A/N: Hi! Chapter title is a lyric from the song "Landscape" by Florence + the Machine. I thought it would take a bit longer to get this one up, but apparently not. The first flashback is a continuation of a Mark/Addison/Derek scene in chapter 32, and the second flashback also references something in 32 (as usual, not necessary to reread). Oh, and an Amy thing that happened in chapter 17 is briefly mentioned. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy. This was one of my favorite chapters to write so far (like, top five of my favorite things I've ever written in this fandom, I think – and if you were around in the good ol' days of LJ when this was a really popular ship, you know it was lot).

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Chapter 37. Acres of Longing, Mountains of Tenderness

One Year Earlier

Mark inhales deeply as he steps onto the back porch, sweat-cold necks of two beer bottles squeezed tightly in one hand, and the stem of a wine glass pinched between the fingers of his other one. The air is better up here. It is such a city person platitude, but it is true; the air surrounding Addison and Derek's Montauk home is fresh and ocean-filled, a little briny, even though it is not exactly a beachfront property. The ocean is not visible from here, and the sidewalks that stripe the cul-de-sac are not dusted with sand, which means on the water bragging rights are nonexistent. And while there is still literally nothing to complain about when it comes to the Shepherds' vacation home (bodies of water are still within walking distance, albeit a decent walk), Mark has always privately wondered why Addison and Derek did not opt for something closer to Lake Montauk or Gin Beach. Instead, pine trees surround their home, large and looming, masking the majority of the property from street view. Maybe it was a compromise; Mark can picture his best friend agreeing to a house in the Hamptons if it had the appearance of something more remote, secluded. Mission accomplished, really. If Mark was spun around and around and then dropped in front of this house, it would be easy enough to think this weekend getaway was in a less socially-bustling, see-and-be-seen town. Something near the Catskills, maybe.

Mark shades a hand over his eyes, and spots Derek walking in tight circles on the lawn while talking on his cell phone. "Work?" He asks Addison, taking a seat across from her at the outdoor dining table. He slides Derek's beer towards the now-vacant chair, and then holds Addison's glass of white wine out to her.

Addison accepts the glass, and offers a smile of gratitude before her expression sours, mouth slashing into a frown. "What else?" She tries to at least sound good-natured when she says it, but her insides are boiling with anger. Derek stepped away to take a call during brunch, too. When your spouse's career is that of a surgeon, sometimes it is like you married a surgeon, not a husband or a wife. And while Addison understands that – it is not like she has not taken her fair share of calls during off-hours or had to bail on plans for an unexpected surgery – Derek promised this weekend he would be present, and he even double-checked to make sure his practice had appropriate coverage. Or so he said, at least.

"He could be talking to Amy…" Mark throws it out there for no other reason than to try to provide something that might be acceptable. It is still instinctual for him sometimes, to want to defend his best friend. It is probably not that though. Amy's Three Weeks Brandon engagement debacle did indeed fall apart as quickly as it started, so the youngest Shepherd could probably use a little extra support, but Mark suspects Derek would not be Amy's first call. She tends to be pretty private when it comes to personal struggles, if for no other reason than whenever Amy reveals something unfortunate that is going on, the pack will circle around her, trying to offer assistance, but mostly watching for signs of relapse. It is like they are all waiting for her to fail, and it makes Mark uncomfortable, because sometimes, honestly, he knows that feeling. Just for different reasons.

Addison shakes her head. "Amy would call me before she'd call her brother," she says, which was Mark's thought as well. She swirls her wine around in the glass, but Mark does not think it is about pretentiousness or to reveal viscosity or why-ever-the-hell you're supposed to do this before raising the glass to your lips; Addison's expression seems too distracted for any of that. "Hey, second husband." She looks up from her drink. "Do you ever regret going the private practice route?"

"No," Mark answers quickly. It is not the kind of question he needs to give much consideration to. "I mean, sometimes I miss being at the hospital full-time – like the adrenaline rush of not knowing what each day might bring – but getting to work the occasional shift in the burn center or ER helps with that. So, no. No regrets. It's nice to have a set schedule. And having a wise-cracking secretary who keeps me on my toes is a good bonus, too."

"I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I'd gone first, instead of Derek." Addison's words are punctuated by a long sip of her drink. "We agreed not to open up our own practices at the same time. Too much work, too big of a risk. But I didn't…I didn't push back when Derek volunteered to go first. Maybe I should have." Perhaps it would not have made a difference though. And volunteered is a stretch, of course. In no scenario can Addison envision her husband being the one to acquiesce. Derek sort of always gets his way. He expects to.

Mark appears sympathetic to her admission. "You can still open up your own practice," he reasons. "But…I'm guessing that's not the point of what you're trying to say."

"No, it's not," Addison replies. "It makes me think of the Beth March situation. In third grade, a bunch of girls in my class got really into Little Women. And Caroline Roland, Rachel Silverman, Jill Humphries, and I would play Little Women at recess, sometimes, or when we were over at each other's houses. It was always, like, the Battle of Thermopylae to be Jo. Usually Caroline ended up being Jo though, and Rachel and Jill would be Amy and Meg, respectively. But while the three of them were determining who would be Jo – usually by some sort of 'guess what number I'm thinking of' situation – I would just stay quiet. And then I'd be Beth by default. I was a fringe friend, anyway, so it was sort of enough to just be included; I was so painfully shy then. And I would always act like…like I wanted to be Beth. Like I was happy with that role. But the truth is, no one wants to be Beth." Addison also thinks about her lisp at the time, about how hard she worked to force air out the front of her mouth, to focus on the correct tongue positioning to say March, not marsh. So many of her words sounded slushy then, and her nervousness in social settings did not help. "Beth is passive and tries too hard to please others," she adds. "And it's not like all her qualities are bad ones – she's kind, and helps those in need of help, and has a sound moral compass – but sometimes being the peacemaker means your own needs get put on the back-burner."

