Chapter title is pulled from the song "Ten-Twenty-Ten" by Generationals.
Apologies, this is kind of a long one – I wish I knew how to do short chapters, but it never seems to work out for me. I'm quite happy with this one though. Things will get a little steamier again next chapter, and then there will be plenty of angst and dramzzzz in the several that follow (probably; I'm shit at outlining).
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Chapter 10. Distant Constellation
Three Years Earlier
Addison releases a weary sigh. It feels best to keep her back to the bathroom counter while she waits. She is thirty-five years old today, and what a birthday this would be if she finds out she is pregnant. So here she is, the heels of her hands steeled against cold marble, waiting to see whether lines appear in the window of the test she has just taken. She can hear Derek washing the dishes downstairs, a task he is really only doing to keep busy while Addison waits for the test to finish processing.
She thinks for a moment of herself as a willowy, solemn six-year-old who loved school – especially reading and math – and playing with the baby doll Cosy got her. She has a vague recollection of the Captain telling her around this age that a plus sign is Latin for more.
And that's what this would be too, right? More, more, more. The past few weeks have been brutal. The most difficult, worst weeks of Addison's life.
She's not ready, and now she finds herself waiting for the potential plus sign. Can she really bear one more cross right now?
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. .
"And…that's it for me." Derek sets his work cell aside, which makes Addison smile. She suspects Derek will check again later for an update on this particular patient though, never mind that another attending has it under control and he's off for the entire week starting now (no judgment, not really; Addison will be just as guilty of checking up on patients when her vacation starts). Derek is heading to Connecticut to be with his family this afternoon, and Addison will be joining him in a few days' time (Nancy is hosting Christmas this year).
"It's a strange field, sometimes," Derek muses, reaching for his personal cell (the one Addison is more interested in right now) and speaking more to himself than his wife. "You know – the brain and spine are so unforgiving, and you can't always cure things…I'm just enhancing this person's function in the face of a lot of limitations. Anyway…oh, here we go – here's a new one." He brings his phone closer. "Not sure what Liz's problem is, taking forever to send us pictures. How selfish of her, using this time to bond with her babies and rest and recover." Derek smirks teasingly as he hands the phone to Addison so she can see the most recent photo of the twins. "Doesn't she know to give the people what they want?"
Addison beams as she takes in the twins' pursed lips, skinny legs, and color-coordinated beanies pulled low enough to nearly hide their overcast-looking eyes. Well, just one set of eyes in this one. Baby Brother is sleeping in the photo. "God, they're perfect," she says, feeling warmth and longing balloon over her heart. "Did Liz say if they decided -"
"Carson and Stella."
"Aww. So sweet," she gives Derek his phone back. "And Liz said -"
"Yep, she's doing well," Derek finishes, following her line of questioning perfectly in the way that couples do. "I'm sure she'll give you a play-by-play in a few days that I'll cover my ears for. Oh, and I know Nancy told us she's pregnant again, but make sure not to bring it up. She hasn't told Liz yet. She wants to give it another week or so…she's worried she might steal Lizzie's newborn thunder if she announces it now."
This makes Addison laugh. "Kathleen would have initiated the thunder-stealing immediately." Addison does not say it with any disapproval, because although she is closer to Nancy and Amy, she really does love Kathleen (and Liz). It's just sort of who Kathleen is.
Derek nods in agreement. "Yeah, she would have," he says. "Well, Kate will get another chance eventually. Maybe it can be our thunder she gets to steal."
"Definitely. When we start trying, she or one of your other baby-busy sisters will get to make it all about them." Addison studies Derek closely while speaking, trying to pick out what is wrong. Normally, there's hope in his eyes when he talks about kids – plural. Addison thinks she'd be okay with just one kid, two tops, but Derek wants two or three – maybe more than that, horrifyingly. There's normally hope though, or even sadness, sometimes, because if Derek had it his way, they would have started trying a few years ago, and if he could have willed that former test of Addison's positive, then it would have been positive. Today he just looks angry. At her, not at the situation. The difference feels palpable. "I'm still set on starting to try in the spring," she adds, keeping her tone even. "I meant it, Derek, when we talked about it last. And I mean it now, too. If it's the time crunch you're worried about…I promise you, there's still time. And like we've said before: there's other options, too."
