Note: the final three years—2003, 2004, and 2005—have been broken into individual chapters, due to length (not shocking, since it's me—but mostly lookin' at you, 2004). I am posting 2003 and 2004 together, so keep clicking through once you've read chapter five. Or, you do you, but I just feel strongly they are read better together. Chapter six climbs up dramatically in rating—you knew it was going to happen, but as a heads-up, if this sort of thing matters to you, it's significantly more explicit than my smut usually is. Such is the case when you choose to write from good ol' Mark's perspective though. "Tasteful" goes out the window.

The final chapter, 2005, will hopefully be shared before the end of the month. I hope you enjoy this and I hope you'll let me know if you do. And, I also hope you remain interested in this work, because my eventual plan is to write this fic from Addison's perspective (with Christmas gifts for Mark). Thanks as always for your readership!

2003.

"Welcome to the Arctic tundra." Addison grins her way through a purposely formal introduction as she stretches the door open wider so Mark can step inside. "Something is wrong with the boiler," she explains. "The guy is coming on Monday."

Mark nods in acknowledgement. He will not offer to check the boiler himself, because he doesn't know enough about that sort of thing—and Addison definitely knows this about him. Derek might have some ideas for how to fix a boiler, and he is the kind of man who would want to explore every possible solution before getting in touch with a repair technician, but he would also have to be home long enough to investigate the pilot light and whatever else. And he won't be. Not long enough to promote meaningful change, anyway, and that is without a doubt why Addison already went ahead and made the call for assistance. Whatever Mark thinks he is seeing and experiencing with his best friend…Addison is seeing and experiencing it on a whole different level.

At least the boiler will be an easy fix for a professional, and a quick one, too, because a boiler could break down in any house. It is not a uniquely "historic brownstone" problem, which tends to narrow the number of people qualified to take on the challenge. Mark wondered when Addison and Derek purchased this place, if it would wind up being a money pit. For the most part, as far as he can tell, it hasn't been, but there have been some maintenance expenditures, given that the exterior will always be prone to decay. A few weeks earlier, a large, end-splitting crack wormed its way into the soft, vulnerable sandstone between two front windows, and needed to be resealed and refinished. Good as new, Addison told him when he stopped by after it was made whole again. But, just because you cannot see the break anymore does not mean it was never there. Or that it's not still there, in a sense.

Mark does not think twice about shrugging off his coat and draping it over the post at the end of the wooden handrail. He would not want to walk around in here in a short-sleeve tee and barefoot right now, no, but the temperature seems decent enough thanks to a space heater that is making a muffled whirring noise as it does its best to compensate for the loss of a central heating system; Addison must have lugged it up from the basement. She often complains about being cold, but she seems fine right now, despite her earlier polar region description. She is wearing a loose-fitting sweater, clearly an at-home sweater, because other than her Yale sweatshirt, Mark can't remember the last time he has seen her wear anything loose-fitting, even on the occasions the two of them have gone jogging together in Central Park this past year (just them, because as Mark once accurately predicted, Derek's interest in jogging did not last). And along with the sweater, Addison has on a pair of black yoga pants. Or leggings. It seems like a lot of women wear this stuff now, even when they aren't at the gym or running, thanks to that store with the funny-sounding name.

The important thing is not whether they are yoga pants or leggings though; the important thing is that Mark looks elsewhere, because gaping at Addison's thighs is wrong. And it makes whatever this has become for him all the more difficult.

"I saw Derek's text," he reports, "but I was already in the cab, so I figured…"

What did I do wrong? This seemed like such a childish thought for Mark to have had when he received a message from Derek claiming that he was being called into surgery and would not be able to hang out tonight, as planned. However, it occurred to Mark that it was a childish thought because that is exactly where it comes from: his childhood. Every once in a while his parents sort of checked in, as though they had locked eyes and realized, "Holy shit, we have a kid." There were football games of Mark's they would cheer at. A school field trip to Untermyer Gardens that Claire helped chaperone. A science fair Everett made it to because he purposely left work early in order to be there for his son. A rainy afternoon when the three of them played Chutes and Ladders, and Mark felt like his heart might burst from happiness, because some games you can't really play by yourself, and finally, finally, it was like being at the Shepherds' house, and it was like his parents were Carolyn and Christopher, because they were all doing something together and no one was lonely or alone.

