A/N: This chapter's on the long side, and it's another chance for the men to talk. And this time, Derek actually gets to share some feelings - shoutout to Patsy for that. I'm nervous writing MerDer, since it's fairly new for me, but I'm feeling inspired. Read and let me know: how did it go?

but for the sky there are no fences facing

Seattle is … strange, Mark has decided, and it's not just because of the circumstances under which his family has arrived in the pacific northwest. It's something about the cool blue light, the drizzle, the different trees and vegetation. The way the mist wraps around him as he walks through the parking lot.

Derek pulls open the door to the hotel suite before Mark can slide his key card.

Mark holds up the temporary security ID. "You're officially a Distinguished Visitor to Seattle Grace Hospital. Or you will be when you sign the paperwork."

"You pulled it off." Derek examines the card.

"They did," he corrects.

"How's Annabel? I heard about the continuous monitoring."

"She's holding up. No spikes." Mark is grateful that Meredith thought of the continuous monitoring; after recognizing a pattern in Annabel's endocrine labs, she realized they could track her continuously and get twenty minutes of warning before her next seizure. That way, even if she didn't make it twenty-four hours between seizures, they could operate closer to the end of the window than the front.

"It was a good idea." Derek is holding a lab report in his hand. "We're better off operating nineteen, twenty hours after the seizure than letting her seize again."

"That way you can be in the OR," Mark says.

Derek glances at him. "That's not the reason why," he says quietly, and Mark swallows hard, realizing what he's saying.

That this is their last window.

"It was a good idea," Derek says again, before Mark can really process it.

"Meredith's idea," Mark says.

"Meredith's idea." Derek shakes his head, looking frankly impressed. "If she was worried about being mommy-tracked, at least that's over now. Have you seen my son?" he adds, perhaps reminded by the term mommy-tracked. "I know Meredith was going to drop him off at hospital daycare."

"Actually, our nanny showed up from New York. It was a surprise. She has both boys now."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Thomas went with a stranger? She must really be something."

"She is." Mark holds out his phone to Derek to show him the picture Ida texted him of Max and Thomas in a pit of colorful balls, both looking thrilled.

"The indoor playground," Derek says immediately. "Thomas loves that place."

Mark notices how his face softens when he talks about his son.

Derek shakes his head slightly, perhaps understanding. "He wasn't even a year old yet," he says without preamble. "They put him in my arms and everything just …" He stops talking, but Mark knows the end of the sentence.

Everything just … shifted.

He knows, because he's been there. With Annabel, and then with Max.

Derek glances at him. "He's everything," Derek says simply. "Everything. And maybe it was … tempting fate, to want another child. Especially when the burden falls on her and not on me."

Mark nods. He knows about fertility treatments from Addison, understands the toll they can take.

"It's not about biology. It's…" Derek looks down at his hands for a moment, silently. Mark hears him anyway. It's about something else. It's about that raw, powerful moment he first held his son.

It's not about biology.

"Thomas will be a good older brother," Mark says finally. He thinks maybe he meant to say would, meant to make it conditional, but it comes out as will instead and maybe it's the force of that confidence that makes Derek's lips curve into a sad smile.

"That's a nice thought," he says.

"You shouldn't have come if you were going to be a bad mood the whole time."

"I didn't realize it was optional," Derek says and Mark can see Addison's shoulders tense from where he is standing ten feet away, near the pool, hoping they'll stop arguing soon so he can have a beer, swim some laps maybe. But right now he's stuck here in this triangle, watching his best friends fight.

Addison stares at Derek for a moment, then props a hand on her hip.

"Do you love me?"

"Addison…"

"Well, do you?"

"Of course I love you," he mutters, head bent toward the flagstones.

"Can you say it without looking at the ground?"

"Addison, don't do this. Don't do this in front of Mark."

Mark tries to act interested in the rosebushes.

"Derek-"

"I'm not talking about this now. We'll talk about this later." His tone makes it clear he's done, and Mark fidgets uncomfortably. If Addison pushes it and they end up in a blowout fight, he'll have to figure out a way to get the car keys without pissing them off and go to town and … something.

"I'm going for a walk," Addison says abruptly, as if ending the conversation had been her idea, and Mark watches her cover the grass with fast, angry steps.

Derek is watching her, too. He turns to Mark.

"Sorry about that."

Mark shrugs.

"I hate it out here," Derek says, again, which is what started the fight in the first place.

"Then why did you buy the house?"

"It was Addison's idea. You know that." He shakes his head. "It's such a … scene, we might as well stay in the city."