"You are no Beth March, Red. You're a Jo. Through and through."

Addison raises an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't know you've read the book. Or seen any of the adaptations." She grins pleasantly though, appreciative of Mark's compliment.

"No and no," Mark says while she drains the rest of her glass. "But that was my mom's favorite book. Plus, I know things." And it is true. Mark does know things. And, additionally, one of his strongest traits is how observant he is…which makes him wonder how long he has failed to see that the Shepherd marriage is on shaky ground, and more specifically, Addison as a person seems to be on shaky ground. She is smaller in her husband's presence now, somehow. It is like she has had to dull her own light in order for Derek's to shine brighter. And when it comes to the Shepherds, Addison is a Beth, sort of. She puts Derek first. But he does not do the same. Mark suspects it has been a long time since Derek has prioritized Addison, and their marriage.

"Thank you for the literary compliment," Addison says. "You know what though? It's a beautiful day." She raises a hand towards the cloudless sky. "Too beautiful to be stressing about Derek being a bit absent this weekend."

"It is a beautiful day. Supposed to rain tomorrow night though. Probably a good thing we're heading back in the morning." Mark gestures towards her empty glass. "You want your second husband to get you a refill? Gotta make sure I'm meeting all your needs. Whatever those needs happen to be…"

Addison cannot help but laugh. "You're terrible," she states. "But, yes please. And thank you for making me laugh. And for coming this weekend. It's been nice to have you here." She is finding herself increasingly glad Mark came with them. His presence covers Derek's absence, and really, he is just good company. She feels like the only times she has laughed this weekend are because of Mark, not her husband.

"You're welcome. Glad I could tag along. And don't worry. I know this Mrs. Sloan joke has a shelf life; I promise I'll move on to other material."

"Equally obnoxious material, I'm sure."

Mark slides his chair back and gets to his feet. "Always," he assures.

Addison does not really care for rain, but it feels fitting, given that when Mark leaves (if only for a few seconds to refill her drink), she is immediately vaulted back to the depressing, tear-anticipated forecast of her marriage. She glances out at the yard, where Derek is still on the phone.

All she wants to do is cry.

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"So…" Addison begins when Mark – recently back from the gym and ready to hop in the shower – joins her in the bathroom, where she has just finished wiping away today's makeup. It has been almost two weeks since their Big Conversation. A calm, good two weeks, even though things are far from perfect. They are adjusting though. And things really are good, despite the challenges they are facing and will continue to face. Addison rests a hip against the counter, body angled towards Mark, as she prepares to share her latest news. "I called Derek this evening." She watches as Mark's eyes flicker towards her; he knows that Derek was served with a summons earlier this week. "I told him the truth," Addison continues, "and I'll probably let my parents know what's going on soon, too. Just deliver the divorce and almost-seven-weeks pregnant bombshell in one fell, unseemly swoop. Just get all the difficult phone calls out of my system at once." She tries to smile, as though she is providing good-humored material for a set. "Harper will have my ass for that phone call with Derek though, if it gets back to her somehow. You know, speaking with the defendant without notifying counsel first." The reason behind the call to her estranged husband was the result of an equal parts guilt and do-the-right-thing mindset that has been plaguing Addison for a few days. She just felt that with an affair and a baby that is the result of said affair, Derek should at least have all the relevant information needed to pursue a more litigious avenue instead of an uncontested divorce, if he felt inclined. "But…but yeah. I told him what's going on with us, what has been going on with us. And I just figured, aside from him deserving to know the whole truth, by the time Derek comes out here – to initial all the necessary paperwork and get a signed judgement of divorce, and whatever else is involved – I'll probably be showing. And it would be pretty insensitive not to alert him to that ahead of time."

Mark rubs a hand over his jawline. "You told him the truth? His reaction must have been -"

"Awful?" Addison interjects. "Yeah. It…it was. I understand how hurt he must have felt – especially the pregnancy part, because he wanted to have a baby while we were married and I wasn't…it's like a betrayal on top of a betrayal, basically. I also mentioned real estate during the call – again, Harper would kill me for this. I just thought, if Derek wants the brownstone, he should have it, and if…I'd be willing to give up the Hamptons as well. I don't…there are some things I'm attached to, of course, and some things that are mine anyway, but I don't really want to go to war over CDs and books and crystal vases. But Derek said that he just wants Seattle, and to never see me again. Well." She gives Mark a small, halfhearted shrug. "After the divorce is finalized, at least. I think I'm going to go to the brownstone on Saturday though, and just start going through things." It seems too simplistic to be explained this way, what is in actuality the emotional, heart-stuttering process of trying to separate an entire house into piles of keep, put in storage, send to Derek, donate, and toss. These items are not just items, after all; they symbolize a life together. A former life. But Addison is determined to at least do something, because even though there is no rush to sell (if she winds up with both or one of the properties), she'd prefer to at least make a little progress, to take a step of sorts.

"Addison…" Mark sighs. "I wish you'd waited to call him until I was here."

"I don't think Derek would have liked it any better if I had the phone on speaker and you were filling in any details I accidentally left out," she says, trying to joke again.

"No, I know. I just meant calling and then…having to sit with all that afterwards. And I can go with you on Saturday, if you want."

