A little moment back at New York. I swear the next one will be in Seattle – seriously!

Breathe

They're on opposite ends of the living room, red in the face from screaming. She's standing behind the couch, her long fingers gripping the cushion as he leans against the wall, staring at her the way that he does when he's trying to find her Achilles heel. No more, though – he won't find it tonight. She hardly has one anymore, she's so weak.

"Addison, please…"

"No, Derek, I can't do this anymore. No more 'please'. Not anymore."

"I've messed up, I know. I understand, Add-"

She stares at him through hooded eyes, her mouth dropping and a frown crossing her face. "No."

"What?" His head is cocked to the side, his arms crossed protectively over his chest.

"No. You don't know, you don't understand – not for one second." She can hear her voice shaking, but she ignores it. "You think you understand, but you don't. You just analyze everything until it barely exists."

"I'm doing my best."

"You're a liar."

"What do you expect? I have my own practice, I have patients. I'm a brain surgeon."

"You're a son of a bitch."

"Calm down, you don't mean it."

She freezes, jaw hanging, tears in her eyes, watching him in disbelief. "What do I have to do to get you angry?" Her voice starts off as a whisper, quickly escalating. "Why are you so fucking complacent?"

He simply stares her down, waiting out the tirade. Furious, she lifts up the cushion she's been clutching to, hurling it across the room at him. He ducks quickly, surprised by the action.

"What was that for?"

She's sobbing now, choking back bile and words she might regret. "I'm sleeping with Mark! I'm sleeping with your best friend and the fact that I might be having an affair has never even crossed your idiotic, brain surgeon mind." She stops, feeling her chest rise and fall as her pulse beats, tears streaming. "Happy?"

"What do you want to watch?"

Addison opens her eyes and looks over at Derek, sitting beside her on the leather sofa, remote in hand.

She looks down at the lukewarm dinner sitting on her lap and up at the menu.

"You pick."