A/N: Sorry for the longer than usual delay between chapters. I was traveling, but I'm back, and you can expect at least one more update this week, and probably two. Review and keep me honest! I'm so grateful for your reviews and knowing what's working for you and what you enjoy helps me shape the rest of the story. Warning: this story is an homage to a soap opera, not a legal drama, so don't hold me to too high a standard for the hearing. Those of you who watched Private Practice might recognize a chunk of Addison's testimony (or at least the spirit behind it). Enjoy.

in between the moon and you, the angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right

It's simple ... right?

Just stay calm, focused, and succinct. And don't lose your cool.

That's what Derek's lawyer says, pulling her aside after the yawning boardroom doors open to release the two of them.

She wants to ask why would I lose my cool? But it doesn't seem opportune at the moment, there's no time to question why. So she just flashes the most confident smile she can at Derek – who is, for all intents and purposes, glowing, for reasons she's not sure he's ready to share with the others – accepts a kiss from Mark and murmurs of good luck from the other gathered witnesses, and walks through the doors with her head held high.

Inside the room, the blinds are open to a greyish sky and fluorescents light the long conference table. On one end, three men – Stockton among them – are seated in a tight row. A younger woman with a notepad and a balding man around her age with a stack of what she recognizes as NatMed regulations sits with her. Addison realizes she's expected to face all of them like a congressional hearing. This should be fun.

The three panelists rise to shake her hand when she enters. She knows that the shoes she chose today bring her just past the six-foot mark, but she feels small nonetheless. Stockton is still taller, broad shouldered and rather intimidating in an obviously expensive suit, a shock of white hair on his head where Addison can still remember seeing a sailing cap years ago. He doesn't smile, nor does he look particularly friendly.

The other two panelists – Garber and McNeil, their nameplates say – are nearing both Stockton's age and height. Three old dudes around a table, that's what Amy said. For once, Addison is grateful for her lack of filter. She certainly wasn't wrong.

The younger man is apparently a NatMed lawyer, who gives her an appraising sort of look. In this context, she's not sure how to read it. It could be anywhere from not bad for a fortysomething mom to just so you know, I can tell when people are lying.

The scents of coffee and clashing colognes tickle her nose as she slides into the rolling leather chair. She pours herself a cup of water from the pitcher and glass set up next to her. The seat is enormous and for a moment she feels like a child swinging her legs from an adult-sized chair – and is seized with a reckless impulse to twirl in a circle. But before she can...

"Please state and spell your name for our record."

...she's interrupted just in time.

She walks the panel through her vital statistics, date of graduation, licensing, board certification, NatMed membership. She's just about to relax when the next question catches her off guard.

"You were married when Annabel was conceived?"

She blinks, taken aback. It's Garber, whose eyes are narrowed.

"Pardon?"

"Dr. Montgomery," it's O'Neil this time, before Garber can repeat his question. "Let's take a step back. We have your affidavits – yours, and Dr. Sloan's." He taps a pile of papers next to him, and Addison just nods.

"You and Dr. Sloan are the legal parents of Annabel Montgomery Sloan, is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"You are Annabel's biological mother?"

"Yes."

"And you and Dr. Sloan are married at present."

"Yes."

"Were you married when Annabel was conceived?"

She swallows, waits for another interruption, but it doesn't come. "I wasn't married to Dr. Sloan at that time."

"But you were married at that time?"

You know damned well I was.

She takes a deep breath. This is just beginning.

"Yes, I was."

Don't offer information.

"To Dr. Shepherd," he prompts.

"Yes."

"Does that mean that you and Dr. Sloan became involved during your marriage to Dr. Shepherd?"

"I don't see how that's relevant," she says before she can stop herself.

O'Neil lowers his spectacles and stares at her over them.

"Dr. Montgomery." The lawyer is studying her as well now. "You are aware that you have conditional immunity for your testimony."

"You're NatMed's lawyer, not mine," she says. Savvy drilled this into her repeatedly.

"True, but you're a member of NatMed. You're not working against us, you're one of us."

