Chapter title is a lyric from the song "From the Ground Up," by Sleeping At Last.

. .

Chapter 8. Our Accomplice is the Rain

Addison is fun, Mark thinks. It's not the most sentimental thought, but there is just no way around it. Addison is fun and she is clearly having fun…and that makes it really, really fun for Mark too, even when he does everything he can to ensure her needs come before his own. Each wild cry from her and the way her body strains underneath him spurs him on.

There are other things too, of course. Addison is responsive to every touch and the noises she makes are intoxicating. Her hair feels good whenever it tickles against his skin. The heat of her smolders him even through latex. She's beautiful and she looks great naked; her body might as well be a damn template for prospective patients who come to Mark for consults, in search of different shapes and enhancements and anything else that typically makes the woman currently moaning yearningly in Mark's embrace dismiss the majority of things he does with his hands as frivolous.

Mark's hands definitely aren't being met with judgment now though. He slips one between their bodies and increases his speed above her. Addison has been watching him with an expression he can't quite figure out, but when his fingers caress her, it doesn't take long for her to tighten around him. Her eyes flutter closed, and her groans and pants land warmly against Mark's skin. He feels an urge to kiss her eyelids, but knows better than to alter his rhythm now.

They finish together. It vaguely surprises Mark they were able to share this moment, especially during their first (and only, he reminds himself) time together, that elusive holy grail of perfectly timed, synchronized pleasure. He wonders if it means anything, or at least anything beyond the fact that Addison is clearly able to hold out as long as he can. Mark thinks again about kissing her eyelids, but his face is buried in the slope between her neck and shoulder and he's too tired to move just yet. Her muscles continue to tense lightly around him, and he grunts, enjoying the sensation. When Addison finally relaxes, he still doesn't want to move – even though he really does need to get up – and discovers he can't. Not with her legs still locked around his hips like this. Addison apparently doesn't mind that his full weight is on top of her. She plays lightly with the short ends of his hair with her fingertips, and runs her other palm along his upper back.

"That expression about riding a bicycle…" she says, laughing breathlessly and cracking apart the silence of the afterglow. "I was never very good at riding one. I fell off my bike once at my parents' country house and scraped up my whole face."

Mark grins into her sweat-glistened neck. "You're really good at sex though." He threads his fingers through her mussed-up hair, moving a few strands away from her face. "You might kill me if you get any better at it, actually." He inhales slowly. Even with the layer of sweat clinging to her, Addison still smells good at her pulse points. Some sort of vanilla-scented perfume, maybe. "I like you like this," he adds.

"Naked?"

"Well, that, sure. But I meant…" Mark hesitates, feeling a little foolish. "Happy."

Addison's nose brushes against his ear as she rests her head closer to him. "Yeah," she murmurs in agreement. "It's been…a long time since I've gotten to be happy…to feel this way. Thank you, Mark. For making me feel happy." She untangles her legs from around his hips, and a satisfying ache rolls through them both as she stretches out beneath him.

. .

. .

Four Years Earlier

Age has bruised him. Life has bruised him. And today, Mark thinks as he pointedly ignores the firm rap of knuckles against his apartment door, loss has bruised him.

Mark knows who is knocking, and how Addison either evaded the doorman or convinced the doorman to just let her go up to Mark's floor without contacting him first, he isn't sure. He also knows she has a key though, in the same way he has one to the brownstone. If Mark waits long enough, she'll let herself in. That way he doesn't have to get up from the couch.

Addison knocks a second time, and then he hears the scrape of the key and watches the doorknob twist. Mark feels a twinge of regret flood through him when he sees that Addison is wearing scrubs – she clearly left NYP soon after she saw the text message he sent to her and Derek.

"Hi," she says, a little out of breath as her eyes meet his. "I came as soon as I got out of my last surgery." She steps inside and shuts the door behind her. "Derek should be here in like an hour. He was just finishing up for the day, and I told him I would come check on you first."

"You didn't have to," Mark says, but he gestures to the empty cushion beside him so that Addison knows her presence isn't necessarily unwelcome. "He doesn't have to come either."

"But I wanted to." Addison sits down beside him, close enough that their legs are almost touching. "We wanted to. I don't have to stay though. I just…I just wanted to tell you in person how very sorry I am, Mark."

