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.

51. Let Lightning Be the Veins

A/N: Chapter title is a lyric from "Make It Rain," by Ed Sheeran. TW: sexual abuse is mentioned (not descriptive). And no Derek/Mark in-person interaction just yet. That's coming next chapter, I promise! Gotta build up to it first.

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Chapter 51. Let Lightning Be the Veins

Seven Years Earlier

It is snowing when Mark looks away from the frustratingly blank document on his laptop and shifts his concentration towards the windows surrounding the bedroom. Ice is sticking from floor to ceiling on the exterior glass, veiling the world outside. Addison should be here soon. He takes another glance at her last text, scanning over the words again: Leaving now. Lynette is with me because she insisted on not letting me take a cab by myself…even though her place is in the opposite direction. See you soon! On the first read-through, Mark felt his heart settle at the detail about Lynette. Not that Lynette knows anything yet about what happened, but he appreciates it all the same, that just by being with his bulldog of a receptionist, Addison has an extra level of safeness built in on her way back from Lincoln Center. There is a line between lovingly protective and overly protective though, and Mark thinks maybe he is unintentionally edging towards the latter. How could he not though, after this weekend? He supposes it is a question for Olivia the next time he sees her. He met with her two days ago, with Addison sitting beside him – and four-hundred dollars later and the fact that she let them come to her office after business hours leads Mark to believe that she's still not charging him enough.

He powers his laptop down and gets out of bed so he can place it on the dresser. No sense in starting something he cannot finish…not that he started anything. Just start writing. The phrase he shared with Addison and Derek more than once during med school while working on their respective research theses – and he said it many times to Derek before that, too – has stuck with him all evening. Addison and Derek were outliners. They figured out their discussion points and overall construction ahead of time. Sequential and methodical, the both of them. Not Mark. He just started typing, and somehow all those disjointed, slapdash thoughts eventually came together. It meant he finished his thesis on long-term physical outcomes following severe burn injuries weeks in advance, but it also meant Addison and Derek submitted their papers at the same time he did, since their respective works required a lot less editing.

Mark knows this is not the sort of thing he can bury the lede on. Not if he wants Derek to read the email, at least. Putting it in the subject line would be the most eye-catching – I just found out my mom was sexually abused. That would get his attention. All caps, even. It feels mean though…Derek has been through enough this year and probably doesn't need to be poked any further with someone else's trauma. A fresh, still-trying-to-come-to-terms-with-it trauma. The last email Mark sent his best friend was a week after the divorce was finalized. He did not share this contact attempt with Addison; she was too vulnerable the first few days after the papers were signed, and he did not want to do anything that might exacerbate her pain or guilt. And it wasn't anything Mark hadn't already said in the handful of texts he sent Derek after he walked in on them – variations of I'm really sorry and I didn't mean and I never wanted all rolled into one just start writing approach – but he felt compelled to say it once more anyway, even though the apology again went unanswered.

Wanting to tell Derek about Jenny is automatic, instinctual. It is no different than any other time in Mark's life where he had news – good or bad – to share, or even just something as simple as passing information along. Whenever someone told him, "You can't say anything to anyone else" or "Don't share this with anyone…" he was already thinking that this did not apply to Derek. Of course he would tell his best friend. He told him almost everything.

Almost.

Once Mark has crawled back under the comforter and has his back pressed against the headboard, he hears the front door being opened, followed by the quiet swishing noise of Addison removing her outermost layer – a hooded puffer coat she is partial to in the winter months – and tucking it back inside the coat closet. Her voice is bright and happy-tinged when she calls out a greeting, and Mark is once again so, so glad that he was able to talk her into going with Lynette to see an evening performance of The Nutcracker. Lynette had asked her last week if she wanted to go, because she had found out that her husband had a conflict the following Wednesday, and Addison had jumped at the chance, but after this weekend in Syracuse, she was reluctant to leave Mark…so maybe the loving versus overly protective thing goes both ways. Mark encouraged her to go though. He said he would be fine. And he is fine. Just…also not at all fine.

He has not seen Addison since this morning. And even that barely counts, because she was asleep when he kissed her on the temple before he left to head to the office. Addison on principle does not work the days leading up to Christmas (provided her time off gets approved), whereas Mark's reason for keeping his practice open until tomorrow, the twenty-third, is less about principle and more about practicality. If anything, his work picks up this time of year. Patients flock in in December for follow-up appointments from last month's cosmetic procedures or for Botox injections or for other walk-in-walk-out fixes ahead of holiday parties and family gatherings. He is off next week though, and he promised Addison that next year he will take more time off before Christmas, too.

"Hi." Addison smiles at him as she comes into the bedroom. The gray coat tucked under her elbow is one Mark recognizes. It falls in soft pleats to her knees, and has some sort of braided fastening that sits above her stomach. The dress is new though…or new to him, at least, so it has to be one of Savvy's. Addison had decided at the last minute that she was no longer enthused about the lace burgundy dress she was planning to wear to the ballet, so she went over to Savvy and Weiss's ahead of meeting Lynette so that she could scour through the handful of winter maternity dresses that Savvy thankfully had not gotten rid of yet. And Mark loved the lacy-looking one – she tried it on yesterday – but he loves the one she is currently donning, too. It is a fitted, deep green material that hangs slightly off her shoulders, with scallop trim under the lines of her collarbones, and a ruched, banded waist.

"Look at you," Mark comments when she eases down on the side of the bed, her hips angled towards him. "You look so pretty, bunny." He watches her gather two pieces of loosely curled hair and do a double-tuck behind her ears, both pleased and a little bashful over the compliment. He takes her face in his hands and leaves a soft, slow kiss on her lips. I'm really lucky. It is not the first time the thought has occurred to Mark. Especially lately. And he knows it is far from the last.

"Did you have a good time?" His parted mouth edges into a grin when Addison brushes her thumb along his lower lip, trying to clear off a smudge of transferred lipstick.

"I had a great time. The whole thing was just beautiful," Addison shares. "I'm glad I went."

"I'm glad, too. And I'm sure Lynette appreciated that you were able to fill in as her date. You probably enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than her husband would have, anyway."

"You know…I'm probably reading too much into this, but the seats we were in…we were in the second ring, on the side. And they were good seats, but the ideal spot for a performance is closer to the center aisle. Unless…" Addison grins weakly. "Unless you're a pregnant woman whose child likes to press on your bladder, and then the ideal spot is on the side, where we were, where there just so happens to be a really nice restroom right past the exit sign. It sort of felt like…like maybe when Lynette was buying the tickets and looking at the seating chart, like she chose the seats with me in mind. Not Larry." Addison raises a shoulder, visibly sheepish. "I'm sure that's not what actually happened though. I know it's silly." It does not sound silly to Mark though. He'll have to ask Lynette about it tomorrow. It would not be shock him if she had bought the ticket for Addison in a no-pressure sort of way, and Larry had just been the backup option; Lynette has come to adore Addison. Just like how Jenny would have adored her. "It was cold out there," Addison tacks on, shivering a little for emphasis.

"I can tell." He touches her cheek again, which feels wind-swept against his knuckles. "Go get ready for bed and then I'll warm you up." A thin smile accompanies Mark's statement, but it is not at all suggestive – for once – and he gets the feeling that Addison understands that when she gives his hand a tender squeeze before heading to the bathroom to wash up.

"How are you doing?" Addison asks quietly once they are in bed together. She was going to offer to rub his back, but as she was sliding under the comforter, Mark rolled onto his side and held an arm up in a way that gave her the impression he would rather just hold her.

"I'm doing okay. I was thinking…well, tonight I was actually thinking about emailing Derek and…and telling him." His words come out a bit haltingly. "I didn't really make it beyond the thinking part though."

"You could do that. It might help you feel a little better to try to tell him what's going on. To just put it into words, and to share the words. It's just that…you have to be prepared for the fact that he might not read it. Or…or reply to you." Mark swallows tensely in response. Addison's head is tucked beneath his chin, and she can feel the movement of his throat against the back of her skull. "Maybe see what Olivia thinks?" She suggests. "And I can go with you again, when you see her next week."

"I think I'll be okay solo. Thanks though." Mark hopes his gratitude sounds sincere. "How did Clara like the ballet?" He asks, wanting to talk about something more pleasant.

"Other than a few times where she slammed on my bladder with what felt like a sledge hammer, she barely moved. So either she was completely transfixed by the performance, or fell asleep because she was bored."

"Maybe she was deliberately ignoring the show because she found out the NYC Ballet goes with Marie for the girl, not Clara." He remembers Addison telling him this once, because an unexpected side effect of dating her is knowing way more about the adapted story and the production itself than he would really care to.

"Could be that reason, too. Lynette said she's all done with Clara's stocking. She wanted to add a few more sequins to the gingerbread house first. I'm going to come by at the end of the day tomorrow and pick it up. I know you could just bring it home, but I thought maybe we could ride back together." She bites the inside of her cheek when she feels another ripple in Mark's throat. Of course he didn't want his back rubbed tonight. She would have to face him for that. And cuddling with her in this position means she will not be able to see him cry. She can feel it though. "Mark…"

"It's okay, Red. I'm okay."

