A/N: The antidote to a sad Addek posting spree? It might just be this Addek. Remember them? They're insatiable, they're in New York, and they're in dire need of legal counsel ... as well as a cold shower or two. Hope you enjoy.

Six Miles High, Part Seven
Catchers

"Oh, god." Addison tips her head back, moaning. "It's so big. I can't."

"Really?" Derek grins at her, his expression nothing less than lascivious. "Because from my angle, you're doing pretty well so far."

"Really. I'm done." She sighs mournfully. "I just can't fit any more in me, no matter how much I want to." She pauses, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "And believe me, Derek … I want to. I really, really want to."

"If you say so, Addie … but I've seen you take a lot more than that."

"But I was younger then," Addison pouts, casting a longing glance at what's left of the thick, sugar-dusted Belgian waffle tempting her from its china plate, "and I had a higher metabolism."

"That's fair," Derek says, wincing when she plucks a grape from the crystal dish of fruit sitting on the tray between them and throws it at him.

"What?"

"You said my metabolism used to be higher!"

"Actually, that was you who said it." Derek reaches for one of the projectile grapes, satisfied when Addison ducks, and pops it into his mouth instead of throwing it at her. "I know we're spending a lot of time together, but surely you can still tell us apart if you really try?"

"Fine." She draws her legs up under her, smoothing her white robe.

It's been a slow, delicious morning so far, starting with sun soaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows – far brighter than their usual wake-up calls in Seattle. Her body was warm and pliant against this, but she fended him off gently, pleading soreness.

(She made it up to him, spectacularly so, and he's certainly not complaining.)

And then Derek ordered a generous breakfast to replenish them only to find that Addison, who'd darted to the bathroom to freshen up, was doing the same thing from the phone by the giant soaking tub.

… which is why the very large bed in their hotel room is pretty much covered completely at this point. Two very full platters, two very satisfied Shepherds … and a partridge in a pear tree.

Addison leans back against the pillows now, an express of sleepy satisfaction on her face – which is clean and bare of makeup, making her look young and …

Never mind. Not innocent. Not innocent at all.

"Addie, I thought you wanted to take a break," he points out. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I didn't," she says. "I mean, I did, but not because I want to. It's my body that wants to."

"Ah." He nods, spearing a piece of melon with the dainty silver fork. Addison's breakfast choices were clearly designed with him in mind, touchingly so: fresh fruit, the cultured yogurt she used to buy for him in Manhattan that he pretended was snooty but actually loved – even the baguette is whole grain, though Addison has said more than once that whole wheat baguette is an insult to the entire French nation.

"Is that good?" she asks, smiling at him.

"Very good." He reaches out to brush a crumb lingering at the corner of her mobile mouth, and she nips at his fingers. "In fact, it's one of the best things I've eaten this whole trip."

"Derek." She shakes her head, though she can't seem to hide her smile.

"What? I was talking about Savvy and Weiss's brunch."

"You'd better not have been talking about Savvy and Weiss's brunch," she retorts immediately.

"Don't worry … I wasn't."

He leans in to kiss her. She tastes of the espresso he ordered for her, complete with detailed Addison-style instructions in order for it to meet her approval.

She kisses him back, then groans into his mouth.

Not moans … groans.

"Addison?"

"Sorry. I'm just … full." She sighs, resting a hand on her stomach through the thick terrycloth fabric of the hotel-issued robe. "Maybe two breakfasts was too many."

"I'm sure we'll work off the calories later," he says.

She throws her hand in the air now. "There you go calling me fat again."

"Again." Derek shakes his head. "That … is demonstrably false. And if it helps," he inches closer to her, causing the assorted dishes to rattle ominously, "I'd be happy to undertake a full inspection."

She laughs a little, then loosens the belt around her waist.

"I probably didn't need that second waffle," she admits.

"… but who's counting?" Derek asks.

She's considering throwing something else at him – a grape, or maybe something heavier like a coffee cup or the sleek armoire in the corner – but he rests a chaste hand on her belly without making fun of her … much … so she decides against it.

There's always later, and there are plenty of projectiles around.

So maybe she'll give him a chance to make it up to her.

..

He takes the chance.

When he runs her a bubble bath in the oversized soaking tub, which is miraculously long enough for her to stretch her legs out full length while they sit on opposite sides, he keeps a respectable distance and pulls her feet into his lap to massage them. The hot water is soothing and rejuvenating all at once, and as for his practiced hands dissolving all the tension in her muscles … well, there are no words for that.

