Chapter title is a lyric from "He Wants You" by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.

(It was real cute when I thought this fic was gonna be like 15 chapters, lol. More like 45 to 50 at this point, but it's probably in my best interest not to make any promises. As long as you're reading, I'm writing.)

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Chapter 32. Beneath the Hanging Cliffs

She's yours now, Mark thinks as his eyes grow heavy with sleep. Do not screw this up.

Their conversation tonight didn't really feel complete – maybe just complete for now – and in some ways, Mark still feels like Addison is prepared to pull away from him. However, he also knows he will continue to take whatever she is willing to give, and Addison would certainly be inclined to give more if Mark is only having sex with her. It bears repeating: do not screw this up.

He remembers her saying once – after he told her that he was falling in love with her – that he just wanted to win, that he wanted to trump Derek. He told her it wasn't a game, but he does see Addison's point. Being with her, falling in love with her – it wasn't about beating Derek, no, but there's no denying that this is what has happened, even if it was the side effect and not the symptom, or something like that.

You just want what Derek has. That was the other accusation this past winter. In a way, Addison is a trophy, a prize for the victor, though Mark wouldn't ever say it like that. For one thing, it's objectifying as hell (even he gets that), and showing her off on his arm – if he was that kind of guy – is not open for debate anyway. Addison said she doesn't want to announce her separation and current relationship status yet. She has a few colleagues she is close to, and when one finally mentioned it had been a while since she'd seen Derek at the hospital, Addison told her they were spending some time apart. She shared this exchange with Mark later. No mention of Seattle to the coworker. No mention of a formal separation. No mention of what led to the separation. No mention of how Addison is keeping herself busy during the separation. No mention of what the thread between love and loss really feels like.

Mark imagines hospital staff are starting to draw their own conclusions though, perhaps even more so due to Addison's vagueness. People are too polite to engage in the conversation to her face, especially in a professional environment, but behind her back, definitely. Mark has done his best not to listen, and on the days he is operating at NYP, to get in and out of there quickly. He understands Addison's reluctance when it comes to discussing her private life, because it's not just the judgment piece. People pick sides in a divorce, and when you look at both sides, the one that has an adulterer and her dirty mistress – who was the unsuspecting husband's best friend to boot – isn't the popular choice. Mark knows what he has lost to be with Addison probably doesn't even begin to compare to what she has already lost and what she might still lose in order to be with him.

But, she is a prize in that he feels lucky to have her. In that context, it seems okay to think about it this way. And it's not like he came to blows with Derek over her or something. He didn't force Addison to leave her husband and he certainly didn't take her from Derek. He didn't do anything other than be himself. Everything was always in Addison's hands. Plus, winning implies losing, and Derek didn't really lose. He withdrew. So maybe love doesn't always have winners and losers after all.

Just being himself. Which is terrifying to Mark, even now. Normally being himself is what gets him into trouble. It's different with Addison though; he just needs to keep telling himself that. And he needs to trust that he can make the right, honorable decisions going forward.

Trust. Mark gets stuck on this next, still shoving back against the warm confines of sleep. Trust. A huge component of any relationship, and any friendship, too. He had that with Derek once.

When he was thirteen, he went on a vacation with the Shepherds to the Adirondacks. It was only a few months after Mr. Shepherd died; everyone still seemed too sad to want to do anything, but Mark got the impression Carolyn wanted to blanket her loved ones with something familiar, and renting a cabin near Split Rock Falls was something the Shepherds had done from time to time. And Mark was invited, as he almost always was, even though Kathleen and Nancy would sometimes whine about it ("How come Derek always gets to bring a friend and we don't? Mark isn't actually your kid, Mom.").

Derek and Mark were already old enough that Mrs. Shepherd gave them a bit of free reign, and their freedom seemed to double that summer because Mrs. Shepherd was putting most of her energy into trying not drown under the weight of her grief. This was exactly how the two boys found themselves alone at a cliff jumping spot. They stood on one of the craggy, moss-sheathed rocks, observing multiple waterfalls tumbling down into a natural pool. They overheard a few kids at a nearby cabin talking about jumping from this spot, so they were confident that that meant it was safe (Mrs. Shepherd certainly would have disagreed though if they had told her what they were thinking of doing).

But it didn't feel safe when they were standing up there. It felt colder and wetter. And higher. A lot higher.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," Derek finally ventured. "We could…we could die. Or get hurt."

