First of all, I'm sorry (and yes, that could as well be the summary of all my Author's Notes). I really didn't expect this chapter to take so long to write. Somehow, real life got in the way of writing.

That being said, I really loved reading your kind feedback in the meantime, so thank you so much for taking that time and sharing your thoughts with me.

I'm aware that the Dead-Addek-Baby-Backstory has been done before and that they are already a lot of brilliant, heart wrenching and AMAZING stories out there that tell one or another variation of it. However, it is still my personal (and I'm guessing, that goes for some of you, too) number one favourite theory, as for why their marriage fell apart. I also love crime/thriller elements in stories, so I wanted to incorporate that.

As you might have noticed by now, the result of that combination is … dark, to put it mildly. But for those of you who also can't have enough Addek Angst: Have fun with this chapter!

As always, I own nothing.


DEREK

It's late, when he has finally reached the precinct and is directed to a blank, mundane-looking office space on the ground floor of the building. Most of the outdated uniform desks are already abandoned, their occupants have probably gone home hours ago. Home to their families, or maybe to a pet or at the very least, to a comfortable couch. Most likely to an evening without exam-room adventures or arrested wives and he can't help, but envy them.

Tiredly, he makes his way towards the last desk in the back of the room, the only one that's still occupied. Sitting on its visiting chair is a short man in his fifties, dressed in normal clothes, while the dark haired officer behind it seems to be engrossed in a phone call. At least, he assumes, that the woman in uniform must be a police officer because as he steps closer he realises that she can't possibly be older than twenty-five. With the phone tucked between her shoulder and chin she is combing frantically through the remarkable mess of discarded papers and files, that is seems to be her working space. As she notices him, she makes a undefined gesture with her free hand (he chooses to interpret it as an I'll attend to you soon)-and knocks a large stack of loose documents over in the process. Most of the papers land on the floor.

The visitor ( or whatever the other man is doing here) makes a disapproving frown, making no indication to help, while the girl is hastily bending down to pick her files, cursing, her face crimson. Derek quickly joins her, picking up the last few discarded documents from the precinct's dirty linoleum floor, and hands them back to the… detective? (Or rooky? Maybe intern, it's not like surgical ones are any more competent). But he gives her the McDreamy-Smile anyway, and, as always, it shows its expected effect: The baby officer smiles up at him in absolute awe.

The whole doe- eyed thing going on.

There it is again, the image of Addison, commenting on his new girlfriend in the hospital lobby, infuriatingly nonchalant, with a tone, she could also have critiqued a wine at a restaurant with.

With her hand poised on her hip, at the exact same spot, where Mark had touched her last.

It enters his mind uninvitedly and without warning. Armed with her all-black designer gear, she had strolled into his hospital, his city and his life like she owned all of it. Like Seattle Grace's lobby was the stage specifically built for her show.

As inappropriate as that doe-eyed comment was at that time – he has to admit that the description itself is annoyingly accurate,

At least, as far as the police girl is concerned. The visitor guy has more of a narrow- eyed thing going on if you want to put a name on it. His gaze is free of any adoration as his studies Derek closely. No wonder, the baby officer gets so jittery under these Hawkeyes.

"Are you the prosecutor?" the man finally asks with interest.

"The what? No, I …" he answers confusedly, but the other man is quick to interrupt. Eagerly, he stretches out his hand.

"My name is Glenn Aldridge, I'm the key witness." He introduces himself, with an absurd amount of emphases "I saw the whole incident. I can give you a detailed description, I even wrote down the licence number of the vehicle for identification…"

Very essential, since the owner of said vehicle is already identified and in custody, Derek thinks silently. It's not like this witness person would give him a chance to actually speak, anyway.

"You see, I was in the car right behind the attacker. The victim was walking about forty meters from there, he was coming from South main Street. A rather unpleasant person. One of these drunkards from the outskirts, probably . He was only wearing that shabby jacket and a wife beater in this cold. And his hair looked like it hasn't been washed in months. " Aldridge's nose wrinkles and Derek can't help thinking, that he kind of looks like a squirrel. At least, if a squirrel wore little horn glasses and salmon-coloured jumpers.

Jumpers or clothes in general are never just pink or purple or black as he has learned from his wife. They are maroon or salmon or lilac or lavender. He knows this since that one faithful shopping trip at the beginning of their marriage, where he tactfully pointed out that she already owned a pair of red pumps. In return, he gained an advanced vocabulary for the description of colours, as well a night on their (apparently) mauve coloured couch.

The squirrel chatters on and Derek automatically tunes out. Of course, he is still confused and of course, he does want to know what possessed Addison to …..what, attack this random guy? It's a bizarre picture, his wife, presumably in heels and prom attire, and a shabby looking homeless.

