1993.
"I mean…" Addison crouches down beside Mark, who is examining the shards of dark blue glass littering the floorboards. He pushes at one of the pieces with a hesitant fingertip, guilt crashing in his chest just as forcefully as the table lamp had crashed to the floor. "I did tell my mom I didn't want it."
Mark manages to produce a faint smile at Addison's observation. He does not believe she would be able to hide it—with humor-riddled words, maybe, but not with her face—if she were genuinely attached to the lamp, but he still feels bad for accidentally bumping into it, which sent it careening to the floor. He has already apologized twice, because for all the ways Addison might have disclosed to Bizzy that she didn't want this lamp, none of her explanations would have included, I don't want it because my boyfriend's best friend is going to break it one day. Mark is having a difficult time believing Addison would have uttered a contrarian word anyway though. He has met Bizzy before—just last month, at a graduation dinner following their commencement ceremony, and then he spent some time with her the next day, too, when he somehow got roped into joining Addison, Derek, Addison's parents, and Carolyn while they looked at an apartment that Addison and Derek were interested in. But, even if Mark had never interacted with Addison's mom, he has heard enough stories from Derek to know Bizzy is not the kind of woman you say no to.
In exchange for being plied with pizza and beer, and a futon couch of Addison's if he wants it, Mark has come to Addison's apartment to assist in packing up her living room and kitchen. He was initially not sure where the line was going to be drawn, because Addison has movers coming over in a few days, and surely they are expected to do the bulk of the labor, but much of today has been centered around sorting. Addison and Derek are moving in together—combining their lives, officially—and not everything from their respective apartments can accompany them to their new shared one; they have to consolidate. Mark does not think the apartment his friends are renting will be their permanent one—I suppose it's fine for now had been Bizzy's sigh-filled endorsement—but it serves a purpose, since it's a stone's throw from New York Hospital. There's no way Addison and Derek will not take off at Roadrunner-speed the second their pagers make noise.
It is not particularly exciting to box up Addison's place—especially because Mark and Derek spent last week packing up their own apartment, and God damn, it's just a lot of work—but Mark does not mind helping, and he would have done so even without pizza, beer, and a couch (there's some story behind the couch, he suspects, because it doesn't fit aesthetically with any of Addison's other possessions). And the reason Mark does not mind is because he feels like the three of them are on borrowed time. Their first year of residency starts soon, and once it does, they will not see each other often. Or, they will, perhaps, but not every day, and every day is what Mark has grown accustomed to. Addison and Derek—and Naomi and Sam, too—are going to be surgical interns at New York Hospital. Mark will be at neighboring Mount Sinai. From a career perspective, he is not disappointed; Mount Sinai was at the top of his rank order list because of its strong plastic and reconstructive surgery division, and unique approaches to skin grafting. But, on a personal level, it is difficult to process, because it will be weird not to see Derek as much. And Addison, too. She has become a good friend to Mark.
"Well, if Bizzy ever comes to Lenox Hill and asks where the lamp is, we'll tell her we didn't have enough room to display it," Derek calls out when he returns to the living room, broom and dustpan in hand.
Derek, honey, go get the broom, Addison had said when Mark broke the lamp, and it almost surprised Mark that Derek immediately went to retrieve it without so much as a Where…? It's not surprising that his best friend knows where everything is in Addison's apartment, given how long they have been in a relationship and how much time they spend together, and it's not like there are a hundred different places in here that a broom might be stored, but something about it just seemed so unsettlingly couple-ish to Mark. Maybe it's because he has never gotten to this stage with a woman. Derek and Addison seem to be the most familiar things in the world to each other. And that's just so foreign to Mark. How could you understand this feeling, this sort of two-person entanglement, if you've never felt it before?
And, fine. There's a competition element to it, too. It's not like Mark wants to be in a serious relationship, and while he's mostly gotten used to the concept that Derek does—and is—there are definitely still moments where he feels rattled, or confused. This is honestly the first thing in their entire history as friends that Mark can think of where Derek is having more success than him. Well, this and the fact that Derek has a loving family, but it's not like Mark can help that his parents have always been utterly uninterested in having a child. That, he doesn't have control over. This, he does. And even though Derek's relationship victory only exists because Mark refused to enter the race this time, it still counts, doesn't it? He has still been trumped.
"We'll just say," Derek continues, which shakes Mark out of his thoughts, "that we decided we wanted to show off the bendy desk lamp I've had since high school instead of your nice one, Addie."
This makes all three of them laugh. Mark has always been impressed with how Derek has remained largely unaffected when it comes to Addison's parents. He recently asked Derek how they felt about their daughter shacking up with her boyfriend, and Derek had said, I think they're all for it, because I think they think it's going to take us living together for Addison to realize she doesn't want to marry me. And, even then, Derek's tone had remained good-humored. For as stubborn as Derek can be, in Mark's opinion, he has never seemed particularly worried about what Addison's parents think of him. Oh, Derek wants Bizzy and the Captain to like him, sure, and for all of them to get along, but their approval has never meant everything to him, in the way that Carolyn's approval seems to mean everything to Addison.