Okay, some parts of the island are a scene, but this morning Mark and Addison bicycled into town for fresh bread and blackberries, cycling back one-handed down the serene path with iced coffees in their other hands, laughing in the sunshine, racing the last half-mile back to the house. It didn't feel like a scene then. It felt peaceful.

It felt nice.

"Where would you rather be?" he asks now, practically.

Derek glances at him. "I don't know. Somewhere. Fishing."

"You can fish out-"

"Not without a big production, you can't." Derek kicks at some dirt dusting the flagstone path. "Look, just forget it. Let her sulk for a while and she'll get over it. You want a beer?"

They drink in companionable silence in the Adirondack chairs by the pool. Mark stares at the unmoving blue water as the sun starts to set. Crickets chirp loudly in the warm air. Mark glances at his watch.

"She's fine, Mark." Derek is looking past him, at the trees on the corner of the property.

"I know."

When he goes back into the house to get another round, the big, empty kitchen feels silent and accusatory. He takes a moment to just breathe in the air – it still smells like espresso beans, the fancy ones Addison brings with her when they drive out here, the fresh bread they brought home this morning, and the lingering coconut scent of her sunscreen. He can't admit this to Derek, it makes him sound – well, like a girl, or worse, like a kid – but he doesn't like it when the two of them fight. They're supposed to be the good ones. Happy. They're Addison and Derek.

When he gets back outside he sees that Addison is back; she's taken over the chair he vacated, her legs tucked up under her. Her eyes look puffy, like she's been crying, but she smiles up at him. "Can I have one of those?" She gestures at the beers he's holding.

"You can have mine," he says, and he hands the other one to Derek. "I'm going to go … marinate the steaks."

He glances back at them one last time as he pushes open the screen door. Addison's chin is resting in her hand; she's looking at Derek, but if they're talking he can't hear it.

"It's a nice thought," Derek says again. "I, uh ... I don't know if Meredith would agree right now."

"She's ... still mad at you?" Mark's tone is tentative. This is new, talking to Derek about his wife. Talking to Derek at all is new, in truth.

"Not mad," Derek says. "Hurt. I hurt her."

His tone makes it clear: that's worse. Mark nods, understanding.

"I could have ruined everything," Derek says.

"But you didn't," Mark prompts.

"But I could have." He draws an audible breath. "You don't understand. She … she saved me," he says.

Mark swallows, hearing the intensity in his voice, and waits for him to continue.

"The whole trip out here, when I moved, I just … drove and drove, and it felt like I was drowning the whole time." He glances at Mark. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty."

"I know."

"It was like I was drowning, and Meredith … she was like coming up for fresh air. She saved me," he says again. "And then she forgave me, when she found out about…" he gestures vaguely around the hotel room and Mark is confused for a moment, then realizes.

"Oh. She didn't know you were…"

"I told her," Derek says. He's staring out the window again. You can see the hospital from this angle. "I told her. But not until … not for a couple of months."

Those couple of months. Mark knows them well. He likes Meredith, and not just because of the role she's playing in saving his daughter. Not just because of her medical gifts. It's instinctual, maybe. Part of it is that Addison seems to like her, and he trusts her judgment. There's the calm way Meredith mediated between Derek and Amy. And then there's the merry little boy who loves trains, the one who made Derek a father. Meredith did that; she made them a family.

"I wasn't trying to hide it," Derek says, though Mark didn't ask. "Truthfully … you and Addison just stopped existing to me after I walked out of that room."

It's harsh, but he accepts it; Derek's tone is mild, neutral, not angry at all. Just matter of fact, as they look back at their long and twisted shared history.

"And then Addison showed up," Derek says.

Mark nods. "At least you told her before then?" A part of him wants to lighten the mood.

Derek smiles ruefully. "Can you imagine? I don't think I would have had a chance if not. Addison showed up and then … everyone in the hospital was talking about it."

Now that sounds familiar.

"But she forgave you."

"She forgave me." Derek nods. "But this …"

And Mark knows he means Annabel. The test. His investigation.

"It's not your fault," Mark says. "Not all your fault, anyway."

"That's what Addison told Meredith. She's been advocating for me, apparently." Derek sounds bemused.

"We owe you."

"That's not how it works."

"I know." Now Mark glances out the window. "Look, the – what you did – Meredith loves you. It's obvious."

"She's the love of my life," Derek says quietly and when he turns to face him Mark sees the truth of that in his oldest friend's eyes.

"Then tell her. Remind her," Mark corrects himself. "Go from there."

Derek nods, then grimaces. "Relationship advice from the man who broke up my marriage." But he says it without any hostility.

"You can always disregard my advice."

"I can," Derek says. "But I don't think I will."

It was like I was drowning. Meredith … she was like coming up for fresh air.