He has questions, a lot of them, but he'd like them answered in the short version, preferably from her. The Licence numbers are not particularly helpful, they're merely an ego boost for Aldridge, who seems to need it so desperately, it's almost sad.

Plus, Derek is tired. Very tired. If the squirrel would just stop talking…

"The guy was bald, and then there was this god-awful tattoo. It went all the way around his neck, so that it looked like a one of these horrific necklace things"

At this, he looks up. He wasn't paying much attention for a while, but these particular words trigger something. As innocent as they seem, they start to paint a painfully familiar picture. A picture, he has worked so hard to get out of his head.

Addison doesn't fight with fists. Never has in the past.

Except once

It must be a coincidence. Just a coincidence.

"The Tattoo was a row of roman numbers, I assume, that it was a date. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to write it down…"

No.

Everything, but not that.

Everybody has tattoos.

This is clearly a mistake.

He's still in jail, he has to be.

Right?

"I'm so sorry that took so long" The baby detective has ended her call with an exasperated sigh and gestures towards the phone, smiling apologetically "Traffic department. The receptionist can be a real b… I mean, can be a bit complicated."

Millions of people have tattoos on their necks.

And roman numbers are a popular motive, too, aren't they?

The baby detective starts ruffling through the files on her desk again "Anyway, you must be Derek Shepherd…."

There is a ringing in his ear, the detective's words nothing but a blur. The urge to scream and slam his fist into his wall almost as powerful as the urge to cry.

"I'm Lea Sanchez. Your wife is in the interrogation room with my colleague- "

He doesn't listen.

"Where is he?"

He is demanding enough to make Lea look up surprised.

" Excuse me? " she asks confused, "I'm sorry, but who do you –"

"Where is he?"

His voice is loud, but the silence that follows is deafening. The girl flinches instantly, looks up at him in shock. Nobody could blame her. He wouldn't recognize his own voice, the forcefulness that nobody thinks he's capable of.

His entire life, he has always held the position of the good guy. In med school, Mark was the fuckboy, the player, and Derek was the good guy. At home, Amy is the problem child, while he is their mother's golden boy. At work, most of his colleagues call him McDreamy.

He wonders what they would call him, if they could see him right now, if they would witness this outburst. He wonders what they would think of him, if they could see the coldness in his eyes in this very moment. What his nickname would be, if they had seen him at another point, in another city. Because, in the entryway of the Brownstone when he was tearing his wife's desperate fingers from the banister, the mask of McDreamy, the ultimate good-guy extraordinaire, fell. Just like now, the pain was simply too much.

Get out of my house now.

Lea is still clueless, stammering nervously under his glare.

"Umm, what? I mean, who- "

"The man, the one she attacked, where is he? Is he here?"

The girl looks utterly terrified now, clutching one of her paper stacks to her chest like it was her lifeline. Her eyes are wide open again, just this time, it's not with adoration. McDreamy is gone. Aldridge, on his visitor chair, might be a little less terrified, but even he seems startled. Contrary to his earlier need to communicate, he seems at a loss for words, gaping perplex at his sudden outbreak.

"Uh, I don't know, sir, " Lea rambles nervously, rummaging nervously through the files. Like that would help anyone. " I really don't. He had already fled the scene when we got there, but Camer… I mean Detective Brooks, he's my colleague, well, my boss, technically, he's with your wife right now, but - "

He can't breathe. He can't think, not even when he tries to calculate, to count.

Four years. Daniels got four ridiculous years in jail. It's the simplest of math.

He can't be out.

Except….

"Sir? Are you okay" Lea jabbers "Sorry, that's a stupid question, obviously you're not okay, you're as white as the wall, do you need something? Like a glass of water or… Sir?

Her chatter sounds so far away, so faded and blurred. Like he's hearing with his head is underwater. Drowning.

Then again, he's already had first-hand experience with that, hasn't he?

He's not so sure, if anyone could save him this time. All he knows is that he desperately needs fresh air. His instincts carry him back to the hallway he came from, ignoring Lea calling after him and Aldridge's stares. Mindlessly, he aims for the first door he sees, the nausea building up in his throat. He needs to get away. Somewhere, anywhere, away from the memories.

The last thing he hears, as he vomits onto the concrete of the precinct's courtyard, is Aldridge's sneering voice from inside, dripping with arrogance: "Oh, this is great. Another nut job"


Four and a half years ago, in another city, in front of another building, he blinks against the way too bright afternoon sun and pulls the jeep into the too narrow parking space. Addison would probably laugh at him and argue that the ladder problem is caused by the lack of suitable parking, but by his rather bulky car of choice. Which … fine, is a fair point. The jeep has proven itself to be a little unpractical in a city like New York. But Addie knows, that he loves it fiercely, and he knows, that she, at least, enjoyed the camping trip to Harriman State Park they took with it last spring. Even if she'd never admit that to his face.