Addison shakes her head. "It's okay. I'm really just going to look, and maybe bring some Post-its or something to start sticking on items. You know, start figuring out how to divide things up. His-and-hers categorizing. Derek can say he doesn't want anything, but we both know that isn't true. There are things there that belong to him. Clothes. Childhood pictures. Leftover school stuff. Baseball cards. A coffee mug he's partial to. Christmas ornaments Carolyn gave to him. Clash collector items. Things from his dad. Stuff like that." Addison lightly – and quickly – brushes a hand along the front of her body, and the gesture is not lost on Mark. She is still not there yet in terms of realness. She's closer, he assumes, but still not one-hundred percent. And not that newly-pregnant women have to touch their stomachs, but Mark figures that if Addison was feeling more excitement than anxiety and not-quite-realness, she might be a bit more inclined to touch herself there. As a result, he has tried to keep his own hands away from the particular area, and has limited his talk about the baby thus far. "I promise I'm not going to start lifting fifty pound boxes or anything," she adds.

"That's not why I'm offering." He understands that sometimes support means giving Addison space, especially about some of the Derek-related matters, which definitely includes real estate, but it is still a difficult area to navigate. He is learning to use his words though, and even if he is not always saying the words out loud yet, he has the tools, thanks to his most recent session with Olivia. Do you want me to stay, or do you want me to give you a little space right now? is a big one. Do you want to know what I think, or do you want me to just listen? is the other one.

"I know. It's okay though, Mark. I promise I'm okay. Or at least as okay as I can be, given the circumstances." Addison sets a hand on top of his, fingertips lightly tapping the back of his hand. "Maybe we can pick another night next week though, to get more of my stuff? I should probably bring the rest of my clothes here. The summer ones, at least."

Next week. It might not be all-the-way real for Addison yet, but it is for Mark, so he cannot help grinning at the mention of next week. "Yeah, that sounds good," he agrees. "Hey…next week at your appointment, we'll get to hear the heartbeat, right?"

Addison nods, and when Mark sees her smile widen, it appears genuine. "That's right. We will," she says. "In the meantime…you wanna get in the shower with me?"

"Yeah?" He tries not to appear too eager. They have not had sex since the beginning of the month, and although Mark has somewhat gotten used to it (cuddling and at least getting to touch her, even if it is non-sexual, helps), it is an adjustment.

"Yeah. Definitely yeah. That anti-nausea tea you got for me…I feel like it's working. And…" Addison starts to laugh when Mark lifts her onto the bathroom counter. "There we go. I figured I wouldn't have to ask twice." Her legs part, and serve as brackets holding him in place when Mark steps between them. He sets a hand on her thigh and presses the other against her lower back, drawing her closer.

"Definitely not," Mark murmurs, sliding his lips over hers. They kiss for a few minutes until he moves on to other, more tender parts of her. Light kisses along her jawbone. A quick flick of his tongue in the hollow of her throat. Longer, wetter kisses along her collarbone and the triangle of exposed, flushed skin above the buttoned parts of her top. A kiss as light as a breath of air against the ridge of one of her ears. Her body arches the more he touches her, head tipping back enough that the ends of her hair tickle his hand.

"It doesn't…" Addison feels a ripple of pleasure move through her when Mark uses the hand warming her spine to pull her even closer, bringing her flush against the front of him. She lets out a small moan at the new contact. It feels so good, just like it always does, and she is certain Mark's longing for her is as heady as hers is, but his pace is leisurely, gentle, as though she might break apart in his arms. "It doesn't have to be different, you know."

Mark briefly touches his lips to hers again. "What doesn't?"

"Sex," she clarifies. "And everything leading up to it. I'm saying that just because I'm pregnant…it doesn't have to be different. Like, don't fling me around the room like a sexual bean bag or something, I guess, but…it doesn't have to be different." She grins, a little sheepish as she explains this. "I'm still me."

"Oh. Yeah, I know." Mark buries his face in the slope of her neck again, earning a muted, appreciative groan from Addison when he kisses one of those spots. "Just…sometimes I like getting to go slow with you. I still can't believe this is real sometimes…" Mark cringes, nosing at her shoulder. "God. You've turned me into such a cheesy person."

"It's not cheesy. I think it's sweet. Really sweet. But. Well." Addison nudges at his chest, feeling a little desperate. "Let's at least get in the shower while we explore some more of this slowness and cheesiness. Please. I'm, like, about to die otherwise. It's been too long."

Mark chuckles. "Am I that good?" He asks, easing her off the counter.

"I think you know that you are."

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Thirteen Months Earlier

The flowers – specifically, the anniversary flowers, the ten-years of marriage flowers – are where they always are on the kitchen counter on the morning of June twenty-six. Addison pads down the brownstone stairs, bleary-eyed and tired. Her fingertips dip against the roughened surface of the wooden handrail between the eighth and seventh steps, before the material turns smooth again. The how-it-specifically-happened story behind the groove has long since been forgotten. Something involving either Liz or Kathleen's oldest. It was minor though, so Addison and Derek never bothered to get the blemish in the wood fixed. It gives the house character, they joked to whichever Shepherd sister was incredibly apologetic over the incident. It was true, after all. They wanted their home to be and feel lived in. But right now, on this morning, the imperfection rankles. It is a flaw in the foundation, a blueprint with a mistake.

Addison peels away the stiff slip of paper tucked among the arrangement of long-stemmed roses and pink Asiatic lilies. She studies the typed writing that was requested for the card: Happy Anniversary. All my love, Derek.

Derek is already gone, of course. Or he never came home. Addison is not sure which, and maybe that detail does not even matter anymore. They made reservations for tonight at La Grenoille, but she knows that the odds they keep it are only fifty-fifty.

She feels exhausted. And she feels her age in this moment, too. This was supposed to be forever, and always feel like forever. When you are happy in a marriage – especially when you are young in a happy marriage, when the wedding is like a fairytale and the early years are all about love, commitment, and genuine excitement to see each other at the end of the day – you think it will last forever. But when you're no longer happy? When every day feels hard? When you feel like you are somehow a burden to your partner, even though you cannot define why? When you toe around your house, as though waiting for the floorboards to crack apart beneath you, to expose how much your relationship has eroded? Well. Forever does not really feel like it is at the forefront of your vocabulary anymore.

