A/N: Remember this story? It's been almost a year, which is pretty wild. I won't blame you if you've forgotten it entirely and want to go back and read the first chapter before this one. It's taken me since ... last September, I guess, to figure out where I wanted to go with this. I didn't expect to have two Season 3 stories at once and I wanted to make sure I knew about the very different directions they would go in. This story is going to take some inspiration from a variety of prompts - I'll credit them as they come up. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Terra Incognita
Chapter 2

She opens the door to her hotel room and backs away as he approaches until they're in much the same positions as they were the first time he visited this room.

She's looking at him, waiting, and he inhales a few times to start without saying anything.

I want to talk to you. Those were his words. He wasn't certain of them until he said them, but then he knew them to be true.

Except now he doesn't know what to say.

The room feels big and empty, and not very certain at all.

And still he doesn't say anything. His feet feel rooted to the carpet. His visit feels like a mistake.

She's studying his face.

"How much did Callie tell you?" she says after long moments of silence.

"She told me enough."

Addison nods, seeming to understand what he means. She walks to the window, and for another few moments of silence he's just looking at the back of her in her long white robe.

She says something he can't make out; he asks her to repeat it, moving closer at the same time so that when she spins around to speak again he's close enough to see the smudges of makeup around her eyes again.

"I thought maybe you had forgotten about her," she says quietly.

He swallows around the pain in his throat. "How … can you say that?"

Forgotten.

He only has to close his eyes to be assailed with images pinned one over the other like frozen photographs. The perfect outline of her profile, on the screen. The strength of her kicks from inside. Every plan, every whispered dream at night, every impossible small outfit his sisters couldn't resist buying, every time he held his wife close to thank her, thank you, you're amazing, you're so strong, for doing this, for bringing their daughter into the world.

And the day she arrived in the world.

The same day she left it.

Holding her in his arms – that same perfect face, so real and alive that it couldn't be true.

Derek, it's not true! You felt her kicking all night, you said she kept you up, she was kicking all morning. It's not true!

"Addison." He shakes his head. "How could you think I would forget about her?"

She glances out the window. "You forgot about me."

"That's not fair." He runs his hands through his hair, frustrated, gathering strength.

"Did you tell Meredith … about her?"

He shakes his head.

"So you didn't tell her about either of us."

There's something else in his throat now. Anger. "It's hardly the same thing, Addison."

He doesn't specify why. He doesn't have to. She didn't do anything wrong.

"Did you tell Callie?"

"No." Addison stares at the carpet. There's no reason, that's what she said to Callie, no reason she should be upset. And it was true, in a sense, because she'd mourned and she'd dealt with it and had plenty of heartbreaking cases since then and there was no reason why this case should affect her so strongly. And Callie didn't know about the study. And there's no reason it should affect her this strongly anyway. And there's no reason Derek needs to know about it.

No reason.

She details it for him.

"I've had full term stillborns since then. Late term spontaneous miscarriages. Two placental abruptions, one of them right before you left New York…"

And she stops talking.

Those were different.

Then I also had you.

"You didn't tell her," Derek confirms. "But she – "

" – saw I was … affected, yes," Addison says stiffly. "She, uh, she followed me in the bathroom."

"She knows you that well already?"

"No. I guess maybe she does now."

She turns to look out the window again and then she feels his hand resting on the back of her neck, applying just a little bit of pressure.

"Don't," she says quietly.

"Why not?"

Because she doesn't want to be reminded of his touch. Because it's too late.

"Because you have a girlfriend," she says.

She hears him sigh behind her. Feels the warmth of him behind her leaving, his breath sounds quieting, and when she glances over her shoulder he's sitting down on the side of the bed.

Like the last time.

Our marriage is over.

Yeah, I guess it is.

There's something boyish, almost – hopeful – in his eyes, incongruously, and she sits down next to him rather than try to explore it.

He glances at her, and something catches the light.

"You're still wearing your rings."

"They're stuck. I told you."

"You didn't try soap…"

"Like your bubble bath with Meredith, you mean?"

He looks surprised and a little embarrassed, which was her goal. "Addison…"

"Surprised I know about that?"

He nods, looking troubled.

"I heard her talking to someone. Gossip gets around a hospital, you'd think you'd know that after all these years."

