Chapter title is a song by The Antlers.
. .
Chapter 9. Flash Floods Don't Retreat
It is a mostly quiet ride back to Manhattan, with occasional spikes of chatter that drift between simple and strategic. Mark talks about what he has scheduled surgery-wise later this week. Addison shares a little about the book Archer has coming out. Mark reminds her that he told Derek he was taking the train yesterday…not driving back with her. And Addison tells Mark that when they pull up to his apartment and switch seats so she can continue on to Central Park West (God forbid Mark let her drive her own car), that will be the point at which the adulterous, steamier parts of their weekend will cease to exist.
Addison turns to gaze at Mark when an eruption of orange leaves sprinkle onto and then over the windshield, carried away by a breeze. You feel it too, right? she thinks as they cross East 88th. The worry that despite everything I'm saying, there's no way things can be normal again? And that it won't be easy to not think about what happened? Addison also finds herself a little afraid of the possibility of losing Mark. Derek is…well, he's Derek, currently. And Naomi lives on the other side of the country. Savvy is a good friend, but like Addison, she works long hours, and current circumstances dictate they are most likely to see each other in a doctor-patient role; Savvy is in her second trimester now. And Addison has a handful of other friends and some friends that belong to the Montgomery-Shepherds as a couple, but none of them are people she is super close with. She really can't maintain deep friendships, not with the kind of job she has. It is a bit peculiar then to think that, if just by default, Mark probably is her best friend.
"Oh. Thank you…" Addison murmurs when he puts on the hazard lights and comes around to open her door at pretty much the exact moment she is opening it herself. "So. Um. Before I go mute on the subject forever – and I hope saying thanks doesn't make you feel like a prostitute or something – but I did just want to say…thanks. Thank you, Mark, for this weekend."
"Why? Nothing happened this weekend," Mark says, and Addison's smile is partially hidden as she tucks her chin into her oversized scarf. "I…" he shrugs, unsure of what else to say. "I had a really fun time doing 'nothing' with you. So…if I don't see you at the hospital beforehand, I guess I'll see you Thursday night?"
Addison's eyebrows crease. "At…at what?" And then she feels a stab of discouragement when Mark tells her Derek invited him over to watch a football game. Apparently her husband is able to commit to plans and spend time with others. Just not with her. Not anymore. Addison masks her pain for the time being though and exchanges a few more meaningless words with Mark, but when they go to say goodbye, she starts to giggle.
"Did you just…pat my shoulder?"
"Red, what am I supposed to do? Just…give you a hug and act like everything is normal?" And then Mark grins, realizing he has answered his own question. "Right. C'mere, you." He pulls her into his arms for a quick hug, as though nothing has changed. And then they trade places, as though it really is that simple. "Bye. I'll see you Thursday."
But Mark does not see her on Thursday.
He waits until after kickoff to bring it up. "Is Addison still at the hospital?" He asks casually.
"Red is indeed still at the hospital," Derek answers, and Mark doesn't like how he says the word Red. Derek never calls Addison that, and the way in which he spits it out now feels scornful, petty. "You'll notice though that I'm not huffing about it – that's the difference. One of the differences, anyway. Sometimes I think this just isn't…there's like this drowning element that..." Derek leans forward when a 30-yard pass is successfully completed. "Hey! There we go. They're actually looking good tonight." And then he turns to face Mark, who has gone perfectly still, waiting for his friend to finish his thought.
"You want another beer?" Derek says instead.
"Oh." Mark clears his throat. "Yeah, that'd be good. Thanks."
Derek doesn't return to whatever it was he was trying to say. And Mark can't bring himself to ask.
Addison has told Mark before that of course Derek has emergencies and practice-related things that can keep him from getting home at a decent hour, but she has wondered from time to time if Derek creates delays because he doesn't want to be here. Mark considers that something similar is going on right now, that maybe Addison doesn't feel comfortable being here while he's here, and has decided to stay at NYP late rather than face him.
. .
. .
Four Years Earlier
Addison works her teeth punishingly hard along the inside of her left cheek until she is in danger of drawing blood. Pull it together, she thinks, crossing her arms tighter over her sweater. She should have grabbed a coat before coming outside. This is ridiculous. How is it that you can separate fetal blood vessels, but are incapable of cooking a turkey?
"Just give me a second, Derek," she says when she hears one of the arched double front doors open behind her. "I'll be right in."
