A/N: Thank you so much for your comments on the last chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it. Derek's family definitely hasn't made their last appearance for this story. So now, slipping in under the wire - so to speak - for Thirsty Thursday, here's the next chapter of Our Heroes' attempts to survive in the wilds of Manhattan while keeping their clothes on. I hope you enjoy!
Six Miles High, Part Nine
Almost Too Easy
Dear Carter,
Thank you for reaching out. Weiss spoke very highly of you, and we appreciate your willingness to represent us. We look forward to meeting you tomorrow. If there's anything you need from us in the meantime, please let us know.
Regards,
Addison and Derek Shepherd
Addison pauses with her fingers still on the keyboard of her blackberry, pursing her lips. "Does regards sound too stuffy?" she asks.
"He's a lawyer, Addie," Derek says. "At a law firm with twelve names. I don't think he has a problem with stuffy."
"Good point." She reads the email again. "Weiss did say he just wanted to meet us and get to know us … before the hearing."
Derek nods.
"Okay. I'm sending the email."
Not ten seconds after the message leaves, her blackberry vibrates.
"He responded!"
She opens the email.
"He says …" her voice trails off a little. "Just keep your clothes on in public. Thanks," she reads.
"So he doesn't mince words," Derek says, "which I guess is a good thing at his prices."
"He's a little too un-minced if you ask me." Addison tosses her hair. "Just keep your clothes on in public? It's very forward of him, don't you think?"
"He is representing us on a public indecency charge," Derek reminds her.
"That doesn't mean we don't know how to keep our clothes on in public!"
"Actually, Addie … that's exactly what it means."
"Whose side are you on?" she demands.
"Yours," he says. "But you know Weiss wants to make sure I stay on the right … side of you."
Addison opens her mouth to retort, then closes it. It's almost too easy.
(But then again, so are they.)
"So." She slides her blackberry back into its case and adopts the bossy-ish tone she uses with her residents. "We're meeting Carter tomorrow at his office at … three. Which means we just need to make it through the rest of the night – "
" – and we're already in the hotel," Derek reminds her. They've been back from Nancy's nearly an hour so far and haven't been arrested once, or even walked in on by a nosy concierge, both of which he's counting as a victory. "So making it through the rest of the night is pretty much a given."
Addison studies him for a moment. "You realize we were in the hotel the night with the scarves," she points out.
"Oh."
"And the night with the strawberries and the – "
" – okay, fine. The point is, we'll get through tonight," Derek says again.
"Right. And then tomorrow morning."
"Easy," Derek assures her.
"Simple."
"A no-brainer, and speaking as a brain surgeon – Addison, what are you doing?"
"Nothing," she says quickly, snatching her hand away.
"You still can't handle the term brain surgeon? Really? After all these years?"
Addison hangs her head a little.
"God, you're like Pavlov's sex maniac. And stop looking at me like that," he orders.
"Like what?"
"Like we haven't just been arrested for public indecency!"
"Derek, that was days ago," she scoffs.
They both stop as the import of her words sinks in.
"Fine," she says grumpily. "I'll keep my clothes on."
"Good."
"Great." She pauses. "There's just one thing …"
..
"Remind me how you convinced me to give you a massage."
"Funny story." She sits up a little on her elbows, causing the towel covering the middle of her body to slip. He snatches it back into place quickly before he can be tempted.
"Go on," he says.
"My muscles are all … stiff from wearing that getup at Nancy's and having to wrestle it off me and it was your idea for me to wear it!"
"Actually, it was Alice's idea."
"The leather pants may have been Alice's idea, but wearing something ridiculous was your idea, or did you forget Nancy's Juicy sweatpants?"
"I tried to," he says with dignity, "but you won't exactly let me."
"My point is, my legs are sore. And my – neck. And my back."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing on the outside, anyway," she mutters.
He rolls up his sleeves – after a quick and smug pause to congratulate himself for still wearing a shirt.
"Wait!"
He stops, his hands still inches above her. "What is it?"
"You need the massage oil."
"That seems unwise."
"It's very wise," she says indignantly, rising up on her elbows again as he hastily adjusts the towel that's attempting to cover her. "I brought it specifically for that reason."
"You planned this?"
"Not all of it!" She frowns. "Not the arrest, anyway."
He groans, but makes his way to Addison's typically massive collection of toiletries at her specific – and loud – and critical directions.
