A/N: I'm very sorry that updating this story took so long. I was very sick for a long time, but I'm getting better now. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Be warned, though, that this chapter is a little darker at times.

If you're one of the few who know about the penguins…you'll have to be a little more patient.

Previously:

New York, present time

"I came for you," Derek whispered as he stepped forward to embrace Addison in a tight hug. Her body was frail, her face the palest he had ever seen and her lips were cracked. Her breathing became rapidly heavier as she fought against the tears welling up in her eyes.

As she sobbed vehemently against his shoulder, Derek let his hands wander over her back in soothing circles as he repeated over and over again, "We'll get through this!"

Don't You Remember

New York, present time

Derek sat slumped on the couch in the living room, watching his knuckles turn a slight shade of pink while he rubbed them against each other in an attempt to calm his nerves. Absentmindedly he tapped his foot on the wooden floor boards in a rhythm matching Addison's distant clattering in the kitchen.

Derek looked around the living room, searching for remnants of their past, memories, that helped him feel at ease, at home even, less like a stranger in a house he had once called his. There was a photograph on a shelf to his left that held a moment between Addie, Savvy and Weiss captive. Next to it sat a vase that he vaguely remembered as a gift from Addison's great grandmother; an heirloom. He stood up and walked over to the fireplace. Derek lifted his right arm to the sill and let his fingers caress the one photograph of them he saw in the house. A photograph he remembered vividly, even if he could not for the life of him remember when and how it was taken. Derek thought about the day he last saw that specific photograph, sighed deeply and lost himself in the smiles a younger Derek and Addison shared with each other those long years ago.

Boston, a couple of months earlier

Derek stared at the scissors in front of him. He touched them; let his index and middle finger wander around its metal hem. As he finally picked it up, he sighed deeply and brought it to the small band holding the package in front of Derek a secret. Even though, he admitted silently to himself, the content was anything but a secret to him. The package held remnants of his old life; A life that he had ended almost two years ago. Ended by nothing more than two names scribbled on a piece of paper, witnessed by two overpriced lawyers and authorized by the state.

In the distance Derek heard Meredith rummaging through their new kitchen, unpacking boxes and filling cabinets with necessities.

"Derek," Meredith said questioningly, "What do you want for dinner?"

Derek did not hear her at first, only when she repeated the just said in a rather annoyed attempt to get his attention, did he lift his eyes from the package and looked at her slender figure in the threshold.

"What did you just say?" Derek said calmly and smiled crookedly at Meredith.

"What do you want for dinner," Meredith said and walked slowly over to where Derek sat in the middle of the couch. She sat down on his lap and put her arms around his shoulder, "I don't feel like cooking. We should order in, I think." She finished her proposition with a smile and a soft kiss to his cheek.

"I like that idea," Derek answered giving her a quick and honest smile in return.

"Chinese or pizza? I feel like both. What do you think?" Derek stopped listening to her as he spotted a photograph in a wooden frame in the left corner of the box. He stretched his arm and grabbed the object. He sighed deeply before he brought it closer to look at it properly. It was Addison and him, looking young and careless. But mostly the couple in the photograph looked in love. He let his fingers wander over the piece. Derek wondered when exactly they stopped being happy with each other and why it happened at all. It had been years since Derek had last seen Addison, his wife, the only one he had ever had. Ex-wife he corrected himself silently. Was she happy? Had she met someone, other than him, that had been able to give her what she needed? Part of him hoped she had and part of him still hated the idea of Addison with someone else, someone who was not him. Addison had been his first in many ways. She was the first woman he fell in love with and the first woman he brought home to introduce to his family. She was the first woman he told he loved her and meant it, other than his four sisters and his mother. She was the first woman he consciously did not answer every questions correctly in a test for in order to see her smile radiantly at being the best. He loved when she smiled like that. It made him happy. It made him content. She was the first woman he loved so much that she started inhibiting every aspect of his life. So when he asked her to marry him, he put it all out there in the cold to love and to cherish or to die in sadness. When she broke his heart, shattered it in a million different pieces he had to leave in order to collect the pieces strewn all over the place. Seattle was his breath of fresh air, his second chance to clean his palate and learn to love and to trust again.

Somewhere between New York and Seattle, 7 years ago

Derek had not had a smoke since he had been 15 years old and secretly smoked a cigarette with Mark in the woods near their childhood homes. They had both coughed their lungs out afterwards and blamed it on the cold they had both caught when asked by their respective parents.

21 years later, Derek sat on a bench outside of a gas station and inhaled the smoke, let it fill his lungs and breathed it out in the hope it would take his hurt and grief with it.