There's another member of their family, though, who's also very fond of the jeep. When he turns around, though, the back row of the car is empty . All he can see the tip of her dark hair peeking out from behind the seats. He has to press his lips together to suppress a chuckle.

The middle rear seat is folded down, as always, creating a gap that is big enough for a small first-grader to crawl through. The remaining rear seats are big enough, that she almost completely disappears behind them. Almost.

Grinning, he leans back in his seat

"Huh, looks like Aria is gone." He announces into the air as if he was talking to himself "Well, I guess, then I will just drive to Sorrentino's and get ice cream, all on my own." He sighs dramatically " If only I had someone to split a triple chocolate hazelnut Sundae with."

As predicted, her bright, bell-like voice pipes up immediately at those key words.

"I'm here, daddy!"

He turns around and smiles: "Ah, there you are! What a nice surprise!"

It would be hard not to smile at the sight of her, her delicate freckled face framed by fine dark hair, Shepherd hair, as Addie likes to call it affectionately. Right now, it is still a little ruffled from cowering in her exceptional hiding spot. Escaping behind the backs seats was, while adorably ineffective, probably her last resort to avoid, what stands before her: Swimming class. Apparently, no amount of ice cream-bribing and good coaxing can make up for those.

Now, in the false believe that they're skipping the swimming altogether, she looks so adorably enthusiastic, with her mother's smile on her face, he almost doesn't want to reveal his trick. She's turned six last month, on the 12th of June, and Derek still can't quite believe it.

It's clichéd, it's what you always hear from the annoyingly proud kind of parents, but the times where she was as long as his forearm and needed her whole fist to grab his little finger do not seem this far away. Not so long ago, Aria was this tiny preemie and when they first handed her to Derek , he was scared that she would break, all logic and medical knowledge flown out of the window.

In a way it's still there, this fragility, because Aria surprised everyone by not inheriting either of her parents' confidence (Or arrogance, that really depends on who you ask). At least, that's what it seems like, at six years old. She is quiet and soft-spoken, a little introvert, who shies away from conflicts of all sorts, as well as from strangers, dogs that are bigger than a Collie, spiders, heights and, as they recently found out, water.

Which is why they're here. Aria's fear of the perfectly safe school swimming pool supposedly, turned swimming class at school into a very long and draining hour for everyone involved. That is if you want to believe her teacher who recommended (in a tone that didn't exactly suggest that they had much of a choice)that Aria should take extracurricular swimming classes.

"So, now that you're back" he winks at her "let's grab your bag, and go. We're already late.

As if on cue, her lower lip starts to tremble: "But you said…"

"That was the deal, remember? Swimming first, ice cream later"

But she is shaking her head frantically, dark strands flying around " I don't want to"

Her blue eyes widen and he can see the tears starting to build up, her lips pressed together tightly. It is almost the exact same expression her mother has when she tries not to cry. It's really not fair. This face will never fail to disarm him - on either of them -, which gives both of them incredible advantages in arguments, like this one. As the first tears roll, forcing her to this class seems impossibly harsh, but the responsible, more rational parent in him knows that one way or another his daughter has to learn how to swim. Sighing, he reaches forward to gently wipe one of the tears away with his thumb.

"Hey" he starts softly "It's only for an hour. It will be over as soon as you know it. And this time, the pool is much smaller. And, you'll have a different instructor"

The different instructor was Addison's suggestion. Technically not as much a suggestion as declaring Aria is never going back to that tight-ass. In his wife's defence: That wasright after they had left the parent-teacher-conference that followed that first disastrous swimming lesson, Aria in tow. As far as the description of said teacher is concerned, Addie wasn't exactly wrong.

Eventually she calmed down and started to research for the alternatives. In the end, to his dismay, she took the recommendation of Deborah Mills, who is the passionate helicopter mom of Aria's misbehaved classmate Trevor, chairwoman of the parent advisory, and, in Derek's opinion, overall a pain in the ass. Deborah is about twice as judgemental as all of his sisters together, especially when you are late for parents evenings or bring store-bought cookies to the school festival. Both occurrences are more than probable, if you're in the final phase of a surgical fellowship.

Unfortunately, his wife lets herself be guilted by that, enough, to try to win points with Deborah, and therefore set up a trial lesson with said recommended instructor. If you want to believe Deborah, the pedagogic skills of that man must be downright magical.

Just this morning, Addison was gushing about it:

"Deborah says, he is very patient, especially with the young ones" she cited, while getting ready to drive Aria to school. They both had to go in late today, which is a rare occurrence these days. Mature as they are, they had distributed the school-drop-off with a game of rock-paper-scissors and Derek got the double win: He didn't have to get up and got to watch Addie get dressed from is spot on the bed.