"If you want to help Dr. Shepherd, your honest answers are the best way," O'Neill says. "We need to understand the timeline."

She's outnumbered, and she nods slowly. They're all still staring at her.

"Can you, uh, repeat the question?" she asks weakly.

"Dr. Montgomery," Stockton speaks for the first time. "Dr. Sloan is Annabel's biological father, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And you have proof of that." Garber is frowning at his notes.

Addison knits her brow. "You have the proof," she says. "The test Derek, I mean Dr. Shepherd, ran."

"Dr. Montgomery, have you reviewed the results of that test?"

"No." They're looking at her like her answer was incomplete, so despite brevity and be succinct, she keeps going. "I didn't need to, because there's no question about Annabel's paternity."

"Why not?"

"Do I really need to spell this out for you?"

Nice job keeping your cool, Montgomery.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "There's no question about Annabel's paternity because Dr. Shepherd and I were not … intimate … at the time of her conception."

"How specifically are you dating her conception?" Garber asks. "You're aware that there can be a range of-"

"Well aware," she interrupts before she can stop herself. "I'm a board-certified OB-GYN, doctor."

"We do have your CV, Dr. Montgomery."

"Then you know that any OB can date a pregnancy within three days. An experienced one can get closer to two days. I can trace conception to a 36-hour window."

No one responds. It's so quiet Addison is pretty sure she can hear the seconds ticking away on someone's old-fashioned watch.

"How much detail do you want?" she asks finally. "I can tell you that LMP was more than three weeks after the last time Dr. Shepherd and I-"

"That's sufficient, thank you," Garber interrupts.

"It's too late for the reservation now." She leans against the banister, feeling silly but still wondering if he'll compliment her outfit. She wore the green dress for him, because he said he liked it a few months ago. Well. Probably six months ago now, but still. She walked by his office twice today while he was inside to see if he'd notice.

"Another time, then." He's barely looking at her, hanging his bag and shrugging out of his coat. She reaches to slide the coat off his shoulders and hangs it in the hall closet for him.

"Thanks," he says briefly, and heads straight for the bar. "Long night."

She can't help responding. "You were supposed to take the night off."

"Don't start. Please," he adds, his voice exhausted, pouring himself a scotch.

Maybe he doesn't notice the dress because he can see through it, see how terrible she is. Does he know that two months ago, Mark kissed her? Or, worse, that a week before that, she kissed Mark?

Arguing with Derek about spending time together inevitably makes her feel like a needy child, and she hates that. Even before Mark, she hated it. But there's more to it now: she also feels like the terrible person she knows she is, because she wants her husband to pay attention to her even though she knows every stolen kiss with Mark betrays her marriage.

She swallows hard. She's the villain here, there's no question. "Can I get one of those?" She forces her tone to be light, and when Derek turns back to her he looks relieved, grateful, that she's not nagging him.

"Of course." He pours her a shot, and she feels a little better when the liquid warms her throat.

"I'm exhausted," he admits.

Addison rests her hand on his arm for a moment. "We could … go to bed," she says hesitantly, wondering if it will make her feel better or worse if he says yes.

"So you understand that there was no possible way that Dr. Shepherd was the father of my child. If there had been any question seven years ago, I would have tested her myself."

"Did you inform Dr. Shepherd you were pregnant?"

She thinks back. She told Richard, when she was in Seattle.

"Not … directly, at the time. No."

"Why not?"

"I … don't recall," she says. She can't think of a better answer. I was afraid to get hurt? Not physically, but mentally? My pregnancy, the kernel of hope that Mark and I and the baby could be a family, was the best thing in the pile of embers my life had become, and I couldn't risk it?

"I told Dr. Webber," she says finally, "when I was here in Seattle for a case."

"Why did you tell him?"

"He's a friend. A former mentor. And he was asking about … whether I was intending to stay in Seattle, to reconcile with my husband."

"And were you?"

"No. I came to Seattle for one case, and to sign divorce papers."

"You signed divorce papers at that time?"

