Atlas

by darlingwrecks

What if you can build something out of the wreckage that you caused? Mark/Addison (and Derek), pre-Grey's. Includes flashbacks to Addison's childhood, Mark's childhood, and works off the fact that the "he was just here" comment was not accurate. Long-term affair. Mark/Addison and Derek/Meredith endgame.

47. And Feather Canyons Everywhere

I think I have *mostly* got a working outline now. We're looking at 52 chapters, but I bail on fic truthfulness (?) as quickly as Canon Addison bailed on therapy, so you know better by now than to believe me when I tell you things like this. This chapter is much, much longer than I intended for it to be (lol another thing I always say – and Archer fans will like this one! But I 100% maintain he would not be an "involved" uncle). God, it's SO long though. Over 16K, which is even longer than the birth chapter, and I truly didn't think anything else I wrote would ever top that in length. I just love this little family, and really, there is so much to explore with them, and I needed all of this to happen in this chapter, rather than be sectioned out. Trigger warning: suicide discussion, mention of past self-inflicted injuries, and mentions of blood (all in the past). And deeply emotional towards the latter sections. It's not necessary to reread anything, but relevant flashbacks (and present day discussions about Bizzy/Susan) in previous chapters are: 3, 6, 11, 15, 16, 19, and 31. But here are the Atlas bullet points since it's been a minute since some of this has been addressed:

- Bizzy slapped Addison when she said there was nothing she could do for Susan (canon compliant)

- Bizzy attempted to end her life the day before Susan's funeral. Addison found her in the wine cellar with self-inflicted wounds. Addison was the one to clean up the cellar the next day.

- Addison went to Susan's funeral alone (at this point in the fic, now four years ago). Derek was called away to a surgery. She told him to go (they had a Real Discussion about it in Chapter 19).

- Every year since Susan's death, Susan's sister has hosted a casual memorial for Susan. Addison was not able to attend last year, since it was too close to Savvy's due date. Nor this year, because Maddison!Newborn.

- Addison suspected her mother and Susan were lovers, but she has never outright asked Bizzy (made a brief accusation in Chapter 39, but did not push the subject). In the summer, when Archer was in town (Chapter 31), he said he figured it out, but also has not brought it up. Both siblings assumed the Captain knew in some capacity what was going on. But, hey…Montgomerys look the other way when something isn't their business (Archer quote from season 2, and referenced in this chapter).

Whew. Now that we're all caught up, please enjoy. Some parts are heavy, as mentioned, but there's also family stuff, which is like a nice hug in these tough times (and lots of adjusting to parenthood).

Chapter title is a lyric from "Both Sides, Now," first recorded by Judy Collins, made more famous by Joni Mitchell (I highly recommend the cover by Years & Years).

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Chapter 47. And Feather Canyons Everywhere

Gradually and then suddenly. It is many things. It is how you go bankrupt, from a literary perspective. It is how you fall in love. It is how a marriage breaks apart, piece by piece. It is how you pick yourself up again. It is how you wade through the pain of a divorce. It is how you settle into a life with someone new. It is how you let your walls down with a person who wants to help you. It is how you bring a child into the world.

And it is how you adjust to parenting, when your lives as parents finally begin.

Because it is an adjustment. Addison and Mark were quick to learn that although they knew it would be tough, knowing it would be tough and experiencing tough are different things. They have learned to live in tiny, sleep-deprived increments of feeding, diapering, holding, and soothing. Insulated mugs for hot beverages, cups with straws for cold ones, snacks within reach, and ten-foot charging cords for electronic devices have become necessities during feedings. Babywearing has also become a necessity, if they want to get anything done…and eventually they realized they are just not going to get many things done right now. And gradually and then suddenly, life with a newborn brings out more openness in them both, because any sense of modesty went out the window within hours of being home from the hospital. Just take my boob and help me put the damn thing in her mouth, Addison mumbled somewhere around the four-day mark, during one of those endless middle-of-the-night, on-demand feedings, close to joining Clara in crying because breastfeeding was not working, and also because it was working.

They do adjust though, if only because they are able to remind themselves that adjustment means continuously adjusting. Addison has distinctive memories throughout her childhood of Bizzy saying, "People plan, and God laughs." Well. People plan, and babies laugh, too.

Addison nervously fingers the edge of her Givenchy bag. She recalls once babysitting Phoebe, and witnessing a smiley, happy-from-alcohol Savvy marveling over how light she felt without a diaper bag pinching into her shoulder. And while Addison has not gone too many places in the past four weeks, there is no denying how much more manageable her possessions are when she is not wearing Clara on her chest in addition to all the things that need to come with them when they leave the apartment.

"Go. We'll be fine," Mark assures. "Have a good time. You deserve to do something fun." He feels a little pushy when he takes Addison's hand and folds her fingers around the top handles of her bag, but time is of the essence; Clara should be waking up from her nap soon. Addison has started pumping, and they introduced a bottle this week so their daughter will not protest when Mark feeds her (and, eventually, a nanny), and their beginning attempts have gone smoothly, but Clara will only accept the bottle if Addison is out of the room (technically, if her breasts are out of the room). "And as much as Savvy has enjoyed coming over here to cuddle our cute baby, she'd probably love to hang out with you without me around," he jokes. "But I promise we'll be fine."

"I know you'll be fine." She touches her lips to his in a quick kiss. "And you're right…it's good for me to spend a little time apart from her." It's not that Addison wants time without her baby, who, as of yesterday, is a month old; it's just that she wants time to herself. And Savvy has had an open-ended offer to get pedicures whenever Addison felt ready to have an extended solo outing, so this will be a good way to dip her (in desperate need of a polish) toes into feeling like an autonomous being again. Plus, today feels ideal, since Mark goes back to work Monday. It will be nice for him to have time that just belongs to him and Clara. "Send me lots of updates though."

Addison does end up having a good time being out with Savvy, and when a few photos and texts from Mark confirm everything is fine, the two women decide to make an additional stop. I like seeing you as a mom, Savvy said when they were cupping coffee mugs in their hands at a nearby café. I would have supported you no matter what you wanted to do, but I'm really glad we get to do this together. And I like seeing that dumb boyfriend of yours as a dad.

"How did it go?" Addison asks breathlessly when she arrives home later that afternoon. Clara is asleep in the bassinet they usually drag out to the living room, which meant that once Addison was inside, her daughter was only a few paces away. She bends forward, breathing in Clara's sweet scent – milk and shampoo with chamomile extract and just general newness – while Mark looks on. She assumes he will not take it personally that she blew right past him; it has only been two hours, but oh, how she has missed her baby.

"It…it was good," Mark reports, and she glances at him, able to detect the wavering note in his voice. "Well. It could have gone better," he admits, lips twitching to form half a frown. "The bottle took a few minutes, but then it clicked – like the other times – and she was fine. And after the bottle, Clara fell back to sleep for like twenty minutes, and then woke up and cried pretty much the entire time. The pictures I texted were pre-crying ones, obviously. She was doing the thing where she was all pinched up and squirmy, and like, angry pink. I tried feeding her again, but she didn't seem that hungry…and nothing else worked, either. I think she was just colicky. She finally nodded off like twenty minutes ago."

"Why didn't you let me know? I could have come back." Addison nearly cringes at her words, realizing how they might sound, how they might be interpreted. They are doing a pretty good job as a couple of managing their emotions and leaning on each other, but caring for a newborn has made it really, really easy to slip into bickering. And this was not Mark's first time alone with Clara. They have mostly subsisted off deliveries, but there have been a few times Addison has picked up orders from restaurants a block or two over (Mark always offers to go, but she has insisted that occasionally getting to breathe non-apartment air is probably good for her). Those trips are usually ten to fifteen minutes tops though. Today's outing was longer, and today was, apparently, one of those afternoons for their daughter. "Not because…not because me being here would have made a difference," she clarifies, "but because it's nice not to be alone when Clara's inconsolable."

"You were having a fun time with Sav though," he says softly. "And I guess I was hoping that…I know reading a book and actually parenting are different things, but I was hoping I would be a little better at this, like knowing what she wants and knowing how to help her." Mark looks away, embarrassed. "I also thought…Phoebe seems to really like her Uncle Mark…we've spent entire days with them and she hasn't cried once for me. Even when…even that time when Sav said she was cranky because she was teething, and she was crying with everyone, she still didn't cry when I was holding her. So…I don't know." He takes a deep breath and meets Addison's eyes again. "You're just a natural at all of this, and I'm…I'm still learning."

Addison shakes her head. "We're both still learning. The Phoebe thing though, before I forget. When you first met her…" she pauses, trying to think of the when and complete the subsequent math (one formula she knows for sure is that sleep-deprivation equals a fried brain). "Phoebe was like four months old when you met her. That's easier than a newborn. I know we both love Clara, but let's be real: she's sort of just a crying potato with limbs right now. And you are good at this." Addison settles her hand on his elbow. "Okay? I wouldn't have left her with you if I didn't think you were good at this. You're great at this, actually. This is just what's going to happen sometimes, and it's not a reflection of anything you're doing or not doing. She didn't cry because I wasn't here; she cried because she's a baby and that's what babies do. Especially new babies. Savvy said weeks three and four were the hardest for them," she adds. Actually, Savvy said weeks zero through seven were the hardest, but that is not the kind of negative energy the Montgomery-Sloan household needs right now. "If you called me, or had been honest when you texted with updates…I wouldn't have thought you were incompetent, Mark, and I wouldn't have been upset with you for interrupting a girls' date. I would have just thought you were having a rough time and could use a little support. And I don't always feel like a natural. Which…which you very well know." A blush spreads over Addison's cheeks, even as she grins through the discomfort. There are just so many worries now, and for Addison, most of them come out in the form of tears. Clara might be the only one with colic, but she is certainly not the only one crying. There is limited room for rationality because most days Addison feels more like a mother than a doctor capable of providing an accurate assessment. She worries that Clara is not getting enough to eat (she is). She worries that Clara is not gaining weight (she is). She worries that when Clara is crying and she cannot soothe her, that it is her fault (it is not). She worries that she is a bad mother for not enjoying every minute of motherhood (she is not). She worries that something will happen to Clara while she is sleeping (they do everything they can when they lay her down to ensure she is safe, and Mark reminds her of this whenever the fear starts to wrap around Addison and she is unable to do anything but watch the rise and fall of her daughter's chest). She worries that when Mark goes back to work, she will not do a good job solo parenting (she will). Thankfully, she has a built-in support system in the form of Mark and her friends, and a therapist who has assured her that these heightened anxieties all fit that of a new mother, and no further intervention is needed at this point. "We're both succeeding," she tells Mark, "but we're also struggling. Like, normal struggling."