I told you, she says aloud to Mark, who of course is not there, and even if for some random reason he was, Addison would not share this detail. It is just too painful. The flower thing talked about it with Mark a few weeks ago when the three of them spent the weekend in the Hamptons. She studies the arrangement closer, trying to convince herself that something is different, but she remains certain this is the exact same arrangement, now for the fourth year in a row.

All my love. Addison tries to tell herself not to be ungrateful and petty-filled, because the flowers really are beautiful, but she cannot help it. The flowers and the card are everything and nothing at the same time, because all my love, well – what Derek now offers in love feels so restrictive, a lot of the time.

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Addison has her Post-its. And Mark has his storage bins. When she headed out the door on Saturday afternoon, first to spend some time with Savvy ("It's just a girls' thing," she told Mark. "We'll have them come over for dinner sometime soon though. That way you can re-meet Savvy and Weiss, since it's been a while, and you can meet Phoebe. And maybe you'll get a new tennis partner out of the whole thing. Weiss was always pretty good, from what I remember. I'm sure he'd love to start playing again."), and then onto the brownstone to start sorting through things, Mark decided to do some organizing in the spare bedroom. They are not ready to turn it into a room for the baby just yet – too soon for that – but things definitely need to be cleared out of the room, which functions at the moment as an office and guest room and storage area. And right now, keeping busy is a welcome distraction. It is strange for Mark to remember that there was a before time – not even all that long ago – where Addison wasn't the focus of his weekends. And it's not like they don't spend time apart or something, because Addison spends plenty of time with Savvy on Fridays or Saturdays. It occurs to Mark as he stacks a few now-filled storage bins on top of each other, that he needs to make more guy friends – ones outside the hospital – since he cannot imagine Derek will ever speak to him again. Maybe having Weiss as a potential tennis partner will be good. It's like a built-in friend, for one thing. And it gives Mark the chance to break up with his current tennis partner, who has a terrible net game and a wife who has shamelessly flirted with him in the past (the latter is worse, of course, but the net game really is abysmal).

A text message from Addison confirms that she will be back by seven, and since Mark has a little more time to kill, he decides to do a quick grocery store run. He needs more coffee for sure, and a once-over of the contents in the fridge confirms a few other things they need to restock. He texts Addison to see if there is anything she wants, and in addition to asking him to get bananas and a few ingredients for that God awful green juice she likes so much, she has the good sense to tell him that they are low on "sex tea." Mark chuckles at her reference to this ongoing joke as he heads out the door. He has no doubt that the ginger tea is helping to ease some of Addison's nausea (and the lack of nausea ensures getting laid regularly is more of a possibility), but he assumes part of the reason Addison is also feeling better is that things are stable between them. There is less cause for stomach-churning anxiety, Mark thinks when he returns from the grocery store, carting two bags under his arms. Addison beat him home, and he can hear the hum of the shower starting up, which serves as motivation to swiftly put the groceries away, in case Addison wants to explore some shower activities with him that do not have much to do with getting clean.

Yes, things are still complex, and Mark knows the divorce stuff and house stuff is going to get even more difficult and stressful for Addison to manage, but at least they are solid. He remembers her saying once, you and me…and then everything else. It is still true – with the modification in order for it to be you and me plus the baby – and they are even stronger now.

"Hey!" Mark announces. The door to the bathroom is hanging halfway open, so he slips inside with ease, feeling a wave of warm air blow over him. He raises his voice so that Addison can hear him over the sound of water striking tiles, and mostly to make sure he does not alarm her; steam has formed a layer over the tempered glass of the shower door, so neither individual is probably super clear to one another with the barrier between them. "Let me know if I need to make some more sex tea." He slides open the shower door just enough to poke his head inside. "I got some while I was – Addison." Mark pulls in a sharp gasp of air when he spots her on the ground, pressed against one of the corner walls, knees drawn up to her chest, and hands covering her face. "Addison…" he quickly gets into the shower and drops down beside her, sputtering as a gush of water engulfs his mouth. Fear is a heartbeat that he can feel everywhere. "What is it? Are you in pain? Is the baby -" he glances down at the tiles near Addison's feet. He doesn't know what a miscarriage would most likely look like, but his mind immediately jumps to the worst case scenario, and he half expects to find blood on top of the grout, forming a moat around each square of tile. Nothing is there though. He tugs Addison's hands away from her cheeks, and as soon as he does, her sobs become audible. "Are you having a -"

"N-no," she chokes out, and shakes her head. "It's not the baby. It's okay. I'm o-okay. The baby is okay. I'm just…just grieving." She brings her hands back up to her face again. "Grieving," she repeats.

"Okay." Mark wraps his arms around her, gathering her as close as he can, and trying to angle himself so that he is covering what he can of her exposed skin. "Okay. I'm gonna hold you while you grieve then. It's okay, Red." He thinks about reaching up and turning the water off, but he worries Addison would quickly get too cold, and given how hard she is crying, the way her whole body is practically vibrating in his embrace, Mark does not think he can move her just yet, not when her skin is slippery with wetness. Instead, he tucks her head under his chin, which shields her from the majority of the splash battering down on them. "I've got you," he soothes. "It's okay, Red. I've got you." He can feel the small bobble of her head in acknowledgment. Her tears and shower water get all over him, and she cries for a long, long time, because grief does not always fall into abeyance. Hard, rough sobs echo around them, as though sorrow has broken Addison wide open. In contrast, Mark is mostly quiet, but he makes his presence known by focusing on physical acts of comfort instead. The important thing right now is Addison knows that he is with her; the specificity of this act of grieving is something he knows can be discussed later. He pushes her wet hair out of her eyes, rubs her back and arms, and holds her tightly until she is no longer trembling and her sobs have quieted to small, rickety puffs of air.