"Yes. It took about six months to finalize once we filed." She answers the next obvious question even though she was instructed not to do so, but the pace of the interview feels agonizing.

"And at that point, you married Dr. Sloan?"

"Yes."

"How long after your divorce was finalized did you –"

"Three days. It would have been sooner, if they could have set it up."

"You're wearing scrubs."

"I'm wearing scrubs," she says sheepishly.

"I like it." He grins at her.

"I'm sorry, Mark," she rests a gloved hand on his chest. "I was going to go home and change, and I knew exactly what I was going to wear…" Not that anything she used to wear fits her anymore, but she found a maternity dress that hugged in all the right places. She figured it was the least she could do. "But then my patient had a complication."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine."

"Good." He scans her outfit again. "Because you look great, but I'd feel guilty saying that if your patient didn't make it."

"Mark!" She laughs from the depths of her thick winter coat, visible breath puffing out of her mouth. It's freezing out and she knows her cheeks will be very pink. At least they match her scrubs.

He holds her away from him for a moment, and his gaze makes her feel teary. "You're beautiful, Addison."

He kisses her deeply, right there on the frost-dusted steps of city hall, two fat pigeons pecking around their feet and it's somehow more romantic than the release of a handful of white doves from the lawn of a picturesque church.

For a moment she just leans against him, loving the way he feels so familiar and strong. His hand is resting on the swell of her belly and then she hears him crow with delight. "She kicked!" Mark is beaming, and Addison loves him a little more. He's so excited every time, no matter how many times it happens.

It makes her think that maybe he won't get tired of it. Tired of her.

"You ready to do this?" He offers his arm to her with mock formality; under his cashmere coat, he's dressed in an elegant suit and she feels silly again in her clean pink scrubs straining around her belly, hair piled on her head with more utility than grace, minimal makeup. But then she looks into his blue eyes and she feels like a bride, maybe more than the last time. And she knows this is right.

"I'm ready." She tucks her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and they make their way up the steps together.

"Why were you in such a hurry to get married again?"

"I don't know how to answer that."

They're still looking at her

"I wanted to be married to Dr. Sloan when Annabel was born," she says finally.

"That sounds old-fashioned for a woman who got pregnant with another man's child while she was still married."

She pushes her chair back and stands, heart pounding flush into her cheeks. "I don't have to listen to this," she manages to say, voice shaking.

"Dr. Montgomery," it's Stockton, and his tone is surprisingly gentle. "Please pardon the intrusive nature of these questions. You have to understand that this is an unusual case."

"I do understand that."

"Then, please." He gestures at her chair and, with a deep breath, she sits again.

"Dr. Montgomery, are you aware that if you had still been legally married to Dr. Shepherd at the time of Annabel's birth, he would have been legally responsible for her?"

She glances at the lawyer, then back to the panel. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

The panelists exchange a look. "When did you inform Dr. Shepherd of your pregnancy?"

They must see the confusion on her face.

"At some point, did you inform Dr. Shepherd of your pregnancy?" When she still doesn't respond, Garber moves his spectacles again to peer at her. "…or inform him of Annabel's birth?"

"I … didn't," she says faintly. "But his, um, his family in New York knew I was pregnant, and I told Richard Webber when I was in Seattle. It wasn't a secret."

"But he didn't meet Annabel until your arrival in Seattle less than two weeks ago."

There's no question mark, so she just nods.

"Did you provide him with a photograph at any time?"

She can't help letting a puzzled tone creep into her voice. "No, of course not."

"Why of course not?"

"We … weren't in touch," she says, annoyed at herself for opening this door. "Until recently, I mean."

"You stopped speaking to him?"

"We both started new lives, and we gave each other the space to do so." Okay, it's a bit of a gloss, but it's not exactly false.

"So the first time Dr. Shepherd saw Annabel in person, then, was your arrival here, in Seattle?"

"Yes."

"And when did you first become aware that Dr. Shepherd had questions about Annabel's paternity?"

"Dr. Webber told us about the test."

"That was the first time?" Garber's face is unreadable, but his tone makes her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

They can't know about the conversation she overheard in Annabel's hospital room … can they?

