October 4, 2010

Christian is on his knees, peering out the airplane window at the faraway firefly glitter of Seattle nightlife, nose pressed against the glass and she's considering telling him how many germs are on that window, but she just doesn't. He's had his world uprooted in three days, he misses his animals and last time he saw the sprawling buildings of Cairo and rode in a plane up above the clouds, he was not even three years old. Now he's just barely four and the new experiences have caused a certain amount of withdrawal, of introspection, so she leaves her son to his thoughts, whatever those may be.

Addison is unsure whether to be grateful that while Christian mashed the terms 'dad' and 'Derek' into one word, he didn't fully comprehend the meaning behind it. She sips her cranberry juice and nearly spills it when the fasten seatbelt sign dings and the pilot requests that they buckle their seatbelts.

She pulls Christian from the window by the pockets of his plaid Bermuda shorts and the boy relaxes back into his seat as she fastens the strap around his waist. "I want Benji," he complains, referring to the elephant he had spent the last year and a half bonding with in Sudan. "Dora says Benji would like the lights."

"Dora says so, huh?" Addison inquires with a sad smile, because sometimes she really doesn't understand her child. They've been to specialists, but Christian has no form of autism, ADHD, or anything else. He's just unusual; his thoughts follow twisted, unforeseen patterns that are difficult for her to mirror.

"Mani would like it too, and Cheese-it. Dora knows lots about aminals," he responds. "Right, Dora?" The Spanish-speaking cartoon doesn't answer, but Christian smiles triumphantly and returns to his study of the window from the restraint of her seatbelt. Addison sighs and allows her eyelids to fall over her eyes tiredly. Sometimes she thinks Derek might be better at this.

They spend the night in the Archfield, where Addison dwells in overwhelming memories and Christian watches Dora for two hours straight after turning the lights on and off about a hundred times and then finally falls asleep in "beds that are made of clouds." She sleeps restlessly, dreaming of Derek's angry face, illuminated by the harsh African sunlight.

People stare as she enters Seattle Grace, skin a dusky caramel instead of her former smooth cream, a child that resembles their head of neurosurgery in tow. She hadn't heard that Izzie was back but she and Alex are whispering quietly, urgently, and she can't tell by their tense stances if they are still together. They don't see her, but Cristina Yang does, glaring with slanted eyes over a chart she suspects details complications with a patient's heart, and she nudges Meredith, who is talking to a resident Addison has never met.

The younger woman's eyes flicker over Addison and she offers, to Addison's surprise, a small smile. They've both walked the plank off of ship McDreamy and there's mutual understanding now, shared pain and indistinguishable disappointment. Addison smiles back, pulling her diaphanous black sweater closer around her, warding off the cold that she's grown unaccustomed to in the constant sun of Sudan; Seattle now feels like Antarctica.

But the movement alerts Meredith to the occupied status of Addison's left hand, and when her grey-green eyes fall on Christian, the nostalgic atmosphere is gone. Her eyes narrow at the sight of the boy whose genes can have only come from Derek, and the air thickens with unadulterated tension.

She could keep walking, could ignore the portion of her undesirable past that took place in Seattle, but she feels that Meredith deserves an explanation. She's not the enemy in this twisted love triangle and maybe she hasn't been a saint but she's still a human being who loved Derek Shepherd too.

So Addison halts and allows Meredith to step in front of her and verify Christian's existence for herself. "Seriously?"

"Dr. Grey – Meredith, I -"

"No, I just can't believe … I just can't believe him," the young resident states weakly, tears in her eyes. "He didn't tell me he had a wife, then he left me for his wife, then he cheated on you with me, and left you, and I thought it was over. I thought I finally had him. But he did it again. He can never choose," she says bitterly.

"It's his greatest fault," Addison confirms quietly. "But for the record, he didn't choose me this time. He didn't choose either of us. And I won't lie and tell you I don't care for him, that I always have, even when it was over, but … I've had enough. I'm throwing in the towel. I have to think about Christian now, and he doesn't deserve this kind of instability."

"I'm throwing in the towel too," Meredith sniffs. "There isn't anything left for me, and I just ended up being more dark and twisty than before. But you … I think Derek would want to know his kid."

"Maybe," Addison murmurs, lost in thought, picturing him boosting one of his nephews up to place the star on the top of the family Christmas tree. "Good luck, Dr. Grey. I'm sorry you got caught up in all this."

"I'm sorry too."

An hour later, Addison enters the trailer for the first time in more than six years. Derek hasn't changed the locks, she notices wryly as she steps into the place her marriage died. There is no risk of running into the man who inhabits this godforsaken place, however, because her appointment with Richard revealed that Derek had taken an unspecified leave of absence shortly after returning to Seattle and hasn't been seen since then. She feels a little guilty for taking Richard's famous head of neurosurgery away but he coped with the disappointment by offering her a position at Seattle Grace.

She told him she was returning to Sudan, but that she appreciated the offer and should her and Christian ever come back, she would definitely consider it. Before they departed, Richard gifted her and Derek's son with a small plastic model of the human brain, something he hasn't relinquished since. She always had him pegged for a zookeeper, but realizes there's hope yet for him following in his father's footsteps. Not that she minds – she'll support him unconditionally – but Derek always wanted little neuro-geniuses for kids.