Mark turns the faucet off, and Addison glances up at him as he readjusts her in his arms. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from crying, and the leftover streaks of mascara mixed with water on her cheeks reminds him of embers.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, still a little breathless. "God…I'm so sorry."

Mark shakes his head. "Don't be. There's nothing to apologize for."

She sniffles, and then tugs at one of his soaked sleeves. "You're all wet."

"So are you," he counters, and the expression of guiltiness on Addison's face teases into a small smile.

"I…at least that was my intent. Sorry though. I'm sure that scared you, finding me like that. I wasn't…I was just going to rinse off. And then I started crying, and I couldn't stop."

"It's okay. Can you wait here for a sec? I'm going to grab a towel for you, and your robe." Mark stays there until Addison nods and assures him that she will be fine. She also encourages Mark to at least put something dry on before he returns – it will be a lot easier to help her get up if his attire is not weighing him down. Mark definitely agrees, but he does it quickly, wrenching off his dripping clothes and abandoning them to form a puddle on the floor, not wanting to leave Addison alone for too long.

When Mark steps back into the shower, clothed in just a pair of sweats, he settles his arms under Addison's armpits, and assists her in standing up. "Okay. C'mere, honey." He winces. Shit. "Sorry," he adds quickly as he walks her out of the shower.

"For…for what?" Addison asks. Her body feels clumsy with fatigue as she rests the bulk of her weight against him, and her words are sluggish-sounding, so Mark thinks maybe she did not hear his slip, but he decides to just be honest about it.

"For calling you 'honey.' I know that was kind of one of your, like, pet name things with Derek." Mark holds her arms out, and helps her wiggle into her bathrobe. "Jenny would always call me 'honey' when she was trying to comfort me." He ties the strings of the robe together next, and then walks Addison over to the toilet. He pushes at her shoulders to get her to sit down on the closed seat. "So I think it just…comes out sometimes. The night Derek caught us, when you came back to my place…" he clears his throat uncomfortably. "I was sitting with you while you were throwing up, and I called you 'honey,' and you…had a strong reaction. You were pretty mad at me."

"Oh," Addison responds quietly. She tries to recall this, but cannot; so much of that night at Mark's feels like a blur, her memories shredded apart by heartache and trauma. "I'm sorry, if I said anything that was -"

"No, it's fine," Mark interrupts as he reaches behind him for the towel. "I wasn't saying it for an apology. I was just giving context, that's all." He dabs at her face with the towel first, and then takes a section of Addison's wet hair and works the towel through it. The fact that Addison does not raise her hands to take over or insist she can do it herself is a clear sign of how worn out she is right now. "I'll just dry it a little bit Sorry in advance if I do this wrong and you end up with frizzy hair," he adds, which triggers a light laugh from Addison. Mark's gaze drops down a bit. Her right hand is resting against her lower abdomen, her thumb shifting up and down in small strokes against the cotton material of her robe.

"You know…" she begins. "I always felt like Red was your pet name for me. I know it didn't start from a place of love and affection, but now, just, the way you say it… how it sounds when you say it…" Addison shrugs, a little too embarrassed to continue the rest of the sentimental thought. "No one else ever calls me 'Red' but you. I just…I remember Sam did, once, while we were in med school, and I didn't…I didn't like it. I didn't say anything to him about it, and I don't think I showed any signs that I didn't like him calling me that, but he never did it again. It just…even then, it was a 'you and me' thing, and I didn't want anyone else to share in that." Addison smiles up at Mark as he moves to another part of her hair, and he returns her smile. "So that…I think 'Red' is kind of your pet name for me."

"Yeah, I guess that's true." Mark lowers one of his hands, and briefly holds it over hers. "Everything's still okay down here?" He confirms.

Addison nods. "I'm just holding my hand here," she mumbles, voice still full of exhaustion. She closes her eyes, but somehow manages to remain awake, finding comfort in the placement of her hand, and from Mark gently towel-drying her hair. She opens her eyes again when she feels him pull away. She watches as he hangs the towel on one of the hooks, and then returns with a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a shirt of his that she always steals to wear to sleep. She lets him help her to her feet again, and dress her, and only feels half-awake when he guides her out of the bathroom and over to their bed.

Mark closes a hand around Addison's shoulder once he has tucked her under the comforter. "Stay or space?" This wakes her up a bit more. She stares at him, confused. "Do you want me to stay with you, Addie, or give you a little space right now?" He regrets it immediately though when Addison's eyes go wide and fill with tears. She seems genuinely hurt by the inquiry.

"Stay," she whimpers, and a tear skates down her cheek. "I want you to stay."

"Okay. Yeah, of course. I'm staying, Red." Mark scoots in behind her and secures an arm over her waist. He hears her say stay again, brittle and fear-filled, and he traces his hand over one of her arms, trying to provide reassurance. "I just wanted to make sure I gave you a choice, that's all. But, Addison, hey…by 'space' I just meant my side of the bed. Not New Jersey." He succeeds in eliciting a short giggle from her. "I promise I'm not going anywhere though. I'm staying. I'm staying right here with you. But when you're a little calmer…you have to tell me what happened, okay? About the grieving." Mark waits, trying to be patient, but when he hears a shift in Addison's breathing, a delicate increase in how she is guiding air in and out of her mouth, he knows he has possibly crept over the line for waiting too long. She is getting heavier in his arms now, sinking deeper into the mattress as she tumbles towards sleep. Feeling a little bad, but also not wanting to delay this conversation, Mark dips an arm under her neck, and uses his free hand to grasp at her shoulder, gently rolling her towards him.

