Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing and commenting. I hope I've been clear in the summary and in the author's notes, but this story is very much about Mark and Addison and the family they've created, as well as Derek and Meredith and the family they've created. There are no surprise pairings or romantic switch-ups here - not in the universe of this story. The story is narrated by Mark and Addison, in turn, so we only see Derek and Meredith through their eyes. But there are no villains here, just four normal, flawed, loving people with a complicated history. Split-second decisions, the kind you don't necessarily think through, can set off a whole chain of events, and that's what's going on right now, if you want to keep reading:
and it's only doubts that we're counting on fingers broken long ago
"Tell me again. I don't understand."
Mark shoves his hands into his pockets, Addison silent next to him, as Webber walks through the details again: Flagged sample. No consent on the cross-check. Mandatory report filed.
"Neither of you authorized this procedure, correct? There's no consent on file."
"Well, no, but…"
"And you didn't know anything about this."
He feels Addison tense next to him, turns to her with a quizzical expression. She shakes her head, lip caught between her teeth.
"Everything's electronic now," Webber's expression is grim. "No whistleblowers necessary. Once the tech ran the sample in the lab, it automatically cross-checked against the consents on file. Automatic flag, automatic report, automatic problem. A big one."
Mark's still trying to make sense of everything, but he feels like he's underwater, thankful that at Webber's grave expression they handed a sleepily docile Max off to a waiting nurse the chief had brought with him. As if he knew, before he ushered them into an empty exam room.
"You're saying Derek ran – tried to run, whatever – a DNA test? On Annabel?"
"Right." Webber pauses. "Without consent. That's medical battery, on a minor, as you know, so is there…anything the two of you want to tell me?"
"Is he serious right now?" Mark's fist clenches in his pocket.
"Okay, okay," Addison breaks in, her voice still shaky. "Richard, whatever happened – I don't know what – but it's done, and Annabel's twenty-two hours seizure free. The clock is running. Can we just wait to deal with this until after her surgery?"
"Addison." Webber sounds patient, but more than that, almost … sad, and it's the sad part that makes Mark's heart speed up.
"No," Addison says firmly now. "Let's just figure out what – Richard, can we talk to Derek?"
Webber shakes his head. "He's meeting with the hospital's lawyers now. He didn't deny anything; they'll need to get a statement, search his files … the wheels are in motion now. It's not my show anymore."
"What do you mean?" Addison's voice teeters on the edge of panic. "Richard, what do you mean, it's not your show?"
"It's not up to me. I had no choice but to take him off active duty until NatMed finishes its investigation-"
"No! He can't be off duty, we need-"
"There's a procedure here, Addison. I'm required to follow it."
"I don't care about the procedure, Richard! Derek is operating tonight. He has to operate tonight. She's almost in the clear for the surgery!"
"I'm so sorry."
"No. No! You have to do something, you must be able to do something, just … let him operate, Richard, you don't have to disclose anything to-"
"Addison." Webber's voice is sharp. "I violate procedure, the hospital loses its NatMed credentialing. For good. Every sick person here gets bounced, every doctor is looking for work, every bit of research we're funding goes away. We need to follow the procedures here – "
"But Annabel needs Derek! She's not a procedure, she's not …" Addison's holding the sides of her face, looking very close to losing it altogether. Mark wraps an arm around her. She's trembling against his side and he still feels dizzy, confused.
He forces himself to take deep breath, to pretend any of this makes sense, tries to think as clearly as he can for all of them. "Okay, so there are procedures. So what can we do to move this along?"
"We can request an emergency review, request that they let him keep working during the investigation. Otherwise, these investigations generally run two to three months-"
"We don't have two to three months!" Addison interjects.
"I understand. I'll put the request in today. I've already started the paperwork, I just needed to talk to you first."
"Okay. We can do that. So that's quick, right? It's quick?" Addison draws a deep, shaky breath. "There's still time. They review, and once they understand the circumstances I'm sure they'll agree, and hopefully it will be within the rest of the window. Just paperwork. And then he operates. And maybe we don't lose any time." She's speaking very quickly. "Right? Richard? Richard, why are you looking like that?"
