Chapter title is a lyric from "Ripple," by the Grateful Dead (my favorite song of theirs…and no, I'm not sixty-five, if that's your next question). This is possibly my longest chapter to date, but I refused to sacrifice any of the flashbacks. And PS - I know the Amy age thing is a little off in this chapter (she should be younger, or the boys should be older, but either way, just like in canon, Amelia is ageless, so). And if this upsets you, then as Amelia would say, "Bite me." :)
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Chapter 42. The Gold of Sunshine
Thirty-One Years Earlier
"My hand hurts."
"Mine too."
"Then take a break for a few minutes," Carolyn Shepherd says with an air of reasonableness, and two barreled pens (which come with a learning curve, as Mark and Derek are used to their sturdy, large-sized No. 2 pencils) immediately drop onto the coffee table, skittering across the rosewood surface. "So who did you just finish ones for?" The seven-year-olds shoot each other commiserating looks, having grown bored with the task in front of them.
"Johnny," Derek answers.
Mark feels a flutter of disappointment when he tells Mrs. Shepherd that the latest Valentine he completed is for Amanda. Amanda's last name is Lowell, and Johnny's is Naldoni. N is farther along than L in the alphabet. Apparently, Derek is faster than Mark at writing the names of their classmates on the To: line of the Sweethearts candy boxes, and then signing his name on the line below each time.
"You're halfway there then," Jenny contributes in a cheerful tone. "Mark, could you please pick that up for me?" She is holding a sleepy-eyed Amy in her lap, and while Mark was spelling out A-m-a-n-d-a, Derek's littlest sister took it upon herself to rip off the stretchy, nylon headband with a giant red flower that was on her head. Mark follows Jenny's straightened finger to a spot on the other side of the armchair, one she would not be able to comfortably reach without disturbing Amy, who now has a thumb crooked between her lips. Mark almost gives his mother a look, because Mrs. Shepherd could just as easily pick up Amy's thrown-overboard headband. Or Derek. It's her baby and his sister. But Mark knows he is a guest in the Shepherd home, and it was nice of Mrs. Shepherd to invite him over so the boys could keep each other company while they scrawled out their Valentines for tomorrow's class party. And it was nice of Mrs. Shepherd to invite Jenny over, too. "It's such a cute headband," Jenny adds, speaking to Carolyn while Mark goes to collect the slip of fabric. "You said she turned a year old recently?"
"Here, I can take it, Mark. Thank you." Mrs. Shepherd holds her hand out, and Mark presents her with the headband. "She never keeps them on anymore," she says, now talking around Mark as he goes back to where Derek is seated. He notices his friend has picked up a pen again and returned to the list of classmates they were provided with, so Mark quickly crouches beside him, determined to reach Cory Weaver – the last one in their first grade class, alphabetically – before Derek. "And yeah, Amy turned one on the fourth. She's so content right now; you clearly have the magic touch. She was walking by eight months and -"
"Eight months? Wow. That's…" Jenny pauses, and Mark glances up in time to watch as his mother's mouth slashes into an uncertain line. Jenny – who in his mind is old simply because she is a parent – looks so young compared to Mrs. Shepherd. Maybe more like a babysitter than a mom. "That's pretty early for walking, isn't it?"
"Yes, very. Much earlier than the rest of my bunch. I was going to say, once Amy started walking, I swear the only time she isn't moving is when she's asleep."
Jenny grins as she coaxes some of Amy's dark wisps away from her forehead. "She must just be tired right now then," she states quietly.
Mark feels happy about how well his mom and Mrs. Shepherd seem to be getting along. He and Derek are starting to spend increasingly more time together after school, but this is the first time the two moms have spent time together that extends beyond swapping hellos and How are yous? after school, or when Jenny comes to pick Mark up from Derek's house. Mark has been over to the Shepherds' plenty of times since the boys met in September, but Derek has actually never come to his house before.
(Jenny and Carolyn might have gotten along well and enjoyed each other's company during this visit, but once Mark was a bit older, he would come to understand this mothers-spending-time-together session for what it was: an assessment from Carolyn, to determine if Jenny was sober with some sort of regularity, and if Derek would be safe around her if he was to play at Mark's house after school. Mark figured Carolyn knew from the moment she met Jenny that she struggled with addiction – even though Jenny's problems with alcohol and controlled substances did not always, overwhelmingly present as clearly a problem during Mark's earlier years. And while Carolyn did ensure that the boys primarily played at her house, she never seemed…judgmental about Jenny, at least not in the way she rather appeared to be with her own daughter when Amy's struggles bubbled to the surface. If anything, Mark got the sense Carolyn really liked his mom. Carolyn was always stoic, always put-together, but she did look genuinely crushed at Jenny's funeral.)
"Thanks for having us," Jenny proclaims about an hour later when she and Mark are leaving to head home for dinner. "It was really nice to spend more time with you," she tacks on, smiling kindly at Derek's mother while she pulls her coat on.
"You, too," Mrs. Shepherd replies. "And Mark is welcome anytime." She takes a moment to give Mark a smile. "We love having him. Especially Derek."
"I would think so, with a house full of sisters," Jenny says, holding back a laugh.
"Definitely. Your son is clearly the brother Derek never got to have."
. .
. .
Your heart shows on your face. Mark heard that once, when he was a first year resident. It was from an attending, one who was a bit too handle with care and emotionally-involved with his patients to earn much of Mark's respect, even though Mark did enjoy his rotation in transplant surgery. The phrase stuck with him though. Your heart shows on your face when you have to deliver bad news. Your heart shows on your face when you talk to the parents after surgery. Your heart shows on your face when you tell a patient, "This will only hurt a little."
Mark is thinking of these words tonight as he makes his way back into the apartment, flowers in one hand, and an outfit for the baby in the other. All the lights are still on, including the bedroom one, which surprises him; it is after ten, and Addison tends to go to bed pretty early lately.
Your heart shows on your face when you know you have really, really disappointed your girlfriend.
"Hi," Mark greets, trying to keep a heavy sigh to himself upon entering the bedroom. Addison – who heard him the moment his key wheezed in the lock on the front door, and received a text when he was about five minutes away – is already looking at him. She is sitting up in bed with a novel balanced on her thighs, but she sets it aside when she notices Mark's hands are a little full. She looks over the brightly-colored flowers first – sunflowers, orange roses, yellow and orange chrysanthemums, and a spray of seeded eucalyptus, tallying up to an appropriate fall selection – wrapped in a bouquet sleeve and tied with a satin ribbon. Then her gaze drifts to the other item clenched in Mark's fist, expression curious.
