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.

35. A Line Through the Sand

A/N: chapter title was inspired by a lyric in the song "Hole In My Hand" by Benjamin Francis Leftwich. I drew a line through the sand to be with you.

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Chapter 35. A Line Through the Sand

Mark's fingers stumble across the glossy surface of his alarm clock as he presses a button to draw an end to the sound that has penetrated his restless sleep. From the other side of the bed, he can feel the light shake of the mattress as Addison stirs, and he can hear her make some sort of sleepy noise of acknowledgement that Thursday has arrived earlier than either one of them would like. Mark takes a deep breath, and then rolls over, only to find Addison already staring at him. She does not look like she slept particularly well either. Streams of sunlight are breaking over her face, drawing attention to the curved gray shadows under her eyes.

"Morning," he greets.

"Morning," Addison whispers back, and she automatically thinks of mourning, because so much of life feels that way lately. "How…how are you doing?"

"Doing okay. You?"

"Also doing okay."

Mark watches her hands for a moment, the way they are rubbing and pinching at the sheets, creating waves in the fabric. "I'm gonna go make some coffee," he finally says. "You want a cup?"

"No, thanks. I'm just going to start getting ready. I'll probably…I'll probably try to avoid going into the kitchen until the last possible second. The smell of coffee is sort of…nauseating lately."

"Oh. Okay. I can skip it then. I have a machine at work."

"No, it's fine. Please. I don't want you to feel like…" Addison hesitates. She can feel a blush scattering over her cheeks, a curl of heat for having to poke at the subject without actually outright addressing the subject. "I don't want you to feel like you have to change your daily routine for me. It's fine."

"Just change my penchant for being an idiot and texting other women," Mark says. He keeps his tone light, but it feels like pressing a thumb against a bruise to say it.

She returns his uneasy smile with a small one of her own. "Yes," she replies. "That would be my preference."

Addison tries to confine her getting-ready routine to the guest bathroom this morning. She keeps most of her skin care, makeup, and hair products in there anyway, but usually carts them back-and-forth so that she can and Mark can talk while they get ready for work. Not today though. She can hear Mark preparing coffee, and then hear him in the shower, and then hear him back in the bedroom, but their paths do not cross over the next hour. Addison's only companion feels like loneliness as she applies her makeup, and then curls her hair, parting a large, soft hank of it to the side. She eventually comes back into the bedroom to get dressed, but by the time she does, Mark is already in the kitchen again. She opts for a pencil skirt (one that, due to its tightness, will not be long for the clothing lineup if she remains pregnant), a Diane von Furstenberg wrap top, and a pair of sleek pumps for today's outfit. And after taking a slow, steadying breath, she makes her way down the hall and into the kitchen.

Mark turns towards her when she approaches the counter to grab her bag. He went ahead and made coffee, because it felt like it would be making more of a statement to not make it, but he still took care to open the kitchen window first. Not that it did much good. It is still early, but the July humidity already feels like a cape hanging over the city.

"I'm going to text Charlene in a few minutes and tell her I'm not coming and that I'm seeing someone," Mark says when he notices Addison's eyes flicker towards his phone by the toaster. He knows he could do it now, but it's not seven yet. It feels rude, to text someone this early. It's rude, right? He watches Addison's face, but she merely lifts an eyebrow while she starts to rummage through her bag. And no, it is not like Mark is owed a "thank you" for this form of yielding, but still, he thinks she should at least say something. "Oh, but hey…" he begins, sarcasm slithering through to help cope with the hurt. "Since you check my phone on the regular, can you go into the Fantasy app and see how my baseball team is doing? And set today's lineup for me?"

This gets her attention. Addison lifts her head sharply, leveling him with an annoyed gaze. "I know snooping is wrong, but it's not like…" she shrugs. She saw the original text message on Mark's lock screen. She did not initially go looking for it. It was just there. "Don't you feel like there was a part of you that was sort of deliberately…baiting me to look at the texts by leaving your phone out?"

"What are you, my shrink?"

"No," she responds in a clipped tone. "But it might not be a bad idea for you to see one."

"Pot meet kettle, Red." Mark crosses his arms. "By the way, book a flight to Seattle yet? Call the divorce attorney? Let the abortion provider know what time you'd be coming in?"