"Thank you. It's not like…it's not like we were close though."

"But that doesn't mean it's not difficult. I don't know what it's like to lose a parent, to lose my mother, but still…" Addison takes a deep breath. "We're here for you. And I'm here for you right now. We can just sit here, or drink, or watch TV, or play a board game, or pray, or whatever…or I can leave, too. Whatever you want is fine – I won't be offended if you want to be alone right now. And I know I could have just taken the hint when you didn't call me back or respond to any of my texts, but I guess I just wanted you to know there are other options, besides saying it's okay and that you don't need anything. People show up for people. Friends show up for friends."

Mark manages a weak smile. "I'm not convinced you know how to pray."

"Neither do you, I bet," Addison replies. "I mostly said that one as a joke."

"I'm glad you're here, Red, and I want you to stay, but…you'll look away if I start crying, right?" Mark doesn't think he will, despite how tight his throat has been ever since Everett called him this morning with the news, but he wants to issue the warning anyway, just to be safe.

"Yes. I promise."

"I guess we could play Settlers of Catan or something when Derek gets here. But he – I mean, Addison if he's had a long day, he doesn't -"

"Derek wants to be here. You know, one time, when he was a kid living through one of the worst days of his life, his best friend came over. And his best friend also gave his mother flowers, and Carolyn appreciated them so much that she dried and pressed them. Did you know that? She still has them in her room somewhere. I'm just saying…" Addison's voice catches. "I'm just saying that even if there isn't anything you can really say or do at a time like this…sometimes you can just sit in a person's pain with them."

"I stole the flowers," Mark says hoarsely. He stares straight ahead and pauses to do some calculation. He is thirty-three now, which meant Christopher Shepherd was killed twenty-one years ago. "Jenny didn't have any cash in her wallet. And she was…taking a nap. A tranquilizer and alcohol-induced nap. Because that was her life. She could function, and she always came alive at night to go out with my dad, but she wasn't…" Mark shakes his head. "You know, there were times after Derek's dad died that I thought…what an absolute waste of a fucking person my mother is…and yet, it was Derek's parent who died, and not…not…I know that's a horrible thing to think…"

Mark angles his head as far away from Addison as he can and presses his chin into his collarbone when tears start to fall. She rests a hand on his upper back, but remains quiet, save for a rustling sound that he assumes is her rummaging through whatever designer purse or handbag she's carting around today.

"I'm not looking at you," Addison says delicately. "I'm just…rubbing your back and handing these to you in case for whatever reason you need them." She holds out a pocket pack of tissues, keeping her eyes trained forward as Mark accepts them and his fingers shakily peel back the sticky part securing the pack. "You can keep them," she adds. "Take the whole thing, it's fine."

"It's okay." Mark dabs at his eyes, feeling self-conscious. "I…I think I have tissues somewhere around here."

"On your nightstand, I assume."

Mark continues wiping at his tear-dampened face, and it takes a few seconds, but then he grins widely as he understands the implications of what she is hinting at. "Damn it, Red," he says, turning to face her. "That was really funny."

Addison smiles sheepishly. "I know. I'm pretty proud of that one. And…sufficiently grossed out with myself that this is the kind of humor I'd resort to, but I figured it would make you laugh." She tips her head against his shoulder. "Love you, Mark," she says. "And I'm sorry for your loss, as trite as that sounds."

"Love you too, Addison," he answers, thinking absently how weird it is that people always drop the I when they want this phrase to sound more informal, more safe-sounding. "And I love Derek also, for the record," he tacks on, because it's true.

"I know. And he loves you back."

. .

. .

Addison and Derek utilize a cleaning service for their Montauk house that Mark imagines includes discretion as part of the housecleaning plan, but as he drops a tissue-wrapped condom into the waste basket, he makes a mental note to take the trash out later anyway.

Addison was happy, Mark thinks as he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He made her happy. And he was happy, too.

He splashes a little water on his face, and then heads back into the bedroom. Addison is sitting on the edge of the bed and has shrugged her CBGB shirt back on – they are half-naked opposites at the moment, since Mark put his sweatpants back on. She smiles shyly when Mark approaches her.