Addison is standing alone in the closed bathroom off Annabel's room, heart pounding, listening to Derek and Meredith. They have no idea she can hear them, and she should feel guilty, but she needs to know if they're keeping something from her, about Annabel. If they're treating her like a regular parent and not a doctor. So she needs to listen to them … for her daughter.

"I'm just looking," she hears Derek say. Looking at what, she wonders, but then it becomes clear and she knows they're standing at Annabel's bedside, looking at her baby.

"She has dark hair." Derek's tone is soft, musing.

"So do most kids," Meredith replies, and she sounds impatient, like it's not the first time they've had this conversation.

"Yeah. Most kids." She hears a muffled noise, thinks she can picture him shuffling between papers in a chart. "You know who didn't, though when they were kids? Addison. Mark."

Addison freezes in the bathroom, pulse pounding in her ears.

"Yes, you've mentioned that, but Derek-" Meredith pronounces his name like a warning.

"And you know who also doesn't? Their other kid."

"Derek."

"My sisters had dark hair, though. So did I."

She didn't even tell Mark, not the specifics, and not anything right away. She couldn't bring herself to tell him that night, even though it felt terribly foreign to keep the information from him. But she was afraid it would cause him to lose confidence in Derek, when he was already on the fence about Annabel's surgery.

You can't possibly be blaming yourself, Addison, that's what Mark said when he noticed her guilt – he always noticed.

She could never keep things from him for long. I … overheard something, that's what she'd eventually confessed, miserably, as they sat vigil at Annabel's bedside.

Don't lie.

Tell the truth.

Keep your cool.

"I – well – no, I didn't know anything specific, but…"

"But…." It's O'Neil this time, prompting her.

"But I did, um, get the … impression that Dr. Shepherd might have had some questions about Annabel's paternity. But not until after he had submitted her test –"

They're looking at her. "How do you know it was after?" Garber asks.

Because Meredith said what have you done, not what are you planning to do.

But she can't say that.

"Just based on the timing," she offers, hoping the vague non-answer will work.

"Now, your affidavit suggests you wish to give ex-post consent for the procedure."

"Yes."

"You're aware that doesn't affect the issue of whether Dr. Shepherd had consent before the procedure."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Then why give it?"

"We … Dr. Shepherd has our support," she says finally, helplessly, not sure what else to say.

"Why?"

"Pardon?" She falls back on her favorite well-mannered delaying tactic. Why, indeed.

"Why does Dr. Shepherd have your support, Dr. Montgomery? You must understand that this a strange situation. A strange situation, indeed." Dr. Garber takes his spectacles fully off this time, removes a handkerchief from his pocket, and begins to polish them. "You began an affair with Dr. Sloan - who I understand was a friend and colleague - while you were still married to Dr. Shepherd, conceived a child, didn't tell Dr. Shepherd you were pregnant even though the child was, until the divorce, a child of your marriage – legally speaking. Then you had no contact with Dr. Shepherd for seven years, until you flew across the country to Seattle to ask him to operate on your daughter. And then he tested your daughter, without your or your husband's prior consent, suggesting that he thought you had lied about her paternity for her entire life."

"Did you … have a question?"

"Dr. Montgomery," O'Neil's tone is sharp. "Would you lie for Dr. Shepherd?"

She sits up straighter. "Am I being accused of lying?"

"Of course not," Stockton says firmly. "But you must acknowledge, Dr. Montgomery, that the circumstances are highly unusual."

Addison sighs. "Look, the timeline … is what it is. Yes, I cheated on my husband. With Dr. Sloan, who was his best friend. And we're married now, and Dr. Shepherd is remarried too, we have our own families and new lives and no, we didn't speak for seven years, but when we did speak, when we needed him, Dr. Shepherd was willing to operate on my daughter. When I called him, he said yes. Even though no one had done that specific procedure before, even after what happened to our marriage and between the three of us all those years ago, he said yes right away. He's a good person, and he's a brilliant surgeon, and he deserves his license. So if it helps his case for you to remind me about what happened almost eight years ago now, that I'm a cheater, that I have a … screwed up moral compass, then fine. Go right ahead. Dr. Shepherd's license isn't a … trophy. It's the difference between all the people he can help for the rest of his career, and … losing those people. He doesn't just need NatMed. NatMed needs him. His patients need him. We all … need him, doctors, so go ahead and take your best shot at the adulteress because his license to practice medicine is worth it."

