A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read and check on and review this story. I so appreciate your sticking around during the unexpected mini-island-hiatus. I really can't believe it's been over a month since I've updated this story. I also can't believe it's been six and a half years since I posted my first story so yeah, believing might be a little challenging for me. This story hasn't been flowing that easily, but I promise I'm not going to give it up. All this is to say I know I've been posting sporadically and in weird bursts and it's hard to predict when I'm going to update next, but I promise it's not on purpose. You can't get rid of me that easily!
Let's start with another flashback before we touch down on the island ...
* Patsy, Ms. Scarlet, and anyone else in or near Irma's path, please stay safe.
.-.-.
Some Bright Morning
16. to a land where joys will never end
.-.-.
He lingers outside the door for a moment; it's drizzly late spring, grey and dreary all day. Fumbling for his keys – he's a surgeon, he doesn't actually fumble. Maybe he's just not ready to admit to himself that he's buying time.
All he has to do is push open the door to feel the change in the air, and to remind himself why.
She's standing in the foyer with a hand resting on the banister; she looks at him with studied disregard as he closes the door behind him and he scans the sum of her quickly.
She's wearing an ivory silk robe, her hair piled loosely on her head with rumpled spots he knows comes from massaging her scalp. There's a mug of what smells like hot water with lemon in her hand, but there's an altogether different scent rising from her skin when she inclines her cheek for a kiss.
Derek frowns instead of imprinting her with his lips. "You said you were sick."
"I was."
"You're hungover." He shakes his head. "So I guess you were drunk when you called. Aren't you a little old for this?"
"Apparently not." Her voice is small; he's surprised she doesn't rise to the challenge.
He's surprised, and he's annoyed.
"Addison …"
"It was a few glasses, I just hadn't – I was just more tired than I realized," she says. "I missed lunch, and the food at the …" She stops talking and just studies him for a moment.
"I thought you were going to dinner."
"I did. Well, after. I thought you were going to come," she adds, "and so did Weiss and Savvy."
"I called him."
"You didn't call me."
He busies himself taking off his coat. She bought it for him – camel-colored cashmere, light and warm, but there's something about the shoulders he doesn't like. They're a bit different from his own, and she swears they're not pads, but …
"Derek," she says, not giving him time to respond, "Derek, if you thought I was sick, why did you ignore my call?"
"I didn't ignore your call, Addie, I was working. And I trust you to take care of yourself. You do have a medical degree."
"I was feeling sick when I called you," she says defensively.
He rubs the bridge of his nose. He's exhausted after a long surgery, and walking directly into the glare of the foyer, the accusatory gaze of his wife, makes their sizeable home seem very small.
Crushing, even.
And there's something about arguing at the edge of the foyer with a framed wedding portrait judging them from the hall table. He sneaks a quick glance at the frozen faces, cheek to cheek, looking happy, a little nervous, and impossibly, startlingly young. Were they even old enough to drink eleven years ago when they pledged they'd stay together forever?
He's surprised by a sudden feeling of affection for that young couple
He gives her a slight smile, trying to move them past this. "You seem fine now, so you can't have been that … sick."
"Not like you care."
With supreme effort, Derek suppresses a roll of his eyes. "What exactly was I supposed to do if I did come home?"
"I don't know, express some concern? Bring me a glass of water? Turn me on my side so I don't fucking choke to death?"
"Don't be so crass." He frowns.
"No, of course not. I'll just be silent. That's how you like me, I know."
"Do you hear yourself?"
"Yes. Do you hear me?"
"Addison … you're being ridiculous."
"Derek … no conversation has ever improved when a husband said that to his wife."
He actually fights a smile for a moment. It reminds him of when fighting was part of their spark, when wordplay became foreplay and passion spilled over from arguments directly into bed.
"You didn't choke," he points out.
"Yeah, well. Weiss was here," she says. There's a passive-aggressive undertone to her voice that irritates him.
"He doesn't have his own wife to manipulate him?"
He thinks in that moment he's gone too far; Addison looks hurt. But he's annoyed all over again at the implication that he's a bad husband, the idea that Savvy and Weiss were with her when she was drinking and – knowing her, especially lately, moping, and probably complaining about her husband. And calling him, and complaining more when he didn't answer.
