A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the support and reviews, it's nice to see that there are still people out there that enjoy this pairing. Denial is wonderful, no? Enjoy-
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A Three-Legged Workhorse
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The hardest thing is who they've become.
It's difficult for Addison to reconcile the Derek who used to make her breakfast in bed and squeeze her hand when she got nervous during rounds with the man who now openly calls her Satan (not in the good way) and protests her very existence. And Derek is stubborn. Derek is petulant. Derek is reacting.
But still, this isn't the man she married, nor the man she ever thought he could and would be.
Because when Addison thought of their future she saw them adding to the Shepherd pack of children and long summer weekends spent at the beach chasing waves. She saw professional success, personal triumph, and love outstanding. In Seattle, she has professional success, personal heartache, and one-sided love outstanding.
But what she doesn't know is that the hatred is a common thread, because Derek hates who he is now too, but at the end of the day he can't take his anger out on himself, and she's the closest, most willing, and arguably the most deserving candidate for the job.
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Unfortunately for Derek, the Addison he has now (affair excluded) is pretty much the person he married. Hell, the length of her hair has hardly changed over the years. She's confident (more so in her career now), loyal, and a master of deflection. The changes he's seen, the changes he loathes are things, that if he was being utterly candid, he would have to admit he helped bring on. The incessant need for his affection, he took her to a place where she had to fight for it. The arguing, it was the only way she ever won, was to get him enraged enough to yell.
But Derek isn't candid. Derek isn't honest. And Derek isn't done hurting.
Because she screwed his best friend. Because he's always been a little insecure with himself, arrogance be damned. Because his mother raised a sensitive and fragile man.
When Derek looked forward all her saw was Addison. The white picket fence, the house, the kids, the dog. Those things weren't in the picture. Just Addison.
She shattered his dreams in one shot, severed the tie between reality and hope. And even though he knows she still loves her shoes, and that her brilliant red hair is ever as fascinating as it was. Regardless of the fact that she still cannot cook, and that reading is one of her favorite ways to pass time, she is not the same Addison that he married, even when she is.
What Derek doesn't understand is the level of desperation that the evening had to accumulate, the level of sorrow she endures each and every day for causing their relationship that failure. Derek doesn't realize how much she's grown to fear looking in the mirror every morning.
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"Coffee?" Addison suggests as they race through the halls of Seattle Grace toward the M & M that Richard said they couldn't skip.
"Can't," Derek replies.
"He won't notice," Addison argues. "I doubt he'll even be there the entire time-"
"Busy Addison," Derek says before picking up his speed and leaving his wife to find her own seat.
Eventually, she ends up next to him anyway, offering him a piece of strawberry poptart as his eyes begin to slide shut.
He takes it begrudgingly, because he missed breakfast, and he has a soft spot for all things sugar. "Thank you," he mouths silently, getting a slight grin in response.
It was always one of the things everyone said they hated about the Shepherds the most, their food sharing. Fruit, cereal, water, beer, granola, all fair game. They were accustomed to eating together, to offering a piece of beet or carrot.
Once they were selfless. It didn't carry over into many other parts of their lives, but this seems to have stuck.
On their way out of the room, mostly half-awake, Derek yawns.
"Coffee?" Addison offers once more. "I have a few minutes before I have to scrub in."
"Me too," Derek confides, and instead of racing off to speak with his intern, or his next patient he indulges in a quick coffee run with his wife, her head leaning on his shoulder as they wait in line.
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It's easy to hate her when she's not in front of his face all day. When he doesn't run into her in the halls, bump into her at the nurse's station, and accidentally end up stealing her charts because he sees his last name on them.
When they're on opposite schedules, days off, and on call shifts. When he never shows up for dinner, she never wakes up for breakfast and both take lunch during non-lunch hours.
Then hating his wife is second nature. He storms the halls as the victim, pining over his lost love, his missed opportunity.
But when she spends nights with her head on his chest, their fingers tangling absentmindedly, he can't. When they partake in the occasional drink at Joe's after a particularly brutal work day, it's harder then.
Because she still smells like home. She still laughs in a way that makes his chest tingle. And when she smiles she lights up the room.