Addison looks away from him as she settles her Chloé bag over her shoulder, only to have to frustratingly readjust it when she hears her pager vibrate. "You're being a jerk," she accuses while shoving a hand into the bag to grasp the object.

Mark sighs. Yes, he is. He knows that. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "This is just…really hard."

"It's hard for me, too." Addison glances at her pager, now in hand, and sighs in a way that tells Mark she needs to go now. "And I feel like…I feel like you're not getting that." Her eyes meet his again, and this time, they are glittering with wet, unshed tears. "I love you so much, Mark. In a really, really big way. Even on our worst days, still in a really, really big way. And the thing is…you're always worried about me leaving you. But, you know…I worry about you leaving me too, sometimes. It's not just you who has that fear. Especially now."

"Addison…"

"I can't right now. It's a patient who has…" she shakes her head. "I need to get to the hospital. We can talk later."

. .
. .

Rain lands mellifluously against the windows, gathering in swaths that obscure the world outside the office that belongs to Mark's therapist. The stuttering start and stop of droplets sliding down the glass holds Mark's attention for a moment. March is coming to a close. He likes this time of year, with its in-between quality that sort of defies the formal names of the seasons that encapsulate it. And this particular March has been a good one. Possibly the best March he has ever had.

"Mark?"

"Sorry." He directs his attention back to Olivia. "Could you say that again?"

"I asked if think you make the choices that you do because you feel inadequate."

"Do you think I make the choices I do because I feel inadequate?" Mark counters. And then a triumphant smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, because he rarely, rarely gets to best his therapist. Olivia walked right into that one. Mark gets the sense that she does not fall into traps; certainly not traps of her own making, even though he probably did not help things by zoning out when she initially posed the question.

Olivia, to her credit, gives him a brief, conceding smile. "Yes, Mark. I do think a lot of the choices in your personal life have been shaped under a backdrop of inadequacy. You like to reassure yourself with others. You're afraid of rejection and afraid of people leaving you, but those things can't happen if you do the rejecting and leaving first. Or, like with Peyton, the serious girlfriend you once had – if you give someone a reason to leave first rather than trying to delve through the stuff that's difficult."

"Because delving…" Mark begins quietly. He looks back out the window again. "Difficult conversations, relationship stalemates, saying things and then the other person just knows those things because you said them and put them out into the universe…those can all lead to rejection. And yeah, inadequacy." Normally he looks at Olivia when he answers, because there is something vaguely amusing about challenging her, about getting to watch the subtle expressions that cross her face as she tries a variety of tools at her therapeutic disposal to get through to him, to help him. Mark can usually make a sport of staring in defiance. But not this time. "So…sometimes meaningless sex and flirting is just easier," he adds.

"Sometimes the decision to put yourself out there can end in rejection; you're right. Not always, but sometimes it does happen. That's why you try though, even if ultimately it turns out that your commitment and attachment to someone is stronger than their commitment and attachment to you. You don't know for sure though until you talk about it, until you actually do the delving. And I'm sure you would agree that when sex has context behind it, it usually feels better – when it's with someone you really care about, I mean, like the woman you told me you were falling for…but then you clammed up about her when I tried to bring her up in our last session." Olivia flips to a page in her notebook. "Let's talk about your mother."

Mark raises an eyebrow. "Freud feels pretty beneath you," he says, "for what you charge hourly."

"I promise I'm not about to dive into a complex; that's not my scene. What I was going to ask is in what ways did your mother make you feel inadequate."

"She didn't," Mark responds grumpily. "And I don't want to talk about Jenny." He says it even though he has been informed more than once that he can only get out of these sessions what he puts into them.

"She's why you came to therapy in the first place. You started coming a few months after she died."

"Well, she is, but she isn't." Mark started seeing Olivia in August of the year Jenny died. His attendance is sporadic at best though. And before he started sleeping with his best friend's wife, it had been years since he'd been sitting in this chair. "Her death was sort of what made me take the step, I guess. I don't want to talk about Jenny right now though, if that's all right." Mark is not sure why. It is not like any other subject Olivia wants to explore with him is less difficult.

