Six Miles High

by winter machine

When Addison remembers that she made a reservation at an exclusive new restaurant for Derek's birthday, she convinces him to fly back to NY for the weekend. Then the flight gets interesting. And then they land and things get even more interesting. Somewhat silly, usually smutty response to LS's request (Addek celebrating a birthday together). A few chapters left!

8. hey mister, she's my sister

A/N: So I'm starting to think there's ridiculous and then there's winter when the addek muse hits ridiculous. This story seems to flow the most when I'm the one traveling, so I shouldn't be that surprised. I hope you are as amused as I am by close to twenty thousand words of indulgent Addek Take Manhattan. I can't help it: I love Addek, and I love Nancy, and I love knowing that other people love both those things too. And thank you birdieq for my new favorite term, Frisky Friday. Please pester her to update Life Ain't Always Beautiful.

I hope you enjoy this long, long chapter. Happy Frisky Friday!

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Six Miles High, Part Eight
Hey Mister ... She's My Sister

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"You've been in a jail cell, Derek. Is this really so much worse?"

"The jail cell was bigger," Derek mutters.

"True," Addison says thoughtfully, then shakes her head. "You're being ridiculous."

"I just forgot how much I hate this thing," he says stiffly, wincing a little when he looks at it.

"Oh, come on, Derek. Jail cell aside, it's hardly the tightest space you've squeezed into this week."

"Very funny." He glares at her. "You're not the one who got stuck in it once with two children in diapers."

"True." Addison tucks her hand through his arm. "But that was a long time ago."

Derek considers telling her that a long time ago seems like a meaningless phrase these strange few days in Manhattan, but he focuses instead on the tiny old-fashioned elevator waiting for them in the lobby of the massive, inconsistently updated pre-war building Nancy calls home.

Addison smiles encouragingly at him as she braces herself to push the metal grate open. Her smile falters at the speed of her progress.

"A little help here?" she barks at Derek.

"Since you asked so nicely." He joins her and helps to push on the unforgiving metal grate; between the two of them, they apply enough force that the grate snaps open … and Addison nearly loses her footing.

Derek grabs her around the waist to steady her. She turns around in his arms looking pleased with herself.

Too pleased with herself.

"No," Derek says firmly before she can speak. "No. Addie, you know what we promised Weiss. And besides, Nancy's waiting for us."

"Fine," Addison grumps, attempting to stalk into the elevator – but it's so small that her long legs cross it in just one stalk-step. Derek joins her, wincing as together the two of them manage to yank the grate closed. Addison pulls at the lever for Nancy's floor while Derek casts nervous glances at the double doors that still haven't closed.

"Maybe we should walk up," he suggests.

"Fourteen floors?" Addison's eyes widen. "Which part of sore didn't you understand?"

"I'm not asking you to walk up the stairs on your – "

The elevator doors choose that moment to close with a vigorous whoosh and they're shut in the small space with nothing but a tiny glass porthole as the craft starts moving.

Slowly.

"I think we could actually walk up faster," Derek mutters as the elevator heaves, slowly, up another floor.

"Honestly, Derek." Addison tosses her hair. "This elevator is a relic. Not everything has to be renovated."

"This elevator … is a deathtrap," Derek corrects her, a loud squeal from the cables drowning out her protest.

"You're the one who said we should go to Nancy's."

"Well, you're the one who – "

The elevator hurtles sideways, causing Derek to fall into Addison.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," he says sincerely, prying himself away from her quickly and then steadying her with both hands on her shoulders. "Did I hurt you?"

Even in the dim light, he can tell Addison is considering how much to milk this.

He's half annoyed, half relieved that she's all right.

"I'm okay," Addison says tremulously, in the purposefully brave tone of a woman who has just sawed off a limb to escape from a bear trap rather than suffered four or five seconds under the weight of her husband.

"What a relief. That was close." Derek is torn between humoring her and calling her on how dramatic she is; his internal battle is cancelled when the elevator heaves another floor, lurches again, and this time Addison is thrown into him.

"Sorry," she pants while he tries to extricate himself.

"It's okay."

It's difficult, though, the warm weight of her seems to be everywhere, their limbs tangled.

And it's distracting, because the sensation of heavy softness, the scent of her and the way her hair tickles his neck – it's too much for the small space.

He works his hands under her arms to shift her weight, grunting a little with the effort. Somehow, Addison manages to convey how offended she is without any words. He can't even see her in the dim elevator light.

Finally, he manages to ease her away from him and onto her own side – which is directly next to his side. Somehow, the elevator has gone from phone-booth-sized to pocket-sized.

Derek glances at his wife. She's staring straight ahead, smoothing her long hair, but he can tell from the sound of her breaths that the jostling elevator ride has affected her.

For some people, affected might be neutral, or even charming.

But this is Addison.

And he is Derek.

And they're about to spend an evening with his sister.

So for them, affected is nothing short of terrifying.

As if to underscore his nerves, the elevator slams to a shuddering halt.

They're here.

..

"Remember, don't say anything to Nancy about why we're still in the city," Addison hisses as they walk down the wide hallway.

"Really?" Derek doesn't try to rein in his sarcastic tone. "Because I was planning to tell my sister every detail."

"Very funny." Addison reaches out to swat him, but he captures her hand before she can make contact. "Look, I told her we're still here because we have to take care of some … house stuff."

"House stuff?"

"With the brownstone." Addison doesn't meet his eyes.

"Oh." Derek considers this. He hadn't really thought about house stuff. Addison usually handled those things when they lived in Manhattan and he supposes she must have been handling them during the transition to Seattle as well.

"House stuff," Addison repeats. "I figured Nancy would appreciate that explanation. You know she's always renovating one thing or another."

"True." Derek raps on the large door – everything in the building is large, a relic of a time when Manhattan real estate wasn't measured out by the quarter-inch – and it swings open while his fist is still raised.

"Derek! Addie!" Nancy's enthusiastic greeting echoes down the vast hall. She hugs them both before they can even cross the threshold.

"It's so good to see you," Addison tells her as the two women embrace.

Derek glances around the entryway to Nancy's oversized apartment. It looks – surprisingly put together, but knowing Nancy, some part of it is still undergoing work, one of their many renovation projects.

Derek and Addison were only halfway through medical school when Nancy and Eric first moved into a junior two in this upper west side building. It was the start of their marriage – and it was big for what they needed at the time, Derek recalls, his mother rather sniffy about the amount of space. But then they started having children.

A lot of children.

And two sizeable dogs.

And then they needed more space.

Slowly, over the last decade and a half, his sister and brother-in-law have been buying up other apartments on the floor as residents move out – not, Nancy would say angrily, because of how loud their children and pets are, though privately Derek's not quite sure.

As a result, his sister's current apartment is a massive hodgepodge of space always undergoing some renovation project or another, its layers peeling away to reveal the history underneath and its décor ranging from updated to invention-of-electricity.

But it suits them, Nancy and Eric's five children always running in various directions, the apartment as boisterous and chaotic as they are.

"You look great," Addison is saying now, holding Nancy away at arms' length.

"So do you," Nancy grins, "but it hasn't been that long!"

"It feels long, though." Addison sounds – sad? Derek is a little confused, but then the two women are hugging again and he ducks his way carefully around them so the door can close.

… just in time, because in a flood of claws tapping the hardwood floors, two enthusiastic fur cannons shoot into Derek's legs.

"Down," Nancy says without much intensity, still preoccupied with Addison.

The dogs ignore her, two good-sized mutts with shaggy fur and the kind of muzzles that make it look as though they're smiling. Right now, they seem to be thoroughly enjoying trapping Derek against the wall with their floods of canine affection.

"Nancy …"

"Sorry." Nancy turns around. "Jack! Diane! Leave Derek alone," she scolds. "Down, Jack."

When the dogs decline to obey, she calls instead for her children.

Addison is scratching one of the dogs behind the ears when Nancy's two oldest skid around the corner, a pair of tall, dark-haired teenagers. Their wary expressions change to welcoming surprise when they see the visitors.

"Aunt Addie!" Johanna throws her arms around her aunt. "You haven't been here in forever!"

Addison hugs her back warmly, then holds her away. "It's so good to see you, Jo! Did you get taller?" she asks.

"Probably." Johanna shoots her mother a dark look.

Nancy holds her hands in the air. "You know it's not my fault, honey."

"Yes it is, Mom. You are the one who picked – "

"Never mind," Nancy says as Alice takes Johanna's spot for a hug from their aunt. "Girls … Uncle Derek is here too," she says pointedly.

A little offended by Nancy's reminder, Derek nonetheless greets both his nieces. Alice, the eldest, is taller than he is now, and Johanna is quickly catching up, already her mother's height. They've apparently grown just in the last six months, but Derek isn't exactly surprised as he watches the girls corral both dogs and lead them out the door for a walk.

Everything is oversized in Nancy's apartment, from the furniture … to its occupants.

Not because of Nancy.

Not exactly, despite Johanna's accusation.

"Derek! Addie!" A booming voice echoes down the hall.

… and the floor under his feet, unless it's his imagination, is shaking slightly.

..

"Eric!" Addison says with enthusiasm, her neck already aching a little bit from trying to look her brother-in-law in the eye.

His hug lifts her off her feet – not on purpose, unless he was intending to do the same to Derek, whose shoes scrape the wooden floor noisily, much to her amusement.

Derek is glaring at her when his brother-in-law sets him back on his feet.

"Sorry," Eric says amiably, smiling down at him. "Great to see you both," he adds.

It's impossible to be annoyed with Eric.

Not just because he could easily stamp them out like ants.

His genuinely cheerful manner is contagious, and even if his luxuriantly wavy hair has more grey in it now than it did when Addison first met him more than sixteen years ago, he somehow still seems youthful. In a family of tall people, Eric still towers over everyone, somehow three times as broad as Nancy while maintaining what Addison would call an athletic physique and Derek would call showing off.

It's not that Derek doesn't like his brother-in-law. Far from it. Eric was always kind, and inclusive, taking brotherly interest in Derek and dulling the blade of some of Nancy's sharper comments. His physical prowess came in handy shoveling snow on the Shepherd property and helping Carolyn with whatever house projects needed someone with extraordinary upper body strength.

And it's not Eric's fault that he's practically tall enough to scrape the ceiling and strong enough that he can still, the last time Derek checked, lift all five children at once.

The result, though – with the exception, at least the last time he saw them, of Nancy's lone son, who is more Shepherd than McGuff – the children are anything but small. In Derek's experience, it only takes half a glass of wine for Nancy to tell stories only Addison seems to appreciate about the size of her children's heads in comparison to the size of their … journey to life.

Then again, Addison was the one who delivered several of those twelve-pound babies and, after a bottle or so of wine, performed a variety of surgical tricks to keep everything where it needed to be.

Meanwhile, Nancy is beaming, looking from one of them to the other. "It's been so long since we were all together," she says happily, Addison reaching out to squeeze her hand.