"Tell me what I can do."

"Just…just talk to me more about the ballet. What was your favorite part?"

"I liked the Waltz of the Snowflakes best. That's always been my favorite part. It's at the end of the first act, when Clara and the prince reach the Land of Snow. While the ballerinas are dancing, it actually snows. They drop some kind of paper from above, but it looks like real snow. It comes down in a flurry by the end. It's just beautiful. And they sweep the paper up and use it again for each performance. So. That was my favorite part. Do you want…I can talk about the performance some more, if you want. Just…can I face you? Can I please face you while I tell you about it?" Addison wiggles a little in his embrace, enough that he reluctantly loosens his grip so she can twist over.

"Hey…don't be embarrassed." Addison resettles herself on the pillow and then drags her fingers gently along his reddened, damp cheek. "And don't feel like you have to hide. It's okay, Mark. You told me once, after my divorce was finalized – and I know that's not the same thing as this – but you told me that when something sad happens, you're allowed to be sad and show that you're sad. What happened to Jenny was awful. And I know you're hurting." She places a hand on the largest part of his arm, and rests it there. He has always been so strong for her and tried to take her burdens away. Revealing his own emotional onslaught is just not comfortable for him. "It's okay to cry. You're not a burden. And you can be secure in your masculinity and still cry." She sees Mark's lips twitch in a hint of a smile. "You still want me to talk about the ballet?"

"Yeah, if you…if you don't mind. I like hearing your voice." Mark inhales slowly and closes his eyes. "The beginning…" he adds croakily. "It starts with Not Clara at the party, right?" He hears Addison laugh softly at Not Clara.

"Right. Not Clara's family is having a party on Christmas Eve, with lots of family and friends. And then a toymaker, Herr Drosselmeyer, shows up with presents for the kids…and he has with him a toy nutcracker for Not Clara…"

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The sound of conversation downstairs directs Addison out of her bath-induced reverie. Submersion in the warm water has been soothing and cathartic. Bubbles that linger on her exposed clavicle hiss softly, and the waving flame of a nearby pumpkin-something scented candle has left her hopeful that fall will eventually arrive and the heat will break.

How about you take a bath and just relax for a bit. It'll feel good, Mark suggested when they had started to get their clothes back on and mentally piece themselves back together after Addison told him more about her talk with Derek. She initially balked, claiming there was too much to do and they needed to go get the girls, but it was a weak protest, because God, a bath sounded amazing. And a long bubble bath, maybe even one complemented with an instrumental playlist and some sort of nourishing mask…that is a decadence Addison usually goes without, thanks to how busy their lives are. She relented though, with a little more coaxing. Don't worry about anything else. I can run you a bath and then I'll go pick up the girls. Mark was in motion the second she nodded in agreement, set on creating a peaceful environment for her to unwind in. Nothing about his efforts surprised her. Attentiveness, support, physical comfort: this has always been how Mark expresses love.

Love has to have movement. Addison had been thinking about the phrase just now, when she heard the rasping catch of the key in the entry lock, followed by the sound of Mark and the girls filtering back inside. And she was thinking about it earlier, too, when she and Derek walked over to the West 93rd Street entrance so he could meet up with Meredith and Theo at Safari Playground. Somehow Addison fell into step beside him when they left her office, and he did not object to her company. Seeing Derek again, talking with him…Addison thought her feelings would be more complex than this. Yes, finally having confirmation that he had fallen out of love with her towards the end of their marriage was brutally painful, and opened a fresh wound, but she has a strong enough support system and a strong enough sense of self now that any wounds she garners do not remain unstitched for long. It had been years since Addison had tormented herself with if I had said or if I didn't or if I only just thoughts in the wake of her marriage exploding, and it turned out…whatever was left of her feelings towards the man who was her husband for eleven years was not that complex after all. There was just appreciation for who Derek had become over the past seven years, and familial affection – not romantic affection – for who he was when they were younger, when they were happier, when he was that earnest student looking at her in Gross Anatomy, and when he was an eager, ambitious surgeon who wanted to save everyone. Love has to have movement. Addison knew what he meant, but she liked that there could be something literal to it, too. Yes, the particulars were a bit indecent, but the whole of it is that when she and Derek were at their most stagnant, with water slowly rising around them, she moved towards Mark, and he moved towards Meredith.

And that movement has broken and healed and stretched and strengthened her.

Derek pointed out a completely drenched Theo when Safari Playground was in sight. The little boy had found a prime position right beneath the arching spray of a sprinkler near a cluster of sculpted hippos. Meredith turned in their direction, and it almost startled Addison, because they were at least fifty feet away, but then, how many times had she felt Mark's presence before she set eyes on him, and then Derek's before him? Meredith's hair, which was down at her appointment, was now scraped back into a bun – a mom bun, but also a city in August bun – and she gave them both a wave, and a resigned but relaxed shrug with sun-facing palms, as if to say, I tried. And Addison laughed, comprehendingly, because there have been so many times the girls were not in the right attire, but wanted to play in the water anyway, and let's just stick our feet in very quickly turned into a head-to-toe wet child.

"Guess we'll be waiting for a bit before I request one of those car seat Lyfts," Derek murmured with a small grin. "I better get over there. She's been pushing it too hard with him lately. So…" he looked at Addison. "We'll be there at nine tomorrow, and then I'll drop Theo off in the room a little before ten…if a family room is available. And if he…if Mark is willing to watch him, I mean."

"I'll text you later to confirm," Addison replied, "but I'm sure it's fine. I'll call Nina on my way back, and I'm sure…I'm sure Mark is okay with it, too. We want to help. I'll text though. And as her surgeon…" she nodded towards Meredith, who was standing watch while Theo joyfully stomped his feet in lingering puddles. "I'll make it a point tomorrow to tell her not to push herself so hard."

"Addie…" Derek's touch was light when he circled his hands around her arms. It was such a different grip than the last memory she had of shared contact with him. And they are different people now, too. "Thank you, for doing this for us."

Thank you for doing this for us. It is a statement Addison could have just as easily said to Mark before he left to pick up Clara and Ruby. And she will say it later. That was another conversation she was thinking about when the familiar chorus of noise filled the duplex again, and before the rising sound of footsteps that she can now hear outside the bathroom. An unfinished conversation, because even though Mark readily agreed to watch Theo and assured her it would be fine, that he could be face-to-face with Derek and it would be fine, Addison still thinks they need to talk it through more. She knows it was not fair of her to extend such an offer to Derek and Meredith without talking to her husband first. Just like how it was not fair of her to spring the discussion about the prospective plans on Mark. He brought up the subject though, just as he had finished filling the tub, and she had to say something.

"I was thinking, about tomorrow…I know you probably won't be back until the early afternoon, so I was thinking I might take the girls to the first showing of that new princess movie that's out." Mark's nose wrinkled as he grinned. "I'm willing to take one for the team. But, if you're interested in thanking me later, then I wouldn't say no to the two us having -"

"You do need to take one for the team, actually." Addison fiddled nervously with the ties of her bathrobe as she raised her eyes to meet his. "But for something else."

"Mommy?"

"Hi, Clara." Addison arches her neck towards the bathroom door, which she left open a crack. It was not Mark's quiet footsteps then that she was hearing, but her daughter's. She can just make out one of Clara's blue eyes peeping shyly through the space between the door and frame. Clara has started to oscillate between Mom and Mommy, and it is bittersweet for Addison when it comes to embracing this new stage. "You can come in."

"Daddy gave me something to bring you."

For one insane half-second, she thinks Clara is about to hand her a glass of wine – and honestly, she would be pretty okay with her six-year-old being her sommelier given what an emotionally taxing morning it was – but of course it is just a bottle of water.

"Thank you." Addison quickly dries one of her hands on a towel draped over the lip of the tub, and then takes the bottle from Clara and sets it on the bamboo caddy in front of her. "That was nice of him, and really nice of you, too." She thinks Clara must have noticed that Mark was about to bring her a water, and asked if she could do it instead. And sending Clara was a great idea, since it gives her a chance to assess the situation herself. Addison assumes her husband told the girls to give her some space while she finishes her bath, and that alone would have heightened Clara's curiosity, because Addison has never just abandoned – yes, she knows that is a huge stretch – the kids in the middle of the afternoon for some R&R. "I'm okay." She gives Clara the most reassuring smile she can. "I had a long morning, so I'm just relaxing. Sort of like how sometimes you and Ruby have 'quiet time' for a little bit if you've had a busy day." Addison watches as Clara nods, understanding this. Her daughter feels with her entire heart. And while it can be challenging at times to raise a sensitive child, to make sure she is getting all the emotional support she needs, it is also never lost on Addison what an absolute privilege it is to have a child who so openly expresses her love. "I'll be down in just a few minutes," she adds, since Clara – so sweet and loving – still appears reluctant to leave. "I can't wait to hear all about how much fun you had at Phoebe's."

