Life is Just a Memory by lavenderseaslug [PG]
Title: Life is Just a Memory
Author: lavenderseaslug
Recipient: sweetnarcosis
Pairing(s): Addison/Derek
Rating: PG
Summary: Addison has just recently come to Seattle. She and Derek have decided to make a go of it, and it's a series of moments in their day with flashbacks to moments when they were AddisonandDerek
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is not mine; I am making no profit.
Life is Just a Memory
“Will you still respect me in the morning?”
Addison had been staring up at the trailer’s ceiling when Derek broke the tension-filled silence with his question. She appreciated the gesture, though. It was Derek’s attempt to make this whole thing less awkward. She knew the routine; it was what he had asked her on their first night together. And it was a nice gesture, but it did nothing to ease the strain of the situation. Their thoughts were full of each other’s last lovers. Addison cruelly wondered how Meredith hadn’t been broken in two and Derek kept flashing back to seeing Addison and Mark together on his sheets. Addison drummed her fingers on her abdomen before responding. She turned to look at Derek and, her eyes serious, said, “Of course.”
“Will you still respect me in the morning?” Derek was acting suddenly shy and it endeared him to Addison all the more. He had been so eager to get to this stage and now he was being cautious. She bit her lip thoughtfully, pretending to mull the question over. Derek hit her playfully in the side. So she said, “Of course,” and Derek leaned in to place a kiss on her smiling mouth. “I make no promises for the afternoon, though,” she finished, and it earned her another hit on the side. A laugh escaped from her and Derek pulled her close. Addison met his gaze, turned suddenly serious, and found herself overcome with the urge to laugh again. She kissed Derek full on the mouth to suppress the giggle that was about to erupt, and he responded in such a way that left no room for laughter or silliness.
The Chinese food that Addison had brought over the previous night lay on the table, beyond an acceptable state of cold, even in comparison to the cold Chinese that they had enjoyed in their college days. It was still in the bag that Addison had carried it in, chopsticks sticking out through the handles, the unmistakable scent of old Chinese emanating from the containers. Addison sat up in bed, caught sight of the food, and flopped back down, covering her face with her hand, tears stinging her eyes.
It was the usual situation. There was an exam the next day and Derek realized he hadn’t learned anything since the previous exam. But Addison took copious notes, this he knew. He had watched her in amazement during class, her pen never slowing, her eyes fixed on the professor. And he knew that she would share her notes. So he bought the obligatory General Tso’s chicken and an order of shrimp fried rice to soften her up and went to her apartment. She buzzed him in with minimal mocking and they spent the rest of the night passing containers of food back and forth as Addison proceeded to teach Derek everything she knew about medicine.
Addison peered at the cold rice, wearing nothing but Derek’s shirt. She ate a cold piece of shrimp and wondered whether it would be safe to shower in the trailer or if she should go back to her hotel room to take care of hygiene. Derek had left already, claiming to have an early surgery. Addison hoped that was the case and not that he could no longer stand to be in close proximity to her, which was her fear. Deciding that the shower looked safe, and taking into account the fact that Derek showered there daily, Addison unbuttoned the plaid flannel shirt and let it drop to the ground.
“You secretly wish you were a flannel-wearing fisherman, don’t you?” Addison asked incredulously as Derek looked wistfully at the latest fly fishing rod that Sage had released.. “One of those crazy mountain men?”
“Maybe not mountains,” he said, but didn’t bother declining her other accusations. He touched the reel, and then felt the pole itself, sighing regretfully.
“But you like flannel,” she replied, her nose scrunched up a little bit in distaste. Flannel really wasn’t in her taste. She added to her mental list of things that she would endeavor to change about Derek. He sprang to the defense of his flannel- wearing habits and Addison gave it a rest. She might not understand the appeal herself, but if he wanted to be a flannel-wearing fisherman, she supposed she could let him indulge that dream, for a little while, anyway. A month later, for his birthday, he found a new fishing pole and a plaid flannel shirt waiting for him when he woke up.
Derek tapped his pen thoughtfully as he sat at his computer. He was avoiding everyone this morning. He was even doing his own paperwork and scut to avoid having to request an intern. It was just that he didn’t know if he could stand another one of Meredith’s friends silently judging him, he also didn’t want to answer any questions about Addison’s appearance, or even to deal with Addison, because he knew that she was going to have some sort of reaction to last night, and he really wasn’t in the mood to discuss it this morning. He ran a hand through his well-cared-for locks. As much as he hated to admit it, his hair was longer, as Addison had pointed out, and he wondered if it was, in fact, because of Addison’s thing for Russell Crowe.