That's not who they are. It's not who they were, and it's certainly not who they should be.
"Addie..."
"Don't," she says. She doesn't sound angry, just resigned. And he knows what she means.
She means this: Don't hurt me and then try to take it back.
If he's honest with himself … they both have a tendency to do that.
If he's honest with himself.
When did that start to be a bad thing?
Sighing, he moves toward the bar and pours himself a drink.
"Make me one?"
She's standing closer to him now, long fingers playing along the edge of the shelf.
"Maybe you should take it easy tonight."
"Hair of the dog," she says, a look of annoyance crossing her face when he doesn't pour. "Derek."
"Fine." He pours her a glass. "But don't expect me to drop everything if you decide you've had too much."
"Believe me, honey, I don't expect much from you at all these days."
He swallows scotch instead of rising to the bait. He knows her well enough to know she'll be apologetic in a moment, maybe even clinging.
Don't hurt me and then try to take it back.
"Derek…." Her plaintive tone is just this side of a whine.
"It's fine," he tells her magnanimously. "I'm going to do some work in my office."
"You're drinking."
"Unlike you … I can do it moderately."
"Derek, can't you just …" Her voice shakes a little as it trails off.
He returns to the bar and makes a show of moving the scotch deeper into the liquor cabinet, then leans over to drop a brief kiss on her lips. "Do your liver a favor and stop with one tonight, okay?"
"Yeah." She looks down at the glass in her hand. "Okay. Derek, should I wait for – "
"No, go to bed if you're tired. I'll be up later."
Don't look back, don't look back, his inner voice chants as he pads down the hall toward the sanctity of his office. Like Lot's wife, he can't resist, and when he glances over his shoulder – just briefly, just for the shortest of moments – he doesn't turn into a pillar of salt. But when he sits down at his desk, he can still see the slumped shoulders of his wife, staring into the bottom of her tumbler like it holds an answer.
.-.-.
"Addison."
She's wrapped in a warm cocoon of sleep.
"Addie."
Why does he keep saying my name?
Slumber clings to her, making her eyelids heavy as she tries to focus.
Derek's hand is on her arm, shaking lightly; he's trying to rouse her. She must have slept through the alarm.
The light slicing through their bedroom is strange though, pale and pink-flushed and beachy like they're somewhere else.
"Addison. Wake up."
… maybe because they are somewhere else.
With no small effort, she drags her eyes open, taking in her surroundings: the ceiling fan above the bed, the late-afternoon sun peering through the curtains, the salty-marshy scent of the coast.
Obviously, she's not in her bedroom, and for the time – it's probably only seconds – that it takes her to orient herself, she hangs onto the only thing in the room she recognizes: her husband's hand.
His grip is warm and strong. Reassuringly.
And then it all rushes back to her. The previous night – his anger, their raised voices, slamming the bathroom door to shower. Her shock when she discovered what was happening to her body. The blur of room and path and beach and boat, dark stormy ocean skidding up the sides of the runaround. Waking up in another unfamiliar bed in a mainland hospital.
Making their slow, steady way home on a calm sea.
His tender focus on her recovery. But then the gentlest of rebuffs. And then, finally … sleep.
"You slept for a long time," Derek says, scanning her face. "How are you feeling now?"
"I'm … okay."
"Better?"
That's a difficult question, but she nods, assuming it's the answer he's seeking.
He pulls a little bit on the hand he's holding. "We should probably start getting ready …."
"Right."
She lets him help her sit up and pull her to her feet.
"Addie …"
"Let's just get ready so we can go say goodbye to Catherine," she says, and closes the newly repaired bathroom door behind with her a soft click, trying not to shudder when she thinks about the tile under her feet.
.-.-.
"What's wrong with this suit?" He studies his reflection.
"It's a suit, first of all. And it's black."
"It's a funeral," he reminds her reflection next to his in the mirror.
"Derek, it's not Manhattan."
"I thought black was only for funerals in the south."
"I don't know." Addison is holding a flimsy-looking sundress. "I just know that here they don't wear black."
Here. The island, with its own set of rules.
"You could have told me not to wear black before I packed." He keeps his tone mild, but she could have told him a lot of things to prepare him for the island.
A lot more than what she did tell him … which was basically nothing.