Mark doesn't think Bizzy and the Captain have ever disliked Derek though—he's just not who they would have picked for their daughter when there is a whole WASPy world of Skips, Trips, and Chips in investment banking out there. But, maybe time has changed things, and maybe Derek is no longer considered the "for now" boyfriend. He and Addison have been together for nearly four years, so her parents have probably made peace—or mostly made peace—with the fact that Derek is their future son-in-law. Besides, when it comes to the man Addison has selected, there isn't anything to put a foot down about or threaten disinheritance over. That's what Mark believes, at least. Derek looks the part just fine, especially now that Addison sometimes buys shirts and sweaters for him. He might not ever belong at the county club, but he'll look like he could, and that's the point. He'll be a great surgeon, too. Status matters. Addison's dad is on staff at Yale School of Medicine, and Derek sort of let slip to Mark once that the Captain had inquired through some academic backchannels about what kind of student Derek was, and how he was doing in his clinical rotations at the medical center. Because it's Derek, Mark knows any report-outs to the Captain would have been overwhelmingly positive. And, on a different note, having Derek as a son-in-law is an upgrade in the son department, as far as Mark is concerned. Addison's older brother, Archer, has come to the city a few times, and he is absolutely unbearable.
"I'll write you a check," Mark says to Addison. "How much did it cost? Do you remember?" Based on her earlier remark, he thinks Bizzy bought the lamp, but Addison was there for the transaction. He's sure it was expensive, but money is no object. He's kind of like Addison in that way: Derek might look the part, but Addison and Mark are the parts.
"No, no. You don't need to write a check. Don't worry about it." Addison shakes her head at his offer. "And Bizzy didn't buy it. It belonged to my great-grandma Bradford."
"Oh, cool. So not only did I break a lamp, I broke one that was around while your relatives were colonizing New England."
Derek chuckles lightly. "I think you're off by a few centuries there."
"Yeah, I know. You know what I mean." Mark rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, Addison." The look he gives her is mournful, guilt-tinged. "I'm an idiot."
"That much I was already aware of."
It truly feels like Mark's life begins again, or something like that, when his residency program gets underway in July. He moves into a high-rise on the Upper East Side within walking distance of both Mount Sinai and Central Park. The new apartment fits him better than the one he and Derek used to live in near campus. Exclusivity, top-of-the-line appliances, ample square feet, floor-to-ceiling windows, electric fireplace, concierge service, luxury details, the works. It is the kind of place that sparks a quiet-breathed "wow" whenever someone walks in—and plenty of women have walked in, because Mark's sex life hasn't seemed to suffer, no matter how overworked and tired he is. He assumes, at some point, his parents will stop funneling money into his checking account, especially now that he's working full-time, but he's not going to ask about it. He'll need the extra financial cushioning down the line, if he wants to open a practice of his own.
And he does want to. He'll certainly be good enough one day. Hell, he's probably close to being good enough now. By early fall he has earned enough trust that he swears the supervising resident barely even watches anymore while he does wound debridements. And, because Mark is often in the right place at the right time when it comes to gossip, he also hears some promising information pass from one attending to another: Sloan's the best newcomer I've seen in years. Textbook-perfect sutures—his edges are so even—and he has great instincts in the OR. But—there was muffled laughter then—we're still working on his bedside manner.
The other first year residents are decent, both in skills and personality. Mark has bonded with them at work, and gone out for drinks with them on occasion, though he doesn't like them anywhere near as much as he liked his med school friends. He's avoided sleeping with any of the women in his cohort, wanting to turn over a new leaf and be professional, whatever that means, but he isn't sure how much longer he can hold out—Lila Abrams is just so damn hot, and he'd love to have a go at her.
He wanders into an antique store near the corner of Madison and East 96th—about the halfway point between his home life and work life—for the first time just as the first snowfall blankets the city. Derek already phoned to say that he and Addison wouldn't be home until eight, so Mark has time to kill before he climbs into a cab and heads to their apartment. The three of them are planning to have a low-key evening and exchange Christmas gifts. Mark has a nice bottle of wine for them, and he tucked it inside a stocking, which feels like the sort of stupid detail those Christmas maniacs would appreciate, but the bottle still seems impersonal, especially for a joint present, and when he sees a cluster of lamps visible in the window of the antique store, he knows exactly what is needed to supplement the Bordeaux.
A duplicate is impossible, of course, so Mark settles for finding a lamp with a blue body. It's fairly cheap, too, but even if it weren't, the price doesn't matter. And it won't be the most expensive gift Addison receives this Christmas anyway; Derek has a ring, and he intends to propose on Christmas Day. He told Mark this in person back in October. Mark grinned and said all the right things, and gave his friend a supportive clap on the back, but his stomach felt like it had twisted into a knot when Derek revealed his plans. He is still trying to adjust to the idea of his best friend getting married. It's just such a big thing, and it feels like he is losing Derek and Addison, even though this is such a dramatic thought and he really does loathe himself for being anything other than happy for Derek.
That's why it's been over a month since you've seen them, Mark reminds himself as he flags down a cab; he canceled the last time Derek and Addison invited him over. And Mark shouldn't have canceled, but he wasn't in the mood to see them, not with something so momentous looming in the air. He assumes it is normal to hold complicated feelings when close friends get engaged, but it does suck to feel this way.
