Chapter title is the song "Into the Fire," by Thirteen Senses. A classic Grey's song! And just one flashback this chapter – trio scenes are my favorite.
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Chapter 21. Into the Fire
"I haven't seen a certain leggy redhead this week…" Lynette states, trying to keep her tone neutral and unassuming while she shuffles insurance papers between her fingers.
Mark doesn't really blame his receptionist for exposing her curiosity. The leggy redhead in question usually makes an appearance at his practice once or twice a week, and Thursday is now coming to a close. It has been six days since his argument with Addison. He hasn't shared that detail with Lynette though; if he had, she probably wouldn't have brought Addison up.
"Am I a bad person?" Mark asks rather than directly addressing Lynette's lingering query. He adjusts his phone in his back pocket while waiting for a response – another detail that has gone unshared.
"You're a complicated person." Lynette passes him a copy of tomorrow's schedule, along with an apologetic look for the unintended coffee ring in the top right corner. "A complicated person who sometimes does bad or ill-advised things, but no, Mark – you're not a bad person. What did your therapist say when you asked her this?"
"The classic therapy thing where she asked me if I think I'm a bad person." Mark grins weakly. That's probably what Olivia would say, at least; it's been about a month since he last saw her. "Olivia also once told me that beneath this rugged and confident exterior, I'm self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree."
"Sweetheart, how much money are these sessions costing you? I could have told you that free of charge. But, Mark…" Lynette's shoulders rise and fall with a gentle sigh. "You know, when all of this started with Addison, I probably should have put my hands over my ears and started going 'la-la-la-la-la' so you couldn't talk about it with me. Not that I don't want to support you, but I can only tell you what I think, and that doesn't mean that's what you should actually do."
"You're the closest thing to a mom I have," Mark counters. Jenny is gone, and while she might have been a mother, she certainly wasn't a mom – the difference is clear to Mark. And as far as other maternal figures, he doesn't see Carolyn Shepherd much anymore, and even if he did, it's not like this is a topic that could be on the table. "Your opinion and advice are important to me."
"Even so. You're going to have to figure this out on your own. It's wrong to cheat, but it's not wrong to feel, and…you get how significant this is for you, right? I'm proud of you for that. Whatever happens, if it ends or it doesn't end with Addison…I'm proud of you for letting yourself be vulnerable enough to love someone like this."
Mark pulls his eyes away from Lynette, feeling embarrassed, but he does manage a small, quick nod. Yes, he recognizes the significance. He always tries so hard not to feel anything, especially anything that would leave him completely and utterly exposed. To feel is to get your hopes up, to get hurt, to be disappointed.
And Mark especially never thought that he would feel this feeling: love.
"There just…there isn't really a roadmap for a situation like this, especially when you both have strong feelings for each other," Lynette continues, voice low. "And I sort of feel bad for telling you not to fight for her, if…if you really love her. I just don't know what 'fighting' is supposed to look like in this situation."
"Neither do I. And that's one of the complicating factors. Well, one of like a hundred, I mean."
Mark doesn't tell Lynette that a few minutes ago he received a text message from Addison; he is just too tired to talk about it right now or have a discussion about what he should do. He has memorized the words Addison typed though: Hi. If you are free, can I come over tomorrow night? I'd like to talk to you, and to apologize. Mostly just apologize.
He says yes and tells her to come around eight o'clock. And in true Addison form, she arrives right on time. She looks different this evening. It's not the casual clothes, because she's worn some version of this in the Hamptons before – loose-fitting white shirt, jeans, flip flops. And it's not the lack of makeup, because Mark has seen her without makeup before, too, and honestly, she looks amazing either way. He stupidly glances down at her left hand, but of course the God damn engagement ring and wedding band are still there. He knows the ring intimately, truth be told. He was at the jewelry store (ring shopping was deemed by Derek as Mark's "first official duty as best man") when his best friend confidently pointed out a radiant-cut diamond in the display case and said, That one. That's the one.
But something is different about Addison tonight…Mark just isn't sure what. She looks sad and regretful – maybe that's all it is. Pain uncovers a person.
"Hey," he says quietly, and steps aside so she can enter. "Come in." He gestures towards the couch, but Addison only gets as far as the coffee table before she turns around to face him.
