A/N: Thanks for the awesome response to Part 1. It made the time on that flight pass quickly, I can tell you that. Anyway, here's Part 2. The format skips around, but it should be self-explanatory. Happy Thirsty Thursday, everyone! I have to run so it's rough and not super polished but hey, so's the Addek birthday weekend. Same warnings as last time ... tongue in cheek, among other places. Enjoy!
Six Miles High - Part Two
All Aboard That's Going Aboard
"Excuse me, Officer," Addison says, leaning forward as much as her position will allow, "can you please take these handcuffs off?"
The answer comes from the front seat. "Why would I do that?"
Addison shifts on the cracked leather underneath her thighs, trying to see more than the back of the officer's head through the scratched glass barrier that divides them. "Because … I can't move my hands."
"Yeah, funny thing, that's kind of the point of handcuffs."
"We're doctors," Addison protests.
"Yeah? Like Dr. Ruth," one of the officers snickers.
"I heard that!"
"Hope so," the other officer says, "'cause it was pretty loud."
"We have rights," Addison calls out, despite Derek's glare, which might sound more convincing if not for her smeared makeup and very tousled hair. "We have the right to .. stuff. Like an attorney."
"I'm aware," the policeman says drily. "Pretty sure I actually told you that when I arrested you and your husband for traumatizing a very nice group of tourists from Ohio."
"We didn't – look, we're not criminals," Addison says, even as Derek tries to elbow her with his constrained arms.
"Oh, you hear that?" One of the officers is talking to the other now, loudly. "Lady says they're not criminals."
"I heard that. Guess they're not criminals, then. We should just let them go."
"Yes!" Addison tries to sit up eagerly, then slumps back down when her handcuffed wrists refuse to give her leverage.
"Addie," Derek hisses next to her, "they are being sarcastic."
"Well," Addison says with as much dignity as she can muster considering the last twenty minutes, "I don't really think sarcasm befits an officer of the law."
"Then you probably should avoid committing crimes in New York City, or stay out of the city entirely," one of them points out from the front seat. "Stick to places where people are nicer."
"We love New York," Derek says hastily, glaring at Addison.
"We're aware," one of the officers says, snickering. "You know what, folks, I think your problem might be that you love New York a little too much, if you know what I mean."
… unfortunately, they do know what he means. Addison and Derek exchange a nervous glance from their equally uncomfortable positions handcuffed on either side of the musty backseat of the cop car, trying not to listen to the worrying sounds of the radio transmissions from the front that say things like yeah, we got 'em and eyewitnesses and make sure you get that statement in triplicate.
It was just a nice birthday trip to Manhattan. How the hell did they end up here?
...
...
"Mm, smell that?"
"Garbage?"
"Derek!" She swats him with her bag, which might be cute for the kind of woman who carries a dainty little purse, but Addison's bags are always large enough to hold a cadaver and twice as heavy, so he takes a minute to get his breath back.
"Not garbage," she corrects him, "just that … ineffable scent of New York, all the excitement, the ambition, the melting pot, the stew of … okay, garbage, but other things, too." It's not her fault they're waiting for the late town car next to a steaming pile of …
Garbage.
Derek's eyes are twinkling. Addison sighs. "I don't understand why the car isn't here yet." She checks her cell phone again.
"Let's just take a taxi."
"There's already a car meeting us."
"It's not meeting us, or it would be here."
They bicker for a few minutes until the yellow cab that's pulled up in front of them lowers its window and the driver sticks his head out. "Hey! You two! You want a ride somewhere or you want to fight in the middle of the street?"
"Well … both," Addison says honestly, as Derek hustles both of them and their luggage into the cab.
...
...
"Now's the time to talk."
"Talk," Addison says uncertainly.
"Yes, talk." The officer with the handlebar mustache – Gianni, his name tag says, points a thick finger at her. "If you have an explanation for what … took place, now's the time to tell us."
"What if we don't want to talk?"
"Well." The other officer – Reilly, his name says, and his curly hair is as red as Addison's – "then we might not be so generous as to let you hang out in this lovely room."
There's a pause while Derek and Addison glance around the cement walls, peeling paint, and flickering fluorescent lightboxes.