"Addison."

"Soap," she repeats bitterly. "You must have had a good laugh at my expense."

"I didn't," he says immediately. His face is a combination of surprise and guilt. It's Derek, faced with the unusual reality that he can cause pain. And then his eyes soften – probably thinking about his girlfriend.

His newfound happiness.

"Derek … tell me something. How did you move on so quickly?"

"You moved on while we were still married," he reminds her.

"I didn't, though. I made a mistake, I get that, believe me, I think I've been punished plenty for it, but I never moved on from you. I wanted to make it work." Her voice thins and she swallows hard.

"I felt like we owed her that."

"Addison," he says quietly.

"Forget it."

"No, I don't want to, I … it's not fair for you to make this about her."

It's not fair. It's not fair that she doesn't – that she can't – Derek, it's not fair!

She doesn't respond.

"I wanted to make it work too," he reminds her.

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I tried to make it work."

"You didn't do that either."

"Okay. I think this is becoming … unproductive." He stands up. "Do you have everything you need? Water, Advil, ginger ale, something greasy on the room service menu for breakfast?"

He gives her a benevolent, impersonal smile that floods her with anger, and then she's standing too.

"Screw you."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, screw you. That's a clueless question even for you. Do I have everything I need. Look around you, Derek, I don't have anything, period."

"Addison. You're being melodramatic."

"So leave, Derek. You have no obligation to me anymore."

"That's not what I mean."

"Go back to your perfect little intern."

"Addison." He looks down at the bed. "I came here because I wanted to talk to you."

She stares at him for a moment.

"I still want to talk to you," he says quietly.

She's pulling on the ends of her hair in frustration like she used to in medical school, bent over a difficult problem set, and when she looks at him he thinks she's going to say no.

And he's not sure of his next move if she does.

"Fine," she says after a long moment. "But I want to change first."

We both changed. That's the problem.

She leaves him in the room and finds the first casual clothes at the top of her drawers. In the bathroom, she hangs her robe, slowly, smoothing out the creases so it will dry evenly.

When in doubt, be precise.

Be the process.

Keep busy.

..

"That's mine," he says, surprising her, when she rejoins him.

She looks down, confused. Not you, he doesn't mean you. You're not his anymore.

Must be the faded Harvard t-shirt she's wearing, then.

"No, it's not. It was Archie's."

"It is," he insists. "It's the one Liz got for me when – "

"No, it's not," she repeats, but he's at her side, apparently trying to look at the tag.

"Derek, stop." She pulls away sharply.

He does, looking a little hurt.

"Listen, I know you've moved on, but I – haven't, not yet, and I need you to … keep your distance."

He nods, looking a little sad for some reason.

"Derek … why did you come here?"

"I just wanted to see if you were all right," he says quietly.

"So you said. And you've seen that I'm great." Her voice drips with sarcasm.

"You're not making this very easy, you know," he mutters.

"It's not my job to make things easy for you. We're not married anymore," she reminds him, unnecessarily. "And you have a girlfriend." She pauses. "Where does Meredith think you are now?"

"That's not your concern." He softens his tone at her expression. "I just mean – you don't need to worry about her."

"You do, though."

"Addison – "

"You worry about her. You think about her."

He doesn't respond.

"You hardly know her," she says.

She doesn't sound angry, or bitter. Not even resigned. Just factual, and vaguely interested.

"I know her, Addison."

"You slept with her for a few months, and then you strung her along for double that. Barely a year, Derek."

"What's your point?"

She walks over to the window as if she's looking for something along the skyline, then turns back to him. "A few months is nothing. A year is nothing. Everything's different the first year. You only see what you want to see."

He considers this. "Is that how it was for you, our first year?"

"We were kids," Addison says quietly. "So young, so earnest. We didn't even … we wouldn't know how. Artifice. I don't know."

She sounds, suddenly, very exhausted, and he wonders if she's avoiding sitting down again because he's making her uncomfortable.

He sits down anyway and glances at the open space next to him. She walks about halfway back and stops, just … looking at him.

"You wanted to talk," she says. "Are you done? Have you talked?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I wanted to … say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're so unhappy in Seattle."

"Are you sorry that you're why I'm so unhappy?"

