A/N: chapter title is a lyric from the song "Now Three," by Vienna Teng. Thanks for your patience with this one! I think this is the longest I've gone between posts. I'm around though, and committed to this fic!baby of mine. Updating weekly – and sometimes more frequently than that – is sort of a bonkers pace to maintain long-term, so likely every 2 to 3 weeks for updates is more realistic going forward. This is more of a Christmas/winter mostly fluffy chapter (with some smut, because…duh). The Mark-focused, more angsty one I promised is coming. It was supposed to be this chapter, actually, but what I was getting at wound up starting somewhere close to page 25, so I had to split this guy into two chapters (and even with that, it's still long). So, I'm building to it (and most of it is written, so 44 – which picks up right where 43 leaves off – should hopefully take less than 2 weeks to put up). I used to think the issue is I can't outline for shit, and while that's probably accurate, the truth is there is just so, so much to explore with these two following Addison's divorce and (the both of them) losing Derek. And the show didn't really give us that (I get it, it's Grey's Anatomy, not Montgomery's or Sloan's, but still), so I feel even more compelled to capture whatever I can. This fic has become so much longer than I ever intended for it to be (in overall length, and also in chapter length. There used to be a point in my life – when I was younger and my back did not hurt all the time – where 10 pages felt like a lot, and now I'm lucky if I can keep something to under 18), but I'm really proud of it, and I'm grateful for those of you who are along for the ride. ANYWAY. Long note over. Hope you enjoy this one!
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Chapter 43. Dreams of Ice and Wings
"This is absolutely the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me. It's practically a war crime."
"Mm. I'm sure the Nuremberg principles align with that completely." Addison tries to be good-humored in response to Mark's displeasure about the infant-sized Red Sox beanie currently laid out on their coffee table. "I was hoping that you talking to your dad would help you cool off. Archer did say in his text they were sold out of Yankee ones." She smirks when she hears Mark mutter something about how unlikely it is that the "they" in question would under-stock one of the most popular baseball teams and, because Addison is not completely unsympathetic to her boyfriend's grievances, she adjusts the sheets of vanilla-colored tissue paper to cover the beanie, leaving just the Columbia and Yale ones exposed. A gift from Archer. Addison and Mark spent most of the day at Savvy and Weiss's, so they only just recently got the opportunity to open the padded envelope (Savvy's invite to Thanksgiving dinner was a genuine one, but Addison also felt there was an element of pity to it, given that this is her first major holiday spent without Derek's family). Archer texted his sister and shared that the contents of the envelope are an early Christmas gift, since he has plans to spend the majority of December frolicking around the Amalfi Coast. It is a nice gesture, Addison thinks, especially since it has been years since the siblings have exchanged gifts. And this gift is geared towards the baby, too.
(Addison also assumes taking care of the situation early is not just about Archer steering clear of a last-minute present scramble while charming a parade of Italian women; it protects him from having to pay international shipping rates, like the unbearable, situationally-specific cheapass Addison knows her brother can be sometimes. As is his WASP-ly right.)
"And if it makes you feel better," Addison continues as Mark sits down beside her, "the Yale one was sent to give me a hard time in the same way the Red Sox one was for you. It's been twenty years, and I still don't think the Captain's heart has healed about me picking Columbia over Yale. Archer won't let me live that down. I was the first Montgomery since the nineteenth century to buck tradition, I'm pretty sure."
"Clara doesn't ever have to wear the Boston one though, right?"
"Nope. I'll text Archer one of her in the Yale beanie – since he won't care about the peace-offering Columbia one – and then call it a day. I'm too concerned that if you saw our baby in an enemy hat, you'd love her less."
"Not possible," Mark assures, voice beginning to even out from its former gruffness. What a life for that guy, Addison had joked when she gave him an update on her brother's plans for next month. Sounds appealing, right? And in response, he kissed her firmly and told her, No. Just no. The pristine, sun-sparkling Mediterranean beaches, villa terraces with panoramic views, and the nighttime engagements Mark knows Archer will indulge in do not have anything on a pajama-clad, twenty-five weeks pregnant Addison, who is lounging in a non-Mediterranean living room that looks incredibly different than it did a month ago. It is warmer now. Cozier. And even though there are no baby products in sight – items like the activity gym with the stuffed clouds dangling off the crisscross bars and the foam puzzle mat they have acquired have been confined to the baby's room for now – it looks like the kind of home a baby or child might occupy. It looks like a family lives here. "Hey, Red…since Thanksgiving is basically over…I know you normally get your tree by the first. I still have the one you got me. Well…you know that, obviously." Mark nudges her shoulder. "Some nice memories in front of that tree," he adds, and Addison gives him a permissive look when he smirks. Addison avoided him most of last December – save for one steamy make out session in his office and one in the doorway of the brownstone before she basically begged him to leave – but when she came over on his birthday, with a present and a desire to sleep with him, his Christmas tree was still up. "But if you want, we can toss that one, and get a real tree. We'll just need to get some more things for it." Mark has ornaments that Addison gave him years ago, but there are not enough to sufficiently adorn the size of tree he used to see at the brownstone. He thinks for a moment about a picture frame ornament with a snapshot of him and Derek inside, as kids – also gifted from Addison. She and Derek have a matching one. "And for decorations and stuff, you know that if you want -"
"I know," Addison quickly finishes. They know each other well, and they get each other, so she does not need Mark to tell her that if there are ornaments or festive decorations she is sincerely attached to, she can bring them here; they do not have to languish in the to-be-decided land of storage unit or donate or throw away as though they mean nothing. Addison has already given this some thought though, and has decided if she makes it through this Christmas season and still misses some of the items tucked in the Christmas totes in the brownstone basement (the one remaining area of the home she has not really gone through yet), then she will keep those specific items. "It would be nice to get a real tree," she muses. "Whenever you want to get one is fine; and we can take our time decorating it. So the weekend of the eighteenth…" she begins, transitioning to a new topic. "That works for your dad?"
When they were peering ahead on the calendar, they both separately and then together came to the agreement that spending their first Christmas together – just the two of them – was probably a good idea. Any travelling to see family could happen before then. Not that there is much, because it's just Mark's dad. Nothing with Addison's parents. Things are better with Bizzy and the Captain now than they initially were when the two-for-one divorce and pregnancy bombshell were dropped on their carefully-put-together world, but Addison would not go so far as to say things are good or peaceful. Plus, she has not been home for Christmas since she was in her early twenties, anyway; Derek sort of "got" Christmas (and most holidays, really), but it was not a battle, nor a concession, because Addison would rather have been with his family than her own. The just the two of them notion seems ideal for Christmas this year though, and frankly, necessary. It is one more step for Addison and Mark in figuring out what does and does not work for them as a unit. There is a newness to all of this, to being together, but it is not the shiny kind of newness revealing of couples embracing first milestones together; their history precludes them from any shininess.
