Super short chapter, maybe even sort of pointless, I don't know. It's a separate chapter because it just didn't make sense with what I have planned for the next part.
To say that Callie was pissed would be an understatement.
The resident-turned-only-friend-in-the-city had remained stonily silent throughout the journey to the Archfield, with Addison glancing at her every few seconds, her head now severely spinning. Dear God, was she too old now to drink two evenings in a row? That had to be the most depressing news ever.
No sooner had she expertly bandaged Addison's foot and elevated it, that she began to rant. For the most part, Addison knew she was right. What had she been thinking?
But that was just it; she hadn't been thinking. She'd just blindly reacted, a little drunk on beer and a lot drunk on Derek and his lips and his hair and-
Okay, she needed sleep. And an Advil.
As Callie neared the end of her tirade, she softened and sat down at the edge of the bed beside the elevated ankle. "You know I like you way more than I like any of George's friends at the moment, but still. You can't do to Meredith Grey what she did to you. He's with her now."
"He kissed me, not the other way around," muttered Addison darkly for the tenth time that evening. Callie held up a hand, silencing her.
"I got that. But he's an idiot. And you've been in Grey's position, doubting if he was still with her; you can't do this to her, not knowingly. And come on, all affairs and adultery aside, you know she's been hurt a lot by him over this past year. Do you really want to add to that?"
With that, the younger woman had left, with a promise to pick her up on the way to work the next morning. "Wear sensible footwear, please," she'd called, smiling slightly, as she left the room, shutting it with a soft thud.
She awoke with a start, fumbling for the switch in the dark. Turning on the bedside lamp, she squinted against the light at the clock. 1:38.
Becoming aware of a growing dull pain in her ankle, she sat up to wrap it once more – it must have come loose during the night. The previous evening began to come back in flashes as she focused on unwrapping the bandage methodically.
Images of her ex-husband flooded her mind; from lazy Sundays watching him cook while perched on the counter, to brushing in the mornings in that incredibly small bathroom, moving around and with each other like a choreographed dance.
She may have tried to defend herself in front of Callie, but the truth was she blamed herself for the kiss. She'd started asking about Grey, about how he was, about if there was anything – friendship wise, of course – left between them now. He'd stuck to asking about her ankle, and she had pushed it and found herself kissing him.
Did she subconsciously do it on purpose? At this point, still dazed and slightly buzzed from sleep and alcohol, she had no idea. But Derek? What on earth possessed him to even respond to her stupid queries, to move closer to her when all he'd wanted a few weeks ago was for her to leave Seattle? She wasn't naïve enough to think he still had lingering feelings for her – she knew it had begun to fade more than two years ago, and it just about exploded when she slept with Mark, and then his enchantment with Grey had ensured that the little remnants had disappeared too.
So why?
The only possible explanation: He felt sorry for her. He pitied her, because, in spite of everything she did to him, he knew she was hurting way more than he was. He must have felt sorry that she was still in love with him, that she'd moved her life and career across the continent for him, that she had next to no friends here, that she lived in a hotel room.
This would be the point where Derek would have interjected, disbelievingly laughing, saying she was overthinking like a Montgomery, and that she was a Shepherd now.
Well, she wasn't a Shepherd anymore.
Derek sank onto the couch with a deep sigh, closing his eyes. The house – when he felt particularly mean, he referred to it as a frat house – was completely devoid of loud interns for a pleasant change, and it was rare enough that he usually revelled in the silence of it.
That evening, though? He had hoped Meredith would be home, or at least the others. He'd hoped to talk to Meredith, hug her, and joke with the others at the kitchen table; anything to keep his mind off of the incredibly stupid thing he just did.
He kissed Addison.
He kissed his ex-wife. Satan. Satan's whore. Adulterous bitch. He knew all of this logically; he knew their marriage was beyond over, that they were so done hurting one another and being hurt by one another in successive vicious cycles. He had no regrets about ending it, about realizing that there was only so much you could do to try and repair something that had fractured deep down. Sure, like he told her that evening, he regretted ending it in an exam room with no dignity left for their decade-long marriage – but he'd moved past it. Ultimately, it was for the best. They would both be happier this way – he already was.
So why?
At the core of his heart, Derek was scared. He was scared he'd chosen wrong this second time, that he'd made the wrong decision. He was scared that he still felt something toward the woman who'd been his equal – and still was, professionally – for fifteen years. For the past year, he'd tried to feel lovingly about her, but his attraction to Meredith had won over. But now, now, he felt something? Ridiculous.
"It's ridiculous," he declared out loud to the walls. "I loved her once. I hated her once. Now, she's just Dr. Montgomery."
But she was just Dr. Montgomery the day before he married her, too, and then he put two rings (that currently resided in the bay) on her hand, and she was Dr. Shepherd. He knew she had often found it exasperating when a nervous intern would request a consult and take her to another wing of the hospital, only to find out she wasn't the one who operated on brains. And then he'd be paged, and run up to her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek as she lectured the intern on wasting everyone's time. He'd grin at her apologetically as she left, because he'd secretly liked it. He'd liked sharing his name with the woman he loved, the formidable force of nature in the pediatrics and neonatal department, the same woman who also curled up on their sofa while going to town on a cheeseburger.
Wow, his mind digressed quickly.
He heard a fumbling of keys, and the door swung open. Interns spilled over the threshold, arms laden with groceries, and chattering at top speed about their surgeries.
"Hi," said Meredith, smiling coyly as she walked up to him, dropping the bag on the table and wrapping her arms around his neck. He leaned down to kiss her, trying his very best to erase the memory of a young redhead doing the same in a New York apartment.
And just like that, he knew why. He hadn't kissed Addison or Satan or whatever else she'd been to him lately.
He kissed Addie.
The only time we saw Derek be nice to Addison was when they talked about their life before and he got a little nostalgic. Which, I think, explains how (as a kind reviewer put it) he goes from being an ass to super sweet. I suppose it's fair to get caught up in those memories, but then Derek, why'd you conveniently forget all those memories right after the divorce?
To the super nice reviewer who also mentioned whether it was plausible that they would get back together post the divorce and the rings and all of that: I completely agree; it was way too unlikely (impossible, even), given Addison's determination to move on and Derek's memory of a goldfish regarding their life together. But I intend to change that with this fic haha. Thank you to all who reviewed, you guys are too kind!