Clara visibly brightens at this. "Daddy said we could get pizza tonight," she shares. "And he said we could watch a movie." She tucks two little wisps of hair back behind her ears, and looks exactly like her mother as she does it. The rest of her strawberry blonde locks are pulled away from her face in a neat French braid. The credit goes to Mark, because when Addison left for the office this morning, the girls were still in pajamas and their hair was hanging in tangles around their cheeks. Admittedly, Addison was not sure how Mark would adjust to some of the, well, potentially girlier parts of raising girls, and she had assumed basic, three-strand braids would be his limit – but she should have known better than to underestimate him. Mark is a surgeon's surgeon, and can appreciate the fine dexterity needed for a lot of hairstyles. Addison still has him beat with crown braids (Clara loves those ones) and any manner of braided bangs that are completed before the hair is swept into a ponytail (Ruby's preference), but she can concede that Mark's sectioning for his French braids usually turns out a little better than hers.

"That sounds like a great idea." Addison feels wistful as she gestures with her hand towards the bubbles covering her. "You know, whenever I take a bath…" and it's not often enough, she adds in her head. "I think of you. I used to take baths with you when you were a baby."

Clara's mouth splits open in surprise. "You used to play in the bath with me?"

"We didn't play. You were too tiny for that. I'd just bring you in the tub with me so you'd stop screaming in my ear." This makes Clara giggle.

"Did I cry a lot?"

"No, not a lot. Just a regular amount. I think the water felt good on your tummy though, and it helped you to relax. It helped us both relax," Addison explains with a smile. "You're one of my two favorite girls in the whole world," she adds, chest tight with emotion. "You know that, right?"

"But since I'm older I've been your favorite for longer," Clara says, and Addison starts to laugh. A sweet, loving girl indeed, but certainly not insusceptible to sibling rivalry.

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Seven Years Earlier

4-7-8. Mark does it twice in his office after the very last of his notes have been entered. Inhale through your nose and count to four. Hold your breath for seven seconds. Exhale from your mouth for eight seconds, making a whooshing noise while you do it. He then gathers up everything he needs, locks the door to his office, and proceeds down the hall to Lynette's workspace and the reception area. Addison is already there; she and Lynette are standing close together, speaking animatedly while they look at a piece of paper Lynette is holding. The image of Mark's two favorite women getting along so well is somehow more centering than the breathing technique Olivia taught him. It is basically storybook-perfect, especially with the soft glow of white Christmas lights pinned around the reception window behind them.

"That porcini and truffle ravioli dish looks amazing – that's what I would get for a main. And oh…oh, what about that one as a starter?" Addison says, voice climbing a little with eagerness. Her eyes have not left what Mark now realizes is a printout of a menu, and her enthusiasm is predictable – no judgment from him, but her appetite has been voracious the past few weeks. Lynette hears him though as he comes closer, and she shoots him a quick nod before her gaze drifts back to the item Addison is pointing at. "Toasted walnut levain with an artisanal cheese assortment and seasonal fruits. Or there's the baked camembert that comes with -"

"Are you not feeding her, Mark?" Lynette cuts in teasingly.

"He is." Addison smiles happily when she realizes Mark is standing nearby. "I just miss soft cheeses. Hey, guess what…Lynette is going to Aveline's tonight." She walks over to him, and leans up to peck him on the cheek. "Aveline's," she repeats.

"That's great. You're saying that like it's supposed to mean something though."

"It's that new French restaurant that's impossible to get a table at," Lynette contributes. "But Larry knows a guy who knows a guy. We'll see though…you know these places end up being overrated half the time." She pushes a shiny red gift bag on her desk closer to Mark and Addison. "Make sure you don't forget this," she says, primarily addressing Addison. "Otherwise you're out of luck for displaying Clara's stocking for Christmas, because as soon as we leave this office, Mark and I have no plans to come back here until the third."

Addison picks the bag up. "We'll text you a picture when it's on the mantle – I'm putting it up right away – and you can text me later and tell me all about your meal."

"The cheese appetizers really do look good," Lynette admits. "But I'm concerned you're going to be disappointed when I tell you it was simply, 'good,' 'really good, or 'just okay.' I won't be able to give some sort of mouth-watering description like they do on that cooking show you both like." She takes a quick peek at her watch. "Well, it's almost five-thirty, so I -"'

"Hey, Lynnie…" Mark clears his throat. "I wanted to tell you…um. Just. Have a good Christmas."

"Aw. You have a good Christmas too, you big softie. And you too, Addie."

"She called me 'Addie.' I wasn't expecting that." A pleased smile is playing at Addison's lips when it is just the two of them again. Lynette has already headed off to dinner – with a promise to text Addison an update on the appetizers and main course. "You ready…?" She is busy winding her scarf around her neck, so she does not immediately register the stricken look on Mark's face. "Oh." She has noticed now. "Okay," she says, keeping her tone calm. "It's okay. Let's sit down a sec." She takes his hand in her smaller one, and walks over to the reception area so they can sit down in one of the double-seated waiting room chairs. She keeps holding his hand, and once they are seated, she wraps her free arm around his waist.

"Earlier…" Addison begins softly. "When you were wishing Lynette…were you thinking of telling her about Jenny?" She observes Mark nod, staring determinedly straight ahead. "Okay. Well, you'll tell her another day then. It's all right that you didn't go through with it today. Do you want to try the breathing thing?"

"No." Mark seems to comprehend this is kind of an odd response though, so he adds, "But I'll keep breathing. It's okay."

"That would be good. Let's just sit here for a bit before we catch a cab. We can enjoy the view." Addison giggles when Mark looks at her. "I'm so flattered. I actually meant that though." She lifts her chin up; silver and white foil snowflakes Lynette hung from the ceiling at the beginning of the month are winking at them. "You look wherever you want though. And…you can feel, too." She draws their connected hands onto her rounded stomach. "Our little one is kicking." She watches as Mark's lips curve up to form a broad smile. Nothing steadies him quite like getting to feel Clara move. Thank you, you little in-utero empath, she thinks as Mark rubs small circles on her stomach and stares up at the snowflakes. "Jeeeesus." Addison cannot quite keep the reaction to herself this time. Okay. Maybe not entirely an empath, then. "That one -"

"Was an elbow right to your ribcage. I felt it. Did Derek…did he ever tell you about Snowflake Day, when we were little? I know it's random," he adds, a little embarrassed for bringing it up.

"I don't…" Addison is puzzled. "I don't think so…"

The obvious answer is that Mark is thinking about it now because of all the snowflakes dangling from the ceiling, but he thinks the elbow jab was what really did it. The Christmas of his fourteenth year started out fine – as was usually the case with any morning in the Sloan household – but by eleven Jenny was passed out on the couch, her lower half soaked with urine. Mark muttered something to Everett about going over to Derek's house, and he was out the door before his father could say anything; Everett was too busy trying to take care of Jenny anyway to give much consideration to whatever his freshman son was up to. And Mrs. Shepherd would not care if Mark showed up unannounced. He was old enough and neglected enough now that she no longer asked, "Do your folks know you're here?"

"Happy Snowflake Day!" It was seven-year-old Amy who greeted him at the paint-chipped front door that afternoon. She had a new Cabbage Patch Kid tucked under one arm, and was smiling at him with several missing teeth. Mark remembered how a little sliver of her tongue was always poking through the gap.

"Amy." He responded with gusto, feeling ridiculous, but he knew Derek's sister would love it, and he sort of got a kick out of making her laugh. "Did Santa forget to bring you your front teeth?"

"I didn't put that on my list! I like having a cave between my teeth." Amy jabbered gleefully as Carolyn came up behind her in the entryway, wiping at her hands with a sugar fingerprinted dish towel. There was an unescapable air of sadness without Mr. Shepherd here – this was only their third holiday season without him – but Carolyn stuck to the usual Shepherd tradition of baking and cooking almost all day on Christmas anyway. It embarrassed Mark a little, thinking about the fact that when he left, she would probably give him food to take home. She ushered Mark further into the house while Amy continued to talk to him (or at him, because Mark was starting to look around the living room for Derek).

"Mark?" Amy said pointedly, and he finally looked back down at her. She was still now, no longer dancing in circles around him. "I'm wearing a new dress." She held up her chin, as though that changed the overall effect of the long-sleeved velvet dress she was wearing with poinsettias scattered all over it.

"It's a very pretty dress, Amy," he responded dutifully.

"I think someone has a crush," Carolyn reported when Amy had retreated into the kitchen, pink-cheeked and mumbling something about my snowflakes.

"Not very good taste then," Derek said as he approached Mark. And Mark just shrugged unconcernedly, deciding he probably did not need to share with his best friend that he was certain that Liz and Nancy were also harboring crushes. "Happy Snowflake Day."

"Uh…yeah. What is that?" Mark felt a flash of insecurity fill him. Was this something he was supposed to know? Like a normal, everybody-knows-this Christmas thing? The Shepherds, even while in mourning, always seemed to know exactly how holidays were meant to be celebrated. Their familial closeness – at least during those early years – was like a scene out of a kitschy calendar and just sort of highlighted the instability of Mark's own home life.