Derek lets his sister and brother-in-law lead them inside, take their lightweight jackets and fuss over them, only tuning back in at the sound of his name.

"Hm?" Derek turns his head.

"Not Derek." Addison pats his arm in conciliatory fashion. "I said NancyAndEric."

"Oh."

At least DerekAndAddison never led to confusion.

… Well. Not name confusion, anyway.

Derek has almost forgotten what it's like to be with Nancy's family and turn his head needlessly multiple times an hour when some consonant elides with Eric and he's convinced his own name is being called.

It's little things like this that make life easier in Seattle, without all the … confusion, and people, and history.

It's better that way.

That's probably why he feels a little sad now – missing the peace and quiet of Seattle.

..

There's music coming from somewhere, various sports equipment tossed down in the front hall, schoolbooks and medical journals competing for space on tables and shelves.

Addison takes a moment to just – drink in Nancy's apartment. It's wonderfully noisy and messy and alive and even though she's threatened to withhold sex for a week for messes far less than this one in her own home, Nancy's home is different.

(Plus, Derek knows perfectly well she could never withhold sex for a week. At least he used to, anyway.)

She remembers every bit of it: the scratchy record player Nancy salvaged from the home where the Shepherd siblings grew up and Eric's handy brother hooked up to actual speakers, the well-worn baby grand piano that's never in tune and usually has an actual baby seated on the bench plunking at the keys, and the family pictures that line the walls.

Lots of family pictures.

Okay, Addison might not have remembered quite how many family pictures Nancy has on display.

It's like … a museum.

A museum of Shepherd History, and either Nancy pulled out some good ones to try to make her reconciliation with Derek stick, or they've always been a featured exhibition.

Either way, she sees Derek's shoulders stiffen at the large family portrait from their wedding framed on the wall.

God, they're young in it, Addison all ill-advised updo and poufy dress and Derek nervously handsome in his tux.

Then the real Derek is looking at her.

Looking – or maybe glaring, a little.

"Were we even old enough to get married?" she asks in a small voice, hoping to distract him.

"Maybe someone should have talked us out of it."

His tone isn't sharp, but his words cut her nonetheless.

"Your mother tried, actually," Addison says. "And if she couldn't do it, I don't know who could have. She hated me."

"She didn't hate you," Derek mutters. "She loves you."

Addison raises her eyebrows. "Okay … I'll let that one go."

"You? Let something go?"

"You know what, Derek – "

"Who wants a drink?" Nancy interrupts brightly, and it's hard to calculate which spouse answers faster.

..

It's a little easier to take this … Gallery of the Shepherds … with a scotch in his hand. But if Savvy and Weiss's place made them dip a toe into their shared history, Nancy's apartment is like being tossed into the deep end.

There they are: dancing at Nancy and Eric's wedding – an impossibly young Addison laughing in his arms, twirling in a low-backed sundress. It was outdoors, sunny springtime, a casual and fun affair that his mother tried to convince him to attend alone. She's just a girlfriend, sweetheart, and weddings are for family. Even then, did he know Addison would become his family?

He doesn't even have to turn his head to see the family gathered at Kathleen's beach house, two of his brothers-in-law standing sentry at the oversized grill while Addison – in a royal blue bathing suit he remembers achingly well – and his sisters wave from the pool.

Addison delivered Nancy's two youngest, and there she is in matching framed portraits: cradling newborn Claire, who is shrieking healthily from inside her pink swaddle, and then holding a tiny Eleanor sleeping peacefully while Claire scowls suspiciously at the intruder from Addison's other hip.

There's his niece Erin's graduation from high school, surrounded by cousins and aunts and uncles, including a beaming Addison – who helped Erin with her entrance essay, and was thrilled when she chose her Aunt Addie's alma mater. Derek has his arm slung around her shoulders, one of his nephews hanging onto her other hand adoringly. Derek looks pretty adoring too, actually, he can't help noticing now. He looks like a proud husband.

Wincing, he tries the next frame, but it's a Shepherd Christmas that could be any year of his adult life. He can identify the year only through his own form of family carbon-dating, scanning the volume of his own hair, the size of some of his older nieces and nephews, the number of stocking son the fireplace – but not much else has changed, over the years. Everyone is in matching Christmas pajamas – Liz's traditional gift – and sitting cross-legged around the tree. It's a slightly shaky portrait – despite Kathleen's constant hectoring, her husband never quite mastered the time-sensor tripod – but all the familiar faces still stand out in relief. Addison is smiling broadly – of course she is, she loves Christmas, leaning into him with her long legs crossed. She looks admittedly adorable in green flannel pajamas printed with gingerbread men. There's a big bow stuck on the side of her head that undoubtedly came off of an unwrapped present, and sure enough, one of their dark-haired nieces is grinning mischievously behind her aunt, little hands poised as if she's just affixed the hair ornament.

Addison wisely left him alone once Nancy gave them their drinks. He can't blame her, not when he snapped at her, but while she looked hurt she seemed … understanding.

He drains the tumbler of scotch.

"Let's hope Nancy doesn't whip out the wedding album, or you'll have to start drinking straight from the bottle."

He turns his head. So much for leaving him alone.

"You're not exactly taking it slow yourself," he points out, nodding toward her empty glass, which he doesn't need to examine to know it held a gin and tonic. He's known Addison a long time: she drinks straight gin when she's tired, gin and soda when she feels fat – her words, not his – and gin and tonic when she's upset.

"I have twice the tolerance for alcohol you do," she responds.

"Not everything is a competition, you know."

"It's not a competition, it's just a fact." She reaches for his empty tumbler. "You want another?"

"Not right now." He doesn't want her to win – so much for not everything is a competition – but this is shaping up to be a long night, so he's aware he needs to moderate his consumption.

"Okay." She inches a little closer – her long hair brushes against him and she smells of the shampoo she brought with them, because of course Addison is going to trust her hair to hotel products, no matter how fancy the hotel. He feels himself relenting as she tucks a tentative hand through his arm.

They stand together for a moment, in front of the framed picture of their medical school graduation. Nancy and Eric are flanking them, a very small Alice sitting on Nancy's hip wearing a Columbia t-shirt and clapping tiny hands in celebratory fashion. Addison has a hand on her hat – he recalls it was an unusually windy day – her head tilted toward him, her smile huge and genuine.

"It feels like yesterday," Derek says.

"It seems like forever ago," Addison says at the same time.

He realizes they're both right, and he can tell from her expression she realizes it too.

When he turns to look at his wife, her eyes are hopeful, eager – and beautiful, but he steels himself against that. She's so sentimental, so fond of their shared history … when she was the one who sacrificed all of it for one ill-advised night with his best friend.

He opens his mouth to say something – he's not sure what, but he's fairly certain it won't be very nice – and then he says nothing because she's leaned in and kissed him.

It's soft and gentle but it's not brief.

"What was that for?" he asks when she draws back.

"Nothing." She shrugs a little. "I just felt like it. Is that okay?"

He brushes a strand of her long hair back with his free hand, automatically. She doesn't look so different from the girl in the graduation photo. "It's okay," he says.

She gives him a tentative smile. "Do you, um, do you want to go help Nancy in the kitchen?"

..

Despite two high-flying medical careers – Eric, when he's not lifting or fathering hordes of children, nicely fulfills the stereotype as head of orthopedic surgery at University West – Nancy has managed to recreate an upgraded, yet equally chaotic, version of weeknight dinner at their own home growing up.

There are numerous pots boiling on the stove with enough food to nourish an entire neighborhood, children running in and out of various rooms – Derek counts seven, so presumably some of the kids have friends over, although he wouldn't be that surprised if they've just started multiplying.

It's much the same as he remembers Nancy's apartment from what used to be their frequent visits.

Nancy's youngest toddles in just after they do, with a head of messy dark curls and enormous blue eyes. Despite being the height of a kindergarteners, she's … Derek tries to calculate.

"Three!" Addison has scooped her up. "Someone had a birthday last month."

"Me!" Ellie beams. "I did!"

"You certainly did." Addison kisses her. "I'm so sorry we missed it, sweetheart."

Nancy smiles warmly. "We understand. And Ellie loved your gift, didn't you?"

Ellie, who is busy playing with Addison's necklace while perched on her aunt's hip, nods obediently.

"Oh, I'm so glad," Addison says. "We hoped she would. And that thank-you note was so cute."

"Wasn't it? Claire helped."

Derek is looking from his wife to his sister. All of this is news to him, although thank-you note is ringing a bell, somewhat. Did Addison show him something Nancy had sent? Did he notice it?

As for the gift, he has no idea what they sent Ellie for her birthday. It could have been a teddy bear or a sports car for all he knows, but Addison is notoriously gifted at the art of gifting, so he's not surprised that whatever it was turned out perfectly.

Ellie is beaming at her aunt, one pudgy little hand on either side of her face now.

"I'm big," she whispers proudly.

"You sure are." Addison kisses her rosy cheek again, unable to resist the adorable child she delivered.

"She is," Nancy confirms, brushing her hands off on her apron. "And I am so glad."

At Derek's quizzical look, she raises an eyebrow. "I have no children in diapers now," Nancy says reverentially. "None. Can you believe it?"

"No," Derek says honestly. But that be because Ellie is giving her mother what can only be described as side eye.

"She was ready," Nancy says, sounding a bit defensive. "And, well, she grew out of the biggest size of regular diapers."

"Regular?" Derek gives Addison an uncomfortable glance.

"I mean, you can buy them bigger, but there's something about the brand No Judgment that made me think it was time to train her."

"They should change that name," Addison muses, though she seems distracted with Ellie, who is still perched on her hip. The two of them are carrying on a conversation Derek can't quite hear.

"Right? I wrote to the company," Nancy says as two little girls run into the oversized kitchen, one a head taller than the other, seeking cookies and settling for carrots with the promise of dinner soon. Nancy watches them leave fondly.

"Who's the extra?" Derek asks.

"Claire's friend from school. We're watching her."

Derek is unsurprised – Nancy's home has always been overrun with children of various ages.

The good thing is, with so many children around, and Nancy wearing a gingham apron over the outfit she must have worn to work, which Addison exclaimed over – pretty much the same gingham Derek remembers his mother wearing – at least there's no danger of their breaking their promise to Weiss.

..

Nancy channels their mother once again by screaming Dinner! at increasingly voluble levels until everyone settles at the huge, scarred wooden table like it's old times.

Like Addison and Derek never left New York.

How many times did they cross the park to eat dinner with Nancy and her family? When the weather was nice, on rare days off, they'd walk, holding hands and enjoying each other's company, stopping to steal kisses under the canopy of old-growth trees. On busier nights they'd zip through in yellow cabs, making short work of the green carpet dividing their two homes.

Nancy's apartment was always warm and homey, big and growing bigger every year just as her family did. Somehow, despite running a busy practice, she always seemed to have something in the oven and at least three things on the stove. And four or five arms, settling children and basting turkey and stirring stews all at the same time. Instructions, warnings, drying tears, and laughing.

