Author's Note: Does not follow cannon. Or it does...up until a point. Because, well, Addek is not cannon. This first one shot is titled "you open your eyes into mine and everything feels better." Name that tune. :)

"If you came here to try and win me back you can forget about it."

"I did. I flew all the way across the country to reminisce over wedding photos, get drunk, fall into bed and make you realize you can't live without me."

Why did she have to look so good. Where in the hell did she get off looking like that. Her hair was in tighter curls than he preferred on her, his favorite way to have her was loose, wispy, her skin golden from the sun, which, if he were being honest, was as rare as a shot glass filled with tequila touching those puttied lips. She hated tequila. Always had. He almost laughed. Meredith loved the stuff. Could drink it in a vat.

Addison raised an eyebrow, sharp, perfectly sculpted, whereas Meredith, well, to be perfectly honest with himself he hadn't noticed her eyebrows, not really. It's funny, he noticed how Addison's were now, and the way a delicate dusting of eyeshadow contrasted with the harsher curve of her eyeliner, the way there was just the right amount of mascara to bring attention to the lashes that framed those dark eyes he swore he'd be spellbound by until death did them part.

But then again, he'd always noticed every, little, god damn thing about her, ever since he'd met her. Everyday. It was constant. It was a wonder how he'd kept other things in his brain, and even still, he could remember what she looked like in her favourite lingerie, or her favorite pencil skirt, and for that one particularly trying semester in med school, her favorite pair of jeans. Shit, those jeans made her ass the talk of the fucking town.

After that semester had ended and on went the pencil skirts and high heels, he begged her to keep those jeans, any jeans, and she barely restrained herself from punching him in the throat. He should have known better, but fuck, those jeans were the picture of his fantasy for years. If he were drunk enough and desperate enough so that he didn't hate himself in the morning and who he had become, they still were.

Meanwhile, if someone were to ask him, he couldn't remember if Meredith had one ounce of makeup on today, or if her hair were wavy or straight. In his defense, right now, right in this very second, with Addison staring at him like that, like she used to, all stupid sexy he couldn't even remember his middle name.

"What are you thinking about? Hm?" she taunted, sounding so like him it was scary.

She kind of sounded like a bitch, and he realized then that he must sound like a total ass whenever he did that, but fuck, there it is, it was making him all hot and bothered, and the more amped up he felt, the more sexy, the more stupid that look in her eyes got and – and he's never wanted to fuck her this bad since the day they were stone-cold sober on a beach in Tahoe; She was wet from the ocean, so wet and naked, so naked, and giving him that look, that look that grounds his resolve into powder, and that was it. She didn't even need to say the words.

Oh, but she did, of course she did, parting her lips, slow, biting her bottom one, letting her teeth sink into it, even slower. Every detail of that night was crystal clear. The advantages of not having a double scotch with dinner. They always usually drank on vacations but that night, that night, not drinking a drop, was her idea. "Fuck me. Fuck me now, in this glorious ocean, when nobody's around. Just do it. You know you want to." You know you want to. You know you want to. You know you want –

"Oh my god, you're thinking about fucking me aren't you?" She shrugged her shoulders, and it was a small movement, patronizing, almost. But this was Addison, so there wasn't any almost about it. "Well, yeah, I guess that was kind of the idea. The TTS baby Richard called me about was always just a bonus."

"Things change, Addie," he tried to reiterate his point from earlier as blatantly as he could. This was how they worked together, direct and to-the-point, but sometimes it got messy, messy, and unpredictable, and the way they operated was, quite honestly, a disaster, but the both of them got what they wanted in the end, somehow. "I don't think about you in that way anymore. I haven't thought about you like that since Mark Sloan's bare ass was on our bedsheets."

Lie. That was a boldfaced, fucking lie. But the delivery was smooth, he just hoped it was smooth enough.

She just acted like he said nothing at all. Typical. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He stepped closer to her, dared to lean in even closer. "With you? No."