"Okay. Then inadequacy in a different context it is. Let's go back to talking about the feeling of loss you feel when you've finished having sex, when the woman of the day or week eventually leaves your apartment or you leave hers. All that buildup, only to feel loss. And that feeling that you've had – over and over and over throughout the course of your adult life – that's what happens when you don't know how to open up to others, when you struggle to formulate emotional resources. That's sex without context, like I said earlier. And that doesn't sound like the best payoff for a few good minutes, Mark."

"More than a few," Mark counters, but he does not say it suggestively, and he does not look his therapist in the eye when he says it.

"Okay. More than a few. But then what?" And when Mark doesn't answer, Olivia adds, "When we hurt others, we hurt ourselves, too."

Mark does not really see how the question and the statement are connected, but then, he is not a therapist. Or maybe there is no connection, and he's just stupid enough to continue to throw four-hundred bucks down the drain each time he talks to this woman.

"Ginger is thinking of leaving her husband," he murmurs after a good thirty seconds of silence. Olivia has never asked, but he wonders if she suspects it's a pseudonym.

"And then what?"

"I don't know." Mark tips his chin towards the wall clock positioned a few feet from the window. It has hung a little crooked; this detail has always bothered him. "And it looks like I'm saved from answering."

Olivia extends an offer for him to stay a little later. Something about the next patient running a little late. Mark makes a crack instead – are those minutes complimentary or are we now up to eight-hundred – while getting out of his seat. He nods when Olivia tells him to check in with the front desk, to make an appointment for next month.

He doesn't though. And almost exactly two months later, his best friend walks in on him and Addison. When we hurt others, we hurt ourselves felt particularly apt in that moment.

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. .

Friday morning comes just as quickly as Thursday morning did, and brings with it the same lingering uncertainties. Mark and Addison did not get a genuine chance to talk yesterday. Mark texted her after work to let her know he was going to go to the gym – blowing off some excess energy felt like a good idea – and by the time he was done with his workout, she sent him a text to tell him she was still at the hospital, and it was going to be a long night. Some sort of pileup on the Queensboro Bridge, two pregnant women involved. Something like that, at least. Addison texted it in a way that indicated she was in a massive hurry, probably speed-walking in those impractical heels and tapping out a response at the same time. And then she texted Mark a few hours later to let him know she was going to have to stay at NYP through the night; the condition of one of her patients was still touch-and-go, and someone from Special Victims was supposed to be coming by soon to talk to her about a different patient. Mark responded with a simple, Okay. Hope you're able to get some rest at some point. I'll see you tomorrow night. Not for the first time, he felt grateful that ninety-nine percent of the time he works stable, consistent hours.

He stared at the bubble that indicated Addison was still typing. It started and stopped for a bit, and each shift of the darkening dot made Mark think of the dip of a needle and thread stitching a shallow wound. And then the curls and slashes of letters formed words that after all this time, still feel a little unbelievable to him. Or at least feel like far beyond what he deserves, sometimes. I love you.

I love you too, Red, he texted back.

Mark tries to bury himself in his work on Friday, even arriving at the office earlier than Lynette. He has a lot of appointments, but they are all "light," in that Friday running-out-the-clock sort of way, just standard follow-ups on surgeries he performed anywhere from a week to three months ago. He sees his first two patients, and then uses the next block of time to catch up on a few notes and a research publication he has been putting off. He cannot quite focus though, and finds his thoughts drifting to other pressing matters. Seattle is still up in the air. It did not feel like a text-appropriate conversation to have with Addison, and maybe Mark was also just too nervous to ask. She told him the patient had been admitted, and that she needed to give Richard an answer on Friday – today. Mark thinks there is probably some wiggle room on that timeline though; Addison is just that good of a surgeon. If she told Richard she was going to fly out late Sunday night, he probably would not balk at keeping an OR available for her.

Mark frowns when he glances at the clock and sees that it is now a few minutes past nine. Normally by this point, either Lynette or one of his PAs would have called or emailed to let him know his next patient is here and ready to be seen in one of the exam rooms. Mark goes into his Outlook calendar, wondering if something got moved or if perhaps he made a mistake and is actually free until nine-thirty, but he raises an eyebrow in surprise when it looks like his entire morning schedule has been deleted. The next appointment is not until one.