His face is, indeed, grim.
"Addie, NatMed's review board is in Washington, D.C. It's three hours later there; they've already gone dark for the day."
Mark is holding her around the waist so he can tell when the air rushes out of her and her knees start to buckle. She gets control of herself quickly, though. "You mean – we have to wait until tomorrow? Richard, we might not be able to wait-"
"Addison, I'm sorry, but you don't have a choice. You're going to have to wait."
Mark leads her outside, takes her shoulders as much to steady himself as her. "What's happening here, Addie? Do you understand why Derek would-?"
Her voice is slow with something like wonder: "Mark, he must have wanted to see if … if Annabel is his."
"That doesn't make any sense."
She shakes her head miserably. "I know it doesn't. I don't know what he was thinking, he can't actually have been thinking at all, or he wouldn't risk – all of this. He could lose his license, he could lose… a lot."
He stares at the wall; there's a generic photograph of the Seattle skyline and he focuses on the space needle until it blurs.
"Mark." Addison touches his jaw; he refocuses on her teary blue eyes. "There's no way, you do know that I-"
"Don't insult me, Addison."
She takes a step back at his tone. "I'm sorry, I just –"
"No, I'm sorry." He pulls her into his arms. "I didn't mean – look, I don't understand why he did this, but we need to try to stay calm. Focused. For Annabel, okay?"
He feels her nod into his shoulder, gives her one more squeeze before releasing her. "Derek was never the best at math," he mumbles.
Or he just wasn't paying attention...
"…so obviously I'm off the list now after we were no-shows for the reservation. Again."
"Addison…."
"It's fine. Whatever. But then apparently he took over for Beller but didn't tell me, so I had to see it on the board." She takes a deep breath, and he can tell she's gearing up. She has a glass of wine in one hand, the other gesticulating as she unloads. Even in sweats and an old tee shirt that's probably Derek's, face bare of makeup, even with tears in her eyes and a quiver in her voice, she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
He doesn't mean to tell her this – it's a bit of a non-sequitur really, but it slips out anyway. She releases an irritated puff of air in response, but it sounds sad rather than angry.
"Really. You're the only one who thinks so. Do you know how long it's been since he touched me? Six weeks. Well, actually, forty-one days. Because I remember the exact date, how pathetic is that? And I remember the time. I remember exactly what I was wearing – the green dress with the thing- " one of her hands flutters around her collarbone descriptively – "and I remember that he didn't notice. And I remember that -
"Addison, how is this helping?" He cuts in, touching her cheek gently. Her skin is flushed, warm under his fingers. Her lips are slightly swollen and he leans in to kiss her sadness away. Or at least to try.
"No, don't."
"I'm sorry." He pulls back immediately. "I thought…"
"No, don't be sorry, I want you to do it. Obviously I want you to do it. God, do you think I don't know how horrible I sound? I'm this … cheater complaining that my husband doesn't come home enough and doesn't want to sleep with me. I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore."
"Well, you're missing out then. It's a great view." He keeps his tone light, wonders if he can stop her from spiraling.
"I'm a terrible person."
"So tell him, Addison. Let's tell him, let's just be honest and be done with all of this. We can be together, and you can – look in the mirror again." And we can be somewhere that doesn't have framed pictures of your wedding mocking us from the bookshelves, he thinks to himself.
"Is that really what you want?" she asks tremulously.
"You know it's what I want," he assures her. "And… just so you know, you looked great in the green dress with the thing, Addie. You haven't worn it since, but-"
"Stop. Stop doing that, Mark."
"Doing what?"
"Noticing things, noticing… me. Making me feel good."
"Why shouldn't you feel good?" He brushes her hair back, kisses the side of her neck. She murmurs soft appreciation and he feels her start to melt into him before she pulls back again.
"Mark, don't."
"Addison. You have to make up your mind at some point."
"I can't!"
"What are we doing here, then? It's just about the sex?"
"No, you know that's not it. Besides, we haven't even had sex."
"Okay, Mr. President."
She shoves him lightly. "That joke is getting old."
"This situation is getting old too. Addison, we can't sneak around forever."