"You didn't!" Addison laughs—nearly squeals, actually—when she opens the front door and sees the lamp that Mark is holding. He has it football-style in one arm, and the stocking-covered wine bottle is in the other. "You got me a new lamp for Christmas?" She makes a flourishing motion with her hand, gesturing for Mark to enter. He notices that Addison's cheeks are a little pinker, maybe from alcohol or cold or general December merriment, or a combination of all three. She looks so happy.
"I did. Just trying to brighten"—he jiggles the lamp a little—"your holiday season."
"An awful joke, even for you." She sets a hand on Mark's shoulder, and he can feel the knot inside him loosen. It's going to be fine, he decides. Addison and Derek care about him, and have no intention of shutting him out of their lives, rings or no rings. Things might be different when they get married, but not everything will be. "I'm so glad you're here, Mark." Addison's eyes are wide with earnestness. "We've missed you."
1994.
The family room looks like a scene straight out of a Christmas catalog. This is what Mark is thinking. A large, decorated Balsam fir is positioned close to the window, making it visible from the street—he was able to see its spirals of multi-colored lights and the paler halo glow of the star tree topper when he climbed the brownstone steps earlier. Presents have been situated under the tree just so, leaving only thin strips of the plaid tree skirt visible. The mantel is covered with garland, accented with pinecones and red spheres. Monogrammed stockings hang low in front of the firebox. The regular throw pillows on the sofa to Mark's left have been replaced with nutcracker-patterned ones. Bottle brush trees, a snowman figurine, and some sort of Christmas carousel that reminds Mark of one his mom has are scattered along the bookcase wall unit. The pillar candle he gave Addison for Secret Santa a few years ago is on the coffee table serving tray in front of him, nestled close to Addison and Derek's respective half-drunk glasses of wine—Mark remembers that the serving tray was an item on their wedding registry. The entire room smells of pomegranate and something pine-like that isn't specific to the tree or garland, but the source has to be a different candle, because the Secret Santa one appears to be at its full height, and the wick still looks unblemished, pristine.
Mark enjoys where he lives—even though he hasn't done anything for Christmas other than put out an old tabletop tree that Addison has long proclaimed is almost as sad-looking as the Charlie Brown tree—but he wouldn't mind having all this. It's more the feeling than the decorations, or the piece of real estate itself, because Mark can recall feeling this exact feeling whenever he goes to Carolyn's house at Christmastime, too. As cheesy as it is—and he would never say this aloud—it's the love in this house that is generating a dopamine surge. He can hear Addison and Derek—the source of this cheesy love—in the kitchen, their happy chatter only just discernible over an Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album playing in the background.
"The place looks great," Mark acknowledges when his friends become visible again. Derek has a glass of wine for Mark in his hand, and Addison is carrying the bottle. Apparently, this had to be a collaborative task, even though if you can competently repair a laceration with subcuticular running sutures—and all three people in this room are able to—you can probably handle carting multiple wine glasses without assistance. But, when they instructed Mark to sit down and make himself comfortable, and said that they would get him a drink, he didn't question it or offer to head into the kitchen and pour himself a glass instead; he has the sense that "playing house" in an actual house is fun for Addison and Derek.
They moved into the brownstone shortly after their wedding. Mark would have predicted their "forever home" would be one of those stately limestone townhouses with high ceilings on the Upper East Side—that's where he felt Addison best fit long-term, and it seems pretty obvious that Derek just follows her lead a lot of the time. Mark didn't envision them coming back to this side of the city again. But, what the hell does he know? Owning a brownstone in the Central Park West Historic District is probably exactly what they were after: a trophy property that exudes an atmosphere equal parts family-friendly and Hot Young Power Couple. Family-friendly when the time comes for a few double-barrelled kids of their own, that is. Living on the Upper West Side puts Addison and Derek further away from New York Hospital, like inconveniently so, but Mark has not heard them gripe about the commute in the handful of times he's been over here.
He did not ask Derek how they could afford the brownstone, either. Or, no. Not that specifically. It's more that he didn't ask what Derek's financial contribution was, and will continue to be. Derek's family always did okay, between what Christopher's shop brought in, and Carolyn's part-time R.N. salary, and then, later, survivors' benefits. Mark knows that Derek received partial scholarships or grants—something like that; you don't have to pay attention to those details when you have money, like Mark does—to both Bowdoin and Columbia, which has helped ensure any debt accumulated is more of a scrape than an open wound, but there's a profound difference between doing okay and buying a house that offers a tree-lined view of Central Park. Mark assumes Bizzy and the Captain gave Addison and Derek the down payment, and they're possibly offering them a little help month-to-month, too. Residents just getting started in their careers don't make anywhere close to what a seasoned surgeon does. But, somehow prideful, acts-like-he-just-wants-the-simple-things-in-life Derek is fine with embracing a Manhattanite brownstone kind of life.
Does any of this matter? No. Mark can't explain why he has devoted time to analyzing some of the more unique facets of Derek and Addison's relationship. It's not like this is what he wants. He's not jealous. Just curious, perhaps.