Addison's lips tug up the slightest bit when she is turned over. "Hi," she greets, voice croaky.

"Hi there. A little better?" Mark asks. Addison nods, and in the quick jerk of her head and the lift of her eyebrows, he catches a glimpse of a little girl who just wanted to be loved, and probably tried so hard to be resilient when faced with hurt and rejection. "Well," he adds, resting his knuckles against her dampened cheek. "Not better-better. But 'better' enough to talk about it with me, hopefully?" She nods again, a little less frantic this time.

"I think…" she begins slowly, considering her words. "Well. Everything just hit at once. I didn't feel like I was holding it all in, or holding anything back, but maybe…maybe I was just overdue for a massive cry. Just, you know…there's a lot going on right now."

"Is there?"

She smirks at Mark's attempt at humor. "If you were home when I started crying…well." She shakes her head. "I felt like I couldn't move, that all I could do was slide down to the floor. But. If I had been able to move, I would have come and gotten you. Sometimes though, I feel bad for like…hogging all the sadness. I know you miss Derek, too, and feel bad about hurting him."

"I do. A lot." Mark guides his hand away from her face and loops it over her again, keeping her close. "But I'm okay right now. And you're only sort of okay…you said it hit all at once, and you went to the brownstone today, and I should have…maybe I should have gone with you. I think we might have to try to find a new middle ground between 'stay' and 'space' for some of this stuff. Like, maybe I could wear headphones and just play games on my phone in a different room at the brownstone while you do your thing. I'd be giving you alone time there, but at least I'm there, that way. Something like that, maybe."

"Yeah. That's…that's probably a good idea," Addison agrees. "It wasn't the brownstone per se though, I guess. It's…well, it's sort of stupid. The catalyst for the meltdown…it's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not. There's usually only one stupid person in this bed, and I fill that quota just fine without you, so." Mark nudges her shoulder, and she starts to laugh. "Just tell me."

"Okay. Do you remember last spring when you came to the Hamptons with us, and the hostess thought we were married?" She watches as Mark grins and nods. "And I told you at one point about how the flowers Derek always got me for our anniversary… I was so sure it was the same arrangement each year. And today when I went to the brownstone, I was going through mail, and I saw something addressed to Derek from the flower shop he would get the flowers from. It was a statement basically, because he had the sense to at least cancel this year's anniversary flowers, but it had his order history on it, and I could see that…" her eyes start to water again. "It…it was the exact same order each year. A recurring order for several years now. The arrangement had the same exact name and description each time. It's not even like…it's not even like he gave the florist a heads-up on what I like and allowed him or her to run with it, because that I could understand…this was just like, 'whatever you did last year was fine, don't bother changing a thing.' And I started thinking about this a little more when I got in the shower tonight, and then I started crying, and I just couldn't…couldn't stop. I know it probably seems stupid and overdramatic, but it felt so hurtful, and just reiterates that Derek shifted into some sort of disinterested, autopilot husband a long time ago. The flower thing…" she studies Mark closely. "You wouldn't ever do that to me."

"No," he answers honestly. "I wouldn't do that to you." Mark knows he has plenty of flaws, and is far from a perfect boyfriend, and would probably be far from a perfect husband if that day were to ever come, but he cannot imagine being anything other than completely checked in when it comes to being with Addison. And he doesn't think the flower thing is stupid at all. If anything, he would be surprised if it didn't upset her.

"And it's not a compare and contrast thing," Addison adds quickly, one of her hands squeezing at his elbow. "I'm with you because you're you, not because you're not Derek. If all this was, was checking off boxes, making a list of what qualities you have and he doesn't, and vice versa, we wouldn't be together. That's not what our relationship is built on. I'm just saying though…you wouldn't ever do something like that." She takes a deep breath. "There were…there were moments for me. There were moments throughout my marriage, where I thought about what it might be like to be with you. When you called me 'Mrs. Sloan,' and we were playing pretend husband and wife…that was fun. That weekend I thought I was feeling sad whenever Derek wasn't around, and I probably was, but I think there was a part of me that also felt sad when he was around, because it meant that it couldn't just be you and me. We had so much fun together and you were making me laugh. You always make me laugh, in a way that no one else really does. And there were just…other things. That New Year's Eve the year before last when you came over. You said you wanted to kiss me that night. And I remember when you blew me a kiss at midnight, and I blew one back, I just…I felt such a rush of affection for you, and even though I know I wouldn't have done anything if you had decided to take me up on the offer for the guest bed that night, I was still a little disappointed when you went home. And after your mom died, when you fell asleep while I was still in your room, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted…I wanted to get in bed with you, actually. And there was this other time, maybe like three or four years ago when we were leaving a restaurant in Chelsea. Derek had to tap out early for a patient thing. And when we stepped outside that night, there was some sort of altercation happening on the street, so you told me to walk on your other side, and you had a hand on my back while we walked past all that, and you kept your hand there until we made it to the next block. And when you pulled away I wanted so much for you to put your hand back. I wanted…I didn't want you to stop touching me. The way your hand felt on me, I just remember feeling so…just so…"

Mark cannot resist teasing her, though he does at least spare her from having to finish that sentence. "Your WASP from Connecticut genetic code makes it really, really uncomfortable for you to say 'turned on' or 'aroused' while sober, doesn't it?"