"Oh, wait," Addison says before Mark can start to explain about the snowflakes. "Right, sorry. I remember now. You're talking about the Christmas that Amy – Amelia – was really into making paper snowflakes, right?" Mark nods, and she starts to grimace, not entirely for how the memory plays out, but more for the retelling of the memory. It was one of those typical, "Hey, remember when Amy…?" stories that got brought up among the Shepherd sisters sometimes, usually when they were looking for a laugh. Addison can remember how uncomfortable Amelia looked on the two occasions the story about the snowflake incident was shared with her. The sisters' wide smiles and floaty hand motions during the exchange were meant to convey that it wasn't a big deal, that it was cute, but their supposed innocence did not really disguise the unkindness, from what Addison could observe. The memory seemed deeply painful to Amelia. "So she taped snowflakes up all over the house," she adds, "and then she made some sort of…taped-together chain with them around the kitchen and someone accidentally walked through it, and it ripped in half. And Amelia…was not happy about that."

"Right. It happened just after I got there. Amelia had run back into the kitchen to work on it some more. It was actually…sort of cute. Like, there were also snowflakes on the table that had peoples' names on them, like name cards. I think she was going to make one for me. And Kathleen had gone into the kitchen too, and she wasn't paying attention. She was grabbing her new Walkman off the counter, and she walked right through one of the chains that was taped to the counter and the back of a chair…and it tore in half."

Addison manages a small smile, and shares what she is thinking, even though it feels a little harsh: "I know it was an accident, but…if anyone was going to ruin Amelia's 'Snowflake Day,' it would have been Kathleen."

"Yeah, no kidding," Mark murmurs in agreement. "And Amelia turned into a banshee. Kicking, screaming, crying…somehow I ended up being the one who was holding her back from clawing Kathleen to shreds. I swear my eyes were watering by the end…you know how scrappy she's always been. I was taking sharp kicks to the shins, and elbows to the stomach, and one unfortunate swing of her arm that hit me…well." He shrugs, knowing Addison can finish that sentence herself. "There were a lot of elbows. And then she got sent to her room for calling Kate a 'fuck face.'"

"You ruined my Snowflake Day!" She had screamed at her oldest sister. "You…you fuck face."

Mark's grip on Amelia had slackened when she said it, and it was maybe the one time throughout her childhood he didn't have to fight back laughter when she cursed. Amelia had four older siblings, so she had a pretty advanced swear word vocabulary from an early age, and Mark knew it was wrong to laugh – because laughter meant validation to her – but God it was funny when she let a bad word fly, especially fuck face, which both then and now felt so child-specific. And plenty of bad words from Amelia were flying after a certain age. It's not like Carolyn stopped caring for her youngest child and meeting her needs after Mr. Shepherd died, but her parenting style was just…different after she became a widow. She was a little more removed from Amelia. The loss was apparently too big to leave room for much else.

Mark did not laugh that day. Amelia was far, far too old to be throwing a tantrum about the damaged snowflake chain, but Mark understood even then that it was not about the snowflakes; it was about how something she thought she had control over was taken from her. Hurt poured out of her that day. Mark's throat was tight when Mrs. Shepherd took Amelia out of his arms and dragged her by a tiny wrist to her bedroom. Amelia sat in her room for a "cooling off" period, and Mark worked with the rest of the Shepherd kids to tape the ripped snowflakes back together.

Where does it hurt? If Mark had asked Amelia, he is certain her answer would have been, Everywhere.

"I don't know why I'm thinking about that," he admits to Addison. "I think it's just…the snowflakes. And…and there was one Christmas where Derek texted me, 'Merry Christmas and Happy Snowflake Day.' He…he always texted me on Christmas. Even on the ones where I was already in Syracuse and was planning to come over and see you guys anyway…he would still text. And I guess…I guess I already knew this, but now I'm realizing for real that…that won't happen this year. Or…or any other years." He cruises his lips against the side of Addison's head. "Sorry," he adds ruefully. "I know this is hard on you."

"It's hard on both of us, Mark. And I think for the first time in a really long time, you're letting yourself feel how much it actually hurts."

. .
. .

"I finished the dolphin," Ruby announces proudly when Mark has returned from the kitchen after placing an order for pizza delivery. The girls are kneeling on the living room rug, fingers swirling around the puzzle pieces on the coffee table – the newest location for the puzzle (and the final one, because Mark is not doing the cardboard trick again). Addison is seated on the couch close by, and helping but not helping too much, which is a line that she and Mark have learned to toe because of two stubborn children. "See, Daddy?" Ruby points to the blue dolphin.

Addison notices Clara's head whip in her direction, mouth gaping with indignation. Clara was the one who located the final piece of the dolphin's tail fin (with an assist from Addison, who nudged the piece a little closer to her), but she allowed Ruby to connect the piece.

"Roodles…" Addison says. "You had some help though, right?"

Ruby nods, and then sweetly informs everyone in the room, unprompted, "Clara is really good at puzzles."

"It looks like you're both doing a great job." Mark takes a seat beside Addison while Clara beams at the unexpected sisterly praise. And us, too, he thinks. He and Addison could not help working on the puzzle a bit more after the girls went to bed last night. It was calming for them, given everything that has been going on. "Hey, so…" he looks over at Addison, who nods. They have discussed how they want the conversation to go. "Before we start the movie, we wanted to talk to you about our plans for tomorrow."

"No beach yet," Ruby intones. Mark and Addison very gently broke the news that it would be a little longer before they head to Westhampton.

"That's right," Addison says. "Not yet. I have to do a surgery tomorrow morning. And while I'm helping a mommy and her babies, you're going to go with Daddy to the hospital and -"

"Daycare?" The girls' voices are brimming with disappointment when they interrupt Addison. It is the obvious first thought for both of them, since their nanny is not available this week.

"No, not daycare." Mark's no is for them both, but he directs it more towards Clara, whose shoulders relax after hearing it. She does fine at daycare – if not a touch bored the older she gets – but the initial rush of passing through the door so Mark or Addison can sign the girls in is just a bit much. Too much noise. Too many faces. The uncertainty of not knowing what to play with, or if she should attempt to play with anyone other than her little sister. "It's more like…Dad Care." Tough room. Neither child laughs at his joke. "You're going to stay with me. While your mom is working, we're going to hang out in one of the rooms at the hospital where families can go sometimes; they're like mini playrooms. And we're going to have a friend come play with us for a bit. His name is Theo. Theo's dad is someone that me and your mom used to work with. And Mommy's patient tomorrow is Theo's mom. So we're going to watch Theo while your mom is with Theo's mom and dad."

"How old is Free-oh?" Ruby asks.

"Theo, baby. And he's almost two. He's like…like around the same age as Lucy's little brother." Mark shares a smile with Addison. For as close as they are with Ian and Sabrina's family – and they have a really cute picture of Clara and Ruby peeking into Samson's bassinet when he was a few weeks old – the younger Broderick sibling has always just been Lucy's little brother to the girls. For some reason, he does not really exist as a separate entity yet.

Ruby's lips curl to the side as she considers this. "Samson picks his nose."

"So do you, sometimes."

"No I don't."

"Sorry." Mark is apologetic, and then untruthful when he adds, "You're right; you never do."

"What are we gonna do after we play at the hospital?"

"We'll come back here and have lunch," Mark replies while he contemplates a different answer to a classic Ruby question: I am going to attempt to process what it was like seeing the guy who used to be my best friend.

. .
. .

Seven Years Earlier

"I think this is a sign we're parents." Addison gestures towards Clara's stocking, which is now hanging from a cast iron stocking holder on the mantle.

Mark grins. "That her stocking is finally up there, you mean?" It had been his suggestion to put Clara's stocking in between theirs. The Shepherds always went oldest to youngest with their stocking order. And so did Mark's family, for that matter. But it's funny – when he thinks of a festive fireplace at Christmastime, he thinks of the Shepherds' fireplace first.

"Yes, but I mostly said it because her stocking is so much nicer than ours. And I think that's supposed to be parenting 101, that your kids wind up with way nicer things than you do," Addison says with a laugh. The stockings she picked up for herself and Mark – holdovers until Lynette makes them stockings of their own at some point – look pretty lackluster next to Clara's.

"Good point. Hey…I know it won't include soft cheeses for your pregnant self, but did you want to get French for dinner? I don't think whatever Lynette texts you about her meal tonight is really going to do anything for you."

Addison squeezes his arm to get his attention, and he turns to face her. "Yeah, that sounds good," she says, voice soft. "Before we order though, I just wanted to let you know that whatever mood you wake up in tomorrow, and whatever mood you wake up in on Christmas…it's okay. Don't feel like you have to be anything other than however you're feeling. If…if that makes sense."

It makes sense in that Mark understands what she is getting at. It just does not make sense because this was not supposed to be what this week looked like. He did not think he was going to be the one who would be struggling to hold it together, who would not be feeling particularly festive. He was prepared to do everything he could to make Christmas enjoyable for Addison, since this is her first holiday season post-divorce, post very specific routines and plans and traditions. And now…well. Mark inhales shakily, not wanting to lose control of his emotions.

He sounds a little hoarse when he tells her, contritely, "You love Christmas though."