She was fumbling with the buttons of a cream-coloured blouse (see? He got better at the colour thing) and in that moment his interest in Deborah and her opinions on swimming education equalled zero.

Addison turned away from him and towards the full length mirror: "And apparently, during his classes, her son Trevor has not bitten the other kids once. "

"You know scientists are now saying that a first-grader not biting his classmates is actually not that uncommon"

His wife turned towards him with a mock glare, but he knows her well enough to see that her eyes were laughing along. If she had had a pillow in reach, he's pretty sure, it would have landed in his face.

"Trevor is insufficiently challenged at school" She mimicked, with a decent impression of Deborah's high-pitched voice and he couldn't help laughing. " That's the reason, he has to channel his energy into aggressive behavior"

"Right. Poor Trevor"

"At least, we found a swimming class that still had a free spot" she said, her voice more serious.

" Can't be much worse than the last one."

She grabbed her shoes – black, pointy heels – from the closet and reached for the jewelry on the night stand. Naturally, he couldn't stop himself from using that proximity to catch her hand, to pull her closer. She giggled, as she stumbled towards their bed

" Derek, I have to leave sometime." But she was leaning down to him, anyway. " Also, you can drive Aria there, right? I really don't want to miss Carlsmith's surgery on the preemie with esophageal atresia-"

"Addie, it's fine." He interrupted gently and placed a finger on her impossibly soft lips. " I can pick her up at three."

Slowly , she inched closer, their lips almost touching. Her skin was still soft from her shower, smelling intoxicatingly like some kind of flower.

A call from downstairs stopped him: " Mom! We have to go! We're gonna be late"

Simultaneously, they sighed and smiled at each other. Their daughter is a little rule-stickler - at least, when she's not scared of anything. Addison and Derek still try to figure out, where that gene came from (certainly not from either of them, as Richard could confirm), but the idea of being late for school seems unthinkable to her. Most probably, she was already waiting, all set and ready, at their front door, her backpack still bigger than her own petite body.

"Coming, sweetie" Addie shouted and his expression must has given his disappointment away, because she laughed lightly: "Sorry, honey"

"It's fine. Just be back soon"

She kissed him again, strands of red hair hanging into his face . The soft scent of her shampoo lingered in the air around his nostrils.

"I mean it." He insisted when she started to pull back "We both have a few hours before we have to go in. How often does that even happen?"

"Not often enough."

"Well, then hurry"

"Alright" she chuckled "I will"

She was evil enough to give him another kiss, the kind that would elongate the time until her return times ten, before heading out.

She ended up keeping her word, though.

The point is, it was a good start in the day , and he is determined to make this a good day for his daughter, as well. He musters up his most encouraging smile.

"Come on, it will be fun. You can make a lot of new friends there, and tell me all about it, when we get your ice cream

"But we could get the ice cream now, too. If we go later, maybe all the chocolate-hazelnut ice cream is sold out"

"Aria, it's only an hour. That will be over before you can even say chocolate hazelnut"

At this, she grins: " Chocolate hazelnut" she says with a triumphant smile.

She may not be fearless, but she sure is smart.

He taps her sweet freckled nose. "Come on munchkin, let's go"

"Okay" she sighs reluctantly.

From experience, he knows that he needs to act fast now, before she has a chance to change her mind again, so he gives her a quick ruffle through the dark, tousled hair, so much like his own, and moves to grab Aria's lilac duffle bag, the one with the embroidered yellow and white daffodils, from the trunk. Aria follows him not quite as happily, but he still going to count this as a win.

He takes a moment to bask in this episode of his successful parenting, as they make their way to the entrance. And now that he thinks about it: Overall, they did a good job, he and Addie. They were both in their second year of residency, when Aria was born, chronically overwhelmed and overworked and completely unsure whether or not they could handle a baby. Now, six years later, they have raised this incredible little girl. Sensitive, yes, but also mindful, sweet and extremely empathetic. And at this moment, in the afternoon sunlight, in a jacket that she inherited from Nancy's daughter and that is still a few sizes too big for her, she just looks plain adorable. In a rush of affection, he can't resist to ruffle through her hair once more.

"Dad?" she looks up at him.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"What's a tight-ass?"


And that's it for today. I know, I promised some present day Addek interaction, but if I included that, this would have been an ultra-long chapter. So I decided to split it into two parts and give you some fluffy(-ish), bittersweet flashback instead. Also, I'm kind of bringing a lot of OCs/ side characters into this story, I really hope that's not too confusing. As always, thank you for reading, and tell me want you think!