Mark paces out to the reception area, but finds Lynette on the wrong side of the glass. She is currently busying herself with organizing some magazines on the table in the waiting room.

"Hey, what -"

"I cleared the rest of your morning," Lynette interrupts. "Some patients were moved to the afternoon, and some were rescheduled for next week. And I told the PAs to just focus on organizing the supply closets in the back for a bit. They're a mess."

"Why would you clear my morning?"

"Why?" Lynette sits down in one of the double-seated waiting room chairs, and pats the cushion next to her. "Because something is clearly wrong. You've been acting like a weirdo all week. So tell me what's going on. And besides, it's not like Mrs. Thornton's nose is going to get any worse in the next few hours. She can wait until four to see you."

Mark sighs and takes a seat next to her. He is quiet at first, but knows he will eventually have to say something. Lynette has that annoying Olivia quality where she will not be the one to cave and speak first. "Do you think I'd be a good dad?" He finally asks, words gravelly-sounding.

Lynette's eyes widen. "Is Addison -"

"Wait," he interjects. "Just. Can you please just answer the question first, Lynnie." He drags in a heavy breath. "Please."

"Okay. Okay then. I think you have a lot to learn," Lynette says slowly. "But no one ever starts out as an expert, and no one ever really becomes an expert, either. And some of it really is learn-as-you-go, but there are definitely things you can learn ahead of time – should learn ahead of time – by reading books and doing some research and asking questions and getting used to being around babies and kids. But yes, Mark. I think you'd be a good dad." He feels his heart lift just the littlest bit at this remark. "You'd be a softie and you'd give in too often, for sure. Anytime that kid pushed for a later bedtime, or an extra dessert – I think they'd end up getting it without a struggle." Lynette smiles fondly. "And you'd probably play too crazy in the house with your kid and someone would end up breaking a vase and it would be just as likely you broke it as the kid. But…there are worse things than all of that. You also didn't have the most conventional childhood, so I'm sure you already know deep down a list of things not to do. I know you'd love your kid though, and would always be there for him or her. So, yes, while there are a lot of things you'd need to learn in order to prepare for being a dad, I think you would be a good dad. Now." Lynette arches an eyebrow. "You're gonna answer the start of my question, right?"

"Yeah. Addison is pregnant. But she doesn't think…she's not sure she wants to keep it."

"Look at me. Mark, look at me." Lynette waits until he reluctantly does. "You do not get to give up. Regardless of whatever decisions Addison makes in the coming days or weeks…you do not get to give up. Or purposely screw up. I can see that look on your face. So whatever you're thinking of doing – whoever you're thinking of doing – don't do it. Talk to Addison. Find a way to support her through all of this, because she could probably use a friend right now a lot more than she could use a lover. Grow up and handle this like a fully-functioning adult. And get your butt back to therapy while you're at it, too. There's still a chance she wants to make this work with you, baby or no baby. But there won't be a chance if you screw up."

"I'm not going to screw up. I'm not. But she's thinking about killing my damn kid and I'm not -"

"Hey. Language."

"Sorry," Mark mumbles. He feels a little surprised though; Lynette typically swears like a sailor when it is just the two of them. "I'm sorry for cursing."

"That's not the language I'm talking about, Mark."

Mark sighs in response, understanding. "Look…it's not like you're going to find me protesting outside a Planned Parenthood. I believe in a woman's right to choose and that creepy, wrinkled old white men shouldn't get to legislate what happens to a woman's body. It's just…different when it's happening to you personally. When it's with the person you love, I mean."

"I know that it's different when it's personal," Lynette replies, "but just because Addison might not want a baby right now – just because right now might not be the best time for her – doesn't mean she might not want one later with you. Provided you're a good boyfriend who makes the right choices. Because you have some choices to make, too, you know."

"I know. I think some of this stuff hits harder because I always thought that if abortion was legal when Jenny became pregnant with me, that she might have had one." Mark shrugs. "I know that my parents loved me, Jenny especially, but I don't think they ever wanted to be parents."