"I know, but…"
He takes her hand, looks right into her eyes. He doesn't want to know if the answer is yes but he has to ask the question. "Addie, do you want to…try to work it out with him? Because if that's what you want, I'll step-"
"Work what out?" Her eyes tear up again. "We're barely married anymore. There's nothing left to work out."
"Then work it out with me," he says soothingly. And then she's in his arms, and she's wrapped around him and the last boundaries between them slip away as they stumble up the stairs into the rest of their lives.
Every detail of that night is burned into his memory. The one night Derek did come home. The way he looked at both of them, disgust on his face, betrayal in his eyes. The same expression on Addison's face when she showed up at his door the next day, face swollen from crying.
I can't look at myself, Mark. What did we do? What have we done?
Now Mark thinks about the way Webber looked at them in the exam room. Not with the semi-fatherly concern in his eyes he'd seen before, when he looked at Addison, but with judgment. The kind of judgment suggesting he's doing his own math in his own head and coming to his own conclusions.
The conclusions are wrong, but does that matter? For seven years the people who knew them in the Before have been coming to their own conclusions. And if someone met them in the After? Well, they haven't let anyone close enough to try, really.
"If he really wondered, he's had seven years to ask. Why now?"
"I don't know." Addison is teary again. "Maybe I should have tried to talk to him, I should have told him – but I didn't think he would do this, I didn't know he really thought I would … lie to him? To you, and Annabel, to everyone?" She wipes tears from her eyes. "I'm not a monster."
He pulls her against him, kissing the side of her head. "No one thinks that."
"Apparently Derek does."
"Well, he doesn't matter."
"But he does matter!" She pushes away from him. "He's the only one who can save her, Mark, he's why we're here!"
"Addison." He cups her cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb. "I know. I know. But all we can do right now is wait."
She nods, leans against him again, and when she speaks her voice is so soft, musing, he's not sure if she's talking to him or to herself. "Richard knew I was pregnant, when I came to Seattle. No one asked, I just – I assumed they knew."
"People … think what they want to think," he says quietly; it's been proven to him again and again.
"Yeah," she sighs. He knows she probably kept from him some of what she suffered when they got together, just as he did. The stares, gossip, questions. People accusing him of taking something from Derek – as if Derek hadn't effectively let her go long before Mark ever touched her. But Annabel - Annabel isn't gossip. Their family won't be gossip. Not if he has anything to do with it.
"Fish day, fish day," Annabel chants excitedly, practically swinging from his hand. She pauses to stomp on a partially melted puddle of ice on the sidewalk, spraying cold water around her little red boots, a few drops settling on her brightly striped leggings. "Wet," she observes with interest, giggling and stomping one more time.
"Mommy's going to love that," Mark teases, pulling gently on her hand, supporting Max in his carrier with the other. "Come on, babe, before all the good bagels are gone."
"Want a white one," she jogs a little, catching up to him. It's sunny but cold, his favorite kind of winter weather, and early morning light is glancing off Annabel's dark curls. "Pink cream cheese, too, okay?"
"You got it, Bel."
He loves mornings like these, Annabel chatty and cheerful, Max a warm snuggling bundle, the city waking brightly to life before them. Added bonus: Addison gets some much needed sleep. She was up three times with Max last night; Mark offered but was exhausted himself from a late case the night before. So this morning he rolled out of bed as quietly as possibly with just a quick kiss to his wife's sleep-warmed shoulder, strapped his son to his chest, bundled a wiggly Annabel into the puffy little blue coat she picked out herself, and headed the few blocks to Zev's, their bagel spot of choice.
Well. He used to prefer H&H, but Annabel likes the fish display at Zev's, and these days their family is a functioning little democracy – occasionally a dictatorship, with Annabel still a couple of months from her third birthday – but Zev's it is.
He pushes open the heavy glass door; inside, it's warm and steamy, the scent of freshly baked bagels and smoked fish wafting strongly toward them.
"Mark Sloan? Is that you?"