"We have a nice holding cell available," Officer Gianni says pleasantly. "Well, one for each of you. The ladies' cell is occupied, though, but I'm sure you'll be good at sharing, and Miss Krystal always likes some company when she-"
"Okay, we'll talk," Addison says hastily.
"Good choice. So. You were saying. Then you took the cab to the …"
"No." Addison leans forward slightly in the uncomfortable plastic chair, her handcuffed wrists – in front of her this time, at least, resting on the cracked formica table. They're in an interrogation room. An actual interrogation room! "We took the cab to the hotel."
"Then why –"
"Because it's part of the story. Didn't you ask for the story?"
"I did," Officer Gianni mutters, "but I'm already regretting it."
...
...
Derek is looking out the window, wondering how the grey forgettable streets between JFK and the parkway can still somehow be so emblazoned in his memory that it's like he never left. He cracks the window for a cool early spring breeze. The air tastes different here. It was summer when he left.
When he turns his head he sees Addison looking at him.
"What?"
"Nothing." Her mouth twitches. "How does it feel to be back?"
"It feels … we're not back," he corrects her. "We're here for dinner."
...
...
"What do you mean, back?" Officer Gianni frowns. "Didn't you swear up and down you're lifelong law-abiding New Yorkers, own a home…"
"We do," Addison confirms hastily. "We've been, um, living – I mean staying – out in Seattle for the past few … months."
"Seattle?" Officer Reilly looks puzzled. "What are you doing out there?"
Addison swallows hard. For the job. Right. The job. That sounds … law-abiding. "My husband got an offer he couldn't refuse," she says weakly.
Derek snorts and she tries to elbow him which, in handcuffs, just causes her to slide down in the chair. Which is embarrassing. Then again, inching herself back up the slippery surface like an earthworm is more of a workout than pilates, so at least that's something.
Officer Reilly frowns at Derek. "What?"
"Nothing," Derek says as Addison glares at him, then seems to change his mind. "What my wife means is that she got an offer that she … should have refused."
Oh, she's going to kill him if they ever make it out of jail. She wonders if Bonnie ever got this annoyed with Clyde.
She musters up as much dignity as she can under the circumstances. "May I continue?"
"Please do."
...
...
"Dinner," she echoes. "Right. But, Derek, it's just…"
He's studying her face, waiting for her to finish, so he sees the exact moment the color of her eyes changes and knows exactly why.
"Addison…"
"Derek, it's a cab," she whispers, "you know what cabs do to me."
He prays the driver can't hear them; based on the volume of the cell phone call he's taking from the front seat, he thinks they're probably safe.
"Is that why you called a town car?"
"I thought we might need a break after the flight."
"You really do think of everything." He shakes his head, impressed in spite of himself. "Look, just try to – Addison!" He covers her hand with his and shoves it hastily downwards. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all," she purrs.
"Well, I do! Look, just – " but her hand is skimming up his thigh again and he's losing the abilty to stop her. That giant weapon of a bag is coming in handy because she's using it to block them, and -
...
...
"Did you happen to catch the medallion number of the taxi?"
"No, why did-" Addison shakes her head. "Wait a minute. We didn't do anything wrong in the taxi!"
"If you say so." The officer smirks. "Go on, then. What happened next?"
...
...
Addison is leaning her head against Derek's shoulder as the taxi makes its way through congestion toward their hotel. His half open window – the best defense against the steamy backseat – is beckoning in a cacophony of city sounds, shouting and honking and laughing and sirens and barking and pretty much everything you can think of.
It's not peaceful.
But it could never be boring.
Addison takes a moment to reflect on what a truly special place the city is, and-
Huh, she's never heard anyone curse using quite those words, strung together in quite that way before, but their driver is creative, because the havoc he threatens to unleash upon the driver who cut him off, the driver's mother, the driver's ancestors, and several key parts of the driver's body, is nothing if not unique.
She's still pondering how exactly, logistically speaking, the bad driver's grandmother would be able to do that when the driver pulls to a screeching halt that practically sends both of them through the barrier.
"Hurry up, can't park here."
"Well then, why did you pull over here?"