They've talked about "other options" before, in the event they have trouble conceiving. Private adoption, maybe foster-to-adopt. Many children need homes, after all. And like her, Derek isn't opposed to adoption.
Her husband's voice is cold when he answers, however. "I guess so."
Addison worriedly sinks her teeth into her lower lip. It looks and seems far too beautiful today to be having this conversation. It's almost Christmas, and all reports indicate it will be a white one. The decorations on their tree are glittering and winking back at them like stars. The candle she blew out before they went to sleep last night has continued to leave a comforting scent of pomegranate and pine lingering throughout the first floor of their home. And right now, on another snow-struck day, veins of dappled sunlight are spreading through their ice-smeared windows. It really is too beautiful for this.
"You're mad at me," Addison acknowledges. "Just say it, whatever it is. I'd like to talk about it. Hell, I'm even okay with fighting about it, if that's what you need. It's better than not fighting, because we've kind of hit the point where we don't even bother to fight anymore. And I know it's strange, but fighting has always been healthy for us, you know?"
"I'm just…tired of waiting. I'm tired of time."
"It'll go fast. We can always work on ourselves and where we are as a couple in the meantime. It's probably in our best interest to do that before we have a kid, anyway. Make sure we're on the same page and all that." Addison takes a seat at the kitchen table. "You're not happy, Derek, and I don't think it's just the kid thing. There have been little glimmers of happiness lately because it's our season, but overall, you're not happy. And I don't want to bring a child into the world – or into our lives – if this is where things currently stand between us."
"So much for the spring deadline then."
"Derek -"
"And that's rich of you to be talking about happiness."
"Fine," Addison replies in a snappish tone. She'll give him that. "I suppose that's true. I'm not happy. I'm lonely and I miss you."
"I'm right here, Addie."
"You know what I mean. Honey, I want to have a baby with you, I do – but not like this. Not when we've basically stopped spending time together and you blow off plans with me and we hardly ever have sex, which as you know, is sort of the basic requirement for having a baby together. It's been, like, two years or maybe even a little more than that since we've truly been okay. That's what I think, at least. So maybe we can talk about it. Or figure out a time to talk about it?"
Derek glowers at her remarks. "You know, maybe it's better if we just run out the clock and don't have a kid the 'typical' way," he snaps. "Or any way at all, really, if you're this unhappy, Addison. It might not be worth how inevitably difficult it would be. I mean, with your genes…and whatever therapy our kid is going to need as a result of you being raised by WASP-y wolves…" Derek trails off then, because to his credit, he seems to realize he crossed a line.
Addison stands up quickly enough that the chair she was in almost falls back into the wall. The problem is that Derek went into this knowing he was going to cross the line. And he did it anyway. It took Addison years to put a name to it, but the thing is – and it's a lot harder to overlook these days – there are always conditions and exceptions with Derek. When it comes to his love, to his support, to his patience. And right now, he's not fighting to reach a resolution, as was the case in some of the more memorable squabbles they had in their early thirties – now, he's fighting to wound. And Addison might be sensitive sometimes, yes, but very rarely is she threatened and it's not in her nature to back down from a fight.
"I would be a good mother," she says fiercely. "I will be a good mother. And as far as the woman who raised me, what you're specifically talking about…she was hurting, Derek. Bizzy had just lost her best friend – someone she cared about deeply. I know there's a lot of things to judge my mother for, and I'm usually the first to do so, but not this. What happened doesn't make her weak or indicate any character deficiencies. She was out of her mind with distress and she wasn't thinking. She was broken from grief. And even if…" Addison swallows heavily. She is not aware of where things currently stand, if the person Bizzy talked to has offered a diagnosis, or hell, if Bizzy is even still talking to someone or taking anything. "Even if genetics dictate that a child from me is more likely to share in some of Bizzy's more recent struggles, or that I'm somehow also headed for a fall like Holden Caulfield…the fact that you would throw this in my face right now is unspeakably cruel."