Mark puts the flowers on the nightstand next to Addison's book, and then hands her the cotton bodysuit so that she can straighten it out by its tiny sleeves to see "I Love Mommy" in colorful lettering stamped on its front.
"I know you're not really a fan of 'words' onesies…" he begins, which is true. Addison cannot really explain it, and honestly, she knows it is a snobby opinion to have. She thinks the ones that say Hello, I'm New Here, or some variation of that are ridiculously hilarious and cute, but word ones in general…she assumes it is something she just has in common with her mother, and at least she can recognize this about herself. "But it was kinda short notice," Mark elaborates, "so I didn't have time to find one that said, 'my dad really fucked up today.'"
"Did you try Bloomingdale's?" Addison jokes, forcing a smile onto her face. "They usually have a decent selection. Thank you though." She folds the outfit as neatly as she can, and settles it beside the flowers and her worn-down copy of Mansfield Park. "This was thoughtful of you. And the flowers are beautiful."
"I'm really sorry, Red. I really, really am."
Because today was supposed to be perfect. Mark had an early afternoon surgery – nothing complex, just a chin reshaping – but on his way out of the scrub room, not only was he paged, but two residents sought him out, running down the hall, pleading for assistance on a number of patients just admitted following a catastrophic fire in the Diamond District. Chief Patel was right on their heels. It was not the kind of thing where Mark could say, No, I need to leave in an hour for Addison's appointment at Mount Sinai. And maybe, just maybe, there was a stupidly hopeful part of him that ignored the word catastrophic and truly thought he could just offer up a few consults for the regular rotation of plastics and trauma residents and attendings.
And not just any appointment. The appointment, where they would get to find out the baby's sex. He told Nina to get Addison, who eventually popped into the OR, hovering in the cold entryway, a mask drawn up to her mouth. I'll meet you there, Mark said, eyes briefly flickering to the clock. I'm almost done here, but just go without me so you aren't late. I'm like fifteen minutes away from closing up. And he was. But then he was called to OR 3, for another patient in need of immediate help, whose procedure had taken a scary turn. And then it kept happening. On and on and on.
And surely this is something Addison can understand. No surgeon wants to put a patient ahead of a loved one, but when someone's life is on the line, there is no way around it: you have to. So, that afternoon Mark asked for Nina again. She did some behind-the-scenes contact attempts, and during a moment of calm while Mark was operating, she scrubbed and gowned up and came into OR 3, and held out her phone so he could see the text from Addison: Just tell him I'll reschedule the appt. for another day. My OB just started putting the gel on me, but I can ask her to stop. Tell Mark I'll see him at home. It's fine.
It's fine. It's fine. Never a good way for a text message to end.
"I know you're sorry," Addison says now.
"You can yell," he offers. "You can yell if you want."
"I don't want to. I mean, I did, but I don't now." They purposely try not to yell. Not that they don't still have complicated ground to navigate, which can lead to tension, because they do, and it does, but they try to be gentle with each other's feelings. Words may be responsible for what it takes to create a world, but language still comes with limits; they both recognize how important it is to be intentional when it comes to their choices, actions, and interactions.
It is hard to end a marriage. It is hard to lose a best friend. It is a unique sort of wound to know that there is someone still out there who you no longer have any sort of connection to – legally, in a familial way, or otherwise. It means starting over and starting again. It means that even though they want this to work, and feel that it will work, there is an added pressure to make this work now that there is no longer the burden of a marriage folded between them. It means some tears from Addison. It means some showers where Mark reaches for the shampoo bottle twice because he is so deep in his thoughts he cannot remember whether he already lathered and rinsed. It means long conversations with their respective therapists. It means critical looks, because an entire hospital – the rumor mill truly is relentless, with news adding up quicker than a patient's bill – now seems to know a divorce was finalized because Addison slept with her husband's best friend, or the husband's best friend seduced her – it depends on whom you ask. And either way, now there is a baby coming, and the whole thing is "pulled right out of a slutty soap opera," according to one nurse Addison overheard, who was promptly told to shut up by Charlene. It means a lot of hugs, for a lot of reasons: the slutty comment Addison told Mark about through water-slicked eyelashes, the decision not to put a card in the mail for the next nephew on the birthday list, making plans to clean out two houses, and not really having anyone to celebrate with who appreciates baseball in the way Derek does when the Yankees clinch their division.
It is worth it – somehow worth everything they lost if it means getting to be together, completely unconstrained – but they find themselves repeating their theme several times a week anyway: everything is going to be okay.
Today was supposed to be perfect though. Or as close to perfect as possible.
"Aren't you mad?" Mark asks, still attempting to proceed with caution. He sits down on the bed, one hip and one thigh pressing against Addison's calf.
"Yes. I'm mad – understandably so. But I'm mad at the situation, not you. Like, this sucked…it's not like you suck." Addison shrugs, working to keep a pout off her face. "I understand what happened, and I appreciate that you had Nina keep in touch with me, and that you apologized, and that you're trying to make it right. This is just…surgical life, sometimes. I had to reschedule the twelve-week appointment when something ran long for me, remember? Luckily, that one was an early appointment, so we were able to reschedule it for later that day. Maybe…maybe going forward I can try to bribe Dr. O'Leary to see if she'll take us before the workday starts."
"I don't want you to think that I…that I'm not taking this seriously or that I'm going to be absent, or -"
"I don't think that. You're here. You told me you would be and you are. And second…you're sorry. That's the thing; you're sorry. And he…he wasn't." Addison knows, of course, that Derek would have been incredibly sorry if he was in Mark's shoes for this specific thing, but when it comes to her overall point, she knows she is correct. And while she does not really want to make her ex-husband a part of this conversation, she sort of has to – and this is not the only time – in order to offer Mark some reassurance about what she is and is not feeling. It is something she has realized is necessary sometimes, to make sure she verbalizes that they are solid, that they are Good Together, that she loves who he is and who he is with her. Mark is not always as confident as he presents as being. "Sure, Derek was sorry for any inconvenience it caused, and he was sorry I was upset, but it's sort of like when someone says, 'I'm sorry you feel that way' instead of what they should actually say: 'I'm sorry I made you feel that way.' The explanation he would have for 'here is why I'm sorry' always fell short. Derek just…he didn't see the absenteeism as something that hurt him, if that makes sense…it didn't hurt him to have to miss something with me. His surgeries, the extra things he took on, all those times he prioritized something ahead of me…he wasn't actually remorseful. And right now…I can see how much this hurts you, to have missed something like this." Addison's lips rub together. "So, while I appreciate you saying that you're sorry, I know that you're sorry. And it's okay. Really, it's okay. But I…I do…" she hesitates, and a guilty expression washes over her face. "I do have a confession to make."
