43 steps.
43 steps were all Derek needed to reach the double doors of the hospital's auditorium. A lot less if he sprinted.
Dr. Garrett, Seattle Grace's newest head of neonatal surgery, had been presenting a case of a baby who had been born with a teratoma. Being married to a neonatal surgeon for eleven years, Derek had already plotted how Addison would approach the case. Lectures like these usually bore him or on unusual occasions, excite him.
This one, however, is a painful reminder of how much he'd become a failure. Derek Shepherd used to be a synonym for excellence and eminence. Now? He's the laughing stock of Seattle Grace—if his colleagues dared to even wear a smile when he's around. Case in point, just a few minutes before he stepped into the auditorium, the once brilliant surgeon just lost a patient. One who had a fair rate of survival. Derek wasn't sure what exactly went wrong—the patient's body had already been in four surgeries before he cracked her skull open—but he still felt like it was his fault. She died on his table, anyway.
It wouldn't have bothered him too much if it was his first dead patient of the week, but it's only Wednesday and he's already had five. Hell, even Shadow Shepherd had a better success rate than him. Not to mention that his clinical trial on malignant gliomas had failed and he was now on the not choice for Chief of Surgery.
So, Derek does what he does best: escape. The circumstances he was brought up with trained him for that—four sisters, awkward family dinners, and one too many nights of sneaking out. He used the same technique when classes started to bore him. He'd count how many steps he would need to make it to the nearest exit. Then, he'd map out the building's layout in his brain so he'd know which direction he would run off to.
One could even argue that escaping is the only thing he does. Addison would argue that it's the first thing he resorts to when the road gets rough. He'd have to agree. Derek fled to Seattle the morning after he found his then-wife with Mark in the throes. But then again, running away seemed like the only plausible option that time.
Derek likes to believe that he has changed. He'd faced hurdles and challenges and even survived the fatal rumor mill of Seattle Grace, and he's still in his rainy city. His. He claimed the right over Seattle when he and Addison divorced. Addison could own the other 51 states, but Washington was his. It's silly and a little childish, because now, he wants to take a step out of the state line. Seattle isn't working for him anymore, and he needs an escape plan. Stat.
"Why are you standing there like a kicked puppy?" Derek didn't even have to turn around to know whose voice spoke. He'd know that hoarse tone anywhere.
Derek straightened his lab coat, as if it helped. "Better?"
Mark shook his head. "You look like you haven't been getting any sleep. Is she keeping you up all night?"
Surgeons are trained to get as much sleep in the littlest time possible. His body was conditioned to surrender to slumber as soon as he hits a mattress and to rouse at the faint sound of his pager. Derek, however, was losing sleep recently. He'd tried them all—sleeping pills, overfatigue, even guided meditations, none of which worked for him. When he does sleep, he's haunted by the faces of those he failed—his patients from the clinical trial, his family, Meredith, Addison, her.
Derek smiled. "That. And I'm a failure. What would she even say?"
"Nothing. She'd still think you're the best doctor there is. Although, I beg to disagree." Mark gloated. When Derek threw an annoyed glance at his friend, Mark took it as his cue to move to his next victim: the brunette resident sitting alone in the cafeteria. "Take it easy, Shepherd," Mark clapped his back, his attention already halfway across the room.
As Mark strutted away from him, Derek began making plans in his head—how many steps would he need to take before he drives past something good, something worthwhile on the road? The lackluster surgeon shook his head; chance encounters had never been on his side. What Derek needs is something compelling. A catalyst, you might say.
The catalyst came two days later in the form of a phone call. He was in his office, poring over the latest issue of the Journal of Neurosurgery, when the call came. Derek opted to ignore the first time his phone rang, slightly annoyed at the caller for disrupting his train of thought. The second time it rang, he answered.
"Dr. Shepherd," Derek greeted absent-mindedly. He only then checked the caller ID. It was unregistered.
The person from the other line cleared his throat, "Hey, Derek. It's Oliver Stanton."
"Hey, it's been too long! How've you been?" He greeted back. The Stantons were close family friends of the Shepherds; their fathers had been raised like brothers, and when Derek's father died, Oliver's dad took Derek under his wing and taught him all the "manly" things an adolescent boy must learn.
"I'm good. Good," Oliver reassured his childhood friend. "Look, I know it's not the best time to call you, but Dad's been in and out of the O.R. for weeks, and he's not getting better. There's a cancerous tumor in his spine and not one surgeon in our area wanted to do this surgery. You might be his only chance." Derek almost dropped his phone. Not entirely because of what had just been revealed to him, but also because of what will be asked of him.
"Oliver, there's a reason why no one agreed to do it. A surgery may do more damage than good." Derek paused for a moment, "I'm also not sure I'm the surgeon you want to be in your father's case."