"Hey there, stranger." Derek looked up and saw a blonde twenty-something standing beside him. She smiled politely at him and gestured to the spot next to him on the bench. "What brings you to this lovely place?" Her hair was falling down a little over her shoulders. Her eyes were blue and she spotted a nice tan, even in this cold fall weather.

"A journey. What's your name?" Derek spoke softly before bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. The woman watched him do so, he noticed out of the corner of his eye. When he turned his head to look at her she lifted her right hand to take the cigarette out of his mouth. She held it in front of her, in between them, for a moment, watched him observe her moves and brought it to her own mouth.

"Claire," She exhaled in a puff of smoke. Her hair blew softly in the wind. Every once in a while Claire would lift her right hand to bring strands of stray her behind her ears. There was a dimple on her left cheek. "A journey, hu? Where to, stranger?" She said and gave him back his cigarette.

Derek watched her in amusement. There he was in the middle of nowhere somewhere halfway between New York and wherever this journey took him and this strange woman made him smile for the first time in months. He felt a wave of euphoria wash through him, a moment of optimism and faith.

"Anywhere. Don't you want to know my name?" Derek questioned as he took the cigarette from her delicate fingers.

She smiled mischievously at him, and shook her head lightly before she said in a laughing voice. "No. If I know your name I'll want to know more about you and it won't matter anyway. You'll fill up your car and you'll drive away to wherever it is you are driving. And I'll be stuck here with nothing but a memory and I'd rather keep it adventurous and vague. I'd rather dream up my very own story of who you are and where you are going."

"So, who am I and where am I going, strange lady," Derek asked in curiosity. He lifted the smoke to his lips once more before he gave it back to Claire.

"You are an artist, a painter. No, a writer. But not one of those crime authors. You write more elegantly and classy, deeper than most. You sit down at the typewriter, an old model, with a glass of brandy and a cigar. You think about every word and they way it fits exactly the thought it is supposed to convey. And when you type it's because you mean it. All of it. You are serious. But you're also sad. You have loved and been loved. Now you're on your way to Los Angeles. Your friends and family warned you not to go, but you want to. You want to try. You owe that to yourself. I also think.."

"Mr. Shepherd?" Derek turned his head to the voice that was calling out for him. "You're car is as good as new!" The man then turned to Claire and yelled, "Get back to work, Claire. I'm not paying you for talking!"

Claire let the cigarette fall to the ground, stomped on it and turned to head for the gas station. Derek grabbed her arm and before she could react he touched his lips to hers in a sweet, feather light kiss.

"Goodbye, stranger," Claire said softly and walked away. Derek watched her enter the gas station and disappear.

Derek brought his hands to his head and folded them on top of his black curls before he kicked a pebble a couple of meters away from him. He turned and walked towards his car when he heard a familiar voice call out to him once more.

"Mr. Shepherd," Claire said as she walked quickly towards him.

"Yes," Derek answered and smiled at her softly.

Claire stood in front of him, appearing a little nervous. She cradled something in her hands. Derek could not see properly what it was. She lifted her eyes from the object in her hands to look at Derek.

"Take this," Clair said and gave him the book she had been holding tightly between her hands. Derek took it and looked at it questioningly.

"Thank you." Derek smiled softly at her without inspecting the book any further. He felt the urge to tell her how thankful he really was, that she made him see things clearer and more in perspective than he had before, but the words failed him. And all that was left was a simple thank you.

"Safe travel, stranger!" Claire sad with one last tender smile and a hint of sadness in her voice. As she turned around to walk back into the gas station, Derek looked down at the book once more and quietly read its title.

The Sun Also Rises – Ernest Hemingway

As he drove away, leaving behind this small country town in western Kansas, he concluded the events of the day with a simple sentence. Brutal, emotional and mostly honest.

"No matter how many women I'll kiss I'll stay a man of only one wife, therefore I am doomed."

New York, present time

"Derek," he heard her soft calling of his name and reluctantly averted his eyes from the photograph in front of him.

"It's a nice photo," Addison whispered merely audible into the quietness of the room.

Derek looked at the coffee table. It was all set with tea, cups and even biscuits. He wondered just how long Addison must have watched him reminisce over old memories, lost in the past. Everything she did nowadays was careful and slow. She felt exhausted all the time and it showed. Addison looked frail from the constant treatment and the toxins which were pumped into her body.

"I used to remember when it was taken. But lately," Addison paused, swallowed a set of tears and continued insecurely, "I just can't remember anything anymore."

A stranger would have taken her reluctance to share for resignation, but Derek knew better. At least he used to. Addison Adrienne Forbes Montgomery was angry. At whom? She was angry that she had to go through this tormenting treatment; she was angry at herself for not fighting the disease better; also she was angry at him for not being hers to rely on support for. Addison was angry at too many individual circumstances to specify her anger at something in particular and that she was the most angry about. Being angry at something in particular was something Addison knew how to deal with. This was just too universal for her to fight against.