Fortunately, smiles and laughs are in short supply lately, and he's rarely close enough to catch a whiff of her irresistible scent.
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Addison can't think of one single thing that she doesn't miss about the old Derek. From the way he used to blurt out his feelings randomly (during her first solo surgery), to how he used to play hide and seek with his nieces and nephews while the grown ups were busy gossiping and griping.
But it's hard to miss Derek when she never sees him.
And avoidance isn't really that difficult of a clue for her to notice, not now, not after everything they've put each other through. Some days she'll battle it, search for him. But mostly she takes to hiding in her office while trying not to wonder if he's even cared that he hasn't seen her in two days.
Sometimes though, he'll bring her coffee before the alarm goes off in the morning, and he'll let her shower first. Sometimes he'll grab dinner on the way home so she isn't stuck with tea and toast, and occasionally he'll accompany her to the trailer.
And those instances, much like their coffee run earlier in the week, make her see why she is still doing this.
Because the old Derek is still buried underneath the bull-headed one, and even if, in the end, she has to blend them together, it's still going to be worth it.
He's worth the war she's waging, but she's never sure if he's fighting with her or against her.
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When he told her he was trying, when he admitted he was sorry, what he meant was, "I'm afraid I'm still in love with you, so don't leave yet."
And when all she could do was utter a muddled response of yeah/okay, what she meant was, "I don't believe you, but I'm staying anyway."
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He finds her studying the OR board lazily, eyes never really reading, and yet mind understanding everything in front of her. He was always jealous of her, in that sense. She worked hard, but this thing that they do, she was born to do it. It was only his drive that propelled Derek forward into success, he was not a natural as they say.
"Hey," he greets softly, not breaking her concentration.
"Hi," Addison replies, stuffing a wriggling hand into her lab coat. After all these years that voice still makes her knees weak, makes her heart flutter uncontrollably.
"Anything good?"
"Not really."
Derek smiles and knows exactly what to do. Pin The Tail On The Donkey, surgery style. "Addison," he begins.
"Derek, please, I...have a massive headache and I...just not today," she pleads, fingering her scalp for effect, her hair tightly pulled back for more than twelve hours.
"Close your eyes," he instructs, placing his hands on her shoulders. He can see the nurses watching them intently, they do make up three quarters of the interesting stories here, him getting along with his wife should reach the top floor in ten minutes.
"What are you doing?" Addison asks, as he begins to turn her around, careful not to trip on of her high heeled feet.
When he's positive that she doesn't know which way she's facing, people staring at him like he's an idiot, he guides her toward the erasable board she was reading before. "Go on," he urges, his hands sliding to her hips. Hesitantly he watches her lift an arm, the corner of her bottom lip entrenched in her white teeth.
"An Appy?" Addison groans, opening her eyes to the square she has landed upon.
"You always did manage to pick the most boring procedure," Derek remembers. "So, what do you say?"
"How about three?" Addison negotiates, as she always used to.
"There's nothing in three," Derek mumbles aloud.
"Exactly."
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Derek watches his wife stretch out across the uncomfortable plastic chairs, letting her head fall into his lap. She's quiet today, he notes, fingers beginning to unwind her hair, weaving, tugging, straightening until he can play with his new toy how he likes. He traces light patterns over the head that she says is pounding, gently trying to ease the tension and pain.
With his free hand he pulls an energy bar out of his pocket, rips the package open with his teeth, and bites off a chunk. Then he places the rest, in its wrapper on his knee, right in front of her closed eyelids.
He can't help but smile when she rips off a piece and chews it with a crinkled nose. "Gross," she mutters, mouth still full.
She always hated these things, and there is comfort in that after all they've suffered, all they will continue to endure, that some things can never change.
He may dislike her presence most days, and loathe that he is being forced into getting over it. And she may tire of working for his attention, and want to give up the manhunt for the real Derek C. Shepherd. But the mornings of coffee, the torn sections of a shared blueberry muffin, and tiny minutes they steal away from the rest of the world that thinks they know their entire story so well- these are the things that keep them from cutting their losses and running.
Because in spite of the wreckage they've set on fire, sometimes the most promising part of Derek and Addison's day is also the idea that keeps them up at night spinning endlessly. It will haunt them forever, who they've become.
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