"Hi," she whispers, tipping her head up to maintain eye contact with him when he pauses directly in front of her.

"Hi." Mark nudges gently on her shoulder, pushing her back down on the mattress. Addison props up on her elbows immediately though, her mouth rounding in a question. "I'm making you happy again," he answers before she can ask. "Just one more time."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to." Mark kneels down and tugs on her hips to draw her closer to him, ignoring her surprised squeak when he drapes her long legs over his shoulders. "It's funny how women always seem to think this is a chore for men, and it's really not." Not if you're doing it right, he knows.

"But I – Mark, I don't think…" Addison trails off as a blush skirts across her cheeks.

"Don't think what?" He asks casually and feigning innocence, which feels a little mean. Addison is too embarrassed to say she doesn't think there's any way she can climax again – at least not yet. "It's okay. I don't have to, if you don't want me to," Mark adds lightly. He does have to though. If Addison declines, then of course he'll back off, but Mark knew as soon as he walked out of the bathroom that he can't kid himself into just thinking this is about her, about keeping her happy.

"I don't…" the pinkness in Addison's face is still prominent, but when Mark rests his cheek again her thigh, his stubble inadvertently making her leg twitch, he can see the color starting to spread down Addison's chest, her skin flushing in a different way now. "I mean, I do want you to." She grins and raises an eyebrow. "Just go slowly, at first. I don't think I've quite recovered yet."

Mark didn't get a chance to do this with her earlier, and while there are a lot of things and different positions he'd love to try with Addison because she really is a lot of fun, nothing seems to come close to this particular act. Mark has to know. He has to know what she tastes like; he has to know just how much of a frenzy he can work her into, especially when he adds his fingers and starts to move them faster; he has to know what it will feel like for him from this angle when she arches underneath him, if the sounds she makes will drive him just as crazy as the ones she made earlier; and he has to know if her fingertips will brush gently, tenderly at his hair while he spends time between her legs, just like they did earlier when he was inside her.

Mostly though, Mark realizes as Addison starts to rock her hips against his mouth and her breathing becomes more labored and she mumbles a plea of don't stop – because yes, she absolutely can come again, and Mark knew that right away, and knew he would be the one to get her there – he knows that he doesn't want this to be over, yet.

. .

. .

Ten Years Earlier

"What's this stupid line about bears and lions?" Mark asks, leaning over Derek's shoulder.

"It's the mascot for both our undergrads…" Derek tells him. He studies what he wrote again, and frowns. "It was just an idea, but I guess it doesn't really fit anywhere."

"No, and don't try to fancy it up: you were a polar bear. And yeah, yeah – I know mine was worse." Mark smirks. He applied to a lot of colleges and got into most, but, like Addison, he figured it was in his best interest to hop a state over to get away from his parents. And he has no regrets; he enjoyed his time at UPenn. "Your future wife thinks so, at least," Mark adds. "That was when I knew I would be friends with her, by the way: she hadn't known me that long yet, but she looked me dead in eye and said she was amused by the idea of me being a Quaker."

"I'm sure you had some sort of inappropriate comeback when she made fun of you for having such an anti-Quaker personality," Derek says while crossing out another line. "But I do appreciate that you guys like each other. It would have been kinda tricky to navigate all this if you didn't. And she also doesn't care that you call her 'Red.' I'm pretty sure you're the only one who calls her that, actually."

Mark's friendship with Derek has evolved over time. They are still close, of course, but they are older now, which inevitably means the landscape of their relationship has changed. And Derek just keeps growing up, and while Mark is growing alongside Derek, he hasn't exactly grown up. He isn't quite sure how to grow up, honestly. And now Mark is helping his grown up best friend – his engaged grown up best friend – write a love song for his future wife. As for Mark? He's had plenty of girlfriends, but nothing serious or long-term. Most of the women he's been with are just…boring, uninspiring, and not particularly witty. Even Derek has commented on this. Mark knows that he needs someone who can challenge him more, and someone with a brain as talented as her mouth. That might be a nice combination. My own version of an Addison, Mark thinks, because even though neither Mark or Derek would ever admit it, she is infinitely smarter than them both. And she's also fun to spend time with.