His mouth twitches. "Don't sugarcoat it, Addie."

"I won't … don't worry."

"I don't want to belabor the point," he says quietly, "and I am sorry you're so unhappy, but I don't think it's fair to suggest that where we ended up is entirely my fault."

"Where did we end up?"

"I…" His voice trails off. "You know what I mean."

"I do, but you don't know what I mean," she insists. "You could have stopped all this."

"Excuse me." He expected her to blame him, and he can't fully blame her for that, not when she's alone and unhappy while he's moved on, but … it's still a little ridiculous to suggest it's entirely his fault. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I offered to leave. Derek … why couldn't you just send me back to New York when I got here? I offered, I brought papers, I …"

"Did you want to go back to New York?" he asks pointedly – at first as a challenge, and then slowly realizing that he has no idea what she intended the day she stalked into the hospital. To get him back, to rub his nose in it, to interfere with his new relationship, to stake her claim to any territory he could find?

"No," she admits. "Not without you."

He studies his folded hands.

"At least I know people there. In New York."

He looks up to see her expression is far away.

"So go back." He says it without malice. "You can move back there, Addie."

She exhales a puff of frustrated air. "That will look great on my CV. You think anyone's going to want to partner with me after what I pulled moving here on no notice?"

"So get on faculty and – "

"I'm not looking for career advice," she snaps.

He's silent for a moment. Sitting down while she's standing up feels wrong; he stands up too and she takes an automatic step back, it seems, to put more distance between them.

So she blames him for the fact that she's in Seattle. Even though she wanted him to take her back. And she knew he could never go back to New York.

He can sort of see her point there. But he wasn't playing a long game; far from it. The magnetic pull that kept drawing him back to Meredith surprised him too.

"I didn't know this was going to happen," he says finally.

"What, screwing Meredith while I was waiting for you down the hall?"

"Yes," he says simply. "I wouldn't put it exactly that way, but …"

"I did put it that way. I do. It's just …" She pauses, presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"Addie …"

She doesn't stop him approaching or doesn't notice it but she jerks away when he touches her shoulder.

"Don't."

He nods.

He's tired too; he sits back down on the bed and just … waits for her; after a moment she sits next to him.

The weight of his hand settles on her shoulder this time, and she lets it.

They sit in silence for a few long moments while she ignores the sound of his heartbeat and he pretends not to recognize the scent of her shampoo.

"How did you do it?" she asks finally. "How did you move on so fast?"

"I … I don't know." He studies his steepled fingers, and then she does too.

His long familiar fingers, that have touched her a thousand times in a thousand different ways, that used to communicate without words … they're just fingers, now.

No ring.

"I don't understand it," she says. "How you can just – turn it off. Just turn off everything."

"That's not …" His voice trails off. "There's no switch to turn to just … turn off loving someone you've loved for so long," he admits after a long moment.

She blinks, taking in his words.

"I'm surprised to hear you say that … because it's exactly what you did."

"No, it's not." He pauses. "Maybe I'm better at faking it than you are."

She shakes her head. "No, Derek. If you remembered what we had, you wouldn't … act the way you did. The way you have been."

"What way is that?"

"Like I'm less than nothing."

"Addison …"

"I know, Derek. I know you don't owe me anything. It's just – you don't need to cut me down either."

"I … didn't. I don't think I did."

His face looks – innocent, of course it does. Derek always looks innocent. It would be so easy to agree, to take all the responsibility.

"You couldn't be rid of me fast enough."

"That's not fair, Addie, I tried. I did. And I'm not rid of you. You still live here, don't you?"

"Yeah." She stands up off the bed. "Don't remind me."

"I know things are – difficult right now, but is Seattle really that bad?" He joins her at the window.

"Don't make me answer that," she says. Her tone is light enough that she might be kidding, but when she looks at him there are tears pooling in her sea green eyes, greener where they're moist and he feels the need to leave before he does something stupid.

Except he can't; something is keeping him here.

Duty, he assumes.

Obligation.

What we owe to each other.

"Addie, I know you don't know as many people here as you do in New York. Or have as many … friends. But we can be friends," he says. "You and I. We can be friends."

Her eyebrows arch. "Like you and Meredith were friends?"