Those blissful times never lasted though, because eventually Mark's parents would remember they hadn't wanted to be parents. It took years for him to understand he hadn't done anything wrong. He was an emotionally neglected child trapped in a perpetual game of hot and cold, as quick to climbing a ladder as he would be to landing on the 87 square and tumbling all the way back down to 24, with the picture of the little boy at the bottom rubbing his head as a broken object lay in pieces all around him.

Derek isn't being intentionally cruel. He isn't trying to toy with Mark, like his mom and dad sometimes did, merely because they could. But, it is still generating the same end result. For him. And for Addison.

"Well, we're friends too, so I'm glad you still came, even though I'm probably less fun to watch a Knicks game with."

Mark produces a thin smile. There is no point in explaining this to an NBA-disinterested Addison, but the Knicks aren't fun to watch with anyone right now and the "Fire Layden" chants are only continuing to grow at home games. But, still. The TV is on, and it appears to be on the right channel, even though the game will not start for another twenty minutes or so. Something about this makes Mark feel sad. Addison must have put this channel on in anticipation, because even though she doesn't like basketball, she still would have sat close by and joined in on the conversation as the three of them got caught up. If it was still the three of them, that is.

The living room is decorated how it usually is come December. Mark drinks in the accents—the nutcracker throw pillows, the bottle brush trees, the festive figurines, and—there it is—the candle he got Addison for Secret Santa so many years ago. It will only be a matter of time before she points out the candle, too, and tells Mark what she always tells him: it's still too pretty to burn.

Nothing in here is burning. The mantel has been layered with garland, and Addison and Derek's stockings have been hung, but there are no crackling flames leaping behind the glass. And Mark understands why: the brass holder next to the fireplace is empty. Derek always buys the logs and builds the fires. Mark's friends' insistence on subscribing to these specific roles makes him think of Carolyn and all her gender bullshit, even though he would never say this to Addison, who has long felt caliber and incompetence in equal turns for being nothing like her mother-in-law.

The other missing detail is that the Christmas tree is not quite done. The lights are up, braided neatly around the branches, but there are only a few ornaments on display. And the star topper has not been added yet.

"Tinsel?" Mark is still scrutinizing the Balsam fir when Addison comes to stand beside him. The tinsel is new. There are a few gold pieces arranged over the ends of branches, in a spread-out way, as though Addison is experimenting with the concept, not fully committed yet. It's new though. There has always been an element of pristineness to the Montgomery-Shepherd Christmas trees. There are personal touches in the form of keepsakes and some other more personal, non-serious ornaments, but overall, their trees have always resembled, in Mark's opinion, the kind of "do not touch that" set-up you would see in a department store.

"The Shepherds always do tinsel." As soon as Addison shares this, he realizes it is true. Mark can picture the Shepherd tree, with its messy clumps of tinsel and without an ounce of "do not touch that" energy.

"So…" Addison continues, swiping her palms along the front of her legs. "I thought I'd try something new this year. You know, mix it up."

Because you want your husband to notice, Mark theorizes. And what won't you do at this point to get him to pay attention to you?

He will not say this though. It is ineffably rude. And hell, in Addison's defense, it's worth trying, isn't it? She wants Derek to be happy. No, Derek's childhood wasn't ideal, because how could your childhood be ideal when you lose your dad in such a tragic way, but Mark knows that Derek still kind of puts the love he experienced from his mother on a pedestal. And it's more love than Addison received as a child, at any rate. That Mark understands for sure, because he is familiar with that feeling, too.

"Did you want some help decorating the tree? I can help, if you want. I'll still be able to see the game from over here." Mark is hesitant to ask, because he assumes that she and Derek decorate together; in the past he's heard them allude to getting the house all done up for Christmas, back when it felt like so many of their sentences began with the cloying We.

He knows they pay a company to deliver a tree the first week of December. Maybe they had planned to wait until this weekend to decorate it, and maybe Addison had gotten everything out, and ready, and then Derek was paged. Mark doesn't have a sense of whether the tinsel and the handful of ornaments were put up before Derek left, or if Addison started to arrange them on the tree after he left. Her comment about the tinsel makes it seem more like the latter though.