"We won't," Mark replied, although truthfully, he had no idea. He actually was a little scared. The water at the bottom was peaceful and calm, and deep enough, but it was at least - in Mark's estimation - a fifteen foot drop from the rock they were currently standing on. He was scared, but he knew Derek was more scared, and he would have done anything to help his friend claw his way through that fear. Derek was still Derek, but he was also a little different after his dad died. He was more cautious. More afraid of things. Especially getting hurt and dying. And when Mark first noticed that change, he decided it was his job, as Derek's best friend, to be strong - even if that was really just a gentler narrative for recklessness and stupidity - in the spaces where his friend couldn't be.

"Lots of other kids have done this. It's gonna be fun…it's gonna be worth it. You just have to jump out first," Mark said. "Not straight down, you know? We'll go at the same time. Okay? We'll jump at the same time."

Derek shot him a disbelieving look. That was, after all, one of the oldest tricks in the book, and with any other kid, Mark would have absolutely delighted in saying one-two-three, doing an exaggerated bend of his knees, and then observing the moment of airborne outrage and shock on someone else's face when they jumped and he didn't.

"Derek," he assured, "I promise I'll jump. Trust me. You can trust me."

They did end up leaping at the same time, their bodies nearly synchronized as they straightened out, dropping through the surface of the water. When they came back up for air, their gasps of laughter were fueled by adrenaline.

"I told you!" Mark crowed. "I told you it would be worth it. See? You can always trust me." This is the last thing on Mark's mind before he finally drifts off to sleep. He sleeps both heavily and contently, not stirring until the next morning when he hears quiet footsteps, and then feels the dip of the mattress, the taut stretch of starchy hotel sheets. He cracks one eye open in time to see Addison scoot backwards into his chest, her body bending to reconnect with his. They have been sharing a bed for over a month now, but it still takes Mark by surprise sometimes, that she is with him and not with Derek. Addison and permanence has never been a concept Mark has truly allowed himself to consider before now. And while he does feel bad – he knows he will always feel bad – for hurting his best friend and betraying that trust, how he feels for Addison outweighs how he feels about what he's done to Derek. And even though it's ugly and twisted to think this way, Mark would do it all over again if it meant getting to be with her.

"Morning," he says, draping an arm over her waist.

"Morning," Addison replies. "I was just looking at my phone. Archer texted…" she briefly clenches her jaw to fight off a yawn. "He's going to stay up on the eighteenth floor until it's time for him to go down to one of the event rooms for his author thing. Apparently whoever he's with hasn't lost interest and decided to kick him out."

"Well, I like the idea of us having this room to ourselves for a bit longer."

"I like the idea of us having this room to ourselves for a bit longer for sleeping purposes," Addison murmurs. She laughs when she hears Mark make a noise of disapproval; he definitely had other plans. "I'm still tired," she adds while her…boyfriend? presses his lips to her neck. "I hate that feeling where you sleep really well, but then you wake up exhausted anyway. It's a cruel trick."

"Wow…" Mark says in response. "You are tired. Normally when I kiss you right below your ear, your legs do this twitching thing and I'm half-prepared for you to accidentally knee me in the groin."

"It would be pretty difficult for me to get you with my knee from this angle."

"Believe me…" Mark tugs her closer, pressing her toned, rounded flesh more firmly against his front. He rocks his body against hers, still intent on gauging her interest, because he isn't quite convinced that she's not interested. "I have no complaints about this angle." He kisses her neck again, a little slower this time, and when he flicks his tongue against her skin with a swirl of warm breath, Addison moans quietly. Maybe even eagerly. "There it is." He smirks.

"This ego of yours…" Addison sighs, but more out of pleasure than exasperation at this point, because Mark has just brought a hand up to cup her breast. "Is getting bigger with every passing day."

Mark chuckles. "Speaking of things getting bigger…" he can't help himself. He really can't. She basically handed that one to him.

"God, you're such a teenage boy. Well, I'm awake now. Let's get in the shower. Kill two birds with one stone."

"Yeah?"

Addison looks at him over her shoulder, flashing a playful grin. "Half the fun of a hotel room is hotel shower sex, right? And this is a very, very big shower…and I noticed it has this nice marble bench in it that might give you a few ideas for things we can do in there before we really get clean."

"You just want to take a shower with me because you like when I leave the bathroom and there's steam everywhere and it makes me look all…steamy-like."

"That's definitely one of the reasons."

. .
. .