"You didn't exactly want to talk to me, Derek."
He doesn't push it.
"Just … you'll be fine without the jacket. And the tie."
She frowns, and pulls him toward her by the lapels, then starts untying his tie. The feeling of her fingers on his collarbone is so familiar. She always did one last once-over when they got ready together. Straightening his tie, adjusting his collar, checking his cufflinks. He used to feel patronized, even insulted, back when their different backgrounds stood out in sharp contrast, but eventually came to realize she just liked touching him … and accepted the adjustments for the affectionate gesture she intended.
"What?" She's noticed he's looking at her, apparently.
"Nothing." He spreads his hand, having been divested of his jacket and tie. "You want me to roll up my sleeves too?"
She smiles a little. "You probably should. Now that everyone knows what a dab hand you are on the water, you might be called on to do some boat work."
"I can handle that."
"After last night, I believe it." She glances down at her own outfit.
"Does this look okay?" Her expression is doubtful.
Dutifully, he scans her, though he's never known her to look anything other than perfect when she prepares a face for the public.
She's wearing a long, loose sundress that swirls around her legs, flowing like water. Her hair is pinned up again – after seeing what the boat did to it, he can't blame her. She's wearing minimal makeup, which means that he can see the tiredness in her eyes but he can also see her, and that's only ever going to get one response from him.
"It looks perfect," he says, and offers her his arm.
.-.-.
He's never seen a funeral quiet like this one.
Then again, he's never seen anything quite like the island, full stop, so there's no reason to be surprised. The assorted Beauforts gather up island at Camden dock, not a scrap of black clothing among them; they look rather like a flock of brightly colored birds, the low hanging sun reflecting off every golden head.
Babies and smaller toddlers are handed into the boat; the children scramble up the ladder like monkeys and climbs each step after Addison.
"Careful," he murmurs.
"It's a ladder," she hisses back, but she doesn't protest too much when he swings into the boat first and then lifts her down.
He could swear he catches an approving glance from Beau, who's supervising his smaller children beside the railing a few feet away.
"Derek … I'm not an invalid."
"I know that." He guides her toward the bow; she's quiet – everyone's quiet; really, it's the quietest he's seen the Beauforts since he first stepped onto the island. The boat is loosed on the water, sea spray sprinkling upturned faces and hands. The sun is a heavy orange globe now, painting pinkish-purple smears across the horizon. Addison's fair skin is golden in the eerily beautiful light, and she turns glowing eyes on him … still silent.
No one told the crowd to be silent; they just … are, and so he is too.
And then the sun sinks below the horizon, the tip of the bright globe disappearing into the water, and seemingly without plan, the boat bursts into song.
Derek freezes for a moment, surprised – something else Addison didn't prepare him for? – but she looks a bit surprised too.
Some bright morning, when this life is over, I'll fly away
When he turns to Addison he sees gooseflesh rising on her skin; he's getting the chills, too, and the sun has gone down.
When the shadows of this have gone, I'll fly away.
He has no jacket to offer her, so he just wraps an arm around her shoulders instead; she hesitates a little bit, and then leans against him.
Like a bird, from these prison walls I'll fly.
It's an old hymn and a lovely one and he didn't realize he knew it, but he finds that he does.
Just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away
At the same time, he is somehow both aware and unaware that the ashes of Savvy's mother are being scattered in the churning water as the chorus of relatives continues to sing.
To a land where joys will never end, I'll fly away.
The singing tapers off gradually, the last notes floating off on the cool salty breeze. Just like that, the ambience softens, relatives milling about leaning on railings, sitting down, a few of the smaller children chasing each other down the deck.
Addison disappears below deck to find a restroom – after scolding him sharply for offering to go with her – and he's standing alone looking out at the water when he feels footsteps approaching.
Savvy tucks an arm through his. "It means a lot that you're here. To all of us," she adds.
"Of course, Sav." He pats her hand where it rests in the crook of his elbow. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm holding up." She pauses. "That was Mama's favorite hymn."
"It was beautiful. Everyone singing together like that."
"It just kind of happened," Savvy shrugs.
Derek's eyes widen. "It wasn't planned? But you were all in sync. How did you do that without a plan?"
Savvy looks out at the water. "Sometimes if you just listen, you know what to do."