"That would be great." Addison gives him a fond look. "Thanks." She then gestures to two storage totes nearby. Their lids have been popped off, and, as would be expected with Addison, each ornament is in its original packaging, or otherwise neatly cushioned with bubble wrap. "I'm just doing ornaments for now," she says. "I'll add more tinsel later."

"All right. Do you have…like a system or anything?"

"Not really. The larger, heavier ones—the bigger sized balls—oh my God, grow up, Mark"—he won't though, not when Addison serves up things like that on a silver platter—"should be closer to the bottom. Otherwise, have at it."

He starts on one side of the tree and Addison takes the other. Time seems to pass rapidly as ornaments begin to cover the sparser sections. Addison gets them both a glass of wine at one point, and they chat easily—they have always been able to do this, no matter what else is going on in their lives. Mark only takes a glance at the TV every few minutes to see what the Knicks and Trail Blazers score is; it doesn't matter much to him. He is paying more attention to the ornaments he is placing on the branches. There is a personalized one, with Addison and Derek's wedding date: September 17th, 1994. A hand-painted lighthouse. A mouse with a Santa hat—Derek was given this one as a boy. An Our First Home ornament shaped like a house. A Yale glass ball. Two doves. A tree made out of colored popsicle sticks—definitely from a niece or nephew. An ornament from Camden—as far as Mark knows, his friends never went back to the place with the boat and the taffy. A felt ornament shaped like a D, which surely means there is a corresponding monogrammed A in one of the totes.

It is not lost on Mark that with each fragile piece, he is holding a couple's history in his hands. He is putting up a life on this tree. But, it's not his life. It has nothing to do with him.

"Can I ask you something?"

He startles at the sound of Addison's voice, and nearly drops the Empire State Building in the process. The two of them have been talking pretty consistently, but silence followed after sharing their holiday plans. Mark can see her peeping at him through the branches now, her eyes appearing bright when set against spikes of dense evergreen. He secures the glass ornament with a metal hook, and then strolls over to Addison's part of the tree, curious.

"I need to ask you something," she says haltingly. "And I…I want you to be honest. I need you to be honest. It's about Derek." And now Mark can feel his chest constricting. He does not want to discuss her damn marriage; Addison has been doing this to him more and more over the last few months.

It's not fair to him, for one thing. And the other thing—the bigger thing—is that these conversations with him are not going to be what improves the Montgomery-Shepherd union.

"Do you think…do you think there's someone else?" Addison's words are feathered with fraught anxiety. "That Derek's having an aff—"

"No." Mark almost laughs at the absurdity of the question, but then of course he feels bad for almost laughing, because it is evident on Addison's face how much strength it took for her to ask him this. She has likely wanted to ask him for a long time. "No, absolutely not. He hasn't said anything to me, and there's…there's no way. Derek's not cheating on you, Addison. Also, you've seen what you look like, right?" This last part is unnecessary, but Mark cannot stop himself. "How could Derek possibly do better?"

Addison blushes at this remark. "It's not a 'looks thing,'" she admits, color still etched in her cheeks. "I feel like I just check less and less boxes for him these days, like who I am as a wife and a person. He's not as interested in being around me, or spending time with me. But I guess…I guess sometimes I really do wonder if Derek's still attracted to me."

"Have you talked to him about it?" Mark already knows the answer to this. "Addison"—he is doing everything he can to keep impatience out of his tone—"I'm sure it's an uncomfortable conversation, but you have to talk to him." She probably has tried to talk to Derek, in her own way, but never anything as direct as what she is saying to Mark right now. Derek is causing the bulk of their problems by not being around, yeah, but Addison is not blameless in this marriage, especially when it comes to healthy communication. Even an idiot like Mark can see that. "Nothing will change if you don't talk to him," he emphasizes. "Talk, fight about it, and then have some great make-up sex. It'll do wonders." He tries to chuckle at his own joke, but he doesn't, because it's not funny. And he doesn't want to picture them being intimate.

Addison looks doubtful, so it wasn't funny to her, either. "It might not work," she replies. "I mean, last month, we were arguing about our plans for Thanksgiving—we were going to join Bizzy and the Captain out on the Vineyard—and then we eventually started laughing and it kind of turned into something else, but…"

Mark keeps his face neutral as the rest of Addison's sentence skitters away. He does not understand what she is trying to say; he only knows she is trying to say it without saying it, and Jesus Christ, this right here is a perfect example of why her marriage is on shaky ground.