"Yeah, that weekend works," Mark confirms. He usually dreads going to his dad's for the holidays, but having Addison there with him will be an improvement. Time seems to slow to a crawl for Mark the moment he shuffles heavy-footed over the threshold of his childhood home. Mark and Everett get along, but he always feels aware of all the silences – and they are not comfortable ones – when the two men are together. He was closer to his mother, and without Jenny's presence, there is a recognized but unacknowledged chasm. Jenny was sort of every line that led them together. "My dad's excited to meet you. Or re-meet you, I guess, since you met him at Jenny's funeral…but that was five years ago. And he's excited to see the latest sonogram."
"Yeah." Addison nods. "We'll have an updated one to show him, too, since we have an appointment a few days before we leave. You know, next year we should make your dad a calendar with photos of Clara throughout the year. Nancy would usually do that for Mom…Carolyn." Her posture stiffens. "Her birthday -"
"It's the fifth. I know. I always send Carolyn a card. And obviously it's weirder this year, but I still…I still kind of want to send one, I think? If you're okay with that…and if you want, I can add -"
"No, don't," Addison interrupts. "Don't sign my name. Please send her a card, but just have it be from you. She doesn't want to hear from me and I don't…I don't want her to think that we're rubbing it in her face, or…something."
She does not say it, but Mark can hear her thinking it anyway. "She doesn't hate you, Addison."
"We don't lie to each other, Mark. No need to start now." Addison sounds bubbly when she says it, as though it is an amusing thought. She leans forward as much as she can manage to with an ever-expanding stomach serving as a plateau above her thighs. Her palms drag against her knees. "She's always hated me. Even before I blew up her son's life. She thought I was just a Connecticut princess, which I guess isn't completely untrue, but I always…I was always a nice Connecticut princess. I might have been rich and privileged, but I tried…I tried really hard with her." And I was a good aunt to the kids, and I was a good sister-in-law, too, she thinks to herself.
"I know you tried." Mark sets a hand on her back. This is not the first time he has heard this. "I think maybe Carolyn just thought…that you weren't right for him. Which isn't even true. You guys were happy for a really long time. She knew you were both happy. And she was lucky to have you as a daughter-in-law. I'm sorry, Addie. I know this time of year…I know it's going to be hard." Their season. Mark was the one who coined the term for Addison and Derek, post Hot Dog Thanksgiving. And it is going to be hard not to have Derek's family, no matter what Mark and Addison do to try and make this new season fun. Addison has had the same routine for the past fourteen Christmases. The host may have changed – Carolyn or Nancy, or sometimes Kathleen, with a standing invite for Mark whenever the gatherings were in Syracuse – but it was predictable, easy, and brimming with festivity.
Starting over and moving on are hard, even when you are not doing those things alone.
"I know it was usually better between you and Derek around the holidays, and that you liked spending time with his family…" Mark continues. His hand is moving along Addison's back, tracing circles, and he keeps waiting for her to bow towards him, to seek comfort.
"Last Christmas wasn't very good," she acknowledges somberly. She and Derek got into an argument a few days beforehand, and their holiday was subsequently tension-filled. "But we…you and me, we'll make new traditions. I think I'm just more nostalgic for the happier Christmases, and just…the festiveness, and getting to figure out all the present stuff." The present stuff. It's the lack of present stuff now. Addison made the decision to stop sending birthday cards and gifts to her nieces and nephews after the divorce was finalized, and she does not plan to send anything for Christmas, either. She tearfully told Mark a few weeks ago that she feels really bad about no longer sending gifts, because she doesn't want any of the kids to think she doesn't love them anymore, when she does love them and always will, but she is trying to be respectful of Derek's boundaries. The births of most of Derek's sisters' kids came after Addison and Derek started dating, and she knows, logically, that she divorced Derek, not her nieces and nephews, but isn't it kind of the same thing? And more significantly, Derek does not want her to have anything else to do with his family, she is certain of that (on the less saintly side of the stoppage, there is a part of Addison that has smugly thought, Have fun buying all the presents without my help, since I was always the one who took care of that).
The communication tap has been almost completely turned off. Addison never corresponded with Carolyn (or attempted to) after Derek moved out. In recent months, she received a thank you text from Nancy in August because of the blanket she sent for Nancy and John's newest daughter, and she has gotten the occasional check-in text from Amelia, but otherwise, no one has reached out, and she feels too shy and embarrassed to reach out to any of them (if there is some sort of advice column for how you are allowed to interact with your ex-husband's family when the divorce ended up happening under sticky circumstances, Addison figures that Landers rules dictate it is the responsibility of the affair-haver to be the one to initiate contact). Even with Amelia, she still feels a little awkward.
"At Christmas, there were a lot of people to buy for, and gift-giving is just sort of…a form of love for me," Addison shares. "Nancy hosted Christmas last year, but whenever Carolyn hosted, you would usually stop by, and you'd bring a food basket with you for Carolyn. With those pears she likes and stuff."
Mark nods, trying to follow. He never wanted to show up empty-handed, even though Carolyn would not have minded if he did. He shifts his hand off Addison's back and curls his fingers around her elbow, detecting the quiver in her voice as she keeps talking.
"You could always send her a basket this year." She droops further forward. "Or, just…maybe something else? Carolyn has that bird bath in her backyard, but I always thought…there are also mounted ones you can attach to the top rail of a deck. That way…that way there could be birds right outside her kitchen window. Or maybe you could get her a tea box. I could pick one out for you. They have…they have really nice ones, with floral engravings."
These are not off-the-top-of-her-head suggestions, Mark knows. He tugs a little, trying harder now to draw her against him. Addison has clearly been thinking about what sort of present she would get Carolyn, if she could get her one. She has been thinking about it for a while, probably. And she has almost certainly been doing this for all the loved ones she can no longer call her own.
"Whatever you think is a good idea to send her, I will." Mark gives up on the elbow tugging, and instead scoops both arms around Addison's waist. The weight she has gained would probably be enough to make her claim otherwise, but she still feels light in Mark's arms when he pulls her into his lap. "Addison…let me give you a hug, okay?" He feels her soften against him, making it clear how much she does in fact want to be held. She rests her head on one of his shoulders, breathing a little sharper while he drags his fingers through her hair, applying light pressure to the back of her head to help soothe her. "You're getting worked up. Try not to do this to yourself. Look, I know I've never been good with Christmas stuff; this time of year is usually when I'm accused of being -"
"Ebenezer Scrooge?"