"You do know…" Lynette says, and then she hesitates, and they both start to laugh. They have talked about it before, how there is no more sanctimonious way to start a sentence than, you do know. "Sorry," she says when they both quiet. "You know what I'm going to say though. I know you know that abortion doesn't need to be legal in order for a woman to find a way to have one." Mark gives her a small nod. "Seriously though, when's the last time you saw your therapist? Because this is one of the many, many subjects you should probably be exploring with her. I adore you, Mark, but you're sort of a human disaster at the moment."

"I haven't seen her since March. I know I need to go back. Now more than ever, probably."

"I'd say so," Lynette mutters. "Your mother loved you so much, Mark. I know she did. And honestly, we're talking about a woman who married someone with money. She had resources. She had options. The choices Jenny would or wouldn't have made…they were choices that were already available to her. And accessible. Not everyone had that then, and not everyone has that now. Trust me, if she didn't want to have a baby, she would have found a way not to. Women can often find a way…even when the lack of options makes it riskier, even when there are restrictions in place. I had to cross state lines to get mine." She pauses, giving Mark a moment to process this disclosure. "One-hundred and fifty miles one way."

Mark feels his stomach twist. This is something he has never heard before. He slides a hand forward, and curls it around Lynette's.

"It's okay." She smiles at him. "I'm okay, Mark. It was a long time ago. I had just graduated high school, and obviously…obviously it wasn't planned. So I told my boyfriend I was pregnant, and he gave me some money and then took off early for college, claiming he was able to get a summer job near campus. He just…took off. Nice, right?" Mark squeezes her hand a little tighter. "I had a coworker – I worked at a diner after school, probably not one all that different from the one you said Jenny would always take you to in the summer after you went to the lake. I had a coworker who I knew had terminated a pregnancy before, so I told her. I was too embarrassed to tell my parents, or any of my girlfriends. So, it was my coworker who was kind enough to drive me to the appointment. She was the only one who knew, other than the high school boyfriend who immediately became an ex-boyfriend. I didn't ever tell anyone else other than Larry; I met him a few years later. But the whole experience at the time, because I didn't feel like I had anyone to turn to…it was very lonely and isolating. And scary. And at the time, I was really embarrassed. I'm okay though, Mark." She pats his hand with her free one when she can see how worried he still looks. "Really, I am. It's not something I think about anymore. I don't harbor any sadness or second thoughts about my decision. I love the life I have. I love Larry, and my two boys, and Rowan, and my other grandson who will be here in September." Lynette grins wryly. "We apparently only make boys in my family. I love my home and I love my friends and I love my job, and I love that I can get free Botox whenever I need it. And all of this is possible because of the decision I made back then. And if I had the baby, I would have loved him or her, and I probably could have carved out a decent life for myself, but it wouldn't have been this life. And this is the life I want. I regret that I had to do it, but I don't regret doing it. Does that make sense?" She asks, and Mark nods. "Good. Because it's not like Addison is looking forward to the prospect of having to terminate her pregnancy. It's not a BOGO sale. I'm just…I'm just telling you this because it's a hard thing to go through, especially if you don't have a support system. And sometimes it's a sad thing to go through, too. An incredibly sad thing, even when you know in your heart you're doing what's right for you at that moment in time. So…it's nice to have people in your corner. Addison is probably in a lot of pain right now. And you're entitled to your pain, too, but you're not the only one who is hurting, here."

"Yeah," Mark murmurs. He swallows, trying to relax the muscle tension clogging his throat. "Yeah, I know. And I haven't exactly done a banner job of letting her know that I know that."

"If you couldn't be with her -"

"I want to be with her though. More than anything."

"I know," Lynette reassures. "I know you do. What I'm saying is…if you couldn't be with her, romantically-speaking, would you still want to be her friend? Would you still care about her and want her to be well and do whatever you could to support her? Would you be there for her?"

"Yes." Mark thinks of how long they have been friends. He thinks of when he first shook Addison's hand over the cadaver, and he made her laugh. And he thinks of so many moments they have shared since, as a trio with Derek, and as a duo. She has always been a good friend to him, and she has told him more than once that he is a good friend to her, too. He loves her. He loves her as a girlfriend and as the person that he would, ideally, spend the rest of his life with. But, he also loves her as a friend. It is how he loved her first.