"You know the sex." He already wondered this – but wanted to discuss it in person, rather than over text – because Addison mentioned to Nina that Dr. O'Leary had started to apply the ultrasound gel. Maybe they were already a little further along than that though, and even if the OB wasn't already rolling the transducer along Addison's stomach and pelvic area, it would have been really, really tempting not to pump the brakes. And all Addison would have needed was a half-second peep at the display screen to know if their baby was a girl or boy.
"I didn't try to know," Addison says insistently. "She was already reaching for the transducer when I sent the text, and I just…I felt rude about asking her to stop, that far into an appointment. And I really did turn my head away and told Dr. O'Leary to just tell me that everything with Baby looks good and that Baby is on track growth-wise…but I just…I just wanted to check to be absolutely sure Baby looked healthy, and of course that meant…well. Yeah. I saw."
"I figured that might be the case. And I get it. So…" he smirks feebly. "Are you gonna hold out on me?"
Addison shakes her head. "I can tell you – and I can show you the sonogram, with a really embarrassing barbecue sauce stain in the left-hand corner because I sort of went insane on a rack of ribs tonight while the picture was too close to the plate. Or you can wait until tomorrow. I can snag someone…Charlene, maybe…to do another ultrasound so you can see too, and so we can get a non-barbecue picture. We'll do that no matter what, but…it's up to you if you want to know right now, or if you want to wait and be surprised whenever we can make the next ultrasound happen."
"I want to know. I want you to tell me." It almost feels fitting, in a way Mark cannot quite explain, for Addison to be the one to share the news with him.
"Okay then. Well, you're going to have a daughter, Mark."
A smile splits his mouth open. "It's a girl?" Just because this is what they both thought does not take away from the fact that it is still incredible – and somehow shocking – to hear. "Really?"
"Yes. You were right. Well, technically we were right."
"I was right first though. I did say it first." He definitely should not go there after today's events, but he cannot resist.
Addison lifts an eyebrow, predictably. "You sure you want to do that right now?" And then her expression softens. "Get in here and cuddle with me." She scoots backward so there is enough room for Mark, who wastes no time in lying down beside her.
"You're a girl," he murmurs, running his hand under Addison's shirt.
She is patient, letting Mark trail his fingers over the swell of skin, but eventually she cups a hand around his cheek, her meaning clear, and Mark presses his mouth to hers. They kiss for a few minutes, sharing the laughing, smiling-in-between kind of kisses. For all the heartache and struggles it has taken to get to a place of stability, Addison is still certain that if they strung every tender moment together, like jewels dropping along a string, those moments would go on forever.
Mark's cheek slides over hers when he leans forward to whisper in the shell of her ear. "I've never loved you more," he says, and he can feel the twitch in Addison's facial muscles signaling a smile. He knows saying stuff like this should be embarrassing as hell, but he just cannot help it sometimes. Especially now.
"I've heard that before, you know. Maybe you should just pick a moment and stick with it?"
"Nope. Never."
Her lips find his again, and they exchange a few more deep, unhurried kisses. It is not always loss that ties them together. It cannot just be that. Not when they have gained so, so much.
"Hey…are we allowed to tell people that Baby's a girl, or did you want to keep it between us for a bit longer?" Mark imagines that Addison already has a certain order in mind, at least on her side. Savvy first, probably. And then the other obvious ones: Archer, then her parents. And Mark knows she might not want to share their news with everyone at work, or at least not yet.
Addison smirks into his shoulder, knowing exactly what he is specifically asking. "It's fine…you can tell Lynette immediately."
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Thirty-One Years Earlier
"Hand still sore from all those names?" Jenny inquires with Mark once they have begun their walk home from the Shepherds, a plastic bag filled with signed candy boxes swinging in one of her hands.
"A little."
"Sorry; I know that wasn't much fun to do, but Valentines are nicer – and more personal – when you address them to someone, instead of just signing your name at the bottom and handing them out. At least you got to do it with a friend and play Legos for a bit afterwards, instead of sitting alone at the table with me clucking over your shoulder though, right? They're such a nice family, honey. You picked a really good best friend."
Mark smiles up at his mother, but along with the smile he offers a faint, noncommittal shrug, because he does not know if he actually picked Derek to be his best friend. They sort of picked each other. And while Mark is friends with almost everyone in his class, yes, Derek is undeniably his best friend. His most important friend. He is not sure if there is a difference between best and most important, but when Derek was Student of the Week and everyone in the class was making their compliment cards, Mark wrote, "Derek is my most important friend" (once the teacher's aide, Ms. Abrams, helped him spell "important") next to a hastily drawn picture of the two of them.
"How come you and Everett didn't have another baby?" Mark asks curiously when they turn onto their street.
"Oh. We just wanted one," Jenny shares. "Your dad and I are both only kids, too." Mark already know this. He also knows he is not the only one in first grade without a brother or sister. Carrie is an only child. So is Veronica. But Mark cannot help but be curious about the subject, especially after leaving Derek's boisterous, sibling-filled house. "Sorry, kiddo. But luckily you have your best friend and his sisters to play with, and lots of other friends."
"Didn't you wish you had a baby sister when you were a kid?"
Mark watches Jenny press her lips together. "No, I didn't," she says, and he studies her even closer, concerned about the face she just made, and why her answer sounded prickly, like what he imagines it would feel like to jab your finger against the sharp point of a thorn. He is familiar with the concept, even beyond the blush pink roses that have lined the split rail fence in front of his house for as long as he can remember. Perhaps having or not having a sister is a thorn for Jenny, one Mark did not know about. Roses and thorns. It is a game the Shepherds play at the dinner table. Mark has eaten with them a handful of times, and experienced it. Mrs. Shepherd goes first. Then Mr. Shepherd. And then the kids (or at least the kids who are able to talk in full sentences). You start by sharing a rose, which is something good that happened that day. And then a thorn, which is a challenge, or just something less good (homework: that is Derek's usual answer). And then there is a bud, which is something you're looking forward to (the weekend, when there is no homework).