"Thank you." Addison is beaming over Mark's compliment as she and Derek get settled side-by-side on the sofa. She then hands Mark a coaster for his glass, because of course she does. "Our outside is a bit more understated, especially compared to the Morgans. They own the house that's diagonal from us. With the reindeer display on their stoop," she explains, and Mark just nods from his accent chair and takes a sip of wine. He noticed that house when he got out of the cab. "Maybe next year we'll wrap garland around the handrails, like they did, instead of just doing wreaths on the double doors," Addison says next. "Oh—Mark, did you want anything to eat while we wait for our dinner to get here?"
"I thought you were going to make something." He bares his teeth in a smile to show that he is teasing. He doesn't actually care how their food becomes their food. It's only that Addison made such a big deal out of it when she called a few nights ago to invite Mark over for Christmas Eve. Come to our place, she urged. Derek and I are going to make dinner. It'll just be the three of us. And we can do presents and hang out for a bit.
"I did make something: a phone call. We ordered from Yen's. We were both too tired to cook. But, for dessert we have cookies, and I did makethose."
"Betty Crocker would like a word," Derek says quietly, his lips tweaking into a smirk as he meets Mark's eyes.
"They might not be from scratch, but I still made them." Addison twists around on the cushion to look at Derek, crowding his space as she leans closer. "I'm sorry I'm not the cliché 1950s housewife you were hoping to marry," she jokes, her forehead now practically resting against his.
Mark averts his gaze, as any decent friend would, when he can tell that Derek is going to kiss her. A juvenile sort of smacking sound follows. "That's okay," he hears Derek say, voice warmer and more syrupy from the wine. "I'm actually pretty happy about the woman I got to marry."
"You sure? You're happy being married to just one woman? Even though God intended for you to have many, many women…?" Addison has wriggled around again, this time to face Mark, and he is beginning to suspect this is not her first glass of wine. He's seen it enough times to know that her polished, queen-like movements tend to disappear when the drinks start flowing. "A staggering number of women…?" She raises an eyebrow at him.
"He told you?"
"Husbands and wives don't have secrets," Addison replies in a sing-song tone.
Okay, that one Mark has to physically restrain himself from reacting to. It's such a stupid newlywed thing to say. And, yeah, Addison and Derek are newlyweds. They got married in September—just three months ago. It feels so naïve though. Just like how they're playing house right now, they're also playing at being married, opting for performance over practice. It's the Addison and Derek Show tonight. Mark takes another sip of wine—a larger one. He needs to relax. And he needs to get laid, probably. It's been a while. For him, anyway.
And that wasn't the whole exchange, when he and Derek were getting ready in the back room of the church before the ceremony. Mark is pretty sure he said that Addison was great, or something. Which is true. She is. She's smart, nice, ambitious, and attractive, to name a few qualities. Very attractive. God or whoever was looking out for good ol' Derek Shepherd when he placed Addison Montgomery in his path. Derek has outkicked his coverage by the entire length of Giants Stadium. Five times over. Mark doesn't want to get married—not now, maybe not ever—but there is no denying how lucky Derek is to have met someone like Addison.
He wonders if Derek shared the "great" part of their discussion with his now-wife. Or just the part that makes Mark sound like a jerk. Probably the latter.
"So, if there aren't any secrets, you know all about what happened at his bachelor party then, right?" Mark goes for something snarky, but before Addison can react, or before Derek can make a protesting noise, he pulls back. "I'm kidding." He utters this quickly. He doesn't want to upset Addison. That's the last thing he wants to do, he realizes. "Nothing happened."
"I know." Addison smiles wider. "He told me all about your big weekend." All Derek wanted was to go camping at Fahnestock State Park with Mark, Sam, Weiss, his brothers-in-law, and a few other guys who are friends in more of the peripheral sense. "You were a very good Best Man to plan that," she tells Mark. "I know Derek's dream is your nightmare."
"It wasn't that bad," Mark admits, surprising himself.
They return to this same seating arrangement after they've put respectable dents in the cartons of Chinese food, and the Addison-and-Betty cookies. Mark is in a better mood now. The wine helped—there's been a lot of that—and the company has helped as well, of course. It's too difficult to remain surly around Addison and Derek.
Mark sets his empty glass back on the coaster. He should probably get going. He does not feel ready to face the cold, white-withered landscape again, but it's getting late, and Addison and Derek have a shift tomorrow. Addison is currently curled up in Derek's lap, resting contently as she makes small talk with Mark, and also continuing to bask in being happily married. The uncharitable thought prompts Mark to reach for his glass again, even though there's nothing left in it. God, he's being such a dick tonight. He really should leave before the internal mean thoughts become external ones. And now would be a good time. Derek's eyes are half-closed.
"So…no visit with the Shepherds this Christmas?" Mark decides to stall a little longer. Did he ask that question earlier? Maybe. He's pretty drunk. They all are.
"We're the Shepherds," Addison replies with a smile as lopsided as the Santa hat she put on halfway through dinner. Mark just rolls his eyes. She knows what he meant. "No, no extra family tomorrow," she clarifies. "We're going to see Carolyn and the rest of the crew on New Year's Eve instead. When holiday schedules were being worked out, the chief asked if any of the first and second years would be willing to come in on Christmas Day. Derek and I decided we would, just this once, because we were promised good procedures. And"—she lifts her face, nosing affectionately at Derek's jawline—"mostly we said 'yes' because we kind of wanted it to just be us this year."