"I guess that's true."

"Do you want to know something good?" She smiles hopefully. "Danielle emailed me while Savvy and I were -"

"With the pictures?" Mark interrupts.

"With the pictures," she confirms. They ended up using the same newborn photographer that Savvy and Weiss did. "And I was so good. I didn't open the file. I waited, so that we can look at them together. And I know for…" Addison trails off as she sits grabs her laptop off the side table. "I know for such a long time I was in hysterics about the card thing, but now I just…I just don't care about doing birth announcements. It's part laziness and part…I don't know. The people who are important to her already have pictures of her and know what day she was born. And we'll share with them our favorite pictures of Danielle's." She releases a gentle sigh when Mark nods in agreement.

Those first few days after Clara was born featured many text messages and emails, and also some personal calls. On their first full day in the hospital as a family of three, Addison FaceTimed her brother. He was a bit drunk even by WASP-on-vacation standards when he answered the call, but was overjoyed when Addison flipped the camera in the direction of a blinking, sleepy-eyed Clara. Archer said she was really cute, and after asking Addison how she was feeling and about the baby's stats, he proceeded to bring his phone around the Zihuatanejo villa, poking a variety of friends (or just overnight visitors) in varying stages of undress and forcing them to look at Clara, whether they wanted to or not. "This is my niece," he crowed while Addison and Mark just shook their heads, unsure what else to do. "She was born yesterday. Line up some glasses…we're doing shots in her honor."

"Your uncle," Mark said quietly to Clara when they were finally able to end the call (with a promise that they would call Archer back tomorrow, which is when he claimed he would be sober again), "is currently participating in something called 'spring break.' And sorry if that looked fun to you, missy, but you are never allowed to go."

The entertaining exchange with Archer was, if nothing else, a soothing balm for Addison's nervous stomach when she contacted her parents. She emailed a few photos first, and then made the call to Bizzy, who sounded happy for her, but just in a…Bizzy sort of way. The usual formality was there, as well as the hint of judgment about the detour Addison's life has taken courtesy of an affair, but while they were on the phone, Bizzy opened the email and looked at the pictures. Addison could hear her call the Captain over and tell him the news.

"She's beautiful," Bizzy commented. "Very beautiful. Not all newborns are…which I'm sure you know, given your line of work. I have some outfits for her. I'll have Leah get them in the mail tomorrow. Just make sure you text me your…new address."

Mark raised an eyebrow when the phone call was over. "Would she have told us if our kid…did come out of the birth canal sort of uneven-headed or something?"

"Yes." Addison's grin was a strained one. "I think she might have."

Amelia was the last person Addison contacted, a few hours before they were scheduled to be discharged. And maybe Amelia shouldn't have been last, because she has always been kind and supportive of Addison in spite of everything that has happened, but that was how the chips fell. Addison attempted to keep her text message light. Just wanted to let you know I had the baby on Thursday, she wrote. Her name is Clara. 7 pounds, 2 ounces. She's healthy and mostly happy, as long as she's eating. We're both doing well. Addison's other implication was there, but left undocumented: it's fine if you want to tell the other people in your family. She did not expect an immediate response, knowing the nonstop hours Amelia has to put in while clawing her way through surgical residency, but the text bubbles appeared almost immediately. And the response was so succinct, so funny, so utterly Amelia in its delivery: Pics or it didn't happen. So, Addison reacted as a new mother does, revisiting rows of recently-taken photos and trying to narrow it down, since many more had been taken since the initial texts and emails they sent to family, friends, and coworkers who have been supportive, or at least have presented as being supportive. She selected one of Clara in her hospital bassinet, head angled to the left, eyes open, one hand curled near her chin. And a close-up of Clara's face. And one of the three of them a nurse took after they were settled in the postpartum room. Clara was in Addison's lap, and one of Mark's arms was looped around Addison's waist as he teetered on the edge of the bed. She thought for a moment about the optics of sending the family one, not because of Amelia directly, but because the picture was still being sent to someone who was a witness to how complicated all of this was, who knew the extent of the past and the present, but Addison just…didn't care in the end. I can still be sorry for how my marriage ended, but I'm allowed to be happy and proud about the life I have now, she thought as she pressed the blue arrow. She has learned as much in therapy, and is starting to believe it more and more.

She's beautiful! Amelia had replied. Congrats, and lesser congrats to Mark since you did all the work. Hopefully I'll get to meet her at some point. I love you and I'm happy you're well.

Addison and Mark's iPhone pictures, though good, do not in any way compare to the professional photos they are now combing through. There are small gasps and pleased, one breath chuckles as they view a slide show from the afternoon ten days after their daughter was born. There are too many to choose from on the first go-around, but they are able to point out some that are clear stand-outs. Clara sleeping in a basket lined with soft, fluffy material. Clara with her hands placed under her left cheek, which made her cheek look even more "squishable." Clara stretching. Clara yawning. Clara's tiny, wrinkled feet. The ones with the bonnet. The ones in the Yankees onesie, where Clara's body was partially tucked inside an old glove of Mark's. The ones in the frilly-looking ivory romper (from Bizzy) that seemed like a bit much when they put it on her, but truly did photograph well. The ones with the blanket Aunt Lynette made her. A few where Clara is awake, staring peacefully at the camera, slate blue eyes wide, looking almost curious. This one is going to be a thinker, Danielle told them. And then ones of Clara with just Addison, with just Mark, and then, finally, all three of them.

"She does that with you," Addison shares when they reach a black and white photo of Clara in Mark's arms. Their daughter is snuggled against him, and Addison is in front of them, captured placing a kiss on the back of Clara's head while Mark smiles down at her. Light coming in from the nearby window is clipping a path around them. "When you're holding her, she'll nuzzle her cheek on your shoulder – like she's trying to get as close as she can – and she'll have a hand curled around your shirt, like she's giving you a hug back. She loves you so much, Mark."

He smiles, feeling that familiar flutter in his heart when he is around the two of them, and whenever Addison offers the reassurance he sometimes finds himself in need of. "She probably inherited the burrowing thing from you," he adds.

"It's a good thing she's cute. It's what makes the tough afternoons bearable."

"It wasn't all bad though," Mark says. "She really did rock the bottle thing. So." He nudges Addison's shoulder. "I guess we'll just keep rolling with the baby punches."

And so they do. They roll. They adjust. They struggle and succeed and survive. There continues to be nothing-we-can-do-about-it crying from Clara sometimes, and complete and utter exhaustion for her parents, but things do improve. And when there is not crying, what is left in its place is a calm, peaceful-seeming baby who, with another month under her belt, seems genuinely happy to be here.

Mark is quiet when he comes into the apartment, even though he probably does not have to be since Clara has proven to be a pretty deep sleeper thus far. He can hear the familiar whooshing sound coming from their bedroom – a white noise machine has engulfed their lives for two months now. He finds Addison in the bathtub, hair piled messily on top of her head and knees drawn up as she cuddles their daughter against her. She has one hand tucked under Clara, and the other on her back, moving in small circles. Being skin-to-skin practically melts their bodies together as water that stops somewhere along the curve of Addison's stomach ripples around them.

"Hi," Addison greets, tipping her head in his direction.

"Hi there." He crouches down outside the tub. "This looks cozy."

"It's helping keep her calm. She was having a tough time," she replies. Mark does not need Addison to elaborate, as he knows what this means: either Clara did not nap this afternoon or did not nap well, and was fussy as a result. "I'm glad you're back though." Addison smiles at him. "I know I can do it as long as I get her settled first, but I was a little nervous about getting out of the tub with her." She gestures towards the collection of towels folded neatly nearby, along with Clara's bathrobe with the cute bunny ears on its hood. "It'll be much easier with you here." Addison turns her attention back to Clara. "She's loving this."

"Our little water baby. Hi, Clarabelle." He touches his knuckles to Clara's cheek, and she gives him the same closed mouthed, cheek-curling smile that Addison sometimes does. "Did you have a nice day with Mommy?"

"She did," Addison answers on their daughter's behalf. "We did our usual routine after you left for work, and then we had 'Mommy and Me Yoga.' And the studio is so close to Central Park – well, you know that – so we did a loop around the pond with the model sailboats. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom. One of the petals landed on Clara's nose on the way down, and she started to make that funny sound when it happened. You know, the 'froggy' one? I think she was equal parts offended and delighted by the flower thing." Addison knows she tends to talk quickly when Mark gets home from work, a bit starved for adult conversation even on the two days a week she now gets to converse with other adults at yoga. Thankfully, Mark does not seem to mind. "Tasha...you know the woman from yoga I was telling you about?"

"Yeah. The one whose wife works at the Yankees front office," Mark responds, which makes her roll her eyes. Of course he'd remember that detail. Addison has informed him more than once that it would be nothing short of rude and presumptuous to bring up potential box seats while she and Tasha are kissing their babies on the forehead during modified knee planks. "Theirs is a boy," Mark continues, "born a few days after Clara. See?" He smirks. "I remember the non-Yankee parts, too."