"Right. Usually by the woman in my arms right now." He leans down to kiss the edge of her lips, capturing a gasp of laughter. "But not this year. I'm really happy that I get to have Christmas with you." Mark gets it now, how it can be someone's season. How could it not be, when you love someone this damn much. "And anything you want to do that's Christmas-y, or buy, or decorate…I'm in, okay? And I'll help with all the decorations. The only thing you're not allowed to do is hang the star by yourself or anything else that involves getting up on a step ladder, and I'm saying that because you're one-hundred percent stubborn enough to try." Addison laughs again, and he strokes his hand over her stomach. He is starting to feel little flicks of movement under his palm more and more lately. "You already indulged me about week twenty-five," he continues, "but do you want me to tell you about next week?" Mark smiles when Addison whispers yes. He has started to read a little ahead now, because he also has a book about the first year of parenting (also from Lynette), and he is determined to get through the entire thing before March. "Well, next week, Clara will be lettuce-sized. All the parts of her eyes will be formed, and she'll have visible lashes and brows. And her heart rate apparently increases when she hears us talking to her." Mark sweeps his thumb across Addison's cheek when she blinks up at him, mouth slightly rounded with held-back words. "What is it?" He prompts.
"Don't toss the fake tree," she tells him. "We should keep that one for when our lettuce babe is older. We could put it in her room at Christmastime. When I was growing up, I always wanted to decorate my room in December. I wanted…I wanted Christmas lights in my room so badly, and little tabletop decorations, like winter villages and gingerbread houses and snow globes…those sorts of things. I guess maybe I've always been a lot when it comes to Christmas. And I loved the idea of getting to fall asleep right by a tree, or just…fall asleep with a tree in eyesight of my bed, I guess, but that was…you know." Addison lifts a shoulder in resignation. "Bizzy had opinions about stuff like that – where decorations should be, and shouldn't be. But for Clara, maybe one day we could put that tree in her room, and decorate it. And we also…" she slants a finger in the direction of the fireplace (not prewar, so unused and purely decorative). "We also should get stockings, at some point. And garland…we can do pine garland with red accents on the mantle…"
Mark nods and murmurs some agreements. He lets Addison talk for a while, because these quirky narrative modes of hers are sometimes just the thing to help her relax when she gets wound up like this, and he is listening, he is – in the last few minutes, a wreath for the front door, ceramic tabletop trees, interior lights to stripe some of the windows, and poinsettias for the table have all been brought up – but he keeps imagining stockings dangling from the mantel, their droopy ends low in front of the firebox. A year ago, absolutely nothing was there.
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Four Years Earlier
"Thanks for keeping this for a bit," Addison says cheerfully when Mark steps back so that she can come into his apartment, a fishing rod clenched in one of her hands. She breathes in deeply, enjoying the pulsing warmth inside Mark's home, certain the forced air heating is already beginning to soothe the redness dotting her cheeks and nose, courtesy of a cold few blocks walked between the gear shop and Mark's building. She glances uncertainly at the fishing rod in her hand (one of the stranger Christmas gifts she has purchased for her husband, but the sweater and the watch she also plans to give Derek help strike something of a balance).
Addison did a lot of research on which fishing rod this year was rated best for casting and has the most-favored ergonomic handle, but she neglected to do any research on how to disassemble the damn thing. And, honestly, asking the employee who rang up the purchase was out of the question; the shopper behind Addison was buying a bucket's worth of live worms, so she did not want to stay where she was for a second longer than necessary. Besides, she reminded herself then, Christmas gifts are nicer when they come already-put-together, aren't they? So, thankfully, when she texted Mark – who does not live too far from a store Addison hopes to never set foot in again – to ask if he was around, he was.
"No problem," Mark assures. "I guess you can't be very stealthy walking into the house with this one, huh?" He knows Derek is at home right now, catching up on some paperwork for his practice and suffering through the same abysmal Giants performance that Mark is. "But thank you," he adds with a growing smirk, "for the early Christmas gift of allowing me to see you with fishing equipment." Addison is bundled up at the moment, but even with everyone-wears-the-same-thing outerwear in the form of a quilted down puffer coat and a beanie, she still looks far, far too elegant to be holding a fishing rod, in Mark's opinion. It is like someone built her from scratch but instead of selecting the appropriate button to deposit either a coffee or some sort of designer anything in her left hand, the fishing button was selected by mistake. Plus, this is the same woman who once shrieked in horror when Derek came within five feet of her with a striped bass (although, Mark has to give Addison some credit, because she has built up a tolerance over the years about her husband's passion for carting around his catches).
"I know." Addison shakes her head, laughing. "I'm sure I look as ridiculous as I feel, but Derek made a comment a few weeks ago about wanting to get a second fishing rod, so…there you have it."
"Here, I can take it." Mark reaches out to grasp the object. "The office is sort of messy," he states, shorthand for don't follow me. Assuming the reason is embarrassment, Addison calmly reminds him that Four Corners (her nickname for Mark's spare bedroom, given the variety of different things going on in there) is always a bit of cluttered. "No, it's worse right now," Mark adds, taking a step back. "Everett came down in October – he was in town for some sort of consulting thing – and he brought me a bunch of Jenny's stuff. And it's all just…everywhere in there…" he finishes, quickly excusing himself. He could see the look of sympathy wash over Addison's face as soon as he mentioned his mother.
"I'd love to know how you plan to wrap that thing," Mark says when he returns from placing the fishing rod on the guest bed. He notices that Addison has transitioned over to the corner of the living room, where he set up the small tree she bought him two years ago. He almost didn't put it up this year, back on his usual who-gives-a-fuck attitude about Christmas, but when he sees the wide-sloped smile on Addison's face as she takes in the glowing white lights tangled around the tree, he feels glad that he did.
"Oh, I don't plan to wrap it," Addison tells him. "That's too tricky, so I'm just going to slap a bow on it. I'll come back for it a week from Tuesday, or Wednesday – I'll text and you can let me know what works for you. We're heading to Carolyn's Christmas Eve morning, so we're just going to exchange presents the night before. Have you thought anymore about what your plans are? I know Derek mentioned you could ride with us if you want, so I'm re-mentioning it now. We're going to be there until the twenty-sixth. Mark…you are going to go home this year, right?" She lifts an eyebrow.