Derek considers her words; before he can respond, she's swallowed back into the crowd and Derek sees that Beau is atypically alone – well, unaccompanied by adults. His daughter is seated on his shoulders, slumping tiredly and resting her cheek against the top of her father's head. On a man who didn't hate him … it would be adorable.
Steeling himself, he approaches.
"Looks like you've got a stowaway," Derek says quietly, inclining his head toward the little girl.
A smile quirks the corner of the other man's lips. "She still awake up there? Her mama will have my head if she pitches overboard."
"She's still awake." Derek looks up and gives her a little wave. "Hi, Avery."
"Hi, Mister Derek," she says sleepily.
"Still awake," he confirms to Beau.
"Good."
He's not sure what to say next. Offer condolences? He's not certain the funeral is over. And he offered condolences upon his arrival. This is the kind of thing Addison would know and could advise him, if she were here. He spotted her moments ago talking to Savvy's cousin Augie, so he knows she's not still below deck, at least.
He glances at Beau. "I'm sorry about your aunt."
"Thanks." Beau is holding Avery's little feet. "Auntie Kate was special. She always knew the right thing to do."
"I know. I mean, I didn't know her, not really," Derek admits. "I met her a few times, but I know how much she meant to Addison." He pauses. "That, uh, you all do," he adds.
"It's mutual," Beau says shortly.
Derek feels his time with Beau may be running out, and not just because Avery's curly blonde head is slumping further toward sleep.
"I owe you an apology," he blurts.
"An apology for what?"
"Taking your boat," Derek says, confused.
"Oh, that." Beau shifts his daughter a bit on his shoulders. "Exigent circumstances, wouldn't you say?"
Derek nods.
"No need to apologize to me." Beau studies Derek's face for a moment. "Maybe to someone else, but not to me."
"Okay. Well, thank you." Derek pauses, then turns back. "She handles beautifully," he says.
A smile tugs at the corner of Beau's mouth. "Doesn't she? It takes the right hand but she'll purr like a kitten."
.-.-.
She's resting her elbows on the rail and her chin in her hand, salty moisture on her cheeks.
"Why don't you sit down?" Derek leans against the railing next to her.
"I'm fine here," she says.
"I think you should take it easy," Derek tells her quietly.
"I am." She pulls away from him, which is a mistake because it makes her flinch.
"Addie..."
"Derek, I'm fine. It was just a twinge. Please don't fuss."
He rests a hand on her back. "Then take it easy."
"Fine." She pauses. "Honey, would you just … mingle," she tells him, a little exasperated.
"Did you just – " He stops.
"Did I just what?" She's confused.
"Nothing. I'll get you some water."
"You don't have to do that."
Savvy walks up to her as Derek retreats.
"How are you feeling?" Savvy rests a hand on her arm, her blue eyes concerned.
Guilt floods her. Savvy lost her mother. Savvy called her and Addison never called back. And now Addison's minor medical issue, overblown by Derek's overreaction, is interfering with Savvy's opportunity to grieve.
After all Savvy and her family have done for her.
For a moment Addison just breathes, feeling small and low. Just when you think you're about as bad a person as you can be…
"Add … talk to me."
"I'm fine, Savvy, this isn't … I'm thinking of you. How are you doing?"
"I'm okay, honey. I really am," Savvy repeats.
Addison squeezes her hand.
"Mama loved you," Savvy says, tugging on their interlocking hands until she's holding Addison tightly. "I think she always wanted a bigger family and you were like another daughter to her."
"I loved her too." Addison wipes tears from her eyes when they separate, and for a few moments they watch the water in silence. She's gripping the railing when Savvy is pulled away by a relative.
For just a moment, she stands alone, and then she senses Derek approaching.
She doesn't turn around and he doesn't announce himself, but he does rest a hand on her back – muscle memory maybe, and as the boat slows with a jolt his arm tightens to steady her.
"I don't have my sea legs." She laughs a little and then touches her stomach.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm okay." She takes a deep breath.
"Addie…"
The boat jolts again; she sways and he pulls her against him. "I've got you," he says quietly.
Finally feeling steady, she turns her face into his neck – he smells the same as always, warm and woodsy, comforting, and he holds onto her. If she closes her eyes she can forget every painful moment that led up to this one. All she has to do is squeeze them shut.