Addison nods. "Booker," she says. "They went to the park with us, too. Tasha is heading back to work around the same time I am, which nixes morning classes, but she found a weekend one, so when I go back to work, I might try to do that once in a while. And she told me she'd look for an 'away game weekend' and we could come over for lunch with her and Mel, and watch Booker and Clara mostly ignore each other. I'm doing it." She lifts her non-Clara shoulder, shrugging, and looks a little bashful. "Making mom friends."

"You're doing it. So…no afternoon nap?"

"No afternoon nap. She blew right past the two o'clock one, and as you can see, we're a bit 'off' with the next one, too. But…that's okay." Addison nuzzles her nose against Clara's temple. "She's doing her best, and I am, too."

"And your best is really, really incredible. Just so you know."

"Thanks. I was going to make dinner, but then this happened…so I'm fine with whatever you want to order. I'll probably stay in here for a few more minutes with her…I keep waiting for an accident, but it hasn't happened yet. Feel free to hang out with us though. Daughter company is great, but grownup company is good, too. How was your day?"

Mark offers a rundown, but none of today's procedures felt particularly eventful. Or some of them are, maybe, because his second surgery will definitely get a few days' worth of hospital chatter in the form of, "Did you hear about that surgery Sloan did?" But things like that just do not feel eventful compared to Clara's milestones. Her arm and leg movements are less jerky now. She holds her head up during tummy time, and is starting to hold it up more when they carry her around, too. She is interested in her surroundings, and gets wiggly with excitement when she sees Mark or Addison in her line of sight. She smiles, and does so expressively. There are tiny, thin-lipped smiles, usually when she is tired. Half ones. Big gummy ones. Ones where her tongue is poking out. Ones where her mouth splits open and she lets out a pterodactyl noise (distinctive from the frog one, in Mark's sound classification opinion). The pterodactyl one seems close to a giggle, but they are not certain just yet. There is so much more noise from Clara now though, just sweet little coos, gurgles, and squawks as she becomes more and more of a "talker." She has a personality. She always did, Mark feels, but her personality is distinctly less…potato-ish now.

Work is eventful, yes, but nothing like this. Because, this? This is everything. He reaches a hand out and threads a loose strand of Addison's hair back behind her ear.

"Before this…before us…" he begins, and she knows what he means. "I can't believe this is something I didn't think I'd ever want."

Addison gives him a broad smile. "It helps to be with the right person. The rightest person."

"Yeah. It really does."

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. .

Five Years Earlier

"What are you doing here on a Saturday?"

"Oh. Hey." Mark looks up at the sound of Derek's surprised but friendly greeting. "Sorry, didn't see you there. I'm on my way out, actually. Just finished up a cleft palate repair a little while ago. Ten-month-old. There's still a cleft in the gum line, but I can't fix that until he's older. That'll involve a bone graft." It is more detail than Derek needs, and Mark knows it's awful, but there is something oddly satisfying about seeing the gloomy look on his best friend's face as he describes what today's procedure entailed. Not everything about what Mark does with a scalpel is shallow. It is not always Dorian Gray wanting age to show on the portrait rather than his face, willing to give his soul for eternal, unlined youth. Sometimes, it's actually really fucking sad. Many patients who wind up in Mark's OR do not, in fact, sign up for the pain they get. Especially an infant who is struggling to eat, even with specialty bottles. "The parents have the kinds of jobs where getting time off isn't easy, so I made an exception for them. Least I could do. Wait." He scratches at the side of his head when something occurs to him. "What are you doing here? Weren't you guys -"

"Patient I operated on a few days ago collapsed while one of the nurses was helping him get some steps in," Derek interjects. "ICH. He's in recovery now, and should be fine."

"But wasn't…" Mark attempts to piece his thoughts together. Derek and Addison left on Thursday. The funeral service for Bizzy's friend was this morning…or tomorrow morning. No, today. Mark is pretty certain. "I thought you weren't going to be back until Monday."

"Addie's still in Connecticut. She's going to stay a few extra days."

"You left right after the funeral?" It is not really Mark's business, but he tends to get like this, asking too many questions and seeking conversation (and more than that, when it comes to women) after a procedure has left him feeling depleted. He has a difficult time seeing people in pain; he always has. "Oh." His eyes flicker towards the scheduling board when Derek does not answer him. Mark scans for Shepherd, and then goes box to box, noting the surgery start time and anticipated number of hours. "Derek, are you serious? Before? Before the funeral? You got paged and came straight back?" He scrutinizes his friend closer, and notices that even after wearing a scrub cap that tends to flatten everything, Derek's hair still looks a little wind-tossed. They probably choppered him in. "No one else could do the surgery? What about…what's her name? The wavy haired one with the nice -"

"He's my patient. And there's no one better who could do it. Not within spitting distance, at least," Derek says. "It wasn't just the bleed – there were a few other complicating factors, too. It was…it was lucky I was able to get back in time. I don't think Fanaro could have -"

"But you just left Addison?" Mark remembers how upset she was after she had talked with Bizzy and Susan about Susan's options (or lack of options, really). He found her out in the hallway, and stayed with her and held her hand until Derek was able to come. And he remembers that when Derek finally got there, and wrapped his arms around his wife, she sort of fell against him, as though whatever she was feeling could not be supported within her own frame.

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

Mark's eyebrows lift. "It's complicated to be there for your wife?"

"When she tells me to leave, that she wants me to go back to New York and do the surgery, yeah, it is complicated. You know how she…how she gets around her family," Derek says, words heavy with resignation. And Mark can sort of understand why Addison might want to be alone in her hurt, to not have to feel responsible for anyone else when she is with her family. He has witnessed as much, in the handful of times he has seen Addison around Bizzy and the Captain. "She pushes people away."

"Then hold your ground." Mark cannot summon the last time he has been mad at Derek about something. There is just never any reason to be. And it is also a very unwelcome feeling to be disappointed in Derek. Mark is the one who does stupid things, who is selfish, who is sometimes careless with people's feelings. Not Derek.

Derek lowers his head and presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose. "You're not her husband," he mumbles. "Please…just please stay out of this. It's been a long day and there's a lot going on. I'll text you tomorrow. If you want to come over for the Yankees game, you're more than welcome." And then Derek is walking away. Just like he did with his wife, apparently.

No, Mark is not the husband. He has no inclination to be anyone's husband. But if he were Addison's husband, he would have stayed. Maybe hover in the background, give her some space to navigate her tension-filled surroundings, but not leave. Never just leave. Not for something like this.

How could you think that's what she actually wanted? Mark wants to shout at his friend's low-shouldered, retreating back. You still had a choice to make, even if she was pushing you away. You had a choice. And you chose wrong. You're supposed to choose her.

He stays quiet though. And he and Derek never talk about it again.

. .
. .

"Still doing okay back there?"

"Yep," Addison answers. "Clara's obsessed with this little fox." She presses two fingers against one of the fox's paws to make a crinkling sound, and Clara gurgles in response, hands excitedly batting at the toy. Ever since she shifted out of the clenched fist stage, it's like the air is always moving around her. I bet she's going to talk with her hands, just like you do, Mark told Addison recently. "I think it might be our kid's favorite toy," she tacks on. "If I'd known she was going to be this happy with her stuffy, I would have just sat up front with you." Addison knows she made the right call though. People plan, and babies laugh. If she had elected not to be squeezed in next to the hard bulk of Clara's car seat, wouldn't that have all but guaranteed an upset baby? And today is a much longer trip in comparison to the car ride home from the hospital, and the two follow-up ones for Clara's well-baby visits, so Addison was not sure how Clara would "do." It occurs to her though that perhaps her daughter is handling the trip to Greenwich better than she is.

"She does like the fox." Mark is in agreement. "The question was sort of for you though, that time. Remember…we don't have to stay long, if you don't want, or if it's just too much." Their eyes fleetingly connect in the rear view mirror.

"I know." A familiar stomachache – this always happens en route to Connecticut – has started to burden Addison the closer they get to her childhood home. "And while I don't want to use my nine-week-old as an excuse…having a baby is a really, really good excuse to gracefully exit things, or just blow them off entirely."

"That's sort of why we had her, right?"

"That and because her mother preferred to take the 'do as I say, not as I do' approach when offering patients guidance on pregnancy prevention." Addison lowers the toy so that she can kiss her daughter's forehead. Being close to Clara and the ongoing banter she is trading with Mark is helping her stay calm. Or somewhat calm. She knows that she crumbles into the smallest version of herself around her parents, especially Bizzy. And she is powerless to stop it. I'm not doing it on purpose! she snapped at Derek once when he told her that he did not like how she just…was around her family. The specific event eludes Addison now, but she knows it was in the past few years. Derek was patient and understanding for a long time when it came to how she acted and reacted in her parents' presence, but eventually, like most things when it came to the road map of the Montgomery-Shepherd marriage, his patience with the journey started to wear thin. It was all an obligation by the end.

Mark clears his throat, smirking. "I'd appreciate some acknowledgment for my carelessness in the matter, too."

"Already done. I yelled at you about condoms when I was trying to give birth to her, remember? Somewhere in between accusing you of getting me the wrong ice chips – as though there was, like, a right kind – and telling you, 'I don't want to do this anymore. Get me out of this bed. We're going home.' Which was absolutely not an option, since I was fully dilated. And, well. Speaking of home…there." Addison leans forward and points out the wrought iron gates they are approaching. "That's the entrance there. So if you go ahead and pull over…"

Mark eases the car to the right, loosened gravel just off the quiet street crunching under the wheels. Once he has shut the engine off, he collects the tiny dress on the front seat, and heads around to the rear passenger side, where Addison is getting Clara out of her car seat. He opens the door, and Addison swings her legs out, facing him, with Clara now curled up in her lap, blinking in the sunlight.