The good news is that by the time he's returned to her side with a small bottle of massage oil that he's fairly certain from experience cost as much as the rent on their first apartment, he's feeling less than thrilled with her.
And less than thrilled is good when you're basically on sex parole.
"No funny business," Addison warns him as he settles in beside her.
"No funny – seriously? This was your idea!"
"A massage was my idea. But that's all." Addison pauses. "And I know who I'm dealing with."
"I can give you a massage without … funny business," he says, a little offended.
Addison doesn't say anything.
"We certainly haven't had sex every time I've given you a massage," he adds. "We're talking about – sixteen years."
She's very silent.
"Addie. Come on." He thinks about it. Surely he can come up with a good example.
"It's not my fault your hands are so – good," she says innocently.
"Hamstring tear!" he calls out triumphantly.
"Pardon?"
"You tore your hamstring. Second year of residency. Remember? I'm sure I gave you a massage then without – "
"Nope," Addison interrupts. "We figured it out."
"We did," Derek echoes. "We did? Really?"
"Yes, remember the – " her hands arc in the air.
"Oh!" Derek nods with agreement. "Whatever happened to that swing?" he asks.
"I think Kathleen burned it."
"Right." Derek smiles at her. "Your hamstring healed well, anyway."
"Probably all the endorphins."
He says something under his breath, but she doesn't respond ... maybe because the endorphins are starting to flow again.
Damn, but he's good with his hands. She's paid top dollar for massages from experienced professionals and nothing compares to Derek's.
… then again, she supposes no one else knows her body as well as he does, either.
He keeps it strictly chaste, too.
..
… until he doesn't.
But she's not going to complain, not when she's too busy practically purring with delight. Maybe this soreness isn't the worst thing. It's making them get creative.
(Although she supposes Weiss – and the NYPD officers who arrested them – might argue that they're creative enough already.)
"Derek?"
"Hm?" He's been running his fingers up and down her spine; she's so relaxed she's practically unconscious.
"I think I'm starting to like abstaining," she murmurs.
"If this is your definition of abstinence then I'm a little nervous about what you tell your patients."
She looks like she'd like to swat him but doesn't actually plan to make any effort – that is, one of her very relaxed hands twitches a little where it's resting on his chest.
"I'm tired," she admits.
"From all that work you did getting a massage?" he teases.
Her hand twitches again. She wraps her leg a little more securely around him and then something else twitches too.
"I guess you're not tired," she says pointedly.
"I'm not tired, but I'm also not a machine."
"Your mouth keeps saying that, but your – "
"I get it," he interrupts her quickly.
"It's just … I could really use a bath," she sighs longingly.
"A clean bath?"
"What other kinds of baths are there?" she asks.
"With you?"
She can see his point. Starting to wake up a little more, she leans back so she can see his face and trails a finger down his chest. "I'm just saying … I'm all … relaxed now, and if we take a bath … ."
"No," he says firmly. "You need a break."
Ugh.
She flops back onto him, frustrated. "You know, I'm not injured, Derek. The vagina is a muscle, if you weren't aware, and like any muscle – "
"Yes, I've been married to a gynecologist for eleven years. I'm well acquainted with the miraculous capacity of the human vagina."
"So?"
"So we're still waiting until tomorrow."
She pouts. "Tomorrow is hours away."
"Yes. That's sort of the whole point of … tomorrow. If it were right away, we'd call it now."
She sits up, running frustrated fingers through her hair. "That's all very philosophical, Derek, but I don't know what you expect me to do until tomorrow. Join a convent?"
"Do they take applicants who only want to serve for – " he checks his watch – "two and a half hours?"
"I guess the only way to find out is to ask."
She leans across his body and reaches for the phone on his bedside table.
"Are you actually going to make an inquiry at a convent?" He sits up a little, curious. "Who exactly are you planning to call?"
"Room service," she says as if it's obvious. "For champagne. We're not abstaining from everything."
"Ah, that makes more sense. The only nun I've ever seen you in contact with is the Mother Superior from the Abbey in the Sound of Music – oh, no."
"Oh, no, what?"
"Oh no, I know what the Sound of Music does to you."
"It's not my fault! It's Captain Von Trapp's." She sighs dreamily. "Those eyes … that accent … the way he stands up to the Nazis … ."