The brain and spine are unforgiving.
And as it turns out, so is her husband.
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Three Years Earlier
Bizzy is not a person who takes no for an answer. It's one of the few things Addison probably did get from her mother, even though there are times that because of her profession, she is capable of accepting defeat (if only grudgingly). And this is one of those times, with a surgery that pretty much only happened because she refused to be, as Bizzy accused her of being a week earlier, a passive spectator.
Addison can feel the pressure and resistance building in her throat because even though the writing was on the wall after reviewing the initial scans and especially during the scope, no, no, no, it shouldn't end like this. She thinks of what she already knew before she cobbled together a plan after consulting with Eric Rodriguez and a few other colleagues. The cancer has attached itself to major vessels. It's in the liver. There are lesions on both ovaries, a five-centimeter mass on the left, a seven-centimeter one on the right. There is evidence of lymphatic involvement. And the use of a surgical system machine is generally not used in cases like this. But still. No, no, no.
Addison looks over at Dr. Khatri, the oncologist assisting her, who didn't even get to get too far into his portion of the surgery when their patient flatlined. Dr. Khatri's eyes scan over the vital signs monitor. He'll wait for Addison.
She has to call it.
Susan's heart stopped, and Addison stepped back, because she is doing what she is supposed to do. DNR order. She took an oath, after all. And life – the quality of life – means something different to everyone. The quality of death, too. But it does occur to Addison that at least in this moment, Bizzy's accusation rings true. Addison is a passive spectator.
This was her mother's best friend on the operating table. This was someone her mother loved and apparently held hands with. And now Addison has to go tell Bizzy that Susan is dead.
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The ring of Mark's desk phone interrupts some post-op notes he is finishing up, and though he would normally be irritated for almost losing a thought mid-sentence, he knows what time it is, and he grins when he sees the call is coming from reception.
"Hey there," he says when he picks up the receiver.
"Hi, Dr. Sloan," his receptionist chirps back. Lynette. A saint among saints. She was his first clerical hire and one day (hopefully in the far, far-off future) when she quits or retires (her husband makes good money, so she doesn't really need the job), Mark will be devastated; he adores her. She's like a cross between a mother – a good mother – and a fun-loving aunt who teases him and tolerates his life choices and always gets his sandwich order right. She's in her late fifties – not that she looks like it, not with the subtle but perfect work Mark has done on her. Derek and Addison have joked that Lynette is Mark's most successful (though non-sexual) relationship with a female to date. There's some truth to that, Mark figures. And sure, he knows he probably doesn't have any moral high ground to stand on at the moment, but there are plenty of things he is decidedly not an idiot about, and how to run his practice (which includes not hiring staff he has an active interest in sleeping with) is one of them.
"You have something for me?"
"Yep. Delivery guy just left. I have your sandwich. It came with a giant pickle, too...oh will you stop laughing, you're such a child, Mark. And, um, also – I have Addison here. I asked her to take a seat…" she pauses so Mark understands that she can handle this with some level of discretion. Lynette knows. It's how they bond, he supposes. And she doesn't judge him. Or, okay, maybe she does, but she's nice to Mark and hasn't openly berated him for his decision to sleep with his best friend's wife two months ago. "So I can always tell her -"
"It's okay. I'm available. You can send Addison back, and if you could put the sandwich in the fridge, that would be great. I'll eat later. Thanks, Lynette. Tell her to just come in." Addison has been here enough times that she knows her way around.
"Make good choices, Dr. Sloan."
"I always do, Lynnie," he says, and hears her cluck her tongue and grumble something that sounds a lot like no you don't as she hangs up.
And then a minute later there's the requisite knock, and Addison is stepping into his office and closing the door behind her. She's in a classic Addison winter outfit today. A black mid-length coat (God, there's just something about this woman in black, he thinks), a sweater that probably has very specific dry-cleaning instructions, a tight pencil skirt, and a specific scarf she tends to default to on days as cold as this one.
Mark hasn't seen her since Thanksgiving, which, awkwardness between them notwithstanding, is a truly remarkable feat. They may have different specialties, but they still usually run into each other once or twice a week at NYP.