"Addison." Derek is reaching over her to open the door on the sidewalk side; he's such a good citizen. "Just get out."
She flicks crisp bills at the driver while he practically throws their bags from the trunk and then squeals away from the curb.
Derek is tilting his head back like a tourist, taking in the sleek mid-rise in front of them. "So this is the V."
"This is the V. They finally finished the renovation." She points. "Now there's a glassed-in pool on the roof."
Derek turns to her. "With security cameras?"
"Probably."
"Hm." He seems to be considering it.
...
...
"Lady, are you trying to incriminate yourself?"
"We didn't do anything there either," Addison says hastily. "We got distracted."
"By the sights of the city, huh? A lot of tourists like to use that as an excuse."
"We're not tourists. We're New Yorkers. In fact, my family has been very supportive of the PBA over the years, if you remember that gala-"
"Ow!" She stops talking and glares at Derek. "You kicked me!"
The policeman gives him a pointed look. "You want to add a domestic to your charges?"
"No," he says hurriedly, "I wasn't trying to hurt her, I was just trying to get her to shut up."
The two officers exchange a look.
"Seems reasonable to me."
"Yup."
Addison sputters indignantly but can't summon much of a defense.
"You were saying …"
"She was saying she was distracted."
"Distracted," Officer Gianni says doubtfully.
"Distracted," Addison confirms primly.
"Fine." Officer Reilly folds his arms on the table. "I'll bite. Distracted by what?"
...
...
"Addison … what are you doing?"
She looks confused. "Getting undressed so I can shower."
Right. Addison can't have "plane" on her for any longer than necessary. It's one of the many vehicles and concepts that require immediate post-showering, including the subway, the crosstown bus, walking through any parade, and voting. He certainly can't blame her this time after what they did on the plane, Lysol wipes aside.
They've barely entered the room – which is vast for a Manhattan hotel room, decorated in sleek lines and shining surfaces, mostly white with a few pops of color. Addison probably thinks it's elegant; Derek thinks it's one huge dry cleaning bill waiting to happen. Definitely not the kind of hotel where you can order midnight spaghetti from room service, not without ruining the spread and carpet, even if spaghetti is surprisingly useful for –
"Derek!"
"What?"
She's not wearing anything now except the red lace panties emblazoned in his memory from the airplane. With one hand pushing open the bathroom door, she smirks over her shoulder. "Are you joining me or not?"
...
...
"Let me guess," Officer Reilly says wearily. "You joined her."
"Of course he did," Addison said impatiently. "But that's not the point. The story's just getting started."
"Oh, good," says Officer Gianni, propping his chin in one meaty fist. "I was hoping there'd be more."
...
...
The problem with the shower is that there's no door.
It's not a problem, it's most likely some kind of architectural statement, but Addison realizes she should have done more research before choosing the V. The entire shower is so sleek and white and minimalist that it's basically just … invisible, without any of the surfaces she was hoping would bear her weight – she doesn't exactly advertise this, but she's always been a big fan of the wide, smoked glass door in the shower of their brownstone's master bathroom feels against her flesh, cold and steamy at the same time, while Derek is behind her and …
"This shower sucks," she says mournfully, turning to her husband.
The powerful jets of water have slicked down his curly hair and it looks all wrong, so she slides her fingers into his wet locks to muss them up and make him look more like himself. She has to press her body against his to fix his hair, and he doesn't really have anywhere to put his arms other than around her to keep them both steady on the slippery Moroccan tiles lining the floor. It takes a while to get his hair to look the way she likes it, and a lot of moving around, so she shouldn't have been surprised when she felt him responding.
"So you are recovered," she beams.
"I never said I wasn't." He's toying with the ends of her wet hair now, flattened out it's ridiculously long, practically to the small of her back, and he moves from there to resting his hands in the dip of her spine, then smoothing his palms over the flesh underneath.
"But in the taxi-"
"We're a little old for in the taxi, Addison."
She leans back to see his face, hurt. "We are not old!"
"It's my birthday. I'm old."
"You don't … feel old…"
...
...
"Are you going to get to the point anytime soon?"
"I'm trying," Addison protests. "It's kind of a long story."