"Well, and me," Mark says, coughing out a short laugh. His eyes are now on the baroque frame mirror in the corner of the room. It's angled in such a way that he can see Addison and Derek reflected in it. It's like everywhere Mark looks, there they are. He wishes they'd be less physical in his presence. Derek has never been into PDA, but tonight's wine and sleepiness has evidently made some modifications to that; he currently has a hand palming his wife's jean-clad thigh, fingertips just inches away from grasping rounder, curvier flesh. Mark can feel his face growing warmer. He didn't contribute Addison's fine ass to that line in Derek's stupid song just to increase the word count. Yeah, okay. He one hundred percent needs to fuck someone. And, for maybe right now, just go home. "You know, I should probably—"
"No," Addison says, interpreting what he is going to say. "Stay a little longer. Please. We want you to stay, right, honey?" Derek offers an affirming nod, though he seems too far gone in Mark's opinion to have even recognized what he responded to. Derek could have just agreed to a threesome, for all he knows. But, he'll be fine tomorrow; he'll get up with no trace of a hangover. Addison, too. "I knew that when I married this guy, it kind of meant I was also marrying you." Addison stares at Mark as she slides out of Derek's lap, and then uncoordinatedly climbs back to her feet. "I think I'm going to make some hot cocoa," she announces. "Do you guys want some?"
"Sure. And, uh, this might be a good time to give you guys your present then," Mark replies, stretching around the accent chair to snag the gift he set under the tree when he arrived. He felt like he genuinely tried this year, whereas with last year, the lamp was amusing, but kind of a last-minute scramble. Mark's mom came into the city two weeks ago to do some Christmas shopping, and he reluctantly met up with her, and accompanied her to a few stores. He would have eaten up this kind of attention, this Why don't you join me, Mark? as a kid, but he's not a kid anymore. Declining felt like it would have been rude though, since he had the time—or he just can't pull off the whole Scrooge thing as well as he used to—in the same way that, for whatever reason, not buying at least one thing while he was with his mom would have felt rude, too. As though Mark needed to make a purchase to signal he'd had fun. And then he saw something called a "Deluxe Hot Cocoa Collection" with four tins of different kinds of hot chocolate mixes, peppermint stir sticks, and two festive mugs. It felt like a very "Addison" gift, but he knew Derek would like it, too. He ended up being happy to buy it.
"Oh, it's perfect!" Addison exclaims when she has opened the hot cocoa set. Derek—still drunk, still sleepy—murmurs a similar sentiment, though his head remains tipped back against the backseat. "Thank you." She smiles at Mark. "This was so thoughtful. I'm going to go make some for us. I think I'll try the Belgian white chocolate mix. And we have plenty of other festive Christmas mugs, so don't worry, Mark: you won't be left out."
1995.
Mark was purposeful in selecting this location. If they want to see him—and they do, they insisted upon it, and if he hadn't finally returned one of Derek's calls, they probably would have banged his apartment door down—he would rather it be on his terms. Plus, he can't cry in Bear Tavern. Only girls who have too many mixed drinks and are wondering why the boy they like won't call them back are allowed to shed tears in a bar. Mark was able to find a corner booth, one far enough away from the Christmas tree that there isn't any additional cheeriness being cast in his direction. The light fixture hanging above him is in desperate need of a new lightbulb, but he isn't complaining about that. He has taken position in the much-preferred shadows, nursing a scotch while he absently traces a finger around a water stain that has bled into the table. And now, he waits.
Addison arrives first.
"Hi." She is a little out of breath as she drops onto the cushion across from Mark. "Derek will be here soon. He told me to go ahead without him. He was on the phone with Carolyn when I left. There's just"—she makes a pained face—"some Amy stuff going on right now."
"Stuff going on with Amy…as much a guarantee as death and taxes," Mark says. It's true, but it's a relatively grim thing to share, given that death is why they are here. He doesn't want to talk about that yet though. "I don't know why I picked…" he begins, and then shakes his head. He tries again, speaking louder this time so Addison can hear him over the general bar cacophony. "I can't remember the last time we came here. We outgrew this place, I guess."
That much is obvious. Bear Tavern is close to campus, so it tends to draw Columbia students, and just a younger crowd in general. All the women in here tonight—God, they look so young—are wearing loose-fitting, ribbed sweaters and high-waisted jeans. Mark has seen a lot of cargo pants and thick headbands lately, too. That seems to be the trend these days. He wonders if any of the people in here tonight will look back on pictures in ten years' time and have regrets.
He sure does. Just not wardrobe ones.
"And it didn't help," he decides to add, "that the bartender was always slow to serve me after he found out about my quickie in the bathroom with Scarlett O'Hara." He knows Addison will remember this, and sure enough, she makes the same face she did when she mentioned Amy. The Scarlett O'Hara night was the night that their classmate Veronica—dressed like a barmaid, amusingly enough—threw a drink in Mark's face.