He was drowning. And Mark and Addison were the ones who pushed him in.

"I'm sorry," Mark says abruptly.

Derek glances at him. "I said I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty."

"I know you weren't, but I'm still sorry." He knows Addison apologized to Derek, and not just in her panicked cries the night he found them or in her increasingly frantic voicemails those first few weeks, but here, in Seattle. Addison apologized. But he hasn't. "I'm sorry," he says again, suddenly very tired.

"Okay." Derek nods.

Mark nods too. He considers the forty years they've known each other. Maybe they'll never be friends again. Certainly they won't be friends like they used to be. But maybe, just maybe, they can build something out of everything they watched come tumbling down.

"So." Derek pushes up his sleeves. "Do you have that paperwork?"

..

Addison stumbles toward them from Annabel's room, looking exhausted. She's been a rock and he's worried about her, worried her stoicism heralds an imminent collapse, but there's no time for that. There's no time to do anything more than exchange a quick, hard hug before they follow Derek into the room.

"Hey, Annabel." Derek smiles at her and Annabel smiles shyly back. "It's Dr. Shepherd, do you remember me?"

"You came back."

"I came back," he agrees. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," she says. "I beat my dad in checkers."

"That sounds like fun. I've done it myself. Can I take a look at you?"

She nods.

Mark watches him examine Annabel, gentle and practiced. There's no trace of anything but the consummate professional, compassionate enough to keep a child at ease.

"Her levels are steady," he says quietly when he's finished. "The system is working."

"The system is working," Meredith echoes. She smiles at Derek and Mark watches them hold each other's gaze for a few extra seconds.

"It was pretty brilliant," Amy admits. She's watching the output on the monitor. "I'm a little pissed I didn't come up with it, in fact."

"Are you feeling tired, Annabel?" Derek asks, looking over at her. Annabel's lashes have been fluttering on her cheeks.

"Kind of."

"You can sleep." Derek smiles at her, then nods across the bed at Mark and Addison. "The monitors are running. She can sleep."

"I'm staying," Addison says.

Mark steps outside with Derek, Meredith, and Amy.

"Now what?"

"She sleeps," Derek says. "With any luck, she sleeps through the night, because she's better off rested."

"We run the monitors, and if her levels change, we move immediately into Plan B," Meredith adds.

"Which is to put her under and operate ASAP, even if it's not 24 hours yet," Amy finishes. "Because that's still better than what could-"

"He gets it, Amy," Derek cuts her off.

"Meredith and I are staying in the hospital. We'll get some sleep here and be ready to move as soon as the alarms go off. If they go off," Amy says with uncharacteristic tact, glancing at Mark.

"Right." Derek nods. "There are a few more things I'd like to model with the new numbers."

"Back to the remote office?" Amy grins.

..

"Housekeeping changed the sheets," Mark offers lamely, indicating the bed Amy slept in the previous night. Assorted stuffed animals are sitting at the foot. "But if you want to…" He gestures at the other bed.

Derek glances at him curiously, shifting a sleeping Thomas slightly higher in his arms. "That's Annabel's bed," he says.

Mark finds his lips curving into a smile.

"Shh," he reminds Max, who is drinking milk on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs. "Thomas is sleeping."

"Can Ida come sleep with us?" Max asks in a whisper that's almost as loud as his normal voice.

"Ida is sleeping in her own room, bud. She needs her rest so she can deal with you monsters tomorrow."

Max accepts this. "But Thomas is staying?"

Mark nods. "And Dr. Shepherd too."

"A sleepover!" Max says happily.

Mark ruffles his son's hair. "Yeah, something like that."

Max goes to sleep without protest – thankfully – in the big bed.

"How's Max?" Addison asks when he calls.

"Fine. Sleeping. How's Bel?"

"Fine," Addison says automatically, and then he hears her pause, remembering. "No spikes," she corrects herself. "She's holding steady."

Mark glances at the time. "It's almost one."

"Six hours," Addison says.

It's only his years of practicing medicine that allow him to sleep under these conditions, this anxiety, this sense of foreboding. His body requires it and so he forces it, and his eyes close next to the rhythmic breathing of his son.

Max wakes him a few minutes after five by climbing over him, none too gently.

Mark sits up, with some effort, but as always, once he's relatively vertical he's awake.

His heart stops for a moment when his phone rings. Max is chattering happily to him, winding around his legs, and he rests a hand on his head for a moment, trying to quiet him so he can hear Addison.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Addison says, her voice full of wonder. "She's holding steady, Mark. She's still holding steady."

The back of his throat burns. "I'm coming to the hospital."

"Bring Max."