"He's hardly the only man in the world with blue eyes," Derek says pointedly. "There's a whole country of people with that accent – and yes, that is why I turned down that conference in London – and you know those weren't actually real Nazis. They were actors pretending to goosestep. It doesn't take a lot of gladiator to stand up to a bunch of actors pretending to goosestep."
"Shut up." She covers her ears, then lifts her hands off them again. "Don't ruin it. It's bad enough you didn't want to go to Salzburg."
"But I did go. Didn't I?" he reminds her. "You made me drive all the way from Vienna in that tiny car so you could find the fountain where they … ."
His voice trails off.
"Do you suppose the NYPD has access to international records?" he asks after a moment.
"Let's hope not," Addison says. She leans a little closer. "But speaking of – "
"No," he says firmly. "We're waiting until tomorrow."
She throws her hands in the air, frustrated.
"What are we supposed to do until then?"
..
" … sounds like," Addison says glumly as Derek tugs on his ear.
His hands move in the air.
"Sounds like … boron," Addison says, still in a monotone. She's sitting on the sleek white armchair with her legs crossed, her chin propped in her hand, taking occasional sips of champagne.
Derek beams, tapping his nose with one finger. When Addison doesn't speak again, he starts gesturing, waiting for her to respond.
"Barium," Addison proposes after a long pause.
Derek shakes his head and repeats his gestures, this time adding a little fancy footwork.
"Bohrium," she guesses unenthusiastically.
Derek frowns, shaking his head, and starts gesturing again.
"…fine, I give up."
"Xenon!" he says triumphantly.
"Fine, you win this round of element charades too," she says, sounding bored, then pauses. "Wait, xenon? How does xenon sound more like boron than barium or bohrium?" she demands.
"It's all in the tongue movement," he says seriously. "See, try it. Bo-ron," he enunciates slowly. "Try it with your tongue."
"Thanks, but I think I'll save my tongue for tomorrow," she says, then smiles hopefully. "Unless you've changed your mind about … ?"
He shakes his head.
"Fine." She folds her arms, pouting.
"So let's go to bed – sleep, I mean," he says quickly when her eyes light up.
"You're no fun," she scowls.
He pulls her close to whisper in her ear: "You won't be saying that tomorrow."
She beams. "That's more like it."
..
Derek is dreaming – a nice dream, a Weiss wouldn't appreciate this if it took place in public sort of dream, when his eyes fly open only to find a pair of huge, blue-green eyes locked on his.
"Addie." His hearth thumps. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"
"No," she says. "I was trying to give you something, but I didn't think a stroke was the best way."
He glances down and sees that his dream is at least part reality.
"Not that I'm complaining … but what happened to sleeping in?"
"I did," she says indignantly. "It's already seven-thirty."
Derek pulls her down against his chest. "You know what? I think you've been working in hospitals too long."
She settles comfortably against him; her body feels warm and soft, her long hair spread out all over both of them like always. He runs his fingers gently through the closest strands and feels her wince, then laugh a little at the tangles.
"I can't seem to keep my hair brushed in Manhattan," she admits.
"That seems like the least of your problems."
"True," she says. She turns her head to drop a kiss on his chest. "So … it's tomorrow," she informs him huskily.
"It's actually today."
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
"I do know what you mean." And if he didn't, it would be clear now anyway, since she's no longer curled sweetly into him like a sleepy cat and instead poised over him like a very awake … lioness.
"Does this mean you're recovered?" He runs his hands up her thighs with interest.
"You tell me."
He laughs under her and the vibration makes her laugh too; he takes advantage of her distraction to slide his hand higher and stroke the flimsy lace separating their bodies.
She arches her back, moving against his hand, and then curls down again to press her lips against his neck.
And then – she'll kick herself for this – she winces.
Just a little bit.
A fraction.
A hair.
But he stills his hand immediately.
"Addie … ."
"I'm fine," she insists.
"Listen, there are plenty of other things we can do."
"You make it sound so tempting," she scowls. "Derek – have I mentioned that the vagina is an extraordinary muscle?"
"You have, a few times." He sits up, bringing her with him, and she obliges by moving against him in a way that reminds him how many other things they can do.
With some effort, he convinces her to take advantage of their time off to sleep a little longer, talks her into breakfast, and manages to kill a fair amount of time before she reminds him that patience is not her forte.
"We're waiting," he reminds her.
"Who are you and where is my husband?"