"It's not Derek."
Addison smiles tightly at the sound of Mark's voice. "You two are like the same person sometimes. You both open and close doors in this really quiet, measured way. So…" she tries harder to stretch her smile out, to appear amused. "How are the hot dogs coming along?"
"Oh, you know. They're all hot dog-ish and stuff. Derek's got about ten more to do. It could have been a worse alternative meal, I guess," Mark says mildly. He didn't want to come today – and obviously he felt a strong urge to leave as soon as Nancy left the table to vomit, at which point a lot of non-vomit noise and drama ensued over Addison serving them a still-a-little-raw turkey. Mark didn't have much of a choice though; it hasn't been too many months since Jenny died, so Derek and Addison would have dragged him here if he didn't come on his own. "Hot dogs are…bearable." Mark comes down the concrete steps to stand next to Addison. "Derek could have just given us all that damn muesli cereal he likes so much. Or green juice. Anyway, Dinner Round Two will be served in a few minutes. I just came out here to see if you were okay. And to get away from your nieces and nephews for a few minutes. Cute kids, but loud."
"I…I never fit in when it comes to this kind of stuff." Addison briefly glances at him, her expression full of weariness. When she looks back in the direction of tree-lined Central Park, just down the street and past the crosswalk, she can no longer pick out individual leaves – everything is an overwhelming blur of yellow, orange, and green behind her teary eyes. On days like this, it is hard to know if the landscape is slowly disappearing, or if she is. "And nothing I ever do is good enough for Carolyn – but Derek doesn't see that, or just chooses not to," she shares. "I'm probably not even good enough for him either, most days."
"That's not true, Red."
"I guess not. It's just that…my husband gave me twenty-four hours' notice to make a Thanksgiving dinner for thirty-four people. I've never cooked a turkey before. And I don't really know how to do Thanksgiving. Louise, Gabriela, a few other cooks we had along the way – when I was growing up, they brought the food in, we ate, and that was that. It took me a long time to realize functional families have, like, traditions. Derek comes from one of those families, you know? So with the Shepherds, there are Turkey Trots and parades and football and happy, smiling faces. There's this whole…wishbone thing with the kids. And once everyone is seated for a ridiculously early dinner, they go around and say what they're thankful for. There's just…family everywhere. Family who knows what they're doing to the point that it's autopilot." Addison drags her knuckles under her lower eyelids, smudging away lingering tears. "Christmas is easier for me. I decorate. I give people gifts. And even if I didn't know exactly what to do, I feel like it would be easy enough to fake." She inhales shakily. At least the tears falling this afternoon have been somewhat graceful, manageable. "You can go back in if you want, Mark," she adds quietly. "I'll be okay. I just need to stand out here for a few more minutes until my skin feels thicker."
"Do you want my jacket?" Mark asks. Not that his leather jacket is going to help much, but it is cold out, and Addison was clearly too upset to grab something off the coat rack when she walked out of the brownstone. She shakes her head at the offer though. "No? Okay. What about…um, a hug or something?" Mark knows from experience if the situation were reversed, Addison would assure him that she wasn't looking if he was emotional, but she would still find a way to sneak a hug in. Nothing about feelings – either displaying his own or watching someone else put theirs on display – is particularly easy for Mark. He typically feels a heaviness pulse in his stomach whenever he sees someone crying, or whenever someone is suffering through no fault of their own or due to pain they didn't sign up for. It's not as difficult with Addison though, probably because he's known her for so long, and because it's not entirely alarming; she can be sensitive sometimes, sure, but she's also fiercely resilient and kind of a badass.
Addison shakes her head again. "No, because if someone looks outside, they'll be able to tell I'm upset. At least with my back turned, they can't see me crying or see that I'm spiraling enough to need a hug. I mean, granted, if Mom – Carolyn – if she looks out here she'll probably just think, 'Oh, there's my unlikable, poison-giving daughter-in-law, sulking again.'"
Mom. Carolyn has never encouraged Addison to call her this, but she's also never told her not to. Addison only started doing it because of Kathleen, Nancy, and Liz's husbands. She remembers asking John a few years ago if Carolyn ever expressly told him to call her "Mom." John – who started dating Nancy around the time Addison started dating Derek – said he honestly couldn't remember, but now it's mostly habit, even though it's still a little weird since he already has a mom known as Mom. It's not a habit for Addison, but she has always gotten the sense Carolyn thinks she is snobbish and cold, so maybe calling her "Mom" once in a while will soften her motherly heart towards her only daughter-in-law? And unlike John, it's not like Addison is in danger of overusing the word or feeling awkward about taking it away from someone else; Bizzy has never been "Mom." Or a mom, for that matter, sometimes.