Always laughing.

"Derek?" Addison's hand covers his on the table. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he tells her quickly.

..

Addison is pretty sure she doesn't exhale until she's helped Nancy – along with her nieces and nephews – to carry every dinner dish into the kitchen.

When the children disperse, she sighs audibly.

She's glad to be here, it's just –

Well.

Nancy's always been big on pictures. On memories. And Addison doesn't really disagree.

It's just that they seemed a little more like land mines, tonight.

She stands at the sink for a moment, gathering herself.

Nancy drapes an arm over her shoulders. "It's good seeing the two of you together, Addie."

"Yeah." She looks down at the piles of dishes, her throat feeling a little thick.

"Things must be going pretty well – I mean, I saw you wincing when you sat down – "

"Nancy!" Addison covers her mouth with her hands, turning around.

"Don't worry, some things are only visible to the very practiced eye." Nancy's very practiced eyes are gleaming wickedly. "So from OB-GYN to another, it seems like you're having a pretty good weekend?"

" … something like that." Addison smiles weakly.

"Good." Nancy gives her a quick squeeze. "I'm guessing there's only one thing that can improve it."

Going back in time to keep me from sleeping with Mark, and then magically healing my –

"Cake!" Nancy exclaims happily.

Okay, not a bad runner-up, come to think of it.

..

The assembled Shepherd-McGuffs sing loudly and lustily around Derek's chair as he looks up at them, a little embarrassed.

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Uncle Derek …

Over their cheerful singing, Nancy imposes the lyrics she's preferred for as long as Derek can remember.

"… you look like a monkey, and you smell like one too," she finishes with gusto and not a little vibrato.

"Thanks," Derek says, shaking his head at her but smiling genuinely at his nieces and nephew.

"Why should I break my thirty-nine year streak?" Nancy asks.

Derek swallows his answer, knowing the children are listening.

His sister divvies up cake expertly and efficiently, and the children gobble it up, offer a few more birthday wishes in Derek's direction, and take off – with their plates, which they carry to the kitchen.

Derek takes a bite of the cake, more to be polite than anything else.

"How was your birthday?" Nancy asks. "The actual one, I mean."

"Well, we were on a plane," Addison begins.

Derek coughs loudly; Addison whacks his back until he glares at her.

"My birthday was fine," he says tightly.

Nancy looks from one of them to the other. "How was your birthday dinner?" she specifies. "That must have been some restaurant to be worth the trip."

Now it's Addison's turn to cough. Derek sets a glass of water in front of her.

"This cake is delicious," Addison says when she's cleared her throat and sipped some water.

"You've barely touched it."

"Well, you know, I have to watch my weight."

"Since when?" Nancy asks.

Derek avoids his wife's gaze; truthfully, she should probably be carb-loading, considering how much energy they've been expending on … cardio.

"Ask Derek." Addison raises her eyebrows. "He acted like he was winded when I fell into him in the elevator. Apparently I need to cut back."

"Really, Derek," Nancy says disapprovingly.

"I didn't do anything!" He glares from one woman to the other. "Ganging up on me as usual," he mutters.

"Only because we love you, Derek." Nancy pats his arm. "Anyway, we've all been thrown around in that elevator."

Nancy looks from one of them to the other again. "Addie said you're staying longer to deal with some house stuff."

"Right." Derek takes a sip of his drink. "That's what she said."

"Have you been back to the brownstone yet?" Nancy asks.

"No," Derek says shortly.

"We … hired someone to rent it out," Addison says. "We have to deal with some – things with the company."

Derek looks up at her; this is news to him.

"When did you do that?" he asks.

"When I moved to Seattle permanently," Addison says. "They're, uh, getting it ready now, if I'm remembering their last email right."

Renting out the brownstone.

Another family living in it.

Not that he cares; he never wants to see that place again. From the way Addison is blushing right now, she's aware.

Avoiding his sister's gaze, Derek slices through the middle of his piece of cake. He has no interest in eating it, but he bisects it – twice – to divert his attention.

"Are you looking for a razor in that cake?" Nancy asks finally.

Derek glances at her, confused.

"I mean, I wanted to put one in there. I really did." Nancy says, looking like she's trying not to laugh. "It would have been so great. But I couldn't, with all the children around."

Addison and Derek look across the table.

No one else is sitting with them.

"There were children here," Nancy says, her mouth twitching again. "Then again, I know that isn't necessarily a deterrent for the two of you."

"All right, that's enough." Derek pushes his chair back and glares at his sister. "What exactly are you getting at, Nancy?"

Then he sees that Addison is covering her face with her hands, looking – embarrassed. Far more embarrassed than she did when they were caught on the ferry and thrown in –

"You know," Derek realizes, looking at Nancy, and then turning on Addison. "You told her?" he shakes his head. Nancy and Addison have always been thick as thieves, from the first time he brought her home to meet his family, but this is going too far. "You are unbelievable," he says, glaring at his wife. "We agreed."

"I didn't tell her." Addison's tone is indignant. "But thanks for assuming I did."

"It wouldn't be the first agreement you broke."

Addison's cheeks are coloring. "I didn't tell her, Derek!"

"How else would she know?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Addison hisses. "Instead of blaming me?"

"Fine, I'll ask her."

Nancy is still sitting at the table with them, her head swinging from one to the other as they bicker.

"Good." Addison is the one glaring now. "Ask her, and then you can apologize to me."

"I'm going to ask her, but don't hold your breath for an apology."

"Why don't you ask her first, and then – "

"Oh, for god's sake!" Nancy finally interrupts. "Her is sitting right here, and since you can't stop arguing long enough to ask me, I'll just tell you."

"Fine," Derek snaps.

"Fine," Addison adds, with another long swallow of wine.

Nancy takes a deep breath. "You remember my friend Christie – we were college roommates?"

"No," Derek says.

"Yes," Addison says at the same time. "She had an anterior placenta, right? And blonde hair."

"Yes, that's her," Nancy beams while Derek is still shaking his head. Only his wife would recall the position of someone's placenta before her hair color.

"How's she doing?" Addison asks warmly. "Last time you and I talked, her follicle count had lowered, but she was getting ready to do PIO."

"It's not that I'm not interested in Chrissy's reproductive system," Derek interrupts loudly, "but can you get to the point?"

"Christie," Nancy corrects, her tone frosty. "Not Chrissy. Anyway, Christie's a deputy public defender, as you know."

Addison is nodding as if she knows this. She actually seems to know it. And then her eyes widen. "Christie was in – in the lockup? On Saturday?"

"No," Nancy says quickly. "She's too senior for that these days, but apparently her intern came back to the office today after visiting with a client who was at a precinct downtown and said he was full of stories of a mysterious brain surgeon who was checking all the guys in the cell for cancerous moles."

Addison coughs around a mouthful of wine and pats her lips furiously with her napkin. Derek suddenly seems very interested in the pattern on the tablecloth.

"But wait … how did you know it was Derek?" Addison persists. "There must be other brain surgeons out there who would … check their cellmates for moles." She turns to Derek. "Really? Moles?"

"I took an oath," Derek says stubbornly. "I'm not going to turn down people in need of – wait, why, what were you doing in your cell that was so much more appropriate, Addie?"

"Mostly just praying that Miss Krystal's tube top wouldn't snap again," Addison retorts. Then she turns to Nancy. "You knew it was Derek just from brain surgeon?"

"And I already knew you were in New York that weekend," Nancy says slowly.

Addison raises an eyebrow.

"Fine, the intern might also have mentioned that the client said the mysterious brain surgeon was in lockup for public indecency with a … "

"Spit it out," Derek orders when Nancy hesitates.

" … with a red-headed she-devil," Nancy admits, turning an apologetic gaze to Addison.

"A red-headed she-devil?" Addison repeats, her cheeks flushing. "How dare he? That is incredibly offensive. And sexist. And totally untrue, and obviously this … client has no idea what he's talking about."

"He also said you were hot," Nancy adds.

" … oh." Addison looks slightly mollified now, and Derek doesn't bother to hide his eye roll, shifting in his seat seconds too late to avoid her kick under the table.

"Anyway." Nancy sits up in her seat. "You can probably understand why I knew it was the two of you."

"Because we were in New York this weekend and … I'm a brain surgeon … and Addison has red hair?" Derek asks weakly.

"Oh, sure." Nancy's tone is cheerful. "That, and the public indecency." She gives her brother and sister-in-law a fond look. "I guess the two of you haven't changed much."

"Excuse me." Derek glares. "Those charges are trumped up. We weren't … publicly indecent."

"Our clothes were on," Addison bleats, as if she's talking to Weiss all over again, and now Derek turns his glare on her.

"I'm sure they were," Nancy says soothingly. "It's just, you're talking to the person who walked in on you in the boathouse when you were still in medical school."

Addison's cheeks turn a little pinker. "We were so young then, Nance," she protests. "Practically babies."

"True." Nancy raises an eyebrow. "And that excuse would be reasonably convincing, if I hadn't walked in on you in another boathouse … what was it, three years ago? When you were … thirty-six?"

"Two years ago," Addison admits. "But – it was a really nice boathouse."

"Was," Nancy repeats, darkly. "It was a really nice boathouse."

"We're sorry about that," Addison assures her. "Didn't we pay to replace those cushions? And the kayak? And the beach glass? And didn't we buy the extra-strength lock you requested?"

"Yes," Nancy says. "Financially … you definitely made it right."

Derek sighs. "Nancy, I'm your brother. Do we really need to talk about this?"

"I know you're my brother, Derek. I wish you had kept that in mind that day at the boathouse. Or rather, those days at the boathouses, plural."

The tips of Derek's ears are starting to turn red. "Nancy …"

"Or that winter we rented the place in the mountains, do you remember?" Nancy asks brightly.

Addison is studiously avoiding Derek's gaze.

"The one with the outdoor Jacuzzi," Nancy prompts.

Neither Addison nor Derek responds.

"And the really big – "

"Yes, Nancy, we remember!" Derek snaps. "Did you have a point?"

"I was answering your question," she reminds him. "Or are you still wondering why brain surgeon plus red-headed she-devil plus public indecency would bring me straight to the two of you?"

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then Addison turns to Derek. "See? It wasn't my fault that Nancy found out!" she announces triumphantly.

"Well, it was your fault there was something for her to find out," Derek mutters.

"Really. My fault." Addison raises an eyebrow. "Because I was all alone on that ferry."

"You were on a ferry?" Nancy asks with interest.

They both ignore her.

"If you hadn't made us ride the ferry, this never would have happened," Derek says resolutely.

"You're the one who wore the blue shirt," Addison snaps.

"You bought me the blue shirt!"

"Well, I didn't put it on you!"

"No. You took it off me." Derek glares at her.

"Not on the ferry," Addison says hastily, looking at Nancy.