"I'm just saying. Give it a rest and you'll feel better later."
"I might dry up and die by then!" she snaps.
"I doubt it." He gives the lace at her hip a fond pat. "Look, why don't we go down to the gym and work off some of that … frustration?"
"Ugh, now I'm definitely dried up." She swings her leg off him, making a face.
..
She relents and accompanies him to the gym – sorry, the Health Spa. Oddly, the concierge meets them there to inform them that men and women have to work out on opposite sides of the room.
"Is that even legal?" Addison whispers to Derek, who shrugs in return.
"Maybe they have some religious guests," he says.
But a few other guests join them periodically and they don't seem to be abiding by the rules.
Still, it's only polite, and culturally inclusive, to abide by the concierge's rule.
She's hoping at least to get a joint shower out of it. But she ends up alone in the vast – and okay fine, fabulous – women's changing rooms with a teak sauna and ten-spigot rain shower and fragrant Bateau products.
By the time she makes it back to the hotel room there's just enough time to get ready for their meeting with Weiss's lawyer-friend and head downtown.
..
"Do you remember meeting him?" Addison asks quietly while they're waiting for the elevator in the huge marble lobby of the skyscraper in the financial district. "Carter, I mean."
Derek shakes his head. "Weiss said he was at the wedding, but I just remember a lot of lawyers in suits … doing shots and hitting on bridesmaids."
"Oh, good." Addison brightens. "Sounds like he'll be predisposed to take our side."
"I think he has to take our side," Derek says. "It's his job."
"That too." She looks pleased.
Derek looks less pleased when the elevator lets them out in a sleek, modern, and bustling office floor. Windows everywhere show dazzling views of the harbor. A woman in a fitted suit and a fixed smile escorts them to a large conference room.
They wait, Addison tapping her heels a little nervously, until the door opens.
"Shepherds? Carter Black," the man who enters says brusquely.
Addison looks him over as discreetly as she can. He's tall and broad-shouldered and obviously confident. His suit is perfectly tailored to his body, his leather briefcase is butter-soft and looks like it was never flung down in a locker room for an emergency scrub change.
And he doesn't look particularly happy.
"You're Weiss's friend," Addison confirms tentatively.
"Law school buddies," Carter barks. "Good guy. Smart."
Derek is beginning to think that Carter avoids full sentences altogether. Then again, since he usually charges exorbitant fees by the hour, it's pretty nice of him to cut out unnecessary words.
Carter directs them without words to sit down; Addison and Derek takes seats in plush leather chairs on the same side of the wide glass table. Carter sits across from them, puts on a pair of sleek reading glasses, and pages through the red file folder he brought with him.
"So. Ferry sex." Carter looks at them over the top of his glasses. "Nice," he adds.
Addison's cheeks flush. "You make it sound so … dirty."
"Yeah. I make it sound that way." Carter studies her for a moment. "No, you know what, I like it. I do. I see you in a sort of – librarian getup."
"Excuse me," Addison says, drawing up in her seat to her full height. Not that she's not a little flattered that their lawyer is apparently already fantasizing about her, but it's totally inappropriate in front of Derek. Then again, librarian getup isn't the worst idea in the world. Maybe she and Derek can get dressed up and go check out the med library, where they once pulled out half the books on one of the taller shelves and after some creative positioning, managed to –
"Not like that." Carter frowns. "How we're going to dress you. For the hearing." He looks her up and down again. "We're going to work the prissy angle."
"The what?" Addison asks.
"Good. Make that face if you have to talk to the judge. You're offended and confused that anyone would level accusations like this against you."
"Um, okay."
"You have something conservative to wear?"
Addison looks down at her fitted cashmere sweater with its tasteful v-neck. "Isn't this conservative?"
Carter grimaces. "I'll have my paralegal call you," he says. "She'll take you shopping."
"I'm perfectly capable of shopping by myself."
"She is," Derek agrees., relieved to have the right answer for once – and a truthful one too.
"And you." Carter turns to him. "If this one is a maneater, and we're gonna show them she's really a buttoned up scholarly type … we'll need you to be … soft and gentle."
Addison coughs into her hand. Good thing Carter didn't see them the night they brought down the wall of their first hotel room. Soft and gentle aren't exactly the adjectives that come to mind.
"Does this mean we have to testify at the trial?" Addison asks nervously.
