She smirks up at him, and he coughs out a short laugh. "I'm okay, Mark. Really." She presses her lips to his. "Let's switch," she murmurs when she pulls away, and he wastes no time in eagerly flipping their positions.

Addison lifts herself up and down for a few minutes, getting support from Mark's hands on her sides as she lightly bounces, driving him crazy with what gravity is doing to her breasts and the breathy little noises she is making. She occasionally rolls her hips in circles to feel a little more of him, so deep and full inside her from this angle. It feels great – it always does with him – but it's not enough; she wants to be closer to him. She wants more. She has to have more.

She leans forward, one hand pressing against the left side of Mark's chest, and the other pinching at the mattress for support. Mark's hands slide down her back, clutching at her hips and the rounded curves behind them, helping pull her forward and backwards. They build a steady rhythm while Addison grinds against him, and the friction-packed contact and the whimpers and groans are enough for Mark to know she can get where she needs to for release without any help from him this time. She rests her forehead against his, or somewhere close to his forehead – her eyes are closed and she's rocking too insistently, too frantically now to know for sure – and Mark moves one of his hands to push it through her hair, trying to coax the matted, sweat-slicked locks away from her parted mouth as she pants for breath. Her hair ends up all over his face as a result, but he is not complaining. Their respective muscles tighten within moments of each other, and they gasp near each other's mouths as they climax.

Mark is first to speak, but it definitely takes him a minute. "Holy shit, that was amazing."

"Yeah." Addison exhales unsteadily as she slumps against him. "Yeah. God, yeah, it was. I…I can't catch my breath."

"You and me both, Red."

She reaches forward to hold one of Mark's hands, twining their fingers together. It's her left hand, and she hasn't slid her rings back on yet. It turns out Mark was right; the walls around them didn't collapse when he took her rings off. At the end of the world, nothing has really ended.

. .
. .

The mattress briefly dips behind Addison on New Year's Day, a sign her husband has returned home. Derek fits himself against her, looping an arm over her waist, and she mumbles a drowsy, raspy-throated good morning, words muffled by the comforter pulled near her face. She blinks heavily, not awake enough to digest whatever Derek is saying, and frankly, annoyed with him for being this chatty when the sun barely has its footing in the sky.

"…or did you cheat?"

For a moment, Addison's heartbeat thuds louder. Did something happen with Mark? She wasn't that drunk, probably just a fraction passed buzzed, but still. No. It's okay, she thinks as more memories of last night come back to her. Mark left a few minutes after midnight. She offered up the guest room, but he declined, citing he would rather sleep in his own bed and wake up at his own place, which Addison understood. She gave him a hug before he left and then sleepily made her way to bed.

"What?" You're good, she reminds herself. Nothing happened. Relax. "Say that again, honey."

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were more awake. I saw the checkers board when I came in, and I figured you won, since you're usually red…I asked if you channeled your inner whoever-the-checkers-equivalent of Bobby Fischer is, or if you had to cheat? I'm sure it's been a while since Mark's played, but he's seriously the best checkers player I know. Impossible to beat. It used to drive me crazy when we were kids…just when you think your pieces are protected, he makes a move and takes, like, a million of them." Derek presses his lips to Addison's shoulder. "He told you he would ease up and let you win a round or two because your jerk husband left you for New Year's, didn't he?"

"Mm-hmm," Addison says. She thought Mark just picked up the game quickly and figured out strategies as he was going along – that makes sense to her, because Mark really is just that (annoyingly) intelligent and thinks well under pressure. But, she remembers his hands, how his long fingers moved with such assurance, even if he didn't always make the right moves (on-purpose-wrong-moves, Addison now decides). "Exactly what happened," she tells her husband, even though it's not the truth. She thinks maybe Derek doesn't deserve the truth, which is not a thought she's had any other time in recent memory.

"I'm sorry about last night, Addie. Today will be better. Dinner with Richard and Adele will be fun, right?"

Addison is not sure if she'll ever bring up that night again to Mark, but she wonders if on some level he knows how much those tiny victories meant to her, and how much she appreciated the kindness he showed her.

. .
. .

"I have travel mugs here, if you want more coffee for the road," Addison says on Sunday morning while she hovers by the nightstand, responding with appropriate emojis to a few cute pictures Savvy sent her of Phoebe. She stifles a yawn with one of her hands while finishing her thought. "Did you want some more coffee?" She waits for an answer, but when silence follows, she turns to face Mark, and realizes he has noticed the rings back on her finger. "Mark, I'm sorry," she says, voice low. "I really am. I'm sorry I'm not ready to not wear them yet, or…or to file, just yet. I know it feels hurtful to you, but it doesn't have anything to do with how much I love you. It's just…I'm not ready. It's a giant step, and right now…right now baby steps are all I can manage."

"It's okay."

Addison shakes her head sadly. "No, it's not. You're not okay about it." It was such a good weekend and last night was perfect, she thinks. And I'm ruining it for him because I'm being a coward. He's right; I'm too scared to take the next step, to pull the trigger.

"I'm trying to be okay with it." Mark makes a valiant attempt to throw a smile her way. "And I'm trying to be patient."

"Okay."

It is a long time before either of them speaks again as they leave the end of the world.

. .
. .

---

References/Nods to Various Episodes

Grey's Anatomy, 2x01:
Derek: "If you came out here to try and win me back, forget about it."
Addison: "I did. I flew all the way across the country to reminisce over wedding photos, get drunk, fall into bed, and make you realize you can't live without me. Relax, Derek. I'm here for work."

The medical procedure Derek discussed in this chapter is what happened to Archer in PP season 2/Grey's season 5. This was not so much a thoughtful, conscious nod to the show(s) as it was more of a darlingwrecks-is-too-lazy-to-come-up-with-something nod. Also, I did drop a reference about Mark thinking about purchasing a calendar (Grey's 3x12…if you know you know).

Thank you for reading! These two definitely have some more hurdles and hiccups to stumble their way through as they try to make "whatever this is" work, but they will definitely find a way to weather the it-wasn't-a-game storm.