Where was this Derek the last time they were both in New York?

She doesn't say it out loud – which is about half not wanting to ruin the moment and half not being able to form articulate words while those incredible fingers are digging into all the right spots on her instep where her beloved shoes tend to leave their mark.

She can tell him later. She can –

Ooh.

"Addie, you okay?"

"Yeah." She sits up a little against the slippery side of the tub. "Just – drowning a little."

"You want me to stop?" he asks, lifting his hands off her feet, his expression innocent as if he doesn't know what her answer will be.

In fact, he says it along with her.

Don't you dare.

..

After a bath so chaste Weiss would be proud – especially considering two wet, naked, slippery bodies – he coaxes her outside to walk off their breakfast, ducking a little in case she interprets it as a third dig at her nonexistent extra poundage –

"Weiss would be so happy with all the sex we're not having," Addison points out brightly. She shivers a little, pulling her jacket closer around her.

"Cold?" Derek asks.

"A little," she admits, pleased when he wraps an arm around her and draws her into the warmth of his side.

Pleased … and smug, Derek decides, because he's known his wife a long time and he's well aware of the different between a Cold shiver and a Here's an Excuse to Touch Me shiver.

He decides not to tell her, though. He saves the information for when it would be more valuable.

"Look at us, walking down the street," Derek announces. He turns to Addison with a proud smile. "We're not causing any problems."

"We're fully dressed," she says, causing an elderly woman walking her dog to cast them a confused glance.

"If Weiss could see us now," Addison continues, dreamily.

"Should we call him?" Derek asks.

They snicker together in a way they probably wouldn't want to admit and then Derek closes his hand over Addison's before she can send the rather smug text they crafted together.

" … maybe we should just make sure we get through the day first," he says reluctantly. "You know, not count our chickens before they hatch."

"Chickens," Addison says thoughtfully. "Eggs. You know, you're reminding me, the quail egg at Fourchette is supposed to best outside of Paris."

Derek schools his face in what he hopes is an expression suggesting that this news excites him. Not that he minds a nice restaurant, and Addison did show him a sample menu. The fluke crudo was just more his style.

"Are we going?" he asks. "Or should I say … is Michel still speaking to you?"

"He is. Believe it or not." Addison pauses. "You know, I didn't tell him why we were staying longer. I didn't want him to judge us. Not that he would," she adds, tilting her head. "I mean, he is French."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing."

"If this is another reference to your semester abroad, Addie, I already know that you made it a point to sample a morsel in every arrondissement."

"Excuse me," she says with dignity, "you do realize I was nineteen."

"You do realize that doesn't contradict anything I said."

She glares at him. "I'm sorry I wasn't as wholesome as you were in college, Derek, with your scholarship to … play catch."

"Division Two baseball is not the same thing as playing catch," he says sharply.

Addison tilts her head. "Weren't you the catcher?"

"That's not the same – you know what, forget it. Go ahead and make fun of my college athletic career – which paid for all four years of private school, as you know. We don't all have trust funds."

"Yes, you mentioned that a time or two." She's looking past him, an annoyed expression on her face, and he feels a little bad.

"Look, I just mean that if you're really so anti-baseball, you could stop carrying around that picture of me from senior year in your wallet."

Addison's cheeks flush. "It's a good picture."

"You do realize I'm wearing a cup."

"Don't spoil it." She tucks her hand through his arm. "Let's just walk, okay? Maybe the weather will hold and we can play some … catch."

..

They end up in a little café that looks, to his eyes, much like the three previous cafés vetoed passionately by Addison.

"Mm." Addison sips her coffee – rich, black, and just the way she likes it. "This was a good idea."

"It really was." His spirits are surprisingly high – at their little marble topped table in the café that smells of freshly-baked croissants and espresso beans expensive enough to please even his wife.

She smiles at him. "Thanks for suggesting a walk."

"Thanks for consenting," he says, hoping the word consent doesn't set either of them off.

Addison just looks at him over the rim of her coffee cup, eyes very blue in this light. He feels a surprising rush of warmth toward her.

"You know what, I think this is great." He leans back in the chair. "We're these … adult, civilized people who can be out on parole and still sit in a café and just – Addison, what are you doing?"

"Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "

"You were thinking about my baseball picture, weren't you." He raises an eyebrow. "Addison … admit it."

"No," she says.

"Liar." He holds out his hand. "Give it to me. I'm rescinding your rights to my athletic prowess if you're only going to use it for … dirty reasons."