Derek had dragged Addison to L.A. Confidential and had regretted it when Addison became enthralled by Russell’s performance. Since then, she’d rented or seen every movie he’d ever acted in and made Derek watch them with her. He’d groan when she’d slip the VHS into the tape player, but when she handed him a bowl of popcorn and settled herself against his chest, he’d usually quiet down. She commented several times on how great Derek would look with longer hair, telling him that it would frame his face and that it might be nice for him to try a new look. Derek had finally made a comment that he was fine with his hair the way it was, and that he didn’t need any advice, thank you very much. And Addison had dropped it, muttering something about men who spent more time on their hair than a woman. But Derek couldn’t help but notice that Russell Crowe’s hair wasn’t too bad.
Addison went to her hotel room to pack up the clothes she had brought with her. Several large suitcases filled with shoes and clothes found their way to a cab, which Addison directed to the trailer. It wasn’t until after the cab pulled away from her new home that Addison noticed that she simply had too much for the trailer. She hadn’t packed for trailer-life when coming to Seattle. She had packed for a fully furnished house. With many closets. And a room for her clothes. She sighed heavily and left the suitcases outside as she tried to negotiate space for them inside.
“I’ve never understood how you have so many clothes,” Derek said one night as he surveyed the contents of Addison’s room. Addison was in the process of reorganizing; she’d decided that arranging by color then style was the way to go and so had had to empty her entire closet.
“If you went to a private school for thirteen years, you might,” she had responded. Digs at her wardrobe, however slight, were never appreciated. Derek had obligingly started sorting piles of clothing by their hues while Addison emptied the closet of shoes. They passed the time in silence until Derek started humming “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” and Addison had laughed at him. He had thrown a sweater at her and said, “When we live together, your clothes are going to have a room of their own.” She would have responded by throwing another article of clothing back at him, but it would have defeated all of her previous organization, so she settled for sticking her tongue out at him and making mocking comments about Celine Dion.
When Derek came home, he found a disheveled Addison trying to close a drawer that was packed to the brim with shirts. She was pushing against it as hard as she could. Derek leaned against the doorframe and, smiling let loose a small sigh. She looked up when she heard him. “I didn’t want to rearrange your closets,” she said, looking slightly pitiful, surrounded by suitcases that looked as though they had exploded. “That means they would have to have been arranged in the first place,” Derek laughed and flung open the nearest closet. He grabbed his clothes and hurled them onto the bed, hangers and all. He placed a pair of Addison’s shoes in the bottom of the closet with a flourish and said, “You need the closets; you hate wrinkles.”
Derek was on ironing duty. His parents were meeting Addison for the first time and she was in a complete panic. He had ironed at least seven shirts, three pairs of pants, two dresses and hadn’t even seen a wrinkle on them to begin with. Addison finally picked an outfit and watched Derek like a hawk as he ironed, which did nothing for his current disposition. “You missed one,” she said as he made to turn off the iron.
“Where?” he asked challengingly. He was in no mood to iron any more invisible wrinkles.
“By the hem. There.” She pointed and Derek tried to make himself see a crease. He sighed, picked up the iron and smoothed it out, however infinitesimal it might have been. “Don’t you want them to like me?” Addison had asked. It was charming how worried she was. Derek couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Addison.
“Of course. But they would have liked you even with that wrinkle,” he answered and tweaked her nose with a cheeky grin.
When Addison was settling into the bed and preparing to fall asleep, she thought that this night was better than the previous. It was less awkward, less angry, less hurried. Addison rested her head on Derek’s chest, putting her hand next to her face, lightly running her fingers along his chest and he wrapped an arm around her and she liked that he was pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. She looked up into his face and he smiled at her. She understood why the interns all called him McDreamy, as embarrassing as it might be for him. He let his hand drift through her hair, working its way through the tangles that had appeared.
“I think we’re going to make it,” Addison murmured sleepily.
“Me too,” Derek said, almost automatically.
Addison sat on the balcony of their honeymoon suite wearing only the bath towel that she had wrapped around herself after the morning’s bath. Derek emerged from the darkened indoors, rubbing his eyes sleepily with one hand, and managing to carry two flutes of champagne in the other. Addison looked up as he entered and greeted him with a wide grin. He handed a glass to Addison and said, “Good morning, Mrs. Shepherd.” He took a sip. “I like the sound of that.” Addison nodded mutely and fingered her glass, as if thinking what words would make this moment complete.
“I think we’re going to make it,” she said finally, and lifted the glass in a toast to him.