Mark bumps his shoulder against hers. "You just have to get through today…and then all these crazies will be out of your house and it'll get better. And Christmas is coming. That's like yours and Derek's season."
Addison glances at him, intrigued. "Our season?"
"Yeah, you both get so into it. It's disgusting, honestly. But a cute, tolerable disgusting, I guess," he says, and Addison beams. Our season. She is going to remember that. "And hey," Mark adds while returning her look of cheerfulness. "If you can go back in there and get through today, I promise I'll let you set up a tree in my apartment this year."
She holds him to this.
A few days after Hot Dog Thanksgiving, Mark opens the door to his apartment after his doorman called up to let him know "Addison is here to see you, and she has a large box." Mark thought he'd have more time before all this holly-jolly shit was going to start, but evidently not.
"I'm glad the aforementioned box wasn't an innuendo on Tom's part." Mark holds out his hands to accept the rectangular box Addison is cradling awkwardly between her arms along with two heavy-looking, bulky plastic bags hanging off her wrist. Mark can only imagine how she politely shooed away his doorman, who would have offered to carry everything. There's Addison's control-freak tendencies, for one. And probably just her desire to be the one holding all the Christmas-related things when she gets to the twenty-second floor. Yes, Mark knows she can be selfish and shallow at times (pot meet kettle, Derek would inform him), but Addison really isone of those people who likes giving gifts more than receiving them.
"Shut up," Addison replies, smirking with amusement. She walks ahead of Mark to a corner of his living room that she already knows will be the perfect spot. "It's just a four-footer. I figured you wouldn't want the hassle of a real one…and in the bags are a few ornaments to get you started. I'll bring some more by later, and I also need to get you a tree skirt." Her expression turns sheepish. "Thank you for indulging me. And I know it's early, but I like to have mine and Derek's tree up by December first. That way I get to enjoy it for a whole month."
"And how are things with Mr. Wonderful?"
"Good." Addison smiles at him, part of her reflection catching in one of the glass ornaments she has cupped between her hands. "We, um, made up that night, once everyone left."
Mark chuckles. "Good for you crazy kids. Derek is alive though, right? You're not just lying to me about the make-up sex so you'll have an alibi when the police eventually discover his wife poisoned him?" He studies her closely, waiting for her reaction. "Sorry. Too soon, Red…?"
"Let's give it a few more weeks."
. .
. .
"We've been summoned," Addison says at the beginning of the third week of November. Derek glances up with a perplexed smile, and then scratches at his lower lip. "Well, I've been summoned," she continues, "but it would be nice to have you around for said summoning." Addison then fills Derek in on the details. She spoke with her mother this afternoon. Well, not really. Leah called. She's Bizzy's social secretary, but mostly she's just known as "the new Susan." And Addison's presence has been requested on Friday and Saturday. Archer has some sort of book promotion thing in Bridgeport and it's apparently "a good look" to have the whole family present.
"…so we have Thanksgiving at your mom's, spend the night as planned, and then head to Connecticut with fake smiles on our faces?"
"You know…" Derek shows her a teasing grin. "The Archer thing has never been a selling point for me when it comes to being summoned. Don't you know that by now?"
"I definitely do, but...can I count you in?"
"Absolutely."
It wasn't uncomfortable or nerve-wracking for Addison when she arrived back home from the Hamptons a few weeks ago, even though she believed it would be both of those things. But no. It had been oddly…thrilling to face her husband, actually. Derek gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek when she came through the door with her suitcase. I fucked your best friend, Addison thought as she slipped out of the hug, and although she would never tell Derek that – obviously she would never tell him that – she felt a perverse sense of glee at the idea of telling him. And at the idea of carrying a secret like this. And he fingered me and went down on me too, and I came really hard both times, she added in her head, which was a strange twist given that while Addison certainly isn't a prude, she usually isn't so direct and, well, coarse when it comes to naming certain acts. And it was good. Really good.
This time of year is good for Addison and Derek though. It's almost their season, and Derek's enthusiasm for Christmas just about matches hers most of the time. His mood lifts when the holiday season rolls around. He told Addison in their first year of marriage about a line his favorite author once wrote: snow is never more beautiful than in the city. And then he told Addison that she looked beautiful in the snow, too.