"I'm sorry for both," Addison says, words coming out in a rush of air before Mark can attempt to do the polite thing and ask if she wants something to drink. "Last week when you asked me if I was…I'm sorry for hurting you, and I'm sorry. I'm just…sorry. I know that none of this is fair to you. And when you mentioned the great guy versus the 'other guy' thing…that's not true, Mark." Her eyes search over his. "It's just not true, and I felt really bad I didn't try harder to cut you off when you said that. You're a good man, Mark. You're rough around the edges, and maybe on paper Derek presents as the better, more appropriate guy, but that's not at all how I see you. And about not waiting forever…" Addison presses her lips together, inhaling noisily through her nose. "I get that. I've already asked so much of you, I know that, but please just give me more time. I…I love you so much."
"But you love him, too."
Addison looks down at the floor. "I do," she admits feebly. "I could call him right now and tell him I'm leaving him for you, but that still wouldn't change how I feel. I've been married to Derek for almost eleven years, and with him even longer than that. No matter what my marriage is currently like, I still love him and that isn't going to go away anytime soon. But I love you more, Mark. I just…I just do. It transcends logic and I can't explain it, but everything is just somehow more with you. I feel more." Her voice cracks, and when she glances back up to look at Mark, he can see the tears beginning to vibrate in her blue-green eyes. "So please just give me more time. I'm going to find a way to tell him, and I'll – I'll try not to do anything to make things more serious with Derek in the meantime or lead him on, like…like the baby thing. I won't try to get pregnant. But I just…I just need more time. So, please. I love you. Please don't give up on me."
Addison crosses her arms over her stomach, and shifts her gaze back to the floor again. Mark observes the way she sort of folds in on herself, in something that looks like a self-hug. She seems so fragile in this moment. And that's really all it takes for him to close the remaining feet between them and pull her into his arms.
"Hey. Hey, I'm not giving up on you," Mark murmurs when she starts to cry into his chest, each sob anxious and pitchy. "I'm not. I'm not, okay?" And he knows it's true. He might not wait forever, but he'd certainly wait a long, long time. He keeps one arm coiled around Addison's waist, and moves the other soothingly along her upper back while she hiccups and dampens his neck and shirt. He rests his face close to hers, waiting for her to settle down. After a few minutes, he starts to hear her release tiny, breathless apologies in between cries. He tries to pull back, but her fingers are twisted firmly around the fabric of his shirt. She seems unwilling to let go just yet.
"Red?" He states. "Just one 'I'm sorry' was sufficient."
Addison chokes out something between a laugh and a weep upon hearing this. "Is it though?" She sniffles. "Because it feels like…it feels like all I should be doing is apologizing."
"Well, I'm sorry too, for the record."
"For what?"
"Making you cry, for one thing." Mark presses his lips to her wet cheek. "And I'm sorry for…for my role in this."
It's not all Addison's guilt. It can't be. Derek has been Mark's best friend for over thirty years now. They grew up together. And no matter what Derek might be like as a husband, he is still a good, kind, and honorable person. He is still a good friend. He always has been. Mark thinks about how in moments of silence when they were teenagers, Derek would always quietly ask him how Jenny was doing, or how his parents were doing. Derek always invited Mark on fishing trips, even though this was such a special thing between Derek and his dad – with four noisy, girly sisters, this father-son time was something of a sanctuary, and yet it never occurred to Derek to not ask Mark if he wanted to come, too. Derek made sure Mark was included in everything, and that he was given or at least offered whatever it was that Derek had – a homemade costume for Halloween, a brownie in his lunch bag, a ride to a hockey game, a trip planned to tour a specific college. He sat with Mark the first time he lost a patient. He brought him food after his mom passed away. He told Mark one day he would return the favor – if or when Mark was ready to settle down – and go ring shopping with him. And God, Derek's family, especially Carolyn…she has always been so good to Mark.
"I'm also sorry for the pain and stress it's caused you," Mark continues. "And I just…I know what I'm asking of you, Addison. Or want I want, at least, because wanting you means that I want you to leave him and…and burn your life to the ground for me. And that's…a lot. And it's a selfish thing to want and to ask of someone, really."
"I'm sorry this is how it happened," Addison murmurs back. "I'm sorry that it's an affair, that we're screwing around behind Derek's back, that this is just morally wrong, but I…I don't regret it. I don't regret you, I mean. I don't think I ever could."
"Me neither. What time do you have to be back tonight?"