"Welcome back!" Jenny calls out when Mark comes through the front door, a surplus of football equipment balanced uncoordinatedly in his arms. He drops everything in the entryway, deciding he will deal with it in a few minutes. He half-says and half-grunts his usual good when he comes into the kitchen (trying not to limp as he works his way over the terracotta floor tiles, because the amount of sprint ladders done today felt criminal at best) and Jenny asks how football was. It's a response typical of any teenager being asked a question, but it's also just workouts since it's off-season. It's more conditioning drills than anything else, and nothing interesting ever happens, so it's mostly an acceptable answer.

"Great. Oh, and Lainey called while you were gone," Jenny adds while handing Mark a glass water. Mark almost rolls his eyes in exasperation, because he has told Lainey more than once that team workouts go until one. Couldn't she wait to call him, when she knows he'll actually be around to answer the phone? Or could she maybe just…not call him for a few days? Can she not take a damn hint?

"Did you -"

"The machine picked it up. I was out at lunch with Cindy and a few of the girls when she called."

Mark sighs in relief. Jenny definitely saw the paranoia on his face as he started to make the inquiry. It's not just the potential mortification of a parent talking with a child's significant other, of asking information-probing questions or sharing personal details or stories…there are always more reasons for Mark to be concerned about Jenny speaking with his friends. He remembers a few weeks ago when Lainey called and Jenny actually answered; Lainey recapped the conversation with Mark later when they were hanging out.

"On the phone, your mom kinda sounded…her words were all slurry," Lainey told him. Her cheeks colored a little when she shared this, as though she was conflicted on whether telling him was the right thing to do. She felt embarrassed for him, Mark realized.

He shrugged at Lainey's observation, presenting an air of indifference. "She probably had some drinks at lunch with friends. Did she sound like you sounded after Greg's party last weekend?" He nudged her shoulder, and it was enough to make Lainey giggle. And then Mark kissed her and moved his body against hers until he was pretty sure Lainey forgot about his mother entirely. Mark assumes physical affection isn't supposed to be used as some sort of shield, but it can be, and it's helpful to at least have that as an option.

"Which Cindy?" Mark asks Jenny after he has taken a few sips of water. He doesn't actually care who his mother went to lunch with, but Jenny's attempts to say Cindy Schermer are usually a pretty good indicator of how drunk she is.

"Cindy Marino," Jenny answers. "Hey, about Lainey…you're being careful, right?"

"Oh, shit." Mark raises his palm and lightly taps it against his forehead. "Should I be using condoms? I knew I was forgetting something." He feels pleased when Jenny starts to laugh, clearly understanding his sarcasm. It's Mark's defense mechanism of choice in this situation, because his parents previously subjected him to a safe sex conversation, and once was enough. Mark does appreciate that Jenny and Everett are sort of…cool and relaxed about this stuff, but he thinks that has more to do with their partying, we'll-check-in-later lifestyle than it does a conscious decision about how they are raising their kid. Mark feels like he is more of a companion to the two of them than he is a son, especially once he eased out of early childhood. The boundaries have always been foggy, and his parents are nothing like other parents he knows, Mrs. Shepherd and the late Mr. Shepherd in particular. "But, yeah," he adds, being serious. "Lainey's on the pill, but we always use condoms."

"Good. Even though the pill is effective, it still -"

"Please stop." Mark claps his hands over his ears. "I know what you're going to say."

"Okay," Jenny responds calmly when he brings his hands back down. "I'm just saying that I'm not ready to be a grandma yet." She grins. "You finish high school and college first. And medical school, too, if that's what you still want to do. And then after that I'll happily watch my grand baby whenever you need me to, honey."

Mark fights down the urge to say something mean (and he's seventeen, so he has the urge a lot, especially where his parents are concerned, and sometimes it's like he has no control over his emotions). He doesn't know anything about babies, and frankly, he's not even sure he wants kids. But he definitely knows that addicts who are not in recovery – even kind, thoughtful ones who happen to be related to you – are not the gold standard for babysitters.

"Things happen," Jenny continues. "Your father and I -"

"Oh my God," Mark groans.

"You were a surprise. Things happen…so I'm just saying. All it takes is one time where you're a little less careful and something can happen. Anyway…you're not pushing Lainey to do anything she doesn't want to do, right?"