"We should probably start thinking about Christmas stuff," Derek says, and Addison feels a flush of encouragement that they are so clearly on the same wavelength at the moment. The same one for nearly a week now, actually. "Gifts and all that," he continues, fingering at the silky tie on her wrap top. "Maybe a lambswool blanket or new sewing kit for my mom. And I'm sure the kids would be happiest with gift cards. My sisters too, probably. And for your parents and your saintly brother…well, we'll just do our best."
"Seems like you're a bit more focused on unwrapping me at the moment."
"Yeah. So I should probably stop talking about family members. Especially since I need to concentrate. Getting you out of your clothes is a bit like a puzzle when you wear tops like this." Tops. Not shirts, or at least not always. Derek has learned, Addison knows. It's just one of those funny things where the longer you're with someone, the more you adapt to their ways. Derek can name at least ten fashion designers and Addison can easily list the current NFC rankings. You grow with the person beside you, and when you love them enough, your love (or at least acceptance) for the things that are important to them grows, too.
Addison briefly presses her lips to his neck, excited about the direction this evening is going in. "I suspect you're up for the challenge," she says, tone flirty.
"Very much so. And it's a job I take seriously."
Addison has already closed her eyes in anticipation of being kissed, and Derek snorts a little at her for doing this, but then he touches his mouth to hers and he's not laughing anymore. She sighs happily as they pull apart so they can make their way to their bedroom. Days like this – weeks like this – make her forget the problems. She forgets the absence, the indifference, the unwillingness or just general laziness when it comes to stepping away from all the things they are good at (surgical skills, mostly) to devote some attention to some of the things they are struggling with (this long-term rough patch in their marriage, mostly). None of those things are in the forefront of Addison's brain as they fall into bed together. Derek is happy today. So that means she is happy, too. That's how this works, right? Addison isn't much of a Hemingway fan, but since Derek is, some of the quotes have bled into her – the growing and adapting thing. A particular line Derek said is attributed to his favorite author tugs at Addison as she follows her husband up the stairs: Stop chasing the wrong one. The right one won't run.
She exchanges a long, lazy kiss with Derek when she rolls off him later that night. He pulls her back against him almost instantly – he is in the mood to cuddle, apparently – and he is asleep within minutes. It takes Addison much, much longer to fall asleep, even with Derek's warm weight against her and one of his arms drooped lazily over her waist, which reminds her a lot of their early days, when they would just about run home in order to have sex and then drift off to sleep still vined around one another.
Tonight was good. Of course it was good. It's Derek. It's Addison and Derek. But it wasn't really good. Addison knows what that's like now, because she's had it. Sweat from their lovemaking is still beading beneath them on the teardrop-shaped swirls of their paisley sheet set.
Tears on tears, kind of. And then more wetness follows when a rush of guilt bends through Addison and moisture crowds in her eyes.
. .
. .
Three Years Earlier
You are almost thirty-five years old, Addison chides herself as she calls her best friend a few hours after the incident at the hospital with Bizzy and Susan. Her cheek is no longer pulsating from the slap, but she swears it is, anyway. How can you possibly be so scared of your mother, and sort of hate her, and yet still be so damn desperate for her love and approval?
"Nai, it was awful." Addison needs to talk about this without sparing any details, but she is also looking forward to getting through this portion of the conversation so they can move on to happier topics…hopefully.
"I'm so sorry, Addie. I can't believe Bizzy would – wait. Sam…hey, Sam? Hang on, Addie – sorry, just give me a few seconds," Naomi says, and Addison can still hear her friend a little in the background. She uses this time to pour herself a glass of wine (she needs at least two after the day she's had) while catching most of Naomi's separate conversation. "Sam, what's the name of that oncologist at St. Ambrose who is usually willing to take on cases that don't have a good prognosis? He did hot chemo on one of our patients once."
"Um…Rodriguez. Eric Rodriguez."
"That name sounds familiar," Addison says when Naomi redirects her attention to Addison and tells her a bit about Dr. Rodriguez. "Thank you for thinking about him for this. Would you be able to connect me with him? If he's open to it, I can send him the scans and get his opinion. I know it's desperation talking at this point, but it's Bizzy. It's Bizzy, you know?"