"Unless something comes up at work, yeah…"
Mark went home for Thanksgiving and Christmas the year Jenny died, but he did not go home last year. He told Everett in advance he needed to put in more hours at NYP to maintain operating privileges there (a lie). And in turn, Everett decided last-minute to fly out west, to Arizona, to do more of the consulting management type stuff he continues to do from time to time after retiring a few years ago. That first Thanksgiving and Christmas without Jenny…it was too hard. Everett could barely get off the couch. And Mark was at a complete loss about what to do. They mostly just watched TV on both holidays, and traded bits of inconsequential dialogue in between bites of their takeout orders.
"It might be good to see your dad," Addison attempts. She is speaking deliberately, as though weighing the shape of her words, and Mark tries to suck in air, not wanting to get annoyed, even though everything about how she is talking to him, trying to gently reason with him, feels like the words kid gloves being highlighted on a billboard. "And we'll be right around the corner, so you could always come see all the Shepherds at some point, too. I know bigger holidays without a parent…I know it can make everything more difficult," she adds delicately, which prompts an immediate grimace from Mark.
"Yeah?" He made a comment to Derek recently about how this time of year makes him miss his mother. Or not exactly that statement, because that wasn't how Mark said it at all, but Derek has known him for twenty-nine years now, so of course he understood what Mark was saying without saying it. And of course Derek would tell Addison. It's what married couples do, Mark supposes. But he is not a God damn charity case, and right now, that is how he feels his best friend's wife is treating him. "Which one of your parents died this year, Red?"
Addison's eyes widen at his tone, and she pivots away from him to face the tree. She fusses with the warped-bristled branches near the top, fingers teasing some of the smaller pieces apart. If she looks at Mark right now, she knows she might start to cry. Or blurt it out: My mother almost did. She tried to die, eight months ago. Mark does not know what happened back in April though; only Derek, the Captain, Archer, and a few medical professionals do. Well. And Bizzy. From behind her, Addison can hear the long, tired sigh that Mark releases, which makes it evident he feels remorseful for his outburst.
"Addie…I'm sorry," Mark says, the apology measured and soft. "I shouldn't have snapped."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not." He briefly touches Addison's shoulder, and she turns back to face him, clear-eyed and solemn. "It's definitely not okay. Sorry. I was being a dick. I guess…I guess I do miss Jenny. You're right about it being more difficult. Things with my parents haven't always been easy – well, you know how that one goes – but it still just…yeah. Christmas makes you want to be around the people you're close to. And we had some good Christmases together, mainly when I was a little kid, before Jenny just got too…" he shakes his head. "Anyway. Sorry for losing my cool."
"It's fine, seriously. But you might want to be more careful…" she grins teasingly. "If you want to stay on Santa's nice list, I mean."
"I have no such goals. The naughty list is a lot more fun. You should try it sometime." Mark says it suggestively enough that she nearly blushes.
"You know…" Addison starts, opting to change the subject (make some sort of noise that is a combination of amusement and disapproval, or just blow past it: the two ways to handle comments like this from Mark). "You still need a star." She points out the bare, waiting branch at the top of his tree. "Or some sort of tree-topper. If you want, I can -"
"It's okay. I might…" he interjects, voice low. "I might leave it this way for now. There's a star Jenny bought years ago; when I was little, she'd let me climb up the ladder and put it on. It's still at my parents' place, and my dad doesn't really decorate for Christmas anymore. Maybe I'll get it when I go home to see my dad." He offers Addison a strained half-smile. "And yeah, if it's not too much trouble, maybe I will carpool with you guys."
Addison's reaction is to nod keenly. "Great, I'll tell Derek," she says. "And that's really good about the star, too. I'm sure Jenny would be happy to know you're getting some use out of it."
"Yeah. I think she would be."
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Addison feels a rush of affection swing through her when she opens the suite door and enters the winter wonderland that is currently the reception area of Mark's practice. Silver and white foil snowflakes are hanging from the ceiling; lights have been braided along the dimensions of the reception window; gel cling penguins adorned with scarves are settled against the glass; and a "Let it Snow" pennant-style banner has been draped underneath the patient-side of the counter. There is also a hot chocolate station set up at a tall side table in the corner, its surface crowded with a kettle, festive-printed cups, hot cocoa packets, a can of whipped cream, and individual containers with accompanying scoops for mini marshmallows, crushed candy canes, sprinkles, and chocolate chips (Addison cannot vouch for how many of Mark's patients take advantage of this winter offering, but she definitely does, especially since there are to-go lids available).
She has already seen the holiday set-up twice this month – just like Addison, Lynette is a passionate believer in everything up by December first – but each time she comes to Mark's office to have lunch with him (or today, at the end of the day so they can go home together), Addison still feels excited to see everything. She tries to remember if there were decorations up last year. Probably. Not this much, maybe, but there had to have been some (the decorations definitely belong to Lynette, and Mark would sooner die than say no to Lynette about something). The obvious answer of course is that when Addison came to Mark's office last December and climbed into his lap and heatedly kissed him during their respective lunch breaks, she probably wasn't able to see anything except for Mark. Well. That and Lynette's withering look before Addison was granted entrance into the area beyond reception.
And now Lynette is giving her a friendly, non-withering look, albeit a distracted one due to currently talking to someone on the phone. Addison hangs her leather tote on one of the wall hooks behind the door, and then notices the waving gesture Lynette is giving her – too dramatic to just be a hello. Addison comes close enough to spot the slip of paper her boyfriend's receptionist has gripped between two fingers, directed at her: Go ahead in. 10 mins. Addison nods in response. Ah. Mark is still with a patient, then. Days where Mark's in-office hours are longer than Addison's in-hospital hours are kind of an anomaly.
It takes Addison a moment to understand when she first sees the stocking laid across Mark's desk. Longer than it should take to process who it is for, she feels, but then, it has been a long week and a long day (and pregnancy-induced insomnia does not help). Addison runs a finger over the soft material, almost reverently, careful to avoid the ridge of a needle serving as a placeholder. The Land of Sweets, she realizes, as she takes in all of the embroidered details. Scattered amongst tiny gold snowflakes are circular candies and lollipops in shades of pale pink, lavender, and teal, all woven in intricate, swirled and lined patterns. A gingerbread house with wavy icing along its edges is at the foot of the stocking. Across the white cuffed part at the top is a thick letter C, the same color as the snowflakes, with a little upward curl at the end to indicate the beginning of a new letter. Her daughter's name. Addison smiles, thinking about how Mark mentioned a few months ago that Lynette is good enough with a needle that he would trust her to suture his own face. And…speaking of. Addison can suddenly hear the quick movement of footsteps, and then Lynette is in the office beside her.