Jesus, Mark thinks. He wouldn't ever make a girl do anything, and he feels a little sad that his mother would even ask such a thing. Is that really who she thinks I am? And as it is, Lainey Hess is an enthusiastic participant. She asked Mark once if his hips were double-jointed, and he laughed in response. No. He just knows how to use them to make himself and Lainey – or whoever – feel good. It didn't take him long to discover that he feels the most pleasure when someone he's with is feeling pleasure, too. Mark's guy friends eagerly talk about blow jobs they've gotten, sharing details like they're swapping rookie cards, and while Mark has certainly bragged about details of his own conquests when the talk in the locker room goes up a few notches in ratings, he constantly wants to ask guys who bring up the subject, But what are you doing for her?

Because Mark does plenty. He's been having sex for almost three years now. He knows what he's doing, and years later, he'll still feel a little smug that everything he learned he learned himself; his sexual adventures predated public search domains.

"Of course not," he mumbles.

Jenny offers him a small smile. "I didn't think so. I'm sorry to ask that; I know this is uncomfortable for you, and it's definitely not my favorite discussion either. It's just…and I know we talked about consent when we first talked to you about sex, but it's really important to me that you understand that no means no, not to try a different way or keep going anyway and -"

"Jenny. I know. Stop."

"Okay. Sorry. But, you know, the other thing I wanted to say about Lainey, real quick -"

"Seriously? We're seriously still talking about this?"

"Yes." Jenny gives her disgruntled son a sympathetic look. "Just for a minute longer. I was going to say that Lainey called yesterday, too, and I don't remember hearing you on the phone last night. You shouldn't leave a girl waiting, Mark. If you don't want to see her anymore or if there's someone else you're interested in instead, you need to tell her. If you're not sure what to say, I don't mind helping you…if you need a sounding board or something…"

Lainey knows we aren't serious. We're just friends with benefits, Mark would say if he was talking to a friend, or really anyone who wasn't an immediate family member.

"That's not something I want to talk about," he tells Jenny instead. "And it's not your business, anyway."

Jenny folds her arms. "It is my business how you treat ladies while you live under my roof. I didn't raise you to not be considerate of someone else's feelings."

"You haven't really raised me at all. You've nursed Tequila Sunrises longer than you nursed me, I bet," Mark says, and he's vaguely proud of this comeback, even as Jenny's face falls. "Yes, I know." He shakes his head in disgust. He's heard it so many fucking times now. "You're doing your best."

Mark is baiting her, and he knows that rather than rise above it, there's a chance Jenny will sink to his level, especially if her lunch was ninety-nine percent liquid. She's a child in that way, with the sinking. Mark remembers his dad saying to a friend once, "Sometimes it feels like I married a child." It surprised Mark, because even though he'd prefer not to see it, he can tell how much his parents care for one another. But he supposes even people in good relationships have their limits sometimes.

"I am doing my best," Jenny says, and he catches the pathetic whine in her voice. "And I actually haven't had anything to drink in nine days, just so you know. I am doing my best though. I didn't have a mom…you know mine died during childbirth. And my dad wasn't…" she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. "I know that I have a hard time with drinking and I have to take pills for my nerves, but -"

"For your nerves," Mark sneers. "Your nerves. Your life is so fucking easy. You get that, right? You literally don't have to do anything."

Jenny draws in a deep breath. "I know that I have a very good life. I'm lucky to have you and your father. It doesn't have anything to do with not being happy or thankful for what I have. It's more just…my doctor says that sometimes you need to be able to escape the thoughts in your head. And Valium is what helps me do that." She waits, but Mark cannot think of what to say in response. It all sounds like bullshit to him anyway.

(Years later, he looked up Doctor Palmer, Jenny's psychiatrist. A quack, he thought when he heard Jenny mention his name once. And Mark was right. The man's medical license was revoked in the early aughts for overprescribing prescription drugs.)

"My point," Jenny continues when Mark remains defiantly silent, "is that you're a kind, thoughtful person. I've seen that in the past with Lainey, in the times I've seen you with her. But you don't always choose to be a kind, thoughtful person, Mark. Sometimes you seem to have like a mean streak when it comes to girls; you're choosing to be mean. And I don't know where that came from, or if I did something to contribute to that because, yeah, I know a lot of the time my 'best' isn't very good, but…you shouldn't treat girls that way. It's not okay to be careless with someone else's feelings." Jenny goes to set her palm on the counter, but her hand catches funny on the edge of a tile square, revealing a wobble before the adjustment. Mark stares at her for a moment, and she stares back. The slip was not subtle; addicts always manage to bring attention to the consequences of gravity.