Dr. Rodriguez will either say there are options, or there are no options – Addison is not sure which scenario scares her more. She is afraid of this. And of so many other things.
Fear keeps following her as the years stumble on, hanging over her like a cloud. Addison remains afraid of disappointing her parents. Of disappointing anyone, really. She is afraid of failing. She is afraid of ending a marriage she is no longer happy in. She is afraid of anything concerning her marriage, honestly, which also includes staying in her marriage. She is afraid that her window for having biological children is coming to a close. She is afraid of ending up alone, and much like options versus no options, whether she stays or she goes – that sense of aloneness just seems fused to her. The fear doesn't go away.
And Addison discovers that as the past becomes the present, and as fall marches in to the silent snow of winter, she is afraid of all the things she can talk herself into in the interest of feeling good, of all the things that aid and abet the flood of lust. She becomes afraid of the depth of her feelings, of every emotion she starts to feel when she's with her husband's best friend.
And fear just breeds chaos.
. .
. .
Addison smiles as she watches a blue jay delicately hop around the rim of a bird bath in Carolyn Shepherd's backyard. The bird navigates over a cluster of icy edges – the result of last night's unexpected dusting of snow and this morning's pervasive chill – to access the available water lingering in the basin. It's a heated birdbath. It had been Addison's idea to get this for Carolyn a few years ago, and Carolyn, who really likes birds, absolutely loved it. It was one of those moments where Addison wondered if her paranoia that her mother-in-law disliked her was in fact way off base.
It's Thanksgiving, you know, she says in her head to the jay. Don't linger. It's not the best day for your fellow birds.
"Haven't seen you around much lately."
Addison tenses at the sound of Mark's rumbling voice. She and Derek weren't sure if he would be making an appearance. For the past few years Mark has usually cobbled together all the willpower he can and will spend Thanksgiving with his dad, but since the Shepherd and Sloan childhood houses aren't that far from one another, sometimes Mark will stop by to say hello to Carolyn and the Shepherd girls. But it's early evening now – Addison has come out to the back porch to call her brother to check in about tomorrow – so she figured she was in the clear. She hasn't seen Mark much since that weekend in the Hamptons. She also hasn't attempted to contact him and hasn't responded to a handful of texts he's sent her (they have been the casual, observational types of messages that don't really necessitate a response, but still). There have been a few sightings here and there at the hospital, but that's it. Addison isn't avoiding him, but she certainly isn't going out of her way to look for him, either.
She thought it might be easier. But it's not. It's really, really not.
"I've been busy," she says, keeping her voice neutral as Mark comes to stand next to her. His knuckles curl around the deck rail.
"Busy in general or busy avoiding me?"
Addison sighs. "Both. I know…I know I said we need to just do the business-as-usual thing, but it's probably better if we spend some time apart."
"And why's that?"
"Mark, come on." She frowns through a swell of discomfort. "Don't make me answer that."
He breathes out slowly, and it's cold enough that an iridescent cloud of air lifts away from them both. "I can't stop thinking about you," Mark admits quietly. Addison is momentarily rendered speechless by these words, and how he can make them seem so gentle and gruff at the same time. She clenches her jaw and swallows nervously.
"You need to though."
"Don't you think about me? Or that weekend...?"
"No." Addison forces herself to look at him. Mark looks significantly taller than her right now, because while it's not really her style, Addison is wearing flat, shearling-lined boots today in an attempt to "dress down" a little. Carolyn has made remarks before about Addison's designer heels. "I don't think about you. At all." She presses her lips together, expecting this insolent comment to make Mark stiffen, but if it bothers him, he doesn't show any hurt. Instead, his mouth twists into a smirk.
"You're a bad liar, Red. The crappy poker face for starters, and the thing with your thighs."
"What thing with my thighs? Also, you shouldn't be looking at my thighs."
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. When you're feeling aroused, you press your legs together. And..." Mark leans in closer. Not close enough that it could be viewed as inappropriate, but still unacceptable in Addison's opinion. "And when I lower my voice like this – just like this, Addison – your eyes dilate and you start to get -"
"Stop it," she hisses. "I mean it, Mark. Cut it out."
"Everything okay?"
It's the second time today a person has stepped outside and announced their presence without Addison hearing the sliding door get nudged open. And it's the second time she's become rigid at the person's words.