She snatches her purse onto her lap. "Absolutely not. That picture is mine."

"Give it to me. I'm throwing it out."

"Over my dead body!"

"Addison, I'm not even twenty-one in that picture. Is it even legal for you to – " He lowers his voice to a hiss. "Use it? At your age?"

She sits up very tall in her seat. "Did you really just call me old, after calling me fat three times this morning?"

Her voice is loud enough to attract a dark stare from the two women sitting at the table next to theirs.

… because this is New York, and there's barely even room for the holy spirit between tables, of course.

One of the women, a blonde with large sunglasses on top of her head, gives Addison a sympathetic look.

Derek frowns at her.

"Whatever," one of the women says in a tone he doesn't care for. "That guy is definitely punching above his weight."

He hopes Addison didn't hear – it would be just like her to claim the word weight was yet another person erroneously calling her fat. And that too, he's certain, would be his fault.

He sees the way the women at the next table are shooting Addison sympathetic looks – when he didn't even call her old! – and feels heat rush to his face, bringing with it a wave of annoyance that sweeps in and replaces the tenderness that surprised him earlier.

Apparently Addison isn't satisfied turning everyone in Seattle against him in favor of her own dubious – and adulterous – position, she has to bring it to New York too.

"Are you finished?" he asks abruptly, indicating her coffee cup.

She looks a little surprised, but nods.

"Then let's go." He slaps a twenty on the table and stands up quickly enough for the wrought-iron chair to scrape the floor loudly.

Addison winces a little, but follows him out the door into the crisp spring air.

"Derek – is something wrong? Was it those women? They were idiots."

He's walking quickly down the sidewalk, but so is she, and she grabs his arm to slow him down. "Derek. Can you just stop and talk to me?"

"Forget it." He slows his pace, forcing a smile. "It's fine. Everything's fine."

"Don't do that." She stops fully, causing a woman behind her to trip and call Addison a few colorful names, which she ignores.

"Do what?"

"Say things are fine when they're not. That's how we got into this mess."

"I thought we got into this mess when you slept with my best friend."

This time, two men are passing, and both turn to look at the Shepherds with interest.

Addison's cheeks are very pink as she grabs his arm and steers him into a covered doorway. "I know you think that's how we got into this … mess, but it takes two people."

"Yes," he says shortly. "You and Mark."

"Derek, come on. You did say you were partly to blame." She looks a little uncertain. "That night, in the trailer. You said you were absent, and – "

"I remember," he cuts her off.

"Okay, then." She studies her hands. When she looks up at him her eyes are shining and in spite of himself he feels a little stab of guilt. "Derek … I'm sorry. I really am. I'll say it as many times as you need me to."

"Forget it." He looks away.

She touches his arm. "I know you said we didn't need to see the counselor anymore – "

"He was a quack."

"True, but – maybe we could see someone else."

"No." He shakes his head. "There's no reason."

"There's a reason." Her voice is tremulous. "Fixing our marriage is the reason."

"Addison." He massages the bridge of his nose. No one can give him a headache quite like his wife. "We're already … trying."

"We're trying," she repeats, nodding slowly.

"We're trying," he confirms.

"Okay." She glances at him. "Because Kathleen did offer, if we were back in town …."

"Kathleen?" His eyes widen. "Kathleen … Shepherd? Addison, we're not going to be … marriage-counseled by my sister.

"Why not? She sees a lot of couples."

"Because she's my sister," he says, very slowly and loudly, as if Addison is hard of hearing.

She lifts her chin stubbornly. "Fine, Derek. But if you're still this angry with me – "

'I'm not angry with you."

"Honey, come on. You blew up at Savvy and Weiss's– "

"No, I didn't."

"You practically called Savvy a whore!"

"She's not the one I was trying to call a whore," he says pointedly.

She stops talking, her face flushing a little more. The wind picks up around them, moving a cloud of red hair around her face. She swipes it out of the way angrily, and when she's finished there's no trace of tears in her eyes.

Just anger.

"You know what, Derek? You can be a real jerk when we're not in bed."

"Likewise," he snaps. "Except your … jerkiness extends to bed sometimes – like when I find you in ours with my best friend."

"Ass," she scowls.

"Adulterous – "

"Okay." She interrupts him. Now she's massaging her temples, apparently no stranger to marital headaches. "Look, can we just … not fight?"

"Apparently not," he says.

"Right. Can we at least … try to get along."

"Why?" he asks daringly.