"No." Addison starts to laugh. "Well. Yes. I don't know. I didn't mean…okay, yes, I definitely meant it physically, but also emotionally, too, sometimes. I always felt cared for, in your presence. And that's not a feeling I've always known in my life. And all those years ago, if you had asked me out in med school…" she sucks in a nervous breath. "I knew you were a player and sort of brusque, and maybe us attempting to date at the time would have been a disaster, and maybe dating wasn't what you had in mind anyway, but if you had asked me out, I would have said 'yes.' And I would have been excited to go out for a drink with you. Maybe you were a little dangerous, and rough around the edges, but you still seemed…kind. And funny. And like you would challenge me, but in a good way. And even then, I knew I could be myself with you. That you wouldn't think less of me for any of my shortcomings. That you wouldn't judge me."

"Why…" Mark begins, rubbing at her shoulder. The whole thing is just…touching. And he is not sure that he has the words to convey how much this revelation actually means to him. He just knows that it is incredible, to be loved like this. To be lucky enough to be loved like this. To be loved by Addison. "Why are you telling me this?" He asks, voice low and full of awe.

"Because I don't want you to ever feel like…sometimes I can't believe that this is real either," Addison replies. "That out of, like, everyone, you love me. That you want me." She knows that it could have so easily just been a one-night stand on Mark's end. Even if he had feelings for her before they slept together, once they did sleep together, he might have lost interest, as though Addison was just something he needed to get out of his system, or like a conquest of sorts. It could have truly just been a game. But that is not what happened.

Mark cradles the back of her head and brings her closer so that he can brush his lips against her forehead. "Thank you for telling me that," he says softly.

"You're welcome. I know it's…" Addison does not bother to hide her yawn. They are well past basic etiquette, anyway. Especially after this evening. "I know it's still kinda early. Can you stay…stay with…" Mark hears her voice dip in and out as tiredness starts to carry her further away. She yawns again. "Can you just stay…until I fall asleep?"

You mean like five seconds from now? he wants to tease. But instead, he hugs her a little tighter, and promises to stay.

The remark he kept to himself is true; Addison does fall asleep quickly. Mark remains where he is for now though. Whatever else he was thinking of doing tonight is not more important than this. One of Addison's hands is resting between them, spread over her stomach. Her words were so drowsy, so mumbled towards the end, that Mark is not sure if she said stay with me, or stay with us.

He thinks it is the latter though. And before he falls asleep too, he allows himself to feel hopeful about that.

. .
. .

It rains the next morning. Mark, always a light sleeper, is convinced this is what wakes him up, but when he peers out the window, he realizes how softly droplets are arriving on the windows. No. This rain is whisper-soft, inaudible from the bed. The real noise is coming from the kitchen. This vaguely surprises him. Addison is a quick riser most work mornings – almost cartoon-like with how she sits up upon hearing the alarm – but weekends are a different story. Regular Addison loves her sleep, but pregnant Addison loves it even more. Mark stays in bed for a bit, listening to the claps of cabinets being opened and closed, and what sounds like mugs being placed on the counter. Regular sounds. And then he hears his espresso machine firing to life. Not a regular sound. Addison is still so comically bad at getting it to work, and really only bothers with it if Mark isn't around to make her a cup. And she hasn't had coffee in weeks, anyway, not so much because of limiting her caffeine intake while pregnant, but because the smell of coffee has been nauseating lately. So…definitely not regular. Mark climbs out of bed and proceeds to the kitchen, curious.

"Hi," Addison says when Mark rounds the corner. "Good timing." He observes her lingering by the machine, a green mug cupped between her hands. Light pours in from the kitchen window behind her, tinging the crown of her head. She is still in her pajamas (technically it's Mark's shirt, but he decides in that moment that it's her Yankee shirt now; it looks so much better on her). Her hair is uncombed and more creased than usual from going to bed with it still a little damp, and Mark notices that he could have done a hell of a lot better job of rubbing off the rest of her eye makeup last night. Addison's eyes also seem cloudy in a way that indicates she could probably use another two or three hours of sleep, but Mark is not sure if she has ever looked more beautiful than she does right now. Or maybe she just looks so beautiful because of all the places she could be, she is here. "I made you a cappuccino," she adds.

"All by yourself?"

"Yes." She holds up a hand when Mark gets within a few feet of her. "Just…just look at it first though. If you grab it, you might…you might ruin it." Her hand flips over then, and she beckons him closer with curling fingers.

Mark closes the remaining feet between them, and peers down into the mug. "Oh." He smiles as he registers the shape of the steamed milk puddling at the top of the drink. "You made a heart." It is a little lopsided, and the edges messy, but it is clear enough what Addison was going for. "I love it. Thank you, Red."

"I also…" Addison tugs his arm, and guides him over to the center island. The wall calendar Mark bought is there, opened up to the month of March. "I did a heart for the due date, too." She points to the seventh square, where a much neater heart has been drawn under baby due date, penned by Mark three weeks ago. Addison nudges her shoulder against his when he smiles broadly. "This one was a lot easier."

"What's that for?" He taps a finger a few squares over, where a star and the letter A have been etched in the box for March twelfth.

"That's my prediction. The due date is the seventh, but…I just feel like this little one will come a bit later than that." Addison slides an uncapped pen towards him. "Do you want to make a guess? There's no prize. Just the satisfaction that comes with being right."

Mark takes the pen from her. "Well," he says with a smirk. "I'm certainly not dumb enough to go beyond the date you predicted…that sounds miserable for you." He opts for the eleventh, which was Jenny's birthday. He scratches out a little star and adds an M in the box next to Addison's. And then he turns to face her. "Addison…you're ready? It's real for you?" He watches as she nods. "What changed?"