"I don't. He has that speech in Greenwich tomorrow, remember? He drove up this afternoon…and he's staying until Sunday. He's going to go see Nancy and her family after the thing with the governor. He'll probably serve as entertainment for the kids since Nancy is in her third trimester and doesn't want them climbing all over her. Anyway…more details than you needed to know. He's not around though."
"There's something in the water with those Shepherd women," Mark jokes. "Addie…stay with me tonight. Stay with me this weekend." He normally asks, tries to be nonchalant about it and put the ball in her court, but this time he doesn't, and he smiles when he feels her nod beneath his chin. "Come on. Let's go lie down for a bit and relax."
Normally if they cuddle (which is sort of dependent upon how physically active they are, as neither tends to enjoy lying super close if they have worked up a decent sex-induced sweat), Addison will rest her head on his chest or they'll just loosely spoon, but Mark gets the sense she isn't quite ready to relax her hold on him yet. Instead, he draws her close once he's positioned on his side, tucking her head beneath his chin, and then slipping an arm under the curve of her neck and looping the other over her waist, hugging her against him.
"Doing a little better?" He eventually asks. It's been a few minutes now, and she's starting to feel less tense, and is breathing gently into the hollow of his throat. And when Addison nods and mutters a small better that tickles his skin, Mark adds, "Good. You know, I keep meaning to ask you: your birthday is at the end of this month…right?"
"Yeah." Addison moves away from the warm wall of his chest so that she can look at him. "It's the twenty-eighth," she says while situating herself on the pillow they are sharing.
Mark's fingernails brush gently at her skin as he pushes a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "I don't…I don't really know what to get you," he admits.
Addison smiles when she registers how adorably shy he looks in this moment. "That's really thoughtful of you, Mark, but you don't have to give me anything." She leans forward to capture his lips with hers.
"Feels like you want me to give you something right now though," Mark says between kisses, and he can feel the movement between them as Addison starts to wriggle out of her jeans. She still seems so fragile to him though. "Addison…maybe -"
"It's okay," she says, continuing to undress. "I want to." And then she reaches for him.
When Mark is moving on top of her and inside her, he studies her carefully. His movements are slow at the moment; he's focusing most of his energy on watching her. Addison's eyes are closed, and she's a bit passive tonight, both quiet and docile. Her limbs are wrapped tightly around Mark, hugging him close, but on any other day she would be raising her hips and meeting him thrust for thrust. On any other day, when this is how they were angled, her hands would be exploring his back muscles and the dips in his waist and tangling in his hair.
Mark stills above her. "You good?" He asks softly.
"I'm good. So…" Addison inhales roughly when he grinds his hips against hers. "Oh. So, so good." She finally opens her eyes and flashes him a hesitant grin. "Sorry. I know I'm…being lazy. You're probably not getting much out of this with me lying here doing the dead fish thing."
"You're fine," he says. "And trust me: I'm getting plenty out of this, Red."
It is true. All the subtle changes are striking to observe, and Mark can certainly see them and enjoy them more when they are moving slowly. He likes watching the flush rise up her chest the more his hands stroke over her, the way her head drops back and she arches beneath him when he pays attention to her breasts, the languid half-smile she reveals when he runs his fingers along her neck, the way her mouth rounds with each sound of passion he draws from her, and the relaxing and quivering of her leg muscles when he kisses certain spots. There is something in it for him, too.
Mark brings one of his hands up to cup the top of her head. "What are you thinking about?" He asks quietly, fingertips brushing at her scalp.
Addison's eyes fill with tears at this question, but the moisture doesn't spill over. "You," she whispers. "Just you."
Mark leans forward to kiss her ear in her response. "I love you," he murmurs, and his teeth lightly scrape against Addison's skin in a smile when she says it back. He pushes up from his elbows, fingers splayed and palms digging into the mattress as he increases his speed.
"You were thinking about me too, right?" She teases afterwards, lying contently in his arms. She just turned Mark's projector light on and selected the blue and white colors. The murkiness of the combined shades makes her think of an incoming storm.
Mark is completely serious when he tells her, "You're all I ever think about."
