A/N: Thank you for the fantastic response to the next chapter. You beautiful readers deserve another chapter today. I know there's still a lot for Addison and Derek to work out and their fighting is frustrating and Addison's calling Mark was a lousy move, but ... have faith and I'll get you there, I promise! We're starting with the third of the three flashbacks. This chapter is the longest one yet. Brace yourselves and head back to the island...
.-.-.
Some Bright Morning
10. keep me safe 'til the storm passes by
.-.-.
"Bos," Savvy says frantically, turning over his hands to see the damage to his knuckles, "what happened to your hands? What happened to your hands, Bos?"
"I took care of it," he shrugs, and if he's in pain there's no indication.
"And this?" She reaches up to touch his temple, where a bruise is starting to darken his tanned skin. He gives her a rueful grin, typically rakish Bos but his eyes look dark.
"Don't worry, sis, you should…"
"Don't say you should see the other guy!"
"Savvy, it's okay."
"No, it's not, Bos! Not if you really … oh, god." Savvy takes a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, we can do this. We just need … hang on."
She reaches for the pink telephone on the desk between her bed and Addie's and dials a familiar number, praying he'll pick up. "Beau, it's Sav. We have a problem. Yeah, the kind where … okay."
She sits down on the edge of the desk, winding the telephone cord around her hand, watching the skin turn white and then red again.
"You already know about … yeah, she'll be okay, but now Bos … right. We will. And, Beau – you get Poppa's friend, the lawyer, to find us someone in Connecticut. … Yes, I know we need it, just listen to me!"
Her cousin's conciliatory tone rumbles down the line.
"Okay. So we'll meet you and you'll arrange – thank you," she says gratefully, setting the pink phone in its cradle and turning back to Bos.
There's a knock on the door then and she jumps, exchanging an anxious look with her brother.
"Sav? You in there?"
She breathes a sigh of relief at the familiar voice; sliding back the bolt, she pulls open the door, then reaches for her boyfriend's arm, yanks him inside, and closes and locks the door again behind him.
Weiss looks from Savvy to Bos. "What's going on … did something else …"
"Weiss." Savvy cuts him off, and then reaches up to put her hands on his shoulders. "Weiss, I need you to do something for me."
"Sure," he says immediately.
"I need you to spring Addie from Health Services."
"What?" He looks confused. "But Sav, she's there for a reason. She needs-"
"No, she needs us. She needs something they don't have at Health Services, Weiss. And, uh … also my brother might have committed a felony or … a few."
Weiss's eyes widen. "Um … okay. Spring Addie. I can – oh, wait." He pauses, looking concerned.
"What is it?"
"I have to hand in my econ paper. It's due by 5 today."
"Weiss!"
"Sav, you know Kopfelman doesn't mess around."
"Okay. Okay, let me think. You have to go to his office?"
"Of course. Believe me, Savvy, I wish there were some magical way to hand in a paper without leaving my dorm with, like, a robot or something, but this isn't science fiction, so yeah, the only way to get a professor a paper is to take it to his office and I don't even have the paper with me. I left it on my desk."
Weiss rambles when he's nervous. It's cute. But she hopes he can keep it in check long enough to be convincing at Health Services.
"Weiss." She cuts him off. "Where's Kopfelman's office?"
"Fourth floor of Witt."
Witterson Hall. "That's actually on the way to – okay, we'll pick up the paper and hand it in for you. Give Bos your keys."
Weiss gives Bos an uncertain look, which Savvy assumes is related to the misadventure in his truck over Christmas break.
"He's a great driver," Savvy says hastily. "And we need him to get into your entryway. You're still parked up on State, right?"
Weiss nods.
"Okay. We'll pick up the paper, hand it in, and meet you at Health Services. Back entryway." She's throwing clothes into a purple canvas duffel bag as she talks, taking turns: handful from her drawer, handful from Addie's. Underwear, bras, socks. Loose and comfy clothes for Addie. Something warm for nighttime when the winds roll in. She'll grab some more of Weiss's sweatpants when she's in his room; those will come in handy.
"What about my-"
"We'll pack for you," Savvy assures him.
Weiss looks uncertain.
"Weiss. Don't you want to help her?"