Overlook Lane. A fitting address for the Montgomerys, in Mark's opinion, because of the childhood Addison had. He can still draw from his memories the first time he saw the house – or estate, or whatever it technically is – and its accompanying, carefully landscaped grounds. The house itself was large, shadow-casting across the emerald lawn. Montgomery Manor, Derek said as he guided his used car (a distinction Mark would really only make because of the circumstances) down a long, straight ribbon of road past the gates. Mark got the sense it was just his friend saying this though, that it was not an actual name. It would have been gauche for a WASP to give their house a name, wouldn't it? But even then, well. Sometimes even then, there was a fine line between facetiousness and hurtfulness when Derek talked about his wife, and her family. Fiancée at the time though, not wife. The words were not frequent enough to reveal a pattern of hurtfulness, but it was still…something. Or maybe Mark is just more sensitive to that stuff now.

The Montgomery home had so much natural light funneling in through the windows, but it still felt dark inside. Mark remembered that part the most, and how it stirred feelings of sadness in him. He knew what it meant to have a lonely childhood, but this felt so much lonelier. They're not like any parents we've met before, Derek told him. You'll see. They're cold, and snobby, and Addie gets…she's just different around them, and she's definitely going to be different in a social setting like this. So it's our job to just make sure she's okay. Mark was touched at the time by his best friend's use of our. It was nice, to be included, and to have something to devote attention to.

They were in Greenwich for Derek and Addison's engagement party, but Mark got the sense that he was mainly there for moral support, for the help-Derek-help-Addison factor. It's more like Bizzy's engagement party, Derek said. Addison arrived the day before to help with overseeing the setup, so Mark and Derek drove up separately. Naomi and Sam and Savvy and Weiss would be joining them, but otherwise, the gathering was mostly a collection of people Bizzy knew, and that Addison had grown up with or around. There were no Shepherds in attendance other than Derek, and maybe Mark, since he was sometimes a de facto Shepherd. Carolyn and the girls were invited, of course, but it was too far of a drive, and getting Lizzie settled at Brown for her upcoming semester took priority. Mark wondered though if Bizzy had known this when she started planning the party. Probably. It seemed like the sort of passive-aggressive thing she might do. He did not feel a sense of protectiveness over the Shepherds though, not for this. The Shepherds were a resilient bunch, and uncompromising in who they were, so Mark knew they would be able to mingle with relative ease at future joint events. He figured that was in part why Derek managed to get along well enough with Addison's parents, and could at least pass for getting along with Archer when the two were in mixed company.

"Derek…why the fuck do they call it a sitting room?" Mark whispered after reacquainting himself with Bizzy, who directed the two men towards a wide, spacious room to the left of the curved staircase, which was where they were apparently supposed to wait until more guests arrived. Mark had met Addison's parents at the dinner they all attended after their med school graduation, but that was quicker, and really just in passing. "The sit part I get, but just -"

"Because it's a different way to say 'formal living room,'" Derek replied as they walked past a series of commissioned portraits, a blur of red and sandier colors. "Which just means it's a living room with furniture that has no loose change or crumbs under the cushions, I think. Or like a family room. I don't know. Just…don't ask."

"Can you…?" Addison says now, and without additional words exchanged, because many aspects of parenthood have become shorthand for them, Mark helps Addison remove Clara's pull-on pants and then wriggles the onesie with the little ducks on it down her body. He guides the dress over Clara's head, and he and Addison do some choreography to coax her arms into the ruffled sleeves. Not having the dress on ahead of time was another piece of shorthand. While Addison showered this morning, Mark dressed Clara in the onesie, leaving the dress and its matching headband next to the diaper bag. He never would have thought to risk having Clara in such a nice dress – a dress from Bizzy – for the entire car ride. There have been one too many diaper-related incidents in the past nine weeks to pull such an amateur move.

"Now she's ready," Mark says once they have secured Clara's headband, and added leather ballet flats embellished with a bow and a jewel detail that seem utterly ridiculous on a baby (also from Bizzy). And not just Clara. Everyone is ready, he thinks as Addison begins the process of buckling their daughter back in the car seat for the remaining stretch of their drive. Addison has dressed Clara with her mother in mind, and she did the same thing with Mark this morning. A pair of nice slacks were laid out for him, along with a polo sweater he does not really care for, but apparently it exuded the classy-but-does-not-look-like-we're-trying-too-hard vibe he thinks Addison is going for.

Addison had flashed him an uncomfortable look when he saw the clothes waiting for him on their bed. "Sorry," she said, fingers tapping out an anxious melody along their dresser. "I know you can pick out your own clothes. I just thought this might be -"

"It's fine," he assured. "I like this."

Mark is not intimidated by the prospect of spending a few hours with the Montgomery family. Definitely not looking forward to it by any means, and maybe a touch nervous, but not…not intimidated. Yes, it will be awkward, especially at first, and he might be subjected to some stern, disapproving looks from Bizzy and the Captain, but the awkwardness is survivable. He is more worried for Addison.

"I know it's such an impractical outfit for someone so little…" Addison skims a finger over the poplin bodice of Clara's dress, and traces down towards the pleated skirt. "But she looks adorable, doesn't she?" She turns to face Mark.

"She does," he confirms. He leans forward, one hand pressed to the quarter glass. The question he asked her earlier still hangs in the air, and she knows it.

"It's easier in some ways," Addison says, words nearly lost in the breeze. "It gets a little easier, the older I get, but I'm a little…different around them. I think you've always known that, though." She watches as Mark nods. He does know how she is around her parents. And the getting-easier approach has sort of been cancelled out in advance of this May visit. It has been nearly eighteen months since Addison has been here, has seen her parents in the flesh. And everything has changed since that last visit. "So when we get in there…" she quiets when Mark reaches out and holds her cheek in his palm. His touch is so gentle that in another lifetime, when they weren't really real, it might have hurt in its softness.

"Addison." He sounds a little gruff. "I love who you are." In spite of them. It is the truest thing to say. And arguably, the simplest for Mark to say, because it is the thing that will melt away any potential argument about behavioral shifts. Grace is more effective than judgment. Addison does not need to be reminded that she is not herself when sealed in the confines of her childhood home. Mark has a brief recollection of her leading him and Derek around the backyard after the engagement party was over. Except, it was the grounds. That was what Addison called it. They passed under some sort of wisteria trellis that paved the way to Bizzy's garden. He remembers the details mostly because he remembers the loud, breathy exhale Addison released once they were outside the house. The delicate arch of the trellis made Mark feel like they were in a tunnel. Sunlight was barely able to poke through the cascades of purple flowers hanging around them.

"Thank you," Addison quietly replies. "For loving me for who I am." She nods, and Mark goes back around to start the car again. "It might not be so bad," she adds hopefully as they pass through the gates, and the sweeping Colonial comes into better view. A tangle of vines hang between each shuttered window, and bushes and puffy-looking peonies line the front of the house. "Archer is here. He's usually a good buffer. And I think…I think my parents are actually looking forward to seeing Clara. Just." Addison shrugs. "In their own way. Not like how her other grandparent was excited. Here…here is fine, Mark. You can stop here," she says when they start to wind around the circular driveway. "Well. Here we go."

Addison carries Clara, preferring to hold her in her arms as they go inside. And Mark takes care of everything else, wanting to keep Addison's physical load as light as he can (the mental and emotional load is enough). He has the diaper bag slung over a shoulder, the car seat handle gripped in his left hand, and the portable bassinet gathered in the other as Addison rings the doorbell.

Jeanette, the maid, lets them in and takes them through the entrance hall. The maid opening the door throws Mark off, so admittedly, he does not pay as much attention as he should when he follows after the women. How can your parents not be the ones to greet you? he finds himself thinking as they turn into a large room with dark green walls. Whenever he came home from college and onward, either Jenny or Everett would answer the door. Sure, they didn't have a maid, but even if they did, the maid would not have been the one to welcome Mark home. And Jenny and Everett would always stand outside and wave goodbye whenever he left. It vaguely embarrassed him, but he also kind of liked it. Carolyn was the same way.

Bizzy, the Captain, and Archer are already in the green room, drinks in hand. Mark's eyes scan the surrounding details quickly – paintings on the walls that probably cost as much as his rent, a fireplace, and stiff-looking furniture in various shades of gray positioned around a rectangular coffee table with flowers in a vase that looks similar to one of the ones Addison brought with her from the brownstone. And then the three other Montgomerys are upon them, chiming out welcomes. Archer's greeting for his sister is more exuberant, and Bizzy and the Captain go with cheek kisses for Addison, which Mark figures is either their normal greeting, or the most they would think to offer in affection after not having seen their daughter – now a new mother – in well over a year. Mark does recognize though that hugs are more difficult when you have a drink in your hand, and none of the Montgomerys seem particularly eager to part with their glasses. He is, however, thankful that his arms are completely loaded up, because with no hands available, and some of the objects being bulky to maneuver around, he does not need to worry at this time about whichever manner these individuals (God, his future in-laws) planned to greet him in. The most he can do is say hello, and It's nice to see you, too, after Bizzy, ever the gracious hostess no matter what her personal opinion, tells Mark that it is nice to see him again.

"And…hello there." Bizzy lightly touches Clara's arm. "The dress looks beautiful on her."

There is a low whistle from Archer when he finally seems to register the assortment of items being balanced in Mark's arms. "You guys moving in?"

"No," Addison answers for them both with a faint grin. Absolutely not. The Captain directs Mark to the corner of the room, showing him where he can put everything for now. "Clara just requires a lot of stuff. You want to hold her, Archie?"

Archer looks thoughtful as his head lilts to the side. "You know…" he says, smiling a little. "I'm not sure I've ever held a baby before."

"Mark hadn't either until last summer." Addison smiles sweetly at Mark when he returns from putting their things down. "And he's a pro."

"Well if he's capable of doing it…"

"Here. Sit down." Addison gestures to the sofa. "This is the perfect time, since she won't be hungry for a bit longer. She's in a good mood. Just put your drink down first, please."

