A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter of this story! I'm sorry for the delay in posting the second chapter. Future updates will be much faster; there were just a few small planning snafus. As promised, it's time for the Shepherds to see each other again. I think we're a lot more excited about that than they are. Please enjoy and let me know what you think...
.-.-.
Some Bright Morning
2. fly away, oh glory
.-.-.
Charlotte was her idea. And – like a lot of her ideas if she's honest about it – it seemed like a better one from a distance.
Flying into Savannah would have involved a drive – almost two hours in a car sounded problematic at best, terrifying at worst. From Charlotte, they can take a small plane to the coast. As she remembers from her last trip, the only way to access the island is by boat. Plus, Charlotte would be an easier direct flight for Derek from Seattle.
Not that she's heard from Derek since his middle-of-the-night phone call; all their communication has gone through her travel agency, with appreciation for her consideration in booking their travel or otherwise. Whatever he thinks of the travel plans, she has no idea, other than that they're booked on the same small plane from Charlotte to Beaufort Grove.
He'll be at the gate. He'll at least be at the gate – if she still knows him at all, and Derek has never even come close to missing a flight, just as he's always flown with a copy of the New York Times that he doesn't unfold until his seat belt is fastened, then she'll see him at the gate. But as she walks through the airport, alone on her own path as families corral and comfort children, couples kiss hello and goodbye, she remembers the row of rocking chairs in the Charlotte airport.
The chairs are memorable from all the times she's flown through the busy hub; there's something charming about them, even if they're faux-homey, even if airports are mostly dehumanizing and distressing, and even though Derek hasn't texted or emailed, she assumes she'll find him there.
She recognizes the back of his head, with its looping dark curls, first. But even though Derek has teased her for years that he can always hear her from at least two hallways away because of the distinctive clicking of her heels, he doesn't turn around. Not even as she clicks her way right next to him.
She's calm, or at least she wants to be, but her heart still speeds up to be this close to him after their longest separation since medical school. He smells the same; the outline of his shoulders is the right shape; she bought that coat for him. She has to swallow hard and she's grateful for the oversized sunglasses in her purse. She doesn't want to need them, not today.
But she still might.
She opens her mouth to say his name, to try to get his attention, and then closes it again. Seconds pass, or maybe hours, in silent awkwardness – for her, at least. Derek, in one-quarter profile with most of his face turned away, seems perfectly fine.
Derek always seems perfectly fine.
One of his feet is tapping against the floor, moving the rocker ever so slightly back and forth. His hair is a little longer, she notices – it makes sense; she's the one who books his appointments, every six weeks. He was due for one a few days after he left her and presumably he hasn't taken care of it in Seattle.
"Hi," she says finally for lack of anything better, her voice coming out a little hoarsely as if she hasn't used it in a while, but he still doesn't turn around.
Great.
Moving into his line of vision so he's forced to see her, she points at the empty rocking chair next to him. "Is that seat taken?"
He glances up at her quickly, dismissively. "Yes," he says simply. She has to swallow hard, again, when she sees the coldness in his eyes, but if seeing her affects him there's no sign of it.
"Derek." She sighs, propping a hand on her hip. He's looking at something beyond her; she turns to see it too. They have a good view of one of the runways and a sizeable jet is starting to taxi. She watches it pick up speed and disappear from view before, a few moments later, it roars into the sky.
She pulls the edges of her black fall coat tighter around her. Apparently he's just going to ignore her – no surprise there, a bitter little voice says in the back of her head. She couldn't sleep at all after his unexpected phone call woke her up. Glancing at his familiar profile, she gets the sense that he probably slept just fine.
Frustrated, she glances at her watch. "We should be at the gate in twenty minutes." Her voice sounds higher than usual, and she tries to force it back into register. "Derek, did you hear me?"
"I heard you." He doesn't look at her.
"Are you going to ignore me the whole way to the island?"
No response.
She exhales sharply. "Derek…"
"Twenty minutes?"
She nods.
He pushes up from the rocking chair, keeping his distance from her. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee."
"Get me one too?" She calls after him, half habit and half hope. He doesn't acknowledge her; she slumps down into the seat he just vacated, still warm from his body.
So this is going great.
She sighs, tipping her head back against the seat and letting the movement of the chair marginally soothe her.
It's the first time she's seen him since the morning after he caught her with Mark. She was still sleeping on the floor of the foyer surrounded by a pile of her mostly-ruined clothing when he opened the heavy front door. I'm going to go, you stay. I'll come back for my things in the morning. That's what he had said the night before, and even lying there feeling like her life had come apart at the seams, squinting into the unwelcome stream of sunlight, exhausted from crying and aching from the vomiting that had followed, she found herself amused and depressed that for once he'd actually kept his word.