"Shoot…sorry," Lynette says by way of greeting. "Totally forgot. I was hoping to have it done before you saw. I just have the name left and a few smaller details. I was cleaning my desk earlier and I brought it in here to show Mark, and then I forgot and the phone has been ringing nonstop this afternoon. Maybe this is a good thing though; you can confirm Clara's name is finalized before I finish it up. He says it is, but…" Lynette gently bumps her elbow against Addison's. "I know he doesn't call the shots."
Addison laughs softly. "It's still Clara," she says. "This is…it's supposed to be like the Land of Sweets scene. Right?" She glances at Lynette for confirmation, and as soon as the other woman nods, Addison's eyes drift back to the stocking. She rubs her thumb against the pink door of the gingerbread house, still mesmerized. "It's beautiful. Lynette, this is so thoughtful." Addison swallows, trying to steady herself, but her voice still feels caked with emotion when she speaks again. "You didn't…you didn't have to do this…"
"I love sewing." Out of the corner of her eye, Addison can see the movement beside her indicating Lynette has shrugged, as if to say, this is nothing. But really, it is everything to the intended stocking recipient's mother. "I was going to make her a blanket to give you guys for Christmas," Lynette adds, "but at the last minute I changed course at the fabric store…and then a few days later Mark mentioned you guys are trying to build up your Christmas supplies, so it felt like I was on the right track. I'll just tackle the blanket and booties and whatever else at some point after the New Year. I won't be able to get stockings done for you and Mark in time for Christmas, but we can just do a Christmas in July thing or something…that way you guys can have similarly-themed ones next year. Poor kid." Lynette holds back a laugh. "She's just going to have to deal with the fact that December is going to be Nutcracker-everything for her."
"This…this is just beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I don't even know what to…thank you," Addison says. The last few words come out a little higher, and she tucks her chin near her shoulder as tears begin to fall. She tried, she really did, but she cannot keep these tender emotions at bay. "Just, thank you." It surprises her sometimes, that people can be so kind. That someone could possibly care enough about her – and her growing family – to do something like this. That someone like Lynette, who knows some of the more unflattering details about Addison, and who has, in some ways, born witness to the very worst version of who Addison was, could still look at her and decide she is someone worth doing something nice for.
Maybe things that are new-but-with-history can still have shiny moments attached to them.
"Addison." Lynette's fingertips graze her forearm, prompting. "Would you…like a hug?"
And she would. God, Addison would really love one, even though she feels embarrassed for how sensitive she has become. She makes a quarter turn and dips her head into Lynette's shoulder, and in response, Lynette wraps her arms around her.
"You're okay," Lynette says kindly, which makes Addison choke out a short sob. "You know…" she says after a few moments accompanied with sniffles have passed. "I hope he gives you lots of hugs to make up for some of the ones you might have missed out on." It is the closest Lynette has come to acknowledging Addison's childhood.
Addison offers a brief nod, and assures Lynette that yes, Mark does give her a lot of hugs. And hugs from Mark are comforting and healing and full of love. But this hug…this is nice, too. It feels like a hug a mother would give – a mother who did not struggle with and eschew physical affection, that is. Addison pulls back first, but Lynette hangs onto both her arms for a few seconds longer before letting go. And then she reaches to a tissue box on Mark's desk and yanks out a fresh tissue for Addison.
"Mark mentioned you guys would be in town for Christmas?" Lynette asks, and Addison gives a small bob of her head while she wipes at the delicate skin beneath her eyes. "Well, I just wanted to let you know, we always have this neighborhood drop-in thing at my home on the twenty-sixth. It's really casual. It started out with Larry and I inviting our closest friends over; just like us, they always stayed in the city for Christmas, and their kids are around the same age as ours. I'd make breakfast and serve mimosas and hot buttered rum, and the kids would play for a few hours and show off their new toys. And then from there, it just kind of…grew. Now usually seven or eight families will stop by to hang out for a bit – some are neighbors, some are friends from when our kids were young. I know you wouldn't know anyone besides us, but if you're free and want to stop by, you're more than welcome. Just something to think about. I haven't even mentioned it to Mark yet. It's fun though. There's always lots of cute kids running around. And it would probably make Rowan's whole year if you came by, actually. He asks about you a lot. Each time I see him, it's 'Nana, did the girl with orange hair come to your work today?' My grandson has quite a crush."
Addison grins, feeling a bit rueful as she sets the balled-up tissue down on Mark's desk. "He might not have a crush anymore if he saw me like this." She points to her eyelashes, still dampened from tears.
"Oh, I think he would. God, what is wrong with you? Why do you still look so pretty even after crying?" Lynette says with a disbelieving shake of her head, which makes Addison laugh. "Speaking of Row…he's making you and Mark drawings for Christmas. And I just realized – I still don't have your number. We should exchange numbers before you leave today. I know it's hard for you to get away from work, but maybe you can text me if you think there's a day you'll be able to stop by next week for a few minutes. And that way either Rowan's mom – who has also been subjected to numerous conversations about 'the girl with orange hair' – can either bring him by, or I can go grab him…they're just a few two blocks over. Rowan won't care one way or the other about Mark, but he'd probably love to give you his stick-figured, scribble-y drawing in person. And…" Lynette trails off when she sees Mark appear in the doorway. "Hey." She motions for him to come in. "It's all right," she adds when he paces over to Addison, eyes rounded with concern when he can see that she has been crying. "Everyone's okay. We were just looking at the stocking." Lynette gives Addison a thin smile.
Mark rubs Addison's middle back, trying to assess her level of okay-ness. She does seem okay though – hormonal lately, but he could have predicted this would be her response to the stocking anyway. And he knows that Lynette is a blunt enough person that she would tell him right then and there if his girlfriend was not okay. Addison has been in good spirits the past two weeks, but there have definitely been some tearful, holiday-related things she has brought up recently. Just last night, she talked about the fact that Kathleen's kids would always hand draw a Christmas card for her – last year, Santa's reindeer had fancy high heels instead of hooves – and she will never get one of those again. And then she shared concerns about what Derek's plans are for Christmas. What if he's all alone? she cried. If he doesn't go home to his mom's – and I can see him maybe not going, so that he doesn't have to talk about all of this – and if he's not still dating that woman – then he might be by himself for Christmas. And he's never been alone for Christmas before.
But right now, Addison seems okay. Better than okay, Mark decides when she slips an arm around his waist, giving him an affectionate squeeze and smiling up at him. Emotional, but good. Happy emotional.
"The stocking is nice, huh?" Mark looks back at Lynette after Addison nods. "You know you're gonna have to do this again for the next kid too, right?"