"Because we're married," Addison says, her voice soft. "Because I'm your wife, and you're my husband, and it's your birthday weekend, and we're … trying, Derek, we're trying. You agreed that we were trying."

He doesn't say anything.

"And if that doesn't convince you … well, there are two police officers about ten feet away." She indicates the two blue-uniformed men at the corner with a subtle movement of her chin. "And I'm pretty sure if we get arrested for brawling on a public street they'll rip up our Desk Appearance Tickets and throw us in jail and Weiss won't like that at all … and neither will we."

Derek considers all the moles he was compelled to examine during their brief time in lockup.

Then he studies Addison's face. Some of the stubbornness has melted away, and she looks … anxious.

"I guess you're right." He sighs. "I don't want to fight," he admits, a little grudgingly.

"Me neither." She leans in, her expression grateful, and kisses his cheek. "Let's go back to the hotel and – maybe go swimming. We still haven't tried out the rooftop pool. It's glassed-in and heated and actually the architect had in mind – "

He tunes out the rest of the architectural backdrop, but nods his assent. They're halfway down the block when he stops short. "Addie. Did you pack a bathing suit?"

"Oh," she says. "Well … no. But actually lingerie is – "

" – not a very good idea, considering our legal status," Derek finishes.

She nods glumly.

..

So the pool is out.

Which means they're back in the hotel.

The non-suite.

The all-a-bed room.

But they're being careful.

Chaste, and careful.

"Maybe I'm not sore anymore," Addison proposes, making short work of the buttons on Derek's shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, stopping to run appreciative hands over the muscles she's exposed.

"That would be great," he says, stripping her lightweight sweater over her head, causing a cloud of staticky red hair to cling to them both, "but I saw you wincing when you got into the cab."

Ugh.

She's down to blue silk panties that he purposefully left on – they're indigo, she bought them for him, and apparently there going to be a whole rainbow of tantalizing underwear on this trip and he can't complain.

"This is so frustrating." She flops next to him, one hand resting on his stomach a little too close for comfort to the waistband of his paisley-printed boxers.

"I know." He smooths her static-wild hair. It's actually the most sane her hair has looked since this weekend began, come to think of it. Her expression tells him she's thinking the same thing.

"Derek." She sits up, then gets to her knees, pulling him with her. "I'm dying here. I'm pretty sure I'm dying."

"Well, good thing I'm a doctor." He pulls her close, which is – a mistake, she's warm and melts into him and they're both just going to end up more frustrated.

Sure enough, she flops back on the bed. "I hate my body," she scowls.

"I don't." Derek drops beside her and places a relatively chaste kiss on her shoulder.

She shivers, just enough to give him an idea. "Addie … do you know that some women can orgasm without any genital contact at all?"

"I'm a gynecologist. Of course I know that."

"Well?" He props up on his elbow. "Have you?

"Have I?" She repeats. "Wouldn't you know if I had?"

They both pause, the awkwardness of the question drifting away with merciful speed.

"I haven't," she says. She grabs his hand and directs it where she's most in need of the feel of him. "So how about we just – ow!"

"Addie, we have to wait," he says patiently, even though he feels anything but at the prospect of withdrawing from that heavenly warmth.

"But I hate waiting," she pouts, and is grateful that he doesn't take the opportunity to make a crack about delayed gratification and best-friend-adultery.

"You know, if you're that sore … but you don't want to wait … we do have another option." He massages her shoulder with one hand, the other hand sliding down the curve of her side.

"Absolutely not," she says firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because I have to be in the mood, you know that."

He glances around the vast hotel room, with the oversized bed and the bottle of champagne on ice the concierge tactfully left for them. "I'm so confused. Is this not the mood?"

"You know what I mean."

"Plus … it's my birthday."

She takes one look at his hang-dog expression and rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, you said that the first time, Derek, on your twenty-third if you recall, and then I ended up at the university health center the next morning."

"Okay, that one's on me," he says hastily, "but in my defense I was twenty-three … barely. I was an idiot. I think I've learned a little since then."

"Besides … practice makes perfect."

"Aren't you already perfect?" he asks innocently.

She can't help but smile at his expression. It's making it hard to maintain a strong denial.

It's not like she's actually saying no, anyway. Derek knows her well enough to know that there are certain things she won't do without refusing three times first – just like converting to Judaism! Savvy said with delight when she first realized the connection.

Derek's always been willing to humor her. It's not that she doesn't like it. Far from it. It's just somehow more enjoyable when she feels like she's being talked into it.