How many times in the past had he said I'll come back and then just … stayed at work? But she didn't have time to bring that up, all she had time to do was to say his name blearily, once, and then his eyes skated over her like she was a stranger and he just stepped over her prone body, carefully, and walked up the steps. She remembers thinking it might be the last time she felt the heat of his body over hers. By the time she made her way up to their bedroom he'd locked the door. There was a spare key in a glass dish in the library, but she just sat in the hall outside the door instead, uselessly, knees to her chest, waiting for him to come out.
When he emerged from what had been their bedroom, he was dragging a rolling suitcase and he didn't seem to notice her sitting there. Derek, she said his name hoarsely, are you … can you just tell me where you're going? He shook his head. I don't know yet. She blinked at that. And then he slipped the gold band off his fourth finger – the one she'd put there, and held it out to her. She just blinked up at him again, not sure what to do; it all felt like a bad dream still. When she didn't take the ring, he crouched down and placed it on the hardwood floor next to her. She reached up instinctually to touch him, to confirm that this was really happening, but only managed to brush the very edge of his cashmere coat. By the time her voice returned and she was finally able to say his name, the front door was closing firmly behind him. She slid his ring – it was still warm from his skin – onto her thumb and lay back down on the floor.
She pushes the rocking chair a little faster. The good thing about travel is the way it keeps you from … dwelling, for lack of a better word. Here, in the rocking chair, unwelcome memories wash over her. She doesn't want to remember the morning Derek left. She certainly doesn't want to remember the night before. And thinking about the eleven years before that makes her stomach hurt.
There's not much in the weeks since her husband left her that doesn't make her stomach hurt, actually.
Say hi to Derek for me, Mark said before she slid into the cab this morning on her way to the airport, and he was smirking but there was something else under it, real longing and a bit of hurt. He doesn't fool her with his bravado, not often – they're too much alike. She hugged him hard before she left, though – she craves physical comfort in times of stress, another way she and Mark are alike. A dangerous way. Don't run off with him, Mark added and Addison laughed at that, reminding him that Derek loathed her and she'd be lucky if he didn't try to push her out of the plane. They made love one more time before he hailed her the taxi that would bring her to the airport; she cried a little bit, like she used to, like she hasn't for weeks, and he kissed her with surprising gentleness. Don't run off with him, that's what he said while the yawning open cab door waited for her, and the surge of hope at being wanted almost made her turn back from the cab, one hand resting on the yellow door, to cling to him. But she gritted her teeth and slid into the cracked leather seat instead. When she turned to look out the back window Mark was still standing there outside his building, shaded by the navy awning, watching her leave.
She watches a plane take off through the smudged glass and tries to brace herself for what's coming next. When the roar of the jet engines lessens, she hears his familiar footfalls behind her; when she looks up, she sees he's holding two cups of coffee.
Maybe the journey won't be so terrible after all.
.-.-.
He lost three hours flying to Charlotte; that simple facet of American time zones seems symbolic, somehow. The whole East Coast feels like loss to him now. In a few days, when he returns to Seattle – goes home, that's what it will be when he flies west again – he'll get those three hours back. They'll wait for him.
If he's lucky, they won't be the only thing that waits…
Then again, getting Richard to grant him compassionate leave from his job was the easy part; telling Meredith he was flying out of Seattle the next day to mourn the death of someone from the previous life he'd kept from her – that was quite a bit more complicated. Meredith was kind enough, of course, expressing her condolences, not pushing him with questions. Meredith was always kind. Sweet, even. But then she stopped him with a tiny hand on his arm before he could leave the hospital. Derek … even if I want to, I can't wait forever. He was confused. You won't be here, when I get back?
She shook her head. I'll be here, Derek. I live here. I'm not closing the door, I'm just … not opening it again, not until you open a little to me.
He closes his eyes briefly now and smells her fragrant hair, feels the warmth of her small body tucked against his. It's just a few days, and then he'll be back, and they can pick up where they left off. He wants to tell her.
Well, that's not true. He needs to tell her, at some point, but how can he tell her that until Weiss's phone call ripped through the middle of his very pleasant night, he had managed to block his wife out of his mind completely?
She stopped existing to him.
Now, as he hears the familiar tap-tapping of her ridiculous shoes, he can tell she's approaching.
She texted him and emailed him about meeting today for their shared flight to the coast – only one missive on each medium, surprising restraint when he thinks about it. He didn't answer either one.