"Mom?" Christian asks, tugging at her hand. "Momma, it's Swiper!"

Addison allows a smile to grace her face, knowing that five years ago that sentence would have been unintelligible to her. "Swiper no swiping!"

"Mom, he's gonna take Dadek's house!"

"How did you know …?" she trails off incredulously as her son sprints off into the knee-high grass in order to confront the kleptomaniac fox. He may get caught up in fantasy worlds but when he does bother to take a peek at reality, his perceptions are unnervingly sharp.

And while he plays, she pens out what might be her last letter.

Dear Derek,

I will only ever be sorry that I kept Christian from you, like I will only ever be sorry that I betrayed you by sleeping with Mark, but like the latter, the former was not done with you in mind. Cheating on you was done with myself in mind, and those motives were irrefutably selfish, but I kept Christian from you with him in mind. You had the right to see him, but I couldn't have him hurt by seeing you. He's my number one concern. You grew up without your father, who didn't want to leave you, but I grew up with one who didn't care I existed. I didn't want Christian to go through the same disappointment, because one of a parent's greatest fears is that a child will have to experience the same pain they did.

I understand that you're mad though, because I can justify it all I want, but it doesn't change that you don't know him, have never known him. Maybe this is where the Addison-and-Derek saga ends because maybe this is the one thing you cannot forgive me for. I don't know. But I do know that if you ever want to see him, or know him, or talk to him, you know where to find us. I don't think we'll be returning to LA for quite sometime, I think we're going back to Africa. I feel useful there, and Christian has his animals, and there hasn't been any bombing in months.

I do love you, Derek, I don't think I've ever stopped. And it's wonderful to love you but potentially hurtful at the same time. We got lost somewhere, in New York, and wandered off the path of happily ever after, and I'm not sure we'll ever get back. I'm sorry that things turned out this way, because when I walked down the aisle I really thought it was forever.

I don't know where you are or when you'll find this but I hope that you'll want to know your son. He's the best thing that ever happened to me, Derek, and the most amazing person I know. He's been asking about you. I'm not trying to guilt trip you because it's my fault you haven't gotten to know him, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive me enough to want to know him, we'll be waiting for you.

Love,

Addison

He ate here thousands of times as a child, with Nancy on one side and Kathleen on the other as they all ate voraciously, and now he's a middle aged adult feeling like a kid again as his mother places a steaming bowl of tomato soup in front of him and flips his grilled cheese onto a Blues Clues plate.

Carolyn Shepherd is a patient woman, she's let him sleep in his old bedroom for a week now and asked no questions as he forwent shaving and other general hygienic practices, but he's pretty sure her presence in the kitchen means she's had enough of his behavior.

He can't tell her, though, he just … can't. The soup scalds his tongue. How can he tell her of her fifteenth grandchild, born out of wedlock and an illicit night on which he betrayed the girlfriend she adores? How can he relate this story in a way that will not turn her against Addison even more, because it is partially his fault he never knew his son? He has no answers, so he stays silent.

He's right, however, about her demand for information. She leans on the edge of the counter, the skin of her soft elbows molding to the granite, and looks at him. Just looks.

"Derek, you're my only son, and whatever you've done, you know I'll always love you. If, however, you keep moping around like this I will call your sisters to get whatever this is out of you." It's a legitimate threat, and she knows that he knows it.

So he takes a deep breath, thinking that she asked for it, and says, "I have a son."

To Carolyn's credit, she merely raises an eyebrow and waits for him to continue. When he doesn't, however, she says, "So, Meredith …"

"No," he snaps. "Addison."

"Addison had your son," Carolyn repeats for clarification, her tone indecipherable.

Quite honestly, Derek had expected more of a reaction, but maybe she's just building up to it. "Yes."

"Well, what's his name? I can't very well be his grandmother if I don't even know his name."

"Did you hear me? Addison is his mother. Not Meredith. I cheated on her and Addison had my baby and she kept him a secret and you just want to know his name?!"

"I won't lie and say I ever liked Addison," Carolyn sighed. "But you loved her, and that should have been enough for me. You loved Meredith too, and I saw someone more like us, someone who wasn't fed by a silver spoon all her life, and thought she would be good for you. But Derek, you've always done whatever you wanted. Your dad owned a store; you wanted to be a neurosurgeon. I wanted you to marry a nice, down to earth girl who would up her career for your family, you married Addison Forbes Montgomery. And when you finally chose a girl I approved of, it didn't work out. Clearly I don't know what's best for you."

"Ma …"

"No, just listen for a minute, Derek. I may not know what's best for you, but I do know you. You're upset that Addison kept your son from you, that much is clear. But she … loved you, Derek, enough that she could let you go. And I was wrong, because not throwing a kid in your and Meredith's faces is more unselfish than I ever gave her credit for. We may never get along, and you might never forget this, but you'll regret running away from your kid."

"I don't … I don't know what to do. I can't think. What do I do, Ma?"

"I can't answer that for you, Derek. But this isn't doing you any good. I gave you my advice, now you need to go home and sit in that goddamned trailer of yours and decide who you are and what you're going to do."