"Are you mad?" Mark asks his mother, voice as soft as the curling edge of a petal. Jenny's voice was a thorn, and his is like a rose. He thinks of a time recently where a toddler-aged Lizzie was throwing a tantrum on the Shepherds' kitchen floor, while Mrs. Shepherd dried off plates a few feet away from her daughter's red-faced, fist-smacking, rocking body. The whole thing was almost…extraordinary, in how dramatic it was. Mark had never seen anything like it before. It's fine, Mrs. Shepherd informed him when she noticed his rounded, unblinking eyes (Derek, in contrast, just grabbed a brownie off the tray without comment, as though the second-youngest Shepherd having a complete meltdown was a normal occurrence). Lizzie just needs to get it out of her system. I told her that I'm sorry she's sad, and that I know she wants to go to the park, but that we can't right now. And she knows I'm here if she needs me and wants a hug. She just has to get up off the floor and ask. Sometimes people have lots of feelings, and their feelings need to spill out. And, Mrs. Shepherd gave Mark a tired, but mostly-happy smile. When you're as little as Liz, this is what a 'feelings spill' looks like.
"Oh." Jenny shakes her head upon hearing Mark's question, and then shows him a wide, pleasant smile that helps chip away at the apprehension he is feeling. "No, honey. I'm not mad at all. I love babies – and I love kids, too. I don't know as much about babies as Mrs. Shepherd does, but I do still like babies, and I liked having a baby once – you. Your dad and I just wanted one though. Each family is different, yeah? But when you're a grownup, and you meet someone special, you can always have more than one baby, if you want to. And I can watch your baby – or babies – whenever you want."
"If I have a baby who's a girl and you're babysitting her, you're not gonna make her wear those dumb bows on her head like Mrs. Shepherd does with Amy, are you?"
Jenny laughs and nudges his shoulder. "I just might," she says.
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. .
"It would have been this weekend, when we went to the Hamptons that time," Addison says the following Friday morning. She glances towards the kitchen entryway where she has placed her bag and smallest piece of luggage. She reminds herself she has not forgotten anything, so she really, really does not need to check over her things again. "So…happy sex-iversary." She gives Mark a weak smile. "It was the third weekend in October, when we were there."
"Sex-iversary," Mark repeats as he pours what is left of his coffee into a to-go cup. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Well." She offers a small, self-deprecating smirk. "Fuck or screw-iversary is a little crass, and at the time, it certainly wasn't a making love-iversary. And no, I'm not…" she shrugs again. "I'm not really calling it anything, but I feel like it would have been weird if I didn't, like, acknowledge it. We did it…I guess? We made it a year." A year. Not a full year of complete togetherness, of course. Not even close. But it still means something, and it is the only way Addison measures time now: time with Mark, and time without him.
Mark brushes his lips against her temple as he reaches around her to grab his keys off the counter. "We could commemorate it with special activities once you get back," he says suggestively, but he hopes Addison felt all the comfort he has to offer in the kiss that preceded the playful remark. "So what do you three have planned?" He asks. Savvy rented a place for herself, Addison, and Naomi – who they were able to coax into flying out – in Westhampton for the weekend. It was put on the calendar at the beginning of the month, and Addison has been looking forward to it. She will be heading over to Savvy's in a few minutes, and then from there the two women are going to LaGuardia to pick up Naomi. And while Addison is doing this, Mark will be going to the practice (she has certainly gone out of her way to draw attention to the fact that ha-ha, he has to work today).
"Probably a little shopping," she answers, "but honestly, I think we'll mostly just be hanging around the house Savvy rented, and doing lots of eating. And drinking for Sav and Nai. I hope they plan to, at least. They shouldn't hold back on my account. Especially Sav, since she's leaving Phoebe with Weiss. But as far as what else, I don't know. This was all Savvy's idea, so she's done most of the planning – aside from letting me pick the location. I guess this is sort of like…a pseudo baby shower."
"If you want to have a real one -"
"I don't." Addison's words rush out in a single breath.
"I'm just saying, if you did though, people would come. Well, women, I guess. I know they aren't usually co-ed." It is not like Mark would know how to plan a shower on Addison's behalf, and on behalf of what he assumes would be women-only guests, but if someone like Savvy were to take the lead, he would certainly help and be qualified enough to follow a list of assigned party tasks. But Addison already said she does not want one – she has told both him and Savvy this – so he has to respect that. In response to his comment, she gives him a look that plainly reads, you know that isn't true. Which is probably enough to make her not want one.
"I'd rather just do this. I'm really glad Naomi was able to come out. Don't be worried about me. I'm happy." Addison flashes him a smile that indicates as much. "Now, you have fun at work today while I get to enjoy an extra day off and a fun weekend. Oh my God, don't." She lets out a shriek and jumps away from Mark's hand when she realizes what he is about to do. "I need to leave, and you know what spanking apparently…does to me now."
Mark starts to chuckle. "I'll save it for when you get back then."
He leaves shortly after Addison does – comforting himself with the fact that at least he has a light day, if it has to be a working one. He feels excited when Lynette hands him a chart and some paperwork, because he, in turn, has something for her.
"I wanted to show you this," Mark says, holding out a piece of paper Addison must have been working on last night before she secured it with a letter magnet on the side of the fridge. "These are the names she's come up with so far." He watches as Lynette scans the list, reading the names he has already committed to memory:
Alice
Josephine (Josie/Jo)
Laura
Lucy
Clara
Jane
Margaret (Maggie. Or Meg?)
Sara
"They're all so pretty." Lynette pushes the paper back to him. "Nice choices. Seems like she has a type."
"Yeah." Mark nods. "I know they're all sort of old-fashioned. I think I like them all, and for the longer ones, I like that she has nickname options." Truthfully, he has not given much thought to baby names. He never has. He remembers when Derek's sisters were little, they were always naming their dolls, creating families while they played. In Mark's case, it seems easier to determine what names he doesn't like, rather than what names he actually does. And, like in many areas of his life, he is pretty much fine with deferring to Addison.
"They're for sure more traditional, classic names, but I was actually thinking…they're literary ones. Main female characters," Lynette says. "Books where the girls or the women are the heroines of their own stories."
He smiles at this comment. Yes. Of course this is it. "Addie would like that," he agrees, the words full of warmth as they leave his mouth. For so long, he knows that she was afraid she had become a spectator in her life outside the hospital.
"I can't figure out Clara though." Lynette taps a finger against the arm of her chair. "She definitely, definitely wouldn't mean Durrant. And then the other novel one that popped into my head was Clara in Sandition, but I doubt it would be that either. Sandition is an unfinished Austen novel. I don't know if Addison knows -"
"Trust me." Mark rolls his eyes. "That's exactly the sort of thing she would know. You two are the same in that way…it's like you're the same person sometimes. God, I'm dating a version of you, I think."