"What a relief." Nancy rolls her eyes, highlighting her resemblance to her brother.

"My point," Addison says with dignity, "is that I didn't tell you, Nancy, and Derek – you accused me of telling her. So I think you owe me an apology."

"You think I owe you an apology," Derek repeats dubiously. "That's your takeaway from this?"

"In fact," Addison continues as if he hasn't spoken, "this is actually your fault."

"My fault."

She nods decisively. "It's your fault Nancy found out."

"How do you figure that?"

"Because if you hadn't felt the need to tell your … cellmates that you're a brain surgeon, Christie might not have made the connection!" Addison's gaze is nothing short of triumphant.

Derek frowns at her. "What was I supposed to tell them?"

"I don't know, Derek, how about something non-identifiable?" She rolls her eyes. "This would never happen to James Bond."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not James Bond."

"Not as sorry as I am," she mutters, taking a long swallow of wine.

"If you're finished," Nancy says politely. "How about some more cake?"

..

"Derek, it's fine," Nancy assures him once Addison has excused herself.

"Is it?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow at Nancy. "We were arrested for public indecency and now we're stuck in Manhattan for another … eight days. And to make it worse, now my sister knows about it."

"I'm not judging," Nancy assures him.

"You're not," Derek repeats doubtfully.

"Of course not! You're my little brother. Did I judge you when you used to dress up in – "

"That was you who dressed me up," Derek interrupts hastily.

"You did look great in a tiara … Princess Dereka."

"Thank you, for that." Derek sighs, shaking his head. "Look, can you at least – not tell anyone?"

"Of course." Nancy rests a hand on his arm, her smile warm. "I won't tell anyone else."

"Thank you." Derek says it sincerely this time. "I really appreciate – " He stops talking. "What do you mean, anyone else?"

"Anyone other than Eric," Nancy says. "He's my husband!" she adds when Derek frowns.

"Fine. Just Eric, though?"

"Well, and Kathleen. But I tell her everything, so that doesn't count."

Derek massages his temples. "Nancy – at least promise me you didn't tell Mom."

"Of course not." Nancy looks at him like he's the crazy one. "Besides, she'd probably just blame Addie."

"She wouldn't be wrong!"

"Really?" Nancy leans back against the kitchen island, folding her arms. "It seems like the two of you got yourselves into this together."

Derek doesn't respond.

"Look, Derek. Eric and I, we've been married … sixteen years now. Not to mention the five years we were together before that. When you're married, you get into things ... together."

He nods, still hoping she'll drop the issue.

"You're working on it though, right?" Nancy's tone is hopeful. "You and Addie. You're trying to fix things."

"I don't want to talk about my marriage with you, Nancy."

"Fine." Nancy looks a little hurt.

"Just – please don't tell anyone about our – legal issue," he says.

"Fine," she repeats. "But for the record, Derek … I think it's kind of sweet."

"Sweet," Derek repeats incredulously.

"Sure. I mean you run off to Seattle and no one hears from you again, and then Addie runs off to join you and you two basically disappear off the ends of the earth, and we're imagining all the worst things and then here you are back in New York … up to your old tricks, like you never left."

Derek doesn't respond.

"You're fixing things," Nancy says, sounding satisfied.

Derek sets down his drink. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Aren't you?" Nancy studies his face. "You're working it out. And you're together."

They're together enough to be cited in a police report for it, anyway.

"Nancy … "

"Derek, I'm not trying to pry, really."

He massages the bridge of his nose. "We're just – these things take time."

"That's why I was so happy with Christie's news. Because Addie said, before she left for Seattle, that you were seeing someone there."

Derek chokes on his drink.

"Wait, what?" he asks once he can speak again. "You were talking to Addison before she came to Seattle?"

"Of course." Nancy looks confused. "Addie and I talk all the time."

"But … that was before."

"She's my sister-in-law," Nancy says.

"I'm your brother," he reminds her.

"And you weren't here, Derek."

"I didn't stick around after I caught them, you mean." He glares at his sister. "And that makes me the bad guy."

"It's not about who's the bad guy, Derek. It's just – you weren't here before then, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means – you were busy. You were always working."

"I have a time-consuming job, Nancy. So does Addison. So do you!"

"I know that." Nancy sighs, leaning back in her chair. "You really want to get into this now?"

"You're the one who brought it up."

"I know." Nancy tilts her head, studying his face. "You and Addie, you're surgeons, you're crazy busy, I get it. But she always made time for – okay, look." She pauses. "How far did Johanna get in the state swim championships last year?"

"I don't know." Derek is confused. Nancy's kids are always doing some sport or another. "Uh … semi-finals?" he guesses.

"Not even close. Placed out in the pre-pre - rounds. She's terrible."

"Okay. What's your point?"

"And Christian," Nancy continues, ignoring his question for one of her own, "what position does he play in football?"

"Half-back?" Derek guesses.

"Nope."

"Fullback?"

"Nope."

"Nancy, come on."

"No position," she says levelly. "Christian plays soccer, not football."

"What is that supposed to prove?" Derek shakes his head with annoyance.

Nancy just continues, undeterred.

"Who did Alice play in Rent?" she asks.

"Another trick question!" he says triumphantly, pleased to have the correct answer at last. "She's too young to be in Rent."

"No … that one was a real question. She played Maureen."

"In Rent. Really?" Derek frowns. "Isn't that a … weighty choice for a middle school play?"

"They're in a progressive school," Nancy says with dignity, "and she's in tenth grade, Derek, not middle school! Now do you see what I mean?"

Derek glares at the tablecloth instead of answering.

He hears rather than sees Nancy push her chair back.

"We missed you, Derek," she says gently, resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "That's all I'm saying."

..

He sits alone at the table for a few minutes, stewing, before moving to the couch.

For more stewing.

Everyone leaves him alone, a miracle in this house and evidence that everyone here, too, is on Addison's side.

He's busy feeling sorry for himself when Nancy's youngest skips into the room.

"Hi," Ellie says cheerfully. She's wearing pajamas printed with turtles look a little too big for her, holding up a book and smiling at him. "Wanna read to me?"

At least someone in this house likes him, he thinks grumpily as his small niece climbs onto his lap.

It's a battered copy of The Cat in the Hat that probably belonged to Alice, if not Nancy herself, first. There are a few torn pages suggesting Amy once got her hands on it as well.

If there's a way to stay grumpy while reading Dr. Seuss, Derek hasn't discovered it.

Ellie is laughing and beaming up at him as he supplies the different voices he's perfected for his nieces and nephews over the years.

"Read it again!" she cries happily when he finishes, cuddling into him.

"Oh, if you insist." He tugs lightly on one of her dark curls and she giggles.

The second time, he finds himself getting into the story too. Sally and her brother are just trying to go about their lives while the Cat makes things increasingly more chaotic for them.

He's never empathized more.

"I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny," he reads, "but we can have lots of good fun that is funny."

"That's funny," Eleanor giggles. "You're funny."

She smiling up at him, and sure, Dr. Seuss may be the funny one – but Dr. Shepherd is willing to take the credit, just tonight.

"More!" she demands, tapping the book with one little finger.

..

In open kitchen archway, too quietly to be seen, Addison is watching her husband read to their niece: two dark heads bent together, laughing over the funny words and pictures. Ellie is cuddled trustingly on Derek's lap, and when she's not pointing at illustrations or turning pages, she grips one of her uncle's much bigger hands with her tiny one.

Addison has to swallow hard.

"They're sweet together, aren't they?" Nancy asks softly.

Surprised, Addison turns around – she didn't hear her sister-in-law approaching. Her throat is too thick to do anything but nod.

Nancy seems to understand, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Together, they watch as Derek makes his nieces laugh with his dramatic picture book skills.

Ellie's bell-like laugh carries across the living room, taking Addison's breath away.

"This is what I wanted," she whispers to Nancy, feeling her heart swell.

"I know." Nancy hugs her fully this time. "I know you did, Addie. And I know … that he wanted it too."

"I told him I wasn't ready." She brushes impatiently at her eyes. This isn't the time for this conversation, and yet … "I was scared," she admits to Nancy. "And now I'm afraid … I don't think I'm ever going to get the chance again."

"Addie, you have the chance right now," Nancy murmurs.

Addison shakes her head. "Things aren't easy right now, Nance. Derek isn't exactly thrilled with me … wincing aside."

"He knows you're sorry?" Nancy asks tentatively.

"I think so."

"Then maybe all you need to do is – "

But Addison doesn't find out what she needs to do, because a yelp from the living room interrupts her conversation with Nancy.

By the time Addison and Nancy get to their side, Ellie is standing in front of Derek with her eyes wide.

Addison looks down at the large wet spot on Derek's pants, where Ellie was sitting.

"Ooh, sorry about that," Nancy says, her tone casual. "Toilet training is a learning curve."

"Sorry." Ellie gazes sadly at her uncle.

"It's okay," Derek says.

"It's just an accident," Nancy assures her. "And Uncle Derek's pants are washable."

Ellie looks hopeful. "More book?" she asks.

"Maybe once you're all cleaned up." Nancy grabs her wriggling toddler before she can escape, then calls for her husband.

She passes Ellie to her father, who looks at Derek's wet pants apologetically.

"Eric, honey, you have something Derek can wear, don't you?" Nancy asks.

"Sure. Derek, help yourself to anything you find in the bedroom. My closet's on the left."

..

Derek frowns into the mirror, gripping the waistband of yet another oversized pair of pants

Eric has a good six inches and probably seventy-five pounds on him, and despite his brother-in-law's indefatigable good cheer, help yourself to anything you find has resulted in anything that he can keep around his waist.

When a pair of rugby sweats slide down to his ankles despite being rolled three times at his middle, he despairs of finding anything.

He's about to give up when he finally finds a pair of sweatpants that stay up – they're lilac, which isn't exactly his color, but they end just above his ankles and they don't turn him into a flasher, so he's satisfied.

… until he gets back to the living room.

"Derek, why are you wearing my sweatpants?" Nancy asks.

His cheeks flush. "I found them on Eric's side of the room," he says defensively.

Nancy raises an eyebrow. "Do you really want me to get into that?"

"No," he says quickly. "But they're – they fit fine."

"I roll over the waistband," Nancy says; it's apparently her turn to flush.

"So how was I supposed to know they're yours?"

"Well, they do say Juicy on the … back," Nancy says, gesturing.

"They do?"

Addison is laughing, covering her mouth with her hand, and he glares at her, still trying to twist around to see what they mean. All he can make out is a little swirl of silver.

"How am I supposed to know what it says? I can't see my own … back," he scowls.

"Derek, it's fine," Nancy says soothingly. "No one will notice."

Just then Ellie appears in dry pajamas, beaming, holding her father's hand. She points to Derek with a big grin. "Mama's pants!" she says happily.

"Addison …" Derek mutters as Nancy shoos Eric and Eleanor out of the living room.

"Derek, it's fine."

"A toddler knows I'm wearing my sister's pants."