"She's half Montgomery," Archer says when Addison settles Clara into his arms. "You're telling me your kid hasn't had a martini accidentally spilled on her yet?"

Addison hears Bizzy make a thin noise of amusement at Archer's comment (even with limited senses of humor, her parents have always found Archer to be funny). Bizzy says something like, Oh, you stop that to her son under her breath, before turning to Mark and telling him to sit wherever he likes, and asking what he wants to drink.

"Support her head, please," Mark murmurs when Archer stretches an arm towards the table to take another sip of his drink, and Clara's position shifts a bit in the crook of his elbow. Mark says thank you to the blonde woman who has suddenly handed him a glass of water (a different maid than the one who let them in, maybe?). Something stronger than water sounds appealing, but he is trying to be respectful of the fact that if a breastfeeding Addison has to get through this afternoon without alcohol, then he should, too. When Bizzy told him to sit wherever he wanted, he looked over at Addison, who nodded towards the sofa across from Archer. The Captain is close by in a wingback chair, which Mark imagines is his "usual" seat. And on the opposite sofa, of course, are Addison, Bizzy, and Archer, with Archer in the middle with a precariously balanced Clara. Mark would prefer to be closer – would prefer to be holding his daughter – but an advantage to being on this side is how closely he will be able to watch Addison's face for any signs of uneasiness.

"No problem, Dad," Archer replies with some sarcasm, but he does as Mark says, and is more careful the next time he reaches for his glass.

Mark has always found Archer to be arrogant and low-grade irritating, but he is grateful for his presence as they sip their drinks in the family room while lunch is being prepared (and Clara seems comfortable with her uncle, which also goes a long way, in Mark's opinion). Archer guides much of the conversation between the five of them, either because he is more laidback than his little sister – a self-proclaimed worrier – or because he just doesn't seem to care what Bizzy and the Captain think about him. And while Archer might toe the line sometimes with his colorful commentary, he knows just when to pull back, just when to stop to ensure that trust fund does not get revoked.

Mark smiles when he realizes that Clara has her hand curled around Bizzy's pointer finger, and he can see that Addison is watching the physical contact as well, a pleased look on her face as she responds to something the Captain asked about her work plans.

The round-the-clock hours with a newborn feels more survivable than this, but this is still pretty survivable, from what Mark can tell, and Addison starts to feel the same way by the time they sit down for lunch. She is able to respond calmly to Bizzy's questions about how they do things each time that critical eyebrow begins to arch up. In between Bizzy offering her opinions in the form of questions, Addison discovers the desire to please Bizzy is not as strong as it usually is, as though motherhood has brought out new resolve.

Why don't you just leave her in the car seat, dear? Because car seat naps are okay for when she's in the car when it can't be helped, but she's not supposed to sleep in a sitting position. It's not safe. That's why we brought the portable bassinet. And we like to have her at the table with us sometimes, even though we're a long way away from solid food. Why don't you just give it a minute and see if she stops crying? We don't like to do that. Why don't you let Jeanette give her a bottle so that you can finish your lunch? It's okay. I'll feed her. She won't take a bottle if she can see me. We're working up to that. Please excuse me. I'll use the library, and come back when she's finished eating.

"Come with us, Sloan. You said you're staying until three, right?" Archer holds up a cigar box once they have made their way back to the family room (Mark still doesn't understand the difference in the terms, but apparently this room is different than the sitting room). "I've been saving these." Archer raises his chin towards Clara, and Mark is hit with a brief memory of joking with Sam after Maya was born, asking if he'd gone outside yet to have his cigar. "Perfect reason to enjoy Nicaragua's finest."

"I'm not really a cigar guy. Thank you though, for asking," he adds, wanting to be polite, especially in this house.

"Just come then. They redid the tennis court. I haven't seen it yet."

Addison bumps Mark's shoulder. "Archie can show you exactly where I was usually positioned when I'd destroy him with my backhand." He studies her, and she nods. His eyes narrow slightly, repeating the question without words, and Addison nods again. It's okay, she mouths. Go ahead.

"Hey…you never won when we played mixed doubles."

"That has nothing to do with you and everything to do with your partner." Addison inclines her head towards Bizzy, who has now settled beside her on the sofa. She watches as the men stream out of the room. The Montgomerys have not played doubles in roughly twenty years. The occasional games fell away when Archer, and then Addison, went to college, and around that time, the Captain also begged off, citing jumper's knee and sailing conflicts, which would have left Addison without a partner even if she wanted to keep playing. She knows her parents still casually play sometimes, exchanging harmless, non-injury-inducing volleys, but it is nothing like when the four of them played. Addison remembers those matches. They were competitive. "Other than the one guy who was nationally ranked in his early twenties," she says to Bizzy, "you were a stronger tennis player than any of the instructors we had."

"Yes. I was quite good, when I was younger," Bizzy says, lips quirking into a smile. "So were you. Your brother was a fine player, but not…not like you. He was lazy. You always wanted it more than he did."

It was never about wanting "it" more than your son, Addison thinks. I just wanted your approval. Yours and the Captain's. I wanted you to be proud of me, to accept me, to love me.

"Would you like some more water?" Bizzy offers, starting to reach for a nearby bell.

"No, thank you. But I would like…I would like for you to hold your granddaughter before we leave." Addison does not know what has come over her, but she does not wait for Bizzy to respond. She settles Clara along Bizzy's legs, tucking her daughter's feet close to Bizzy's waist, and balancing her head near her knees. Bizzy's hands drop automatically behind Clara's head, offering support. During their time here, Bizzy has touched Clara's cheek, and smiled at her, and let Clara grasp her finger, but she has not held her yet. Addison guides a small plush rattle into one of Clara's fists, knowing she likely cannot rely on her mother to offer much in the way of engagement and stimulation. That was more of a nanny thing.

"She's lovely, Addison." Bizzy looks at Clara while she talks. "Have her other grandparents met her?"

"Mark's dad came down for the weekend when she was about six weeks old. And Mark's mother actually passed away five years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been…cramped though, with all of you in the apartment?"

Addison can hear the scornfulness in her mother's voice, and tries to answer amicably. "It's a pretty big apartment, but, yes, a third adult does make it crowded," she replies. "Everett said he didn't mind sleeping on the couch though. And if you and the Captain ever wanted to come visit...The Lowell is pretty close by; I know you've always been pleased with their service. Mark and I have talked about getting something bigger one day, but not…not just yet." Addison adjusts the gold cuff bracelet on her wrist. A Mother's Day gift. She leaves that part unsaid. She and Archer always tag team sending flowers to Bizzy for Mother's Day and scotch to the Captain for Father's Day, but it is more of a formality than anything else. Certainly not a celebration, because Bizzy thinks holidays geared towards sentimentality are nonsensical and rather tasteless. And while Addison has compassion for how complicated the two holidays can be for a lot of people for a lot of reasons, her first Mother's Day was a wonderful one.

"This is from Clara…with some help from her dad," Mark said last Sunday when he handed her a satin drawstring bag with the bracelet nestled inside. They were sitting next to each other on the ribboned edge of the activity mat, laughing over their daughter's enthusiasm as she tried to reach towards one of the sensory toys dangling above her. "And that right there…" he pointed out the numbers etched inside the bracelet. "These are the coordinates for our address. Lynette told me that getting jewelry with the longitude and latitude inscribed is kind of a thing now, and then I double-checked with Savvy, and she thought you'd like it."

"I do like it." Addison eased the bracelet on her wrist. "I love it. Thank you, Mark. And thank you, Clara. It's beautiful. All that input though…are you second guessing your gift-giving ability?"

"No." He grinned. "I like to think I know you well, but I just feel that, one: there's knowing the woman you love, and two: there's knowing the jewelry preferences of the woman you love. Those are very different things. So. I figured it wouldn't hurt to make some inquiries first. I almost went with the hospital coordinates, but then I just thought…this is where we brought her home. It's her first home. And our first home. And I know some of the history of us being here together is…soap opera-ish, but it's…it's mostly good memories." Mark shook his head, chuckling a little. "She's going to be so embarrassed one day when she realizes how cheesy her old man is, sometimes."

"Well, I won't be embarrassed." Addison leaned forward and parted her lips against his, offering him a drawn-out kiss to express her gratitude. "I like the cheese as much as Clara likes that little rattle circle she keeps reaching for. Thank you."

Bizzy makes a low sound through clenched teeth before she speaks again. "I presume you intend for this relationship to last?"

"Yes, I do. It'll last. He's the right one. And the last one."

"And…marriage?"

"One day," Addison replies. She knows that it is not like Bizzy is angling for an invitation; it's just the way it looks to her that her daughter birthed a child while unwed. Addison and Mark have not really talked about what their wedding would look like, but she thinks they would both be in agreement that they would prefer it to be small, maybe even just them. "We're not in a rush. We're a bit too busy with Clara to plan anything right now. Bizzy, I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it to Susan's memorial thing a few weeks ago. And last year…I know I missed that one, too." She watches as Clara blinks tiredly, each eyelid movement long and heavy. Clara does not seem to need any extra soothing in order to fall asleep. No surprises there as far as Addison is concerned, since the schedule is pretty "off" today.

"You're never obligated to attend," Bizzy says stiffly. "And I know last year Savannah's due date was around then, so of course you had to stay close by. They did the balloon release again. I wish Andrea would move on to something less silly."