Derek leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Me too.”
The End
Author: lavenderseaslug
Recipient: sweetnarcosis
Pairing(s): Addison/Derek
Rating: PG
Summary: Addison has just recently come to Seattle. She and Derek have decided to make a go of it, and it's a series of moments in their day with flashbacks to moments when they were AddisonandDerek
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is not mine; I am making no profit.
Life is Just a Memory
“Will you still respect me in the morning?”
Addison had been staring up at the trailer’s ceiling when Derek broke the tension-filled silence with his question. She appreciated the gesture, though. It was Derek’s attempt to make this whole thing less awkward. She knew the routine; it was what he had asked her on their first night together. And it was a nice gesture, but it did nothing to ease the strain of the situation. Their thoughts were full of each other’s last lovers. Addison cruelly wondered how Meredith hadn’t been broken in two and Derek kept flashing back to seeing Addison and Mark together on his sheets. Addison drummed her fingers on her abdomen before responding. She turned to look at Derek and, her eyes serious, said, “Of course.”
“Will you still respect me in the morning?” Derek was acting suddenly shy and it endeared him to Addison all the more. He had been so eager to get to this stage and now he was being cautious. She bit her lip thoughtfully, pretending to mull the question over. Derek hit her playfully in the side. So she said, “Of course,” and Derek leaned in to place a kiss on her smiling mouth. “I make no promises for the afternoon, though,” she finished, and it earned her another hit on the side. A laugh escaped from her and Derek pulled her close. Addison met his gaze, turned suddenly serious, and found herself overcome with the urge to laugh again. She kissed Derek full on the mouth to suppress the giggle that was about to erupt, and he responded in such a way that left no room for laughter or silliness.
The Chinese food that Addison had brought over the previous night lay on the table, beyond an acceptable state of cold, even in comparison to the cold Chinese that they had enjoyed in their college days. It was still in the bag that Addison had carried it in, chopsticks sticking out through the handles, the unmistakable scent of old Chinese emanating from the containers. Addison sat up in bed, caught sight of the food, and flopped back down, covering her face with her hand, tears stinging her eyes.
It was the usual situation. There was an exam the next day and Derek realized he hadn’t learned anything since the previous exam. But Addison took copious notes, this he knew. He had watched her in amazement during class, her pen never slowing, her eyes fixed on the professor. And he knew that she would share her notes. So he bought the obligatory General Tso’s chicken and an order of shrimp fried rice to soften her up and went to her apartment. She buzzed him in with minimal mocking and they spent the rest of the night passing containers of food back and forth as Addison proceeded to teach Derek everything she knew about medicine.
Addison peered at the cold rice, wearing nothing but Derek’s shirt. She ate a cold piece of shrimp and wondered whether it would be safe to shower in the trailer or if she should go back to her hotel room to take care of hygiene. Derek had left already, claiming to have an early surgery. Addison hoped that was the case and not that he could no longer stand to be in close proximity to her, which was her fear. Deciding that the shower looked safe, and taking into account the fact that Derek showered there daily, Addison unbuttoned the plaid flannel shirt and let it drop to the ground.
“You secretly wish you were a flannel-wearing fisherman, don’t you?” Addison asked incredulously as Derek looked wistfully at the latest fly fishing rod that Sage had released.. “One of those crazy mountain men?”
“Maybe not mountains,” he said, but didn’t bother declining her other accusations. He touched the reel, and then felt the pole itself, sighing regretfully.
“But you like flannel,” she replied, her nose scrunched up a little bit in distaste. Flannel really wasn’t in her taste. She added to her mental list of things that she would endeavor to change about Derek. He sprang to the defense of his flannel- wearing habits and Addison gave it a rest. She might not understand the appeal herself, but if he wanted to be a flannel-wearing fisherman, she supposed she could let him indulge that dream, for a little while, anyway. A month later, for his birthday, he found a new fishing pole and a plaid flannel shirt waiting for him when he woke up.
Derek tapped his pen thoughtfully as he sat at his computer. He was avoiding everyone this morning. He was even doing his own paperwork and scut to avoid having to request an intern. It was just that he didn’t know if he could stand another one of Meredith’s friends silently judging him, he also didn’t want to answer any questions about Addison’s appearance, or even to deal with Addison, because he knew that she was going to have some sort of reaction to last night, and he really wasn’t in the mood to discuss it this morning. He ran a hand through his well-cared-for locks. As much as he hated to admit it, his hair was longer, as Addison had pointed out, and he wondered if it was, in fact, because of Addison’s thing for Russell Crowe.