"True, but remember those red corduroy pants you had when you were little, with the denim hearts on the knees?"

"I try not to," he says with dignity.

Addison actually looks nostalgic. She's always getting all … gooey and girly over pictures of him as a little boy. "Well, those were Nancy's, weren't they?" she prods.

"Yes," he admits, "and Kathy's … and Lizzie's before that. But hand-me-downs are different."

"Why?"

"Because they are," he says impatiently. Addison's mouth is twitching and he glares at her. "I'm glad this amuses you so much."

"Derek, I'm sorry, but you can't blame this one on me. You're the one who picked out the pants," she says.

But apparently his misery gets to her, because she reaches up a hand to touch his face. "Honey, it's really not a big deal."

He doesn't respond.

"Look, do you want me to put on something embarrassing too?" she asks gently. "Would that make you feel better?"

"Actually … I think it would."

..

Addison's offer turns out to be more complicated than they realized.

"It's not her fault that she looks good in everything," Nancy says when Derek gets annoyed that the fifth outfit she tries on – an animal print bridesmaid dress Nancy wore in 1993 – makes her look glamorously vintage rather than comical.

"No one looks good in everything," Derek scowls, but some of the sting comes out of his words when he turns away in annoyance and they're reminded of the silver-script Juicy printed across his lilac-covered behind.

"Aunt Addie does," Alice says. She's been helping, supplying her field hockey uniform – but it looked perfectly fine, and when Addison murmured something in his ear about boarding school, he realized it would be a bad idea.

Alice, ever the helpful eldest, stuck around the bedroom to help critique, though – particularly pleased when Nancy's colorful aerobics gear that hadn't been aired in ten years came out to greet them.

"Thank you, honey," Addison says to her niece, "but Uncle Derek's right. No one looks good in everything. We just haven't found the right … thing yet."

Derek tries his hardest to suppress an eye roll at his wife's feigned modesty. He reminds himself to tease her about it later.

… except tease and later both remind him of things he shouldn't be thinking about.

"I've got it!"

They all turn to Alice, who's beaming. "My costume!" she says. "From the play! Remember, the really squeaky one that everybody – "

"Perfect." Nancy nods decisively. "Alice, take Aunt Addie to your room and help her put on the … costume."

..

It's a while before Addison and Alice emerge from her room, but when they do, the reason for the time it took becomes clear to everyone present.

"Don't you dare laugh," Addison says to Derek immediately through gritted teeth, her cheeks flushed pink.

Laugh wasn't his first instinct.

But okay.

Because Addison is glaring at him from within shiny, head-to-toe black leather.

Tight leather.

Very tight leather.

Skintight pants cover her long legs, and on top – he looks away quickly, then looks back: a – shirt, no, a tank top, no – something else entirely. It's got thin straps with silver studs on it and a silver zipper in the middle of it – presumably the way it got on, although it looks as if it's been painted. To call it tight would be an understatement – it looks rather like a corset.

"Are you happy now?" she demands. "Leather pants?"

"They're pleather, actually," Alice says brightly. "'Cause Maureen's a vegetarian. But they look like leather, don't they?" She gazes at the costume fondly.

Nancy looks at Derek, who looks at Eric, who looks at Alice, who looks at Christian, who looks at Johanna.

Then they all look at Addison.

"I can barely breathe in this outfit," Addison says darkly. She turns, with some effort, to Derek. "Are you satisfied?"

Oh, he's pretty sure she doesn't want the answer to that question.

"I'm going to suffocate in these pants," Addison moans before he can respond.

Derek rolls his eyes at her typical display of melodrama.

"Do you breathe with your legs?" he asks.

"I don't know, Juicy, do you see with your eyes?" she snaps in return.

"Look, you're the one who decided to dress up like a … vegan streetwalker … "

"What's a streetwalker?" asks Johanna, who must be around eleven by now.

Derek winces, having forgotten about their audience.

"Never mind," Nancy says, glaring at Derek.

"Is it like a prostitute?" Johanna asks with interest.

Derek hides his smirk.

Addison opens her mouth for a retort, then closes it again. "Never mind," she says with dignity, repeating Nancy's words.

Then there's a loud, squeaking sound as Addison tries to lower herself onto the couch.

And fails.

She stays halfway down with slightly bent knees and a look of extreme frustration before Nancy and Alice rush in to each take one of her arms and basically – tip her over onto the couch.

Supine, her long red hair a pop of color across white skin and black leather – or rather pleather – Addison exhales with exaggerated resignation.

"Nancy … how long did you say it would take for Derek's jeans to be washed?"

..

A long time, apparently.

Long enough for Ellie, Claire, and the spare to go to bed and the older children to retire to their rooms while Nancy and Eric finish the kitchen clean up and Addison offers to help, but can't get enough momentum in the pleather pants to get off the couch.

Derek stands over her for a moment in the living room, amused at how much his wife currently resembles a bug on its back.

Well, a bug on its back if it were dressed up as … a vegan streetwalker.

Then he feels a little guilty. It was kind of her, wasn't it, to offer to dress in her own embarrassing outfit? The next time he looks at her, it's with reluctant fondness, even though her chest is still visibly flushed with annoyance at him.

"Addie …"

Then he stops feeling guilty, because she's managed to swivel enough to kick him with one pointy-toed heel.

"Hey!" He catches her foot. "Nancy's sweats don't have a lot of protection, so if you could avoid gelding me, I'd really appreciate it."

"It's not like you're going to be using it tonight," Addison reminds him darkly. She wriggles the lower half of her leg faintly, which seems to take effort in the pants. "Let go of my foot."

"Are you going to kick me again?"

"Truthfully?" Addison looks up at him, her eyes huge and innocent. "I'm going to try," she says.

"I figured." Derek releases her foot anyway, taking a long step back to get out of striking range. "I'm going to go help Nancy and Eric while you … cool off."

"Very funny." Addison seems to be trying to sit up, but fails again. The effort doesn't result in much progress, but straining her torso does push her breasts higher in the ridiculous pleather corset top.

"You know," he says, his eyes skimming over her, "that outfit really isn't so bad."

"Enjoy it," Addison snaps, "because you're never seeing me naked again."

"That'll be the day."

"Are you calling me easy?" she asks, outraged.

"I don't know, Addie, were you recently arrested for public sex?"

"Innocent until proven guilty," she says with cold dignity. "I'm still an American."

"And I'm still – "

"Oh, just shut up and help me sit up," she interrupts.

He considers leaving her there – maybe it would help her be a little nicer to him – but he takes pity on her in the end and hoists her into a sitting position, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the shiny pleather.

She sits stiffly and he's fairly certain she's not going to be able to get up on her own, but she seems satisfied.

"I'm going to go help Nancy and Eric," he says.

"You do that." She pauses. "Derek, wait."

"What is it?"

"Can you pass me my drink?"

He reaches for her glass.

"On second thought – can you pass me the bottle?"

..

Nancy and Eric are standing at the sink when he enters the kitchen, their heads close together – or as close as anyone's head can get to Eric's sky-high one.

They part after exchanging a spousal look Derek can't read, and Eric heads out of the room.

"Everything okay?"

Nancy nods, leaning back against the counter. "Chris is … having a hard time."

"What's wrong with him?" Derek asks nervously.

"Nothing. I mean, he's in eighth grade."

Derek nods.

"It's a tough age. He's starting high school next year. I was actually – hoping you could talk to him."

"Me?" Derek is puzzled. "Don't you think he'd rather talk to Eric?"

"Believe me, Eric's tried. You know Christian has always looked up to you," she reminds Derek, who is touched in spite of himself. "I know you have your own stuff to deal with it, but it would really mean a lot if you could – "

"Of course I'll talk to him." Derek cuts his sister off before she can get any more … emotional and girly.

"Thank you." Nancy gives him a quick hug. "Chris's room is at the end of the hall – I know, I know, you remember. Just, uh, make sure to knock first.

..

Derek has always felt particularly close to Christian. He's the lone boy in his family with four sisters – and Derek knows exactly how that feels.

He knocks on his nephew's door with some combination of confidence and nerves.

"My mom asked you to talk to me, didn't she," Chris says glumly without looking up from his bed, where he's flopped on his stomach.

"She did," Derek admits.

"You don't have to," Christian says without looking at him.

"I know. But I want to." Derek pulls out his nephew's rolling desk chair and sits down. "What's going on, Chris?"

"Nothing."

Derek accepts the teenaged answer. "You're … starting high school next year," he tries, tentatively.

"Don't remind me."

Derek considers what might help his nephew open up. "Is there – anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

"Okay." Derek leans back, crossing his legs.

"I mean, yes … but no."

Derek can relate to that.

"Your mom said you didn't want to talk to your dad about it," Derek tries this time.

Chris sits up, shoving his messy hair out of his eyes. Slowly, he nods.

"How come?" Derek asks.

Christian sighs, then stands up and beckons to his uncle to follow.

Derek follows his nephew into the hallway, where Nancy – true to her mother's example – has also covered the walls in framed family photographs.

"Because this is my dad in high school," Christian says, pointing to a photograph so perfectly centered, styled, and white-tooth-smiled it could pass for the picture that comes in the frame when you buy it. Sure enough, Derek recognizes a younger Eric standing in the middle next to a striking girl who must be his sister and another ridiculously tall, muscular teenager who must be his brother. They all look tanned, rugged, sporty … and happy.

"And this," Christian continues, moving slightly down the wall and pointing again, "is you in high school."

Derek doesn't have to look to recognize the photo. It's one his mother took of the five of them, standing in a clump in the backyard. A younger Nancy is glaring at the camera – understandably, because she was apparently given the task of wrestling little Amy into submission for the photograph. Amy, of course, has her small face screwed up and her tongue sticking out. Liz and Kathleen flank them and in the middle is Derek.

He's wearing a shirt that's too large for him and just emphasizes his skinny frame. His arms are noodles, his hair a wild brillo pad, and the orthodontia his mother saved up for had definitely not kicked in yet.

Christian looks up at him mournfully. "See what I mean?"

"I see what you mean." Derek can't smile, not when his nephew is taking this so seriously. "So – let's talk?"

Christian nods, and leads him back to his bedroom.

"I can't start high school," Chris says as soon as they're back in his room, the door safely shut. "I'm too short and girls don't like me and my hair is stupid and I have braces and Kyle Hart has already kissed two girls."

Derek just nods, listening, as the rest of it pours out.

"Jo has a boyfriend and she's only twelve," Chris continues. "They don't, like, do anything," he adds, possibly off Derek's expression, "but that's not the point. No girls are ever going to like me."

"I don't think that – "

"You have to say that," Chris sighs. "I get it. But you don't understand. Last year the girls were just regular. But then this year they're all, like … pretty."