"Lunch break?" He asks.
"Lunch without the break, actually. I'm off this afternoon..." Addison offers a small nod of thanks when Mark gestures to the two upholstered chairs on the other side of his desk typically reserved for patients. "Too many hours recently," she explains while taking a seat. "You know...I don't think Lynette likes me very much."
"To be fair, Lynette doesn't really like anyone."
"Does she know about us?"
"No," Mark lies with ease. "So. Your lunch without the break included stopping by my office." He's not trying to be snarky, and he really doesn't have an agenda. It's just...complicated. And even when it's messy, even when it's ill-advised, the women he's used to being with aren't complicated. He can figure them out, at least. Not this woman though.
"I was…" Addison twists at her hands in her lap. "Yeah," she murmurs, starting over, eyes nervously darting to the side before she looks at him again. "I was hoping...the text I sent. Well. I was hoping you'd respond."
"Addison, you told me not to."
"I know," she acknowledges with a rueful look. "I guess I kind of did that ridiculous girl thing where I expected you to know what I was thinking and feeling without me saying it."
Mark sighs. He feels his patience start to slip away. "Why are you here, Red?"
"Because you're my friend and I miss you. And because...because I can't…" she shakes her head. She can't be at home right now. She just can't. "I wasn't ready to go home quite yet. Derek isn't leaving for another hour or so. He's heading to Connecticut this afternoon, and I'll be joining him this weekend." She brightens a little when unshared news occurs to her – not that Mark will care all that much. Addison wouldn't say Mark actively dislikes kids, but it's certainly not a topic he's all that interested in. "Lizzie had the twins yesterday."
Mark raises an eyebrow. "I remember Derek saying she was pregnant, but I didn't realize it was twins. Hopefully…" he offers her an indolent smirk. "Hopefully Liz was aware though."
"She was. You know...Liz has had some trauma in her life. Her father was murdered during her formative years. She was the one who called 911 when Derek was performing CPR on her baby sister. And yet, no one has ever once thought, 'Everly, Isla, and the twins will definitely end up in therapy one day because of her.'"
"I feel like I'm missing something here."
"I wouldn't…I wouldn't screw up my kid," she says, and Mark catches the tiniest hitch in her voice. "I'd make mistakes like any parent, but I would be loving and present. I would be a good mother."
"Yeah, of course you would. Did, uh, Derek tell you that you wouldn't be?"
"No. It was just...implied. Heavily implied. And he apologized immediately, but sometimes with Derek, 'sorry' is a Band-Aid on a wound that actually requires stitches."
This is true, Mark knows. Derek can be pretty cutting with his words when he wants to be.
"He can be a dirty fighter sometimes," Mark states with a certain degree of wariness while Addison unwinds her scarf and drapes it over the arm of her chair. He doesn't really want to get into this. He's tired – way too tired to do this, and he doesn't want to be whatever it is that would mean to serve as the opposite of a placeholder. "Red..." he shakes his head. "I'm not going to kick you out of my office when you're upset, but you can't do this. You're being selfish – and you know it's bad when I accuse someone of being selfish. I'm not trying to be mean, but you get that it's not fair to vent or use me as your sounding board, right? I know we're friends, but...we're kind of weird friends now. I'm not the person to talk about this stuff with, especially when it involves the other member of the trio – the member we don't want to hurt."
"I know," she answers quietly. "You're right. I just…I don't want there to be weirdness. I also don't want to erase that weekend; I just wish it didn't have to change everything. And I know that's not how things work, but…" Addison hesitates and draws in a breath. "Has it gotten easier for you yet?"
"Not really," he confesses. "You?"
"No. I can barely even look at you right now…because I really want to kiss you," Addison admits. She notices that Mark doesn't seem bothered by this statement. Or judgmental. "Could we…maybe do that?" She smiles hopefully, and it makes him wince. Because there it is again. Mark has always been a good time guy, a just here guy, and normally that's fine, that's all he needs, but it seems a little less fine with Addison. She's Derek's girl, he has reminded himself more than once in the past few weeks. Forbidden fruit. That's why this is difficult – it's something he has and you can't have it. But you're too flawed and stupid and reckless to turn her down.