"Of course I want to help her, Sav, I've been-"
"You've been great, you really have. You showed up for me and for and you showed up for us but now I need you to do it again. I need you to show up one more time."
She sees Weiss's gaze fall onto Bos's swollen hand, the split in his knuckles. Slowly, he nods.
"Sav … where are we going?"
"Somewhere Addie can get what she needs."
"And I need to sneak Addie out of Health Services to do that..."
He glances between Savvy and her brother.
"Okay, city boy." Bos stands in front of Weiss. "Now's the time to find out if you have the right kind of balls."
"What kind of balls are those?" Weiss looks nervously at Savvy.
"Weiss." Savvy takes his face between her palms and stares at him, willing him to hear how important this is. "Listen to me. You're great and I love you and I know it hasn't been that long with us but I swear I think it could be. I think you could be it for me but this is just one of those things we have to do. You were so great when it happened, you really were, but it's not over and I need you now, too."
He meets her gaze and nods, very slightly. "I'm here."
"And you're coming with us?"
"I'm coming with you." He pauses.
"Okay. Good. I'll meet you behind Health Services," she says quickly, leaning on her windowsill to scan the quad below. They won't catch attention; it's spring break, students are moving in and out of the dorms all the time. "We'll pull over on Maple. Wait for us next to the overhang, not under it."
"Sav … where did you say we're going, exactly?"
"I didn't." She grabs her lightweight barn jacket and slings the purple duffel back over her shoulder. "Come on, boys – let's get the hell out of here."
.-.-.
Everyone's gathering in the shelter for dinner now that the weather has changed, but Addison takes a few moments to gather herself before she joins them. If there's one thing she knows how to do, it's pull it together when she feels like her world is falling apart, so that's what she does.
As soon as she arrives at the three-walled structure behind Reeds, protected from the high winds, she scans the crowd for Derek.
It's automatic.
This is what will be hardest, she supposes – breaking that habit. Not finding him first in any room, not gravitating to his side, not glancing over at him to see his reactions to things. For more than a third of her life – for more than half of the life she can remember – he's been her automatic other half. She receives news with him in mind, makes plans with him in mind, holds his words in her head and his thoughts on her tongue. If you meant AddisonAndDerek all those years, then we will be even harder to shake.
She's still mulling over this as she drifts across the room toward the man who is still her husband.
He turns before she's halfway there and he's looking at her by the time she reaches his side. He doesn't say anything, just picks up her wrist in his hand; she gasps a little without meaning to at the contact. His thumb rubs over her skin and she doesn't move even though she can feel the fine hairs on her arm standing up under his touch. It's a clinician's touch, she reminds herself, even if it's gentle … not a lover's.
It's just her body apparently didn't get the message. Heat swirls through her stomach and her knees feel a little soft. He looks up at her, still holding her wrist, and she looks back.
Neither of them says anything.
He doesn't apologize for grabbing her and she doesn't apologize for trying to slap him and neither of them mentions what Derek overheard in the reeds.
There must still be something of AddisonAndDerek in them after all, because when he lets her go her they join the group to throw back heavily diluted white lightning, munch on tin bowls of island stew, and listen to stories about Catherine running along these beaches with her sister Cecilia as a young girl.
.-.-.
There's a light rain falling outside the shelter, but under the three-walled structure it's mercifully warm and dry with a crackling fire and pewter pots holding fragrant food. The air is filled with the rise and fall of chattering voices, the sounds of children playing in the protected area, and the clatter of slowly emptying dishes.
On his way to refill his drink, Derek catches a glimpse of Boswell standing to one side of the hearth, holding a little girl on his shoulders. He supposes this must be one of his children. He's deep in conversation with a man whose name Derek hasn't caught, presumably another cousin, who has a little boy sitting on his own shoulders. The two children are also talking to each other from their perches high above the ground, and it's the kind of thing that might have been adorable if seeing Savvy's brother didn't leave a bad taste in Derek's mouth.
He walks a few steps away but then he just runs into Beau, who as usual is surrounded by small children.
"No fireworks, Daddy? Not even if it stops raining?"
"It's not going to stop raining, bud." Beau ruffles the blond hair of one of his sons. "Not until the morning." Beau glances over at Derek. "Hey. We're probably calling curfew after this."