"That one right there…" Mark points to a half-complete line. "Finish it with 'Gross Anatomy class with Addison's fine ass.'" He grins, pleased with himself.

Derek lets out a short, barking laugh. "That's good – or that's something at least, but I'd rather you didn't comment on my future wife's ass. Or look at it. The 'we've always had the same taste in women' joke is only funny when it's applying to someone unattainable – like Linda Evangelista or something – not a real-life person I was somehow lucky enough to land."

"Yeah, you definitely out-kicked your coverage with Red. But hey, at least I didn't insult her ass. And I'm not looking at it. The line fits though, and she'll like it. You gotta have a few funny ones in there. It should be short and sweet though. You can scratch the whole third verse."

"I guess her mom and dad will think the 'Addison's fine ass' line is crude. So…" Derek smiles with happiness. "That's a plus. Okay. You get credit for that one and I'll be sure to keep you in the loop once the royalties start rolling in. No more inappropriate lines though."

"Bummer, because for my next one…what if after you say, 'Gross Anatomy class with Addison's fine ass…' you then say, 'as soon as we started the dissection, I got a massive -"

"Stop."

. .

. .

"Are you okay?" Mark asks. They are lying next to each other afterwards, hands tucked behind their heads and elbows just a hairsbreadth away from touching.

Addison tilts her head towards him, her hair fanned out behind her on her pillow. "I mean." A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. "I might not be able to walk straight, if I can even walk at all, but otherwise…yes."

"Sorry-not-sorry about that part, but that wasn't…quite in the way that I meant it. Or what I'm specifically asking, I guess," Mark says gravely.

"Oh, right." Addison nods slowly. "Yes…I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. But this isn't…I generally don't cheat, you know." It's mostly true, after all. And for some reason, it feels important for Addison to know this.

"I know," she replies. "I didn't really think this is your MO, Mark. And I…I'm not a cheater generally, either. I mean…" she sucks in a nervous breath. "I've never cheated. Ever."

"Just during Settlers of Catan."

"That was one time. And I'm pretty convinced you cheated, too, but you got a pass because that was a rough day for you," Addison says. They lie in silence for a few minutes then, just two pulses in a light-filled room. "I feel guilty," she finally adds, pushing up into a sitting position. "But I don't regret this. I don't regret you and I don't regret this. And I know that's a horribly selfish outlook because there's no way to get around the fact that this is adultery, pure and simple, but it's just how I'm feeling right now, and…anyway. I should…" her voice briefly goes brittle, but then she takes a slow, measured breath and it vaults back to its normal cadence. "I should go back to my room."

Mark keeps his voice neutral as she climbs out of bed and steps into her pajama bottoms. "Okay."

"Thank you, Mark." Addison's hand briefly touches her chest. "I feel…I feel much better now."

"Good. I'm glad you feel better. Hey…Addison?"

"Hmm?"

He points out a lacy piece of fabric Addison has apparently overlooked in her haste to get out of the guest room. "As much as I wouldn't mind stashing them in my pocket, you should probably take your panties with you, too."

"Right."

. .

. .

Twenty-Five Years Earlier

"Mark?" Mrs. Garcia's voice echoes over the sound of Mark's sixth grade class clambering out the heavy door to head to the cafeteria for lunch. "Can you please hang back for a second?" Mark rolls his eyes as a few typical, teasing "Ooo" sounds from his classmates follow, but he turns back and walks up to Mrs. Garcia's desk. He can't think of anything he did today to get in trouble, but even if he did do something wrong, usually flashing Mrs. Garcia a smile helps to soften her. She likes Mark, and she seems to recognize that he is incredibly intelligent – possibly more so than Derek, one of her other shining pupils – but that a fair amount of patience and tolerance is required when it comes to educating Mark Sloan.

Mrs. Garcia's lips pleat into a thin line. "I was wondering if you had any contact with Derek this weekend…did you hear from him or his family yesterday?"

Mark shakes his head. "No," he says. That's not super unusual though. It's spring, so baseball takes up most of Mark's weekends, and Derek usually goes with his dad to his store on Sundays. Derek isn't at school today, which is a little weird because Derek never misses school, but everyone gets sick from time to time (Mark can only imagine though how devastated his friend will be to miss out on a Perfect Attendance certificate this year).