He glances up to see a familiar-looking brunette holding a sack of bagels. "Jamie…Sullivan! I almost didn't recognize you," in street clothes, that is. But add a pair of scrubs and a cheaper haircut and they're back in residency. "Aren't you in … is it Houston, now?"
"Dallas," she corrects. "I was, but my grant ran out and I finally got a spot at St. Luke's, so…back to the city. Last week, actually. Obviously I need to welcome myself back with my first New York bagels in way too long. I barely recognized you," she adds, "all Dad'd up with the kids and the…"
Annabel is tugging on his hand and Jamie seems to notice her, smiling down at the little girl.
"Well, look at this little heartbreaker! What's your name, sweetie?"
"Annabel," she says, her tone slightly wary, then tugs at Mark's hand again. "Daddy, fish."
"Go say hi to them, it's okay." He strokes the top of Annabel's head, watches her take the few steps to the glass display case where the fish heads with whom she has an ongoing, passionate love-fear relationship reside. She peeks at them, covers her eyes briefly, then peeks again.
"Oh, she's a doll, Mark."
"Thanks."
He sees her eyes travel to the bulging diaper bag slung across his shoulder. Addison bought it for him, it's a relatively subtle black nylon – by men for men, she'd grinned when she gave it to him – but there's a bottle of pumped breast milk in the front pocket and Annabel's pink knitted hat is sticking out of the top, along with a green turtle-shaped rattle.
"I can't believe you have kids. Plural." She peers into the baby carrier. "And this one's a baby boy? It's too Rockwell, I can't believe it. Don't tell me you have a dog too."
"No." He smiles in spite of himself. "Ad- I mean, my wife put her foot down there."
"Wife? Stop it!" Her eyes widen. "I know I've been gone a few years-"
"At least four," he corrects her.
"Four, fine, but … some things you don't forget. I mean, this is too much – someone actually domesticated Mark Sloan?"
He grimaces slightly, tries to pass it off as a smile.
"She has to be amazing. Gifted. I need to congratulate her, or call the Guinness Book, or something. I'm so behind on all the gossip…"
What he wishes he could do is grab Annabel and make a getaway before things get uncomfortable. Jamie is smiling at him in a friendly way – at least he hopes it's friendly; yeah, they slept together a few times as residents, but there are very few in his cohort he can't say that about. Jamie was nice enough, smart, left New York to study under a cleft palate pioneer, he remembers. Her smile and her interest do both seem genuine. For a minute, it's nice for someone from who knew them in the Before to look at his family with something that doesn't feel like barely-concealed judgment.
"Oh, come on," she persists. "It can't be a secret; you're actually wearing a ring and everything. Ooh, is it someone I know…?"
"I think so," he says finally, as neutrally as possible. "Or you did. Um, Addison Montgomery, she was in-"
"Addison Montgomery … wait, you mean Montgomery-Shepherd? The She-Shepherd?" Her brow furrows. "Very funny. No, really, Mark, if you married Mona Corelli, you can just tell me."
He shifts uncomfortably.
"Wait, you're actually serious? But she's – ohhh." Her face changes as she realizes what he's saying. "Oh, wow. But what happened to-"
"He moved away," Mark answers abruptly before she can say his name.
"Wow," she says again, and he tries not to flinch as – yeah, there it is, as expected: he sees something slide across her eyes, and when she looks at him again, at the baby strapped to his chest, at his little daughter a foot away making fish faces at a very large and very dead smoked whitefish, her expression is completely different.
"I guess I really have been gone a long time," she muses. He can see from her face that she's about thirty seconds away from calling someone else from their cohort – maybe Mona Corelli, actually, if she ever forgave her for walking in on her with Mark in an on-call room their third year – to compare notes on the scandal she missed. Then, right on cue, there's a quick, awkward good-bye, a half-hearted "we should…," but he knows they won't.
Annabel tugs at the bottom of his coat when they're alone again. "Who's that lady?"