"It's not a trial," Carter barks.
"The – hearing," Addison amends.
"The judge will have questions for you." Carter looks from one of them to the other. "You have to make the right impression."
"Oh." Addison glances at her husband, suddenly a little nervous.
They're going to be fine – right?
"Do you think you can get us off?" Derek asks, as if he's thinking the same thing she is.
"It doesn't seem like the two of you need much help with that."
Addison grimaces.
"Sorry," Carter says, sounding unrepentant. "You've really made it a little too easy. Which is probably the issue here."
"Oh, it's fine," Addison says. "Take your time … really."
Carter ignores her, turning back to Derek. "You'll dress down," he says shortly. "Sweater, maybe a corduroy jacket with those – professor patches on the sleeves. And a bow tie. Soft and gentle."
"A bow tie?" Derek winces.
"You want to get these charges dropped or not?"
"Of course I want to get them dropped."
"Okay. So you'll do what I tell you. The two of you are going to be a nice, quiet, conservative couple with deep roots in Manhattan."
They nod.
"You need to be model citizens," he continues. "Decent. Committed. Grounded."
"That's us," Addison assures him.
Carter looks down at his notes. "Weiss said you moved away from the city. To … Seattle? What's that about?"
"Well, we've lived in Manhattan since medical school," Addison begins. "Sixteen years. More than that. We were educated here, we had internships, did our residencies here, both of us had thriving practices and served on all sorts of – "
"Had," Carter interrupts. "Had thriving practices and then moved to Seattle."
Derek and Addison exchange a glance and say nothing.
"And now you're staying in New York again." Carter pauses. "Where are you staying?"
"At the V Hotel," Addison admits.
"The V." Carter frowns. "The one with the rooftop pool?"
"Yes – but we didn't bring bathing suits," Addison says quickly when his eyes widen.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Carter asks under his breath.
"We haven't been to the pool," Derek assures him. "And we don't plan to. We're going to – stay in the room."
"It has everything we need," Addison can't seem to help adding. "Excellent concierge service – well, a little judgmental, but still helpful – and ultra high-tech privacy windows – "
"Privacy windows. What are those?" Derek looks confused.
"The concierge told us about them when we were switching rooms," Addison reminds him.
"Why were you switching rooms?" Carter asks suspiciously.
"Do you really want to know?"
"No, I suppose I don't."
Addison smiles weakly, then turns back to Derek. "Privacy windows. They're some – ultra high tech Japanese invention. They completely opaque from the outside. No one can see in."
"They look like regular windows from the outside," Derek says, confused. "From the street. They don't look mirrored."
"They're supposed to. They're not two-way windows, Derek, it's not a police station! They're ultra high tech."
"Fine," he retorts.
"So no one can see in," Addison finishes patiently. "And the hotel has room service …"
"I'm truly glad the hotel is to your liking," Carter says, not sounding very much like he means it. "I don't want to know why you switched rooms, but see that you don't switch hotels, please."
"Why not?" Derek asks.
Carter sighs. "You want to seem stable. Reliable. With deep roots in the city."
"We own a brownstone in the city," Addison says. "That's very stable."
"But you don't live in it."
" … well, not anymore. But we did live in it!"
"Great. I'll make sure to use did live in a brownstone at some point in my opening statement."
"You said this wasn't a trial," Addison protests.
"It's a figure of speech." Carter sighs. "Fine, there must be something … stable about the two of you. Careers, at least."
"We're both respected surgeons," Addison says firmly. "Like I said, we went to medical school right here in the city, and, well … any records from the university are sealed," she adds very quickly under her breath.
"Excuse me?"
"She said we have a long record of living in the city," Derek says through gritted teeth, glaring at Addison.
"We have a home here," Addison adds. "Friends, practices … we had a life in Manhattan." She stops talking.
"Past tense." Carter takes off his glasses and starts polishing them. "You're using the past tense."
"Now we have a life in Seattle," she says quietly.
"That's not grounded," Carter says.
"Actually, Seattle is a really … grounded place," Derek says. "Spiritual, even. Calm, and – "
"Derek, he doesn't want to hear your meditations on the glory of the brook trout, he's talking about staying in one place."
"Maybe you should let him speak for himself, since it's your fault we're in this mess anyway," Derek snaps.
"My fault? How is it my fault?"
"Should I tell him?" Derek glares at Addison. "Or do you want to?"