"I do love Christmas." Addison drapes her arms around his middle. "But I love you more, Mark."

"I don't think it ever occurred to me…" he cannot quite look at her for the next part. "Before, when I admitted I loved you…I don't think I really ever even entertained the notion that you might come to love me back."

"Well. It turns out you're a very, very easy person to fall in love with."

Two days later, Mark wakes up first on Christmas morning. Reedy threads of muted sunlight are slipping through the curtains, but it is still early. Addison is sleeping a few feet away, having rolled back to her side of the bed sometime during the night when their combined body heat became too much for her on top of the extra warmth pregnancy has plagued her with. The comforter is bunched around her waist, giving Mark a glimpse of the top of her white knit pajama set. The pajamas have a cheerful holly print and are trimmed with red. Addison looked faintly embarrassed the first time she wore them to bed, even though he never said anything.

And now as Mark scoots back over to her, he thinks of a text he received from Weiss in early December. It was a picture of him, Savvy, and Phoebe wearing matching blue pajamas with menorahs and dreidels on them, accompanied by a few words of warning: Good luck. This is going to be you next December, gentile-style. But Mark does not think he will mind too much if Addison wants to have family-themed pajamas next Christmas.

He tries to move slowly, but the dipping of the mattress is enough to pull Addison from slumber. She looks at him over her shoulder, and the sweet, languid smile she reveals is just for him. The love on her face – her heart showing on her face – nearly undoes him. Before her, no one ever looked at him like this.

"Merry Christmas," Mark whispers, and her smile only lengthens as she says it back. "I think…I think I'm going to make pancakes. Do you want some?"

"Have you known me to turn down a single morsel of food in the past few weeks?" Addison cannot help making a joke, but she recognizes the significance of his offer. Last weekend, Mark had brought up making pancakes on Christmas Day – the same kind Jenny used to make – but it was certainly not something Addison was going to hold him to. Not with the force of grief and sadness he has been carrying around lately. "I definitely want pancakes," she adds. "Can I help? Or at least stand there and look pretty while you make them?"

He skims his mouth against the rounded part of her cheek. "Either option works for me."

They spend most of their day cuddled on the couch in a slightly reclined position, still wearing their pajamas as they marathon a cooking show they both recently got into. Every once in a while Clara wiggles her limbs, making her in-utero presence known. Addison drifts in and out of sleep, but in her periods of wakefulness, she occasionally nuzzles her nose against the side of Mark's neck, and something about it just…it is real, for him. All of this is real. An Our First Christmas ornament Addison got for him is positioned on one of the upper branches of their Christmas tree. And a star that used to belong to Jenny – grossly outdated, but Addison did not mind when Mark said that maybe they could use that one – shines from the top. Everything feels broken and whole all at once, and maybe, maybe that is what life is supposed to be like. And as long as Mark has her and Clara, then that is okay.

"This is…this is the best Christmas I've ever had." He feels a little embarrassed to say it. Some of the things he says now just are kind of embarrassing. The best Christmas I've ever had. It is different than saying it is the happiest Christmas he has ever had – the ache in his chest about his mother is too deep to translate into happiness at the moment – but it is still something, and it is real, and it is the truth.

"Me too."

For a moment, Mark feels his throat seal shut. He just wanted Addison to know how he was feeling; he was not saying it to elicit an agreement, because he would honestly understand if she had had way better Christmases. But when she looks up at him, eyes a little shinier because of the lights on their tree blinking in the background, he knows she is telling the truth. That this is as real as real gets for her, too. She arches up so that she can press her lips to his.

. .
. .

"When we go to the hospital…" Clara's thought is sliced in half by a yawn, so Mark continues to tug her comforter up around her while he waits for the rest of her words. He gets her settled for the night in a cocoon of bedding that features ballerinas and flower garlands in soft, pastel colors. He and his wife never pushed with ballet, not wanting to be the kind of parents who had set opinions on what activities their daughters should and should not participate in, but by Clara's second ballet class, she was hooked. "I'm going to bring Theo from tomorrow one of my stuffed animals to play with," she finishes.

Mark smiles at his daughter's sentence construction at the same he feels that familiar skip-and-tug of his heartbeat. Before having children, he did not realize how intense the emotions would be at times. And he wishes Addison was here for this moment, rather than across the hall in Ruby's bedroom. At some point in the past two years, bedtime has become more of a this-one-then-that-one routine with the girls, who seem to benefit from having one-on-one time with each parent before they go to bed, instead of both parents saying goodnight at once.

"That's really nice of you, Clarabelle, but I think Theo's mommy and daddy will probably pack some toys for him. You don't need to bring anything for him." His older daughter loves babies and toddlers, so Mark thinks on some level Clara understands what they will be getting into – that Theo might cry when his dad leaves, that Theo might have differing opinions on what he wants to play, that Theo might not keep his hands to himself, and so on – but he doubts that Clara has paused to consider that if she brings a not-even-two-year-old a stuffed animal, odds are he is not going to part with it willingly when the play date is over. "And they have some toys and books in the room we're going to," he adds, "so we aren't going to bring too much with us."

"I still want to bring him a stuffed animal though." She blinks up at Mark thoughtfully. "What are Theo's mommy and daddy's names?"

He smiles at this one, too. Clara has always had an interest in names. When she was younger, she used to name the ducks who were in their line of sight in Central Park. "Theo's mom is named Meredith, and his dad is named Derek," Mark answers. He waits for a moment to see if Derek registers with her, but nothing. He figured that would be the case; it was almost a year ago, anyway, and she had too many other thoughts and worries bubbling in her that night to commit that small exchange to memory.

"You said…you said that you and Mommy used to work with Theo's dad…so his mom and dad are your friends?"

Mark tries to think if some mention of friend slipped out tonight when they were talking with the girls about their plans for tomorrow, but he doesn't believe so – he and Addison discussed their conversation ahead of time. And the mentioning of Derek's name a few seconds ago didn't seem to stir anything in Clara, which makes him realize that his daughter is simply creating her own connection, and why wouldn't she? Work equals friends, in her experience. They have Ian and Sabrina, and Aunt Lynette, and Priya, and plenty of other people Mark and Addison work with whose children the girls have played with.

"Yes," Mark tells Clara. Other than things that are not age-appropriate, they do not lie to their children. He and Addison carried too many secrets, both the ones they kept and the ones they did not know about but in most ways experienced throughout their childhood, to want to put Clara and Ruby through something similar. "Your mom and I know Derek. We never worked with Meredith, but we used to work with Derek." He takes a measured breath. "We…we were all close friends."

"How come we never see Derek if he's your friend? Does he live far away?"

"Yeah, he does. Remember when we went to LA and saw Naomi and Maya, and Sam, that one time? Derek and Meredith don't live in LA – they live in Washington, but it's on that side of the country, so yes, it's far away."

"Maybe you can text Derek and ask him what Theo's favorite animal is," Clara suggests. "Then I will know which one to bring." That is another thing she understands, at the ripe age of six (and-a-half next month, Mark knows she would add if she could read his thoughts). Friends send each other text messages.

"I'm sure Theo will like whatever animal you bring for him."

"But you can still ask."

"You're right." Mark swallows forcefully when he cannot find anything to counter with. "I can ask. I…I promise I'll ask, kiddo." It would be easier if this was Ruby, who would tumble into sleep and most likely forget all about this exchange. Clara will not though.

Mark finishes his portion of the bedtime routine with Clara, and pulls his phone out of his pocket once he is standing in the hallway again. He has a sliver of time since Addison is still with Ruby; bedtime with Ruby involves a lot of questions. He is close enough to Ruby's door that he has already heard her ask why she is left-handed but everyone else in the family is right-handed, and if she can get a new soup case ("suitcase") before they go to the Hamptons. There is time, but not enough time to really, really be able to think this through and obsess over the wording, and there is something comforting about that. Mark reminds himself that the worst that can happen is that Derek does not answer his text – right? That's the worst thing, right? – and even though it has been a long time, Mark remembers what that kind of silence feels like, anyway. None of this will probably change the shape of past hurt.

4-7-8. An inhale, a holding pattern, a nerve-settling exhale. Mark's fingers are quick over the keypad as he fires off the first text he has sent to Derek in seven years: Hey. Thinking of you guys and hoping everything goes well tomorrow. This is kind of random, but my older daughter wanted to bring a stuffed animal for your son to play with tomorrow. She was wondering if he had a favorite animal.

. .
. .

Five Years Earlier

It turns out their first Christmas as a couple was not their best one – this one is, in Mark's opinion, but it occurs to him that maybe Christmas will just keep getting better and better, especially as the girls become more aware of what is going on. The season is so much more magical with kids, Addison said once, and he agrees. And this Christmas is a white one, which only adds to the overall effect of complete bliss.