"Then I think right now," Lynette continues, "she really needs a shoulder to lean on, not just someone who is waiting for her to make a life-altering decision. I think she needs you to be able to tell her that no matter what the outcome is, you'll still care about her. And if, in the event you can't stay together as a couple, or it doesn't work out – and not because you were stupid enough to cheat, but just for some other unknown reason – if you can't stay together, that you would still be her friend. And that you wouldn't abandon her. I think Addison understands that if she doesn't go through with the pregnancy, that you'll…be upset. You'll be sad. And maybe angry and resentful, and that it might take you some time to forgive her. And I don't think she's going to begrudge you any of those thoughts and feelings…she just needs to know that if this is what she decides to do, that you'll still be there for her."

"I will. I'll still care about her. And I want to stay with her no matter what. She's just…" Mark looks away, embarrassed at how emotional he is becoming. "She's the most important person in the world to me." And it is true. It is truer than anything he has ever known to be true.

"Then make sure you tell her that. As soon as you can."

They sit quietly for a few more minutes, letting the emotions of this conversation continue to settle over them. And then Mark nudges Lynette's shoulder. "Lynnie…you said something about free Botox injections. It's discounted for you, but I didn't…I didn't think it was free?"

"Oh, it's not." Lynette smirks. "Just figured I'd at least try to slip that one in. You know…your schedule is still clear for a few hours. I think there's somewhere more important you should be right now, don't you?"

. .
. .

"Hey," Mark calls out as he approaches Addison in the lobby of NYP. "Derek said you lost one." Well. Technically two, he thinks, as he takes a seat in the chair next to her, but as Addison was the surgeon, she is well aware of that fact and does not need it to be pointed out. "He was getting ready to scrub in when I was leaving the OR."

Addison's lips tweak up in a half-smile. "Did he also ask you to come check on me?"

"No. He said you were waiting for him in the lobby though," Mark says. Derek actually did ask, but if Mark had seen her in the lobby, he certainly would have stopped to say hi. And he would have stayed with her if she seemed upset.

Derek has asked things of this nature from time to time in recent years – can you meet Addie at the restaurant, if you see her can you let her know I'm going to be a few more hours – and Mark loosely resents it, because it's one of those things that blurs a line for him. There is a component to it that seems to go beyond a simple, well-intended, "Could you do me a favor and check on Addison?" It is not Mark's job to be a messenger or stand-in husband, which is how Derek makes it seem some times. Like Mark is doing him a favor by taking Addison off his hands or something. But Mark does it, because Derek is his best friend and Addison is one of his best friends, too, and Addison is just the sort of person you do nice things for.

"There aren't many doctors who…" Addison pauses, voice rickety. "I lost a mother and her unborn son. Not many doctors can say they failed twice over on the same exact table."

"Not many doctors have the ability to save both a mother and her baby at the same time, either," Mark points out. "Or try to save them. It's not your fault; it seemed like it was a bad one. And they were in the best possible hands with you. But you know that isn't always enough."

She sighs her agreement. "Yeah, I know," she admits. "And this isn't the first time this has happened, but…this was just…a hard one. Definitely top five hardest. I was thinking about…one of the ones that affected me the most was nine years ago, when we were first year residents. One of the then-attendings had me pump a baby full of medicine all night and try all these life-saving measures when the baby was basically at death's door…which I didn't know. The lesson was to teach me not to get so attached. It was…very effective, clearly."

Mark is not quite sure what to say. He personally has never felt attached to a patient – which sort of feels like a character deficiency on his part – but he supposes there are worse things than to get attached to a patient. And Addison not getting attached to a patient, not throwing her entire heart into a course of treatment, would be like if the sky stopped being blue one day. "This is for you." Mark holds out the hot chocolate from the cart that has been warming one of his hands.

"You got me juju?" Addison asks with a surprised grin.

"I got you juju," he confirms. "The procedure Derek scrubbed in on seemed pretty routine, so he probably won't be much longer…I'll hang out with you until he's done though. It's fine, Red," he adds quickly when Addison tries to protest and tell him that it is okay for him to just go. "I don't have any other plans."

"What about that pretty brunette you were talking to when we were all at the bar down the street a few nights ago?"

Mark shakes his head. "I'll stay here with the pretty redhead instead."