"Oh, I'd love to tell him," Addison says, glaring back at him.
"Then tell him already," Carter intercedes, "keeping in mind he charges by the hour."
"Okay." Addison takes a deep breath. "I, uh, I slept with Derek's best friend," she says in a small voice.
"I walked in on them," Derek adds. "In our bed."
"Don't say they were your favorite sheets," Addison warns, then turns to Carter. "They were the flannel sheets, and he hates the flannel sheets. He only agreed to buy the flannel sheets in the first place because of this thing we were going to do where we were pretending to be hikers lost in the woods – "
"Addison, do you mind?" Derek asks through gritted teeth.
"Sorry." She doesn't look very sorry.
"And it wasn't the hikers lost in the woods thing, anyway," he reminds her. "It was the other thing. The hikers lost in the woods thing was when we bought the smokeless logs."
"Oh." She considers this. "Really?"
"Really. The flannel sheets were the …" He lowers his voice. "Boy Scout camp thing."
Her eyes widen. "You're right. You have such a good memory."
He looks flattered; Carter interrupts before she can compliment him again. "Let me just be clear. You – " he points to Addison – "slept with his –" – he points to Derek – "best friend, in your bed, on some kind of sexual fantasy roleplaying sheets I don't want to hear another word about. And then Derek moved to Seattle, and then you did too. Do I have it right?"
"Basically," Addison says, suddenly very interested in the catch on her bracelet.
"And this flannel bed … I assume it's in your nice, conservative brownstone?" Carter asks.
Slowly, Addison nods.
"Oh, great." Carter massages the bridge of his nose. "Nice, conservative reason to move across the country."
"It's more complicated than that," Addison attempts.
"Not really," Derek says.
Addison glares at him, then turns to Carter. "After Derek left New York, he picked up a twelve-year-old in a Seattle bar and slept with her!"
"What was a twelve-year-old doing in a bar?" Carter's eyes widen. "Just how spiritual is Seattle, anyway?"
"She's not twelve," Derek snaps at Addison. He modulates his tone into something like deference when he turns to Carter. "I did … start a relationship in Seattle. With an adult," he adds hastily.
Addison snorts.
"Excuse me, she's a surgical intern." Derek glares at her.
"You're kind of making my point, honey," Addison says with a smirk.
Carter clears his throat, interrupting them. "This other woman – she lives in Seattle?"
Derek nods.
"And she's a legal adult?"
"Of course she is," Derek says, glaring at Addison.
" … she's over eighteen," Addison admits grudgingly.
Carter scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, so this – best friend – and the twelve-year-old in Seattle – "
"She's not twelve!"
"Eighteen-year-old, whatever." Carter leans forward. "Those other people, outside the marriage, they're history now? The two of you have reconciled?"
"We're in the process of reconciling," Addison says primly.
"Because from what I saw in the police report, you looked pretty reconciled on that ferry."
"Yes, Addison is much easier to get along with when her clothes are off," Derek mutters.
"Our clothes weren't off on the ferry!" Addison says hastily, searching Carter's face to make sure he believes her.
"Not then, but all the other times," Derek concedes. At Carter's expression, he hastens to explain: "The point is, we're good citizens. We have no police record."
"No history of – public indecency?" Carter asks pointedly.
Addison and Derek exchange a glance.
"The fact that you're thinking about this doesn't bode too well, folks."
"We've never been arrested for it," Addison says hopefully.
"So you're saying there's no record of it."
"I certainly hope not," Addison says under her breath.
"What she means," Derek intercedes, "is that … we don't know if there's a record. That would really depend on the kind of records kept at the Museum of Natural History."
"And Yankee Stadium," Addison adds.
"And the Guggenheim," Derek says.
"The Guggenheim – really?" Addison looks confused.
"Yeah, remember the exhibition with the – " his hand swirls.
"Oh, that one." She nods vigorously. "Yes. The Guggenheim."
Carter looks like he's reconsidering his agreement to represent them. "Are you finished?" he asks.
Derek and Addison exchange a glance.
"Well, institutionally speaking," Derek beings, and then his voice trails off.
"Oh, and there's Grand Central – which I suppose would technically be Port Authority, in terms of record keeping, not in terms of the bus station," Addison clarifies quickly. "Even the two of us wouldn't do anything there." She shudders.