(Is that weird? Whatever. She's going to figure all this out when his birthday weekend – week, whatever – is over. She'll go to a sex therapist or something. Assuming she can walk by then.)

Truthfully, though, she misses the feeling of him inside her and she doesn't want to wait any longer than she has to for more.

"Get in the shower," she suggests finally.

"Oh, are you the boss again?"

But his eyes are twinkling, maybe remembering like she is that the shower – slippery with soap – was the start of much of this.

They stay under the pounding spray long enough for their fingers to wrinkle before they return to the oversized bed. He has to take a minute to get his breath back at the sight of her lolling on the crisp white sheets, wide eyes heavy-lidded with lust and wet hair spread everywhere.

A smile tweaks the corner of her mouth when she sees him looking.

"Derek."

"Hm?"

"What are you waiting for?"

He doesn't need to be asked twice. His fingers explore her while his lips and tongue trace familiar paths on sensitive skin. She's chilled from the shower against his warm hands; they seek momentary refuse under the duvet, laughing, the adult version of a pillow fort. He's careful, gentle, staying outside her soreness. She looks down for a moment at the top of his head; he senses her movement and looks up to smile at her, licking his lips in a way that both turns her on and makes her want to laugh again.

And what's better than that combination?

The laughter dissipates quickly, though; between the steady pressure of his long fingers and the gentle flicks of his practiced tongue.

He doesn't tease her this time, just draws her right over the edge and then catches her when she falls, the fingers inside her holding her steady while he turns his cheek to rest on her inner thigh – the stubble against sensitive skin might kill her – and blows gentle puffs of air against heated flesh.

He presses a kiss to her thigh that has an air of formality; appreciative of his thoughtfulness, she nonetheless tugs on his curls. He looks up at her with surprise and she can't help smiling at his hopeful expression.

"Go for it," she says.

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be when I'm from Connecticut. Derek." She grabs his face, laughing. "Do you need me to draw you a map?"

"Definitely not. I know where I'm going."

"Know where you're going like that time you decided we would take back roads to the beach house and we ended up in – "

"No," he says firmly. "As in, actually know where I'm going." He pauses, then launches himself up to lie next to her, propping himself up on one elbow. "Not that I'm conceding the back roads issue, Addison. If I'd stayed on the expressway we would still have been driving around at Christmas."

"If you'd stayed on the expressway, we wouldn't have ended up in a real-life version of Amityville Horror."

Derek frowns at her. "Those people were very nice."

"Those people could have killed us."

"Anyone could have killed us!" he replies, exasperated.

"And on that pleasant note …."

He can't help laughing at the expression on her face. "Should we drive out there tomorrow and see if we can find – "

"No." She glares at him. "Besides, we're supposed to stay within the city limits."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot that we're outlaws."

"And now we can add another one to the list." She's grinning now. "Wait. Is sodomy still illegal?"

"I hope not," he says, "because I'd hate to see you jailed for one of your many talents."

She smiles a little at this.

"I've got his, Addie. I'm not going to get us lost – or killed."

She flops back on the pillows. "God … I hope you're right."

..

He was right.

Turns out … he did know exactly where he was going.

They didn't get lost.

But they did get exhausted.

She's boneless, muscles shaking, as tired as she is satisfied.

She knows he's exhausted too, but to his credit he nurses hers first, helping her into the ridiculously opulent attached bathroom and cleaning them both up. Her head lolls on his shoulder and he kisses her damp forehead.

"Finally knocked you out, huh?"

"Something like that." She's too tired for dignity; she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him slide a hand under her thighs to lift her.

Sleep comes almost as hard as she did. Curled into his side, her cheek resting against his heartbeat while one of her thighs covers his, she lets her eyes drift closed. His fingers trail over her back lightly, soothing her into sleep.

..

The sun has moved halfway along the floor by the time her eyes drift open.

Derek is already awake, smiling down at her.

"Better?" he asks.

"Um." She stretches a little, experimentally. "Does being sore in new places count as better?"

"It's close enough." He kisses her gently. "Hey … I think you might need an actual break."

"I might need one." She looks so sad at the prospect that he almost laughs. He shifts her against him instead and she curls into his body, her head pillowed on his shoulder now. He brushes errant long strands of hair away from his own face. She's still fragrant from the shower, warm and pliant from her nap. "But I don't want one," she mumbles into his neck.

She draws back a little. "And, Derek – how am I supposed to get a break when we're basically living in a bed? A really big bed," she adds, her tone drifting toward dreamy again.