Mark does try though. "I'm not going to comfort you with my mouth just because your marriage is in the shitter."
"Yeah…you're right. Sorry."
He sighs and shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry, Red. That was…rude and unkind."
Addison smiles weakly. "And completely true."
"Look, it's not going to work the way you thought it would," he says, trying to reason with her. "Or the way you want it to work. We can't go back in time and un-kiss and un-sex each other. And now if you're thinking we just kiss for a bit, that that's enough to hold you over…it's not. It won't be." Mark generally doesn't get involved, at least intentionally, with other people's girlfriends and wives, but he's had some past encounters, yes, and he knows enough to know he's correct with what he's telling Addison. "We'll end up screwing again."
"You seem pretty convinced about that."
"Because I know I'm right."
"It wasn't just…I really liked kissing you, you know. And I liked being with you, Mark. Yes, I was hurting, but even in retrospect, without being lonely and having some wine that evening and a storm and power outage serving as a dramatic backdrop, it wasn't a Derek thing and it wasn't a comfort thing. Or just, I mean. It wasn't just those things. I wanted it. And that wanting…it hasn't gone away. And the longer I sit here, the less I care about my marriage. I'm not trying to make more of that weekend than what it was, but we both really enjoyed each other, and I was happy and having fun and…you were there. You were there."
"But it didn't mean anything." Mark says it carefully, as though testing the concept out.
"Right," she says, answering to answer rather than truly thinking about his question and its potential implications. "And it's just that…"
This response doesn't surprise Mark. Addison is thoughtful, but she is also selfish at times. So is Derek. And Mark is too, of course – hell, everyone is sometimes – but he has always felt that their selfishness is one of the things that has strained their marriage. Too often they don't think about anyone outside of themselves. Mark has felt that way for years, long before Derek and Addison started to have problems.
"…it's just that I still want to kiss you. And have sex with you again. But…mostly right now I just want to kiss you," she finishes.
It is quiet for a moment as they sit under a halo of artificial light. Addison is again struck with a feeling that has been hitting her more and more lately when it comes to opportunities, whether they are morally right or not: maybe she is becoming a passive spectator in her life.
Mark interrupts her thoughts. "Come over here," he says. He angles his chair away from his desk, making room for her if she chooses to get up and join him. It's Addison's choice. Because that's what so much of this is. He's a willing participant, but the concept of coming, going, walking away – she's in control of that. And she chooses yes.
Addison walks around the black oak desk and situates herself sideways in Mark's lap, long legs draped warmly over his thighs as she crosses her ankles near the floor. The static of her stockings catches against his pants. And her lips part as though to say something, but Mark doesn't bother to find out what it is. Words don't seem to be working for them, anyway. He presses his mouth to hers, and Addison responds immediately, cupping his face in her hands and lightly grazing his stubble with her fingertips. The kiss tastes of mutual longing and something else Mark can't identify, but he knows it scares the hell out of him just as much as it excites him. He anchors his arms around her waist and she sighs contently with an mmm against his lips when Mark kisses her more firmly. It's getting heated now, and Mark really doesn't want to stop, but he pulls back when Addison sighs again. He fights off a smile this time.
"Hey…" he brings a hand up to rest it against the side of her head. He wants to drag his fingers through Addison's hair and twist some of the fiery locks around his fist, but she curled her hair today. It's always stiffer and neater-looking when it's hanging in spirals, so he resists the temptation to mess with it. He kisses her ear instead. "Try not to make noise, okay?"
Addison cranes her neck towards the door at this request, as though expecting to find Lynette and an audience. "Sorry," she murmurs – she doesn't look all that sorry though. Her cheeks are flushed with anticipation and a smile is creasing the corners of her mouth. God, he loves how damn happy she looks.
"I should be making the request out of respect to there being other people at my practice, but…" Mark grins slowly, knowing his next words will arouse her as much as they momentarily embarrass her. "I mostly said it because these are the only pants I have here. And those sounds of yours tend to have an effect on me," he says, and Addison ducks her head, giggling.