"Do you?" Addison knew it was a long shot but she dared it anyway, "Do you remember?"

Derek sighed and shook his head, "I'm sorry."

I let her down, again.

New York, 8 years ago

"Addison," He stretched out the syllables of her name in a way that let his annoyance bluntly show and it only made her more furious with him. "I said I was sorry, okay."

Derek was exhausted and in need of a shower, food and a bed to rest his head after pulling a double shift at the hospital for the fifth time in the last two weeks. Arguing with his rage-filled wife was not on the list of things he wanted to right now. And it showed.

"You said that. But you've said it so many times. So are you, Derek, or is it just the most convenient for you to say." Her voice fierce, her posture stern with her arms up in the air gesturing wildly. She was on a mission to hurt him back in the way he had hurt her by standing her up one too many times.

"Addison. I just….can't talk to you when you're like this," he said pointing at her gesturing hands and stern look. He turned around and grabbed his coat from the rag.

"Don't you dare walk out on me now, Derek Christopher Shepherd!"

Derek did not reply anything, just leaned forward to grab the door know as suddenly something ceramic burst into pieces right next to his head. Addison had thrown a vase at the wall next to the door. For a few moments Derek stood still, unbelieving of the situation. When he turned around, he walked over to where Addison stood in quick strides, grabbed her arms and walked her backwards against the wall. He held her wrists pressed against the stark white of the wall, so Addison was firmly held against him and the wall.

"Let go of me, Derek," Addison demanded harshly, trying to free herself from his grip, "You're hurting me!"

"You just threw a fucking vase at my head. What was that supposed to do? Caress me?" Derek replied angrily.

"I didn't throw it at your head!"

"It was close enough to get the point across, Addison," his annoyance at her demeanor shown through like summer sun on a cloudless day.

"Derek, let go," Addison cried out.

"Only if you calm down!" When he saw the rising fear in her eyes, he let go of her wrists and stepped back a few inches to give her more space to breath.

As soon as he had taken back a few steps a hand connected with his cheek, leaving a gash where her rings had come in contact with his skin. For the second time that they Derek Shepherd stood dumbfounded in his own houses staring blankly at his wife of nine years.

"You bitch," he exclaimed unconsciously, bringing his hand to the bleeding wound. Instead of grabbing her once more, he pushed his body forward, pressing her into the wall with his own bodyweight. His lips almost instantly met with hers and a fierce kiss. His hands quickly unbuttoned her blouse before they found the zipper of her skirt.

While their tongues were still occupied in the fight of power and superiority, Derek´s right thumb brushed over Addison´s left nipple and caused her to groan, stop the tongue war and bite down on his lower lip with as much force as she could muster in her current situation and earned a low moan in return. Therefore Derek abandoned Addison´s breasts and placed his hands on either side of her hips, pushing her up and even more into the wall before kissing her again. Addison put her hands on the back of his head, massaging it shortly, before letting them wander down his neck, into his sweater and as far down as was possible from her angel, all the while leaving marks with her nails in his neck and back. Having reached the limit of possible access to his back, Addison broke the kiss once again.

Their eyes locked, staring into each other´s eyes intensely. Desire. Disdain. Need. Desperation. Derek closed the distance, pushing Addison against the wall once more and hovering his lips over hers. His hands moved up her back to unhook her bra. As soon as he felt the garment loosening around her shoulders he closed the remaining distance between their lips and kissed her. Forcefully and demanding.

As they came down from their individual highs moments later, Derek slid them both to the ground. They sat next to each other, leaning against the wall and filling the air with nothing but silence that even their breaths seemed to disrupt.

Derek closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes he saw Addison's back turned to him, hiding her naked front from him. Her breathing was uneven und he heard her sniffling back tears that demanded to be set free. He lifted his hand to touch her neck but before he came in contact, Addison said in a harsh, angry voice, "Don't touch me!"

Addison grabbed her blouse and put it on. Then she got up and turned to Derek. There she stood in nothing but a blouse and red pair of lace panties. Her hair was falling down her shoulder in soft curls and her eyes shone in a piercing green. Derek would have laughed at this scenario they currently found themselves in, had it not been for Addison's words, it could have been a story they told their grand children at some time in the future.

"I want you to move out."

She looked at him sternly when he did not react; she could no longer hold back the tears. She let herself slide to the ground as she wept vehemently. It only took Derek a second to register. His arms instantly found his way around her torso, bringing her close to his chest and rubbing her back in soothing circles.

His father had once told him, always treat those you care for the most, with the best intentions so that when you hurt them you do not hate yourself and instead help those you hurt get through everything together rather than walking away with guilt.

As Addison cried in his embrace there was only thought plaguing his mind.

I let her down.