"This Ruined Puzzle"
Part: 4/?
Pairing: Derek/Addison
Rating: Harmless this round.
Authors: A new group effort by Hannah and Sarah.
Description: We start with some history, then weave carefully around canon, and finally head completely A/U.
Summary: Into canon.
Disclaimer: We own nothing.
Give it a chance because we can't reveal too much within the description.
A/N: In this section we head into the beginning of Season 2 and then we will make some changes and carry on with our plot idea(s). Thanks to everyone who has read and commented, we love it!
A couple of tears and I'm a broken mess
The sadness has taken me far too deep in regret
So sing me a song about something good
My heart's on the thrashing floor
And I've done every single thing I could
I use to believe in
Some kind of feelin'
That could change everything I thought I knew
But that door is closed and
My heart feels like it's frozen
If you hear me, I can feel you
-The Classic Crime, "The Coldest Heart."
~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my past, who hasn’t? But it is kind of difficult for me to chock up a two month stint of living with my manwhore of a mistress to a mere mistake. Clearly that’s what it was but whoever this person is that was living with New York’s most eligible disease-free bachelor was not me. I wouldn’t do that. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have deliberately cheated on my husband either. We all have breaking points.
Mine hit about two hours ago when I found yet another pair of dangling grotesque earrings on my side of the bed after taking my nightly shower. I understand that our situation is complicated and tangled at best. I know that I am not emotionally available or whatever it was that he was yelling at me about last night. The rings are still on and I miss my husband. And lastly I realize that there was nowhere in our sex filled contract did it say that we were exclusive. After 11 or so years of marriage you kind of begin to project the “we aren’t seeing anyone else” image I suppose, or that is to say that I wasn’t seeing anyone else. I wasn’t even seeing Mark in all fairness.
So my last option is to board the flight to Seattle that is set to take off in twenty minutes. As I take my seat in first class I glance around at the rest of the cabin. After you do the things I have done it starts to feel like the whole world is watching you; judging you. I deserve it. I probably deserve a lot worse so I open my reading material and pretend to study it as the thoughts close in and collapse in my already overflowing brain.
I order a glass of disgusting airline wine to ward off the nerves that have taken up residency in my stomach. I am not a risk taker and I don’t like surprises. I like carefully calculated plans; things that give certain outcomes as a guarantee. A last resort is a last resort and that is what I have sunk to yet again. Two months ago on that awful raining night when I realized that Derek wasn’t coming home I curled up and lived at the bottom of the stairs for about a day and half. Mark came and “rescued” me from my own personal suffering and took me to his apartment to get cleaned up. I can’t even imagine what I must have looked like at that point. A t-shirt and ratted hair are not very becoming after you hit a certain age.
Then I stayed. In his apartment I made myself as comfortable as the situation would allow and lived out the last two months in a glorious delusional state. Avoidance was the key to keep breathing in and out. It wasn’t supposed to hurt me this much and Derek wasn’t supposed to leave and not come back. That wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to get caught eventually, Derek would yell, I would yell back and we would fight together. Instead in an unconsidered move Derek fled the scene of the crime(s). As the plane’s taxi turns into a full blown take off and gravity forces me into my seat the tears begin to fall. I have had little control over my emotional state lately, I try to blame it on the late baby situation.
There was no way to avoid the abortion. If there was, I would have done it. How ridiculous is it for me, me in all of accreditation splendor, to get an abortion? I can’t chase my husband down and convince him that he doesn’t loathe the ground I walk on if I am carrying another man’s child. There was very little chance that it was Derek’s and it was better safe than sorry in this instance. I have rationalized it until it makes sense but it doesn’t make me feel any better, I wanted to have a baby. I just wanted to have a baby with Derek.
A child requires stability and love. Neither of those were present in the last scenario I was living in. Mark is not a father, well he could be and not know about it, but by nature he is not a fatherly figure. He put on a good showing though with the calendar and the insane Yankees onesie. He was trying and I was me so I couldn’t save either one of us, it had to happen. I wipe and dab at the tears that refuse to quit falling as the flight attendant asks me if I need anything. I feel my quick tongue trying to retort something to the effect of a new life but I keep my thoughts inside, shake my head, and politely refuse all forms of assistance as always.