Mark glances down. "Ida said we should take him to her room and she'll-"

"I want him to see Annabel."

"Addie, I'm not sure that we should…"

"Please, Mark." There are tears in her voice. "I … I didn't get to say goodbye to my brother."

He swallows hard. It's the first time he's heard her suggest that the surgery might not be a success, and it's painful. Of course, he capitulates. How can he not?

With a sleepy Thomas dropped off with Ida, Mark drives to the hospital with Max, Derek trailing behind.

Meredith meets them in the hall. "She's in pre-op."

Mark's heart speed sup. This is really happening.

Outside Annabel's room in pre-op, he kneels down to Max's level.

"She's going to look a little bit different, because she's getting ready for surgery."

"She has wires and needles and stuff," Max says, remembering. "I know. Can I go in now?"

"Right. Just hang on a second. You've already seen the … wires and the needles, and it was still Annabel, right?" Max nods. "Now she's going to have a few more of those, and her hair is going to look different because some of it is shaved for her surgery."

"Shaved?" Max's eyes widen.

"It will grow back."

Max hesitates.

"What is it, buddy?"

"Is it going to be scary?"

"No," He lifts Max up and holds him close. "It's going to be Annabel."

He gowns up quickly. "She's having surgery very soon, bud, so we're going to put on robes and make sure we don't give her any germs."

"Dress-up!" Max beams, cheerful again. "Do you have my ones? I need them, they have my name." Dr. Max. The child-sized scrubs are green, they're adorable, they're ordinary and of course they're not here.

"They're at home, so you're gonna borrow some from the hospital, okay?"

The blue sterile robe dwarfs Max's little body; Mark fits a cap on his head and carries him in to see Annabel.

His fears melt away when Max eagerly tries to get down to talk to his sister.

"Hi, Bel," he whispers.

"Hi."

"I'm dressed up," Max whispers.

"Me too," Annabel says, smiling a little.

"You having surgery now?" Max asks hesitantly.

Annabel nods. "I'm going to sleep first."

"To sleep?"

"Yeah."

Amy signals him from across the room.

"Max," he moves his face close to his son's. "Say bye now."

"Bel's going to sleep now?" Max asks.

"That's right."

"G'night," Max says softly. "Sleep tight, see you in the morning light."

Annabel, her eyes drifting shut, smiles at him.

"When is she going to wake up?" Max asks as soon as they're back outside and Mark is peeling away the layers of sterile blue.

"Not for a while, buddy. Not until after her surgery."

Max nods, taking it in.

"Mark." Addison leans outside the room for a moment. They exchange a glance. He wants to be there when they put her under, but Max is hanging onto his hand and now he has no idea what to do.

"Hey."

Mark looks up and sees the tall, dark haired surgeon Addison has befriended, the one from the chapel. Carrie. Something like that.

"Callie," Addison says gratefully from the doorway.

Max looks up at her with interest, probably because she's holding a good-sized bone mallet in one hand

"I thought you might need a hand," Callie shrugs.

Mark nods with relief. "Ida should be here in … less than an hour, with Thomas."

"I thought kids gave you the wiggins," Addison says.

"There's always an exception that proves the rule," Callie shrugs. "It's science. So, Max," she holds out her hand. "Want to go break some stuff with a hammer?"

"Yeah!" Max says immediately.

"Go ahead, we'll come get you soon," Mark promises him.

He gowns up again and then his wife stops him in the doorway with a hand on his chest.

"She's has to be okay," Addison says fiercely. "She has to be."

He finds her curled at the foot of the stairs, crying, when he goes back to the brownstone later that same night. There's no sign of Derek, but there are black garbage bags on the curb even though there's no morning pickup tomorrow. His head has been buzzing for hours, muscles trembling, what-have-we-done-oh-my-god but suddenly all he can think is that she's facing a $100 fine. He has a key but the door's not locked – unlike her – and when she looks up at him with teary eyes he says the first thing that comes to mind, "you'll get a ticket," and then he gets down on the floor with her and holds her.

For a week she falls asleep in his arms, most of the time in tears, but won't let him touch her the way he used to. We can't do this, she whimpers, it's horrible, what we've done, we can't. So he holds her while she sleeps, he cooks her breakfast, he brings coffee to her office and pours wine for her at night and tactfully pretends not to look when she steps out of a steaming shower or slides a silky shirt over her head. And when Lucia, that black-haired nurse, winks at him, he follows her into an on-call room. Addison is still married; Addison just needs a shoulder to cry on, fine. He still has needs. He has standards; he doesn't bring anyone home. But there are lots of other places.