He looks down into her perfect face. Her little nose, a carbon copy of the one he sported until kindergarten or so, is scrunched with curiosity. He doesn't want to say "no one" or "she just wanted directions" because it has always felt important to him not to lie to his children. He also doesn't want to say "a doctor we used to work with," because Annabel is likely to repeat it to her mother and he doesn't want Addison to have to deal with the interaction he'll have to describe. He can still clearly remember finding her in an on-call room crying, seven months pregnant with Annabel, after that asshole McGowan called out "Who's the daddy?" when she walked out of the locker room. Only Addison begging him not to jeopardize his hands kept him from throwing a well-deserved punch or three that time.
Their shared past is complicated, and their unspoken but shared promise is to keep it from poisoning their present. A present that includes the little girl who is looking up at him now with Addison's eyes, trusting him to answer all her questions.
So he smiles reassuringly at his daughter. "It was just someone who thought she knew me, but … she actually didn't."
It's true.
"Mark … I don't care what people think of us as long as she's okay," Addison says quietly. The fear in her eyes goes straight to Mark's chest and he squeezes her shoulder.
They're sitting on the same side of Annabel's bed this time, drawing strength from each other as they try to transmit it to their sleeping daughter as well. Annabel's little hand is swallowed in Mark's; Addison's rests on his, and they wait under the blinking red numbers of the seizure clock.
They're both watching those illuminated numbers, Addison tugging at the ends of her hair with her free hand, a gesture he's only seen her make in moments of high stress. "Okay, we still have a way out, right?" Her voice is steadier now. "Richard said he filed for an emergency review. And I know it's three hours later in D.C. but they should at least respond about the review by six a.m. our time."
"So all we need to do is…"
"Keep Annabel seizure free until six a.m. Seattle time."
They look at each other. "I'm sleeping here," Addison says firmly.
"I figured. Let's … go get Max?"
When in doubt, stick together. In truth, it's what's carried them through the last seven-plus years.
"Yeah." She links her arm through his. "Let's go get Max."
Their son has fallen asleep on the very soft-looking lap of a sweet-faced candy-striper, and Mark lifts him into his arms without waking him. Between jet lag and the unpredictable, twenty-four-hour hospital routine, Max's sleep schedule is completely out of whack. They agree without words to let him keep napping, and head together for Annabel's room. How have they gotten to this point? Where the only surgeon willing to operate on Annabel has run a test without consent, jeopardized his license for … what? It's been years, a lot of years, but Mark knew Derek, almost as well as knew himself, once upon a time.
Mark hoists Max higher with one hand and rests the other hand on Addison's shoulder as they walk. For a minute he pretends the last nightmare of a week never happened, that Max fell asleep visiting one of them at work, and now they're walking through the familiar hospital at home, and Annabel's fine and waiting for them at home with the nanny, and -
Addison pulls away suddenly from his hold, rushing to Annabel's bedside in a sharp clack of shoes. "Dr. – Meredith! What happened? Did she-"
"She's just fine," Dr. Grey says reassuringly. She's standing over Annabel, who's asleep, breathing evenly. "No change. My intern paged me; she had a question about her BP, but she's holding steady. I prefer a cautious intern, so I can't complain, especially with a good result." She smiles tiredly and Mark sees that she's wearing wrinkled scrubs, hair spreading in loose wisps out of her ponytail, telltale marks of a scrub cap at the top of her head. She must have just come from surgery.
"Just closed up a keyhole. I wanted to check on Annabel first thing," she explains, apparently noticing Mark looking at her.
Mark's chest tightens. If she's just finished operating, Dr. Grey might have no idea what's happened.
"You've, um, been in the OR until just now?" Addison asks hesitantly, as if reading his mind.
Dr. Grey furrows her brow slightly. "That's right. So … as you know, she's almost twenty-three hours seizure free now. I'm going to suggest we get her prepped so we can start as soon as possible when she hits twenty-four hours; that's the plan Der- Dr. Shepherd and I discussed. He should be here very soon, actually." She glances at the clock in the room. "I paged him, and I've already booked the OR. It's probably easiest for him to meet us in pre-op so we don't lose any more…time…." She slows down, then breaks off, looking with confusion at Addison and Mark, who are continuing to stare silently.
"What is it?" Dr. Grey looks slowly from one of them to the other. "Am I missing something?"
Reviews are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated.
Chapter title from Rilo Kiley's More Adventurous