"Beth... Do you remember her? She's pregnant. His last wish was to see his grandchild. There's a chance you won't even want to do this surgery, but he's your dad as much as he was ours."
"Oliver—" Derek started to reason.
"I don't know medicine, but I know that you're the best risk taker there is. Please, Derek."
"I'm not gambling your father's health."
"This is not a gamble. This is a conscious choice. We tried other doctors, other courses of treatment. None worked, so we're going all out."
Derek sighed. How can he say no to the man who raised him like his own? "Ask your Dad's neurologist to email the scans to me. I'll go over them."
He heard Oliver let out a chuckle. "Thanks, Derek. We'll fly you out to LA as soon as possible."
"Hang in there, all right? Send Beth my regards." Derek hung up the phone. The catalyst had already done its task, now it's time for him to intricately plan his escape.
43 days.
Addison had gone 43 days without men. No dates, no flirting, no kissing, and the most unfortunate of them all—no sex. She'd actually come close to breaking her streak. That is, until her date stood her up last minute. An emergency, he said, but he never texted back to update her, even when she inquired him of his emergency.
It would have been easier if only she wasn't surrounded by people who are disgustingly in love, or at least trying to fall in love. Naomi is trying to get back on her dating game, Violet thought it would be fun to juggle two men at once, Cooper is apparently involved with Charlotte King, and Sam, classic old Sam, is exclusively dating a charming new attending from St. Ambrose.
Addison? She's all alone. Sad, single, and all alone.
"How exactly do you do the dating thing again after a decade of seeing only one man?" Naomi asked, a hand on her hip, and the other one holding an overripe banana. Leave it to Nai to bombard her with questions about the one thing she's trying to deflect from before 8 in the morning.
The neonatal surgeon took her time to pour coffee on her mug before answering. "Dating thing?"
"Yes, dating thing." Naomi took a large bite out of her banana and leaned on the counter. The woman was clearly stressed out. "I need to see other people. I'm too cooped up in here and Sam is making me crazy."
"Good crazy or bad crazy?" Addison inquired.
Naomi shook her head exaggeratedly. "Bad."
This time, Addison took pity. "You know, if you just—"
"Oh no," Naomi waved a hand dismissively. "You don't get to talk to me about dating when your date stood you up last night."
The red-head was tempted to send daggers on Naomi's way, but her best friend was right. She was in no shape to give dating advice. "The man is an ass. I don't need another asshat in my life. Don't you think I have a track record for being dangerously attracted to jerks?"
"Yes you do. That's why I'm not taking any dating advice from you. Certainly not from you too." Naomi pointed at Violet, who just graced the practice's kitchen.
"Not from me, what?"
Addison took a sip from her dark, very bitter coffee. "Naomi needs dating advice. Apparently, not from us."
Violet thought for a moment and eventually nodded. "Good choice."
Dell came into sight, an alarmed look on his face. Usually, it meant that her quiet morning had finally come to an end. "The Masons are waiting for you in the office, Dr. Bennett, and the hospital called for Dr. Montgomery. They said that Mrs. Carlisle is in need of an emergency C-section."
She downed what she could from her still hot coffee and rushed to St. Ambrose. Her patient was about to give birth to twins where one baby had his neck wrapped around by his mother's umbilical cord. The babies could have been delivered by a different OB/GYN attending, but she made a promise to the mother that she would see to it that her children would be in the best hands. And Addison? She has world-class surgeon hands.
Addison tapped the blank form with the pen she acquired from the nurse's station. Printed on the red barrel case were the words St. Ambrose Hospital. Beside the clipboard was a tabletop pierced with fake white roses. The brilliant neonatal surgeon rarely stalled, but there she was; swaying back and forth on her feet, unable to scribble her assessment on the post-operative forms.
The surgical operation wasn't entirely difficult nor was it completely out of the textbook procedure, but seeing babies suffer from birth asphyxia was something Addison would never get used to. She delivered twins; one had been of incredible health while the other had to be transferred to the NICU after detangling the mother's umbilical cord from her tiny neck.
It reminded her of the penance Richard made her pay for being too attached to her patients. The baby had died an untimely death and it took her weeks before she was able to enter the NICU again. It was a reason why she'd been stalling. Not to mention distracted. She'd been thinking about reaching out to Richard but ultimately decided against it when a resident came to her and announced that one of the twins she delivered hours ago had finally come out of the woods.
Her mood had suddenly spiked up as she rushed into the NICU, memories of her failed date already forgotten. Addison felt that nothing could destroy her radiant mood—not even when a very familiar ferry boat printed scrub cap came past her a few minutes later.