"Jesus, Mark." Lynette shakes her head. "She hasn't even pushed the first one out yet. Give her a minute, will you?" And then Addison starts to laugh, boisterously enough for Mark to know that she is definitely good right now.
The rest of the day is also better-than-okay and good. They pick up their last remaining holiday purchases – chocolates for a few of Addison's favorite nurses, a silk-printed scarf and earrings for Lynette, a firetruck for Rowan (not originally on the list, but Addison can't very well not hand him something if he has something for her), and several gifts for Phoebe, even though Savvy has informed them more than once that Hanukkah is over and this kid is already plenty spoiled – before heading home for a quiet Friday evening. They order in from a local deli, and then later, while Addison takes a long, week-cleansing shower and dries her hair, Mark drags the mattress out of the guest bedroom (made quicker by the fact that it was already propped up against the wall) with a plan in mind.
A question is already forming when Addison returns to the living room – Why are you washing the bedding right now? – but she comes to a surprised stop when she realizes Mark is not washing their bedding right now. He has simply moved it – along with the Four Corners mattress – in front of their decorated and brightly-lit Christmas tree. All because she mentioned once that when she was little, she wished she could sleep in front of a tree.
"Just trying to make the job easier for the mattress guys," Mark jokes when Addison comes over and folds her arms around him. The mattress is the last remaining item that prevents the baby's room from being just a baby room, and the company he called is supposed to be coming on Monday to take the mattress away.
"You're my favorite person," Addison says quietly, words warm against his chest. "Thank you for this. And just…thank you." It feels like Mark is doing everything he can to make sure this is a good holiday season for Addison, which sort of breaks her heart, if hearts can break for good reasons, sometimes. "I'm having such a nice time being festive with you. But just as a heads-up…" she wanders over to the mattress and sinks down, tucking her legs to the side. "If I lie down this low to the ground, you might have to help me stand up."
"Right, because putting my hands on you is such a bummer for me." Mark sits down beside her, and touches her wrist before she can shift to lie down. "Close your eyes for a sec. And just…lift your hair up." He waits until Addison complies, scooping one hand around her hair and pulling it off her neck with a curious expression. "Yeah, like that." He removes a small, pear-shaped aquamarine pendant from his pocket, and reaches behind her, bringing both sides of the white gold chain around her throat. "Okay," he says once he has secured the clasp and the stone is resting on her chest. "You can open now."
Mark watches as Addison's eyes pop back open and her fingers scoop up to hold the prong-set gemstone. Truthfully, he has yet to get a pulse on her jewelry preferences, especially necklaces. He knows what he has observed over the years, and the last year in particular. Addison tends to wear longer, more layered pieces in the warmer months, and daintier, slightly-below-the-collarbone pieces in the winter, but he still can't say with any certainty what she does and does not like. But this particular necklace is simple enough that he feels like it would be odd to dislike it, and he did text Savvy (technically ADA Jacobs-Levin, because he's too amused to change her name in his phone) to ask what she thought, and she said Addison would really like it. Plus, there's the meaningful part to it, too. And when Addison sees the blueish-green stone, and smiles wide enough that her cheeks crease, Mark knows he made the right call.
"Oh. It's beautiful. I think…" she almost giggles. "I need a new adjective; I've used that one a bit too much today. It gorgeous, Mark," she says instead. "I love it. Thank you. The color…" she says to confirm the reason for this particular purchase. "It's -"
"Aquamarine," he finishes. "The birthstone for March. And our kid is going to be grounded if she tries to pull a fast one on us and make a late February arrival instead. Anyway…merry-early Christmas. I was hoping…" Mark hesitates. He wants to say it carefully, as to not cause hurt feelings (and frankly, she's had a lot of feelings today). "I was hoping if I gave you something a little early, and you saw what it was, it would just…help you relax." It was a surprise to him when Addison expressed some anxiety about what to get him for Christmas. She has always been such a thoughtful gift-giver, but then, buying someone a gift as a partner, rather than a friend, is probably more intimate. And Mark can't pretend he wasn't a little nervous to give her the necklace, either. "And I have like two other smaller things for you. Nothing elaborate though, and nothing you wouldn't think to get for yourself at some point. Like…think along the lines of something you were looking at clothing-wise on your iPad recently."
Addison grins. "I look at a lot of clothes, Mark," she says with complete seriousness. "iPad, iPhone, laptop, in person…that doesn't really narrow it down."
"Something you can maybe wear at the hospital after Clara is born," he adds, and purposely avoids answering – which is basically a yes – when Addison smiles wider and asks if it is a delivery and nursing robe. "Addie, I'm just trying to say…don't stress about present stuff. You don't even have to get me anything. I already have everything I want."
"As romantic and you're-going-to-make-me-cry as that statement is because my hormones are clearly firing on every single cylinder today…I still want to give you something. And I actually…" Addison wiggles a little, showing some enthusiasm. "I got you a new Yankees shirt. Two, since I've stolen so many of yours. I had Weiss confirm I picked good players. I wasn't sure though…I was thinking about giving you those for your birthday instead, and trying to get you something more…sentimental for Christmas. You know I'll feel too guilty if I don't get you anything. And it's quite selfish, Mark Sloan, to be born right after a present-giving holiday. But thank you, for my necklace. I love it." Addison temporarily closes her eyes when everything becomes blurry from hovering tears. "I love it so much."
Mark tucks a piece of hair back behind her ear. "You really are having a day, aren't you?" He says it with affection, and moves his body closer to hers.
"I am," Addison admits. She leans forward, closing the remaining space between them as her lips connect with his. "But it's a good day. A really good day." She places a hand on Mark's chest, and deepens their kiss. It is the kind of kiss that comes with more attached to it.
"Want me to make a really good day even better for you?" Mark knows there are no hard-and-fast rules, or official stop signs connected to these sort of things, but Addison has crossed over into the third trimester, which has led him to believe the utter insatiability will slow down…perhaps not yet though. Which is an exciting thing to discover, especially once they shed their clothes. It's always good, but at twenty-eight weeks, there is more...strategy to sex now. It tends to be uncomfortable for Addison to lie on her back, and she worries about the compression of blood flow. She has also had a lot less energy lately, which means less speed and athleticism, and more of a slower pace. And on days like today, Mark can tell that she needs the intimacy component a little more than she needs the pleasure one (he will make sure she gets the latter too though, of course).