"It was the first time in like two months and Derek"—her eyes are imploring now as she holds Mark's gaze—"please, please don't tell him I told you this. But, he…he couldn't."

"He couldn't…? Oh." Mark inhales slowly, trying to squelch the anger threatening to top his discomfort. They were having a nice time earlier. Why did Addison have to ruin it? He swears he would hate her if he didn't care about her so much. And now he has to think about how she is basically starved for sex. This isn't helping. "Okay. Got it." He breathes in again. "That doesn't mean he's not into you, Red; it happens, sometimes."

"Not to you it probably doesn't."

Well. Mark definitely wasn't expecting her to say that. Why would she say that? And the way Addison is staring at him is close to frightening. It's like there are no boundaries anymore.

"It happens to more…evolved men." He chooses a complimentary answer. There's a part of him that wishes his best friend was witnessing all of this through a two-way mirror though, so that Derek could see how well Mark is trying to handle the conversation on his shitty, absentee, limp-dicked behalf. A real man would be rock-fucking-hard for Addison. "I'm sure he was just tired. That's probably all it was."

"Please don't tell him I told—"

"I won't."

"Thank you. Seriously, thank you. And, I'm sorry." Addison does appear genuinely remorseful. She steps closer to him. "I shouldn't have shared all of that and I…I shouldn't put you in the middle, Mark." Her head dips to the side, accidentally scraping against the tree. "Marriage is not for the faint of heart," she says, probably because Mark hasn't answered yet. She forces a smile. "And neither is growing older. But, I'm sorry. You're my friend; not my marriage counselor. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine."

Because what else could he say?

Derek probably was tired. Is tired. Addison is certainly tired. And so is he. Growing up used to be the tough part. But, now, growing older is.

Other people notice you're old before you notice you're old, Colette told him a few months ago, when she was lamenting about what it meant to be an aging ballerina, to not be who she once was. And Mark felt for her, he truly did. Imagine having to accept that your career is over at thirty-four—Colette is two years younger than him. And not just feeling replaceable, but being replaced.

The two of them reconnected last April, when they ran into each other near Lincoln Center, and they slept together for about six months after that. It wasn't serious, and it wasn't a thing, because that wasn't what either of them wanted, but Colette was the only woman Mark was sleeping with at the time, which was fairly significant. And she was pretty open about her life, in a way that made Mark feel bad for once thinking she was kind of a dud, personality-wise. Once other people notice you're old, they will never forgive you if you refuse to gracefully fade into the background so the other principal dancers can get their flowers. The same choreographers and artistic directors and board members who once fawned over me were all too quick to look away when someone shinier came along. And I can't compete. I can't compete with an up-and-coming soloist who is well over a decade younger than me. I've pulled hamstrings before and had pain in my hip joints before, but the recovery process keeps getting slower. Fouettes are too physically demanding. And I can't keep the weight off in the same way someone younger can, no matter how hard I try. I'm tired now.

It made sense that Colette shared all of this with him. No one is better than Mark at making women somehow feel both better and worse about themselves.

It's not the same exact thing, because there is no one else, in Addison's case, who is threatening to eclipse either her marriage or her career. But the feeling is the same. It's like Derek is…tired of her, and done with her, but he won't do anything about it. And Addison basically confirmed she believes this too, when she made the comment about checking less boxes. It doesn't make sense to Mark though. How could anyone ever get tired of her?

"Addison. I'm sorry you're sad."

"I am sad." She straightens, lifts her head again. "But…I'm less sad when I'm with you." She reaches out and gently grasps Mark's upper arm. He observes a streak of light catch between her red locks. "I'm glad you're here."

"Hey…you have a piece of tinsel in your hair."

"Oh. Will you get it for me?"

She asks this as though she does not have the ability to do it herself. And Mark blanches. Okay then. It is not only something he is feeling, or trying to suppress feeling. It's not one-sided. Right? There is sexual tension—or at least some kind of tension—brewing between them.