"Yes. Everything's okay, Amy." Addison can't quite figure out the initial look on her youngest sister-in-law's face, but Amy's features quickly readjust to form a friendly grin. "Mark and I were just talking about a mutual patient and we have differing opinions on the appropriate course of treatment..."
. .
. .
Nine Years Earlier
Mark almost grimaces when he spots Addison swiftly walking towards him, heels clicking mercilessly against the wooden floor in the church foyer. He isn't sure if a person can actually look bossy, but Addison definitely manages it, especially today. Can I not even take a piss in peace anymore? he plans to ask. Mark assumed that as a guest at this wedding, he would have a fairly easy time of it, but apparently being close to the bride but not close enough to be in the wedding party means he is obligated to help with last-minute things. Addison is in a similar position, but because she is wearing heels, dainty earrings, and a nice dress with flowy sleeves (Mark can't just say because she's a girl, since he knows Addison would be offended and share this offense with all of womankind), it means if anything in the reception hall next to the church needs to be lifted and moved, it's on him.
"I need you to go somewhere with me," Addison says when she reaches him.
"Are we pulling the getaway car around? You know, statistically speaking, it would make sense that at least one Shepherd sister would get cold feet, but Nancy wouldn't have been my guess."
Addison shakes her head. And then she is tugging on his wrist and they are heading out to the church parking lot, because of course they are. It's not like Mark actually had a choice.
"Nancy is fine," Addison tells him. "But you and I are not going to see her be fine and walk down the aisle, because we need to go to Cortland."
"Ugh. That shithole? Pass." It's automatic, but then Mark grows serious, because she wouldn't have said any of this if it wasn't serious. It feels much more serious than moving a few rental chairs and tables around, at least. "Why?"
"Because one Amelia Frances Shepherd is currently in a cell at the county jail there. I just found out from Derek and…and understandably Nancy isn't available to go get her, the rest of the sisters are in the bridal party, my husband is one of John's groomsmen, and Carolyn isn't going to miss her daughter's wedding for this. Plus, you know how Derek and the non-Amy women of his family can be…they'd let her sit there forever and wouldn't have an ounce of sympathy for her situation. Not that I don't feel the temptation…Amy was driving drunk. Way over the legal limit, apparently. Her boyfriend was in the car with her, too. She's lucky she didn't kill him or anyone else. Or herself, for that matter. And it's also going to be messy legally since she's only eighteen. I don't even know if bailing her out is an option right now – I'm not sure how any of this works, so I'd feel better if someone came with me. Can you drive while I call Savvy? She's an attorney, so hopefully she can give me a little guidance on how to navigate this."
"Hurricane Amelia is gonna run out of lives at some point." Mark feels bad for stating this, but he isn't wrong. Amy seems to be going down a bad path. Mark will not be there in a few months' time when Derek will breathe the life back into his junkie (or then-junkie?) little sister, but Mark can imagine because there were a few instances with his mother that were probably just steps away from being fatal. He tries not to be judgmental, because although he personally might not abuse pills or be reckless enough to drive completely loaded, he is no stranger to other forms of self-destruction. And Mark also understands the complexity behind addiction. He has to, as a doctor, as a man of science. It just…it hits harder when it's personal. Jenny has been mostly functional in recent years and not as psychologically-dependent on Ativan anymore, so at least there's that. But it's not like Mark has forgotten his childhood.
Addison lets go of his wrist. For a split second, she looks like she might cry over Mark's running-out-of-lives observation. "I'm not going to let that happen," she states.
"I know. It'll be okay. We'll get Amy straightened out. And, on a different note…" Mark graces her with a warm smile when they reach his car and get in. "Since it's a wedding, I figured there was a chance I'd end up leaving with a woman, but I didn't think it would be you, Red."
"Just drive, please."
. .
. .
December feels lonely at times, especially the closer it gets to Christmas. The city is covered in sparkly decorations and everyone just seems giddy and alive, but Mark can't overlook the simple truths of nature: it gets dark so early; branches have been torn from faded wood; fog hovers somberly over the Manhattan skyline most mornings; and it's cold enough that it burns.
He is alone in this quiet, withered-white landscape. He plugs the cord into one of his outlets, and watches as string lights glow on the tree Addison got him several years ago. He uses the same ornaments she gave him, too. Silver balls. Blue balls (he's feeling a little too melancholy tonight to even make the joke). Some Yankee ornaments. And a picture of Mark and Derek as little kids that Addison tucked inside a picture frame ornament – she always hangs a matching one on whatever Balsam fir she and Derek drag into their home.