She's not sure if her next words are spoken out loud at all or if it's just the shape of them, her lips against his skin. "Don't let go," she whispers.
He's still holding onto her when the first fireworks light up the darkened sky.
.-.-.
Weiss doesn't hover.
He wants to hover, he may be genetically programmed to hover, but he's also been well trained by Savvy and honed his own instincts over the years: when to hold her and when to leave her alone, when to brush by her side with a glass of water and when to pour out a shot of white lightning and watch her throw it back.
It's chilly at the hearth, dark now, the various Beauforts having scattered to dig up warmer clothes once the boat docked, before they reconvened outside to talk, drink, and share memories of Catherine.
Much as they did on the boat at sunset.
Much as they've done each night since they arrived.
The island is like that, in Weiss's experience, somehow ruled by ritual and yet utterly uncompartmentalized. Time is loose here; it flows. He sees it in the faces of Savvy's family. He always has.
He took Savvy to Vienna once, when they'd only been married a year or so, showed her the site of his grandparents' store, the cafes they still remembered, the street where they'd lived until they didn't. Savvy was entranced, and he couldn't blame her; his wife's family traced itself not just back to the Revolution but back across the ocean to England and France. She asked Weiss a lot of questions about his family when they first got together, wanting to know, wanting to understand, and confused at the beginning when he couldn't answer. He didn't have intricately plotted, hand drawn family trees like the Beauforts and the Seviers.
Those weren't the kinds of records they kept, he told Savvy once, grimly, and she squeezed his hand tightly.
In Vienna those bright autumn days, Weiss could see her putting the pieces together, trying to draw a history for him. On a picturesque street she caught his arm excitedly. This is like your island, she said. Weiss was touched by her enthusiasm but he shook his head. Not exactly. We stopped being welcome here, he reminded her. Savvy chewed her bottom lip in response, her eyes troubled. You'll always be welcome on the island, she told him. I promise. And she wrapped her arms around his waist, hanging on tightly.
Savvy has kept all her promises.
It's about the vows, after all.
Weiss glances at Savvy, who's deep in conversation with Beau, Bos, and Augie, their four blond heads together – Beau's and Bos's ducked downward to reach the shorter women. The Four Beausketeers. He remembering digging his fist against his mouth to keep from chuckling when she told him about their nickname. Promise you won't laugh, Weiss, I'll only tell you if you promise not to laugh.
He kept the promise … with some effort.
Savvy is … standing, and outwardly okay. She's good at that, the most welcoming hostess he knows. There's nothing she can't smooth over, he thinks admiringly, remembering countless examples small and large of her social graces.
Not just social. Personal. The island to him has always felt like an extension of Savvy, those lucky enough to be welcomed to it returning again and again to feel its warm and particular embrace.
He sees Addison approach the Beausketeers; they expand to welcome her into the circle. Weiss studies his wife for a moment; she smiles softly at him when she catches him looking, but her eyes are shadowed.
She's exhausted, and he can't blame her. Discreetly, he checks the time.
He should get Savvy back to the cottage.
"I should get Addie back to Reeds," a voice says next to him, and he turns to see Derek, not having heard him approach.
They greet each other, and then Derek glances at him. "It's been a long day for her. She wants to be there for Savvy, but she's exhausted."
"Sav too." Weiss looks at the two women. The others move on to talk to gathered relatives; Addie and Savvy remain deep in conversation. He doesn't have to glance at Derek to know he's watching them too.
How many times had they stood side by side, watching their wives together? How many husbandly thoughts had they shared? Admittedly, he was surprised to hear Derek say I should get her back to Reeds. Concern. Responsibility. Ownership? Obligation? His mind throws word after word – hit the off switch, that's what Sav would tease him when he'd start shooting out wordy suggestions for revision.
"I guess we should …" Weiss glances toward the women.
We.
Are they a team now? Again?
"Yeah." Derek nods. "I guess we should."
.-.-.
"Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Why aren't you sleeping?" Savvy challenges as she picks her way down the sand an hour after the last of the group finally dispersed, a little annoyed that her brother's expression suggests he just knows she left a sleeping Weiss alone without warning him.
She props her hands on her hips when she reaches the water's edge.