He shouldn't have to see her until the gate, but he can tell by the sound of her gait that she's spotted him and he is, once again, trapped in her sights.
He won't be able to deny her existence much longer, so he savors the remaining moments. And then her formidable shadow crosses his path; her familiar perfume wafts across his face. He continues staring out the window at the planes on the runway. Around him, other passengers chatter and complain, argue and discuss; he remains still in his cone of silence, not acknowledging Addison no matter how much space she takes up.
He doesn't want to see her – doesn't want her to exist – and when he glances at her he remembers why: her perfectly groomed, formal exterior falls away and she's naked again, in his bed. With his best friend. Her head is thrown back in ecstasy, his hand is on the doorknob, and his world is grinding to a halt.
He grinds out as few words as possible now in the hopes that she'll leave him alone, finally staggering to his feet in search of coffee. He keeps his distance from her as he edges away from the strip of rocking chairs; she's taller than him in her highest heels – the ones she wears when she has something to prove – and combined with the winged lapels of her black coat, she resembles an oversized bird of prey.
Carefully, mindfully, he extracts himself from proximity to her claws. Or tries to, at any rate.
She calls after him when he leaves for coffee – get me one, too? – and he entertains a brief, welcoming thought of throwing it in her face. The coffee, and her words. Like she did with their vows.
He forces himself to take a deep breath instead as he lines up at a small coffee stand, trying to get control of himself.
She looks surprised when he returns with two steaming paper cups, her mouth a red-painted circle. "Thanks," she says quietly, taking the proffered cup.
She brings the cup to her lips, then lowers it again. "So … Seattle, huh?"
"Seattle," he confirms mechanically, not meeting her eyes. He stares out at the runway instead, wishing he could board a plane. Any plane. Any plane without his wife, to be clear.
Her voice penetrates his thoughts. "What's in Seattle?"
"…I'm in Seattle."
She's shaking her head impatiently when he glances at her. "You know what I mean, Derek. Why Seattle?"
"Addison…" he presses the fingers of his free hand to his temples. "How about letting me drink my coffee before you start with the third degree."
"Asking my husband why he left Manhattan for the middle of nowhere isn't the third degree. It's more like the first degree."
To get as far away from you as possible.
He said it only in his head, or at least he thought he did, but for some reason she looks stricken when he glances at her. She sees that he's looking and quickly brings the cup of coffee to her lips.
Disgust crosses her face as soon as she takes the first sip. "You added milk? Really, Derek." She shakes her head. "You know I can't stand milk in coffee. God, I forgot how petty you can be."
"Only when it's deserved."
Addison stares at him for a moment, starts to turn away, then turns back. "Look, Derek … I know how you feel about me, I get it."
"Good." He gestures around them at the rocking chairs nearest them, taken up by a family with three small children, "because I would hate to have to spell it out in front of all these kids."
Addison blinks at him. "We should … go to the gate."
"Fine," he snaps.
She stalks ahead of him on her noisy shoes, then pauses, seemingly waiting for him to catch up. She looks like she wants to say something, but apparently his face effectively communicates how little he wants to hear it because she closes her mouth without a word.
She doesn't speak again until they're almost at the gate, if you can call it that. It's really just a door, and the plane he sees sitting on the runway doesn't look much bigger than the Land Rover he left back in Seattle.
"That's the plane?"
Addison looks out through the glass. "No, I don't think ours has landed yet. That one's bigger."
Bigger.
"Derek…"
He massages the bridge of his nose. The least she could do is leave him alone before they're forced to board the plane together. "What," he says finally.
"Look, what I was trying to say before is … Savvy and Weiss are some of our best friends."
"I know that." He swallows more coffee, wishing he could drink something stronger.
"And you also know how close Sav and her mom were. She and Weiss are going to be going through hell out there, Derek, and the least we can do is show up to support them."
"Isn't that exactly what we're doing?"
"I mean … show up." She sighs when he doesn't respond. "As in, leave our problems on the mainland and actually deal with them as a … couple."
"As a couple," he finds himself laughing. "Really."
"Really," she says, though her tone is uncertain. "Derek…" And she holds up her hand.
"You're wearing the rings." He frowns. "Why are you wearing the rings?"
She shrugs. "They're nice rings."
"Addison, if you think-"
"Really, Derek," she cuts him off, sarcastic, "you really think I planned all this to win you back? Right, I arranged a tragedy and then made sure we'd need a tiny plane to get there, just so you'd fall in love with me again."
He winces at the thought.
"Relax. I just meant I want to be able to be there for them without being clouded by what … well, whatever's going on between us."