"Nine days my ass," Mark says, and then he walks away.

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. .

"Hi. How did you beat me home?" Mark asks when he gets back to the apartment Friday afternoon and finds Addison coming to the door to greet him. Mark almost always gets home first. Yes, he still pulls extended shifts at NYP sometimes – usually in the burn center or Emergency Medicine – as part of the privilege of operating on his own patients there, but for the most part, his hours are stable, courtesy of being in private practice and having a specialty more prone to routine and predictability. Addison doesn't have this luxury.

"I was talking with Harper," Addison says while Mark drops his keys on a nearby table. "She's one of the attorneys Savvy recommended. I didn't want to call while at the hospital, and I wanted to make sure I caught her before her work day was over, so I ducked out a little early. I just…wanted a little more information. About, like, what the divorce process would look like." Addison lifts one of her shoulders, the gesture a little stilted. "I'm going to meet with her next week though. I just need to pick an afternoon and she said she can accommodate me. Her sister is a doctor at North Shore, so she gets it…the long hours and stuff." Addison smiles in surprise when Mark's arms surround her, coaxing her into a tight hug. "What is this for?" She asks curiously. She nuzzles her nose against his neck, enjoying how comforting the embrace is.

"For having to make a call like that. And…because I know what today is," Mark replies quietly. "Your anniversary."

Addison nods. It felt meaningful – in a fucked up way, of course – to make the call to the divorce attorney today. Today of all days. "Thank you," she says. "Keeping busy helps. And hugs are really nice, too. Speaking of keeping busy…" she leans back, and Mark lets his arms drop, keeping them loosely tied around her waist. "I was just texting with Savvy. She asked if I wanted to come over tomorrow to hang out for a bit – she knows today is, well, that day. But we were talking and I talked her into another option. She and Weiss are going to go out to dinner, and I'm going to watch Phoebe for them. It'll be the first time they've had a proper date since before she was born. I told Savvy they should stay out as late as they want – at least do dinner and a movie – and maybe even get a hotel room for the night. It's a good trial run for Sav too, because she goes back to work in mid-July. I'm sure she won't take me up on the late-late part since it'll be her first time away from Phoebe for more than an errand or two, but…yeah. I'll keep you posted. That's my hot Saturday night though…so you'll be flying solo."

A breathless quiet settles between them. They are only two days past their talk. They both know what happened the last time Addison spent the night somewhere else.

"Did you want to buy a nanny cam to watch me through while you're gone in order to verify no one else is here?" Mark jokes, trying to diffuse the tension. "We can set it up on the bookcase in the living room."

Addison shakes her head as a giggle spills from her lips. "No, I trust you."

"Well, you sort of trust me," he says in response. "You're trying to trust me. Which is what I'm doing with you, too."

"This whole thing really is a fairytale," Addison deadpans. "What every girl dreams of."

"Yes, clearly." Mark smirks. "But, Addie…" he hesitates, trying to show that he's serious. And the thing is, he is serious; he just doesn't know if he looks that way, or if Addison will take him seriously. Or worse, if she is taking him seriously while also still waiting for him to fail. "Going forward, the only woman I would ever invite over here who isn't you would be Lynette."

Addison raises an amused eyebrow. "And I suspect she would never deign to sleep with you."

"Never. She has too high of standards."

"Well, I'm not sure what that says for my standards then."

"I like your standards. I like them a lot." Mark spins their positions around, and then presses Addison back into the nearest wall. "I like you a lot, too." He brushes his lips to hers, exchanging a few lazy kisses, and when he pulls back, he smiles because her face immediately tips forward, wanting more of his affection. Mark loves her like this. He loves her in every way, really, but there's something about having her pinned between himself and the wall that feels good, and not just physically. Addison can't go anywhere in this position; she can only go if he pulls away. And when her pupils dilate with lust and a flush seeps over her cheeks, it's clear that she doesn't want to him to pull away.

"And I like you a lot," Addison murmurs, words practically lost when Mark leans in again and tangles his tongue with hers. She moans and hooks an ankle around him, her heel digging into the back of Mark's leg in encouragement when he rolls his hips against hers. "Don't stop," she adds.

. .
. .

"So how did you get out of this morning's fishing excursion?" Addison asks Mark as they make their way into one of her favorite Montauk restaurants, where a crowd is already gathered. Derek will be meeting them in about ten minutes; he was finishing up an early morning near the tip of Montauk Point when they started making their way over to the restaurant.