"So there is a place the two of you wouldn't defile," Carter mutters. "What a relief to know you have some standards."
Addison huffs a little, but doesn't respond.
"Look," Carter says. "You have a week." He pushes back his chair. "A week before the hearing to make it seem like you can get through nine whole days from the first charge without any public indecency."
"We're on it," Derek says firmly. "Weiss made that very clear, and we've been sticking to all of his rules."
"All of his rules," Carter repeats Derek's words with more than a hint of derision. "I know I'm not a brain surgeon – I only graduated second in my class from Harvard Law, so I might be missing something. Forgive me. Is there some – complex nuance to don't have sex in public?"
"No, of course not," Addison says hurriedly.
"All right, then. So all you have to do is – " Carter clears his throat, sounding annoyed, and directs his next words to Addison: "You do know I can see under this table, correct? Because it's made of glass?"
"Of course I know," Addison says with dignity, moving her hand. And replacing it in her own lap. It's hardly her fault Carter said brain surgeon, so it's not really fair to blame her.
Although a quick glance at Derek's stormy expression suggests he's blaming her anyway.
"Fine. I'm going to go get some forms for you to sign. Do you think you can keep it PG for five minutes? I'm leaving the door open, and there are surveillance cameras on the ceiling, but let me know if I need to get a security guard to babysit you."
"We'll be fine," Addison says tightly.
Derek pushes back his chair wordlessly and stalks to the windows, where he stares out at the view.
Addison approaches him with caution. "I'm sorry," she says when he doesn't turn around. "You know how I get when I hear the term – "
"I'm aware." He continues to look out the large windows, but he doesn't sound angry. Finally, he turns to face her. "I might still have a similar reaction to the phrase …" he pauses, "double board-certified."
"Oh!" She finds herself smiling. "Thank you, honey."
"Don't mention it," he says. His lips twitch like he's trying to hide a smile.
She slides in to stand next to him at the oversized windows.
"The views are spectacular," she says, taking in the sweeping expanse of New York Harbor. There's the Statue of Liberty … water all around, east and west, and there are bright yellow water taxis and even a bright orange –
Oh, no.
"It's the Staten Island Ferry," she whispers to Derek, feeling a little panicked.
But from his frozen expression, he's seen it too. When he turns to her, there's something in his eyes that's definitely not panic.
"Addison …"
His hands find her waist, pulling her closer.
She rests her head against his for a moment, breathing in the clean scent of him and focusing on staying chaste and –
"Do you think they have a roof?" she asks urgently.
"They're lawyers," Derek says, sounding disappointed, "so I'm going to guess no."
"They should let us go up there anyway," she pouts, one of her hands finding its way into his hair. "We're not litigious."
"You may not be litigious," a loud voice announces. They jump apart as Carter strides back into the room. "But that doesn't mean I'd trust you on the roof – or anywhere else."
"We weren't doing anything," Addison says immediately.
"The last time you weren't doing anything, you ended up on sex probation," Carter says heartlessly. He shakes his head. "You want my advice?"
"Yes," Addison replies, only slightly grudgingly.
"Take the subway back to the hotel," he says. "That should knock some of that – randiness out of the two of you."
..
"He doesn't know us at all," Derek says as they stroll down the sidewalk.
"I guess we didn't mention the subway," Addison admits. She blinks a little, tipping her head back to take in the familiar shapes of the city she's missed. As they walk, a low sun wriggles its way out from behind a cloud.
Derek pauses automatically, just before Addison pulls him aside so she can get her sunglasses from her purse.
"At least it's nice out," he observes.
"Not nice enough," Addison says darkly, tucking her hand into his arm.
He nudges her a little with his shoulder. "Still sore about … being sore?"
"Very funny." She tosses her hair. "I'll have you know that I'm feeling better."
"You are?" He perks up immediately.
"I am."
"Does that mean … ?"
"You heard our lawyer." She grins at him. "Soft … and gentle."
"I can do that," he says. "I can be soft and gentle."
"I know you can, honey. I'm not worried about you." She leans into him while they wait on the corner for the light to change. "I am a little worried about me."
"Because you're a convicted sex fiend?"
"I haven't been convicted! Did you listen to anything in that lawyer's office?"
"I tried." He rests a hand on her back as they cross the street. "But oddly enough, someone kept distracting me."
"Derek, how many times have I told you that crossing my legs isn't something I do to distract you?"