"Ha," she says. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Mark can hear a sniffling sound that gasps through the various lobby noises. He turns his head in surprise; he does not think he has ever seen Addison cry before. Maybe a few quiet, dignified tears at his mother's funeral two years ago, but no other instance comes to mind. "Sorry," she whispers now.

"Don't be. It's okay to feel." Mark feels like he is parroting his therapist when he says it. Addison nods though, so maybe it was an okay thing to say.

"Thank you," she says, "for staying. It's nice not to be alone right now…and it's nice to have a friend. Especially a good friend like you."

"I am known for my friendship skills. Among other things."

Addison laughs. "Don't ruin the moment. Thank you," she finds herself saying again, when Mark lifts an arm – his limb hovers for a second, and Addison can tell he is working out in his head if this is what she wants right now – and settles it around her. She tilts her head to the side, laying it against one of his shoulders. "Is it okay if I just rest my head for a few minutes?"

"Yep. Take as long as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

. .
. .

"You'll be okay," Addison whispers to the wire-burdened infant in front of her. And she knows it's true. This little one has exceeded her expectations so far in terms of response to medications for the chronic lung disease she is struggling with. It amazes Addison sometimes, the sheer strength of an individual who is not yet two feet tall and has not cracked double-digit weight can possess. She gently withdraws her hand from the isolette, and asks Charlene, currently documenting a follow-up order on a chart nearby, to let her know if there are any changes.

"No problem. Um, Doctor Montgomery-Shepherd…can I ask you a question that isn't work-related?"

Addison rolls her lips against one another. "It might be better if we keep things professional, Charlene." She knows this is not entirely fair though. The two women are not close, but they have traded non-work details in the past. Easy, inconsequential things. Any plans for the weekend? Have you seen any of the movies up for Best Picture?

Charlene gives her a closed-mouth smile. "You saw me half-naked in Doctor Sloan's kitchen last week," she says, words featuring a giggle. "I feel like that entitles me to one question." But then she shakes her head. "It's okay. You can forget I said anything."

"No, it's…it's fine," Addison says. She feels bad for being dismissive to someone who is being nice, and who, frankly, actually made her laugh with that comment. And there has definitely been a shortage of humor in Addison's life lately. Plus, they are the only people in the NICU right now, other than a handful of infants. "You can ask."

"Well. It's not exactly a question, I guess. I just…wanted to show you something. Because I think you're the girl. And if you're not, well. I know you and Mark – Doctor Sloan – are friends. So I thought you might want to see this anyway, even if you're not the girl." She fishes her phone out of her scrub pants pocket, and then hands it over to Addison. "Doctor Sloan sent this to me about a half hour ago."

Hey. I'm sorry, I should have sent this a lot sooner, but I won't be coming over tonight. I'm in love with someone. We only made the relationship official last week, but I've been in love with her for such a long time. Forever, it feels like. She's the most important person in the world to me and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. We're going through some complicated stuff right now, and of course I made a classic Mark move and messed things up by not telling you no right away, and then proceeding to flirt with you, and she found out. I'm sorry. It was disrespectful to her, and probably disrespectful to you too. Even if she hadn't found out, it was still disrespectful to you both, and inappropriate. I shouldn't have done that. I'm trying to be a better person going forward. And if she doesn't want to be with me anymore, I'm still going to try to be a better person and not sleep around, and try harder to find something meaningful. I want to do everything I can to make things work with her though. I know things with you and me have always been casual, but I hope you're okay and that this doesn't hurt your feelings. I'm just trying to be honest. And I know people always say this, but I'd still like to be friends, or at least not have things be awkward between us. Also sorry, I know this was a wall of text to get through.

Addison continues flicking her thumb in order to see Charlene's response: No kidding, I've seen operative summaries that are shorter than this. But wow. Thank you for your honesty. It's nice to see you finally growing up, and I'm glad that you found someone that you care so much for. And yes, I would like to still be friends too. I promise it won't be awkward. I hope things between you and your mystery woman work out.

"I won't ask if it's you," Charlene says when Addison hands her back her phone. "But your face while reading it was making it sort of clear that it was you. Is you."

Addison does not directly answer (though it seems like she does not have to anyway), but instead says, a bit sheepishly, "My mother's best friend told me once that I should never play poker."