"Does it really need to be, though?" Officer Reilly sighs loudly.
"Just wrap it up," Derek urges.
"I can't, they won't understand."
"How about you? Officer Gianni jerks his head at Derek. "You gonna make the wife tell the whole story?"
"Fine. I'll tell, but it's going to be a lot shorter."
"No, honey, you can't rush it," Addison protests.
"She's right, honey," Officer Reilly smirks. "Apparently the details are really important here."
"They always are," Officer Gianni muses.
...
...
With such a frustrating shower, they have no choice but to stumble out, dripping and laughing, grab handfuls of thick terry towels and make their way to the vast white bed in the middle of the room. He doesn't have any plans, not really, they're just falling onto the supportive surface – god, he's missed real mattresses but he could never tell Addison that, though by the twinkle in her eyes she can tell what he's thinking.
She's on her side looking down at him, trailing a hand along his chest and smiling and he's never been able to resist her straight out of the shower; it's the contrast of her chilled skin and the heat pulsing through from underneath, so with a little growl he flips her over and wastes no time sliding down her fragrant skin to take advantage of a hell of a lot more space than they had in the plane.
And then it's nothing but glorious sensation … well, that and trying not to lose an eye.
The thing is, Addison had been pretty pissed in med school when he made a comment about – what was it – wrestling an angry octopus – and he's certainly not stupid enough to say anything like that aloud now, not for years and years, but … it wasn't inaccurate, not then and not now either.
Of course, that's just part of the fun. He's gotten better at protecting his more important parts from her frantic flailing, but she's still all threats – well, half threats and half the kind of noises that make him think he's not going to be able to last much longer … if at all.
He takes a break to smirk up at her from his very pleasant vantage point, and she tries to glare at him with eyes that are mostly rolled up in her head.
"I'm going to kill you," she moans.
"Yeah, I don't think you'll have the energy for that when I'm done with you."
"Then I'll hire a hitman."
"You were always good at delegating tasks." He kisses the satin skin at the insides of her thighs, which are currently straining against the forearms muscling them down.
He lets go for one foolish moment and her thighs seal his ears; this would actually be a fairly efficient way to kill him and truth be told, if he's going to suffocate he can't imagine a nicer way to go. Her legs are locked so tightly he can't disengage them; damn her affinity for the exercise bike. He always assumed it had something to do with the outfit, but it's apparently also in case she needs to dispose of someone Bond-girl style.
That's okay, he's been here before.
There's only ever been one surefire to get her to let go of his skull, and he goes for it now.
She shrieks and releases the death grip she has on his head.
"Derek!"
"I wasn't getting any oxygen!"
"Maybe you should get creative."
"Creative? Like tie you up? Mm." He considers this. "Maybe for your birthday."
"That's not for two months!"
"Maybe the ringing in my ears will have gone away by then."
...
...
"You know, Mr. … Shepherd, we appreciate detail, but you can feel free to skip over the unnecessary parts."
"It was very necessary!" Derek protests.
"And it's Doctor Shepherd," Addison adds.
Derek can't help smiling.
The two officers exchange a weary glance. How many years until retirement, again?
"Anyway," Addison continues, "then we-"
"Can you just get to the … scene of the crime?"
"I'm trying! It wasn't that simple!"
It never is.
...
...
"Let's never leave."
She's lying on her back on the rumpled white sheets, thighs parted to bring some much needed air to her heated skin, staring at the intricately whorled carvings on the light fixture over her head.
"What about dinner?" Derek turns to grin at her. He's lying in much the same way, with one arm behind his head and the other resting on one of her spread thighs.
"Screw dinner," Addison mumbles.
"You mean screw through dinner," Derek corrects her, "and I think we could use some sustenance if that's the plan."
"Fine." Addison turns over to curl against him. God, it's been a long time since they had a decent sized bed for afterglow.
…let's be real, it's been a long time since they've had decent afterglow, period.
He brings his arm down around her and she's a little amused that they're basically … snuggling … after doing what can only be described as filthy things to each other.
Which is kind of the best thing about marriage, when you think about it.
...
...