None of it is a joke because all of it is serious. Addison knows that, too. She thinks back to minutes earlier when their bodies were still joined together. Mark was pushing insistently, moving in long, deep strokes above her, but his angle was different, so he took her hand and guided it between them. This surprised Addison. She's no stranger to self-help during sex – and she is certain all men with an interest in having sex with women could really benefit from some sort of introductory course to female pleasure – but she's never had to do this with Mark. He always takes care of her. Addison touched herself though, fingers tracing slow circles, and Mark grinned when her mouth rounded in a gasp from the added pressure, followed by a husky, satisfied moan. It wasn't just from the pleasure though. And it wasn't just from the explosive, every-nerve-on-fire sensation when they climaxed together. It was a gasp of surprise from Addison because she recognized that the movement of her fingers is different now – subtle in its difference, yes, but still different. She realized she now touches herself how he always touches her.
It's serious. They both know though that it's easy, at a time like this, for love and passion and tenderness to intertwine. Things are always easier – and better – when there is not an hours-away-deadline looming. And right now, Derek won't be back until Sunday.
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Six Years Earlier
"Good God, stop locking your knees, woman. Keep them bent. Good. Better. So did…did you end up finishing your list? All the prospective recipients accounted for?" Mark is doing his best to distract Addison from staring at her wobbly feet. His grip is bruisingly tight under her elbows, and he feels bad about that, but it is the only option since Derek is still lacing up his skates. Carolyn called – inevitably, to finalize Christmas plans – which caused Derek to fall behind while Addison and Mark put their skates on and pushed out onto the rink. Addison was the one who insisted they end their shopping day this way, and neither man had the heart to say no to her when they passed the outdoor rink at Bryant Park. Her excitement throughout December is somewhat infectious, even for someone like Mark, who did not want to come for any of this. Derek talked him into it though, and Mark did still need to buy something for Jenny and Everett, so it sort of made sense to kill a Sunday with his best friends. The problem is that Addison failed to mention she isn't good on the ice (she has claimed, "I used to be good at this!" several times now, but Mark is skeptical).
"Almost everyone," Addison replies, experimentally sinking a little lower. "We're missing one person, as well as a birthday gift for that same person who has the big three-three coming up next month…I don't like to buy gifts for people when they're standing right next to me though." Addison tips her head up towards Mark, squinting in the bright winter sun. "Said person's name is typically synonymous with 'Ebenezer' this time of year."
"Aren't you a funny one. Oh, thank God." Mark breathes a sigh of relief when his best friend enters the rink from the other side. "There comes Derek…and ah, look." Mark rolls his eyes as Derek makes his way over to them with ease. "Showboating as usual."
Mark and Derek both played in an ice hockey rec league as little kids, but they always preferred the freedom and lightheartedness associated with pond hockey. But whether it was a serious game or they were just messing around with friends, Mark played with his entire heart. He had natural skills in that he shifted from foot to foot with perfect balance, had an effective wrist shot, and wasn't afraid to pursue the puck aggressively, but mostly he just wanted to win more than anyone else. Derek was skilled too though. He was on the scrawny side growing up, but he was good with clappers and deceivingly quick, so he could typically avoid more brute-like forms of physical contact. And it helped that Mark, who typically went out of his way to slam into opponents, was always on Derek's team, and could shield him from any incoming body checks.
Precision versus passion. One's strength was always the other's weakness, but Mark and Derek found ways to fill in the differences. They have always been a team that way.
Addison scoffs at Mark's critique. "As if you wouldn't be doing the exact same thing if you weren't helping me."
"Let's find out. Would you like me to let go so that you fall and bust your pretty face open?"
"No," Addison says, voice climbing up an octave. She angles herself away from Mark though and grins when Derek comes to a stop a few feet away from them, pushing his blade down and sending up a scrape of misty ice.
"Hey…" Derek sets his hands on his thighs and laughs wildly at the scene in front of him. "Mark, why are your hands all over my wife?" It's an innocent, playful question though because it's very clear to Derek why Mark is hanging on tightly to his wife's elbows.
Addison laughs back, while Mark grins weakly. "Derek, if you put your hands on me," she says, "your best friend wouldn't have to. Get over here and help. Mark is losing patience with me, and I'm getting closer and closer to breaking my neck."
"Well, at least we know a guy who can help if that's what happens," Derek jokes. "Addie, why did you want to go skating if you can't really do it?" He moves behind Addison and then reaches out for her waist to pull her back against him. Addison's feet are still scraping somewhat uncoordinatedly, so Mark's hands hover close by, but Derek's grip appears steady enough for now.