Not all of it was horrible for me. For Mark, I‘m not so sure. I wasn’t a very pleasant person to share company with outside of work. He would try and hold me, telling me I wasn’t the awful monster I felt like I had become. I just never knew I could hate myself this much. He would attempt to cook dinner, which was usually burnt on the outside and cold on the inside, and let me pick whatever movie I wanted because we didn’t go out often. I couldn’t stand the looks. He told me I was silly and that we should just try and be happy but I couldn’t allow myself to feel any contentment after what I had done. He believed we were all to blame and Derek held a large part of it but I would simply tell him that Derek wasn’t the one who was cheating on me, behind my back, on purpose, with my best friend. I blamed Derek for letting us fall apart, Mark for catching me and myself for everything in between. So what if we all held the blame? I was the one who couldn’t function on my own anymore and that had to change. The plane jounces in the turbulence and I can’t stop my brain before the synapses fire telling me that I wouldn’t mind if it crashed and I died. Normal people do not have these insane thoughts.
I spent the rest of the flight combating the ever present tears and trying to gear up for seeing my husband. I couldn’t be weak in this situation. I refuse to beg and plead to get him to come home, I’m not that girl. I have drawn up divorce papers as a last resort and I am not signing them until he does. I don’t want a divorce. I want my life back, I want my husband and to forget every minute of the last two months ever existed.
His words are stuck on permanent replay as I step foot into SeaTac for the first time. “We aren’t Derek-and-Addison anymore.” As I make my way toward baggage claim I find myself missing his voice. The old voice that used to inhabit his body. The one full of love and life, not the new upgraded model that could stand to benefit from some serious forms of compassion. I take a long, strong, deep breath and remind myself that I am here for work not my husband. I laugh inwardly because anyone who knows the situation would know that I am really here for my husband and the TTTS case is just a lame excuse to fly across the country so I can see the face I long for in the middle of warm and sticky nights.
I hadn’t planned on seeing him immediately. I had prepared to look astonishing the next day and to stumble into him while I was wandering the halls of Seattle Grace. One hasty decision to stop by and check on Richard has left me face to face with my ghost. I watch him tug her collar up and am half expecting him to pat her on the head and send her to school with all of her friends but instead his eyes catch my presence and I am moving forward before I can think to stop.
There is a half-hearted apology to the child, my name, and then a good question. One that can be answered in one of several ways. I choose to cite the obvious reason while deflecting any and all actual reasons.
“Well you’d know if you bothered to return any one of my phone calls.”
It’s the truth, barely and not the reply he really wanted but I am certain we will get to that so instead I offer my hand to the petulant toddler next to me and, “Hi. I’m Addison Shepherd.” comes out. There is this insane and wicked smirk I can’t get off my face as her mind spins trying to offer up any explanation but the obvious one. So for good measure I find myself throwing in the bit about screwing my husband all while trying to convince myself that he isn’t actually trying to set me on fire with his eyes. She excuses herself in a hurried fashion as he turns and sighs. I’ve heard it one too many times and no matter how angry he seems I know he is honestly just tired of our whole state of affairs.
There’s a discussion laced with icy tones and sheer hatred. There is moderate flirting about his hair, which does look amazing, but it isn’t the matter at hand. Then I turn and equal the scorecard with one word. “Surprise.” I don’t stay to see his face, I don’t need to. He hates surprises as much as I do. I stalk out of the hospital with as much dignity as I can muster because by this time tomorrow all hell is going to break lose and I will be watched by hundreds of sets of eyes. I am ready for my showdown. I have spent the better part of a six hour flight convincing myself that I can do this. I can get him back and if not I brought “Plan B” carefully tucked into my briefcase. I want my life back. I need my life back.
As I head to find another cab and my hotel room I try and focus my breathing. I’ve taken far too many breaths today. As I lie down in my new bed after what feels like three days rolled into one I let the tears fall again. Silently sobbing this time I wad the comforter into my clenched fists. I’m letting the tears escape and trickle down my cheeks for the way my marriage is. It shouldn’t have gotten to this point, but it has so I roll over wiping at my eyes and cry some more for all of us. It is going to be a long trip.
Part 5. I'm glad we broke the rules.