"You wish. And no, it's not really the same, because if we were dating – which is a repulsive thought, since you're like a third son to me – you wouldn't have to experience as much from me in the way of guilt and loss, and learning to trust each other." She pauses, watching for Mark's reaction. "That wasn't an insult, by the way."
"I know. I know it wasn't." In some ways – different ways, and sometimes many ways – things are still complicated, maybe because Addison is no longer legally married. So much of what they have to do to make this work is about engaging rather than avoiding, and growing rather than turning inward as a form of protection. These are necessary qualities that reveal what you are willing to do to survive as human being, and as Olivia once told him, qualities needed to ensure a relationship can not only be sustainable, but actually thrive. He and Addison are learning separately and together how to make this work, and how to be a healing presence for each other.
"I guess there are some names I like more than others on the list," Mark says, "but I don't dislike any. You know, I actually think Olivia is a really good name, but that's the name of my therapist so -"
"Yeah, don't do that. Oh, you know what, actually…yuck." Lynette glances over at the desk phone when it rings. "Hold that thought. I guess I need to answer this."
"It's sort of why I pay you, and why you get discounts on Botox, so yes." Mark flips through the paperwork Lynette just finished up for him while she takes the call; he still has some time before his first consult. He is sure though to carefully fold the list of names and tuck it back inside his pants pocket, for safekeeping.
"…nutcracker," he hears Lynette mumble once she has hung up the phone.
"Is that my new nickname?"
"No, I just realized – if Clara is inspired by something, it's probably Clara from The Nutcracker. The play was adapted from a story. You know, I played Clara once in a little kid performance – probably pretty badly – but yeah. She doesn't always do something in every scene, but she's on stage almost the entire time, and has a lot of admirable qualities. Sweet, but determined and ambitious. She carries the story, in a way."
"I saw the play with Jenny and Everett once. We drove into the city for it, and spent the night. I think my dad and I were borderline neutral – it's long – but Jenny loved it. And I remember I liked the battle between the mice and toy soldiers."
"Clara was really brave in that scene."
"It's sounding a lot like you have a favorite name on the list, Lynnie."
Lynette offers him a sheepish grin. "I think they're all good names, but yeah, I guess I do. But don't let my opinion sway you. This is a you-and-Addison-only decision, and honestly, you could name your kid Butthead and I would still adore her."
"I think we're saving that for the middle name," he jokes. "And you know…I think Clara is kind of my favorite, too. I've never met a Clara before. It's…pretty. But, just so you know, we can never again bring up the fact that it's your favorite, too. If Addison finds out, she's just going to think I'm copying you."
. .
. .
Seven Years Earlier
"Mark's on his way," Derek announces when he returns from the kitchen, two folded-down cardboard boxes tucked under one of his arms. He drops them in the ever-growing stack by the door that leads to the basement. "He just got the pizza. Should be here in like fifteen."
"God, I love him so much for that." Addison sees the somewhat guilty grin her husband flashes in her direction, and she returns it with a similar expression. They will pay Mark back for the pizza, of course, but the entire point of him coming over to help with assembling some of the bigger furniture items currently propped against the walls of their new home was that they would be buying the pizza, and plying him with food and beer as a thank you for helping. But Mark said he was already in Hell's Kitchen (following some sort of hookup, she and Derek assume), and their favorite pizza place happens to be off of Ninth, so it seemed appropriate to go ahead and accept when Mark offered to pick their order up. It has been a long weekend of unpacking and starting to organize the brownstone. There is still so, so much left to do, but Addison is pleased with their progress, never mind that they have yet to locate half their kitchen appliances, or the vase that once belonged to Addison's grandmother. And while Addison knows that displaying things on the built-in, grand wall bookcase in the living room should not have ranked as high on the priority list as it did (Derek told her as much, but was nice about it), this afternoon she could not help starting to line their books on the shelves, and select spots for some photographs, art prints, and other decorative accents she and Derek have picked up throughout their dating and married life. The mostly-completed bookcase makes the house feel like a home. "I love him so, so much," Addison continues, no longer caring how dramatic she sounds. She is just grateful for the incoming sustenance.
"I kind of do, too." Derek kisses her cheek as he walks by, in that quick and seamless way he became capable of executing once they were a more serious couple. Cheek kisses mostly happen at the hospital now, since it is a way for them to offer affection and spousal support in the work environment as they steadily continue an ascent to the top of their respective fields. The kisses still feel intimate to Addison though, not at all perfunctory or like some sort of husbandly obligation on Derek's part. She remembers Archer – who of course has never made it to this part of a relationship, but loves to critique this part anyway – once making a scornful comment when he saw Derek kiss her cheek at a Montgomery family gathering. It's like he's…courting you. Where's the buggy he's going to give you a ride home in? But to Addison, it is sweet. It is sweet and conveys the depth of their commitment and connection. And that said, there are plenty of physical things she and Derek do together that probably cannot be described as sweet, and once she told Archer this, he clapped his hands over his ears and walked away, which effectively ended his teasing.
"I'm going to put this out on the table so I remember to give it to Mark." Derek returns from an opened (but not-yet-unpacked) box labeled Derek and Addison Photo Albums. "I haven't gone through these in so long…" he mutters, and Addison assumes this is in reference to one of the several childhood albums Carolyn gave him a few years ago.
(In contrast, Addison has just one album, and it is fairly sparse. Montgomerys hang photos on walls – staged, carefully-posed photos and portraits. Addison does not remember her family taking very many informal, fun-having pictures, and even if they did, they certainly would not end up tucked inside fabric-covered albums with frilly lace, like the kind Carolyn has. As is often the case, Addison is hit with a twinge of longing for some of the simpler, more ordinary things she has missed out on.)
She knows it cannot be their wedding album Derek is referring to; they had their wedding anniversary two months ago, and so far for each anniversary they have revisited their album on that day, or around that day if there is some sort of surgical hiccup that prevents one of them from getting home at a decent hour. So it has to be an album from Derek's childhood, and when he makes his way over to Addison with a photo snared between two fingers, he confirms as much when he adds, "When I opened the box, I noticed this one sort of poking out of its sleeve, and there was a duplicate behind it. I remember this. Kathleen took it on one of the disposables." Derek holds the slightly faded photo out to Addison, and she smiles when she takes in a snapshot of a young Derek and Mark – somewhere in the six to eight range, she thinks, and sporting the kind of little kid smiles that are happy, but not necessarily natural – on the floor near the coffee table in the Shepherds' living room (same house, same table), with Carolyn and Jenny in the background, and a dark haired baby snuggled in Jenny's lap (definitely Amy).