"Curfew?"
"Storm protocol," Beau says. "Stay inside, stay away from the water, until the morning."
"Did you see a weather report, or …" Derek's voice trails off. Beau is looking at him like he's crazy. Apparently weather is something else that the Beauforts can just divine without having access to the outside world.
"Y'all have everything you need down at Reeds?" It's Lily asking this question, Beau's wife; she's holding their little girl by the hand and looking at him with what seems like genuine concern.
What we need is two separate rooms.
"We do. Thank you so much," he adds, conscious that Beau is watching him closely.
Addison keeps shooting him nervous glances that are irritating for a number of reasons; after spending most of his adult life with her he's having to consciously turn off the urge to stand by her side. Maybe it's the rain, the impending storm or the emotion of saying goodbye to Catherine, but the group under the shelter is, for the most part, coupled off.
There's the pig farmer-underwear model, sitting on a wrought-iron bench with a toddler on her lap, apparently trying to convince him to eat, while the tall blond he recognizes as her husband wrangles two other children; occasionally, their heads join together to murmur something he can't hear.
The young couple he saw outside Reeds talking to Addison late at night – the newlyweds – are standing together, arms around each other's waists, peering out into the storm. And on the stone wall running the perimeter, Savvy and her cousin Augie are sitting side by side, each woman flanked by her husband, four mason jars of white lightning among them.
Derek notes that of everyone he can see under the shelter, only Boswell seems to be avoiding his wife. Ruefully he wonders if he and Bos have something in common after all.
Addison is standing with two blonde women whose names he can't remember, presumably cousins, though they could be spouses of cousins. He wonders briefly if one of them is Casey, but then he's distracted watching Addison's gestures as she listens to something one of the other women is saying, rubbing absently at the flesh of her wrist.
He flushes with guilt. In the reeds, before dinner, he blocked her slap on instinct – she's never raised a hand to him before and he stopped her before he could even think about it. It wasn't a choice.
Holding onto her was, though, and his stomach clenches now remembering it. Remembering that there was a flicker of something in her eyes that disturbed him and he walked away before he'd feel compelled to ask.
"Derek?"
She's interrupted his thoughts; he nods reluctantly in greeting.
"Storm's coming in," she says tentatively.
"Yeah." He glances away from her, taking another sip of the very watered-down white lightning.
"Derek, can I just talk to you for a –"
"Not now," he cuts her off.
"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "I just wanted you to understand something, because-"
"I understand," he says abruptly. "I don't need any more explanation."
.-.-.
He leaves her standing alone in the shelter and once she's bussed her dishes she pulls up the hood of her windbreaker – it's one of those outdoorsy, trail type of brands, Derek bought it for her years ago – and follows him down to the beach.
"I don't want to talk," he says without turning around when she's reached him. The rain falling is light but persistent, and his hair looks damp and wild.
She doesn't say anything; finally, he turns around. "Can't you leave me alone?"
"I guess not," she admits.
"Addison."
"Derek, I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean for you to hear – and I just needed –"
"You just needed what?"
"I just needed to talk to someone." She pushes at the damp sand with one foot, embarrassed.
He studies her for a moment. "You asked me if I still felt nauseous when I looked at you. You want to know what I see when I look at you?"
"Okay," she says hesitantly.
"I see Mark's hands," he says, facing the ocean, his tone fierce. "I see Mark's hands all over you and I see what you were doing when I walked in on you. And I hear you … saying his name."
Her stomach twists. "Derek, I'm so sorry, you have no idea how-"
"Save it." He makes a dismissive gesture.
"I wasn't trying to hurt you," she whispers. "I know it must seem that way, I know it, but Derek, I swear…"
"I thought you were the love of my life," he says simply, "and you threw our marriage away for Mark."
"You threw our marriage away first!" The words come out fiercely.
"Oh, I forgot it's all my fault."
"You weren't there, Derek. You weren't-"
"Oh, god." He rolls his eyes. "We're back to how I didn't pay enough attention to you, so you had no choice but to fuck my best friend in my bed on a night when you knew I'd be coming home."
"I didn't know you'd be coming home!" She's yelling now. "Damn it, Derek I never knew if you were coming home! I couldn't count on you at all by that point."