"Right. I…I should be able to make next year's though. I want to come. It'll be easier, since Clara will be older. And Savvy and Weiss are just planning on the one baby, so." Addison takes a deep breath. She did not think she would do this today. She does not know if it is even right to do this today. She had not told Mark she was going to do this anytime soon, nor Marie, who has tried to role play the potential conversation with Addison, even though it makes her uncomfortable and more times than not she has tearfully begged to talk about something else instead. "Bizzy…you said…after Susan died, you said that your life began when you met her. You loved Susan. You were in love with her. And she was in love with you." Addison does not ask. She merely states it. Bizzy continues to watch Clara, but she has gone perfectly still. And maybe the way this conversation is playing out is manipulative, since Clara is in Bizzy's lap. Her mother is trapped here. Especially now that Clara has fallen asleep. "When I told you I was pregnant, I brought it up…sort of…but then I backed off. And now…now I don't want to back off. I want to talk about it. So. You and Susan were in love."

"Yes." Bizzy nods, still focused on Clara. She gives the sleeping infant a small, gentle smile, but her words are serious when she intones, "For…for a long time. Almost fifteen years. But I stayed with your father. I was worried about what people would think. Plus, I loved your father. Not like I loved Susan, but I did love him. I still do. It's just a different kind of love. And ending a marriage, as you know, is difficult."

"The Captain knew though?" Addison knows that her brother knows about Bizzy and Susan because of a conversation they had last June when Archer was in town, but Archer has never said anything about it to anyone other than Addison. And while Addison has long suspected the Captain knew, she still needs to hear it.

"Yes. He knew. And he had…his own ways of dealing with it."

Right. That much Addison is certain of.

"Did you ever seriously think about leaving him when we were growing up, and when…when you were seeing Susan?" She asks, knowing that the more information she requests, the bigger chance she risks of Bizzy shutting down completely.

"Yes. All the time."

"And now?"

Bizzy makes a noise that falls somewhere between annoyance and disbelief. "What would I do now?" She looks sharply at Addison, before returning her gaze to Clara. "Own the fact that I'm a lesbian when I've spent nearly my entire life pretending I wasn't? Date? If I could even bear the thought of it…" she winces. "I wouldn't know how. Your father and I…we made a good life together. And we're best friends. We have separate lives, maybe, but we're still…close. Just not in the way that husbands and wives usually are. I wouldn't really have anywhere else to go, if I left him." Bizzy adjusts her hands, moving one directly behind Clara's head and using the other to smooth at Clara's wisps of strawberry blonde hair. "But it's not like…I'm able to keep myself occupied. You know how many committees I'm on or chair, and I have friends, and things to keep me going. There are ways to make sure it all hovers somewhere between good and bearable. This is just what the rest of my life looks like, without Susan."

"If this isn't…I could help you figure it out though, if you change your mind. If you wanted the rest of your life to look different, I mean." It is an incredibly strange thing to say aloud, and Addison feels a coldness flood through her for putting it out there. Did I just tell you to divorce my father? And start going out with women?

"Oh, no, dear. I'll be fine. I'll manage. That's what Forbes women do. And Montgomery women. I didn't realize…it wasn't until a few weeks after the incident that your father mentioned you cleaned the wine cellar. I just assumed…maybe I didn't assume anything. I just didn't know. It took me a long time to go back down there." Bizzy continues stroking Clara's hair, her words soft but sturdy-sounding. "No one went down there, for a long time. That was really brave of you though, to do that. And more than I deserved. But I realized…" Bizzy inhales deeply, chest rising with the motion. "You missed spots. On the doorknob, and…and next to the doorknob."

For a moment, Addison cannot breathe.

"My…my cleaning attempt left something to be desired." She wants to snatch Clara out of her mother's lap and run out the door. Her voice starts to shake. "Bizzy…how can you say that to me? You have no idea…of all the things you've ever said -"

"No." Bizzy turns towards her, and Addison's lips part in surprise when she sees that her mother's brown eyes are glassy-looking. "I'm not…that's not…" she lifts the hand that was stroking Clara's hair, and holds it up. Her fingers clench a bit, as though forming a claw, and then her hand rotates back and forth, like a pendulum. Addison wants to look away. The urge to run is still strong. She has trained herself in the past few years to avoid looking at her mother's wrists and hands, especially when they are moving. It has not been particularly difficult to accomplish; Bizzy does not talk with her hands. Addison is the only Montgomery who does. And no one could ever quite break her of the habit, of the various ways her hands would swirl through the air as she punctuated her sentences, even though Bizzy discouraged it. Four years gone, and the scars sliced over the delicate skin on the inside of her mother's wrists are faint now, either pink or silvery-white depending on the lighting. You maybe would not even see them if you did not know what you were looking for, if you were not actively looking for something. Scar concealer application, and alternating between the Bulgari and Chopard watches helps to some degree too, Addison knows. But mostly, time has passed. Time has healed the angry red slashes, healed everything that exists externally.

She does not look away this time. She watches as her mother's hand continues to move, back and forth, like she is mimicking something, almost like –

"You tried to open the door," Addison says when she thinks she understands. Bizzy lowers her hand, the change in action meant to serve as an unspoken yes. Addison thinks of the wine cellar door in the basement, of opening it, of finding her mother sprawled on the floor, unconscious and pale-faced and bleeding. Blood on her wrists, on her hands, on the floor. The smell of it and spilled alcohol was nearly caustic in the air. "After you hurt yourself, you tried…you tried to…to get out of there? To get help? You…you changed your mind?"

Bizzy's teeth briefly sink into her lower lip. "I don't know," she admits, voice low as she secures her other hand beneath Clara's head again. "I didn't think I could live without her. I didn't want to live without her. I wanted to die, I did, but I also…I was also a little too scared to die. So maybe what actually happened after I took the glass from the bottle I broke and did…what I did…maybe what happened is that I didn't want to live, but I didn't really want to die, either. I don't know if that makes any sense."

Did you feel invisible, too? Addison thinks. When the person who loved you the most was no longer there, did you start to feel invisible, and everything stopped making sense?

Her parents did eventually fix the cellar door after Patch Gold was able to lock Addison inside because the doorknob locked from the outside. Addison has thought more than once how lucky they were that Bizzy did not turn the lock on the knob, had not locked all of them out. The lock was a simple twist button though, easy enough to turn before the door was fully shut. Bizzy could have locked them out. But if the knob was never switched, she could have just as easily locked herself inside. Is one worse than the other? Addison has thought about that, too.

"And I guess," Bizzy continues, "deep down I knew there were reasons I shouldn't die. Reasons to live. Specifically, my children. And my husband. So, yes and no. At the time I wanted to die because I didn't want to have to live anymore, and I also…I also didn't want to die. Because two things can be true sometimes, don't you think?"

She knows better than most. For a long time, Addison wanted to leave her husband, but she also didn't want to. For a long time, she was in love with two men. For a long time, there were as many reasons to stay as there were reasons to go. She remembers last spring, when she and Mark were eating Chinese food, and he pointed out the two waiting fortune cookies. Pick one, he suggested. I can't, she said, fighting back tears. You pick first. Pick for me.

"Yes," Addison says, chest tight as she tries not to weep. She can see that Bizzy's eyes no longer have a watery sheen to them. "Two things can be true."

"I'm sorry you had to find me how…how you found me. But, thank you, for looking for me. For finding me. And for saving me."

A sound ripples in the back of Addison's throat, but she thinks it is too faint for her mother to hear. But maybe it was not too faint, because Bizzy is suddenly easing one of her palms out from under Clara again, and is bringing it towards Addison's face. She takes Addison's cheek in her hand, and lightly pats it.

Addison finds herself thinking that every time she has been to her parents' house since her mother tried to take her own life, that no one has had to go down to the cellar to get another bottle of wine. Part of the appeal of the wine cellar for Bizzy was to draw attention to the fact that they had one, rather than allowing it to just be another behind-the-scenes task completed by "the help." Addison can hear her mother's voice, making requests of her children, especially when others were present. Archer, we could use another white – something from the third row would be splendid. Addison, be a dear and go grab a Margaux for the table. But now, Addison realizes, the bottles are already out whenever she visits, perhaps done in advance so that she would not have to go down to the basement again.

"Thank you," Addison croaks out when Bizzy's hand drops to her shoulder, still doing the patting motion. "For being honest with me." Bizzy's hand returns to the curve of her cheek, and the adjustment between cheek and shoulder stirs in Addison a vague, split-second memory of playing with Caroline Roland, of rubbing their stomachs and patting their heads at the same time, giggling when they tried to switch up the pattern. It was some sort of game, or something, that Caroline's brother said was tricky, because different parts of your brain are doing different jobs. There is a contradictory similarity to what Bizzy is doing now that Addison cannot quite follow all the way through yet. She just knows that what her mother is doing is not a hug, but it sort of is a hug, because it is what Bizzy is capable of extending.

"Your daughter is lovely, Addison," she repeats. Her hand leaves Addison's shoulder, and goes back to Clara. Her thumb trails slowly along Clara's little chin. "Just lovely."

It is not enough, in most ways. But it is also, in most ways, the best her mother can do, and certainly not nothing. This is at least a start. Maybe. And even if there is never really anything more than this on the subject, there is no lack of love or enough-ness in Addison's life now, anyway.

. .
. .

"Wow. I get company this time?" Mark says when Addison settles into the front seat after Clara has been buckled in (still sleeping, and back in her onesie). They gathered up their belongings and said their goodbyes shortly after Archer, the Captain, and him came back inside. To Mark's surprise, Bizzy was holding Clara in her lap when they entered the family room. The two women were talking about flowers, like a recent competition or something, and they appeared to be in pleasant moods (this family and the amount of conversations they dedicate to flowers…Mark does not get it).

It feels like he and Addison are leaving on a high note, or as high as is possible with this family.

"You do get company." Addison smiles at him when he starts the car. "And hopefully she'll just sleep the whole way."

"Fingers crossed. That went…that went pretty well, don't you think?"

"It did."