"I guess..." she smirks into his collarbone. "I'll try not to move around too much either then."
Mark nudges her cheek with his to get her to look at him. "That would be appreciated." He stamps a kiss against the corner of her mouth, lingering there until Addison adjusts her angle to kiss him properly.
They embrace for a few more minutes, kisses long and slow, not as desperate as before. Addison breaks first this time, sliding her mouth away and tucking her head beneath his chin. Mark loosens his arms from where they're locked around her hips, uncertain what to do next.
"When we're like this..." Addison finally says, words feather-soft as they glide over the hollow of his throat. "I forget everything else. Because that weekend mattered to me. I know that's cheesy, and again, I'm not trying to make it more than what it was, and maybe it just feels this easy and fun between us because we're close and we've known each other for such a long time, but I just…I don't know." She offers a one-shoulder shrug and then straightens up to look at him, blue-green eyes shiny and vulnerable. Mark is close enough that he can see the flares of yellow near her pupils. "I wish I could stay here longer," she admits, surprised that she feels brave enough to share this with him.
Mark's response comes easier than he would have ever thought possible: "Me too."
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. .
Addison knows who is at the front door that evening. Of course she knows. It's predictable, but it isn't just that – she sensed it and envisioned it on a deeper level too, even before it happened. This isn't the first time she's gone to open a door and known exactly what she was about to see on the other side, exactly what the person would look like, exactly what they would be wearing, and exactly what condition she would find them in. And if she was cautious, if she was sensible, she wouldn't answer. But much like the day before Susan's funeral, when she felt that fierce pull to go down the stairs and open the wine cellar door, Addison feels the same pull now.
A fleet of stars shimmer across a clear night sky when Addison opens the door to greet Mark, and she briefly recalls this morning, when she was thinking about what a beautiful day this was. It still holds true.
"I was in the neighborhood," Mark states calmly. The Loro Piana scarf she accidentally left in his office is tucked under one of his arms. His thumb absently strums over the eyelash fringe at the ends of the material.
"In the neighborhood," she deadpans. "Mm-hmm. Right."
"You forgot your scarf. And…and I know he isn't here tonight," Mark adds, face etched with extraordinary boldness, even for him. "Otherwise I wouldn't have…"
Addison steps aside for him to enter. Because…of course she does. "Damn it, Mark," she says in frustration, but also consent. She grabs onto the lapels of his leather jacket and pulls him with her towards the entryway wall. Her scarf swishes to the floor between them.
It happened this afternoon. And of course it's going to happen again now. Of course it is. Because Addison is lonely enough and desperate enough that Mark's mere presence seems to decree that this will happen again. And it may just keep happening, because every time he so much as looks at her now, Addison finds it hard to care that her marriage seems less and less likely to stretch towards infinity. It's like a moon breaking apart and a star losing its footing in the sky all at once, because when Mark touches her as though they're the only people in the universe, her marriage doesn't matter. Nothing matters but them.
The pleasurable contrasts amaze her. Cold is seeping in through the front door – Mark didn't shut it all the way, or she just didn't give him an opportunity to – but Addison feels so warm in his arms. His hips and thighs are powerful as he keeps her pressed against the wall, but his hands are achingly soft as they travel along her body, exploring her curves. His teeth drag against her collarbone, but he soothes each abrasion afterwards with his tongue.
She loses track of time as they exchange unhurried, gratifying kisses. It's comfortable, as though they have all the time in the world. They don't though. They don't. This Addison knows for sure, even though time seems to have no meaning right now. Truth and precision are attracting and repelling while Mark sweeps his tongue against hers and touches all the parts of her that he can fill his hands with. The slowness won't last though. She can't feel Mark's frustration against her – yet, anyway – so evidently he is okay with the pacing too, even though, like her, he probably wants more. More, more, more. Sometimes that is all Addison can think about. She yields to his movements, her limbs being worked like marionette strings.
"Mark…" she finally murmurs. "We can't do this here." Because they can't. Everything about this – everything including and since that weekend in the Hamptons – is wrong, but Addison can't quite think of anything more wrong at the moment than getting naked with her husband's best friend in the house she shares with Derek.