"Well, I hope your marriage to Mark is better, then. Good luck. You should probably put a jumbo box of STD tests on your wedding registry."
It's mean, but it's close to home.
"I'm not marrying him," she says quietly. "I'm married to you, Derek."
He looks disgusted.
"Derek, just … just do me this favor. Just think about how many cancelled plans, the last two years, before– before you left. How many times didn't you come home? How long before you stopped even telling me you weren't coming home?"
"I was busy," he says stiffly. "And so were you, as I recall."
"I was busy too. But I tried to make you a priority, I did."
"Right. You were perfect and I'm the bad guy."
"Stop being so damned black and white Derek, it's not like that! Marriage isn't like that!"
"Don't lecture me on marriage when you couldn't keep your legs closed," he says bitterly.
She winces at his language, to hear someone who once made her feel so safe, so loved, talking about her in that careless way.
"Mark … made me feel wanted," she says in a small voice.
"Spare me, Addison. I've spent plenty of time watching Mark work. He makes all the girls feel wanted, if he wants to get them into bed, and then he screws them a few times and moves on to the next one. You're not special."
"I'm your wife," she whispers. "How could you…"
"How could I? How could you, Addison. How could you throw away everything we-"
"I didn't mean to! I didn't want to, Derek, if you could just-" she stops talking, pressing a hand to her abdomen.
He frowns. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing." The pain was brief; it's passed. "Too much island stew, probably."
"You hardly ate anything," he points out.
"It's heavy, Derek. There are like three prize pigs in each batch."
He seems to be fighting a smile now, some of the tension broken.
"Also I think I slept half-hanging off the bed last night," she says, "and I can feel it." She rubs at the ache in her lower back.
"Good thing the white lightning was diluted tonight, then."
"Yeah."
Tentatively, she reaches out to rest a hand on her arm. She's not sure why, maybe just that every moment with him on the island feels like it could be their last, and she's compelled to memorize the feel of him. He lets her for a moment before he sidesteps and her arm drops back to her side.
.-.-.
"Addie? Derek? Are you all right out there?"
She turns to see Savvy approaching in high wellies with her long, blonde hair waving in the wind. She's damp with rain and rosy-cheeked from the breeze. It's beautiful on the island, that's what Savvy told her in college, before she saw it for herself. And it makes you beautiful, too. Addison had only had her braces off for two months at the time. I'd like to see an island that can make me beautiful, she snorted sarcastically.
"Didn't you hear the bell? They called curfew. Storm's coming in," she comments when she reaches their side. Addison sees now that there are tears in her blue eyes. Savvy puts an apologetic hand up to her face; Derek wraps an arm around Savvy's shoulder and drops a kiss on the top of her head.
Addison watches with something like envy, embarrassed about it. She'd like some of that comfort herself. But if she asks for it, she might cry. And if she asks for it, and he won't give it to her …
She doesn't really want to think about that.
"I'm sorry. It's okay, really." Savvy pulls back and Derek gives her arm a gentle squeeze. "I just … I can't help thinking about her here. Everywhere, you know? She's everywhere on the island. And that's good because she's still here, but it's also … it's also hard because she's not here."
Her voice breaks and Addison steps forward to wrap her in her arms.
"May I cut in?"
Addison looks up from Savvy's shoulder to see Weiss, who's smiling sadly at her.
She releases Savvy, and Weiss pulls her into his arms. "Sav … I was looking for you. They called curfew," he says, giving Addison and Derek an apologetic look over the top of her head while he murmurs comforting syllables into Savvy's hair.
Addison and Derek exchange a glance.
"We should be …" she starts.
"…should go…" he adds.
"…yeah," she finishes awkwardly.
When they take their leave, she stumbles a little on a dip in the damp sand and Derek catches her elbow to steady her, his grip surprisingly warm and strong.
They both look back as they reach the narrow wooden walkway. Savvy and Weiss are still embracing on the beach as frothy waves curl around their bare feet, rocking gently from side to side like a dance to music only they can hear. There may be a storm coming, but somehow they look strong enough to withstand it.
God, she misses that feeling.
.-.-.