She's breathing heavily when she's finished, but she feels somehow more confident than she has since she walked in.

…

"Thank you for your time," Dr. Garber intones as he rises, indicating they're finished with her, and she nods wearily. She already feels like she'll need a shower to wash this hearing off of her.

"Oh, Dr. Montgomery, one more thing-"

She turns, hand on the door.

"Were you given a copy of the results of Dr. Shepherd's test?"

"No. Dr. Webber offered it to us," she adds, "but we declined."

The panel exchanges glances. "So you haven't seen the results."

"No, but you have," she says, no longer caring if she sounds annoyed.

"No, we haven't."

She's surprised. "You haven't?"

"Our version is redacted. It's your daughter's personal medical information, Dr. Montgomery."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

Dr. Garber is holding something out to her.

"What's this?"

"Unredacted results, for you. Just take them, Dr. Montgomery," he says, sounding tired. "They belong to Annabel."

She accepts the sealed manila envelope, hoping her hand isn't shaking, and pushes open the door to rejoin the others.

"Addie!" Amy pounces first, as soon as the doors swing closed again. "You were in there forever. You okay?"

"I'm okay." She nods slowly, then looks around at the gathered faces, those she's known as well as her own for years, and those that have become startlingly familiar over the last two weeks.

Mark touches her arm. "What's that you're holding?"

"They gave you a document?" Derek's lawyer frowns. "What is it?"

"It's the, um, the unredacted test results."

The lawyer – Bridget, that's her name, she remembers now, Bridget Tan – raises her eyebrows. "You didn't already have a copy?"

"They offered us one, but we declined," Addison repeats.

"And we don't want this one, either," Mark adds.

Bridget looks from one witness to the other. "So none of you has seen the results?"

They all shake their heads.

"We're doctors," Addison says patiently. "There's no scientific possibility that Annabel is anyone's child other than Mark's."

"But Derek ran the rest," Bridget points out, sounding like she's going to be relieved when her representation is over.

"Well, we're also human," Mark says. "Humans aren't necessarily scientific."

The lawyer shakes her head. "So, what are you going to –"

"Shred them," Addison suggests.

"Light them on fire," Mark offers.

"We have a fire pit," Meredith chimes in. "We can light them, and roast marshmallows."

Derek doesn't offer a suggestion, but he does look amused.

"We don't have any questions," Mark says when the lawyer still looks puzzled.

"True," Derek says. "We don't."

"I do," Amy pipes in.

"Amy!"

"Amelia," she corrects. "And what's the big deal? I mean, if no one else is going to look, then I will."

Before anyone can stop her, Amy plucks the envelope out of Addison's hand and tears it open, turning her back to read it.

For a long moment, she's silent.

"Amelia," Addison says. "What are you-"

Karev and Meredith exchange a glance.

Amy turns around, her blue eyes wide, gripping a sheaf of papers.

"Well…" she begins, her voice trembling slightly. "She's ... not Derek's."

Addison snatches the papers from her and swats her with them. "What is wrong with you?"

"Sorry! I mean, didn't you want some closure?"

"Closure isn't real," Addison says, swatting her one more time with the papers.

"Ow! Well, at least now we know," Amy shrugs.

"Amy, we already knew," Mark says tiredly and she doesn't correct his use of her old nickname.

"That was terrible, Amy." Derek shakes his head. "Terrible. When are you going to grow up?"

"At this rate? Probably never." She links an arm through his. "Speaking of which, big brother, I don't exactly have a place to sleep tonight…."

..

The group disperses after Derek's lawyer promises to tell them as soon as she hears anything, with Mark returning to Annabel's room, Derek leaving the hospital to rejoin his son, and Meredith, Karev, and Amy – enjoying her temporary position filling in for her brother – heading back to work.