"Sure." He traps the flash of gold between two pinched fingers, and then deposits it on the tree, not caring where it lands. "There you go." He lets his open palm slide from near Addison's scalp toward the bottom of her hair; it is styled kind of wavy, as though maybe she used a curling iron this morning, and the spirals have loosened and lengthened throughout the course of the day. And Mark's just…fixing her hair. That's all. Smoothing it out. The tinsel made it staticky. This is what he tells himself, at least. And Addison does not seem to mind. So, he does it again. She still does not mind. It seems like she likes it.

They have never stood this close to each other before, or stared at one another this intensely. Every feature of Addison's is amplified right now for Mark. Every hint of color in her eyes, because while an identification card or slip of paper would say blue, her eyes are not just blue: they are blue and they are green and they are fragments of light blending through the ocean's surface and Mark could drown in that shade that is uniquely hers, but it would be a dream and it wouldn't hurt. And then there's everything else. Her long eyelashes, long even without the help of mascara, and the delicate slopes of skin surrounding them, because the spacing and formation of her eyelids is breathtaking; Mark would see the exquisiteness even if he wasn't professionally trained to assess for beauty. And then there are her wide cheekbones. And her pretty nose. And her lips. And the faint widow's peak at her hairline, which feels fitting, because isn't that name one of sadness?

Addison is sad. But less sad right now, because she is with him. And that's something. More than something. Because something is happening.

Mark guides his hand forward, away from her hair. He brushes his knuckles over her cheek, so lightly that maybe it doesn't feel like anything, and maybe it doesn't even feel real. But, it is real. This is real. So real. And he is not imagining it as he maps the tender curve of Addison's cheekbone; she leans ever-so-slightly into his touch.

Her fingertips tighten around his arm. Mark cannot take his eyes off her face. He focuses on her mouth again. God, those lips. They're so plump, so soft-looking. Mark is positive he has never wanted to kiss a woman more than he does right now. He would love to kiss Addison. And do so many other things to her, if he is being honest, and he is being honest. This is as honest as Mark has ever been with himself.

And Addison is still gazing at him, too. Her eyes have been tracking his, but then they briefly flit to his lips. And then back to him. She wants to be kissed. She definitely wants to. Her head is lilting to the side in anticipation, and Mark bends forward, ready to meet her, ready to fuse his mouth to hers. But then Addison shifts at the last possible second, angling away so that instead of Mark getting to know if her lips feel as soft as they look, his unshaven cheek awkwardly bumps against hers.

"Mark." Her breath feels urgent when it sweeps over his ear. "No," Addison whispers. He realizes that her hand is at her side again, and already he misses her touch. "We can't."

"Yeah." It comes out sounding carelessly noncommittal. "Sorry." The step Mark takes away from her is so large that he nearly loses his balance. "I'm sorry, Addison. I didn't mean…" he doesn't even know what to say. He evades looking at her, opting to stare at his feet instead. "I'm sorry," he responds, holding up his head, and then privately demanding of himself to focus on Addison, to focus on the weight of this mistake that he wishes wasn't a mistake.

"No, don't be. It's okay. I shouldn't have…we got caught up in the moment, and you're here, and you're saying all the right things." Addison is yanking fretfully on the ends of her sleeves, visibly rattled. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

And Mark…does agree with this. It takes two, absolutely, but he never would have attempted to kiss her if he wasn't one-hundred percent sure she wanted him to. And it's nice to have it validated that it's not just him.

Except none of this is nice. Every part of it fucking sucks.

"I think this time of year can be…weird, sometimes," Addison states next. "And lonely. Really lonely."

Mark nods, even though this doesn't make sense. It's December. And soon enough it will be Christmas. This is supposed to be Addison's season. And Derek's season. It's their season. Mark has heard them say this before. Christmastime isn't supposed to be lonely though. He wishes he were bold enough to tell Addison that. But, she already knows, doesn't she?

"Yeah," he replies gruffly. "Exactly. It won't happen again. It was a slip. Well, not even a slip." He does not want Addison to feel guilty. "Nothing happened. Talk to Derek though. Tell him what you're feeling, and that you miss him and stuff. He gets so zeroed in on work, and when that happens to him, it doesn't leave room for anything or anyone else…I'm not saying that it's right, but I'm just telling you what I think is true. I love the guy, but he's oblivious and absentminded sometimes. And he won't prioritize your marriage if you don't tell him that he needs to. If you want things to change, you have to say something, Addison." He should have told her all of this earlier, before they almost kissed. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference though. "But I…I should probably get going." He gives her an awkward half-wave of his hand, and then starts toward the front door. Staying any longer would be too painful.