"Then let's not stay here." It's another highlight in distinctions. Mark's voice is simultaneously rough and gentle when he talks like this, when he tries to coax her along in the pursuit of more pleasure. Just more anything, really. "Come home with me." But he pulls back, stomach tightening when he hears Addison start to cry. "Addie…"
"I…I can't. I can't. This afternoon, I shouldn't…I shouldn't…" She shakes her head when he thumbs at one of her tears and rests his other hand against her upper arm, fingers softly curled around her. "You're right…" she continues, momentarily distracted by this comforting gesture. "I can't keep using you like this. I'm being selfish and just…just taking what I need, or something." She watches as Mark's gaze briefly flickers to the floor, and then back to her.
"He would always look at his feet before he lied," Derek said once, when he was talking about what he and Mark were like as kids. Addison can see the reframe in her mind though, and it sends a spark of fretfulness through her: he does this before he tells the truth.
Mark's voice is halting and low when he speaks. "I know what I said earlier, but I'm sort of okay with you using me if this is what it involves. This afternoon when we were talking about us, about that weekend…you said it mattered. And you said you weren't trying to make it a thing and I get that and I'm not either, but I just…I just wanted you to know it mattered to me, too. I know you're his though. I'm not trying to, like, take you from him or make this a thing. We're just two people scratching an itch."
"We can't keep scratching though. I'm married, Mark. And I love him. We're Addison and Derek. And just because he would never know…that doesn't make it okay. Yes, he's absent and indifferent and today he said something absolutely awful to me, but that still doesn't make any of this okay or right. He's a good person. I can't do this to him. We can't do this to Derek. So I need you to leave. Please. You have no idea how much I want you right now, but I can't do this. So. Please?" Addison's voice climbs up at the end. She is shaky, fragile when Mark releases her arm. It occurs to him that she needs him to say no because she can't. And that's his role, normally. He's the bad one, the flawed one.
"Yeah." Mark clears his throat. "Yeah, of course. I'll go. I'm sorry, Red."
She shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so hell-bent on hitting the self-destruct button on my marriage. I want to go with you to your place, Mark, I do – but it's wrong. I think…" she gives him a tired smile as she rubs at her cheekbones, the ruins of dampened mascara spread like ashes across her skin. "I need to talk to someone. Like a professional."
"Right. I should…right. Well, I guess…I should get going." He takes a step back. A big one. He vaguely recalls a game Derek's sisters used to love to play when they were little: Mother May I? or something like that. Mark takes a step back. And then another. Twirl like a princess. The girls wanted that one the most. "Addison…have a good Christmas. And I'll…" God, he hates that he's about to say something so annoying and cliché. "I'll see you next year."
But Mark has become a cliché, hasn't he? He's fooling around with his best friend's wife. And he's…what? He feels bad about any pain or anxiety this is causing Addison, and he feels bad that she started to cry tonight, but he's not exactly remorseful. He might have just been repeating what she said, but he still said that it mattered. Why though? He isn't quite sure, other than the fact that the answer is no, which of course appeals to him because so rarely is he not able to get what he wants. He finds a way. He always does. Sometimes it's simply sheer force of will – Mark has always had that in spades, and examples rush through him as he walks away from the brownstone and hails a cab, directing the driver back to the Upper East Side. He was a four-year starting wide receiver in high school, even though he wasn't ever the fastest or strongest player on the field. He also found a way with test scores. With match rankings. With talking his way out of more than one physical altercation. With women who shouldn't necessarily be making themselves available to him. He can build anything up and tear anything down. Mother May I have…Addison? No, Mark, you disgusting, hopeless excuse for a human being. It's wrong. She's the wife of your best friend – the wife of your brother, really.
Maybe the willpower comes from self-loathing rather than wanting to actually accomplish something though? Maybe. It sort of makes sense. He should ask Olivia.
And it's strange from this angle, even if Mark were to find a way to remove himself and see the whole thing from the perspective of an outsider. It never seems like it's the man who is doing the pining. It's always "the other woman," waiting for the day her lover leaves his doe-eyed, unsuspecting wife and they ride off into the sunset together.
