Author's Note

Hi and welcome to very my first story. Hope you enjoy! Some little notes in advance:

1) The pairing: This an Addek story (Definitely not Merder, even if it might seem a little like that in the first chapter. Yes, it is almost 2022 and yes, Addek is the pairing that was basically cancelled in S3 of Grey's Anatomy and whose characters are technically dead / left the original show ages ago. And no, I am still not over it. I, unfortunately can't do it like the GA writers and ignore all their chemistry and history. There are many awesome, freaking amazing stories about them in which they are given the chance they deserved, but I had the idea for this story in mind for a while now and thought I'd give it a try.

2) I'm neither a lawyer nor American, so all information concerning that area is based on Google researches. I apologize in advance for any possible inaccuracies!

3) The first chapter starts from the season two finale. I know it's rather short, but there's more to come.

4) The very necessary Trigger Warning: This story is going pretty dark. And with dark I mean that it may contain non graphic sexual assault, physical violence, violence against children and possibly character death. So please read it with caution!

5) The disclaimer: As you might have guessed I unfortunately do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did… well, I better not go there.

"Would you rather love the more and suffer the more, or love less and suffer the less? That is, I think, finally, the only real question."

Julian Barnes, The only story

ADDISON

His hair is different. It's shorter. Apparently, they have decent hair dressers in prison.

The red lights are long gone and the driver behind her has moved from aggressive honking on to some very creative insults, but she couldn't move if her life depended on it. She's sitting in her car at the intersection between 1st Avenue and South Main Street and she's frozen, hypnotized by the inconspicuous, shabby man on the sidewalk. Numb and paralyzed.

Apart from the hair he looks the same. Same tall frame, same sturdy physique. The only thing that separates him from any random passerby is that awful tattoo at the back of his neck. It's just as blaringly noticeable from her current position in her car as it was from their seatrow back in the courtroom.

It can't be him. That's the only semi-clear thought she's capable of. It can't be. He is not supposed to be here, walking down the street as a free man, like a random person when he's hardly a human being. He is not supposed to be in Seattle, at all. But that damn tattoo keeps glaring at her and she's had more than enough time to memorise the rest of his features, those long draining hours during the trial. She'll never forget his narrow lips. She can't forget the way they curve into something that would maybe be a smile on a normal person, but not on him. He is an animal and when his lips curve upwards she has to fight the bile back down her throat. For the briefest of seconds, she looks up from the phone he's hunched and all doubts are leaving her, just like the air seems to be knocked out of her lungs. She is, in fact, sitting a few feet from Michael Daniels.

There's another honk behind her. The noise is so far away, the rushing blood in her ears has drowned out every other sound. Her body is still paralyzed and not responding to her brain. Bernard hasn't moved either, leaning sideways against a building and looking passively at his phone. Everything about his body language is so passive, so nonchalant. Like he didn't have a worry in the world. Like he never ruined her life.

Everyone wanted her to talk about it afterwards, her Friends, her Family (Well, in-laws technically, Montgomerys aren't exactly big on the emotional stuff). Kathleen, of course. Carolyn, Savvy and Weiss. Even Mark, who a week prior didn't give a damn about shrinks who weren't female, aged 20-35 and wearing at least a C-Cup. Talk about it, or rather talk to someone. Express your feelings.

She knows that they always meant well (although she's not so sure about her mother-in-law), of course. Their advice only sounded ridiculous in her ears, like talking would actually make things better. There is only so much that their great talking can do, because all accessible words seem way to hollow to describe how she actually feels.

Hate, for instance, doesn't nearly cut what she feels towards Daniels. She hates Seattle. She hates white chocolate, shoulder pads and disrespectful interns. She hates that one particularly nosy radiology assistant on the sixth floor. Lately, she generally hates the disastrous state her marriage is in and today she especially hates the fact that on her first night off this month the chief has required her attendance at this substitute-high-school-prom-for-his-sick-niece-but-in-a-hospital-thing.