After Mark has put his fingers and tongue to good use (with Addison's incoherent mumblings meant to serve as thank you for that), they roll onto their sides, facing one another. Addison briefly fingers her new necklace, its chain now bunched around her throat, and she gives Mark a content smile. She can see the colorful lights from the Christmas tree behind them reflecting across them both. It almost feels like a spotlight on her body, in a sense, that highlights all the physical changes. She is twenty pounds heavier, give or take, with more weight than ever before sitting on her hips and thighs. Her cheeks are fuller. Her nose is a hairsbreadth wider. She is retaining fluids lately in her ankles and hands. She has stretch marks just…everywhere, it feels like. But, when Mark tells her that he loves her and lifts one of her legs over his, using a hand to guide himself inside her, she still feels beautiful, and desired.
For a long time, it is just slow, deliberate thrusts, with the pleasure gradually building as the sheet wrinkles like a retreating wave beneath their tangled limbs. They are pressed together tightly, with one of Mark's arms buried under her neck, fingers splayed against her upper back and shoulder blades; his other hand is palming the curves next to her hips to keep her against him. Addison clutches at the back of his head, and takes some time to explore the ropy muscles of his back, enjoying the sensations while he does most of the work. It's Mark, and because it's Mark, it feels Oh-my-God-really-fucking-good, but Addison still wonders, in a moment of freeze-inducing panic, if the position is too restrictive for Mark, and also exhausting, given how much energy he is expending on lifting his hips up and cradling her body to his. When she asks though (or maybe she didn't ask it out loud but he just knows, because honestly, she is moaning too much at this point to really have a sense of anything), Mark breathes in her ear, Feels good for me too. And then it definitely, definitely does (or continues to) feel good, because he rolls her over just a little, switching their angle and forcing a hand between them. A few well-placed fingers caress her, and although it takes Mark longer to finish than her, ultimately Addison's seizing muscles and keening noises undo him too, resulting in an explosive, staggeringly enjoyable finish for them both.
"Wow," Mark asserts when they have repositioned onto separate pillows. Addison makes a noise of agreement. Times passes, a little quicker now than before. Her eyes are already closed, but she is still rubbing Mark's shoulder appreciatively, so he knows she hasn't quite lolled off yet. Close though. "I know sometimes I wear you out," he eventually adds, voice still heady-sounding in the peaceful afterglow as Christmas music plays softly in the background, "but you're usually still able to stay conscious for a bit after we're finished."
Addison wrinkles her nose. "I'm just relaxing. And resting my eyes."
"Good. Well, you should relax. And you should sleep in tomorrow, too."
"No." Addison opens her eyes. "Well, yes, I definitely will," she concludes. "But I just meant…I'm allowed to relax now. For a long time, I couldn't let myself doze off after we had sex, because I had to…go home." There were some nights, yes, Addison could stay a little later if she was completely zeroed in on her husband's schedule, but for the most part, no. She would have to hop up and rinse herself off, trying to remove all traces of Mark from her body. With a lot of reluctance. "But now I can relax." She smiles happily. "Because I am home."
"You're home," Mark echoes quietly. "Addison…I'll love the Yankee shirts. Seriously. No matter when you give them to me. But if you want to give me them for my birthday, then I know what you can get me for Christmas – since, yeah, I know the guilt will eat you alive if you don't get me something. But it's like…Amazon or drugstore-easy level to get." He jerks a thumb over his head, indicating their Christmas tree. "You know those 'Our First Christmas Together' ornaments? I know it's really, really sappy, but…I sort of want one. I mean, I never did. Not before you. But now, now that I actually have the chance to have one…I'd kind of like one."
Addison nods, and her smile just keeps on growing. "Okay," she says. "That I can do."
"Now…how do you want me?" Mark almost laughs when he says it. It's just so…chaste-meaning, now. Not like it was in the frantic-limbed, lustful beginning, when he meant it in an entirely different way. He has asked it a few times recently, when he has crawled into bed after Addison, and gotten the sense that she is too tired to maneuver her body around his, which always leads to him readjusting her limbs, depending on what her cuddling preference is.
Addison also chokes back a laugh. She understands what he means too, of course – more than once she has made Mark switch to her other side to spoon her rather than just rolling over herself – but the long-ago implications are not lost on her either. How do you want me, Addison? He would ask it in the beginning, in January and February, when things kicked into sexual overdrive for them and they were intoxicated by the sheer adventure of touching every wanton inch of each other, each touch newer and more exciting than the last. Just thinking about the question now and its accompanying statements brings a warm flush to Addison cheeks, probably leaving them redder than any of the Christmas lights glowing behind them. Tell me how you want me. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you like. Tell me what feels good. Tell me if you like this. Tell me what else you like. She never could. It was just too unfamiliar, dialogue-wise. When you're married for that long, and have up to a certain point only been sleeping with one person, you know each other's bodies, every dip and curve, every gasp and groan. You don't have anything left to learn. And Addison was just too shy and WASP-raised to talk about those sorts of things anyway, and surely Mark knew that (yes, his eager remarks were genuine, sure, but they both know flustering her was always amusing to him – probably still is). But luckily, Addison could shift her body around and do the same with his, and use her hands to indicate any desires…not that she really needed to tell him what she wanted and what felt good. Mark was alarmingly quick to figure out how to satisfy her, and all the ways in which to satisfy her.
And just thinking about it now…
"Hmm…" Addison smirks suggestively. "How do I want you?" Her eyes are glittering again, full of desire, and Mark grins slowly when he realizes that maybe she isn't actually as tired as he initially thought. And even if she is, then like he said: they can sleep in tomorrow. "How do I want you…" she murmurs again, grinning against Mark's lips when he makes a joke about the good-then-even-better day not being over just yet. No. Definitely not. A breath stalls somewhere in Mark's throat when one of those very, very talented hands of hers slides down the planes of his stomach and wraps around him.
"Addison..." Enough time has passed that Mark can feel himself starting to come alive once more beneath the steady movement of her palm. "God…" he mutters. "That feels good…"
How do I want you?
"Every way," Addison finally whispers, not even sure if Mark remembers the question at this point. He lets out a muted groan when her mouth follows the path her hand previously took, leaving a series of slow, teasing kisses. "Everywhere. And all the time."
. .
. .
Seventeen Years Earlier
Mark is close. Closer than he has ever been, maybe. His arms split faster through the water, churning wildly each time they move over and under the surface, and every few seconds he tips his face to the side, drawing in a fresh gasp of air that somehow feels just as cold as the water does this morning. He could win this one. He was ahead by a few feet when he reached the channel markers and turned back. He has been coming to Skaneateles Lake since he was nine years old, and now, twelve years later, for the first time, he might beat Jenny back to shore.
The times when he was a little boy…he does not count those as victories. Race for real, he said to Jenny one day, when he was twelve or thirteen, because at some point he was able to determine she was attempting to match him stroke for stroke across the portion of the lake they would swim, and then at the last possible second, right before they reached shallow enough water that made standing up a necessity, Jenny would slow down. And once Mark issued the for real directive, he has not won a race since.