"I'm not saying we do it every week – and obviously you're not saying it either – but still, all things considered, it went well. I just can't believe…I'm trying not to judge, but who willingly goes with clay for a tennis court? Are they big French Open fans?" Mark comes to a stop when they reach the gates. "Because the bounce alone on that damn thing is just going to…Addie?" He looks over at her. It is just something about her face. It is still incredible to him, even after all this time, all this closeness, how expressive Addison is with her mouth and eyes and eyebrows. She can covey so much with just the subtlest, tiniest movement. And upon hearing her name, the subtleness he briefly saw shifts into something more. Now her eyes are bright with unshed tears and her lips are trembling. "Okay…just…" Mark pulls out onto the street, and then guides them over to the side of the road so that they can be afforded more privacy, even though it occurs to him that if Bizzy and the Captain are not the kind of parents who open the door for their child, they are probably not the kind who would watch their child drive away, either. "What is it? What did they do?"

They is probably not fair. Archer would never do anything to hurt her. It is one of her parents, most likely Bizzy. The two of them were alone when Mark was trying to keep his opinion on the tennis court to himself, and avoid being too close to the cigar smokers. A wave of guilt crashes through Mark's chest. Something must have happened when he left Addison alone with Bizzy, and fuck, she really did seem to indicate that she felt comfortable with him going outside with her dad and brother, but now he wonders if he misinterpreted the look.

"It's not…it's not bad," she says, voice thick and quiver-filled as tears begin to fall. "It's kind of a good thing, actually. Just…it's just a lot."

Mark folds one of her hands in his, and uses his free one to rub her spine. "A lot of feelings?"

"Y-yeah."

"Do you want me to come around, or…?" He wants to be closer, to take Addison in his arms, but there are no good options. He could crouch outside her door, but it would not be comfortable. There is not enough room for lap sitting, not in the front, and certainly not in the back with Clara's car seat in the middle. He could coax her out of the car and give her a hug since they are far enough off the street, with a fair amount of space thanks to the gravel in place of a sidewalk barrier, but he would prefer not to idle here, and is sure Addison feels the same way.

"No, it's okay. This feels good." She places her other hand on top of their joined ones. "I'm just…I'm just going to give you the short version, and then I'll give you the extended one when we're home. Bizzy admitted she was in love with Susan. For…for a long time. And she and my dad are mostly just married in name. And the Captain knew. So all those times I lied or covered for him, or looked the other way, as Montgomerys do…" Addison shakes her head. More of that can come later. "Mostly, what I want to tell you right now is that Bizzy…she tried to save herself. Before I saved her, she tried to save herself."

. .
. .

It reminds Addison of last spring, when she was lying in Mark's arms and first told him about her mother's suicide attempt. He brings out a vulnerability in her that she has never had before, one that allows her to feel comfortable expressing herself. All those shadowed corners, those locked-from-the-inside-or-the-outside rooms – somehow they find each other in them, each and every time. His lips are gentle when they touch her hair. He does not push, he does not press, but gradually, and then suddenly, Addison is able to share. Her words come out slowly as they cuddle in bed, his chest warm against her back as he holds her tightly, but the words do come out. All of it. Everything.

"At the time…" Addison tells him once she has made her way through this afternoon's events. "I felt…well, I felt so many things, after she tried to kill herself, but one of the things I felt the most was that I was unworthy of her love. That I wasn't enough for her. Or…or by extension, for anyone." She can feel how roughly Mark tugs in air behind her. He also knows what it is like to have had to carry around the feeling that who you are at the very core is not sufficient. He tips his head into the space between her neck and shoulder. "I know that's not true. I know I'm worthy of being loved, and that I am loved. But she tried…she tried to end her life even though she still had me, and my brother, and my dad. I know that's not really how it works – Bizzy was in pain, and whatever she was or wasn't thinking, whoever she was thinking about or wasn't thinking about, it was all beyond her control when she reached that level of distress. So it was comforting in a weird way to find out that…that she did think of me. That, at the very end, or what was supposed to be the very end, I mattered to her. I'm okay, Mark. Today was just a lot. I'm glad I know what I know now though. And I'm sort of glad we went to see my family. Well…" she grins weakly. "Our family. Sorry. If you want to be my boyfriend, now you have to count them as yours, too."

"I can handle that."

"There were other things I didn't bring up with Bizzy, that I still…need to at some point, probably. I didn't bring up the fact that she made me feel like I was responsible for Susan's death. She was mad that I respected the DNR order, and that I initially didn't want to operate. I guess in the long-run, Bizzy probably realized it wasn't myfault, because she was asking for the impossible, but…but yeah. And then I didn't bring up the slap." Addison pauses, realizing he doesn't know. "When I first looked at Susan, and saw the scans, I told Bizzy the cancer was too far advanced, that anything I tried was going to be experimental at best. And she slapped me across the face." Addison can feel the tension in Mark's chest again, the push and pull of anger that this happened to her. "It was that day where you waited with me for Derek. We sat on the hospital bed and you held my hand."

"I remember. You were teary-eyed, and sort of pale, but I didn't think…" he tries to remember if there was a marking, a red splotch on her cheek, but he can't. "I'm sorry, Red. God, I'm sorry. She shouldn't have done that, no matter how upset she was. You didn't deserve that."

"I shouldn't have been surprised by how much it hurt. She was good with both, but her forehand was always better than her backhand." It's a crude joke, and Addison knows that. "Anyway, there's a lot I haven't talked about with her yet. I've apologized for so many things where she was the one in the wrong, not me. But at least…at least I started somewhere." Addison knows Marie will be proud of her for at least marching into the dialogue today. "Mark?" She twists around in his arms, and one of his hands drops to her side. "I need to know that when I'm telling you this, you're not filling up with Hulk-rage, or something. I don't want you to have to carry this around. I'd feel awful if…just." She shrugs. "I don't know."

"I'm not angry." Well. Mark sort of is. It is anger he can find a way to set aside though. The fact that it is historical helps, but only a little. But for Addison, he will find a way to work through it, to tamp down the really cliché "cave man" thing he is feeling. "I'm just sad for you."

"I'm okay though. And I'll talk about it with Marie, too, and I'll tell you if I'm sincerely not okay." She offers him a small smile. "Still love me for who I am?"

He nods. "Absolutely. On the drive back, I was thinking...that flower thing with Bizzy…"

Addison almost laughs. "You need to be more specific," she tells him. "There are lots of flower things with my mother."

"Right. I think it was the spring after Susan died. I'm pretty sure. We were all in Connecticut for the weekend. You and Derek were there for a flower thing of Bizzy's – a show or competition, or something – and I met up with you. I was in the area because I was operating at Yale New Haven that Monday. And you seemed fine, but you also…you also didn't seem fine once we got to the event. It just seemed like maybe you were struggling, but I didn't say anything about it, to you or to Derek. I sort of wish I had, at the time."

"I was struggling," Addison admits, touched that he made this observation. There were flowers everywhere, and there was drinks everywhere, liquid trapped in flutes and wine glasses. The sharpened gleam of glass kept catching in the dappled sunlight. "It was just too much, I think, being there and having to socialize and seeing Bizzy in her element. I ran into an old friend there…Caroline. She was always really sweet growing up. I was shy, just painfully shy. She had better friends than me – ones she was closer to and wanted to hang out with more than me, I mean – but she was still always nice to me, and would try to include me in things. At one point, just the two of us were talking, and she asked me if I was okay, and I was able to make up a work-related excuse for why I was starting to lose it, but then I started to breathe really heavily, just short of hyperventilating, and she casually reached into her bag, popped open a pill bottle, and gave me an Ativan. She made some sort of joke that would have been funny if the context was anything else…she said something like, 'Come on, it'll help. You know your mother would die if she saw you having a panic attack in public.' And I joked back, that Bizzy would call it 'the vapors,' but none of it…none of it was actually funny." Addison sighs. "Not after what happened the year before. I was grateful though, for Caroline…for her compassion that day, and for her pharmaceutical purse. So I took the pill and it helped me calm down again…and then it really calmed me down and made me sleepy, so I fell asleep during the car ride back."

"I thought maybe you were just exhausted from work. You were still a genetics fellow at the time. I remember that."

Addison nods. "The fellowship definitely did wipe me out, most days. And after what happened with Bizzy…there were a few weeks where I pushed Derek away. And I shouldn't have. So if I ever start -"

"You won't."

"But if I do -"

"Push all you want." Mark sets her hand on his chest. She can feel the strength, the solid weight of him. "I'm not going anywhere. I was thinking, for your birthday…how would you feel about a weekend in Westhampton? An early birthday thing, maybe? Your birthday is so close to the end of the month and you start back at the hospital on the first, so I thought we could celebrate the weekend before. And celebrate on your actual birthday, of course, but for the weekend away part…the weekend before."

Addison's eyes fill with tears, and he realizes what it is immediately, and feels horrible for not mentioning an important part. The most important part. "Clara -" she chokes out.

"She'd be with us," he says quickly. "Hey…hey…" he strokes her hair, fingers slipping through the fragrant locks, and Addison exhales gently, soothed by his touch. "She'd be with us. Okay? It's not just you. I can't imagine being apart from her overnight anytime soon either."

"Okay. Yeah, that…that sounds good. I'm…I'm going to struggle a bit, with going back to work." Addison wants to help, to fix, to operate, to use more of her brain cells again, to share her gift. But mostly, she just wants to be Clara's mommy.

"I know," he replies. "And speaking as someone who has been back at work for a little bit…it's tough, but I promise it gets easier. And you're easing back into it, right?" He waits for Addison to nod in agreement. She plans to start off with half-days her first week back. "And Paulina…" he says in reference to the nanny they recently hired, after finding out about her availability thanks to Rowan and Beckett's mom. "She's great, and she's going to be one more person in Clara's life who cares about her. And there will be days she'll bring Clara by for lunch when it works with your schedule, right? But let's…let's try not to think about that right now."

"Okay. A weekend away does sound nice," Addison admits. "What day did you want to leave?"

"Whenever you want. I could probably take Thursday and Friday off."