They walk back to Reeds in silence. They push the door closed with some effort; the wind is picking up. There's a whistling sound from under the rough-hewn wood.
She sheds her damp windbreaker and leans back against the closed door, watching Derek. "I guess we have to stay inside now."
"I'm sure that's hard for you without your crew of admirers," he says drily.
She narrows her eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"You're right. Who knows what else you haven't told me?"
"Is this about Bos? Derek, come on, why do you even care? It was twenty years ago!"
"It seems pretty fresh in his mind, though. Maybe that's what you were dong on the island on this secret visit – another rendezvous with him?"
Her heart thumps. "What? Of course not, Derek! Other than Mark I've never – I would never-"
"Of course not." Derek's voice is cold when he mimics her words. "Boswell's wife isn't around much on the island, is she? I still haven't seen her. Maybe you've been screwing him here, too."
She takes a step back. "That's not fair. Why are you even jealous if you hate me so-"
"I'm not jealous," he says scathingly. "I'm disgusted."
"Oh, stop being petty."
"Stop being an adulterous bitch!"
For a moment they just breathe heavily, looking at each other.
Then she stumbles back outside, pulling the door open against the wind with some effort. She has to get away from him, from his cold gaze. It's too confusing, it's hurts too much, thinking about the way he touched her in the warehouse – so briefly but she felt it everywhere, the way his thumb traced the seam of her pocket, his hand curving around her hip. The simple but powerful way he tugged her closer. His body pressed up against hers at the sink. For a moment, for a few moments, she had felt like herself. Like he was himself.
Maybe it's harder this way, this moments of hope. Maybe she's being unfair because she has no idea how to articulate what she wants, anyway. How can she put into words that what she wants is the Derek who disappeared two years ago? The Derek who waited for her, watched her, wanted her?
Savvy and Weiss are gone, presumably snuggled up somewhere for warmth, comforting each other. Like they used to.
She walks along the sand for a while, alone, thinking.
The rain is kicking up now, the swirling wind giving the foliage life, casting eerie shadows on the sand. The water looks black and forbidding, little white peaks giving testimony to the building storm.
"Addison!"
She turns around to see Derek making his way toward her down the sand. He's holding her windbreaker and she looks down at the gooseflesh rising on her wrists. She hadn't realized she left without it. He offers her the jacket as he gets to her side.
When she doesn't make any effort to take it, he drapes it around her shoulders. "It's raining. Come back inside."
She doesn't answer.
"We're supposed to stay inside," he reminds her.
"Island rules?" She glances at him, shaking her head. "You don't care about the island. You don't care about anything."
"Addison, don't do this here. There's a storm. You can tell me how much you hate me when we're back in the room."
She doesn't respond. He fiddles with the blackberry in his hand, and then pushes a few buttons. "No signal," he observes.
"High winds," Addison says quietly, looking out at the water as the light rain starts to feel more bracing.
"Come inside," he says again. "You're going to get soaked."
"I don't care."
"Addie. Come on."
"I'm sad," she says simply. "I'm angry too and yes at myself and not just you, and I'm confused and I'm … devastated, Derek, and I feel so guilty for what I did to you that I don't think I've gone day without feeling like someone's gnawing at my stomach, but …
"But what?"
"But I still love you," she says softly.
"Addison … don't."
"I still love you," she repeats. "I'm sorry, but I do, and I just … I don't mind picking up trash or washing dishes if I can do it with you."
He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. She sees his mouth open, then close again. He closes his hand around her upper arm and leads them back toward the path. "Come on," he says, his tone surprisingly gentle, "they called curfew."
She must have given him a look of surprise because he shrugs as they walk back toward Reeds. "Island rules, not mine."
.-.-.
They don't speak on their way back to Reeds, but his hand on her back is mildly comforting, even if she's pretty certain he doesn't mean it that way. She feels its absence when they're back in the room, and feels a sudden desperation to make him understand, to make him listen.
"Derek … please, let me just –"
"How could you?"
His voice is quiet when he interrupts her, but it's laced with betrayal and it pierces her chest. He doesn't have to finish the sentence. How could you sleep with Mark?
"I'm sorry," she breathes, even though it's not enough. "I … he was just there…"
"Damn it, Addison, he's not Everest!"