Mark stops at a bar near his apartment and flirts over multiple scotches with a cute brunette who shrugs and agrees when he asks if she wants to get out of here. Haley? Hallie? Fuck, what does it matter. She's just split up with someone, and is looking to have a little fun. And that's his sweet spot. She probably won't remember his name in the morning, either.
She's not the only one in recent weeks, but by Mark's standards, he's definitely hit something of a sexual plateau throughout November and December. It's Addison's fucking fault. She's a distraction, even when he's not with her or talking to her.
He tried to see a therapist after his mother died. Her name was Olivia…Olivia something. It felt foolish though, even in the reasonable face of trying to navigate grief and loss. He didn't stick with it long, and he didn't expect it to have any actual effect on him regardless of how much money he forked over each session. People aren't perfect little continents of joy, he believes, nor can they become one. Not in this world, not when you have zero control over what other people do and say. Or what people do and say to you.
Mark still has the therapist's card tucked away somewhere, its edges a little worn from the amount of times he ran his thumb over them when he contemplated whether or not to keep an appointment. He's not sure why, but he considers calling Olivia again. Maybe.
And here's another cliché: he thinks of Addison the whole time he's with H-something.
. .
. .
References:
Slight nods to the following exchanges:
Addison to Mark in Grey's, 3x03. "Here's the thing. We've both really enjoyed each other. Before and…now again." Also there is cute hair stroking and shoulder rubbing involved and then lololol jumpy Addison loses her mind and accidentally smacks Mark at the end of the scene when they're about to kiss. And also, we know from a slightly later episode in S3 that pickles amuse Mark and he is completely comfortable asking Addison if she wants his pickle.
A wonderful Addison and Bailey exchange in Grey's 3x04 (I loved their relationship):
Bailey: "Never would have figured Mark Sloan to be your type."
Addison: "He's not...he's not! What is he doing here? He's not supposed to be here. I can't have him here. He's supposed to be in New York. I can't…I can't function with him here. I'm a professional here, people respect me here. But when he's here, I'm just... I'm..."
Bailey: "A woman who gets the hots for man candy and cheats on her husband?"
Addison: "That is rude. And unkind…and completely true."
Grey's, 3x08:
Bailey: "Did you ever think about having kids?"
Addison: "Derek and I talked about it, but I wasn't ready."
I'm not going to track down the Private Practice episode, but one time a patient asked Addison what she would name a baby, and she said Carson, because it could be "a girl or a boy name." And…okay, sure. But then she named her son Henry and her daughter would have been named Ella (*sobs loudly*), so those deviate pretty greatly from the, um, Carson-ness of her possible first choice. Anyway. So Liz having a Carson is just a nod to that. (We also know that in Grey's season 1, Derek had nine nieces and five nephews at the time…and Amelia didn't have children then, so the other three Shepherd ladies were busy).
Addison talking to her brother about Bizzy's manner of death in Private Practice 4x14: "I mean, when I was younger, I would've thought it was weak…she wasn't thinking. She was broken from grief. She was out to sea and she drowned." (I think it's clear or clear-ish where I'm going with the Bizzy backstory/storyline, and I'm not trying to be secretive about it…I'm just not revealing it all at once.)
Hmm, let's see. Other stuff: Derek is a tough one for me to write, so I'm doing my best with that, but ugh, I don't particularly enjoy writing him, so hopefully I'm capturing his "essence" okay…like so, so many of the male characters in Shonda Rhimes's worlds, he's incredibly toxic (for all the Scandal fans out there, he doesn't reach the level of unbearable toxicity that President Grant does, but still). Derek sees the world in black and white (his mother has said as much), but there is still plenty of gray/nuance to him as well, so hopefully a smidge of that is coming across.
Susan's diagnosis/complications are mostly pulled from bits in season 4 of Private Practice, and Bizzy calling Addison a "passive spectator" also happened.
Oh, and also, there really IS something about Addison in black. We're all on agreement on this one, yes? Thanks for reading. Reviews are always appreciated!