Addison is halfway to the playroom to get Max when she hears her name.

"Dr. Stockton." She shifts her bag on her shoulder. "I'm not sure you're supposed to be talking to me."

"I'll make it brief, then. Do you … have a moment?"

At her nod he leads both of them around the corner to an empty waiting area. "I'm flying out shortly, but I wanted to let you know - now, there's nothing official yet, you understand, but … " his voice trails off. "…but I think you'll be pleased with the results."

She nods again, not sure whether she's more uncomfortable or relieved.

"Thank you," she says finally. "I'm sure the Captain … " she trails off, not wanting to say will be glad you did what he wanted. "…was pleased to see you," she concludes.

"Yes, well." He looks down at his hands for a moment. "It wasn't a favor for your father."

She's confused. "Why, then?"

Dr. Stockton just looks at her for a long moment, and she sees the last forty years etched on his face. He doesn't look intimidating anymore. He looks like a tired old man.

Sad, even.

"You … knew," she says slowly.

"I knew." His voice is weary and for a moment his face looks pained. "Oh, I didn't know anything for certain, mind you, but, well. I did have some idea about Skip, about his … problem …." he stops talking for a moment, shaking his head. "Well. We never left Catherine alone with him."

She stares at him. "Sissy … Catherine … she didn't actually get seasick, did she?"

He shakes his head slowly.

"You just didn't want her on the boat. With him. Doctors are mandated reporters." Her voice shakes with anger.

"Not then. No one talked about it …these things, then. No one talked about any of it. You have to understand."

"No, I don't. That's not an excuse."

"I know it's not an excuse … Addison. It took a long time, but I … I've searched myself. Why I never asked. Why I never confronted him."

"Why didn't you?"

"To make such an accusation, against an innocent man, with no proof ... it would have destroyed him, if I had been wrong about my superstitions. Five generations of Rutherfords at Sea Point, you know. And our wives were close. Cece Rutherford chaired the board of the Connecticut Arts Council, and the Botanic Gardens."

"Mrs. Stockton knew, too?" She shakes her head. "You … sold me out for a place at the flower show."

"Boots didn't know. Or if she did, she didn't tell me. We never discussed it. Like I said, it was … a different time." He studies her for a long moment. "I'm sorry."

When she's silent, he sighs deeply. "Skip died years ago, you know. I didn't attend his funeral."

"But I bet you made up a polite excuse."

She meets his gaze; he looks intent. Does he want absolution? She's not offering it.

"I didn't expect you to make this easy," he says quietly. "You have no reason to … but I just wanted to say that I … regret it. I regret that I could have done more, and I didn't."

She nods.

"You seem happy, Addison. You seem to have a good life now."

"I am happy. And I do have a good life." She stops talking then, just stares at him for a long moment. His shoulders are stooped.

"Well. Your … friend's case will be my last one. Once our decision is official, I'm stepping down from the ethics panel."

"You are?"

"There was no mandated reporting law back then, it's true." He's speaking slowly, like the words are hard to say. "But I have to acknowledge now that … I could have done more," he says finally. "I thought if I held us to standards maybe I could make up for some … but I don't belong on an ethics panel. So I'm stepping down."

She lets the words wash over her.

"Wait, Dr. Stockton?" she calls as he starts to leave.

He turns. "Yes?"

"Did you ever talk about this with the Captain? Your ... concerns, I mean."

Stockton shakes his head. "No, I didn't. I never talked about it with anyone, not until now. I truly am sorry, Addison."

She won't say it's okay, because it's not, or I forgive you, because that's a complicated issue. So she just nods, lips pressed together, and watches him walk slow and stoop-shouldered down the hallway and out of her life again.

Reviews are warmly welcomed and always appreciated. Longtime reader? New reader? New reviewer? I would love to know what you think of the story!

(And props to Ianuaria, who picked up my Stockton foreshadowing. Nice.)

Title lyric from Counting Crows' Round Here.