She's already in his apartment when he comes home one night, barefoot in one of his shirts, and looking teary so he puts his arms around her and she surprises him by stretching up to kiss him. It feels like it's been forever but she tastes exactly the same, and he's painfully grateful as his hand slides into her hair and the other starts to lift her.

"Wait." She puts a hand on his chest as he's starting to kiss a trail down the warm skin of her neck. "You're being careful, right?"

There's no need to ask what she means. They know each other too well. "Yeah, I'm being careful," he assures her. He considers saying "but I'll stop, I only want you, let's do this for real," except the next night he hears her leaving Derek another apologetic voicemail and his fist clenches around his wine glass.

"I know it's over," she whispers tearfully when he confronts her. "I know that, Mark, but I still need to apologize. I just need to talk to him." And she swings one long leg over his, leans down to kiss him, her long hair covering both their faces. He knows she's trying to distract him but he doesn't mind; he kisses her back, slides his hands up the warm skin under her shirt. Afterwards, they lie entangled on his couch and he strokes damp hair away from her face.

She starts spending almost every night at his place. His sheets smell like her, her little bottles and containers take up residence in his bathroom, he stocks the coffee beans she likes – the secret to good espresso is good beans, that's what she told him years ago – and when she glances over one bare shoulder to give him a lazy smile in the morning, sleepy and just for him, he feels like this is real.

Almost.

Now she is standing in front of him nervously twisting her hands. "I have to tell you something," she says, and he responds more to her tone than her words, touching her cheek. "What is it, Addie?" he asks, concerned, and she leans forward to whisper the words that will change their lives.

Again.

He follows Addison into the room, squeezing her hand before they move to either side of Annabel's bed.

"Doctors," the resident he recognizes as Foster. "It's time." The pediatric anesthesiologist is at the head of the bed, monitoring her.

Addison leans over Annabel for a moment, murmuring something, then turns to Mark.

"Daddy?" Annabel looks up at him with wide blue eyes and he swallows hard, bending down to her eyeline.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. You're going to go to sleep," Mark tells her again. "And then Dr. Shepherd and his team are going to help you. And then when you wake up it will be over and Mom and I will be with you again."

"What if I don't wake up?"

Addison can't seem to help a small gasp, but Mark forces himself not to react.

"You will." He's got her little hand in his. "Hey. Remember that skating exhibition in Peekskill?"

Annabel nods slowly.

"We had to leave at five in the morning to drive up there with all your skating stuff. We had to get up at four to make sure we were ready. You remember? You were worried you wouldn't be able to wake up?"

Mark closes his eyes, just for a second, and sees Annabel in red pajamas and freshly washed hair, fretting as she brushed her teeth in the bright yellow bathroom she shares with her brother, Max winding sleepily around her legs.

"You remember?"

"Yeah," she says softly.

"And you did wake up in time, right?"

"You woke me up."

"That's right." He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're going to get up in time today too. I'll be here to wake you up. I promise."

Addison can't seem to speak, just kisses her daughter's forehead one more time. Mark squeezes her little hand and wills his touch to transmit everything he feels. There's a nurse stroking Annabel's hair while the anesthesiologist positions a mask inches above her face.

"Do you know how to count backwards, Annabel?"

They wheel her through the doors and Mark rests a hand on Addison's arm, half restraining, half comforting. She turns into his embrace for a moment, and then she tugs him toward the door.

"Addie…"

The numbers on his watch remind him of the time. 6:44 a.m. In eight minutes, it will have been 24 hours since Annabel's last seizure. And in 16 minutes, Houston will wake up for the business day. He draws a deep breath.

"I just want to… wish them luck," Addison says softly. "That's all."

He nods, and lets her lead him toward the OR.

The three surgeons are deep in conversation in the scrub room, soapy hands flying.

"It's your show," Derek is saying as they approach. "I'm going in there, but we're a team. We're a team, and I'm not the leader."

"You're not?" Amy raises her eyebrows at her brother.

"I'm not. And neither are you."

Shockingly, Amy doesn't protest, just goes back to scrubbing.

"Derek…" Meredith turns slightly from the sink.

"You could do it without me," Derek says quietly, but very firmly. He's looking right at his wife. "You changed the med protocols. You figured out the continuous monitoring. You pushed for the anterior approach. I couldn't do it without you, but you could do it without me."

"We could do it without you," Meredith responds after a long moment, nodding. "We could … but we don't want to."

And the three of them walk one after the other, scrubbed hands held high, into the operating room.

Reading? Enjoying? I'd love to hear from you, especially if you're a new reviewer! Say hi and let me know what you think. :) Faithful, frequent reviewers, I adore hearing from you and I hope you will continue!

Title lyric from Bob Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man.