Close. But not quite. Jenny pulls ahead with about fifteen feet to go. Fuck.
"Almost…had me…that time," Jenny utters hoarsely between water-laden, heavy breaths as Mark collapses into the sand beside her.
Mark manages to force out a noise through chattering teeth to acknowledge he has registered this comment. Eventually, they will make their way to the outdoor showers – and run the water as hot as possible – but for now, they work on taking slow, calming breaths. Mark can admit he is competitive and does not handle failure well, but even without factoring the loss in, he still feels irritated. His exposed skin is stinging with pain, and even the areas beneath his wetsuit and thermal swim socks hurt. And his chest aches with every exhale. He tries to remind himself that it could be worse. Today's weather is unseasonably warm. And even though Jenny and Mark normally limit their races to the summer, they have been doing their own version of a polar plunge every New Year's Eve for years now, and at least three of those years, there were thin layers of ice forming on the water's surface. And this time was Mark's fault. He asked Jenny if she wanted to race today.
Not for the first time, Mark wonders if this was worth it. Not just the idiotic idea to swim in December part, but to come home, period. He has just finished his second-to-last semester at Penn, and plans to head back to Philly on the thirtieth. Much earlier than necessary (and why Jenny changed the date of their day trip to the lake to Christmas Eve, and did so with enough enthusiasm that Mark felt bad about trying to weasel out of this date, too), but the less time at home, the better. When you're fourteen and your mom gets so drunk Christmas morning that she pisses herself while passed out on the couch, you kinda don't mind skipping Christmas with your parents, Mark told Derek this past summer after a few drinks elicited some naked honesty (one of their first times drinking in a bar together). Derek. Mark has plans to see his best friend after Christmas (Derek is of course staying at his mom's for the entirety of his winter break, and probably happily so), which is truly the only motivating factor at this point for coming home. Mark loves his parents. He does. Especially Jenny. But it is easier to love them from a distance. If every day could be like this, he would take it, but he knows Jenny will not remain sober for the rest of the day. And maybe being out on the lake is just a borderline-painful reminder for Mark that this is not what life normally looks like for the dysfunctional Sloans.
Everything with Jenny feels like a slow motion explosion.
"How are you still so God damn fast?" Mark finally says when he feels like he can speak again. There is a teasing element to it, but he is unable to keep the scowl off his face, and he can feel the itch of frustration beneath his skin. Jenny is in her early forties. Just by virtue of being younger, shouldn't Mark be the faster one? And then there's the other thing. Yes, his mother stays in shape – running, aerobics, yoga, swimming at the local club, whatever. She's done it all. But Mark does not need to study for the MCAT to tell you what chronic alcohol abuse can do to a person's lungs. Jenny is somehow defying the odds.
"Hey, don't be a sore loser." Jenny swats casually at his shoulder when they both stand up. She reaches for one of their towels, and starts to squeeze water out of her wave-loosened hair. "Or a Scrooge," she adds, for the sole purpose of making a holiday-relevant joke. "You really were close this time though. I…" she sucks in a breath of air hard enough to make Mark turn towards her. "Sorry." She shakes her head, apologetic. "I thought I saw someone." She gestures towards a large, abandoned pile of branches about fifty yards from them, stacked up between a cluster of pine trees. Probably build-up cleared off the hiking trails, Mark assumes. "I thought I saw someone," Jenny repeats, a little calmer this time.
They do typically see people out here, even in the winter, but today, the stretch of beach they are occupying before they head to the diner is strangely empty, and quiet. Even though Mark does not see anyone, he steps in front of his mother anyway. He is careful to avoid trampling on the towel now by his feet. Jenny must have dropped it when she was startled.
"I don't see anyone there…" he says, eyes raking over the area. Visual hallucinations have never been one of Jenny's things, and he knows her well enough to assess whether she is under the influence or not. Maybe this is a new thing though. Perfect. Merry-fucking-Christmas. Cutting out the alcohol for a few hours but popping open the pill bottle the second you wake up doesn't earn you any sobriety points, you know.
"You're right. I think I glanced over too quickly. Or it was just a shadow. But the thing is…" Jenny takes a step forward too, edging herself in front of Mark. "Nice try. I protect you." She has a slight grin on her face as she looks at Mark. "Not the other way around."
Since when? Mark wants to say. He keeps the observation to himself though, and instead tells Jenny, "It's the Ghost of Christmas Present, showing up just under the wire." It's an incredibly stupid joke, he feels, but Jenny dropped the Scrooge reference earlier, and Mark knows his mom loves to read A Christmas Carol every December. And it does, for just a moment, bring a wry smile to her face.
"Or the Ghost of Christmas Past," Jenny replies quietly. She reaches back down for the towel.
. .
. .
References/Notes/Nods to Various Episodes
Not really too much in the way of references. I assume I've mentioned in one note or another about how Carolyn Shepherd didn't like Addison, which is retcon if I've EVER seen or heard retcon, but here we go anyway (disliking her after cheating on her son, sure, that's valid, but from the very beginning? Yeah…not likely. Addison is too nice.).
Addison to Derek in PP 2x16 ("Ex-Life," one of the crossover episodes), after finding out that Carolyn gave Derek a ring to propose to Meredith with: "I knew it. I knew that woman never liked me. You used to tell me that she did, but I knew." And then later (after the hilarious Hot Dog Thanksgiving exchange in the OR, where, we cannot deny it, there was a shitload of chemistry between Addison and Derek): "[Carolyn] hated me from the moment she met me and that never changed. She thought that I was rich and privileged, and wrong for you. And that's why she didn't give me the ring. Just admit it, so at least then I'll know that I wasn't crazy for eleven years." And then Derek did admit it, and Addison thanked him for admitting it.
As an aside: I had to do some transcript/scene digging for the above reference, and I forgot there was a scene where Mark was trying to tell Derek about his relationship with Lexie – there's something we need to discuss – but Derek assumed the topic was about Addison, so he said, "Go ahead and have sex with Addison." And when Mark tried to explain that wasn't what he wanted to talk about, their dialogue was still interspersed with Derek saying, "Go for it." And just. Lol forever.
Oh, and the small detail about Lynette serving hot buttered rum – that was the drink Addison ordered at Emerald City Bar ("Joe's Bar") in episode 2x12, right before Derek ruined her whole fucking Christmas.
Thank you for reading! I love reviews as much as Addison and Mark love sex'ing each other. Next chapter will pick up right where this one left off.