"Mark."

He turns around at the sound of her voice. It is reedy, sharp.

"We're okay, right?" Addison looks close to crying now. Her eyes are glossy-topped. Tears are threatening to seep out. "Because you're one of my best friends, and I care about you so much, and if I…if I did anything to…" she brings her fist up to her mouth.

Shit. Tears are falling down her face. She is actually crying now. Quietly so. It would be quiet even if her hand wasn't smothering the noises though, Mark decides. This is not like that time in East Hampton with the beef tenderloin and the silly apron and a heart that probably needed healing as much as her injured finger did that day.

"We're okay, Addison."

Because whatever he might be feeling for her, it doesn't actually matter. Only their friendship matters. For whatever might be going on between them, or could be going on between them, Addison still loves Derek. She loves her husband so much. All Mark will ever be is a stand-in. An apprentice or an artist or a soloist, not a principal. And that's not worth destroying a fourteen-year friendship over, or what feels like a lifetime-long friendship with Derek.

He will have to keep reminding himself of this.

"You swear?" Addison asks, voice still thick with emotion.

"I swear." He holds his arms out. "C'mere. Let me give you a hug. A 'we're okay and we're still friends' hug."

Addison steps into his embrace. He can feel her breasts pressing against him. He tries to ignore the sensation, urging his body not to respond. He wishes she could be his though—and it feels extraordinary to finally admit this to himself.

"We're okay." Mark tries to sound insistent. "Don't beat yourself up. Nothing happened. And you and me…we're still the same. We're friends. Good friends. Status quo. Nothing's changed."

That's a lie though. And they both know it. Everything has changed.

Mark once thought that once would be enough. He just needed to get Addison out of his system. One earth-shattering, mind-blowing fuck and then he could move on with his life—he really believed that. But…it can't be just once, or just that. How could it be? This isn't physical. There's a physical component, yes, but Mark wouldn't be feeling things this deeply if it was only physical. And that's the thing: he is feeling. He is feeling a lot.

He remembers Holly telling him that she wished he would open up to her in the way that he did—and could—with Addison and Derek. She wanted him to be the version of himself that he was around them. The real version. But, of course Mark couldn't open up to Holly like that. There is no reason to be like that with anyone other than Addison and Derek. He loves them the most.

But love for one has surpassed the other, because there is a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone.

"Wait." Addison's arms tighten around Mark's waist when he starts to pull away. "Not yet," she quietly pleads. "Not yet."

Two weeks later, he stops by Derek's practice with a nice bottle of wine and a gallon-sized popcorn tin with reindeer leaping around its steel sides. He was planning to leave each item with the receptionist, but Derek was coincidentally coming out to the front desk at the same time, so they end up being able to talk and catch up for a bit. Mark wonders if his friend thinks it's weird that he brought the Christmas present to him rather than to Addison, but if Derek does think this, it does not show. Nor does it come across that way when Derek texts him on Christmas Day: Merry Christmas from White Plains! he writes. And then a picture follows, of Carolyn's backyard, blanketed in fresh snow. So, they did get a White Christmas after all. And then, a few more words from Derek: Addie and I hope you're having a good time.

Turks and Caicos again. Mark was last here seven years ago, shortly after Holly broke up with him. He went there in an attempt to get over a girl. It is possible that this is what he is doing this time, too.

Addison does not call him, even though she always calls Mark on Christmas; she probably told Derek to send him good tidings or whatever instead.

She and Mark have not seen each other or even talked since that night at the brownstone. Mark senses the lingering awkwardness between them, so he does not reach out to her either. He believes they will be okay again. He does. Things will eventually become more normal. But not quite yet.

"You give great hugs." That was what Addison said when they were embracing that night at the brownstone.

Mark could give her so much else, too, if she would let him. It is strange that with anyone else, he generally regrets the things he's done. With Addison, he regrets the things he hasn't.