"Derek is okay, but…" Mrs. Garcia's brown eyes fill with tears, and Mark glances away, uncomfortable in the face of this unexpected emotion. "Something happened yesterday at Mr. Shepherd's store, Mark. I'm going to let the rest of the class know after lunch, but I wanted to talk to you first…"

As soon as school gets out, Mark quickly walks off campus, determined not to talk to anyone in the few blocks it takes him to get home. He decides he will go to the Shepherds' house. Even if they aren't home, or don't want to answer the door, he can at least leave something for them.

When Mark gets home, he finds Jenny asleep (not surprising, and he knows the correct term is passed out – so waking her up just isn't worth all the time it will take). He rummages through her purse, but can't find any cash. Mark sighs in disappointment as he writes a note so his mother will know where he is in the event she wakes up before six. He spies a hair tie in Jenny's purse though, so he takes that – it doesn't exactly match the rubber bands he has seen that neatly bind store-bought bouquets, but it's probably close enough – and on the fifteen-minute walk to Derek's house, he stealthily takes what he can from various front yards along the walk, mindful not to take more than one or two flowers from each yard. The end result is a small, droopy cluster of pansies, petunias, and shell-pink carnations Mark nervously holds out to a wan-faced, teary-eyed Mrs. Shepherd when she opens the front door.

"Oh, Mark. Thank you. These are beautiful." Carolyn really does seem to like the flowers Mark brought her, but Mark is certain she knows this arrangement was put together in a more unconventional, non-store way. "Derek is in the den with the girls. You can go in there. He's not really saying much right now, but I'm sure he'd love if you just stayed with him for a little bit." Carolyn swallows heavily as she pulls Mark into her arms, careful not to crush the flowers between them. "You're such a good boy, Mark. You're a good person."

. .

. .

"Can I join you?"

Mark is able to stop himself from jumping at the sound of the shower door being slid open behind him, but he still turns around with an expression of surprise when he finds Addison poking her head through the door. Mist stirs around her, but not enough to obscure the appealing visual; Addison is already naked.

It's a far cry away from the woman last night who, yes, ended up being sensual and confident and passionate in his arms, but initially, that wasn't entirely true – Addison was a little shy and self-conscious at first. Mark caught the moment when she took her shirt off and her arms stiffened at her sides so she wouldn't bring them up to cover herself. There's that. She has to know now though, that not only is Mark bad, but he's weak – he will never deny her anything. She's probably known that all along, he figures. Once she went back to her room last night, Mark thought about her earlier words: Tell me no and I'll go back to bed. Tell me you don't want me. Tell me no. By saying that, did it mean she decided their fate, or had he? Addison told him recently about a pick-a-door story she'd read as a little girl, something about a lady and a tiger. Trial by ordeal. This isn't really all that different, is it?

"I'm definitely not saying 'no' to your fine ass," Mark says in response to Addison's question, and goes as far as to take a big, inviting step back. "But you know it's not the weekend anymore, right?" They are planning to head back to Manhattan this afternoon.

Addison smiles at this comment. "Well, it might be Monday, but it's still technically our weekend. I just…I just kind of want to make the most of the time we have left, since once we leave here…" she shrugs limply as she steps into the shower. "This can't happen after we leave the Hamptons, so I thought we could just…"

"Tear one off for old times' sake?" Mark asks as she comes over to him and runs her hands over his chest. Her smile lengthens at this comment, and her fingernails disrupt the beads of water clinging to him and streams lacing down his body.

"Something like that."

Mark dips his head to kiss her. She returns this gesture eagerly, moving her tongue over his, and he takes a moment in between kisses to shuffle them around so that the majority of the water coming down is raining against her hair and shoulders. Addison then slides a hand down his stomach without warning, and her fingers curl around Mark to hold him in her hand.

She smirks when she hears the change in his breathing, and peers up at him with water-coated eyelashes. "I want you to be happy too, Mark," she says.

"Trust me: I'm very happy right now, Addison…growing happier by the second. You're a lot of fun, you know. But I…" he walks her backward until she is pressed against the slippery wall tiles, trapped between him and the wall. "Sorry." He murmurs when she briefly tenses at the coolness of the tiles. "I don't think I can wait anymore." He can tell from the look on her face that she's perfectly okay with this, and then she circles her arms around the back of his neck in encouragement.