"Probably a good call," Charlene says. "I just want you to know…I had a pretty tough breakup a year ago, so I've mostly just been trying to have fun – and not dive into anything serious for a bit. But I wouldn't have ever gone to Mark's place or asked him to come over if I'd known he was seeing someone. Or, God. If I'd know he was, like, embarrassingly in love with someone."

Addison manages a tiny smile. "This is mildly embarrassing for him."

"I always wondered," Charlene adds. "I've been here five years, and I know you and Mark have been friends for a long time…but there were looks you would give him when he wasn't looking, sometimes. And I didn't really think much of it, but then the He-Shepherd left out of the blue, and…and yeah. I won't say anything. I mean, people are starting to talk a bit more about the fact that your husband doesn't operate here anymore…but I'm sure you've suspected there's been talk. Someone knows someone who works at Doctor Shepherd's now-former practice and someone knows someone who works at a clinic in Seattle, so…I'm sure rumors are gonna continue to spread about why he suddenly left, but I won't say anything about you and -"

"And Doctor Feelgood?" Addison interrupts. She noticed immediately how Mark's name was stored in Charlene's phone.

"Well. I suspect you don't disagree," Charlene says with a laugh. "Anyway, I need to pop over to the nurses' station to drop off some charts, but I hope…I hope it works out for you two. Whatever is going on, I hope it works out. And eventually…people move on, you know? From specific gossip, I mean, if you're worried about the judgment. No one talks anymore about that staff syphilis outbreak that happened like three years ago, right?" Addison cannot help but laugh. She and Derek had teased Mark at the time, asking if he was patient zero, but he was not involved at all. "And this…this would be the same. If you were to lose the 'Shepherd' part of your last name and make things public with Doctor Feelgood, people will talk, but eventually they'll start talking about something else."

Addison knows that is true. Realistically, she does. And people would certainly talk about shacking up with the husband's best friend, and a pregnancy, and a baby, but then the baby would get here, and yes, there would still be talk, but it would slowly start to fade. Not just at work, but everywhere. Her friends, her family. Her social circle might be smaller in the long run, because people pick sides in a divorce, but the most important people – the ones who love her the most and want her to be happy – will stay. The gossip will die down. And all that will be left is two people who love each other, despite all odds, and a cute baby.

Inevitable of any couple who planned to one day have a child together, Addison has thought before about what a baby she and Derek made would look like. She has not thought about what a baby with Mark might look like before this moment, but it occurs to her now that it would be an absolutely beautiful baby. It almost brings a smile to her face.

"Charlene…" something else has occurred to Addison as the peds nurse makes her way towards the NICU doors. "Earlier you said…did you say that you noticed looks that Mark would give me over the last few years, or looks that I would give him?"

"Oh, definitely the second one. Looks that you would give him."

The doors slice shut behind Charlene as she leaves. And Addison is left to consider those curious parting words.

. .
. .

---

References/Nods to Various Episodes

Three Grey's season two nods: 1) He-Shepherd. "She-Shepherd" was one of Addison's nicknames (not to her face); 2) Juju was a Derek/Addison New York thing when patients died; and 3) I have mentioned this before, but Richard did a similar lesson on Addison (a la what she did to Izzie) in order to teach her to not get attached to patients. Very ethical, much humane for the infant.

Grey's season one reference: the syphilis outbreak (I needed something of relative dramz for Charlene to say there, okay?)

In PP season 4, Susan did tell Addison not to play poker (based on the look on her face when she was going to talk to Susan about her cancer).

Oh, and Doctor Feelgood was more of a reference to the song, not PP (I think in early season 1 there was a reference to that being a nickname for Sam, but I don't like Sam, so).

Obviously this is deviating HARD from canon, and in general I am, "Yeah, and…?" about most OCs, but I love Lynette, and I think if Mark *had* had some sort of positive female role model who was actively around him and tried to call him on his shit, he probably could have made some more sound relationship decisions. That Mark/Lynette scene was one of the first scenes I thought of when I started writing this fic. And I actually have like two cute Lynette/Addison scenes coming down the pike.

I also really, really like the concept that Mark's feelings about/for Addison before the affair started were not entirely one-sided (which in my experience, is how it's portrayed in most fics I've read). That is going to be explored a bit more in future chapters. Thank you for reading!