"I told Derek he gets one." Mark opens the restaurant door, and gestures for Addison to go in ahead of him. He stays about a half-step behind her, as she was the one who made the reservation, and she's been here enough times that even in the off-season, a hostess with some career longevity would probably look at her in a sea of waiting-to-be-seated faces and vaguely recognize her. "Just one day," Mark elaborates, "so he got yesterday." He likes when his friends invite him to go to the Hamptons, but he hates fishing, so if there's any way he can beg out of it, he will. It's sort of like how Derek hates the Hamptons, so if he can beg out of it, he will. But the Hamptons has fishing and Addison…which should count as a positive for Derek, Mark feels. He's not so sure anymore though.

Mark definitely doesn't care for fishing, and he also doesn't really care for being in the Hamptons when the reason he is here feels…off. It feels off this time. Yes, he knows his company is wanted, and that Derek and Addison wouldn't have asked him to come if that wasn't the case, but Mark is beginning to think his presence has more to do with the fact that if he's here – as a guest and an extra body – it's not just Derek and Addison alone, trying to sort through the rocky terrain of their marriage. Mark thinks back to a few months ago, on New Year's Eve, when Addison – looking so beautiful, but also sad and teary-eyed – told him she and Derek were having some struggles. He still sees that, even though they rarely argue in front of him. He can sense the tension though, and the sadness he saw on New Year's Eve is still often present in Addison's eyes.

"Go right this way, with Rory," the bubbly hostess says to Addison after she has shared her name and reservation time. The hostess points to a nearby waitress who has three menus cradled in her hands. "We have a table for you and your husband near the back. I'll send your third party back when they arrive."

Addison can tell Mark is grinning as they follow after their waitress, and she has no doubt that he is already forming a routine and will keep it up for at least five minutes. She is prepared for this though; she adores Mark and has always found him endearing, but being friends with him certainly involves a healthy amount of tolerance.

"Hey, Mrs. Sloan?" Mark says once their waitress has left them alone, with a promise to come back in a few minutes to check in with them. Half of Addison's face is concealed by her menu right now, but Mark sees a few subtle crinkles form near the corners of her eyes, an indicator that she is certainly smiling underneath her menu.

"Yes, my love?" Addison answers, playing along.

"Do you want to order some charbroiled oysters while we wait for that other guy – the non-husband, third wheel – to arrive?" He points out the item under the appetizers section. "They sound really good."

"Yeah," Addison replies while setting her menu down. "I've had them before. They are really good. Derek likes them, too. Hey…when you actually managed to go fishing yesterday, did you notice Derek's tackle box? Is it in good condition?"

Mark shrugs. "It looked…I mean, it looked like a tackle box. I don't really know how to tell if it's in good condition or not. It definitely doesn't look brand new though, if that's…what you're asking? Is that what you're asking?"

"Yeah. Our anniversary is at the end of the month and -"

"What are you talking about? We got married in the fall, Addison."

"You've having too much fun with this. Just shut up for a second. I was thinking I'd get Derek some new fishing stuff. And maybe a new fishing vest, too. I feel like fishing supplies are such personal things – like preferences for baits and reels or whatever – but I don't want to do a gift card, because that just makes it impersonal. A tackle box or bag seems like a safe option though. I know," Addison adds with a smirk, "fishing equipment as a gift…it's gross. The ten-year anniversary present is decidedly unglamorous."

Mark laughs. "I was gonna say, yeah. And there's nothing comparable to that, because I don't think anything Derek has ever gotten you can be defined as gross. But he'll like it. Fishing stuff is a good idea. Very creative. Gross, but creative."

"Yeah. Definitely nothing gross for me. He usually does flowers and jewelry."

"You look…vaguely bummed about that."

"No, I don't."

"I know my wife. And you looked vaguely bummed. C'mon," Mark encourages. "Tell me."

She shrugs, conceding to his observation. "It's…the flower thing," she admits. "And it's a ridiculous thing to be annoyed about, because the flowers Derek gets me are beautiful. But for the past three years, he's gotten me the same bouquet for our anniversary. It's for sure the exact same, from the same place. And it comes in the same flared vase each time. I know it's a weird thing to notice, and it's probably petty, but I just wish a little more thought went into it, you know? But maybe that's a big ask, when it comes to men and flower selection." Addison shrugs. "It's not a big deal, but yeah…I suppose it is vaguely bummer-ish. You should keep that in mind, for our fall anniversary. Mixing it up flower-wise is good."