"Despite the magic sex tea, there's still an undercurrent of nausea most mornings that isn't helping with the whole it's-not-real thing, but…it's more a feeling than anything else. I told you it would happen, but I couldn't say when. And I can't really say why now, but just…it's now. It's now." Addison smiles happily. "I just know that you're here. You're here and you're staying. You're here and I'm here and this is real. And I love you. And I want you and I want her – or him, but…my first thought was a girl too, to be honest. I'm still…" she takes a deep breath. "I'm still anxious and the months ahead won't be easy with the divorce stuff and trying to get ready to become parents and finding ways to make sure we make this work, but I…I want to do this, and I don't want to do this with anyone but you. I was thinking this morning that shortly after Derek left and I was just…reeling, Savvy told me that I still had so many beautiful things to look forward to, and I…I think she was right." Mark raises a hand to cup her cheek, and she turns into his palm, enjoying the feeling of the gentle caress.

"Addison," he says simply, and she is struck by how he says it, how kind and full of love it is, how it sounds so different compared to the way anyone else has ever uttered her name. "You're ready." It is not a question this time, but a statement.

"I'm ready," Addison echoes. She steps forward, fitting herself against Mark's chest. His arms fold her around her, holding her close.

"This was a really, really great grand gesture, you know." He pulls back, and Addison watches as he lifts a hand, and then drops it a little, uncertain. "Red, is it okay if -" he stops when she takes his hand and eases it under her shirt, clearly understanding what he was trying to ask.

"Right there," she murmurs, keeping her hand on top of his. "Thank you…" she says as Mark's fingers flex against her stomach. "For being patient about this. But you don't have to ask, going forward. It's okay." She leans up to brush a kiss against his jawbone. "Still feel the same?"

"The same," he admits, since there are no physical changes yet. "But…but different, too, I think. The baby is the size of a blueberry this week. Only a centimeter, but double in size compared to what he or she was last week. And joints are starting to form now, too." Mark grins, and lifts a shoulder in a pleasant shrug. "I know you know all that though."

Addison returns his smile with one of her own. "You've been doing some research."

"I have a book, actually. One of the 'what to expect' ones, for both mom and baby. I try to read it on my lunch breaks, when I can."

"Thank you." She feels her voice snag, completely moved by this acknowledgement. "That's really thoughtful of you to do that for us."

"I'm not doing it for -" Mark catches himself and shakes his head. He chuckles lightly. "Well, I mean, obviously I'm doing it for you and the baby, but I'm also doing it for…" he shakes his head again. "You're gonna laugh."

"Tell me. I love that you can make me laugh."

"I'm doing it for Lynette."

"Knock her up too, Mark?" Addison jokes.

He smirks and shakes his head. "Nah. She has too high of standards to sleep with me – you told me that once. But, no, she bought it for me. She expects weekly report-outs, so every Friday I have to tell her what I've learned. It's pretty serious business. And you've met Lynette…so not sharing isn't an option. I'm too scared to find out what would happen if I fell behind on my reading."

"Good idea not to find out," Addison agrees. "So…I think the grander gesture for me this morning was actually the fact that I managed to make coffee at all without dry-heaving over the sink. But that…I feel like I'm rolling the dice the longer I stand here with coffee aroma in the air. I might go lie back down for a few. You can stay in here though, if you want, and drink your cheesy heart coffee. But then come back to bed. For…bedroom stuff."

"That sex tea again?"

She nods in confirmation. "That sex tea again."

. .
. .

References/Nods to Various Episodes

Shepherd divorce proceedings. Grey's, 3x05.
Derek: I'd like to keep my trailer and the land in Seattle. Addison can have [the brownstone and Hamptons house]."
Addison: "…I came here to fight over CDs and books. Go to war over a crystal vase. What are you up to, Derek?"

And then later that episode. Mark: "[Derek] still doesn't know the full story, does he? … And as long you don't tell him, you get to be the good guy while I'm just the chump who seduced his wife for the hell of it. Real fair."

And then later-later that episode, when Addison tells Derek it wasn't a one-night stand, and that she lived with Mark for two months, and tries to offer up the brownstone, Derek says, "All I want is Seattle. I want Seattle and never to see you again." A really heartbreaking scene and so well-acted on both KW and PD's parts. And then, naturally, Addison's next scene is her in bed with Mark. HealthyChoicesTM.

PP stuff – Addison is a fan of green juice. Also, Mark is the only one to call her "Red" (unless you can point me to another example, and it was just the one time), but I love me any opportunity to badmouth, Sam, so there you have it. And also x3: Addison used a lot of green coffee mugs in PP.

Man, this chapter broke me. There will be some "spots" of angst throughout the rest of the fic (because no matter how happy Mark and Addison are throughout the pregnancy and the baby's eventual birth, obviously this is an angst-filled situation, and in general, it's hard to be happy sometimes, and to feel like you deserve to be happy, if you did something ill-advised to get there), but nothing quite like this one. Some of the Addison and Derek "off-screen" convos will be covered in future flashbacks (wow, sounds weird to put it like that), since Derek will eventually be folded back into the story in a five-years-later sort of the way, but some conversations…maybe won't be rehashed? Telephone scenes just aren't particularly fun to write, and confessionals aren't really the point of this story anyway. I will have a divorce proceedings scene though (not gonna pretend I'm writing all the nuances of divorce correctly, btw). And if skipping over some of the Derek convos feels a bit like lazy writing, well, guess what, I am in fact a VERY lazy person a lot of the time.

I mentioned this to a reader recently, so I figured I'd say it here, too: there won't be much in the way of baby chapters. A few pregnancy ones (and learning to navigate this time as a couple who clearly love one another, but also have a challenging, unique circumstance), a newborn chapter (mostly for an after-the-main-event hospital scene I've had planned forever), one when the baby is a little over a year or two old for a scene I've had planned for months, and then a time-jump, which will include (probably) like three chapters before we reach the end of the road. Thanks for reading! Comments are warmly appreciated. It's always more fun with a chatty audience. :)