Bos doesn't answer, just looks out at the darkened horizon. He's holding something in his hand, and he shows it to her.
"Oh, Bos…"
"It's cold out here tonight." He puts the object he was holding back in his pocket.
"Yeah, I know." Savvy pulls her sweater closer.
"And it's late. You should be sleeping."
"Okay, big brother, you're not sleeping either. You want me to tell Case?"
"Don't you dare." He wraps an arm around her when she gets to his side, and Savvy leans against him. It's too dark to make out much behind them other than the shadows of the cottage from which they'd both emerged, the porch swing still moving slightly on the wind.
The sand is cold under her feet, she feels the chill in the spaces her sandals don't cover.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Mama," Savvy says.
"More specifically?"
Savvy smiles a little. "That she'd slap both Shepherds if she were here."
Bos laughs.
"You don't think she'd have some other things to do?"
"Nah." Savvy brushes some moisture from her eyes. "You and I are married off, aren't we?"
"Yeah, we are."
"You know what a matchmaker she was. And she loved Addie. She'd be mad as a cat if she knew what was going on with those two."
Bos toes some sand with his bare feet, marking a half circle as they watch they water.
"I just wish they would …" Savvy stops, shaking her head.
"Don't you dare waste a wish on those two," Bos warns her. "Not when you – " He stops talking.
"I'm going to take care of it," Savvy says, her lips trembling. "When we get back to New York. Addie's going to operate on me."
Bos is quiet for a moment as they track a circle in the sand. "What does Weiss think?"
"I don't care what he thinks."
"Yeah, you do." Bos frowns.
"You're my brother. You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am on your side, sugar, you know that." He kisses the top of her head. "I just think happen to think your husband is, too."
"You didn't always," Savvy points out.
"Maybe not. But he proved himself, didn't he?"
"Yeah, sis. He did."
Cool air floats off the water, moving her hair, and Savvy shivers a little.
"It's cold." Bos looks at her, moonlight revealing concern in his familiar blue eyes. "How 'bout we head back inside?"
"Not yet. And anyway, I still need to …" Her voice trails off, and she looks meaningfully at her brother.
It only takes an instant. "Tonight? You're going tonight?"
Savvy nods.
"But it's only …." His voice trails off.
"You know it's not up to me when we do it, Bos."
"I know." Her brother pauses, looking out at the water, then back to Savvy.
"What?"
"Nothing, Sav," Bos says, then seems to think better of it. "Just if you're going tonight, does that mean that he's –"
"I don't know." Savvy's gaze tracks a path in the water. "That's not up to me either."
.-.-.
Derek blinks awake slowly.
He's confused.
He was asleep, he knows this – but after years of waking up in the flash of milliseconds, ready to work, he seems not to be able to do it here. Here, he wakes slow and sticky like island sun, and it takes him long moments to figure out what's going on.
There's a light in the room. No, a little ball of light moving shakily, and there's sound, and – automatically, he reaches next to him, expecting to brush warm skin, and his fingers close on air.
"Addison?"
The ball of light freezes, and then flicks upward to illuminate a hank of red hair. "I didn't mean to wake you," she whispers.
"Are you all right?" He props himself up on his elbows. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," she says quickly, still in that hissing low voice as if he's not fully awake. "Everything's fine, Derek. Go back to sleep."
Not likely. He sits up fully and slaps on the bedside light. They both squint as their eyes adjust; he can see that she's dressed, the waterproof shell of the trail coat he bought her wrapped around her shoulders, her hair is piled loosely on her head.
As soon as he grows accustomed to the light he sees something like guilt flickering in her eyes.
This, clearly, is no middle-of-the-night search for water or a blanket or even a bout of insomnia. She's dressed to go somewhere.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Nothing," she says again.
"Addison." He reaches for his watch on the bedside table. "It's three o'clock in the morning."
"I know. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Well, you did. What are you doing?" Derek repeats his question, with a little less patience this time.
"Getting … ready," she says slowly.
"In the middle of the night." He shakes his head. "Ready for what?"
She doesn't answer.
"Addison?"
"This … thing," she says finally. "With Savvy."
He blinks. He's used to Addie and Savvy having their own … things: language, references, traditions. He and Weiss used to joke about it.
It's less funny right now.