"I will definitely keep that in mind," Mark says while looking over her shoulder. He lifts his hand in a slight wave, and moments later, Addison hears her (real) husband's voice, and feels a cursory kiss touch the top of her head before Derek takes a seat in the vacant chair.

"There you are," Mark greets. "We're just waiting for our girl to come back so we can order oysters and get some drinks. And by the way, the hostess thought I was Mr. Derek Shepherd. Or Mr. Addison Montgomery-Shepherd."

Derek chuckles while he opens his menu. "Really?"

"Yes," Addison confirms. "'Right this way,'" she mimics. "'We have a table for you and your husband.'"

"God, I'm sorry," Derek says while tilting his head towards Mark. He grins at Addison; he can imagine exactly how much this would have entertained his best friend.

It's a true, genuinely happy smile from Derek, and Mark can't quite figure out why such an expression from his friend has suddenly filled him with a mixture of relief and gloom. He wants Derek and Addison to be happy together, doesn't he? Yes. He definitely does.

"I'm sure Mark's been absolutely insufferable about it," Derek adds, still smiling.

"Mm-hmm. He has been. But," Addison says, briefly meeting Mark's eyes with a mischievous look, "he's promised to get me really nice flowers for our anniversary."

. .
. .

"I'm so proud," Addison coos while ten-week-old Phoebe sucks contently on her bottle, peering up at her from beneath a layer of dark, fluttering lashes. The little girl has paused a few times during the feeding to give Addison huge, gummy smiles, and it has melted her heart each time, but now Phoebe has reached the last ounce in her bottle, and the drowsiness in her eyes is starting to reflect this. "Your mommy has gone a full hour without texting me for an update," Addison continues, "but don't worry, I know she still misses you like crazy. I would too, if you were mine."

Addison goes into Savvy and Weiss's bedroom with the baby monitor cradled loosely in her hand once a sleeping Phoebe is laid down in her crib. Addison sinks in front of the cabinets in the master bathroom. It will not be entirely like an If I were a blank, where would I be? search-and-rescue mission, because Addison was also present – sitting on the bed in this room and waiting – while Savvy peed on a pregnancy test last summer, so if there are additional tests here, she knows this is where they will be located.

Addison's period was supposed to start yesterday. But it hasn't, and even though it's only one day, she has always had a very consistent, predictable cycle. The only other time she was late was after Bizzy's suicide attempt. She took a pregnancy test, and it ended up being negative. And then her period arrived the next day.

She blamed the delay last time on stress, an uptick in cortisol. And while her life is certainly cortisol-filled at the moment, something about how she's feeling is unique. Addison thinks of some of the signs over the past week, ones she would ordinarily interpret as typical premenstrual ones. Fatigue. Feeling more emotional. Tender breasts. A subtle undercurrent of nausea and light cramping. But those signs, as ordinary as they usually are for her before a period…they have felt a little different this time, haven't they? God, especially her breasts. She actually almost did knee Mark in the groin last night when he was sucking on one of her nipples. He pulled away, uncertain, when her body jerked beneath him. She told him she was just a little sensitive, an almost-that-time thing, and Mark simply smiled in understanding and said he'd concentrate on another area. And then he did concentrate on another area – a lot – and Addison went to sleep with a somewhat empty brain courtesy of phenomenal foreplay and sex. And she's been able to push away the nagging worry for most of today – spending the morning and afternoon with Mark, then assuring a teary-eyed Savvy that she and Phoebe would be fine and to go have fun, and then caring for Phoebe and entertaining her with peek-a-boo and a myriad of tummy time activities before the most recent feeding. But now Phoebe is asleep, and Addison is alone in her head; she cannot box away the thoughts any longer.

Savvy's organizational skills rival that of someone who gets paid to organize people's homes, so it only takes Addison a few seconds to locate a boxed early response test under the sink. Her fingers scrabble to grab it. She feels guilty for taking it, even though she reasons that she'll buy a replacement test for Savvy later. Also, it's not like her friend is the one who needs to pee on a stick right now or in the next few days.