Hurt momentarily crosses her face and turns her once beautiful features into something sour. Seeing her upset like this was making him uncomfortable. Could it be that he was feeling guilty? Hm.

"Wait – hold on," he said, wanting desperately all of the sudden to keep whatever they had going here, whatever this was, alive.

Now she was confused, her eyes narrowing. She was losing interest. "What are – "

"Are you…" he trailed off, prompting her to finish the rest of the sentence. She wasn't dumb, she could figure out what he wanted.

"Are you sure you want to do this with me?" Yes. And yes he was sure. Oh, was he ever.

"Does this…" he let the words hang there, in between them, as he put his hand on her cheek. When she flinched the smallest bit, he almost had the right to be offended. But almost wasn't an allowance. He knew that.

"Answer…" Again, the words hung there, quiet, waiting. He brushed his lips against hers, and for a second, the familiarity startled him. He expected her to feel different, but he didn't know why. It's not as though he was going to be able to tell that Mark's tongue has been inside her mouth, but nothing changed the fact that it happened, and it didn't make him want to stop kissing her. So he wouldn't.

"Your question?" And with those last two words, whatever else he may have said in the moment fell victim to their kiss.

She was kissing him, he was kissing her, they were kissing each other, and he was groping her ass, grabbing handfuls of it in that tight little pencil skirt, and as much as it satisfied him, nothing, and he was being serious, could beat the way her fine ass felt in those med school jeans. Those fucking jeans…

She broke apart from him and he opened his eyes to see her smirking. Smirking. Never change, pretty girl.

"You're thinking about me in those jeans aren't you? Ugh, those fucking things. I wear them one time and it's like you'd rather see me in depression pants instead of naked. I swear."

"Jeans that make your ass look phenomenal by trade are most certainly not depression pants."

She leaned in closer to him, but she wouldn't kiss him. Whatever this is –

"Trust me. Naked is better. I promise."

He decided to play along. Keeping it alive and all that. A raised eyebrow for good measure. A smarmy smile. "How can you be so sure?"

She mimicked his smile Damn it looks much sexier on her. Everything did. Especially jeans, no matter what she thinks about them.

She took a generous step back from him and then took a lock of her hair around her finger, twisted it around and around like a fucking porn star. Although the difference between her and a porn star was that she had dignity and self-respect. And self-respect was hot.

"Undress me and find out. Come on, doctor Shepherd when have I known you to turn down a challenge?"

It was so, so, hot.

…

She was holding back, Damn it. They were naked in a fucking supply closet on the third floor of the hospital, his body is pressed in between her thighs, the weight of him is crushing her against a shelf, her hair is pinned under his left elbow; it was messy and uncomfortable, so much like an illicit affair that it was making him sick, his breath is heavy against her neck, his mouth even more so in the act of marking her skin like he damn well owned her.

And she was letting him because there was no time to think, no time to let their actions catch up, because all they wanted to do was fucking feel, feel nothing and everything, feel what was missing in the last year of their marriage; he wanted to feel it so that he could, maybe, in some sick, twisted way, remind himself that he had a reason, and maybe she did too. They couldn't erase the affair, but they could reason with it. Affairs, he should say. His and hers affairs; a fucking matching set. When most couples had bathroom towels, Derek and Addison had affairs.

"Fuck…fuck."

There she is. He bit the fleshy part of her shoulder and she moaned in response. He chuckled. "I was afraid you were dead."

She opened her eyes to glare at him. "Fuck you. I'm not that loud."

He responded first by kissing her, drawn out and lazy, like the smoke of a candle after it's been blown out, sinking his teeth deep into her bottom lip. It made her whimper.

"Oh, but you are, pretty girl."

She whimpered again, but he wasn't touching her. Not this time.

