October 9, 2009

In the past he'd been easily lost, floating in the gentle tug of perfect sutures and the sight of clean-shaven heads, bare except for a thin memoir of time spent in a less desirable state of health. These days, however, procedures become just that – just a job – in comparison to the letters he now lives in.

They occupy the better part of his day, and yet he still does not realize his attachment to the phrases he sends his ex-wife is causing the slow severing of the life that once meant so much to him.

As fate pulls strings, aligns the planets, and marinates the coincidences until they are soaked in enough random irony, Derek heads to the room of his next patient, tucking his half-finished letter under his patient's chart.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Atherton," he says in what he would normally label as a professionally pleasant voice.

"Excuse me, Nurse Brenda," the old (and apparently slightly senile) man calls to the nurse Derek had assigned to he case. "I think we've got a security breach!"

"No, no need to be alarmed, Mr. Atherton. I'm the neurosurgeon."

"Neurosurgeon, hmm," Edward Atherton deadpans suspiciously, bringing back memories of him and Mark standing guiltily in front of his father while he held up disfigured Barbies or stolen candy.

"Hey, Shep," Mark pokes his head in the door, "I'm going out with Kelley and I was wondering if you had any con-"

"In my locker," Derek sighs resignedly as Mark darts off, leaving him with the perpetually mistrustful Mr. Atherton. He stands at the edge of a cliff and just before the drop he gains the ability to reach through time.

Dear Addie,

Wow, I guess I hadn't really realized it's been three years. Meredith wanted a long engagement, and I didn't mind since it meant she would marry me eventually, but sometimes I think she's stalling. And maybe this isn't something I should be discussing with my ex-wife – or anyone but Meredith, really – but sometimes I also wonder if it's my fault. I want the whole package – marriage, kids, happiness – and sometimes I feel like … I've been trying all this time to convince Meredith that's what she wants too. I don't know. I think this was easier the first time around :).

But enough about me. I haven't heard from Savvy or Weiss – you definitely got Savvy in the divorce, I don't think she's very fond of me anymore. In fact, I get the feeling she forbade Weiss to call me. At least my sisters are bugging me and not you. They keep trying to get Meredith to pick a date for the wedding.

Oh, and Mark tried to write you a letter. The only things he could think of to write about were recent boob jobs and his latest girlfriends, so Callie told him to wait until he has something of substance to send you. She misses you, you know. Bailey's pretty busy being a single mother and Arizona's been here 24/7 since one of the peds residents is on maternity leave. I could tell you the usual gossip, but I suspect you're already getting it from Callie. Richard said to tell you hello as well and that you didn't tell him you were going to Africa, and that he's going to have an offer you can't refuse ready when you get back.

You're right, I was a little insensitive. It's hard enough having kids and babies die under you scalpel from conditions you can't save them from, but watching them starve or be blown apart? I can't even imagine it. I think you're the strongest person I know, Addison.

I also think I need to see you in the hut to actually believe it. And since my sisters have shown you so many embarrassing pictures of me, you owe me at least a few of you in Africa. Oh, and I always knew all those designer shoes were good for something – at least those kids aren't throwing them at my head.

You can't think like that, Addison. There's always going to be people who have more than other people, it's the way it works. And the fact that you're over there helping shows that you genuinely care. Anyone can donate money, but few people can deliver babies in the grasslands.

We should be friends – like we were before we started dating, remember? It took me eight months of being friends and studying together to actually ask you out, even though I wanted to do it the moment I met you. Funny how full circle we've come, huh? Anyway, give Sam and Naomi my love.

Yours,
Derek

P.S. You're right, we shouldn't talk about it. I just … maybe it wasn't what we wrote it off as.

A rare moment of solitude affords her an opportunity to immerse herself in Derek's latest letter and to walk the halls of Seattle Grace's top notch facilities once again. She can place herself behind him as he hurries to yet another neuro consult, as he peels back skin and skull to access someone's brain. She always loved watching him in surgery; there was something fascinating, sensual, almost, about his precision and absolute focus.

She lifts her cup and lets the fruity juice swish around her mouth and entertain her tongue while she reads through the letter. Warmth blossoms in her heart – having him as a friend feels inexplicably right and nothing has been right about their relationship in years. He has found a perfect formula of news, encouragement, and teasing, and the simple, carefree words bring forth a bright smile from her as she shuffles her papers to prepare a response.

She isn't past the greeting, however, when Naomi pulls up a lawn chair beside her and sighs, dust suspended in her soft chocolate curls and sweat beading her brow. Her, Sam and Pete had arrived in the village the day before. "I feel like I should be doing something all the time," she groans, threading fingers through her mussed hair, "but I'm exhausted. I will never complain about a boring day at the practice ever again."

"Hmm," Addison replies pensively, because although she agrees she is also busy relating her latest delivery, a beautiful baby girl named Aziza, via words to her ex-husband.

"Addison! Are you even listening?"

"Mm hmm."

"No you're not. What's that you're -"

"Nothing," Addison says a little too quickly, holding the letter away from Naomi and trying to talk her cheeks down from blushing profusely.

"You're writing something," Naomi grins wickedly, "did you meet someone in LA I didn't know about …"

"No!" Addison mutters quickly. "No, no, it's nothing like that. I just -"

"Oh God. Please tell me that it's not Noah."

"No, of course not! Naomi, you know why I left him, because it was wrong, and because I couldn't for other very obvious reasons, so I don't know why -"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Naomi interjects quickly, rolling her eyes. "But you could at least tell me who it is."

"Oh, it's just … um … Callie," Addison says, knowing she doesn't sound convincing at all but hoping that Naomi will recognize her reluctance to pursue the subject.

She should be so lucky. "You wrote to Callie yesterday," Naomi accuses.

"How do you know that?"

"You asked Sam to put in the letter box for you, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. Shit." She brushes an imaginary grain of sand off of her immaculate Christian Louboutin heels that she spends her free time cleaning, because once every few days she sits out in the desert in a lawn chair and just pretends that the occasion or need to wear designer heels exists. While she is doing so, however, Naomi leans over and snatches the letter, clearly expecting to discover some trivial nothings whispered to a secret lover.

What she finds is far different, however, and shock, consternation, and pity move across her face, an unwelcome slideshow of emotion. Addison's teeth dig unintentionally deep into the pomegranate curve of her lip as Naomi finally looks up, sympathy welling up in her warm russet eyes. "Addie …"

"What?" Addison snaps back, a touch too much defensiveness clouding her voice.

"Addison, what are you doing?" The compassion twists Addison's heart, making her friend's concern almost painful to bear.

"I … nothing. It's nothing. He wrote me a letter, I'm writing back. Nothing more to it than that."

"Everyone's curious about your letter love affair, Addison. This has been going on for a few months now," Naomi counters sternly. "Look, it's your business; I just don't want to see you hurt again. I remember how the divorce devastated you, and … I guess I thought you'd moved on from Derek Shepherd."

"I have," Addison blurts unconvincingly. "What's between Derek and I is completely innocent, Nae. He's with his intern, and I've … moved on."

"Does he …"

"No. He doesn't. And I intend to keep it that way."