While Addison waits to see whether one line or two will appear in the results window – again sitting on the bed, while the test is cushioned by a few sheets of toilet paper on the bathroom counter – she thinks of herself as a child – seven or eight – being dragged to a flower show in Hartford with Bizzy. The candy incident. She was too young to stay home alone all day. The Captain had some sort of sailing competition, Archer was at a friend's house, and the nanny wasn't available for a weekend stint this time, so Addison had no choice but to be her mother's sidekick for the day. She certainly made her feelings on the subject known though; anger came easy to her that day in the car.

And Bizzy was having none of it. "If you were more social," she chirped, "then perhaps you wouldn't have had to come with me. Make friends like your brother, and next time this won't happen."

"I do too have friends," Addison said back, but it did occur to her that while, yes, she did have friends, they weren't friends like the kind Archer had. Archer wasn't like her. He was funny and fun and he wasn't shy and he didn't have a weird lisp and he didn't seem to ever get nervous about anything. Addison may have had friends, but she knew she wasn't ever anyone's first choice for a play date.

They stopped at a Stop & Shop along the way to Hartford, which struck Addison as funny. Bizzy didn't really do grocery shopping; that's what the household cook was for. But when they were a half hour outside their destination, Bizzy remembered she was going to see someone at the flower show who had recently lost a loved one, so she wanted to pick up a sympathy card. The candy aisle was conveniently located next to the card aisle, but Addison knew Bizzy wouldn't let her get anything. Candy was junk food, and Bizzy didn't like her kids to have junk food. There would probably be other reasonable factors when it came to a no response from Bizzy too, like the fact that it was eight in the morning and Addison had been behaving pretty rudely for most of the car ride, but Addison pushed those thought out of her mind as she shoved a 100 Grand into her jacket pocket. Her heart beat wildly as she did it; she had never done something like this before, because she knew that stealing was very, very bad. She was certain her heart was going to beat right out of her body when they were in line to check out, and also while they were walking back to Bizzy's car, but nothing happened. No one pointed at Addison and said anything. No alarms went off. No store clerk ran after her. No policemen showed up to take her away.

Bizzy caught her though. Addison can't really remember how, if she was fidgeting too much during the remainder of the car ride, or if Bizzy saw a flash of a red wrapper peeking out of Addison's jacket pocket, or if she just plain looked guilty. At some point though Bizzy asked what Addison was hiding, and she shamefacedly showed her the 100 Grand candy bar. She thought maybe Bizzy would drive her back to the store and make her apologize to the owner – Addison thought she had seen that done on a TV show, or read it in a book once – but instead, Bizzy simply took the candy bar and tossed it out the window, discarding it along the rough, glittering asphalt of Route 15.

In hindsight, and with a few more years of maturity under her belt, the whole thing made Addison laugh. Maybe Bizzy's response was actually hilarious, maybe even perfect, and it was what Addison deserved.

She's not laughing now though.

It's been at least three minutes. Probably closer to five now. She walks back into the bathroom, and the test doesn't even do her the courtesy of being subtle, faint in its appearance; the second pink line is just as dark as the first.

Two lines. Pregnant.

Addison sort of hopes that Phoebe – who has turned into a really good sleeper – will wake up only a few minutes into an evening nap, that she will cry and Addison will need to take care of her, to put her own problems on the back-burner if only for a little longer. But, no. Silence wings around her as she tries to come to terms with the reality of what has happened.

Pregnant. I'm pregnant.

This isn't good. Things might be a little more stable with Mark right now – a little – but they are still on shaky ground. There are still trust issues. She isn't yet divorced. And things are just…new between them. So very new. Right now is not the time for any more momentous, life-changing things. And this is something he is not ready for. Something she is not ready for. Something they are not ready for.

I'm pregnant.

Addison does the math in her head. It happened that weekend in the Hamptons. She'd felt something that night, though maybe it's crazy to think that, and of course it's easy to think that in retrospect. She's absolutely sure that is when they conceived though, that there is no point in calculating her due date – God, her due date – by her LMP.

I'm pregnant.

It happened the night they made love. When her rings were off. When it was just them and no one else and they really were together.

Maybe that means something.

It does not really make this any less screwed up though.

Or any less terrifying.

Should I even tell him?

. .
. .

References/Nods to Various Episodes

Really nothing new. I covered the "you wanted to win" quote in an author's note before. Mark mentioning his steaminess post-shower though was of course a nod to his iconic reemergence at the end of Grey's 3x02.

Oh, and then Addison to Callie, Grey's 3x12 (this is just the start of the quote): "About eight months ago, I peed on a stick. And I wasn't even going to tell him."

Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated, as chatty audiences are a lot of fun. :)