She has to go, of course. She even rushed hurriedly to the trailer to get ready for said prom this afternoon because Mrs. Forster's hysterectomy which she had scheduled at five was a little more complicated than anticipated. But Richard Webber is her Mentor. Ever since she arrived in this rainy hellhole he has not only been generous with shiny, admittedly amazing state-of-the-art neonatal wings but also with occasional, fatherly hugs, so skipping prom is out of question. Camille is important to the Webbers and if there is one thing Addison understands it's the fear of losing someone you love.

Plus, there was that moment in the scrub room and the way Derek smiled at her. Not the perfect McDreamy toothpaste-advertisement smile, but the real one. Kind of sheepish and kind of like the nerdy med student she once met over a cadaver.

Hey Addie? Will you go to prom with me?

The smile was small, but it was there and she clings to it like a lifeline. Lately, it feels like she needs to treasure these few little moments of not-rage or not-indifference, since her marriage of eleven years could be over at any point now. She was serious about fighting for him, for them when she came out here. She knows that she is the cheater, the main culprit, the one who pulled the rug from under his feet when she went fucked his best friend in his bed on his favourite sheets. They don't even talk about that night, at least not anymore, but it's everywhere. The bullet hole in their marriage, the constant elephant in the room, the question that Derek never asks even though she wishes he would.

How could you?

She tried, tries her best to fix it, to really explain even if she knows it will get ugly, to apologize in all ways she can think of. Moving out into this rainy hellhole, Being the bigger person when it comes to his friendship with the intern. Taking the cheap shots, the humiliation in the hallways.

And accepting the Gossip. God, the gossip, all the staring, all the not-as-discreet-as-they-think comments. She used to think Mt. Sinai was bad, but in comparison to Seattle Grace it's practically anonymity. Or maybe it's just a million times harder if they the role they give you is The Adulterous Bitch. Also known as Satan or The Wicked Witch of the East.

All she can do now is waiting for it to pass. She's simply out of any other armour.

So, she's clinging onto the little scrap of recognition he threw at her in that scrub room like the attention whore she is. She accepted his prom proposal and played dress up tonight. Subtle soft auburn waves, tasteful jewellery, an anthracite-coloured off-shoulder gown. The costume of a woman who's perfectly fine.

If you consider that the only available alternative activity for this evening would be curling up in the loneliness that is the tin can and wallow in self-pity, prom isn't even that bad. With a little luck it might even outrank her high school senior prom, even if that's not exactly saying much. With a little luck this might turn into a bearable or even a nice evening. Or so she thought until four seconds ago.

As she sits in her car, the numbness in her bones is fading and what comes is a rush of memories. Bernard, the courtroom. The heartbreak and the anger. The solemn faces of the police officers at their doorstep, their useless condolences. We're very sorry.

A ridiculous statement, really, because this kind of injustice, this amount of pain he has caused her and the people she loved can't be mellowed by We're very sorry. It can't be expressed in a four-letter word like hate and it certainly can't be forgotten

Another honk from behind her. "What the fuck! What are you waiting for, woman?", someone is yelling not too kindly.

Yes, what is she waiting for?

This time her legs cooperate when she tells them to move. On autopilot they carry her out of her car. She slams the door shut (which she never does), she bowls to the side walk even in her four-inch shoes, across the street and the honkers, her heels clacking angrily on the concrete. As she reaches Daniels, she's already drawn back her arm, her fist meets his chin with a dull thump. There is a burning ache in her hands but Addison keeps slapping and fighting and scratching even though her opponent is probably twice her size. This is for all the pain he caused them, this is for all the tears, this is for every night spend crying on the floor. Her body is moving on its own record, the only soundtrack is the blood rushing in her ears. She feels how he grabs her waist and crushes her body against the wall behind her, her rips meeting the bricks forcefully. Her head is shoved against the wall a second later and when she looks up again everything is blurry. The only thing she can make out are the faint outlines of his face looking down at her from above. He may very possibly be mocking her right now. Or worse, maybe he's not recognizing her at all. She wants to scream, to spit in his face, but there's this sudden dizziness and it's stronger her. As she swallows, she can taste the metallic, copper-like liquid seeping into her mouth. The next surface her head comes upon is the concrete.