"I know that. I know." She swallows the tears. "Derek, I just … I mean, you are going to forgive me at some point, right?"
"You want to know if I can forgive you … why, so you can hedge your bets? The last girl who tried to play Mark off me and me off Mark was in seventh grade and it didn't turn out well for her either."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"You're just afraid to be alone, then." He doesn't say it with any particular malice, but it stings nonetheless.
"What about you, Derek? You found a girlfriend the minute you got to Seattle, and-"
"Don't do that." He shakes his head. "Don't do the thing where you turn everything around. Take some responsibility for what you've done."
"I do. I do take responsibility, Derek. What about your responsibilities?"
"I'm responsible for throwing you into bed with Mark?" He shakes his head.
"No, of course not, but our marriage didn't just blow up that night, Derek, it was simmering for a hell of a lot longer and I wasn't the only one responsible for that!"
He takes a deep breath, looking like he'd like to lash back at her but he's not sure what to say.
"You were never there," she reminds him. "You left me alone, after you said – you left me alone, Derek."
"Because I was busy? Because I worked? Is that how you're spinning this now, Addison, you were Donna Reed waiting at home for me with a … roast, and I was working late just to spite you?" He shakes his head. "You were pretty ambitious yourself. We were both building practices. We were both moving forward with our careers."
"It's not because you were busy, or because you worked! It's not just about how often you were physically there. You weren't … there, there, Derek. I needed you," she says quietly, "and you weren't there."
"What are you talking about? When?"
She shakes her head. "Forget it."
"Addison. You just said it's my fault you cheated because I wasn't there. Now you don't want to talk about it anymore?"
Truthfully, she's afraid to keep talking about it, because there's a stinging sensation behind her eyes that doesn't promise anything good.
He's studying her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I know I hurt you, Derek, I know that, and I am more sorry than you can possibly know."
"It doesn't matter," he says quietly.
His voice isn't angry now, it's – defeated, resigned, and that scares her more than yelling ever could.
"Derek." She steps forward to grasp his face in her hands, stubble scratching her palms, filling her with sense memory of the night he left her.
I'm sorry … I'm sorry … you have to give me a chance, you have to give me a chance to show you how sorry I am…
He doesn't pull away now, but his jaw feels tight under her hands.
"Don't give up on me. Please." She searches his eyes; they're dark with pain but they're focused on her, he's looking at her, and she dares to hope for just a moment. "Derek, please, in the warehouse you were – I mean – it's not just muscle memory, it can't be."
His head moves between her hands like he's saying no but she holds on tightly.
"Please," she whispers. "Derek, please."
His hands rise and circle her wrists, not hard, but when they slide back down the warmth of his skin is missing. Her chest feels tight when she looks at him.
"You're shivering," Derek says quietly, releasing her hands. "Your clothes are wet. You should go take a shower."
Slowly, she nods. There's a dull ache in her stomach now – probably the combination of fresh fish, whatever was in tonight's island stew, and white lightning. She drank moderately, nothing like the night before, but now she's kicking herself for not remembering how raw she'd feel.
She takes a step toward the bathroom, then turns back. "Does Meredith even know you're married, Derek? Does she know you at all?"
"Drop it," he says, his tone a warning that she ignores; like so many times before, she hurtles forward without worrying she might regret it later.
"You can't be mad about Mark when you're with someone else too!"
He turns on her. "You think that settles the score? After what you did? We were separated when I met Meredith. We were married when you slept with Mark."
"We're only separated now because you walked away. You always walk away, Derek!"
"No, we're separated because you screwed my best friend, Addison." He shakes his head. "It's unforgivable."
And there it is.
For a few moments they just stare at each other.
Then she takes a few angry steps away and starts sorting her jewelry with quick, sharp movements. They're like surgical instruments: shiny and organized. Line them up precisely and you don't have to feel anything. But when she turns around again Derek is still glaring at her, and her stomach twists.
"Mark was right about you," she says.
He doesn't rise to the bait. "You can go back to him anytime, Addison. Don't stay here on my account."
"I'm not staying on your account, Derek." Her voice shakes. "I'm staying for Savvy. I'm staying for my friend."
"Some friend," he snorts. "Too busy screwing Mark to take Savvy's call when her mother was dying."