"A few," he admits. "But that doesn't mean I believe you."
"Trust is the cornerstone of marriage," she says haughtily. Then she pauses, waiting for him to snap at her, to remind her that she doesn't get to joke about trust when she betrayed him.
But he doesn't. His voice is light and teasing when he responds.
"And I trust that you don't need to cross your legs five hundred times during one meeting – not unless you're trying to distract me."
She tucks her hand into his arm again. "I don't have to try to distract you," she murmurs.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're an egomaniac?"
"Yes. Has anyone ever told you that it takes one to know one?" she asks.
"Has anyone ever – Addison, would you please look where you're going?"
He pulls her back onto the curb as a yellow cab whizzes by.
"We had the right of way!" she argues, a little distracted because he's still holding onto her and the strength in his grip when he saved her from the enemy – er, from the cab – has left her feeling a little faint.
She finds one of her hands gliding over his arm – if a gladiator wore a sweater, he would probably –
"Addie?" He frowns down at her. "Take off your sunglasses," he orders.
"It's too sunny." She moves a little closer.
"Nice try." He reaches out and pushes the sunglasses away himself, propping them on top of her head. Which means he has a good view of her eyes …
… which make her intent all too clear.
"We just left the lawyer's office, Addison!"
"I know," she whispers. "And, Derek – I was crossing my legs on purpose."
"I knew it!" He returns her sunglasses to their proper place – no use getting yelled at for risking eye wrinkles – and with supreme self-control he disentangles their bodies and tucks her hand back into his arm almost … almost … chastely. "Come on, Addie. Let's go back to the hotel where we can't get arrested."
"Fine," she sighs, sounding very put-upon, as only his wife can when she's denied satisfaction. She pauses. "Subway?"
"Not from this station," he says grimly. "It has the wall mosaic with the antique train, and you remember what happened at the Transit Museum."
"Oh, the Transit Museum. We forgot to mention that to Carter," she muses.
"You know … I think we can let that one slide."
..
"Ugh, I need a shower." Addison shudders a little once they're back in the hotel room.
He's not surprised. Add subway to the long list of things Addison likes to rinse off directly afterwards, some of which are more fun than others. And apparently "jail" is part of it, as he's learned on this trip.
"Don't you know showering too much can dry out your skin?" he teases.
"I do know that. I'm pretty sure I told you that, in fact."
"Ah. I knew I heard it from a reputable source." His expression changes when she moves closer. "Addie … ."
"Derek. We're in the hotel, remember?"
"Oh, that's right." His expression changes once more.
"And guess what?"
"What?" he asks, slightly apprehensive now.
"I'm feeling better. As in … a lot better."
His eyes widen and she swivels and strolls toward the bathroom.
Then she turns and gazes at him over her shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"
Apparently he is – which she supposes is why he practically trips on his way to catch up with her.
..
Under the pounding water of the shower, it's a little difficult to hear what Addison is whispering in his ear.
Difficult to make out the individual words, that is.
Not difficult to understand the gist of it, which is … a little filthy.
"Are you finished?" he asks when Addison pauses in the process of describing, in great detail, what she expects him to do to her now that she's allegedly healed.
"I don't know." She eyes him hungrily. "Am I?"
"You heard Carter. I'm supposed to be soft and …" he dips his head to press his lips lightly to her neck as steam rolls around them in the oversized shower. "And gentle," he says, moving to taste the skin on her shoulder.
She draws an audible breath. "So you'll do whatever he says?"
"He's a highly-paid professional," Derek reminds her, and she shudders a little under his gaze. He looks like he wants to … feast on her.
He doesn't look like he wants to be soft and gentle.
Thank goodness.
But she laughs a little when he pulls her in hard against him.
"What happened to listening to Carter?" she asks.
"Screw Carter." He slides his hands down her back to settle at her waist; she sighs a little as their bodies line up so neatly.
"I'd rather screw you," she says.
"That can be arranged."
Finally.
To be continued - do you think AddisonAndDerek are going to be able to follow their highly-nuanced rule? And what are the odds they'll be cooperative about their outfits for the hearing? But that's a week away - and there's a lot more to come before then. So to speak. ANYWAY, you know I love reviews like Derek and Addison love defiling publicly funded cultural institutions! (JK, they don't mean any harm. They're just shameless.) So thank you as always for reading, and I hope you'll review!