His vision blurs with a dozen memories of seeking Meredith out: at the hospital. On the trail with Doc barking happily between them. Does Addison know we're friends?

"I guess I deserve that," he admits.

He's tired. He feels tired. The bed meets the back of his legs and he's sitting, hands on his thighs, gathering breath. She stands there watching him for a while, and then she sits down next to him.

"I miss you," she says very quietly.

His stomach hollows. "Addie …"

"No, I just mean – I miss you almost enough to say yeah, let's be friends, even if it's a terrible idea and will make everything worse because … then I'd get to see you, maybe. So I can't exactly blame Meredith for doing the same thing. When we were married."

It's a little convoluted, but he gets it.

"Does that mean that you – "

"No." She shakes her head. "I don't know how to erase everything, Derek. I don't know how to forget everything. I wish I did."

She presses one hand to her face.

Carefully, he reaches out to wrap an arm around her and she lets him; she doesn't lean fully into him but she doesn't shove him off either. They sit there for long moments breathing quietly together.

"I didn't forget her," he says finally. "I didn't. And I didn't forget you either."

"Okay." She keeps her voice steady with all she has; it's not easy. "Thank you for saying that."

"I'm not just saying that, Addison. I mean it." He draws back, reaching to brush a piece of stray hair from her face, automatically. She flinches a little as if she expects him to hurt her.

"Addie."

"Derek … please don't," she says softly.

But he keeps going, perhaps unwisely.

"The friends thing – I wasn't trying to – I just mean you can talk to me. You know, if you …"

"Have a lousy day?"

He nods.

Her mouth twists a little, foretelling tears. "What if you're the cause of my lousy day?"

"Then I'm sorry," he says simply. "I hope I'm not the cause of any others."

"But you might be." She looks at him. "You're … dating Meredith. That's why you're so happy."

"I'm dating Meredith. Or trying to, anyway. We don't need to talk about this," he adds automatically.

Addison is still studying his face. "She makes you happy?"

He looks uncomfortable. "Addie …"

"I used to make you happy," she says softly.

"You did. And I used to make you happy, too," he reminds her.

She ignores his comment. "And now you walk around the hospital like you don't even know me. Like I'm a stranger."

"I don't – I don't know how to do this, Addie. I've never been divorced before."

"How do you go from living with me and – plans, Derek, we were making plans, we had … tickets for things, a calendar, we had reservations, we had plans – "

He stems the pity party with a brief handful of words: "We had plans when you slept with Mark, too."

"But I'm actually sorry I did that," she says. "I've apologized every way I can, I tried to make it up to you, I spent a year doing penance, it is not the same thing. I tried from the beginning to show you how sorry I was. You couldn't even be bothered to talk to me afterwards. To tell me what you did with her. I had to find out myself."

"I looked for you," he says abruptly. "To try to talk to you, after the prom, I called every hotel I could think of and …"

"And that's it. No friends to ask."

"You're friends with Callie Torres."

"Now, maybe. Not then."

"You're still angry with me," he says. "For … the prom. For the prom?" He says it again as if he's not sure. As if he's forgotten everything that led up to it.

"No. I don't know. I'm sad. This is sad."

"Yeah." His shoulders pitch forward, just a little bit. Enough for her to notice. "This is sad."

They sit side by side without speaking on the end of the bed. She looks everywhere but at the door to the bathroom that opened that night, steam rolling around Mark's chiseled body and smirking face. Whatever his intent, what he did was absolve Derek of any guilt he had for the end of their marriage. What a pal he was to Derek. What a friend.

That night her husband looked at her like a stranger, with cool amusement, even excitement for the rest of his life without her.

Except she knows he started the process of forgetting her long before that night.

Of pretending their marriage never mattered.

Rewriting history.

"We had something, Derek." Her voice shakes a little. "It wasn't nothing, it wasn't … maybe things were bad, by the end, and maybe you wish I'd never come out to Seattle at all, but we had something special. You and me."

"I know that," he says quietly. "I know we did. Look, Addie, if you need – "

"I don't," she says. I don't need anything from you.

It's not the first time she's said it.

It's not the first time it's been a lie.

His face is unreadable and then something flickers in his eyes.

"Have lunch with me," he proposes.