"With a Scarlett O'Hara," Addison corrects, now smiling a little. "I don't ever want to hear your name anywhere near Vivien Leigh's."
"I don't know why that Halloween costume was so hot. It just was." Mark is speaking as casually about a Southern Belle costume as he would the weather or a Knicks game. Still stalling, he recognizes. "It was actually kind of like Naomi's wedding dress. All those poofy layers." He waits, expecting Addison to chide him, but she says nothing in defense of her best friend. Probably because he's right. "You know, my sophomore year at UNC, my girlfriend and I went to a party dressed as Ferris Bueller and Sloane Peterson—the movie had just come out that year. And it was kind of like dating myself. A Sloan went home with a Sloane."
"That would be the sort of thing to turn you on," Addison says, still smiling in that indulgent sort of way she often does with him, but when Mark can't think of anything else to say, when it's clear that grief is now the next subject matter, her smile fades away. "I'm really sorry, Mark." He can hear her voice catch, but she retains her composure. "Can I get you another drink?"
"Sure." He doesn't even remember finishing this one. "Double scotch, single malt."
"That's Derek's drink of choice now, too. I swear I can't tell where one of you ends and the other begins."
He knows what Derek would say. Sometimes nothing can be done. Subarachnoid hemorrhages can be both quick and fatal. There are patients with intracranial aneurysms who die before the ambulance can even make it to the hospital. And Mark's mom was no exception.
Addison reappears with a scotch for him and something goldish-brown for herself. Probably a hot buttered rum. Mark knows she likes those this time of year. And, of course she's back in a flash. Pretty girls always get served faster, and Addison looks pretty tonight. Not that she doesn't usually, but maybe Mark is just more aware of it right now, because more observing somehow means less thinking. She looks almost as youthful as any other woman here, but she is dressed in a much more "Addison" way. Mark doesn't think she'll look back on her past fashion choices and have many regrets.
"I'm here." She wiggles into Mark's side of the booth this time, which surprises him. "If you want to talk about it. And remember you're still more than welcome to come to Carolyn's. We're not heading there until Christmas Eve," she says. "Like, if you wanted to take a break from your own house for a bit, and stop by…"
Mark is planning to go to his dad's for Christmas, because it feels like it would take a special kind of asshole to not spend time with a man who just lost his wife. Family solidarity, be a good son, or whatever. It occurs to him now that Addison has never once asked him why he usually doesn't go home for Christmas. Derek has probably told her about his parents, since Mark generally sidesteps conversations regarding his upbringing, and Addison has only met Everett and Claire once. But, Mark in turn never asked during winter break of their first year of med school why Addison was delaying going to her parents' house, and in subsequent years he has never asked why they always go to the Shepherds' for holidays. Maybe words aren't needed. They more or less have the same answer.
He accepts the drink Addison pushes toward him, but winces when one of her hands brushes against his. "Jesus." Her fingers are so cold. "Did you dunk those in an ice bucket?"
"Sorry." She draws her hand back, and smiles guilty as she rubs her hands together. "I forgot my gloves." Right. Because Addison probably rushed to get over here. Mark feels crappy about that. "And traffic was awful on Amsterdam, so I just walked the final few blocks. And my pockets just…aren't very pocket-y," she finishes, and Mark acts like that makes sense. She's still rubbing her hands together, trying to generate warmth by way of friction, and something about the scratchy flesh sound is driving him fucking crazy. And then it clicks. His mom always does—no, did this when she was cold.
Mark can't help himself. He reaches for Addison's hands. They are softer than he thought they would be, and tinier, too. She doesn't pull away though. She just stares at his larger ones covering hers, and then looks up at him.
"Sorry, Red. I'm just going to feel really bad if I don't warm you up. You know this might…" Mark tries to laugh—he wants to laugh—but he can't quite get there. Grief is sitting too heavy in his chest. "This might be the first time I've ever said that and didn't mean it as a double entendre." He still can't laugh. But Addison isn't laughing either. She is just looking at him. Her eyes seem so bright right now. Maybe the specific coloring has to do with whatever the shoddy metal light fixture hovering above them is capable of producing. Or it's just because Mark is closer to her than he normally is. He can see the mix of blue and green beneath her thick lashes, and the flare of yellow near her pupils that reminds him of what sunlight looks like in the winter. "You're in rare company," he states. "I can't remember the last time I held hands with a woman."
Addison does laugh a little at this. "I'm sure there would be a line around the block to hold hands with you, if that was what you wanted from a woman."
"This isn't weird for you, is it?" There's nothing unseemly or inappropriate about holding hands with her in this context, but it's still different. Mark assumes if it was too weird for Addison though, that she would have extracted her hands by now. She might be a people-pleaser, but she can still stand up for herself.
"No. No, not at all." She just keeps watching him. "Tell me," she finally says. Just that. Her hands are still underneath his.