"Maybe we could leave Friday. Friday morning? I have an appointment with Marie on Thursday and I…" she gives him a sheepish look. "I am clearly not in a place right now where I can miss a therapy session. I'm okay. I'm just -"

"You're feeling a lot right now."

"Yeah. Next weekend though...we can probably manage to have some adult time." Addison smiles meaningfully. "Or sooner, maybe." She briefly looks over her shoulder at the video monitor. Clara is, thankfully, starting to sleep for longer stretches at night. "She'll probably be up soon, but ideally there will be some adult time later when I'm no longer…as feelings-y."

"Definitely. Whenever you feel ready. And however much you feel ready for."

"Ah." Addison shields a laugh through closed lips. "So one of those books Lynette got for you talked about postpartum discomfort and body image stuff then."

"Well. That and the fact that I know you," Mark says. He cannot imagine a scenario in which Addison won't be self-conscious, no matter how beautiful he thinks motherhood looks on her. She has not been particularly shy after having Clara – she is just too tired to care if he sees her naked, for one thing – but diving back into being physical together, to putting his hands on her in that way, is different. And while it has never really come up in all the deep-sea explorations of their childhood they have embarked on in the past year, he noticed how Bizzy picked at her salad today at lunch, which made him certain Addison did not grow up with a healthy relationship with food. Mark also saw how carefully she examined herself when she was getting dressed this morning. Her posture was ramrod straight as she studied each outfit in the mirror. Maybe everything is a mirror around her family. Several outfits were tried on before she decided on a collared blouse with half-sleeves and a more relaxed silhouette, pants he knows she has previously described as "forgiving," and sensible flats (yes, she still loves heels, but they just aren't always practical while holding a baby). So, Mark knows her feeling comfortable about her postpartum figure will be a process.

"I probably will be sort of me about it," Addison admits.

"Well. It's a good thing it's not just about sex, right? Even though the sex was really good, and it'll still be good whenever we get back into it. We enjoyed each other before, and we'll enjoy each other again. And we can build up to it. We're good at that part."

"We're good at all the parts." Addison grins. "This is probably the longest stretch of abstinence you've ever had as an adult, isn't it?"

"Yes, but this is also the most tired I've ever been as an adult. Caring for a newborn easily trumps first year of residency exhaustion for me." He brushes his mouth to hers, meaning for the gesture to just be quick and comforting, but Addison responds, making one of those irresistible noises of hers when she deepens the kiss. Long, quiet moments pass as they embrace.

"This is nice," she whispers, lips flaring against his. They will not go any further than this right now – even with an "off" schedule today, Addison still expects their daughter to wake up soon – but it feels great to kiss, to be close, to feel his hands appreciatively exploring her curves.

"Yeah," Mark says back, and they start to laugh when they can hear Clara stirring and interrupting them, her little sounds piping out through the monitor. "Fun little preview of what the next eighteen years are going to look like," he teases. "Stay," he adds when Addison pushes onto an elbow. "I'll get her diaper changed and bring her to you."

Nursing has gotten easier for Addison, which makes it easier to enjoy and treasure the connection now, whether it's just her and Clara in the apartment, or Mark is there too, sitting close by while she feeds their daughter. Or maybe it is even especially treasure-worthy when Mark is with them and they are all in bed together. It is like a warm, protective space everything is happening inside of. Addison stays lying on her side, but makes herself available, and Mark positions Clara next to her. He sets a rolled-up receiving blanket behind Clara's back, but his hand is right there too, also keeping her steady. There is a gentle pulse to it, the way Addison can ask for what she needs, but the way he can also sometimes figure out what she needs before she expresses the thought. Parenting shorthand, yes. But also, love. We're a good team, she told him once. And right now is one of those times where the intimacy connecting them is equal parts emotional and experiential.

"Need anything?" He asks Addison as he settles down beside them. His hand is close to Clara's back in case the blanket behind her fails to be sufficient for balancing, but he resists touching her for now. The older Clara gets and the more aware of her surroundings she becomes, the more distractible she seems to be while eating.

"It's okay," Addison replies. "You can just be on kicky feet patrol." It is more of a joke than anything else. They can rarely tell when Clara's feet will flex and her legs will stretch out to kick at Addison. Plus, while not pleasant, Addison has sort of gotten used to it.

He smiles. "And grabby hand control." There is a lot of that now, too.

"Yes. Although with the groping one, that was sort of a regular occurrence before I started nursing…just in a very different context that we can't discuss in front of her." Addison grins at him, and then grows more serious. "I'm going to ask Amelia if she wants to come here sometime, and meet her. I don't know if she'll have time in the near future because I'm sure she's absolutely slammed, but I won't know if I don't ask." The exchange they shared after Clara was born was good, and the Hopefully I'll get to meet her at some point. was both boldly and casually put out there. Addison has realized the ball is probably in her court. She has been quick – perhaps too quick, in some cases – to assume all the people in her previous life will no longer want anything to do with her. "And I'm going to tell Savvy about Bizzy. I never told her about the suicide attempt. And I…I think I want to. Not that she…of course she'll be so kind and supportive, but it's still…it's a big deal to tell people."

"You know I'll support whatever you want to do."

"Thank you," she says. More long, quiet moments pass. "Hey…" Addison glances down when she can feel an absence of the pulling and tugging she has grown accustomed to. She sees Clara peaking up at her, not completely unlatched yet, but mostly just smiling at her. Addison remembers Phoebe doing something similar when she would hold a bottle for her. "Can you please focus on the task in front of you, Clarabelle?" Addison teases in a cooing voice. She strokes Clara's cheek until she resumes eating, her suckles a little slower now. "She can't take her eyes off me." Her daughter's smile is infectious, and even if it means mealtime is interrupted more often, Addison cannot resist smiling back, and feeling joyful that Clara looks at her with love.

"Clara and I have that in common."

"Such a charmer." Addison smirks at him. "I already said we'd be having adult time very, very soon, in case you didn't catch that part." She rubs Clara's cheek when her daughter releases again, and has the floppy-limbed, content posture of a satisfied baby. "All done, kiddo? That wasn't as much as usual, but you're pretty off your regular schedule, I know." She looks at Mark. "Can you…? Thank you," she says when he lifts Clara up and settles her on his shoulder, hand lightly patting at her back. Addison cannot quite bring herself to sit up yet. "You'll help me remember next time? To start with -"

"Start with the right one. Yep. I'm officially on boob-tracking duty. These are the weird things we're doing for you, you know." He kisses the side of Clara's head. "Addison…close your eyes if you're tired, bunny. Sleep for a bit. I've got her. The Yankees have a night game. One of us needs to get her interested in baseball, and we know it won't be you."

"You're a really good dad." It is the sort of remark that without context, she knows Savvy would roll her eyes at. You should hear the things Judith praises her son for, Addison remembers her saying when Phoebe was a few weeks old. The bar is ridiculously low for new dads. Weiss is great, but I'm sorry, he does not get credit just for changing diapers, for rocking her to sleep, for wearing her in a carrier. That's just insane.

"And you're a really good mom," Mark replies. "But you've had a hell of a day, so it's okay to rest."

"I will in a little bit. I think…I think I'd rather just be close to you both right now."

They stay close. They lie on their stomachs on the bed, with Clara in between them, squirming happily as they keep her entertained by stretching her arms over her head (which usually produces a cute baby giggle that is different from the pterodactyl noise), talking to her and listening as she "talks" back, and holding out various toys for her (but mostly the fox). The Yankee game is on in the background for Mark's benefit, though most of his attention is on Clara. Addison can feel herself starting to fade as Clara grasps onto her thumb and lets out another giggle, but if she does fall asleep, she knows that's okay. Mark has Clara. And her, too.

"Let's start thinking about buying something in Westhampton, too," Addison says in between innings. "I love you and I don't want to waste any more time just like…not doing things." She kisses Clara on the tip of her nose when she hears Mark agree. "It'll be so different for her, growing up in a home where her emotional bucket always gets filled." She looks at Mark and grants him a smile. "A Marie thing."

"I figured. Olivia has said something similar, I think. Different analogy though. You know they like to keep things fresh for us."

. .
. .

---

References/Notes/Nods to Various Episodes

PP references: Bizzy often said, "People plan, and God laughs" (5x01). Bizzy and the Captain have an entire conversation about flowers in season 3. The "Henry looks at me with love" thing. Mark said he doesn't like Archer (first Grey's/PP crossover). Some of the lines in this chapter about Bizzy dating/Addison offering to help her figure it out are from 4x13. And when Bizzy gives Addison a hug in 4x13, it is stiff and uncomfortable, and then marginally less so (keyword: marginally). Bizzy briefly alternates between patting Addison's shoulder and the side of her head, so I loosely worked with that while writing about the embrace Bizzy and Addison shared here. It's just…what Bizzy is/was able to offer, and that's the bleak reality. But Jesus, it was sad in the show, because that "hug" truly meant so much to Addison, and KW (she crushed this scene) worked through a lot of miniscule facial expressions to convey a blend of anxiety, surprise, sadness, and relief (and obviously it all got SADDER since we know what comes next, but). Addison describes herself as a worrier in 5x18.

Grey's references: The Yankees onesie (damn, speaking of sad things), the Addison/Alex exchange about plastics patients signing up for the pain they get, and the "we both really enjoy each other" comment. And I'm realizing the choice to make/chose wrong part (in the flashback) is what Derek said to Meredith in season 3, but that was not intentional.

Thank you for reading! I'm so appreciative of your comments and reviews. I know writers don't owe readers anything and readers don't owe writers anything, but I have poured everything I have into this story (especially chapters like this), and I know this fic has a pretty solid following, so please consider saying hello if you haven't before, or if you've been silent for a bit! I promise I don't bite. I love hearing from you all. Next up: somewhere around the one-year mark with Baby Clara, and then after that, we do a bit of a time jump.