Derek remembers that feeling well. He's fairly certain it happened overnight for him. One day he and Mark were playing pick-up basketball after school and trading baseball cards and the next it seemed like everyone woke up in a different world, where girls like Susie Pembroke and Laura Roberts, who he'd known and ignored since kindergarten, were suddenly taller than he was with bra straps and stockings and perfume and all of a sudden they were all he could think about.

"Girls get taller before boys do," Derek says. "You'll catch up. Even if it doesn't seem that way now."

"I might get taller," Chris says darkly, "but none of the girls will ever like me. Not when Kyle and Greyson are around."

He looks despairing.

"Chris. Do you think Aunt Addie is pretty?"

"Yes," he admits, his cheeks flushing pink, "but not, like, in a weird way, I swear …"

Derek lifts a hand to cut him off. "I know. I'm just saying, you saw that picture of me in high school. But things improved enough for Aunt Addie to be willing to go out with me a few years later."

Fine, it's slightly more than a few, but he's counting on Chris's distress to outweigh his mathematical skills.

"Oh." Chris's eyes are almost hopeful. "But … how did you … improve things?"

"Time," Derek says. "Time improves things. That – and hair product. I'm thinking you need to get a hair regimen," he adds, studying his nephew's wild curls. "Maybe we can figure one out tonight."

"Really?" Chris asks eagerly. "'cause I remember you said that once, the hair regimen thing, when you and Aunt Addie were fighting over whose turn it was for the blowdryer at the beach house, and she said – "

"I remember," Derek interrupts quickly.

"So I asked my dad what his hair regiment was and he was kind of confused and said when he wakes up in the morning he kinda goes like this." Chris runs both his hands briefly through his hair, causing a cacophony of dark spiral curls to fall every which way.

Derek and his nephew exchange a meaningful look. Of course Eric just wakes up with his luxurious dark hair perfectly style-able with no effort at all.

"Well, everyone's hair is different," Derek says.

"Yeah, mine sucks." Chris looks glum again.

"I thought mine … sucked when I was your age too." Derek touches his current hair, which he's not vain enough to say is outstanding, but he can't lie either. "But now …"

Chris looks up at him.

"Let's just say it gets a lot of high grades."

"From girls?" Chris asks eagerly.

Derek nods. "I'm telling you … hair regimen."

Chris nods, his expression resolute.

"I'm ready."

..

A little while and a few pilfered bottles of product from various bathroom cabinets later, they're done.

Chris pats his hair gingerly, looking at his reflection. "I think it's better," he says.

"I know it is."

"It actually looks kind of … good." Chris smiles shyly at him. "Thanks, Uncle Derek."

"Any time." Derek smiles back at him. "We guys have to stick together in this family," he reminds his nephew. "We're severely outnumbered."

Chris nods ruefully. "My sisters always have friends over," he tells his uncle meaningfully.

Derek nods, understanding immediately. "When I was your age, my friends used to tell me that their older sisters' friends would come over and … they'd flirt with them. Me, I was way too shy for that."

Chris nods quickly, then stops, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Not that they would have noticed," Derek says. "My sisters' friends … either ignored me, or made fun of me. And not in a flirty way," he adds.

Chris ponders this. "What about my dad?" he asks. "He was my mom's friend, right?"

Derek smiles at him. "Not your dad," he says truthfully. "Your dad was always nice to me, from the very first time your mom brought him home for everyone to meet. And my hair was extremely frizzy that night – there was a thunderstorm on the whole eastern seaboard."

"Oh." Chris looks a little mollified.

"Your dad is a really good guy," Derek says.

It's true. Privately, Derek has always thought he'd model whatever parenting he's forgotten from his own father on Eric's style. But there's no need to share that with Chris. He hasn't actually shared it with anyone before.

"I know," Chris sighs. "I know he's a good guy. He's really good at everything. And I'm not. And I'm short."

"You're only short for this apartment," Derek says. "Not for the rest of the world."

"I'm the shortest McGuff in four generations," Chris says mournfully. "I didn't even try out for football 'cause I'm too small. I'm stuck playing soccer."

"I thought you liked soccer."

"I do," Chris says. "But still." He looks pained. "Johanna's already taller than I am."

"Well, being really tall when you're a girl isn't the easiest road either," Derek says gently.

"Yeah, so I should be the tall one and Jo can be short."

Derek smiles. "That's not really how it works."

"I bet my dad wishes it worked that way." Chris scowls at his bedspread. "I bet he doesn't want a shrimpy son."

"Your dad loves you," Derek says. "I doubt he cares one bit that you're the – " he tries to remember – "shortest McGuff in four generations. He wasn't the one who told you that, was he?"

"No," Chris admits. "It was one of my dumb cousins."

Derek nods.

"My dad thinks I'm perfect just the way I am," and Chris says the words with disdain.

Derek nods again, sympathetically.

Suddenly Christian sits up, his expression anxious. "Uncle Derek? Is it, like … insensitive of me to complain about my dad, 'cause you and Mom and them don't have yours?"

"No." Derek smiles at his nephew. "Actually, it's pretty sensitive of you to even think about that."

Christian smiles faintly.

Then he pauses.

"Uncle Derek?" he asks. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Sure."

"Are you and Aunt Addie getting a divorce?"

"No," Derek says quickly, while he tries to figure out what his nephew might have heard. "We're not. Why do you ask that?"

"Something I heard my mom say," Chris says. "Not to me."

"Well, we're not getting a divorce," Derek says. "We live … somewhere else now, but we came back together to visit."

… that's a cleaned-up version of their trip to New York if he's ever heard one, but he hopes it will do.

"We haven't seen you guys in forever," Chris says after a moment.

His freckled face looks very young in the moment, and Derek feels a stab of guilt. Closing the door on his life in New York, quite literally in Addison's face, felt very right at the time.

He might have forgotten how many people were behind that door.

"I wanted to talk to you," Chris admits, "but you never came over."

"I'm sorry." Derek reaches out instinctively to tousle the much-improved hair on his nephew's head, then draws back his hand when he recalls how much work went into those careful tousles. "I know it's different, now that I'm living so far away. But you can call, if you want. Or email."

"My mom said you never picked up when she called. A bunch of times."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "She said that to you?"

"No," Chris admits. "But she did say it. So I figured you didn't want to talk to us."

Derek sighs, trying to figure out how to answer. "I didn't … not want to talk to you," he says finally. "I was getting some space."

"From my mom?"

"From New York," he says. "But that was then, and this is now. If you call me, I'll pick up. Unless I'm working. But if I'm working, I'll call you back. And the same goes for your mom. Okay?"

"Okay," Christian says, looking happier now. He touches his hair self-consciously. "Do girls really like curly hair?"

Derek considers the last six months of his life. "Too many girls," he says.

Chris grins. "Uncle Derek – can I ask you one more question?"

"You can ask me whatever you want." Derek smiles at his nephew, still riding the wave of good uncle-ing. "Is this something else about girls?"

"No. Well, kind of. But also kind of the opposite."

"Oh." Derek isn't sure what he means, but he gives his nephew an encouraging nod.

"Okay." Chris takes a deep breath. "So Kyle said something about peach pie, and Jackson knows how to bake, but the thing is that I'm allergic to stone fruits …"

..

Derek staggers out of his nephew's room feeling like he needs a drink.

Or seven.

Or, taking a page from his wife's book … just the whole bottle.

..

Addison, alone on the living room couch, is still trying to figure out how to get enough mobility to cross her legs. Not crossing her legs just feels – wrong. At least her mother isn't here to see it.

Although her mother's reaction to seeing her in this outfit would probably be full-on apoplexy, so maybe it would be worth it …

"You can't cross your legs."

Addison looks up at the interruption to see her niece giving her a knowing look. "Alice! This costume is impossible to move in."

"I know." Alice sits down next to her. "I wore it for three shows. I had to dance in it and everything."

"You were incredible, though," Addison says. "I saw the whole thing."

"You did?"

"Of course I did. Your mom sent me the video. I wish I could have been there in person, but – ." Addison stops talking.

But they live in Seattle now.

"My best friend played Roger," Alice tells her.

"Kiera," Addison says, unsurprised. "I remember her. How is she doing?"

"She's good." Alice settles back against the couch, smiling. "What was your favorite part?" she asks.

"Your big number, of course." Addison smiles at her niece. Watching the DVD Nancy sent on her laptop while she sat alone in the rain-spattered trailer was actually a high point of her time in Seattle. It was last month, and she was feeling raw and emotional already – enough so that she cried through half the high school play. It was a combination of the tragic subject matter and the innocence of its performers, she's pretty sure.

Maybe a little of her own grief thrown in for good measure.

"Aunt Addie?"

"Hm?" Addison smiles at her niece.

"Do you like living in Seattle?"

"Honestly?" Addison tries to lean back on the couch and fails, the pleather holding her up like a suit of armor. "Not really."

Alice smiles a little. "Then how come you're living there?"

"Because Uncle Derek lives there," Addison says truthfully. Her niece may only be fifteen, but she has some of her mother's demeanor: it compels information.

"Oh." Alice considers this. "That kind of sucks."

You said it, sister.

"It's okay. It's, you know, starting somewhere new, and that can be – " Addison stops talking. "Never mind. I'd rather hear how you're doing. How's school? You must have a lot of free time now that the play's over."

"Not really." Alice draws her legs up under her. "I'm helping to organize the Sex Positivity Fair this year and there's so much to do. I was actually hoping to talk to you about it."

Addison glances around the room, feeling a little trapped. "You mean about … fundraising … or?"

Alice shakes her head.

"Oh." Addison pauses. "Honey, I'm happy to – um – talk to you, but you know, your mom knows a lot about … this kind of thing."

"Aunt Addie, that is disgusting." Alice shakes her head. "Like seriously gross. She's my mom."

Addison smiles weakly.

"And anyway, she's totally hung up about this stuff. You'd think someone with five kids would be a little more sex positive."

"Right." Addison feels herself flushing. "So – sure. Tell me all about it."

When Alice starts to talk, Addison starts to wish she'd never agreed to wear pleather.

The outfit is making it impossible to do what she'd like to do: get up and run away.

Fast.

"Aunt Addie?" Alice is looking at her expectantly.

"Um. Can you go over that last part again?"

"You mean the part where the headmaster said we could only order one box of dental dams, but then Kiera and Stu did the PowerPoint presentation?"

"Yes … that part," Addison says after a moment. With some effort, she lifts a hand to massage the tight muscles in her neck, but unfortunately she can't quite reach them in her pleather getup.

..

"… and you're right, copper IUDs are making a comeback." Addison massages the tight muscles in her neck. She has a headache, and she could really use a drink. Or ten. "But Alice, honey, like I said, you should really run this by your mom … ."

"I'm not going to do that."

"She's very open-minded."

"Um, no she's not, first of all, have you met her? And second of all, she's like obsessed with hormonal birth control and that stuff fucks you up." She pauses. "Sorry, I mean screws you up. We're really more into natural methods."

So was your grandmother and she had five kids.

Addison just nods. "Well, I think it's great that the girls in your class are so – open-minded."