Derek had dragged Addison to L.A. Confidential and had regretted it when Addison became enthralled by Russell’s performance. Since then, she’d rented or seen every movie he’d ever acted in and made Derek watch them with her. He’d groan when she’d slip the VHS into the tape player, but when she handed him a bowl of popcorn and settled herself against his chest, he’d usually quiet down. She commented several times on how great Derek would look with longer hair, telling him that it would frame his face and that it might be nice for him to try a new look. Derek had finally made a comment that he was fine with his hair the way it was, and that he didn’t need any advice, thank you very much. And Addison had dropped it, muttering something about men who spent more time on their hair than a woman. But Derek couldn’t help but notice that Russell Crowe’s hair wasn’t too bad.
Addison went to her hotel room to pack up the clothes she had brought with her. Several large suitcases filled with shoes and clothes found their way to a cab, which Addison directed to the trailer. It wasn’t until after the cab pulled away from her new home that Addison noticed that she simply had too much for the trailer. She hadn’t packed for trailer-life when coming to Seattle. She had packed for a fully furnished house. With many closets. And a room for her clothes. She sighed heavily and left the suitcases outside as she tried to negotiate space for them inside.
“I’ve never understood how you have so many clothes,” Derek said one night as he surveyed the contents of Addison’s room. Addison was in the process of reorganizing; she’d decided that arranging by color then style was the way to go and so had had to empty her entire closet.
“If you went to a private school for thirteen years, you might,” she had responded. Digs at her wardrobe, however slight, were never appreciated. Derek had obligingly started sorting piles of clothing by their hues while Addison emptied the closet of shoes. They passed the time in silence until Derek started humming “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” and Addison had laughed at him. He had thrown a sweater at her and said, “When we live together, your clothes are going to have a room of their own.” She would have responded by throwing another article of clothing back at him, but it would have defeated all of her previous organization, so she settled for sticking her tongue out at him and making mocking comments about Celine Dion.
When Derek came home, he found a disheveled Addison trying to close a drawer that was packed to the brim with shirts. She was pushing against it as hard as she could. Derek leaned against the doorframe and, smiling let loose a small sigh. She looked up when she heard him. “I didn’t want to rearrange your closets,” she said, looking slightly pitiful, surrounded by suitcases that looked as though they had exploded. “That means they would have to have been arranged in the first place,” Derek laughed and flung open the nearest closet. He grabbed his clothes and hurled them onto the bed, hangers and all. He placed a pair of Addison’s shoes in the bottom of the closet with a flourish and said, “You need the closets; you hate wrinkles.”
Derek was on ironing duty. His parents were meeting Addison for the first time and she was in a complete panic. He had ironed at least seven shirts, three pairs of pants, two dresses and hadn’t even seen a wrinkle on them to begin with. Addison finally picked an outfit and watched Derek like a hawk as he ironed, which did nothing for his current disposition. “You missed one,” she said as he made to turn off the iron.
“Where?” he asked challengingly. He was in no mood to iron any more invisible wrinkles.
“By the hem. There.” She pointed and Derek tried to make himself see a crease. He sighed, picked up the iron and smoothed it out, however infinitesimal it might have been. “Don’t you want them to like me?” Addison had asked. It was charming how worried she was. Derek couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Addison.
“Of course. But they would have liked you even with that wrinkle,” he answered and tweaked her nose with a cheeky grin.
When Addison was settling into the bed and preparing to fall asleep, she thought that this night was better than the previous. It was less awkward, less angry, less hurried. Addison rested her head on Derek’s chest, putting her hand next to her face, lightly running her fingers along his chest and he wrapped an arm around her and she liked that he was pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. She looked up into his face and he smiled at her. She understood why the interns all called him McDreamy, as embarrassing as it might be for him. He let his hand drift through her hair, working its way through the tangles that had appeared.
“I think we’re going to make it,” Addison murmured sleepily.
“Me too,” Derek said, almost automatically.
Addison sat on the balcony of their honeymoon suite wearing only the bath towel that she had wrapped around herself after the morning’s bath. Derek emerged from the darkened indoors, rubbing his eyes sleepily with one hand, and managing to carry two flutes of champagne in the other. Addison looked up as he entered and greeted him with a wide grin. He handed a glass to Addison and said, “Good morning, Mrs. Shepherd.” He took a sip. “I like the sound of that.” Addison nodded mutely and fingered her glass, as if thinking what words would make this moment complete.
“I think we’re going to make it,” she said finally, and lifted the glass in a toast to him.
Derek leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Me too.”
The End