"Because I love this time of year and this is a this-time-of-year thing. Plus, I can do it," Addison says while her left leg accidentally slides forward. Mark reaches out to grab her elbows again. "Muscle memory, right?" She laughs. "It's going to come back to me any minute now."
"Addison – you have to stop laughing. That's making it worse." Mark sighs. "Derek, if you stay here, I'll go get her a -"
"No!" Addison cuts in, still giggling. "No, please don't. I used to be – well, okay, maybe not good at this, but I wasn't terrible." She peers over Mark's shoulder towards the rows of steel trainers bunched together outside the rink. "I don't want one of the walker things. It's a point of pride."
"You see yourself right now without the walker, correct?"
Derek reaches a hand around to purposely pull Addison's beanie lower. She squeals and adjusts it back to where it was, and Mark nearly yells at the both of them, because sudden movements – surprise movements – are not helping anyone. "It seems like your pride went out the window a long time ago when it comes to ice skating, honey," Derek says.
But somehow, they make it work. Mark knows it helps with his overall mood that Addison promises they don't have to stay long, or if the men do decide they want to stay longer, she'll wait on the sidelines. This isn't too bad, Mark realizes. He can almost see the appeal of this time of year. Addison is between them, and Mark and Derek both have an arm anchored through hers. Additionally, Christmas music is piping through the loudspeakers, the giant spruce tree in the Winter Village is sparkling with thousands of colorful lights, and Addison's laugh is sort of infectious...it actually is a nice day.
"Just one more lap for me. Also…" Addison starts to laugh again when she recognizes the opening notes to "Merry Christmas, Darling." She looks at Derek, and then at Mark. "What a romantic song to get to listen to with my favorite skating partners."
Mark almost warns her to stop moving her head from side-to-side, because it is definitely not helping her to stay balanced. Almost, but at the last second he doesn't because a lock of Addison's hair flicks close to his nose at the same time he inhales. He can't place the scent, but he likes it, and forgets whatever it was he was going to scold her for.
"Yes, how romantic…this is truly a special moment the three of us are having," Derek says sarcastically.
"Not the 'three of us," Addison tells him. "It's called a 'throuple,' actually."
Mark smirks. "You'd only be so lucky, Addison."
"No, you'd only be so lucky," she chirps back, giggling. She keeps her eyes trained forward this time, so she can't see if Derek rolls his eyes and if Mark's mouth is moving to say something snarky back, but she assumes yes is the answer to both. Twisting her head will only lead to more clumsiness, and her husband and his best friend have certainly been working overtime to keep her steady. Plus, Addison could tell Mark was close to saying something the last time she turned to him, and she really does appreciate his patience with her. "But seriously…thanks, Mark. I know this isn't your favorite season, but I'm glad Derek was able to talk you into coming with us today, and I'm glad you were around to help keep me steady while Derek was busy."
"For you, Red? Anytime. Throuple or no throuple."
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"Those can't be comfy to walk a mile and-a-half in," Mark comments, inclining his heads towards Addison's footwear. She's still wearing the pair of flip flops she showed up in last night.
It's Saturday afternoon now and they have just made it past the Shakespeare Garden. It's a nice enough day, definitely nice enough for them to cut through Central Park to go back to the brownstone, but when Mark looks above him, he can see strains of sunlight are starting to fade behind thin, rolling clouds. They have time, but it's supposed to rain this evening.
They slept in late, had more sex (Addison was a bit more active all three times), and got a bite to eat at a nearby deli. Now they're headed to the brownstone so Addison can grab a few things, including a change of clothes. She always uses a spare toothbrush at Mark's apartment that he keeps available for her, but otherwise, none of her stuff is here. It's like she's never here at all, Mark muses, but then this morning she was on top of him, then he was behind her, then they were in the shower, and of course she's here and he's here and it's real, it's so real.
"I'm fine," Addison tells him, waving a hand in dismissal at his shoe comment. "You've seen the heels I wear daily, right? Trust me, my feet can handle this."
"I'll circle back to this later then when you have a staph infection. Congratulations on exposing yourself to every disgusting element Manhattan has to offer on its streets."
"I don't have any open cuts on my feet, and if I did, at least I know a handsome doctor who can treat me if I did end up with bacteria in my bloodstream. Besides…" Addison grins suggestively. "I'll rinse off when I get back to the brownstone…and you can join me, if you like."