"Excuse me?"

"Lunch. With me. Tomorrow."

"Derek, I just said – "

"I know you don't need anything from me. But you do need lunch. Everyone needs lunch."

She shakes her head, tired all over again at this – hearty version of him. The chipper one. The happiness that has nothing to do with her.

"No," she says simply.

"Do you have other plans for lunch?" he persists.

"You know I don't."

"Then eat with me."

"Derek, you don't have to – "

"I know I don't. And you don't have to say yes."

His face morphs, fills out into youth again, and he's waiting for her answer to a very different question.

Look, you don't have to say yes, but I want to ask you anyway – okay, Addie, you've got to stop crying because you're going to get so mad at me if your face is all puffy when we take pictures –

She said yes, then.

He asked, and she said yes, and life happened and they signed their names and now … they're here.

"Fine. Maybe." She sounds irritable – he's not sure what he expected. "If I'm not working," she adds.

Which is pretty much saying no outright without saying it.

He doesn't really want to leave like this. Or he shouldn't, anyway. It's not right.

"Addison – "

"Derek, it's okay." She pushes her hair away from her face. "Look … I'm tired," she says.

Like so many times, it's an understatement.

He doesn't push it. He pushes to his feet instead, just nodding.

Her hands are weaving over each other, fussing with the hem of the t-shirt he's still confident was his first. She does look tired. But not at ease.

"Are you sure … ?"

He stops talking. He sees her gaze flicker toward a bottle of wine on the bedside table.

He supposes he can't blame her for expecting more comfort from that bottle than from him, for waiting for him to leave so she can try to soothe the pain.

"Okay." He studies her closed face for a moment; she's looking away. "Try to get some sleep, Addie," he suggests.

She walks him to the door, but he has the sense it's more to ensure his exit than out of any desire to keep talking.

"Addison." He tries one more time. "If you need – "

"I'm fine. I appreciate your checking on me," she says stiffly, as if she's thanking the caterer after one of her charity events, and he has to pull his hand away when she closes the door, leaving him on the other side.

..

He stands on the thick carpet outside the door to her hotel room, breathing deeply, gathering himself. He's exhausted.

He needs a solitary drive to the peace of the woods. He needs a hot shower, and a drink, and clean green air. He needs to be alone. He needs the space to forget tonight.

I didn't forget her. And I didn't forget you either.

Her face is hanging in the front of his vision though, pale with faintly smeared with makeup, a blank canvas for the sadness that's harder to ignore when he's looking right at her.

Fine, she said about lunch. Maybe.

She won't let him make amends.

She won't let him do anything.

He's halfway down the hall when he realizes he doesn't like the way they left things.

He's almost at the elevators when he figures out he can try to change that.

She wanted – he's not sure what she wanted. Apologies? Sympathy? To talk? He said he wanted to talk to her, and then he … said things. And so did she.

And he has the uncomfortable feeling he left her worse than he found her.

The bottle of wine on her bedside table – she must have been waiting to drink it.

He walks faster, almost back at her door now. He can fix this. He can have a drink with her, keep her company for a little while longer so she's not drinking alone. He can do that much. He'll chase it with water and be fine to drive back to the trailer, and then he can have his peaceful night alone.

It's simple.

"Derek?" she asks, sounding confused when she pulls open the door, apparently having looked through the peephole this time. "Did you forget something?"

He opens his mouth to answer.

Addison is looking up at him curiously, her eyes huge in the low light. She blinks a little like he woke her up, but he's the one who's starting to feel like he's been half asleep.

"Derek? Are you okay?"

Now she looks worried.

He puts out a hand – to reassure her, he thinks, but then it's touching her warm skin and the soft worn material of her shirt; her eyes are widening and then her arms are around him – and his around her – she's falling into him as the door closes behind them and braces both their bodies, as their lips crash together with far less finesse than urgency.

He almost forgot that nothing with Addison is simple.

To be continued. Not in a year. And I'm trying this new thing where I write human-sized chapters. It's going to let me update more. So expect the next few to be shorter, but faster, and if you want to keep reading I hope you'll encourage me along. I don't write non-Addek Addek so this will be a reconciliation story, but as the title indicates, this is uncharted territory. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you'll let me know what you think.