He laughs a little. "You might be in luck there, Addie." He picks up his blackberry from the bedside table. "Nancy emailed us. She … seems to know we're in town. Or that we were."

Addison looks confused, then claps a hand to her mouth. "Oh, that's right. I must have mentioned the Fourchette reservation." Addison winces. "And she mentioned something about Sunday dinner, if we had time."

"It's Monday."

"I know that." Addison considers the issue. "We could still see her. Since we're still in town."

"And tell her we're in town – why?"

"I don't know. We'll think of something."

Derek shakes his head, rubbing a hand through his hair. Addison is in charge of their social calendar. She manages their friends, she manages his sisters, and she manages all the reservations.

… which, admittedly, usually go off with far less trouble than this one.

(But less fun, too, come to think of it.)

"Derek?"

"I don't know, Addie. It might raise … questions."

"We're not criminals!"

They both pause, considering the relative truth of that statement.

"The point is, she's Nancy. She just wants to see us."

"Are you going to be okay?" he asks. "Don't you want to … rest?"

"I'll be fine," she assures him. "Nancy's been pregnant a dozen times, I'm sure she has a donut pillow she can lend me."

When he laughs, she throws the closest non-donut pillow at him. He catches it and throws it back.

"This isn't funny, Derek. What kind of impression am I going to make on the court if I can't even walk?"

"Maybe it'll help us look more sympathetic."

"I'll give you sympathetic," she mutters.

"You'll be fine by then, Addie."

"God, I hope so." She cracks her neck. "All of this is just … stressing me out."

He nods sympathetically.

"Derek …?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm massaging your shoulders," he says. "Or I'm trying to."

"Derek. How many more closed for business signs do I need to hang – on how many doors? I told you, I'm done for tonight."

"And I told you I understand. I'm just trying to massage your shoulders."

"Massage my shoulders," she repeats. "Oh, I remember that move."

She raises an eyebrow, but then she settles back and grants him access to her shoulders. "Medical school – our first big chem test and I was so tense from all that studying, and you were just trying to help …"

Derek laughs a little as he rubs at a knot in her left shoulder.

"I can't believe you tried such a transparent move," she says.

"I mean, it worked," he reminds her. "Just like Mark said it would."

They both pause.

"Anyway." Derek clears his throat. "The point is … there are plenty of things we can do while you … recover."

"But I don't want to do plenty of things," Addison says. She twists around, his hands dropping from her shoulders. "I want to do you."

"That's actually sort of sweet."

"Well, that's me … sweet." She leans into him and he wraps his arms around her. For a few moments they sit like that, as her relaxed body grows heavier against him.

"Let's go to dinner with Nancy and Eric," he suggests.

She sits up. "Really?"

"Really. I mean, it will give us something to do instead of moping, and it will keep us from making any … short-sighted decisions."

She considers this. "I guess you're right. Although if we're preventing short-sighted decisions, we should probably avoid any restaurants with an accessible wine cellar."

"Good point." He pauses. "Or a covered garden."

"Yeah, that too." Addison picks up her blackberry and starts typing an email to Nancy. "Or single-stall bathrooms, come to think of it."

Derek wrinkles his nose. "And no coat checks."

"Circular booths are out."

"Private party rooms."

"Floor-length tablecloths."

Addison's fingers hover over the blackberry.

"You know what?" she says. "Maybe we should just go over to their place."

Derek considers this option. Nancy and Eric have five children, spanning a wide enough spectrum of ages that someone is always in need of a diaper change and someone else is always in need of a lesson on how to apply deodorant. Plus, it's his older sister, who used to dress him up in lacy costume dresses whenever she could and call him Princess Dereka.

If anything is less sexy than that … he hasn't encountered it yet.

"That sounds perfect," he says. "Good idea, Addie."

She types furiously, sends, and the blackberry buzzes seconds later.

"Nancy says that sounds perfect," Addison smiles at her husband. "Great minds, I suppose. Oh, she wants to know if we're craving anything in particular."

"I know I am – but nothing that would be on a family dinner menu," Derek mutters.

Addison swats him with the closest pillow; he confiscates it and swats her gently in return with the same pillow.

All things considered, though … she can't actually disagree.

In fact, it's quite the understatement.

To be continued. Next time: dinner with big sis and her family. Can Addison and Derek keep it together before then? Can they keep their hands off each other long enough to heal and maybe, in that process, heal their marriage too? DRUM ROLL. See you next time. Review and tell me what you think of our favorite stranded, frustrated, Weiss-would-only-be-a-little-proud couple!