"I would definitely like to." Mark smiles, but he watches as the look of delight on her face shifts into a subtle frown. "What?"
"Oh. Nothing. It's sappy, and so high school-ish, but I was just thinking how much I wish we could hold hands right now…"
"It's a big city, Red," he says, but he doesn't push any more than that.
She shakes her head. "I know, but we…we shouldn't. Not in public. Just in case."
Mark does what he does best, then: he makes a joke about how after they take that shower together and get Addison's stuff, they can go back to his apartment and hold hands and hold other bodily parts as much as she wants to. But internally he thinks that yes, while it is kind of sappy and high school-ish, he'd desperately like to hold her hand in public, too.
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It starts to rain shortly after they get out of the shower, so they decide to wait the storm out and give it a little longer before they call a cab, which Mark realizes may be futile…it only seems to be getting worse out there. It's warm inside though, so he drinks his glass of wine while Addison is upstairs packing. He stares out the window, watching as the rain hammers against the glass, thick droplets making the outside world fuzzy. He thinks absently of the exterior structure of the brownstone – he remembers reading something about brownstones once. He lost interest in the article when he got to the "curing process," but he remembers everything before that. A sandstone veneer over brick is prone to cracking and crumbling, prone to decay and erosion. The façade has to be built back up again when constant weather infiltration becomes too much.
It's such an iconic home though, especially here, Mark thinks. He gives Addison a small smile when she comes down the stairs and back into the living room. But it's like they weren't meant to stand forever.
"You should have asked me out first," Addison murmurs with a wry smile while she refills Mark's glass. "Maybe if you had, all this could have been avoided."
"I wanted to actually," Mark says, and the wine bottle she is holding clinks against his glass mid-pour. He reaches his hand out to palm the tulip-shaped bowl of the glassware; Addison was understandably not expecting this to be his answer. "But it was clear from the beginning that Derek wanted to ask you out. As soon as we were out of our first Gross Anatomy class, Derek asked what I thought about you, and I said you were hot. Derek said he thought so, too – we've always had the same taste in women. I don't think we really said anything about you and your hotness after that though – not until a few weeks later when Derek told me he was going to ask you out to dinner – but I knew he was interested from the beginning, that he wasn't just making an inconsequential observation about the girl on the other side of the cadaver. And yeah, there was a decent window of time between when we agreed you were hot and when he actually made a move…so sure, I could have still asked if you wanted to go out with me…but it felt like he'd already laid claim to you, like…like you were 'his' even then."
"I didn't know that," Addison says slowly. She takes a seat beside him on the couch and pours a glass of wine for herself. "That it had…had crossed your mind."
"It did – briefly. And it's not like there haven't been a few times throughout the years where I've thought about you…" Mark lingers there for a moment, and she glances away, blushing. "But it's not like…I wasn't ready for anything serious during med school. You know that; I'm sure I would have found a way to hurt you, even if it wasn't intentional. You would have ended up being another notch on the med school dissection table." Mark rubs his thumb and pointer finger along the stem of his wine glass, thinking. "You know, for Derek and me – high school doesn't really count because although we were best friends, we ran in different social circles when it came to girls…I was with cheerleaders and Derek was pretty much too nervous at the time to even talk to girls, but when he did, they were likely to be ones who were holding flutes or on the debate team. And then we went to different colleges, so coming to med school together…it was honestly the first time we were observing women we both liked, and the women happened to be…attainable."
Addison raises an inquiring eyebrow, accompanied by a smirk. "Was I that easy?"
"No. Well, I don't know what happened on your first date with Derek…and I don't want to know." He throws her a wink. "I just meant that all of a sudden there were women right in front of us, since having the same taste didn't really mean anything before that time – the high school and college thing, like I mentioned – and because everything else for our agreed-upon-taste was based off magazines and shows. It's not like we had an expectation that a super model or someone like Kelly Kapowski was going to magically appear and tell us she would go out with one of us – but just one of us, so we'd have to fight for her. That's what I mean by attainable."
Addison gives him a sad, rueful look. "I'm the only one who has come between you, then."