"It's a co-ed club, Aunt Addie."

"The girls and … boys," she corrects herself.

"They're guys, not boys," Alice says. She's patient and kind with her corrections, like when Addison used to help her remember which side of the fork to hold.

Which was not that long ago.

My, how things have changed.

Alice's smile has turned a little shy, and her aunt picks up on the change in tone.

"And is there anyone special?" Addison asks, innocently. "Any of the guys in the club, I mean?"

"I'm bi," Alice says.

"By what?"

"Bisexual." Alice shakes her head. "Aunt Addie, you are not really keeping up. I already told you about how my ex-girlfriend is president of the All Sexualities Alliance and she's threatening to have her fundraising on the same day 'cause she's still pissed about what happened at the protest."

"You did. Right." Addison must have been praying for the conversation to end then and missed it, somehow, between pleas to whatever god was listening.

"And now my boyfriend is mad because the Vegan Network can't use the social hall while we're setting up. But I think it's really because his ex-boyfriend is trying to sabotage his run for head of Student Policy Sub-Committee, which is completely unfair because … . "

..

Addison runs right into Derek in one of the winding hallways. As in, directly into him.

It's been quite a journey.

When Alice finally finished her story, she was kind enough to help haul Addison into a standing position, and she immediately turned pleather tail to run for the hills.

Or at least the halls.

Derek doesn't look much better than she feels. His eyes are wide, his face pale.

"Are you okay?" she asks immediately.

"I'm … okay." He looks at her for a moment. "Are you okay?" he asks in return. "You're all … pale."

"Well, so are you."

"Yeah." He grips the back of his neck for a moment. "I was, uh, I was talking to Christian."

"Ah." It makes sense now. "I was talking to Alice."

They're both quiet for a moment.

"They're really … growing up," Addison says faintly.

Derek grimaces.

"Is it just me … or do you think teenagers make toilet training look easy?" she asks after a moment.

"It's not just you. I was thinking the same thing," he says, "and I sacrificed a good pair of jeans to the difficulties of toilet training."

She smiles a little. "I like those jeans."

"Good thing they're washable."

His eyes are soft, and she moves to touch his face, her pants squeaking as she does so.

"I'm sorry I made you wear those … things," Derek says ruefully, eyeing her pleather outfit.

"I'm not." Addison smiles a little. "I mean, they're not exactly comfortable and I think Alice might end up in therapy but … if it made you feel better about your pants, then I think it was worth it."

Derek cocks his head. "That's … strangely sweet."

"I'm sweet." She leans back a little to see him better, frowning slightly. "Don't you think I'm sweet?"

He brushes back some of her hair and tastes her lips, gently. She lets him before fending him off, but can't help smiling at the expression on his face.

"You're right," he says. "Sweet."

"It's Nancy's cake."

"Nancy's razor-free cake."

They're both quiet for a moment.

Derek reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. She turns her palm into his hand. It's nice feeling on the same team for a moment, even if she can barely move, she's fairly certain she's breaking out in a pleather rash, and Derek's Juicy-emblazoned backside is equally emblazoned in her memory.

His thumb traces her ear and she feels a shiver run through her that has nothing to do with the strapless pleather top she's wearing.

"Derek …"

"Hm?"

"I could go … see if your jeans are dry," she offers. Her mouth is a little dry, in fact.

"You could," he said. He's just – looking at her, in the dim hallway light. They can hear sounds from the other rooms, but the apartment is huge and cavernous, and they're alone in the hallway.

"Do you want me to go see if your jeans are dry?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Okay." She smiles at him and he shifts the hand touching her face so he's cupping her jaw, and draws her closer.

She sighs against his mouth. Everything feels better when they're touching, and everything else goes away: the gallery of pictures that left Derek so tense, the issues between them that they still haven't discussed, even the confusing sexual politics of their niece's progressive secondary school.

Derek's hands are sliding over her bare arms. She can't melt into him the way she'd like; the costume is too stiff.

A sudden musical note rings out in the hallway.

"Nancy's dryer!" Addison's eyes light up. "Your stuff is dry. Which means I can change. Fair's fair."

Derek looks a little confused.

"Can you help me get this outfit off?" she asks.

He doesn't look confused anymore.

He looks … determined.

..

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

"We can explain," Addison says in a small voice. She can't see Nancy exactly, but she can hear her.

Derek can see his sister, though. Her hands are on her hips, outlined in the now-open bathroom door, and she's glaring at both of them.

"I'm sure you can," Nancy says coolly. "Go on. I've heard them all."

"Nancy, wait. That's not – look, I realize how this looks," Derek says, gesturing at Addison, who is currently splayed face down on the bathmat while Derek, straddling her prone form, yanks at the waistband of her pleather pants. Each yank pulls her body up into a bow shape, but the pants haven't budged yet.

"Do you?" Nancy asks, sounding very unconvinced.

"Yes," Derek says firmly. "But the thing is, I just trying to take Addison's pants off."

"Oh, just that?"

"No, you don't understand. My jeans are dry, and we were going to change, but – she's stuck," Derek says.

"Only a little stuck," Addison interrupts as Derek tugs again, lifting her half off the floor. Her voice is faint; the blood is starting to rush to her head.

"Addie." Derek is trying to move her more upright now. "Are you okay in there?"

"I'm okay. I think."

"So she really is stuck," Nancy says.

"She really is stuck." Derek sits back on his heels, resting a hand on Addison's pleather-covered leg. "They seem to have shrunk or something. And they might be cutting off her circulation. So – can you help?"

"I guess I can try."

She does try, to her credit.

It does not, unfortunately, work.

None of it.

Pulling doesn't work.

Peeling doesn't work.

Yanking definitely doesn't work, though it does make Addison shriek at impressively eardrum-splitting levels.

Moisturizer doesn't work.

Baby oil doesn't work either, but by this time Addison is so slippery that she slides out of Derek's grip and knocks her funny bone on the side of the tub.

"Fuck."

"Stop, that's how you ended up in this mess," Nancy scolds while Derek alternately glares at her and massages the sore spot on Addison's elbow.

"We're going to get you out of there, don't worry." Derek gives Addison what he hopes is an encouraging smile. Secretly, he's starting to think they're never going to get her out of there. The material will just adhere to her skin forever, and he'll spend the rest of their lives in Seattle explaining to people why his wife is half human and half a sentient pair of leather pants.

More oil.

"Nance … your bathmat," Addison bleats.

"Oh, don't worry. This bathroom is slated for demo tomorrow," Nancy says. "We're redoing it from scratch. So you picked the right one. No one will see this mess except the contractor."

Addison and Derek exchange a glance. Picking the right anything seems like a stretch … but they'll take it.

And speaking of stretch …

"Ow! My legs don't bend that way!" Addison shrieks, and Derek heroically refrains from comment … since his sister is listening.

"Can't you just try to – "

But the material snaps back tighter than ever. Addison groans, hiding her face in her hands.

"Okay, that it." Nancy sits back on her heels. "I'm going to get my pinking shears."

"Don't let her cut off my legs," Addison whispers, extracting a promise from her husband with minimal effort – then again, he has his own dog in that race.

Nancy returns shortly with a pair of massive pinking shears.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Addison asks nervously.

"Addie, how many C-sections have I done?"

"A lot, but the point here is to not cut me open." Addison turns to her husband for support.

"Nance … are you sure about this?" he asks, to her satisfaction.

"Yes, Derek, I'm sure about this." Nancy props a hand on her hip. "Remember all those paper dolls Kathy and I used to cut out?"

"The stakes were a little lower there."

"Not exactly. I mean, Kathleen was involved, and you know what she's like."

"True."

Brother and sister reminisce silently, together, for a moment.

"Okay, I consent. Start cutting, please, because I'm starting to lose circulation in my legs," Addison interrupts at last.

"Fine, but you have to let me cut without – "

"It's too close to my skin!" Addison squeaks.

"Yeah, skintight isn't just an adjective."

"You're going to cut me."

"I am if you don't hold still," Nancy grits.

"Derek!" Addison grabs his arm with panicked fingers.

"She's not going to cut you," he assures her, then turns to Nancy. "Do you mind?" he asks.

"Do I mind – cutting my daughter's theatre costume off my sister-in-law, who put it on because my brother is wearing my sweatpants? Is that what you're asking if I mind?"

Addison and Derek exchange a look. When she puts it that way ….

..

And that's how Nancy ends up on the floor with the pair of them, Derek half supporting Addison and half guiding the pinking shears. Addison, for her part, has her eyes squeezed tightly shut, occasionally contributing encouragement in the form of whispering to Derek that the rest of his night isn't going to be much fun if Nancy ends up nicking an artery.

Finally – painstakingly, and even terrifyingly – she's free.

"I'll buy Alice a new costume," Addison says meekly. She's rubbing her very slippery, slightly sore legs.

"Don't worry about it." Nancy stands up. "You want to shower, or – never mind," she says quickly. "Just – here." She tosses Addison a towel, then strides out with one last warning look tossed over her shoulder.

Derek helps her wipe the moisturizer and oil off her legs.

Or he intends to.

But when he starts to swipe at the combined unguents, one hand just slides down the slippery skin of her thigh while the other grips the slick surface of her calf and she lets out a soft little sound – not a moan, but not not a moan either.

"Sorry." She flushes a little. "My legs are – a little stiff from those stupid pants."

He doesn't offer, and she doesn't ask.

But her eyes are big and blue in this light, beseeching, and he finds both hands at work on her legs, massaging feeling back into them. His palms slide easily over their familiar shape, easing the tension.

She sighs with relief as her muscles loosen. His palms are warm and sure.

She feels better.

A lot better.

A lot less tense.

Except a different kind of tension is starting to emerge.

She shifts on the thick mat. "Derek …"

He laughs a little, pressing his lips the inside of one thigh, then lifting her other leg in his hand to kiss the perfect shape of her calf muscle.

"Don't tease," she whispers.

"Who's teasing?" He props one leg on his shoulder and leans closer, brushing his fingers between her thighs. She gasps a little when he touches a sensitive spot.

"We're still at Nancy's."

"Oh, I know that." Derek glances up. "But I did lock the door."

"You're still wearing Nancy's sweatpants," Addison points out.

"So take them off," he says.

Her cheeks flush. "Actually … I kind of like them on." She reaches out and grips his hips, one of her hands wandering to see if she can trace the word Juicy stamped in un-Derek-like fashion across the seat of said pants.

He lets her for a little while, then captures her hand and kisses her palm.

Her gaze slides down to the front of the sweatpants. "Maybe Nancy will let you keep them," she suggests.

"At this rate … she probably should." He eases down next to her.

"Sorry I keep frustrating you," Addison says. Her eyes are downcast toward the part of her body she's apparently decided is a traitor, though he's loath to attach any negative word to it.

Not when it's one of his favorite places, bar none.