"I always…I always wondered why Claire—my mom—even had me. She and my dad didn't want kids. They didn't know how to be parents. Or want to be. At best I was a plaything for them, like a little toy to cart around every once in a while and show off, when they were in the right mood, and when they were interested, which was hardly ever, and at worst I was just…nothing." Mark can't look at Addison anymore. He lowers his eyes, opting to focus on a squishy stretch of cushion between them. His throat feels tight. "The level of absolute selfishness…I know she loved me, in her own way, but not…not how a kid is supposed to be loved. And, the thing is, they've done a lot for me." He believes Addison will know what he means: a level of financial comfort and opportunities most people could only dream of. "But there are a lot of things…" Addison will know exactly what he means by that, too. Privilege is a terrible replacement for the things a child actually needs. "She didn't know me at all. And he—my dad—doesn't know me at all either."
"It's their loss," Addison says firmly. "As someone who does know you, I promise you, they've missed out on getting to know you. Because you're a great person." Mark angles his face away, wiping his cheek against the fabric of his sweater when a tear slips out. It's a nice thing for Addison to have said. She does tend to see people in a positive light, but he figures that they both have to know he is just an okay person at best. "I'm sorry," Addison continues. Her eyes are glistening, but unlike Mark, she has not succumbed to tears. "It's painful to lose someone, and to learn to live with that loss, even when the relationship is a complex one. I know when one of my parents…" she shakes her head. "Sorry. I feel like I'm saying all the wrong things."
"You're not. You're here. And Derek will be here." Mark thinks that if he was someone else, they wouldn't have pushed so hard to see him tonight. But, they know him. And they would know that he wouldn't want to be alone. "That's kind of all I need right now."
"And food. You always forget to eat when you're stressed. We got you some gift certificates for Christmas, to a few of your favorite places. It's not my most inventive present." She shrugs, and looks a little embarrassed. "I just…I know you love to cook, but I figured you might not feel like it with everything going on…"
"Thanks. I didn't have time to get you guys anything yet—"
"You don't have to. Seriously, you don't."
"Well, I'll at least buy the next round then, once I've actually given you a chance to drink that." Mark lifts his hands away. He kind of regrets it. Addison's hands are warm now, but it was nice to hold onto them for a bit.
He talked though. He talked about it. And he considers that letting his walls down is probably a gift in its own way.
Addison briefly squeezes one of his hands later that night when the three of them part ways. Her own hand is still warm. "Mark?" She says. Derek is standing right behind her. His eyes look so sad. "Remember, if you change your mind, and want to come over to Carolyn's on Christmas, and see us…"
He doesn't change his mind.
1996.
"You have a Christmas name."
Mark glances down to find Isabelle staring up, her mouth still rounded from the words her cartoon-like voice has just issued. He is the only one who heard her, but her comment is not for him. It is for Holly—his Christmas-named girlfriend, apparently—but Holly is deep in conversation with Addison and Derek. If the question had been directed at Mark, it would have served as the first thing that the four-year-old has said to him. When Addison made introductions when they all met up, Isabelle had given Mark a thin, closed-mouth smile, and then buried her face into Addison's leg. I think someone has a crush, Addison whispered to Mark.
He lightly shakes his wrist, which gets Holly's attention, since they are currently holding hands. Mark caught the look Addison gave him earlier when she noticed, and then the subtle lift of Derek's brows when he noticed as well. The act of hand holding is usually something Mark associates with clinginess, and neediness—why it can't just be love, he isn't sure—but it isn't really like that whenever Holly reaches for his hand, because she is not clingy or needy. She just knows what she wants.
Holly also always seems to have a pulse on what is going on in the city. She was the one who told Addison about a newer hotel in the West Village that happens to have a great seasonal display, and that if she and Derek were looking for things to do to entertain their niece and nephew this weekend, the giant gingerbread house would be a huge hit. Mark didn't really want to join in on the hotel thing, but Addison asked if Holly wanted to come, which turned into Holly asking Mark to come, too. And, overall it's fine. It could be worse. Mark only has to participate in this activity, not ice skating, which is what Addison, Derek, and the kids did before making their way over to the hotel. Or, one adult and one kid, technically. Nicholas is just a baby, so Mark assumes that Addison sat on the sidelines, wearing Nicholas in the same carrier thing she is currently wearing him in, while Derek took Isabelle around the rink at Rockefeller Center. Nicholas, not Nick. Addison corrected Mark earlier when he said "Nick," because apparently Kathleen is firm on the whole Nicholas thing. Whatever. Mostly, Mark is just shocked that it's only two kids for Kathleen and Ed. He can't remember how many kids each of the three older Shepherd sisters have now—and don't ask him to name any names—but it honestly feels like Kathleen, Nancy, and Liz are all just broodmares at this point.
"Holly," he murmurs when she looks at him. "Isabelle wants to tell you something."
"Oh. I guess I do," Holly says after Isabelle has repeated her earlier thought. "Your brother has a Christmas name too. Like, St. Nicholas. And yours is a Christmas name too, actually." Holly kneels down so that she is at Isabelle's level. "Your name has 'bell' in it. Like 'Jingle Bells.'" The last one is a bit of a stretch, Mark feels, but Isabelle looks positively thrilled upon hearing this, and he can't help but smile. Holly is so good with Isabelle. And she's getting along so well with Addison and Derek, too. This is the second time they've all hung out in a group.
Holly addresses Mark next, when she returns to her full height. "I think I could use some caffeine," she says, and he nods in understanding. Holly is a trauma surgeon at Maimonides, so she pulls just as long of hours as he does. "They have really good cappuccinos in the café over there. Does anyone else want one?" She looks at Addison and Derek, and then back at Mark. "Or something else?"