"You're the only one who has ever mattered enough to come between us. I don't…" Mark swallows heavily. "I don't want to lose you, Red. I want to fight for you. Slay dragons and all that crap. But fighting for you…well." He raises his shoulders in a small, weakened shrug. "I know it's not an after-school thing or a pond hockey scuffle. It's anything but simple, and I know…I know in this case, it's really not up to me."
"Right." Addison's voice is carved with sorrow. "Chivalry notwithstanding, I think this is one of those situations where the princess has to find a way out of the tower herself."
"Yeah," Mark replies. "Yeah, it is, and I…I understand if you can't leave Derek, or if…if you don't want to. Or if it's just not possible for you to leave him. I don't like it, but I get it."
She shakes her head. "I'm going to tell him," she says insistently. "I just need more time to figure out what to say. I'm going to be honest with him, but the words are all just tangled in my head…I'm going to figure it out though."
"I guess…" Mark begins haltingly. He knows how easy it is for Addison to say things like this when Derek isn't around. He takes a deep breath and reaches out to grab her hands. He remembers some variation of Lynette's words: you have let yourself be vulnerable enough to love like this. "I guess what it comes down to for me is that I'd rather have had this with you than nothing, and if I love you enough to be with you…I should also be able to love you enough to accept that loving you doesn't necessarily mean I get to be with you. Does that…does that make sense?"
"Yes, but I want you to be with me. And I want to be with you, Mark. Let's go upstairs."
Mark's eyes flicker towards the darkened staircase. "You sure?" Derek is gone for the weekend, yes, but it still always feels a bit unnerving to be intimate here.
"The storm doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon. Might as well stay here for a bit. And he won't be back until tomorrow anyway. I want to be with you and I want to be with you right now." Addison tugs on his hands, and they get to their feet.
They make their way up the stairs slowly, pausing every other step to run their hands over each other and exchange long, lust-filled kisses. Mark's leather jacket slips off his shoulders somewhere near the top.
He loves her enough to let her go.
And as Addison gently nudges Mark back onto the blue and green flannel sheets, she knows that she loves him enough that she does not want him to ever let her go.
The storm rages outside, lightning and thunder rolling across the night sky while Addison slides up and down Mark's thighs. His back muscles rise off the mattress in time with her movements, and she slows for a moment while he kisses her insistently, messily. And then she rocks faster again, feeling support from his hands on her waist, and though their mouths are still close, they aren't quite kissing. She's close now, and doesn't want to disrupt their rhythm, and from the way Mark is grunting beneath her, she knows the same applies to him. A clap of thunder grumbles above them, and Addison absently thinks that there is something to be said for almost-kissing, in its love and intimacy. She can feel every breath of Mark's against his lips, and he can certainly feel her breathy pants and gasps in return.
The pressure is building. Everything feels deliciously on fire.
And then the bedroom door swings open, and it all burns down to ashes.
. .
. .
References/Nods to Various Episodes
Mark's jacket reference, Grey's 2x01. Derek talking to Meredith: "One night I parked my car, I unlock my front door, go inside my house, and something's different…I go upstairs…I step on a man's jacket that doesn't belong to me. And everything I think I know just shifts. Because the jacket that doesn't belong to me is a jacket that I recognize. And what I know now is that when I go into my bedroom, I'm not just gonna see that my wife is cheating on me. I'm gonna see that my wife is cheating on me with Mark, who happened to be my best friend."
Flannel sheets reference. Grey's 2x03, Derek to Addison: "You slept with my best friend in my favorite sheets." Addison is somewhat insistent (and GIRL pick your battles/why are you doing this…you're trying to get your husband back, are you not?) that no, incorrect, the Italian sheets with the paisleys are Derek's favorite.
Grey's, 2x18. Mark talking to Meredith while she cleans up his Derek knuckle-shaped wound: "Derek and I always did have the same taste in women." And then, "My four-hundred dollar an hour shrink says that because behind this rugged and confident exterior, I'm self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree." Also, there was the "Derek walks in on me naked with his wife…actually in the throes. And he just turns around and walks away, but he sees me so much as talking to you and I'm on the ground bleeding. Interesting, don't you think?" EXCEPT then 3x01 happened, and apparently…apparently not (or revisionist history/retcon/whatevs). What we do also know from 3x01 is that it was raining pretty hard that night.
In PP 3x11, Addison talking to Sam about Mark: "I care about Mark Sloan. I loved him once…sure, he's got a screwed-up moral compass, but so do I. He's a good man."