Mark smiles as a reindeer pajama-clad Clara walks over to him after being prompted by Addison to show off the most recent gift that has been opened. Clara, go show Daddy what you got. Mark is on "Ruby duty" at the moment, cradling their sleeping baby in his arms while he sits on a chaise close to the tree (moving is not an option, or at least not one he is willing to risk, because the newest member of their family does not sleep as deeply as her big sister did at this stage…if he is remembering correctly, and honestly, he and Addison are both so sleep-deprived that it is possible they are wrong). Clara has the paw of a stuffed sea otter wrapped tightly in her little fist, but her eyes are on Ruby when she approaches, which makes it more about the baby and less about showing off her newest stuffed animal. The otter was a different choice for them to have picked out, maybe, but they have enough damn ducks at this point…the problem was telling people that Clara liked ducks, because everyone seemed to jump on that. They are both still low-key annoyed with Archer for recently giving Clara a jumbo-sized plush duck that is easily three times her size (Addison, who was eight months pregnant at the time and hormonal as anything, went as far as to yell at Archer over the phone, "What the fuck are we supposed to do with this thing, Archie?"). But, naturally Clara loves it, and it is sort of adorable how she will prop herself against the duck while she flips through picture books.

"What did you get, Clarabelle?" Mark says when she sets a hand on his knee and leans forward to study the baby's face. The way Clara sometimes looks at her little sister is something that cracks Mark and Addison up. Seven weeks have passed since they brought sweet Ruby home from the hospital, but they swear sometimes their almost two-year-old completely forgets about the baby, and will look over at the bundle in either Mark or Addison's arms with the cutest, "What the hell is that?" expression on her face.

"Ruby is sleeping," Mark adds, making a "shh" noise with his pointer finger. Roo-wee seep, Clara says under her breath. She hands Mark the otter, opting to leave it with him when she goes back over to Addison, who is sitting close enough to the tree that one of her cheeks is freckled with multi-colored lights.

Mark glances a little to the left, where the marble fireplace is. There are four stockings drooping from it. All Lynette-made, all beautiful. And they belong together, since Lynette stuck with a Nutcracker theme. Clara's was first, of course, modeled after the Land of Sweets. And then came Mark and Addison's. Mark's stocking is arguably the simplest (and he's good with that), with nutcrackers surrounded by greenery. Addison's stocking reflects the opening scene at the Stahlbaum House, with presents and colorful ornaments in various shapes and sizes clinging to the soft material. And then Ruby's stocking was ready last week ("This is it, right? I don't know how much more my fingers can take," Lynette had teased when she handed it to them). The Waltz of the Snowflakes ended up being the inspiration for Ruby's stocking. The stocking is an icy blue color, and the cuffed part was somehow styled in a way that makes the white section at the top of the stocking look like melting ice. The body boasts a festive collection of dendrite snowflakes, sequins, and fake pearls, and there is a cheery-looking sled at the foot of the stocking that is festooned with silver bells.

Something about those four stockings hanging there with a fire crackling behind the glass and safety gate…it is cheesy, maybe, but it really does symbolize a family to Mark.

And it is just the four of them this year, and that is how they intend for it to be going forward. Last year, Mark's dad came for Christmas, and it was good – really good. Neither Mark nor Addison have any regrets about Everett coming, and Clara loved it, too. But there is something to be said about it being just them on Christmas Day, and when Mark brought it up with Olivia last month, she assured him that having boundaries is important, and that there was nothing wrong with inviting all the grandparents and Archer to come the weekend before Christmas, if that was what he and Addison wanted to do.

Addison notices where his attention is currently lingering, and she draws Mark out of his sentimental thoughts when she says, "Lynette outdid herself. Ruby's stocking turned out amazing. Well, they're all amazing. You know, later when the big one goes down for her nap, and assuming the other one chooses to also cooperatively nap…I'm feeling pretty good, and ready, and since I got the green light at my postpartum checkup…" she smirks. "We could embrace some grownup kiss-mas activities later."

He chuckles, understanding her meaning, and also the ongoing joke. Kissmas. That is how Clara endearingly pronounces it.

"I would love to have some grownup kiss-mas activities with you, Red."

Mark cannot stop smiling, even when they transition to less cryptic conversations in deference to little ears in the room. It is not just a family at this point. It is a complete family.

. .
. .

"It's a nice text," Addison says while Mark puts his phone back on his nightstand.

"Yeah. It's a nice text," he agrees. "I probably don't need to say anything back, but…but, yeah. It's a nice text." He sits down beside his wife on the storage bench at the end of their bed, and as he looks at her, he thinks about the fact that it is a little humiliating that he has already committed Derek's reply to memory. He could have just recited it to Addison rather than showing her his phone. Thanks. And that's really nice of Clara. Theo's favorite animal is a hippo, but he also likes anything you can see at the zoo.

"I'm glad he responded. I know Clara sort of forced your hand with that one, so…" Addison takes a deep breath. "I do feel really bad for dropping this on you, Mark. That wasn't fair. I don't even know what I was thinking when I offered up 'Dad Care' to Derek and Meredith. It really just came out -"

"You were being a parent. It's okay. I get it. I mean, come on…we do our best, but we don't always have time to run things by each other before we make decisions, especially when it's to help out another parent. Remember your birthday dinner?" They were doing their usual you-get-that-one-I'll-get-this-one routine this past May, and when Addison and Clara arrived at their family's favorite pizza place after Clara's ballet class, Mark, Ruby, and one of Ruby's classmates were sitting in a booth, waiting for them. "With our son, Griffin…who was definitely the politest of the Montgomery-Sloan kids that night," Mark finishes with a playful smile. "That was one of those things though where the wife was out of town and the husband was trying to get the older sibling to something at Dalton last minute, so I went ahead and offered -"

"But I wasn't ever married to Caleb," Addison interrupts. "I don't have…a past with Caleb. Neither of us has a past with Caleb. That's the thing."

"I'm not sure who this Caleb character is, but I hope he treated you well. Griffin's dad is Kevin. Don't spend any more time feeling bad about how this unfolded though; it's fine. I'm fine with watching Theo."

"It's not Kevin. Griffin's dad is definitely Caleb."

Mark taps her on the nose. "He's definitely not named Caleb, but, look…yeah, it will be weird to see Derek again, but it can't really be that weird because it's not like we're going to actually talk about any of it tomorrow. Not with the kids in the room, and not when Derek has bigger things to focus on."

"You're right that you won't get to talk tomorrow, but they'll be here until at least next Monday, so maybe there'll be another opportunity to talk to him," Addison offers, stating it like a question when her voice rises at the end. "And the fact that he texted you back is huge, Mark. He didn't have to do that. I know we don't want to get our hopes up about anything, but maybe…maybe you could talk for real at some point, just the two of you. Meredith will be taking it easy, but they can't keep Theo cooped up in a hotel room for days on end. So maybe if we were to have another play date or something, and I were to watch the kids, you and Derek could…sorry." She rolls her lips together when she sees Mark's expression start to change into one of wariness. "I'm getting ahead of myself."

"It's okay." He cannot really fault Addison for her enthusiasm. After all, her conversation with Derek today went well. Mark knows she has moved on from the guilt – because you can feel bad about something that happened in the past but eventually reach a point where you no longer experience active remorse over it – but this talk with Derek…this clearly meant so much to Addison, to have this closure with him. "It's just…he doesn't have to forgive me. He has no obligation to forgive me. He doesn't even have an obligation to talk to me, outside of letting me know if Theo has any allergies I need to be aware of."

"He didn't have to forgive me either though." Addison knows that forgive is a stretch, of course. Her conversation with Derek today was still significant, still meaningful, but at this point, she can tell from her ex-husband's perspective that the jumble of apologies she issued at numerous points in the aftermath of the affair ultimately just sums up to, It's behind us now.

Mark shakes his head. "There were things Derek owed you an apology for, regardless of what we did. And that's not really the case with me. I fell in love with you so quickly, and in some ways, that was all the justification I needed to keep…keep doing what we did, but I think I also tried to justify it by reminding myself that he wasn't a good husband to you. In the final stretch of your marriage, I mean. But no matter what kind of husband Derek was, even if there were things he could be faulted for…I wasn't a good friend. A good friend wouldn't do what I did. A brother wouldn't do that."

It was a storming duality he had never faced before. He loved Derek. But he also hated him then, too, for having what he wanted.

"And I also had so many thoughts that were just…uncharitable towards him, especially at the beginning." Mark tugs at the collar of his shirt when a guilt-filled admission he was not expecting to voice makes their bedroom feel so much warmer.

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here, Addison."

"You?" Her tone is lightly teasing. "Since when?"

For a moment, it is late January. Cold and white-washed and barren. Seven years ago, but God, it feels like so much longer. Mark was over at the brownstone for dinner – a becoming-rarer-by-the-minute occurrence, given how busy the three of them were. He used to be a more frequent fixture at Addison and Derek's home, but that was before he and Derek started their own practices, before more challenging cases started being sent in Addison's direction, before growing older meant having less of that youthful pull to spend as much time together as possible, and before…well, before Mark started sleeping with his best friend's wife.

It was not difficult to be there. No matter how pervasive the guilt was – and it was, it always was– there was also something electrifying for Mark about being in the kitchen with his two closest friends, casually sipping scotch, and knowing that a mere twenty-four hours ago, he had the female friend bent over his desk during his lunch hour while she desperately tried to muffle her noises. It was good. Good enough that Addison came back over last night for a bit, wanting more of the same.