"Very touching." Officer Gianni leans back in his chair, resting his hands on his sizeable midsection. "Would you just-"
"I'm getting there!"
...
...
"We have a few hours before the reservation," Addison says tentatively.
"You want to leave?" Derek is surprised.
"No. God, no," she admits, "but I kind of had one more thing planned."
Derek's brow furrows. "I need a little recovery time before-"
"Not that thing," she says hastily. "Something else."
"Oh?"
Reluctantly, she wriggles out of his arms and rifles through her suitcase before presenting him with a wrapped package.
"Didn't you already get me enough presents?"
She smiles, sitting up cross-legged. "Just open it."
He does; it's a deep blue shirt, so dark it's almost indigo. She beams and gestures for him to hold it up against his body. "It's perfect," she says happily. "You look-"
...
...
Officer Gianni flips his pad open. "Look, let's just agree for the sake of argument that Derek here does look 'stunning' in blue."
"He does," Addison insists, "he really does, but it has to be dark blue. Which you'd think wouldn't be the case because his eyes are light blue, but I think the way it works is-"
"Addison, please," Derek mutters, "we're going straight to Attica at this rate."
"I was just trying to set the scene."
"Just go on," Officer Reilly says with a generous wave of his hand.
...
...
"I should have guessed."
"You should have," she agrees, smiling at him as her scarf whips around her face and she links her arm through his, cuddling close for warmth as the ferry picks up speed and the wind moves her hair.
Derek's new shirt – and his eyes – are the only blue Addison can see right now. It's not exactly perfect ferryboat weather; it's grey and windy, reminding everyone that New York is still weathering the in like a lion phase of March and hasn't yet reached out like a lamb.
That's not to say she's not enjoying herself. Her skin still feels like it's tingling from how much she enjoyed herself back in the hotel, in fact, and the look of delight in Derek's eyes when she brought him to the ferry dock is enough to make her body tighten up in anticipation of his favorite ways to thank her.
She glances at him sideways.
He glances back.
She -
...
...
"We're going to be here for hours at this rate," Officer Reilly complains.
Addison glances at the clock on the wall. "About that, um, the thing is that we have these dinner reservations…"
Derek sinks lower in his seat. Forget Attica. They're definitely headed for the Supermax now.
"Oh, you have dinner reservations?"
Addison nods, smiling hopefully.
"Well, why didn't you just tell me that?" Officer Gianni shakes his head. "Reilly, did you know these nice folks had dinner reservations?"
"I did not know that."
"What time are those reservations?"
"Nine o'clock," Addison says quickly. "But I'd really like to be able to change before then, since…"
"Of course you would. Look, if we'd known you had dinner reservations, we never would have arrested you." Gianni smiles at Addison.
"Really?"
The smile drops off his face. "No. You know what, lady, you are really making this too easy."
…which was part of the problem in the first place, Derek thinks, and Addison can probably tell what he's thinking because she kicks him under the table this time.
...
...
It's chilly enough that most people are inside. Or at least that's how it seemed, because-
...
...
"Okay, enough. Get to the point or you can cool your heels in Rikers."
"No!" Addison leans forward hastily, almost slipping down her chair again. "Just give me a minute and I'll get there."
Officer Gianni studies her. "You ever been to Rikers?"
"No," Derek admits.
"I have," Addison says.
"Really. You have," Reilly sounds very doubtful.
"Really. It was part of an outreach program for incarcerated pregnant and recently post-natal mothers. I'm a board-certified OB-GYN. Well, that's in addition to -"
"You can stop there, Addie," Derek mutters.
"She can go on," Gianni says.
She sure can.
"Then get to it," Officer Reilly says sharply. "Get to the point."
"Okay. Okay." Addison takes a deep breath. "So the next thing that happened …"
" … was that this interview ended." The door to the interrogation room bounces open and a very familiar face crosses the threshold, suited and frowning and looking very official. "Sorry, officers. My clients are done here."
"Weiss!" Derek doesn't think he's ever been happier to see his old friend.
… even if his old friend looks like he's never going to let them live this down.
To be continued. Liked it? Want the next part? Ready to find out what Our Heroes did to deserve their arrest? Review! #addekrevolution