"So sweet," Addison comments. She points to the mass of small boxes – they sort of look like card decks – divided between the two cheesy-grinning boys. "What were you playing?"
"Those are actually candy boxes. You know those chalky-tasting hearts with the words on them? We were filling out the backs of the boxes where you put who it's to and from. It was for a Valentine's Day party we were having later that week. Mark and his mom came over, and we worked on them together."
Addison bites her lower lip as she smiles. "I can only imagine what Mark wrote for his Valentines."
Derek starts to laugh. "He was seven or eight – no, seven – when this was taken, Addie. I don't think he was writing down a fake phone number or a pick-up line just yet. We had to do one for everyone in the class, so mostly we were both just complaining about hand cramps. It was fun though." He shrugs amicably. "And slightly more bearable to do since we got to do it together."
They both almost jump – it's New York, so of course there is noise, but Central Park West seems so much quieter than the apartment they just relocated from – when they hear the smack of a car door being closed outside their home. It has to be Mark, and they both begin fidgeting, in the way you sort of do when your very first guest comes to your new home.
"We're going to be so happy here," Addison tells Derek, words smooth and hopeful as they wait for Mark to join them. She returns his cheek kiss with one of her own.
. .
. .
"What is it you're doing with Sav this morning? Just hanging out, or…?" Mark asks while Addison throws a bag of almonds into her purse (as though Savvy and Weiss do not have food at their place). Not that she needs a reason to go over to Savvy and Weiss's, but lately Savvy has been setting aside things for Addison. When Savvy and Weiss came over for dinner on Wednesday, Savvy brought over a few newborn outfits of Phoebe's that she does not feel enough of an attachment to to want to keep.
"I'm going to be showing her how to massage her breast, mostly," Addison answers, and Mark immediately smirks. She will occasionally lob something at him that could be construed in an entirely different way. He assumes it is how she makes peace with the fact that she dates someone who loves double entendres and euphemisms; she throws him a bone once in a while out of empathy.
"I want for this to be sexual…but I know it's not."
"Nope. A clogged duct." Addison grimaces. "Motherhood is lots of fun." She leans in to give Mark a quick kiss. "Sorry. Too bad this couldn't have happened last Saturday, when we were actually already together. Naomi and I could have taken turns with the compress and massaging." She hates to miss more time with Mark – especially on the weekend – but she reminds herself that a clogged duct is probably more pleasant (for her, not for Savvy) than what she and Mark already have planned for this afternoon. Starting earlier in the day will not make it better, or more pleasant. "So I'm going to help with that and just hang out for a bit – two or three hours tops – and then I'll text you when I'm leaving Savvy's and we can meet there."
Meet there. Today is a brownstone day. Mark knows Addison is dreading it, and even though she has said more than once that she is not in any kind of rush to sell the place (or the Hamptons house), she still wants to make progress with packing and sorting through things, especially before the baby comes. And she is open to Mark coming with her, or at least being present if she does not want his help.
Mark sits on the stoop that afternoon, waiting. Addison should be here soon. He watches as dry, crackled-looking leaves gambol by on the sidewalk, courtesy of a light fall wind that is pushing them along. It is quiet this afternoon, save for the wind and the rustling of leaves. Almost unnervingly quiet, and also somber, in Mark's opinion, with the muted, reduced sunlight and near-barren trees. Your heart shows on your face. He works to remove his look of…well, whatever kind of look he thinks he might have, to assume a more neutral, relaxed one when Addison's cab pulls up. Just as she has said that she is in no rush to unload the property, he tries to remind her of this whenever she starts to look worried. And to remind her that she has made progress. She has already marked various items throughout the house with Post-its: keep, sell, donate, send to Derek whether he wants it or not. She sorted through everything she needed to in the bedroom earlier this month, and Megan – the woman Bizzy connected Addison with, and Mark cannot say with any certainty what her actual title is – has already shipped Derek his remaining clothes, everything in his second floor office, and whatever Addison set aside for him in the kitchen (most likely fish-related skillets and knives, Mark assumes). Addison mentioned that the Hamptons will be easier to deal with, and really will not even require her presence for that much. They were more conservative with how they decorated it, because even though they have a quality alarm system and it is a safe neighborhood, it did not seem worth the risk to have expensive furniture, and semi-abstract landscapes and limited-edition prints covering the walls when they would probably only be there once a month, if that. And there really is not anything Addison can think of in the Hamptons home that is sentimental, nothing in the way of photos and other marital keepsakes. In fact, Addison said it could have been anyone's home in a way, not specifically hers and Derek's.
"Mark, you didn't have to…" Addison almost laughs when she closes the cab door and sees him get to his feet, pushing off one of the concrete steps. "You could have gone inside, you know." She makes her way towards him, a hand cradled against her stomach. "That's why I gave you the key before I left for Sav's."
"It's okay. I figured I'd just wait for you. I only got here a few minutes ago."
He was not here the last time Addison did a few things at the brownstone – she insisted she felt okay enough to do it alone, and promised not do anything physically straining. When they go inside, Mark notices that there are a few Post-its on various furniture items in the living room that were not there the last time he was here (Addison has a color system, but he cannot remember which color is for what), so she has definitely made more headway. However, there is no denying the fact – which Mark tries his damnedest not to show on his face – that there is still so, so much to do. He looks at Addison, and no matter what is happening as it pertains to his face neutrality, he can still pinpoint the moment she starts to fall apart.
"I…I don't even know where to start," she admits, voice shattering on the last word.
Mark inhales slowly. "I do." He molds his hand around hers. "Come on…let's go sit down," he says, and she is too overwhelmed to protest the fact that sitting down on the couch (with a purple Post-it clinging to one of its arms) will in no way help with getting stuff done.
"Oh." Mark's eyes go first to the remote on the coffee table, but when his gaze shifts up, he realizes the TV is gone. "You sold the TV. And the stand," he murmurs.