The last memory he had of her before today was stripped down, unapologetic, vulnerability, begging, crying for him to stay, one more night, please, just so she could explain, and every word was killing her. And maybe he was a bastard, but he had been happy to see her like that; cracked open, her guilty conscience spilling out onto the pavement as she kneels before him, just inside their front door, wide open and a spectacle to their neighbors, but for once she didn't care. And maybe that should have told him something, but he was too angry, too blinded by rage and all of that was too powerful.

Not this time. This time, with each whimper the power slowly faded into nothing, and there was nothing there now to stop him from picking her up off of the ground and telling her okay, he would stay, that she could explain, and that everything would be alright. Except for the fact that he was a few months too late.

"Addie…"

She looked up at him briefly, but then downcast her gaze, and squirmed a little, trying to move away from him as far as she could, which was kind of hard given the circumstance. It wasn't the confines of the supply closet, though. It was the fact that he was already inside of her. She was uncomfortable. She was at an odd angle, and it had to have been hurting her.

"Don't hurt yourself. I'm just going to – "

She grabbed his wrist, held it there, tight, against her bare chest. "No. No you're going to keep going, you're going to make me feel good, really, fucking good, and you aren't going to call me that again."

"If that's what you want."

She laid back against the shelves, shut her eyes as he started up again. "Oh, it's what I need."

The oh was more of a sound of gratification than it was a word and he sunk into it, the sticky, molasses feeling of her letting go like that again, like she used to, easily and readily, willingly, and he felt himself do the same, because there was nothing else in this world that he used to love doing more…than his wife.

And she was still his wife. So when he made her come a few minutes later and he came with her, nothing of a production in that damn supply closet, only because it couldn't be, there was no way he'd let himself feel remorse. He's felt enough of that, especially when it comes to her.

…

"You don't know that. You're not god, Derek."

"Excuse me."

"I'm sorry, honey, but you're not."

He knew it was a slip of the tongue, a Freudian slip. Still, it made him feel something about the way she was thinking about him, about the way her favorite term of endearment just fell into her speech like that, like it was nothing more than a flick of the wrist. Yet, it meant everything, and he wasn't sure how, or why, but there it is. It meant a lot more than the less-than-subtle bite to his tone now suggested.

Honey.

Honey, could you unload the dishwasher before your run?

Honey, could you hand me my glasses on the bedside table?

Hey, honey? Could you shampoo my hair for me? My wrists are killing me, I can't bare it tonight.

He used to love shampooing that gorgeous hair of hers, loved the feeling of being pressed against her back as rivulets of water dripped down it, making a tantalizing path to the curve of her ass.

Hey honey? He'd respond even though he already knew what she was going to say. Yes? Facing her in bed, standing with her in the living room, watching her face change when she looks at him, as If she's only then, in that moment, seeing him for the first time and she can't believe what she sees. That she's this lucky. I love you.

Instead, he was reminiscing about the wrong thing. Harping it was more like it. He was harping on the stupid bedsheets, Mark, her, being naked with Mark, sleeping with Mark, doing things that didn't involve sleeping, with Mark, and he could tell she wanted to scream at him.

She didn't though, and probably out of respect for Dr. Stevens who, right in this minute, looked shocked and afraid, doe-eyed to her favorite term. Because, and he would pay money that Addison was thinking exactly this - little girls don't have marriages, they don't understand real problems; they cry and stomp their feet when Daddy doesn't let her have candy before dinner.

And she was probably right. He'd just chosen to ignore it.

He thought, not for the first time since it happened this morning, or the second, or even the third, about the two of them having sex, and what that meant for them.

"I just know I still love you."

It was out there now; she said it and she couldn't take it back. The way the words came from her mouth as she gave him a list of options – options – like he had no real freedom of choice, it was sugar, her words, they just melted away upon contact with the air. He couldn't even remember them now.

He didn't care. He only wanted one thing, anyways, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what – or who – that one thing was. He'd just needed her to confirm it for him, to tell him that it's what she wants, too, but now that he has something from her, he's not sure what to make of it.