"Who says I'm frustrated?" he asks, swallowing hard when one of her nimble hands cups him through the thick material of the sweatpants while the other starts pulling at the drawstring holding them up.

He captures her hands again, enjoying the way she feels against him as she wriggles, trying to free them. He slides his free hand down, admiring the pink lace joining the tops of her thighs. It's pale, peachy, like an extension of her rosy skin.

"I bought them for you," she says when she catches him looking.

"Pink isn't really my color."

"Very funny." She tilts her head a little, her hair falling to the side. "You don't like them?"

"You know that's not true." He's tracing the edges of the lace boundary while she watches him, intently. One finger slips inside the fabric and she gulps when it brushes against her, first very gently and then more insistently. He kisses her, swallowing a moan as he draws back his hand so he can lift her, settling her on his lap while he leans back against the oversized bathtub.

She looks almost amused, her eyes heavy-lidded, as she leans in close to kiss him back. It's slow and long and he tastes the depth of red wine on her lips. He catches her lower lip between his teeth when she starts to end the kiss, pulling her back. A little sound escapes her and he swears he can feel her getting heavier on his lap. He knows what that means – that little sound, the boneless weight of her – and when he slips a hand between their bodies the heat is practically enough to burn him.

If that weren't enough – the things she's whispering to him might just kill him.

"We need to wait," he reminds her.

"Just do it."

"Just do it?" He frowns. "I'm not a machine … remember?"

"I know that." She shifts on his lap, trying to get more friction. He lets her, concentrating instead on the top half of her body. The pink lace may be all Addison but the black leather bustier with its weird zipper is … something else entirely.

She looks down, her expression doubtful. "It's ridiculous. I know."

"I didn't say that." He studies the shirt – if it can be called a shirt – again. It's heavily boned, pushing her breasts up deliciously so their tops are exposed.

Lightly, he runs the back of one finger across impossibly soft skin.

"Take it off," she suggests. "It's tight."

"Yeah?" He leans forward instead, dropping a kiss in the space between the two soft swells. When she doesn't protest, he buries his face a little deeper, his hands sliding down her back to draw her in.

When he finally sits back up, the skin at her chest is as rosy as her flushed cheeks.

Take it off seems like a good idea now, except –

"Oh, please don't call Nancy back in here," she groans.

The threat of it is enough for him to figure out how to get the damned thing off her, and it's worth it when the stiff black plasticky fabric falls away and there's no barrier between his hands and her soft skin.

She's uncharacteristically docile as he palms both breasts at once, greedily, re-familiarizing himself with the shapes he memorized long ago. He teases their hardened tips, flicking with his thumbs simultaneously in the way he knows she likes. She leans back a little on his lap, sighing, her eyes half closed.

And then his eyes are widening, because her hands have slipped into the space between them, stroking him even as she rocks against him with her hips. He releases her breasts to pull her body closer to his until there's no space at all. When she tries to unbutton his shirt, he captures her hands.

"Leave it."

"Oh, you get to wear a shirt but I don't?" She leans back, raising her eyebrows and managing to look fairly stern considering she's wearing nothing but a pair of pink lace panties, straddling his lap, and shifting a little in that way that suggests she's anything but mad at him.

"You definitely don't." Derek leans forward, capturing one rosy nipple in his mouth and looping his arm around her back to pull her against him. Her hands tangle in his hair and he laughs a little around the bud between his lips.

They were always sneaking off at Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving, thrilled to get a few moments' break from school and their studies, stealing little bits of glances and kisses and touches from each other whenever they could.

Sometimes it feels like she's in every memory he has.

Some of the most memorable ones.

Some of the –

He finds himself gasping a little; apparently missing his attention when his mind wandered, Addison has taken it upon herself to bring his mouth back in contact with her flesh. He's not going to refuse that, so he teases her a little with his tongue while his hand makes sure her other breast doesn't feel ignored. Dividing his attention is a challenge … but he's up for it.

She murmurs his name, her fingers tangling in his hair. Her neck arches away and he leaves her breasts to grip a handful of her hair for support and turn instead to the tender skin at her throat.

The heat of her against him is burning when she finally pushes him away. "We need to go back out there," she whispers. "We're being – rude – "

He nods, knowing she's right, but he's already peeling the pink lace away from her hips, and she doesn't protest when he slides it down her thighs.

He urges her to her knees, bringing his face right to the level he wants it. He cups her firmly with both hands – well aware of her angry octopus tendencies – and true to form, the first time his tongue slides against her, she bucks so hard that she almost concusses both of them.

"Hold still."

"I can't!"

He believes her. But maybe they can together, so he doesn't give up, even when she tries to tug him into an easier position. He maintains his grip, her soft cheeks filling his palm and straining against his grip while he tips his jaw to the perfect angle to taste her.

It doesn't take long at all – but they don't fall, and he holds her still enough that he can finish and close enough that he feels every shudder that runs through her when she does. Finally, he releases the grip he had on her backside and lets her flop boneless against him.

He runs his fingers through her hair once he has feeling in his hands again.

His body throbs almost painfully at her closeness – he wants nothing more than to rid himself of these ridiculous sweatpants and bury himself deep inside the heat that's still pulsing against him.

She whispers his name, but he shakes his head.

"Derek … it's okay."

"We're giving you a break, remember?"

"I don't want a break."

"You need a break," he reminds her.

"I don't."

Gently, he slides a finger inside her, and then a second, testing. She winces at the pressure.

"No."

"But I can't wait any longer," she groans.

"Addie … it's been less than a day."

"It feels like forever."

"Yeah?" He leans in and kisses her. "Let's remember this the next time you claim you don't exaggerate."

"I never exaggerate!"

"I didn't realize the next time would come so soon," he says, amused.

"Sooner than you will," she mutters.

But she's all talk, because she's shoving at his sweatpants and he's letting her push them off him. Then she's sliding half off his lap to brace herself, arching her back so he can taste the skin at her neck and leave slow lazy kisses on each of her breasts and the little valley of skin between them. He doesn't even miss her incredibly talented mouth – she makes short work of him with just one expert hand and in this position she's staring straight at him with enough intensity to hasten the end.

"Addie – "

She's not looking at him anymore, and he doesn't think he can last even long enough for her to slide down his body, but somehow he does, and when he's engulfed in the heat of her warm welcome mouth he loses all control.

She's grinning up at him when he comes back to himself, still lapping at him a bit, catlike, and it's enough to make his body throb despite what she's already done to it.

He grabs damp handfuls of her hair to urge her away and she lets him, crawling up his body and curling spent against him.

"I didn't want to make a mess," she explains when he gives her an inquisitive – and sated – look.

Oh.

That explains it.

It's so like Addison to be so neat … and so filthy … all at once.

"We're guests in this house," she adds primly, squeaking with surprise when he runs a finger down her ribs.

"And Nancy's gutting this bathroom tomorrow," Derek reminds her.

Addison raises her eyebrows hopefully. "Does that mean – "

"No." Derek shakes his head, amused. "Definitely not. I'm tired. I'm not a machine. Addison, what are you – "

..

"Thank you so much for having us, Nancy," Addison says sweetly. She's back in the tasteful outfit she chose to wear for dinner with her sister-in-law's family, and if her legs are a little shaky, she's pretty sure it doesn't show.

"Any time." Nancy is eyeing Derek and Addison with a rather suspicious expression.

Addison just smiles back serenely, tucking her tangled hair behind her ears. "And … I'm sorry about Alice's costume. We had to throw out what was left of it."

"I figured." Nancy pauses. "What about my sweatpants? Derek?"

"We threw those out too," he admits. His heart is still racing a little, but hopefully it doesn't show under his shirt.

Nancy's eyes widen.

"I stretched them out?" Derek offers.

"Are you asking her or telling her?" Addison hisses under her breath. She smiles in Nancy's direction. "They're a little 2003 anyway," she says kindly.

"They're – what?" Nancy props a hand on her hip.

"And I'll buy you new ones," Addison adds. "You said you liked those grey cashmere ones I had last Easter, didn't you?"

"Oh, those are still in fashion?" Nancy asks acidly.

Addison mumbles something about timeless classics while Derek adds his thanks over his wife's.

Nancy opens the door. "Don't be strangers," she says, then pauses. "Maybe don't be quite as close as you were tonight, but – "

"We didn't do anything," Addison says automatically.

"Thanks again for the cake," Derek says.

"And it was great to see the kids again," Addison adds, her voice growing a little fainter. "They're all, um, they're growing up so fast."

"And if not, I'm sure you've hurried them along." With that, Nancy tempers her rather frosty words with warm hugs for both of them.

..

"Well." Addison smooths her hair as they wait for the elevator. "I think that went pretty smoothly, don't you?"

Derek stares.

Addison starts laughing first.

Derek joins her by the time the old-fashioned elevator arrives and they spend a good five minutes shoving at the folded wire grate before they fold their bodies into the small space.

"Are we setting the bar low?" he asks, as she takes advantage of the telephone-booth-sized elevator to press herself closely against him.

"We're setting it high," Addison corrects him firmly.

He raises his eyebrows.

"It's a matter of perspective," she explains. "One person's low can be another person's high."

Derek feigns confusion. "What I think you're saying … is that we should be looking at each other from upside down?"

She can't help grinning in response. "Have I ever told you I love the way you think?"

"Not often enough," Derek tells her.

"I'll have to work on that." Addison leans her head against him as the elevator slowly creaks its way down to the lobby.

It's a long ride to the lobby, so she might as well make it interesting.

"Addie, what are you – how many times do I have to tell you I'm not a machine?"

"You're more of a machine than this elevator," Addison says, grinning up at him.

"Okay, fine, but you can't – "

"You want me to stop?" She leans back, all big, innocent eyes.

Not so innocent.

"No," he admits.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she says with a broad smile.

Derek tips his head back against the knotted wooden walls of this deathtrap elevator.

He supposes if he's going to die in a claustrophobic tin can, he might as well –

"Addison?"

"What?"

There's that innocent expression again.

"Nothing," he mutters.

"I didn't think so."

She looks awfully satisfied.

But, by the time the elevator makes it to the lobby and they grunt and puff their way, red-faced, through forcing open the metal grate – only to see an elderly couple with two small dogs frowning disapprovingly at their disarrayed appearance – well, Derek is pretty satisfied too.

"I love New York," Addison murmurs as they step out into the cool, dark night.

For once, he can't even disagree.

---

The End - but not really. Just for this chapter. There's still so much more for Addek to do in New York. I know some parts of this chapter got serious, but you can always count on Addison and Derek to bring back levity. Lust. Whatever. I knew it was a word starting with L. Did you enjoy this? I hope you'll review and let me know. Any guesses on what might be coming up next? :)

PS Addek-shaped cookies to anyone who recognizes the title of this chapter.

PPS Apologies and thanks to Dr. Seuss and Jonathan Larson.

PPPS I know the frisk quotient has gone down a bit in the last couple chapters. Never fear - you know these two have more up their, er, sleeves.