She doesn't know how much time has passed. It could be seconds or it could be minutes. There are voices around her. A lot of them. She thinks she recognizes the driver who was yelling from behind her and it sounds like he's talking on the phone. When she tries to lift her fluttering eyelids, she can see the people on the other side of the street staring and pointing. Keeping her eyes open turns out to be too draining and exhausting, but she can still here them fussing and gossiping, understands bits and pieces of their comments (Did you see that? she crazy or what?)

Well, that's okay. By now, she is used to the gossip anyway.

DEREK

Addison isn't here yet. Which is unusual, really. She's been everywhere lately. Her shoes are in his fishing gear cabinet because apparently the actual shoe cabinet in his trailer isn't enough for her precious Manolos. Her exotic, overpriced coffee beans are in his kitchen cupboard, her neonatal journals are scattered across the kitchen bench and her insane amount of cosmetics takes up way more than half of the bathroom counter. She is in every hallway chasing him with questions he doesn't want to answer. Are you angry, mad, what? And at his worst moments she's also on his mind, because apparently after more than a year he still can't delete the picture of her entangled with his best friend from his memory.

Overall, it's a lot of Addison.

Tonight, she's running late, though. They had this whole high-school-like-prom-inspired evening planned which originally included him picking Addison up at the trailer and them driving to the hospital together. However, halfway through the day she texted that she wouldn't make it on time due to some complications in surgery - he doesn't remember the procedure or the patient. She told him to go on ahead already, and that the chief would be more pleased if at least one of them would make a proper appearance on time.

As Derek tells Richard as much, he gets the feeling that the chief would prefer that one of them to be Addison. Of course. She's been his favourite since their intern days.

The evening is draining and he busies himself with the sadly-not-spiked punch, makes the obligatory small talk with his colleagues and watches the commotion in the hospital lobby. Or what used to be the hospital lobby. Whoever decorated this thing (he secretly suspects that Richard recruited a few insubordinate interns) surely didn't hold back on the black and silver balloons and tinsel.

At least the Webbers' niece seems to enjoy herself. She's dancing in the arms of a teenage boy all wide eyed and in love, smiling up at him in complete adoration. For a fleeting moment he is reminded of the med school version of Addison and himself, a few years older than Camille, yet in many ways too unexperienced to be called adults. Also sickeningly in love. He was so sure of his or more their future back then, so certain that they would always be that happy and that life would always be that simple. They were overstressed med students and then, later, even more overstressed interns. They didn't sleep that much, they were regularly broke and they ate more Chinese take away food than anyone could call healthy, really. But they knew or thought they knew where they belonged and that was with each other. They had no idea what was coming.

He forces his thoughts away from the past and back to the present evening. Nurse Marissa from his department is here, unfortunately in a rather unflattering ruffled costume in a shrill shade of yellow, Patricia, the Chief's assistant and Nurse Debbie. He recognizes Bailey standing at their table although he still has to get used to see the Nazi in such a …well, girly outfit.

All of them just fade out of his focus when he sees Meredith. She's walking down the stairs and everything about her, her mannerisms, her hair, her body, the way she walks is so not-Addison that the images of them in the brownstone bedroom disappears before he drowns in them once again. Meredith is his breath of fresh air and the longing is almost unbearable now as she's walking towards that damn vet and takes the hand, he's offering her gallantly.

She is smiling at Finn and she is dancing with Finn, but he can clearly see that Meredith's attention is very much elsewhere. And his is not on Dr. Cho from Endocrinology who is currently trying to engage him in a conversation about new approaches in the treatment of insulinomas. Or was it glucagonomas? He couldn't repeat a single word from Dr. Cho's monologue but Meredith's glance goes over Finn's shoulder across the room and straight to his conscience.