At one point it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Derek had wandered out to the stamp-sized backyard the brownstone came with to check on their steaks. Mark took that moment of freedom to lean closer to Addison – but not too close – while she poured out another round of drinks. She was wearing a tight-fitting pencil skirt, and his hands were practically itching from the desire to cup her ass and draw her body against his. It wasn't a new skirt. It was one of those staple pieces in Addison's wardrobe, but whenever Mark had checked her out before their affair started – and he wasn't a saint, obviously, so of course he had from time to time, though he tried to be subtle about it – there wasn't any context that accompanied those just-looking glances. But now Mark knew what her bare, toned flesh felt like, how nicely some of the parts of her filled his palms, and how responsive she was to being touched both over and under her clothes.

"Wear that skirt the next time you come over," he muttered, and then quickly stepped away.

When Derek came back inside, he lightly patted Addison's hip as he walked past her. Mark had seen them in action as a married couple long enough to know that was unspoken code for, Please move over. It was an art that Addison and Derek had perfected over the years whenever they were in the kitchen at the same time. It used to make them laugh, back when they still laughed a lot. Mark could remember Addison once saying that having a husband meant having someone who was always standing right in front of the exact cabinet you needed to get into.

Addison stepped to the side so that Derek could reach into the silverware drawer, but Mark watched as Derek's hand lingered on her waist while he collected what he needed. Mark forced himself to look at his drink, jaw clenched as taunting words vaulted around in his head. Your wife came so hard last night I thought she was going to black out. I bet her thighs don't shake with you. I bet she isn't gasping for breath when you're finished…you probably don't even let her finish first. He looked up, but Derek's hand was still on Addison's side – positioned lazily, habitually, in a taking-her-for-granted sort of way – and so once again Mark averted his gaze. She always seems surprised when I go down on her after I pull out. What the fuck is wrong with you? Be a man and get back between her legs again. It's wave after wave for her if you don't let up. She practically thanks me for it. And then Mark looked up a third time. Nothing had changed though. And he hated his best friend so much in that moment, for getting to touch her, for getting to be with her. She's already wet for me when she shows up at my apartment…when's the last time you fucked her that good that it had that effect on her, Derek?

"Mark?" Addison prompts, still waiting for him to respond.

"Sorry. What I meant was that I had…" he pauses, trying to figure out the most delicate way to explain it. "I had snarky comparative thoughts about Derek. Like, performance comparative thoughts. And none of those thoughts were very respectful towards you, either." Mark is ashamed as he considers it now.

It is a shame than runs almost as deep as the recent shame that he wished Derek had not disrupted their lives with his phone call yesterday – which Mark knows is definitely something that qualifies as uncharitable. It is no one's fault that Derek and Meredith are experiencing a medical crisis, and it is not Derek's fault for calling, because like Addison recently acknowledged (and he agrees), if it was something neuro-related, and it was Clara or Ruby, then she and Mark would not have thought twice about pursuing any means necessary to get in touch with Derek.

But before yesterday, the four of them were safe. Mark loved the safe bubble they were in. They had everything they needed, but most of all, they had each other. And maybe it is selfish, but it has also become self-preservation. They were in a bubble where Mark really did not have to ever think about Derek or Derek's forgiveness, because it hurt less to not spend time thinking about him or missing him. Which isn't to say that Mark never thought about him, or that he never missed him… but he did what he could to not. And he made peace years ago with the fact that Derek would never forgive him, and would never speak to him again.

"It was a long time ago though," Addison reminds him. "And for what it's worth, I'm sure I had some uncharitable, performance comparative thoughts in the beginning, too, because everything was so new and just thinking about being with you…well." Her cheeks flush, and she buries her face in his shoulder. "I'm not drunk enough to finish that thought."

Mark chuckles as he kisses the top of her head. He isn't certain his wife could finish that thought even if she was drunk. "I think sometimes," he admits, "I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I never deliberately sabotaged your marriage. Outside of sleeping with you, I mean." He was an honest, duty-bound messenger. If Derek saw him in the halls of NYP and told him to tell Addison he was running late or that he couldn't make it to something, Mark would do it. It never occurred to him – even when he was actively hoping Addison would leave her husband – to add fuel to the fire of marital discord. He never once tried to convince Addison that Derek had blown her off, or had forgotten that they had plans. "But, still. It wasn't right." He sees Addison nod. It has been a couple years, but he has shared this before.

"There were so many things you didn't talk about that first year, because you were afraid you were going to burden me, and I know that…I know that my guilt and grief and anxiety were pretty all-consuming. You made my pain yours, but your pain was never really mine, or at least not at first. It wasn't until your mom…" Addison lets the rest of the sentence fade away; he knows what she means. "No matter what happened in the past, you're a really good person, Mark. You're a wonderful dad to the girls, and you're a wonderful husband to me. I hope you know that. And I'm here for you, no matter what happens tomorrow. We're here for each other, and we'll get through this. I wish I didn't have to go in tomorrow though." She gives him a small smile. "I just want to stay home and make snowflakes with you. I don't…I don't know if you -"

"I remember." If it was not for tonight's conversation with Clara, he would have probably been lost, but right now he does not need any clarification. He slides an arm around Addison's waist, and lets the sweetness of that memory wash over him. It replaces the threads of pain that came with it.

. .
. .

One Year Earlier

A pang of guilt rocks through Mark when he hears the soft pattering of someone coming down the stairs. Not someone though. Clara. Their littlest one usually does not stir once she has fallen asleep, and it cannot be Addison yet. His wife was going back and forth on whether to hop in the shower after they tucked the kids in for the night, or if she should wait longer for Clara to make an inevitable reappearance. Addison had a long day though, and she lost a patient this afternoon, so Mark told her to just go ahead and shower once they had finished laughing over the fact that there used to be a time in their lives when the sentence, "Do you mind if I shower?" was not something they ever uttered. He assured her that he would handle it, if Clara chose the exact moment her mother was showering to come back downstairs – and Mark will handle it, of course he will, and Addison knows that, but they like to do things as a team whenever they can.

"Were you like this, before your first day of preschool?" He asked Addison last year. It was not asked with judgment, but interest. Raising a child who worries is new to him. Or worries about things, specifically. Mark worried about his mother, but not really anything else. School was a refuge. It never would have really occurred to him to be nervous about going there; school meant stability, predictability. Living with an alcoholic meant none of that.

"To be honest," Addison told him, "I can't really remember. But yes, I'm sure I was feeling what Clara's currently feeling. If I was nervous though…I would have handled it very differently. I would have handled it alone." She looked sad to divulge this. "Bizzy and the Captain would have thought I was being ridiculous for feeling nervous about my first day of school. So, I'm really glad that Clara feels comfortable expressing herself with us, and that we…we are who we are when she does so."

It does not take much longer for his rising kindergartner to become visible at the foot of the stairs. Mark knew this was going to happen – they both did, just like they knew it was coming last year, too – but tonight it is not a look of subtle concern on Clara's face, the kind where her eyes are a little wider and her mouth is twitching at the left corner and she just needs a few reassuring cuddles to be okay again. Right now, Mark can see the tears on her cheeks.

He holds his arms out, ready to offer all the comfort he can. "Come here, Clarabelle." She dashes through the living room and onto the couch, wasting no time in climbing into his lap. Mark gathers her as close as he can. She has always favored her mother appearance-wise, and five years of being her dad means that Mark knows her face really well, but it still floors him sometimes how much Clara looks like Addison when she cries. And so does Ruby, for that matter. It is just something about the head-hanging shakes, and then how everything on their sweet faces just sort of…crumples. "I've got you," he adds gently. "It's okay."

"I don't…I don't w-want…"

"You don't want to go to kindergarten tomorrow?" Mark finishes, and she lets out a tiny hiccup as she nods. He knows he should avoid leading questions that might fuel the cycle of anxiety – that was a tip from either Marie or Olivia, he can't remember who at this point – but he also knows this is what Clara is trying to say, so there does not seem to be a point to waiting for her to force out the rest of her sentence. "Clara," he continues, "you're going to have so much fun, baby. I know you're nervous…and that's okay, because everyone gets a little nervous before their first day of kindergarten…but it's going to be okay. You're going to have a good time. And Mommy and I are both going to be there to pick you up tomorrow when school's over."

"I just want to stay home with you and make snowflakes." She presses her wet cheek against his shoulder.

"We'll make snowflakes after school." That was not the response Mark was expecting. The stay home with you part, yes, but the other part…he will have to ask Paulina if she made paper snowflakes with the girls at some point last week. There have not been any signs of them in the house, and he and Addison have not made any with the girls recently. And in those blissful moments that sometimes occur now because they do not have to keep an eye on the girls every second anymore while they're at home, Clara and Ruby would not have had an opportunity to make snowflakes by themselves; all the scissors are far enough out of reach that only an adult can access them. Clara, they trust. Their three-year-old though…absolutely not. Mark feels bad for thinking it, because Ruby is an absolute joy and he loves her beyond description, and it is true what they say – somehow your heart just expands when you welcome another child – but he is pretty sure that Ruby could be twenty and he still wouldn't be convinced she would use scissors responsibly.