"And you were planning to leave and go do this … thing … without telling me? I'd wake up, and you'd be gone?"
There's a slight tremor in his voice, probably from being wakened mid-slumber. He keeps his eyes closed a bit longer than a blink, washing clean the flickering image of Addison from last night, crouched shivering in the claw-footed tub.
"I was going to leave a note," she says defensively.
"Addie." He's half confused, half annoyed, and all tired. "What could be so urgent that you have to …."
Suddenly, as if someone is whispering in his ear, he remembers Weiss's words from the day before, about Addison's last trip to the island.
There's this … healing ritual. I know how it sounds, but … ask her about it.
He hasn't asked her about it. Not yet. He wonders if it's too late now.
"Addie."
She looks at him.
And he tries.
"Is this, um…." He pauses, not sure how to express it. "When you came to the island two years ago," he says tentatively, seeing her shoulders tense, "you, um…"
That's the best he can do, but it seems to be enough.
Because she nods.
"Savvy thinks I need it again," Addison says, as if it is something perfectly normal and not yet another bizarre island tradition shrouded in mystery.
In only a few days the island has surprised him over and over again, for various reasons and in various ways.
"Okay." He takes it in. "Can't you do it in the morning or …?"
"No. It has to be at night." She looks up at him. "It's kind of … a secret, and it has to be dark."
"But it's late," he says, unnecessarily, "and it's cold, Addie, and you were released from the hospital today."
"I know all that. Savvy will be there, she wouldn't let – look, Derek, she needs it too. And Augie, she's going."
"Going where?"
Her lips part, but then she closes them again. "I can't tell you."
"Addison." He presses the heel of his hand into his forehead and then scans her outfit again. "It's outside? You're going to be outside?" He looks uncertainly toward the curtained window. The temperature dropped with the sun last night, and it hasn't risen.
"Derek, I just – "
And then a quick flash illuminates the room, like lightening. And then it's gone.
She looks from the doorway back to him.
"That'll be Savvy and …" She pauses.
"Addie, you're really not going to tell me where you're going?"
"I can't," she repeats. She looks from the door at Reeds to Derek, and back again. "I'm sorry, Derek, I can't tell you."
"Addison …"
"But … maybe I can show you," she offers, her voice soft, hand resting on the doorknob. She extends her other hand to him. "If you want," she adds. "If you want, I can show you."
His legs swing out of bed before he can tell them not to. He's wearing a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, and it's chilly – the warmth of sleep has dissipated. Addison's lips quirk; she tosses a coat his way and pulls open the door.
Savvy's standing there holding a flashlight and next to her is another blond in a hooded raincoat – it's Savvy's cousin Augie, the one who's sick, Derek remembers with a pang.
Savvy looks from Addison to Derek and then her face changes.
"What's he doing?" Augie asks bluntly.
"He … woke up," Addison says.
"Derek, I'm sorry we woke you." Savvy's expression is hard to read, but her voice is soft.
Augie looks at the coat in Derek's arms. "So let's get moving and he can go back to sleep," she says shortly.
"He wants to see," Addison says softly. "He wants to know."
"Just because he wants something doesn't mean he's going to get it," Augie says waspishly. "Maybe back home, but not here. Here … the rules are different."
"I know that," Addison says quickly. "And Derek ... he knows it too, or at least he's getting there."
Neither blonde speaks.
"Sav." Addison turns to her friend. "He steered us from the mainland. Yesterday. He got us back here."
Savvy glances at her cousin, then back to Addison. "I know."
"The island welcomed him back. You know what that means. You know that means that – "
"I know." Savvy looks from Derek to Addison to Augie and back again. "Aug … she's right."
"Yeah?" Augie raises her eyebrows.
Savvy nods and there's an air of finality to it. "Yeah."
"Okay, then, city boy." Augie pockets her penlight and flashes Derek a rather disconcerting smile. "Let's see what you've got."
To be continued (always).
Okay guys, I'm going to be really honest here: my confidence in this story is kind of shaken. It's been a long time since I've updated, I'm not sure if interest has waned, and I'm concerned it's not flowing the way I predicted (aka LIFE). So throw me a bone and let me know how you felt about the chapter and improve my neurotic day, pretty please?
See you next time on the island … hopefully not too long from now.