Her eyes get very wide. And she takes a step back.
Derek rubs a hand through his hair wearily. Some of the air in the room seems to have left. Damn it. He wasn't planning to bring that up. He didn't mean to, not really, not when he knew how much it would hurt her.
"Addison…"
"No, you're right." She gives him that cold half-smile that makes her look like her mother. "I'm a terrible friend and a terrible wife, so I won't make you put up with me anymore." With that, she stalks off. The bathroom door closes hard behind her and he hears the shower start to run.
God, she's so damned passive-aggressive. Always.
He sinks down on the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands. Three days on the island and they're ready to kill each other.
But just a few days more and they can leave. And they never have to see each other again.
… which should be a relief.
He massages his aching temples, waiting to feel relief instead of the hollow in his stomach that was carved when he thrust open their bedroom door back in Manhattan.
What does he feel now? Mostly, he just feels cold. His clothes are damp too, and he'd like to take a hot shower, but the water is still running in the bathroom. Addison always takes her time.
He changes into dry clothes, figuring it will be a while before his turn. Being warmer helps. He dims the lights and draws the curtain, watching the storm outside.
The shower is still running, the sound of water blending with the water outside.
He checks his watch, annoyed. Her aggression apparently extends to keeping him from taking a shower, which shouldn't surprise him. Addison is famous for her luxuriant showers – he's shared more than a few with her in the past – but this is getting ridiculous, especially when they're staying in a conservation center.
Sighing, he crosses the room and raps on the door.
No answer.
"Addison." He knocks again. Close to the door, he realizes the running water sounds like less than a shower now. Maybe the sink. So she's finished her shower and started her evening ablutions without giving him a chance to warm up and dry off. Typically selfish.
He raises his voice to be heard over the water. "I need to get in there, Addison!"
She still ignores him. Damn it.
"Addison!" He knocks sharply this time. "What's going on?"
After a long silence, her voice echoes from behind the door. "Nothing … Derek, I'm fine."
"Then would you mind getting out of there so I can shower?"
"You're just going to have to … wait a minute." Her voice is tight, labored.
"Addison." He jiggles the locked door and then knocks hard this time, losing patience. "Open the door! You can sulk out here, I need to take a shower."
More silence.
"Addison!"
"Use the one outside."
"In a goddamned hurricane? You'd like that, wouldn't you. Stop screwing around and open the door."
"Please go away!" Her voice is louder now but it sounds choked – unfamiliar.
"Addison, you're being ridiculous. Let me in."
"Derek, please," she sounds out of breath now. "Please just get … away … from the door."
He forces his tone to be less angry, hoping it will help. "Look, Addison, you threw up all over me yesterday, this is no time to turn shy."
When he presses his ear against the wood, he hears something between a moan and a whimper.
"What the hell is going on in there?"
"Nothing," she chokes out. "Can you just –" but a pained gasp interrupts whatever she was planning to say.
He calls her name again and she doesn't respond, but with his ear pressed to the door he hears that moaning sound again, panting breaths.
"I'm coming in there." He's still not sure how, and he can't tell if she's screwing with him or if something is very wrong, and neither option is a good one.
"No, Derek…" There's panic in her voice now, real fear, and that makes up his mind quickly.
Jiggling the flimsy lock multiple times, he tries to remember what Mark taught him about picking locks when they were teenagers, and finally, frustrated, just hopes for the best and slams his shoulder into the door.
Just twice and it bursts open as pain rips through his shoulder – thank god for unrenovated hotel rooms –
"Addison!"
For one crazy minute he doesn't see her.
The he realizes it's because she's hunched over inside the clawfoot bathtub, naked, holding her knees and curled so tightly in on herself that the top of her bowed head barely clears the rim of the oversized tub. The showerhead is turned off but there's a stream of water running consistently out of the tub's faucet.
"Addison." He rushes to her side. "Are you all right? What the hell is going on?"
She doesn't respond; when he crouches down what he sees makes him freeze with horror: the water swirling underneath her tightly curled body and running down the drain is tinged with red.
No, not tinged.
Just … red.
TBC. Don't throw things! I had to end somewhere. Review like it's an island rule and I'll get chapter 13 up ASAP.