But god, when she said those words…he would forever hate himself for letting her draw back from him because it wasn't what he wanted. Not even close.

The kiss…he wasn't expecting. He wasn't going to stop it though. As much as it was easy and familiar, it was rich with the softness of new beginnings and the harsh edges of past lovers scorned; he was drunk on her lips and tongue, and it surprised him because Addison wasn't big on the idea of her tongue being in someone else's mouth or vice versa but she was going slow, exploring every inch of his mouth and more than that, she seemed to be enjoying herself, the palm of her hand pressed against his chest, the other one on the arm of the rocking chair.

"Pretty girl?" he spoke into the sudden quiet.

He wished they could be kissing again. They'd never kissed like that before. The sound of their mouths moving against each other had been a distraction. A very sexy distraction. His vote was that they should kiss like that more often. In this moment, she looked so stricken he debated telling her that.

"Yeah?"

"We should kiss like that more often."

She sighed. "Oh for fucks sake."

He could see it though, she wanted to laugh. And then she did. Only for a second. He missed her laugh. Her real, genuine, no-holds-barred laugh. There was nothing better. Except that kiss.

"I still love you, too."

Her eyes widened. She looked hopeful. Sickeningly hopeful. It was so unlike her. "What?"

"Addison, I'm still in love with you."

"You just said that."

He chuckled, rubbed his hand over his face. It had been a long day. "Come here."

He gestured to the rocking chair. She came closer and he pulled her down into his lap. "Come on, don't be shy, now. I seem to recall you weren't shy a couple minutes ago."

He watched her blush crimson. He loved seeing her blush, it reminded him of the girl he knew she was before him. Prep school. Likely inexperienced in sensual self-starting, too ashamed, too demure, and just not vain enough.

He pushed her hair behind her ears, a spirally curl that just wouldn't stay put. "Pay attention. You're a little off your game today, huh pretty girl?"

He smiled gently at her and there was a coyness to it, too, because he'd said those exact words to her the night they met. He just hoped she remembered. By her reaction, it was obvious that she did. "What I said was I'm in love with you. I am very much still in love with you."

She rolled her eyes. "And I didn't say that? Shut up, you're just trying to upstage me."

"Not a word of a lie," he joked, and she laughed too but then quickly became somber.

She took a deep breath.

"It's a lot for me, honey. I'm still wrestling everyday with so much guilt about what happened – what I did – and I finally came to terms with the fact that you deserved to leave me like that. And that I needed to accept the consequence of losing you. But then Richard called. And I couldn't say no. And I wanted to see you. So badly, I wanted to see you. To tell you that I love you, to wallow at your feet…everything came rushing back."

He would have had no idea. Not a one. How she was acting when she came here…she gave nothing away. He should have known, though. He's known her for 15 years, and very intimately. He should have seen the turmoil in her eyes. But he didn't. Because Addison was good at hiding things when she wanted to. A little too good, and for reasons he wouldn't care to revisit.

"Let yourself love me, Addison. And let the rest of it go. I promise, you can let it all go and nothing will happen."

She gave him a watery smile. But in her eyes, there wasn't a shadow of grief, or doubt. She looked relieved.

"Derek Shepherd, I am going to do more than that."

"Oh?"

"I am going to let myself be in love with you. Because I am. I am totally, irrevocably, irretrievably, hopelessly in love with you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now who's upstaging? Hm?"

"Shut up."

And then they were kissing like that again and while their past faded away, their present was slowly becoming their future.

Author's Note: And...done. If you liked it/want more, review! The Addek fandom is alive and well in A03 so let's see about FF :) I guess most people wrote about Addek in 06/07 but sue me because my love for Addie came late. And if you hadn't guessed it the song-title lyrics are from "The Last Time" by Taylor Swift. Yeah, I'm a big fan, if that wasn't at all obvious yet to you. LOL