"Fine." He stares out the glassed wall at the runway. There's a rumbling from above suggesting another turbo prop plane is landing – presumably theirs. Hopefully the crew won't need much time to turn it over, because he's not sure how much longer he can stand here talking to Addison.
"Derek … there's one other thing I want to, um, to warn you about."
The timbre of her hesitant voice is grating his nerves. "What," he mutters, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
"The island is … well, it's very small."
"Yes, I got that impression from the size of the plane."
"No, but…" She stops talking though, mercifully, and is quiet until they open the door to the runway.
It's windy outside, even though the propellers are off, and he holds his coat around him with one hand, keeping his distance from Addison's wildly blowing hair.
He stands back automatically to let her climb the little metal stairs to the plane first; she glances back at him nervously as she does so, perhaps wondering if he's planning something. He considers telling her it would be easier to push her down the stairs if he boarded first, but he decides against it.
The plane is small. Very small. Fourteen seats and a wide open cockpit.
Trying to ignore the twin facts that Addison is standing right at his elbow and that they appear to be the only passengers on this flight, he glances down at his ticket. 2B. Wait a minute…
Addison is already loading her bag into the narrow overhead compartment of the second row. He doesn't offer to help, and notices the blonde flight attendant and the silver-haired pilot both looking at him from the open cockpit with some manner of contempt at his very non-southern manners.
When Addison turns around, he points at the empty row. "You're in 2A?"
She looks at her ticket. "Um … yes."
He shakes his head. "I'm in 2B."
"The travel agent booked the seats…." Her voice trails off as he glares at her, and she slides into her window seat without another word. Derek stalks to the back of the plane, as far from her as he can get – which isn't very far – and slides into the empty last row.
"Sir?"
He glances up at the blonde flight attendant. She's holding the manifest in her hand, and she checks it again, looking a little nervous. "I'm sorry, but that's not your assigned seat."
Derek glances around the empty plane. "So? I mean," he corrects himself, "aren't we the only passengers?"
"Yes," she says, "but I'm still going to have to ask you to take your assigned seat. Security regulations, sir. We can't take off until you do."
She has a honeyed Southern accent that doesn't do much to soften the impact of her words. Derek shifts in his seat, annoyed.
"You can take whatever seat you'd like after we're at cruising altitude, sir," she offers. "But you'll need to sit in your assigned seat again for landing."
"Fine," he says shortly. He tries to keep his tone relatively polite; he knows it's not the flight attendant's fault.
The person whose fault it is is sitting primly in her assigned seat in full view, legs crossed, gaze firmly fixed on her blackberry. Derek stands up with great effort and makes his way up the short aisle.
Addison glances up at him as he approaches, her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses. "Change your mind?"
"No," he says immediately. "Airline regulations changed my mind," he adds, even though she had to have heard his conversation with the flight attendant in this small space, even though she's likely just winding him up. Or trying to, because he's not going to let her get under his skin.
Those days are over now.
"So," Addison turns back to him with a half smile. "What's Seattle like? I hear they have good coffee."
Derek shakes his head at her and doesn't answer, just clicking his seat belt closed and then unfolding his newspaper with great ceremony.
"…but a lot of rain, right?"
Studiously, he continues to ignore her.
"I don't know if I'd like all that rain," she muses.
"Lucky for both of us you'll never have to go there," he says coolly.
Addison doesn't answer for a moment, and he can see she's half-turned again, looking out the window. He taps his foot on the flimsy feeling ground and checks his watch. Will they ever take off so he can change seats?
"Does it get … lonely, in Seattle?"
He glances at her quickly; even with her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses it's clear what she's asking, and his tone is sharp with annoyance when he responds.
"That's none of your business."
"It's a little bit my business," she says in a small voice. "It's not like we're divorced."
"We're separated."
"Actually, right now … I'd say we're together."
He grimaces and looks at the interior of the tiny plane, the barely-there space between their bodies. Unfortunately, she's not wrong. And even if he switches seats after takeoff, this is just the beginning.
They're about to spend far more time than he's comfortable with … together.
The flight attendant passes by again as she checks the mostly-empty cabin a final time, glancing at the Shepherds, who are currently facing away from each other as much as the tiny seats allow.
"Are y'all ready to go?"
No … not even close.
TBC as they make their way to the island where adventures await. (Savvy and Weiss will definitely have their voices heard in this story; it's an ... interesting time to be friends with the Shepherds.) This chapter required some setup; I expect future chapters will have more dialogue and less description. Finally ... reviews speed my fingers and bring air conditioning to this hot day! Thank you!