Before, he always wondered how people did this. Adultery. Sometimes, he desperately wants to know what was going on in Addison's mind that night, how she could throw sixteen years of AddisonandDerek out of the window but more than often he pushes that thought forcefully out of his mind. But still, he couldn't fathom how people promise another person everything, vow to be faithful that person for the rest of their life and then just …. Forget about it? Don't care about it?

Now he realizes, it's easy. It's quick. An apologetic glance at his colleague, the same simple excuse that he has been using endless times since his internship: "I have to check on a patient."

It's quick, only about 200 meters from the foyer to the exam room and he has to race them because he is chasing Meredith and she's surprisingly fast. And even though she's begging him to please leave her alone they both know that's not what she's really begging for and it's not what is going to happen. And even though he has a wife and even though he has responsibilities his lips are suddenly on hers, and his hands are in her hair and the smell of lavender succumbs him. Addison's conditioner smells like Indian roses and Himalaya honey but Addison doesn't matter. His lips are on Meredith's neck now, and his hand are moving down and hiking up her dress until his fingers grace a scrap of lacy fabric. It disappears into his tuxedo pocket. It's the Italian tuxedo that Addison bought for him on one of the rare occasions when they both had a day-off, back in New York. She got to choose what they would do that day since she won some random bet they made about whether that one intern would survie his first week at , and, of course, he pretended to hate the shopping and he really needs to get her out of his head, especially when Meredith is the one who is currently pushing said tuxedo jacket from his shoulders.

"Umm …, Dr. Shepherd?"

Fuck.

What follows is an awkward and hectic mess of jumping apart and pulling down dresses. Their surprise visitor has switched on the lights and he desperately hopes he doesn't look as flushed as Meredith. Somehow, the deer-in-the-headlights-look on her face is only worsened by the fluorescent lightening.

It's one of the residents, the black haired one. She's Ortho, he remembers. Torres, that's her name. "Didn't mean to interrupt" she says with her eyebrows raised just enough to make it look particularly judgemental." But you might want to take this." She holds an old-fashioned key cell phone in his direction like an accusation, the kind of phones that are use at the nurses' station. "They said it's urgent" she says when he makes no move of accepting it.

He glares back with as much dignity as he can, given the current circumstances: "Then why didn't they call my phone"

"Like I just said" Torres tells him in a tone that someone else might use to explain algebra to particularly stupid seventh graders, "Apparently it's important and you were not answering that phone of yours. Or your pager, for that matter, even though the nurses said that they paged you, multiple times before I went to find you." She glances over at Meredith who looks like she desperately wishes for the floor to open up and swallow her. Preferably, along with the bra strap which is still hanging loosely over her shoulder and with her hair that very clearly shows the remnants of his fingers running through it. The exam room suddenly seems even more narrow than before. Who knew, that guilt and awkwardness could be this suffocating.

"Well, I guess you were occupied" Torres smirks.

He snatches the phone out of her hand.

"Yes?"

"Am I talking to Dr. Derek Shepherd?"

"Yes, this is he". His tone might be a bit, okay a lot impatient and rude and of course, the caller technically is not at fault here. But right now, he feels just a tiny bit cornered with both Torres' and Meredith's eyes on him, one pair judging, the other one begging, and both of them full of question that he does not want to deal with at the moment and -

"Addison Shepherd is your wife?"

"Yes, who is -"

"This is Detective Cameron Brooks from the Seattle Police Department. Your wife was arrested at 10:30 this evening for public misdemeanor and suspected assault."

And that's it for now! Thanks a lot for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, I hope you're not too confused and I really, really hope that you're going to tell me what you think and leave a review. Addison's actions here might seem a little OOC, but Daniels does have a very compromising history with her, trust me! (You'll find out more about him in the following chapters.)