"I did," Addison says. Much of her progress is thanks to Megan, who has given her a list of things to do, some of them more involved than others, but often with hand-holding that makes Addison feel like she is once again a little girl sitting in the back of one of her father's anatomy classes "doing surgery" on a hot dog while everyone else around her is being and acting like a grownup (she is grateful for the hand-holding though). She completes the tasks and checks them off obediently, almost without thinking, sometimes. Gather any birth certificates, passports, and insurance policies. Cancel the cable. Follow the instructions to change the name on your Social Security card before you change anything else. Email me whenever you've designated additional items for storage, to sell, or to send to Seattle. Take this change-of-address card with you. Update your voter and vehicle registration. But while Megan (and her team) can certainly help with packing, shipping, storing, and selling, she cannot be the one to determine which items fall into which categories. "The remote on the table is just an extra one that got left behind. I found it in a kitchen drawer," Addison adds woodenly. "But we can't…we can't just sit here…we're not…"
"Sure we can. So, TV is out. But what if we read?" Mark gestures to the bookcase, where an impressive collection of novels are arranged. "Here's what I think. I think we both pick out books – or actually, if you want, just pick one out, and you can relax while I read it to you – and if at any point while we're reading, you feel ready to start sorting through some things, then we'll do that. And if that time doesn't come, then we still got to do some reading and have a change of scenery for a bit. This isn't a waste, no matter what happens. Right?" He waits patiently, watching as Addison bites her lip in consideration, and then finally, she gives him a small, weary nod. "Okay, good. It's not a rush, remember? Now go pick something out and I'll read it to you."
"Really?" Mark feigns (well, sort of feigns) disappointment when he sees what book Addison has selected. She holds it out to him while absently thinking about that time all those months ago when she showed up at his apartment a little drunk, and he read The Call of the Wild to her. "You had to pick the most girly one, Red?"
Addison sniffs indignantly when she curls back into his shoulder. "Little Women is for everyone," she says. "And even if it wasn't…you have two girls in your life now." She pats a hand against her stomach. "Get used to it."
"That's true. Okay." He waits until she seems completely settled before he starts the story. Addison closes her eyes as she rests against him, but he can tell she is just listening, not stumbling towards sleep. Mark keeps his tone soft, and makes it into chapter two before she shifts against him, sitting up a little straighter. He finishes the rest of the paragraph before he touches his thumb to her jaw. She is studying the bookcase with a look on her face that reveals she is starting to think something through. "Hey…" he murmurs, catching her attention.
"I think maybe…I think we can do the bookcase today. If we just make piles with the books – donate, keep, and send to Derek – it probably won't take too long to do. And then the other stuff…well. I'm not sure about everything, but…" she walks over to the bookcase, and runs her finger along the grooved, flared neck of a blue and amber-colored crystal vase. "This vase is from Bizzy. Handed down from her mom, actually. It's a Bradford one. There were a few non-heirloom ones from her over the years though that I donated or sold – I don't think she remembers half the things she gave me, to be honest, and it's been at least five years since she's come to the brownstone, since I'm not the one who really does the summoning. But this one…this one is so pretty."
"Keep it then." Mark comes over next to her. "Like…visibly keep it. If you don't want to hide it in storage…you can bring stuff with you to the apartment, you know. Not just the rest of your clothes and shoes, but…anything. And if there are things of mine you don't like, we could always redecorate. I know some of my stuff is -"
"Chrome-y and gray," she says, quickly enough that is it very apparent to them both that this has been on her mind for a while. Their apartment is home – it is absolutely home now, and Addison feels at home there. But there are certainly things she doesn't like much. It is not the coziest place, and it has a sleek, sterile look to it that is representative of the home of a (former) bachelor with disposable income. It lacks throw blankets, candles, soft lighting, plants, anything that could be described as pretty, and other delicately feminine touches.
"Then let's make changes. Most of my things are just…things." Mark's attachment to her and the baby far outweighs any of his material possessions anyway. "We've started working on Baby's room, so it's not like we can't do things to the other rooms, too."
"Okay. Yeah…yeah. That would be good." She turns towards him, leaning a hip against the wall. "And I…I want to tell you something. Today…I did go over to Savvy's, and I spent time with her and Phoebe and helped with the clogged duct, but I also…after I left there, I went to Stuyvesant Cove. I hopped on one of the ferries and rode it up to the East 90th terminal. And then I cabbed it from there to here."
"Have you…suddenly developed a thing for ferryboats?"
"No." Addison emits a quiet laugh. "I actually…I tossed my rings over the side of the boat, into the East River. It wasn't really planned. When I was leaving Savvy's though, I just felt this like…pull. A pull to finally do it." She assumed Derek would have asked for the rings back by now, if that was something he wanted for some odd reason, but he never did, and Addison did not want to hock them. It felt somewhat unkind to do so, and there were also juju ramifications to take into consideration. So she boarded a ferry, and after about thirty minutes out on the water, as the boat continued to chug its way forward along the Soundview Line, Addison felt ready to let go. It was not lost on her that when she tossed her rings into the water, somewhere close to the East 34th Street stop, the Empire State Building – where Derek proposed – was in eyesight. And it hurt. Even though she felt ready, it fucking hurt to let go. But it did not break her.
"Wow," Mark says, a little stunned as he tries to find the words. "That's a big step. Are you…doing okay? I'm sure that was really hard to do."
"I'm doing okay. It was time." She settles herself onto the floor, and Mark – with her permission in the form of a nod, begins to hold out books for her, pulling two at a time off the shelves. And slowly, piles form, building from the ground up: keep, donate, send to Derek.
"My…the wedding album," Addison says nervously. She waves her hand at one of the bookcase base cabinets, where she and Derek have always kept it. "I'm not going to do anything with it today, but eventually, when it's time to start working with a realtor and get the brownstone ready for sale…I'm not…well. I'm not going to put it on a shelf and display it above our bed, or have it out on the coffee table or something, but I was thinking…" she takes a deep breath. "Sorry. I know I probably sound insane. I was thinking that maybe I could just tuck it in the back of our coat closet? I don't want to look at it, but I also just don't…I don't feel ready to throw it out, if that's even what I'm supposed to do…it feels weird to throw it out. And it also feels uncomfortable to just…put it in storage, for it to just be inside some sort of dark, crowded unit. Would that bother you, if I had it somewhere in the closet? I know…I know it's sort of weird."
Mark reaches out and squeezes her hands, which have begun to twist around anxiously in her lap. "No," he states. "It wouldn't bother me." It is weird, sure, but he gets what Addison is saying. He knows that her unraveling the remaining threads of the marriage she signed away needs to happen in steps. When she is ready to make and take those steps. "That's fine. I wouldn't want you to throw it away anyway," he adds, a grin shifting across his face, wanting nothing more than to help her be okay. "I'm in a lot of those pictures. And I look really good in them," he says, and she lets out a short laugh.
"You do," she replies. "You were very handsome in your tux. And, you know, I don't know if I ever thanked you…it was really kind of you, when you asked Amelia to dance at the wedding. Thank you for doing that for me." Addison hated the thought of her youngest sister-in-law – former sister-in-law, perhaps – sitting there all alone, looking glum. She gives Mark a grateful smile. The history they have to sail their way forward with is not always easy, but everything that is complicated about their situation comes down to something really, really simple: he loves her, and would do anything for her.