Mark experiences a funny lurch in his chest when he gets a text from Addison, and the uncomfortable sensation only strengthens as he reads her words.
Please don't reply and please delete this after reading. I'm not alone right now.
Of course I still think about you and of course I still think about that weekend. Sometimes it's the only thing I think about. But I'm married and I love my husband, Mark. What happened between us can't happen again. I thought I could put it behind me and never look back, but it hasn't been that simple and obviously I was an idiot to think I could act like nothing happened. I'm sorry for any pain and hurt this has caused you. I'm trying to move past this though, and I need you to do the same. I need you to try. Please try.
And over on the other side of Central Park, Addison finds herself a little sad that, even though it's what she asked for, it's what she thought she wanted, Mark doesn't respond.
. .
. .
References:
(Yikes this is an entire page of notes)
Addison describes Christmas as hers and Derek's "season" in Grey's 2x12, and mentions getting Carolyn a lambswool blanket for Christmas. Also, Addison did refer to Carolyn as "Mom" at one point (in the episode where Nancy came to Seattle), which feels, you know, a little weird given that eventually it's mentioned that Carolyn hates/hated Addison? (Even before the affair with Mark, she hated her, apparently)
Amelia truly is the Ageless Wonder on Grey's, so I am not giving much concern to ages and timelines and possible (no, definitely) discrepancies here. Past Private Practice/Grey's information though (and I'm assuming you'll take my word for it if I don't always reference specific episodes, and also hello if you're still reading this rambling mess) includes the following: Amelia (then known as Amy) overdosed as a teenager and was technically dead for two or three minutes before Derek revived her; she was wild enough during her teen years that she earned the nickname "Hurricane Amelia"; she for real missed Nancy's wedding because she was in jail (no reference to what specifically she did, but I can't imagine it was too egregious); and she spent most of her twenties holed up in a library studying, and was sober for quite a long time before she slipped up on Private Practice.
Smaller tidbits: the twenty-second floor was the floor at The Archfield that Addison's hotel room was on, and Mark requested a room on this floor at the end of Grey's 3x03 (I like to imagine their rooms were fairly close to one another ;)). They lived at this hotel for IDK, either a few months or 207 years. This is not an important detail that actually warrants a mention in Atlas, but it makes me happy to throw in "subtle" nods here and there. Same with the Eric Rodriguez bit (a character – a very flirty character – essential to assisting Addison when she performs surgery on Susan in Private Practice). I'm not planning on doing anything with him, but I just threw that part in since it somewhat fit. The "I don't think about you" line is a nod to Grey's 3x14. You know the episode. You know the scene. And you know the scene near the end of that episode. I know you know it. And, muesli cereal – Derek eats this every day for breakfast. It's mentioned in Grey's season 1 when he's at Meredith's house/The Intern Hostel one morning. And we know from too many references to count on Private Practice that Addison likes green juice (why, I don't know). Oh, and the paisleys! Mark slept with Addison on the flannel sheets, which are Derek's favorite (Grey's S2), but Addison insisted his favorite are the Italian sheets with the paisleys. He then (understandably) asked her to stop talking about the damn sheets.
Re: Savvy, Addison's friend (Grey's, 2x08). She won't really be an instrumental character in this, and I'm not planning on doing anything health or surgical-related with her (e.g.: BRCA gene and family history of ovarian cancer). I am happy with how I handled that storyline in MTGOF Redux, so creatively, I'm going in a different direction this time.
Derek's favorite book is The Sun Also Rises (Hemingway). Mentioned in S1 Grey's.
I've quoted the hot dog scene before, but it IS an excellent scene in the first Grey's/Private Practice crossover (PP, 2x16), so I guess I'm doing it again. Addison talking (arguing) with Derek about the infamous hot dog Thanksgiving: "Your mother breaks her wrist, so the day before Thanksgiving, you invite 34 people over to our house, without asking me, knowing I've never cooked a turkey in my life. Your sister [Nancy] gets salmonella, and your mother accuses me of trying to kill everyone. And then you, ha-ha, make hot dogs, and you're the hero…you make some statement and I do all the work. No matter how it turns out, you're the hero, I'm incompetent." IDK how Addison did not sleep with Mark IMMEDIATELY after Derek pulled this crap on her, but hey, that's neither here nor there.
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