"I can go with you," Derek offers once they have all agreed that cappuccinos sound good. "Do you want to get a hot chocolate, Isabelle? Come on." He tugs gently on the end of one of Isabelle's brown braids poking out from her beanie. "And then we can go see the gingerbread house." Derek grins at Addison. "You and Mark can go ahead, if you want. We'll catch up to you."
Mark figures they might as well. The gingerbread display isn't far from the café, so it won't take long for the rest of the group to catch up. And, yeah, the thing is pretty impressive. The structure stands at least twenty feet tall. Mark can remember Holly sharing that it took roughly eight-thousand gingerbread bars to build this thing. The bars have been shaped and dyed a reddish color to resemble bricks, which have been molded together with thick slabs of icing, and then further embellished with gumdrops and candy canes.
"God, don't touch that," he mutters gruffly when Addison runs a hand along one of the bricks.
"Why not?" She gives him a small smile as she uses her non-gingerbread hand—the hand she has mostly been resting on Nicholas's back while he sleeps—to push some hair away from her face. Addison is finally growing out the thick bangs she got last winter, and she has gone back to her natural hair color, too. Not that Mark would have ever said otherwise—Bizzy was the only one who was equal parts brave enough and unkind enough to have voiced a negative critique—but red suits Addison better. And so does not hiding any portion of her face.
"Because for as cool as this thing is," Mark explains, "it's also disgusting. Think about how many hands have already touched it."
"I have hand sanitizer with me." This doesn't surprise him. "I'm just…intrigued. I've never made a gingerbread house before. That wasn't the sort of thing we did, growing up." Addison looks briefly sad when she shares this, and, naturally, Mark gets it. Their respective childhoods are complicated. And it's hard to genuinely talk about the pain of those childhoods when, for all intents and purposes, their needs were met. More than met. But, wealth doesn't necessarily negate the emotional neglect they experienced, nor does it negate the failure of both sets of parents to model healthy relationships and offer unconditional support.
"Me neither," he admits. "I made one at school once, for like a winter classroom activity, but never with my parents." It hurts more than he thought it would.
"Besides"—Addison's smile is back now, and he knows she will make a joke to deflect from her discomfort—"my hands have touched grosser things than this."
"I'd actually prefer not to hear about your sex life, Addi…" Mark comes to an abrupt halt, and a puzzled expression covers Addison's face. "Sorry." He grins apologetically as he motions to indicate Nicholas, who has shifted a little, but is still peacefully sleeping. "I thought he was waking up. False alarm."
"I'm so glad he doesn't have to be awake to listen to you." Addison tips her head down to nuzzle her nose against Nicholas's pink cheek. And it's sort of…okay, fine, it's cute. Mark knows that Addison and Derek want to be more established in their careers before they have kids—that's what they said once, anyway—but he also sees how they look at baby Maya, who was born last winter, and he can see how they have been looking at Kathleen's kids today, too. Of course they jumped at the chance to watch the kids while Kathleen and Ed are off…wherever. Mark already forgot where Derek said they were going this weekend. But, anyway, of course his friends jumped at the chance. Addison and Derek love their nieces and nephews, and Maya, and kids in general. Offspring are probably still a couple years away, but Addison and Derek having kids of their own feels inevitable. And Mark will be happy for them when the time comes. They'll be such good parents. "I meant professionally," Addison says. "Wait." She frowns. "What did you call me?"
"Uh. Your name?"
"Oh. For a second I thought you said 'Addie.'"
"Which also still counts," he reasons. "I was saying 'Addison' though. But, I thought Nicholas-not-Nick was waking up, and I got distracted."
"You never call me Addie. It just surprised me."
"It's his," Mark replies. "It's Derek's nickname for you." But that's not true. He knows Addison well enough to know that Archer was the first one to call Addison "Addie," but her parents have called her this on occasion, too, which makes sense, because if you willingly go by Bizzy, you're probably fine with nicknames. So, it's not true that the nickname belongs to any one person. Derek calls her "Addie," sometimes. And Archer, and the Captain, and Bizzy. And Carolyn and the rest of the Shepherds. And she's "Aunt Addie" to all the nieces and nephews, and to Maya, too. And Mark has heard Sam, Naomi, Savvy, and Weiss all say "Addie" before.
"Derek doesn't have a patent on it," Addison says softly.
"Yeah, I know. It just…feels like it's his, or something." It's his because she is his. "Anyway." Mark is embarrassed all of a sudden. "I like 'Addison.' Or 'Red,' but I know you don't like that one."
"Red has kind of grown on me. But, I still prefer Addison. Hey, Mark?" She smiles up at him. "I really like Holly. She's so sweet. Let's try to make this one work out."
His present for Addison that Christmas is one that can be considered sweet, too. She laughs with delight later in the month when she unwraps a gingerbread kit. Holly helped Mark wrap it. He threw in a bottle of wine as well, so that it could seem more like the gift is for both Addison and Derek, but when Addison meets his eyes, he thinks it's clear that she knows it was mostly for her.