Once all the books have been sorted, Addison suggests taking a walk through Central Park before they flag down a cab and head home. Not too far, she tells Mark when he gives her a doubtful look on behalf of her pregnant, now-easily-winded self. Let's just walk to Bow Bridge, and then turn back. And if I feel wiped out before that, then we'll turn back sooner.
They hold hands along the way. Addison knows this is not something they will do forever while out in the world. It feels a little juvenile still, but for such a long time, they couldn't hold hands. She thinks about how they walked this same path last May, the last afternoon they had in the before. Before Derek caught them. Before her marriage exploded. Before everything changed. They were walking towards the brownstone that day, not away from it.
It's funny though; it doesn't feel like they are walking the path backwards now. Not at all.
"Your list of names…" Mark says as the iron bridge comes into sight.
"Oh, yeah." Addison looks at him. "I was so slammed at work this past week that I didn't think to even – did you get a chance to look at it? I was wondering if you saw it."
"I did. And I like all of them, but I think…" he smiles, appearing a little shy. "I think Clara is my favorite."
"Clara," Addison repeats. She is not sure if it is her favorite. Top three, probably. She initially felt a stronger pull towards Lucy and Josephine, but something about how Mark says it…Clara. It sounds good in his mouth. It sounds like love and hope, and new beginnings. "Clara Montgomery-Sloan." She tries it out, and she likes it. Loves it, even. "Clara means 'bright.' Well, it means more than one thing, I'm sure, but that's one of its meanings."
"Well, she probably will be ridiculously smart."
"Yeah." Addison nods. "But I was mostly thinking of the other kind of 'bright.' You know, like a light. She'll be a light for us. And we'll be a light for her too, hopefully."
"We will be."
Mark mentioned to her a few days ago that he overheard someone in the NYP locker room whisper to someone else that the two of them were only together because of the baby. Addison assumes he has heard a lot more than that – probably worse things, too – but has tried to spare her most of it, in order to protect her. This one got to him though, and when he looked at her that night, in his pastel blue eyes was the unasked question.
I don't know if we would have made it if I hadn't gotten pregnant, Addison answered honestly, setting a hand on his knee. I know that's not the most romantic answer, but it's the true one for me. Getting pregnant narrowed the focus in a way, because there could no longer be any drifting: we were either going to make it work or we weren't, with no in-between…we had to choose. But in the same way that I'll never know for sure if I would have left Derek – even though I thought about it, and wanted to – I'll never know for sure if we could have made it – even though I wanted us to make it – if it weren't for something that ultimately forced our stubborn, sometimes self-destructive hands. And while the baby did push us closer together, she's not actually why we're still together; we're still together because we love each other. And I'm so glad that's the case. Because you and our daughter…that's all I really want.
The strength of their feelings was not always mutual, even when Addison realized how deeply she had fallen in love with Mark. Gradually and then suddenly. With a lot of selfishness and undervaluing in the gradual part for her. She knows it took a long time to get to this point. She would not have initially sacrificed anything about her life for Mark. But from the very beginning, Mark would have done so for her. She would not have walked through fire for him. Mark would have for her though. She would not have gone anywhere – another state, across the country, to the ends of the damn earth – for him. Mark would have for her. And if a situation like what happened in The Lady, or the Tiger? was thrust upon her, Addison would have panicked, and she might not have been able to have made a choice when faced with two doors. Mark would have though. He would not have chosen one of the two fates behind the doors at all, actually. He somehow would have found a way back to her. And maybe that is where the story ends. And where it begins.
Addison lifts her head to brush her lips against his. She would do all of those things now though. She would claw and scratch and hit and kick and fight to be with him, to stay with him. And same with their daughter. Clara. She squints a little when they pull apart; the remaining threads of afternoon sunlight are breaking through the clouds behind him. She does not know what Mark means. But she knows what he means to her, and when she looks at him, there is certainly light. The sun already has its footing in the sky, but looking at him makes Addison feel like the sun is coming out over and over again.
"Ready to go back to our gray, chrome-y home?" She asks, a smile playing at her lips.
Mark gives her hand a light squeeze. "Ready," he says.
. .
. .
Notes/References/Nods to Various Episodes
Okay, boat stuff. Grey's 3x03. Obviously, Derek likes ferryboats, but also: when Richard and Mark run into each other in the lobby of The Archfield Hotel, Richard asks Mark what he's doing in Seattle (Addison. He's doing Addison.) and he says, "I don't know. I have a thing for ferryboats." And then in 3x08, a very, very sad Addison tossed her engagement and wedding rings off the ferryboat (I will refrain from writing an essay about all the ways in that episode – and there were plenty of ways before and after that, natch – that Derek was an absolute, inconsiderate asshole to Addison with the whole bright and shiny shtick, "It's called happiness. I understand why you wouldn't recognize it," etc. Which is just…Derek ThingsTM). There have been like ten separate occasions during the penning of this (extremely long) fic where I have wanted to go OFF about this scene/that episode, but I will refrain.
There was also the following conversation in 3x08 between Addison, Callie, and Bailey (a truly underrated trio):
Addison: "What do I do with [my rings]? Hock them? Keep them?"
Callie: "My mom says divorce wedding rings are bad juju."
Addison: "Your mom says juju?"
Callie: "She does."
Addison: "Well, what would your mom do?"
Callie: "Burn 'em. Bury 'em."
I've referenced The Lady, or the Tiger? (from PP, mentioned by Addison in season 5 during therapy) plenty of times before.
And that's it! I'm a sucker for baby fluff/planning/light stuff, but I also felt some of the other things in this chapter were important to cover, to show that the Shepherd divorce getting finalized doesn't end a person's heartache. In some ways, it intensifies and shifts the focus of the grief. Also, I got tired of writing "Yay! Ultrasound reveal!" scenes in like every damn fic I've ever written, and I wanted to be able to touch on Mark's insecurities, and how they are forced to work through things as a couple, so I went a different route this time, and was satisfied with how it turned out. Next chapter is a much more Mark-focused one (although there is plenty of Addison stuff as well, and also, it's Christmas-y, and Addison+Snow is a THING for me), and there will be some angst. Appropriate content warnings will be provided before the chapter starts…man, I always feel like such a douche when I shift into the "coming up next" and "can't say yet" portion of my notes, so if you think I sound that way, trust me, I am WELL aware. Thanks again. Hope you enjoyed!