"But I want to make snowflakes with you not after school." Clara hesitates, and then tries a different tactic. "Can I just go to preschool again?"

"You're too big for preschool, kiddo. And too smart."

"Then I'll just be dumb. And then I can go to preschool again." Mark has to hold back a smile. You're your mother's daughter, he thinks. You couldn't be dumb if you tried.

He sets a hand on the curve of Clara's cheek, and she looks up at him, eyes still glittering with tears. "What are you most worried about tomorrow?" He asks softly. She gives him a hapless shrug, and Mark understands the words she cannot quite articulate. It's all of it, he knows. All the things. "Okay." He will focus on one thing at a time then. That usually works with her. "You've met your teachers already. They were really nice, right?" He watches as Clara nods solemnly. "Mommy and I think your teachers are really nice, too. And Lucy's in your class, remember? How about this…I'm going to text Ian and Sabrina later, and I'll ask them if we can meet outside the school tomorrow morning. That way you girls can go in together. How does that sound?" Clara's head bobs again, and a little bit of relief makes its way into her eyes this time.

"I don't know what to play during free play," Clara tells him. "That's what we do first when we get to school." It does not surprise Mark that she already knows how the day-to-day schedule works. "And…and what if no one wants to play with me?"

"Well, you have Lucy, so see what Lucy wants to play with. You can always play with Lucy. But if you and Lucy want to play different things, like if she wants to play at one of the sensory tables and you really want to go to the reading corner instead, that's okay, too. I know Lucy is the only one you know besides your teachers, but you'll make other friends, too. I'm sure the other kids are really nice, and they're going to want to play with you, Clara. You're the coolest person I know." He lightly pokes her shoulder, and she giggles a little. "And you were like this before preschool, too. But then remember how much you loved preschool once you got a bit more comfortable there, and how nice all the other kids were?"

"That's why I want to go to preschool and be dumb again."

"Sorry, but you're still too smart for preschool. And you're going to have fun in kindergarten…you just have to give it a chance. Just like you did with preschool. You know, when I was in kindergarten, I didn't know anyone at first, but then on my first day, I made a really good friend." There is a lot personal history attached to that statement that Clara cannot know about yet, but Mark truly wants her to feel that it is possible to make a friend in a way that does not take place as result of a parental introduction. Lucy, Phoebe, Booker, Rowan, Beckett – Clara was an infant when she was introduced to most of the kids who are a part of her inner circle, so these are all built-in friendships for her.

"Ian was your friend in kindergarten?" She asks. "Or…or Uncle Weiss?"

Mark knew it was a risk, bringing it up, especially because he is committed to being honest with his kids whenever possible. And Clara's question is a fair one. He considers Addison to be his best friend, but Ian and Weiss are his closest male friends, and surely Clara knows that.

"No, not Ian or Weiss," he says. "My friend was…Derek. His name was Derek." And it was first grade, not kindergarten, but Mark keeps that detail to himself, along with so, so many others. He just wants to help though, and that involves being truthful – it just does. His children's emotional needs come before his. Always. "He moved away when I was younger." It is not a lie. Just not the whole story. "Clara…you're going to have such a good time tomorrow. You're a great kid. And I…I am so proud to get to share you with other people, so that they can see how great you are, too."

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Clara asks quietly.

"Yeah, of course you can." Mark feels her readjust herself in his arms, getting more comfortable. She might be worried, but it is also past her bedtime, so thankfully she does not have the energy to push any harder on the subject of childhood friends. Her body softens against his chest. Mark remembers what they used to call this when she was an infant and then a toddler on the verge of falling asleep, trustingly ceding control of her limbs to whichever parent was snuggling her close: floppy tired. "If you promise you won't snore."

"I don't snore."

"I know. I'm just kidding with you. I'll bring you up there so that Mommy can say goodnight to you before you fall back to sleep. Lucky us. We both get to give two goodnight kisses tonight." He touches his thumb to Clara's cheek. Her eyelids are fluttering so heavily now that she might not be awake when she gets her second "goodnight kiss" from Addison. "Clara…is there anything else about tomorrow that you want to talk about?"

"I don't…I don't really like the shoes Mommy picked for me."

"Okay." Mark grins at this. Addison already laid Clara's school uniform out – a polo shirt, and a little green and navy plaid pleated jumper that Mark thinks is the cutest thing he has ever seen – alongside a pair of socks, and shoes that…apparently aren't going to cut it. "Then we'll pick out another pair in the morning." He stands up, and feels a little sad at how big his first baby is in his arms now that he is upright, and how low her legs hang down his front as he carries her back up the stairs. "Luckily, you have lots and lots of shoes to choose from."

It is timed well enough that Clara gets all the extra comfort she needs tonight. It is not really convenient for Addison in that she is coming out of the master bathroom – and would probably love a few more minutes to herself – at the same time Mark is coming into their bedroom, and just seeing her mommy makes Clara a little teary again, but when Addison collects their daughter from Mark's arms, he leaves her to it. They handle almost everything together, but his wife gives him a small smile that makes it clear it is her turn now to offer some parental support.

"What are you doing?" Addison asks when she finds Mark in the kitchen later that night. She was just planning to come down to tell him to come upstairs – Clara is sleeping again, now curled in the center of their bed. She expected to find her husband watching TV…not carefully snipping up a piece of printer paper. "I…" Addison starts to laugh when he grins in a lopsided way and holds up a paper snowflake for her to see. "I have so many questions."

"You had to be there." He fills her in though on the odd little snowflake moment from earlier, and everything else he and Clara talked about. "So now I'm being weird and making a snowflake for her. I thought I'd put it on top of her clothes for tomorrow, so she can see it right when she wakes up. You know that no matter how nervous she is about going to school, she's putting on that uniform first thing. And hopefully…well, hopefully it'll make her smile."

"I love it. It just needs one thing." Addison takes the snowflake from Mark, and then reaches for a pen on the counter. Mommy, Daddy, and Ruby love you, she scrawls out on one of the thicker sections. "Now it's perfect." She looks up at Mark, and her fingers curl a little around one of the flimsy edges of the snowflake. "Clara will be okay tomorrow. She's tough. And she's brave. She just…she just always needs a minute first."

"Yeah, exactly." It is a perfect description for their older child, really. Mark waits a moment, reading his wife's expression, and then adds, "I love that she's like you. She has the feelings she does because she's thoughtful, and observant, and smart as a whip, and because she usually thinks things through before she acts. Those are great qualities." He knows that Addison still needs to hear things like this sometimes, that she needs to be reminded by someone other than just the therapist she sees once a month that any pain she has experienced in the past is not necessarily guaranteed to be Clara's pain too, just because of their overlapping traits. "And she'll definitely be okay tomorrow."

Addison smiles appreciatively. "Thank you. It sounds like the conversation you had with her was pretty similar to the one I had, except that Clara didn't tell me she wanted to stay home and make snowflakes with me. Just you. And I can see why…you're a very good snowflake-maker."

"I think your invitation to the snowflake thing was implied." Mark will tell her about his mention of Derek soon – they do not keep things from each other – but he decides he will wait a bit longer. Their emotions are already heightened about Clara at the moment (and even if Clara was fine, they aren't completely fine themselves because this is their baby and she's now a kindergartner), and Addison had a tough day in the OR. It can wait. Addison, Clara, Ruby – they come first for him. They are everything and they always, always come first.

"She did ask me though if her sister is in preschool because she's younger than her, or if it's because she's dumb – so that was fun to answer. Hey…" Addison looks a little concerned, and for a second, Mark wonders if something on his face is somehow making it clear that he brought up something from his past tonight that has left him feeling unsettled. "Did Clara tell you…did she tell you what she didn't like about the shoes I picked out?" He starts to chuckle at Addison's question, and then she does, too. "I mean, yes, obviously she can wear whatever shoes she wants, but the ones I picked out go so well with her uniform."

Mark strokes his thumb over his wife's brow, which appears wrinkled in confusion, and mild offense. "You might have to just not take this one personally, Red."

"I'm trying."

. .
. .

---

Notes/Nods to Various Episodes

Mark saying "We were all close friends" was a recycling of Addison's line in Grey's 2x18: "We were all close friends…until Derek found us in bed together."

Also pulled from 2x18 is the following elevator exchange:
Mark: "Oh, come on. How come you can forgive her, but not me?"
Derek: "I didn't forgive her. And with you I have no obligation to try."

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. Reviews make the fic writing world go around – even if you're new here, or have been reading quietly for a while, I'd still love to hear from you, pretty please! The one-year anniversary of this fic is 10/27. I never expected to get this kind of following on it, given how long these two characters have been gone from the Grey's/PP universe (we're only counting Grey's 18x03 for Addison, not 18x04…or at least I am). And I never expected this story to become as long and as messy and as complex (and as steamy, heh) as it has – but hey, that's life, isn't it? But it's definitely in large part due to how positively people have responded to it, so please know your readership is so, so appreciated.

See you next time! I'll do my best to get something up by mid-November.