"Condom?" She asks while he sweeps his tongue over water droplets lingering on her jawline.

"I don't have another one." The face Addison makes when Mark says this is so comically sad that he almost laughs. "I only brought one and it was…I didn't even bring it, really. It was already in my bag. I wasn't exactly planning on having sex this weekend, Addie. What did you think I was going to do? Just ditch you for Married Tessa or go out for the night and leave you here by yourself?" Mark shakes his head. He probably hasn't done much of anything to change Addison and Derek's perception of his lifestyle, but Mark definitely has less of a nightlife now. Oh, he still has plenty of fun and he doesn't sleep alone consistently, but he's also tired now, too. Thirty-seven means he keeps Ibuprofen in more than one location, can pull a muscle even when he isn't doing anything, and owns an alarming number of "staying in" clothes. Sex is great, but honestly, so is getting somewhere upwards of five hours of sleep. "Aren't you on…the pill or something?"

"I am. That's not…" she gives him a discomfiting smile when he places a hand on her hip. "That's not exactly why I'm bringing up condoms, Mark."

"Oh. I'm clean. And I always use condoms with other women." This is true. Yes, there have been a few instances of negligence over the years, and he's not factoring in actual relationships where there was some exclusivity (not that there have been many, and definitely none in about three years), but no condom-less hiccups in the past year come to mind, and Mark really would be honest if that was the case. The last thing he wants is the three of them all showing up at the pharmacy for special antibiotics. "You can trust me. Let's be happy again." Mark's hand stays where it is though, in deference to her. She can choose their fate, this time. "I swear I'm always careful, but…" he smiles slowly, wheels turning with a joke that is only half-kidding. "If you'd rather I use a condom, don't think I won't jump out of this shower and sprint naked to the closest store to get one. Because I would."

Addison giggles. "It's okay. I trust you. And…" her voice lowers, throaty enough that Mark feels it everywhere. She grins when he knows where she is going with this, and Mark puts his hands underneath her to slide her up the wall. "I want you. And more." She clenches her muscles around Mark when he pushes inside her. "Mm. I want more."

They wash each other off afterwards, taking their time as water and body wash sluices down their sated bodies. Washing each other away, actually, Mark thinks.

Addison wanted more, and she got it. But that's also what happens as soon as they begin the process of getting ready to leave this weekend in the past. Life becomes a little "more" in its complexities and its emotions, for the both of them.

And life becomes harder, too.

. .

. .

References:

Grey's 6x20, Mark speaking to Arizona: "My mom is dead. My dad is never going to get off the couch again. I don't have any brothers or sisters. This is my grandson. My grandson. I'm not just gonna turn him over to some strangers when I might have a chance at a family. So just, give me a minute here." We really don't know much about Mark's family, other than this detail, and: 1) his parents went out a lot at night, and that, per Mark, 2) he doesn't really have a family – he considers Derek his family (Grey's 3x12). I've always felt Mark's desire for a family sometimes trumps his desire for a relationship – not that a family and relationship can't be one and the same, but Mark has always seemed to place an emphasis on the former, and I'm sure it stems from having a lonely, neglect-filled life within the walls of his childhood home.

The old times' sake comment is in reference to Mark talking to Addison in Grey's 4x13 (her first time being back at Seattle Grace after relocating): "What do you say we lock that door and tear one off for old times' sake?" And the "fun" line was a nod to the greatest Mark/Addison sex scene to ever grace our TVs (PP 3x11).

"Gross Anatomy class with Addison's fine ass" was indeed a Mark-created line in the love song Derek wrote and sang at his and Addison's wedding. And Mark did tell Meredith that he and Derek have always had the same taste in women. Annnnd the panties comment is of course a nod to dumbass Derek putting Meredith's panties in his "bad tux" (Addison's words, not mine) at the end of Grey's season 2.

I don't know for sure that Christopher is Mr. Shepherd's name, but it was Derek's middle name, and Amelia named her first son Christopher, so I think in all likelihood, that's his name (correct me if I'm missing something, but I don't think they ever mentioned his name).