Hi. I am winter, and I am ridiculous. ("Hi, winter.") I've never said I was anything other than pure Shondaland shipper trash, and I am okay with that. I am hard at work on updating my WIPs - which for me means a lot of rereading and lot of, like, 200-page outlines, but I'm on it. (MerDer folks who might be checking this out, it's definitely Addek endgame though, like all my stuff, Mer-friendly, but I have an update of Take Your Life and Light it Up in the very close to being done stage, never fear). ANYWAY, then ThrawnsGirl requested an abortion reveal in an FTS and made the very generous of mistake of giving me free rein of when to set it, and an anonymous guest on FTS asked for an Addek baby in Season 2. I'm lately in love with the back handful of episodes of Season 2, which combine some genuinely couple-y Addek moments with some of the worst betrayals from both their ends. There's this uncomfortable, glorious period where the viewers have learned that Mark and Addison had a relationship and also Derek has started his "friendship" with Meredith and everyone's doing a combination of lying and trying and it's toxic and heartbreaking and wonderful. I've written lots of things touching on or in or around this period. (Most recently a flip set around those surreptitious dog walks.) This was going to be a flip, but I realized I needed several chapters to get where I wanted to go. I don't anticipate this becoming a huge, long monstrosity, but maybe half a dozen chapters assuming you'd like me to continue. So, the two requests: Addison is pregnant in season 2, and Addison tells Derek about her abortion, and I realized that they could, would, and would have to go hand in soul-crushing hand. The setting is late Season 2, somewhere around episode 2.20 (as in, post-Mark, pre-shower sex).

Major thank you to the best and most generous and encouraging readers, who tolerate my occasional hiatuses and are all "hiatus, winter, it's what you do best" but still forgive me in the end because I will always be back to fill your inbox with Addek trash.

Finally, the title came out of nowhere but really worked for me since this piece will be all about the different things Derek and Addison are keeping from each other. That said, even though I took six years of Latin, I still never pictured myself as someone who would have two Latin-titled stories going on at once. You never know, do you?

Happy reading!

Quid Pro Quo
..

It's been one of those days.

Okay, fine, every day here is one of those days.

But lately they've been … well. The point is, she's decided she's going to turn it around today. She's going to be patient. And kind. Hell, she'll even be sweet if that's what necessary to get by here. To get her husband to look at her here, post-Mark, post-Meredith, post-Mark-again.

Just … be sweet.

(Can't be that hard to fake, right?)

Except all sweet gets her is agreeing to a tetanus booster shot from one of the twelve-year-old student nurses so she can finish her clinicals.

And Derek isn't even within earshot, so it's not like she gets any credit for offering up her arm to the none-too-tender ministrations of a girl who looks like she was born during the Clinton administration.

The girl – woman, Addie, come on – the woman – has long dark hair that at least she's tied up and is wearing bright pink scrubs with the kind of self-consciousness that shows she's not sick of them yet. Addison tries to remember being young and excited. Just being young is a stretch, these days.

But sweet. Right. Patient, and kind.

"I'm due in the OR in three hours," Addison says in her sweetest voice. "Do you think we'll be finished by then … Kylie?"

Kylie.

"Oh! Yes. I mean, yes, like, before then. For sure."

"Oh, good."

And then the battery of questions.

Which – why are these necessary for a tetanus shot? Addison puts up with them in the hopes that Satan Is a Good Sport After All might become the new refrain at Seattle Grace. Plus, she can admit without even too much grudging that educating the next generation of student nurses, even if they look like they're in fifth grade, ultimately benefits everyone.

Still, there is a limit.

"No, I do not need you to get a current weight for me," Addison says tightly. She holds back on mentioning the added poundage of her jewelry; it's the kind of joke she'll save for Savvy the next time she makes a whispered phone call from the porch late at night. When sleeping in that claustrophobic little cell of a space gets to be too much.

Plus, she's fairly certain she's still retaining water from the cross-country flight. Fine, it was quite a few months ago now, but it was long. And she had to buy a last-minute seat, and –

"I'm sorry, why do you need to know the date of my last period in order to give me a tetanus shot?" Addison asks, keeping her voice patient. And kind.

"It's, um … it's on the form." Kylie – seriously, Kylie – at least has the good grace to look embarrassed. "Do you want me to write that you prefer not to say, or – "

"Fine." Addison tries hard not to roll her eyes. At least this isn't the kind of information that can be used against her later. She reaches for her blackberry to check the calendar.

"It was – "

And freezes.

And then sweet is the last thing on her mind.

..

"Derek."

He doesn't turn around.

"Derek!"

It's not that he doesn't hear her following him down the hallway. Chasing him down the hallway, really. He could have identified her by the sound of her shoes alone, but she's also calling his name. Overkill isn't usually her style, but then she's surprised him a number of times over the last few months.

Her strides are long enough to catch up fairly quickly, and he finally turns around once it's impossible to ignore her.

"Didn't you hear me?" she asks, sounding annoyed and a little breathless.

"I turned around, didn't I?"

"That's not an answer."

"Addison." He glances at his blackberry. "I don't really have time for this."

She mutters something he can't make out.

"Excuse me?"

"Forget it." She gives him a smile that looks more like baring her teeth – to him, anyway. "I need to talk to you," she says.

"Now's not a good time."

"Now is never a good time for you, Derek, but I still need to talk to you."

"Well, unless you also have an anaplastic astrocytoma, my afternoon is booked."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she mutters.

He shakes his head. "I'm not doing this with you now. I need to work. We can talk about this at – what's wrong with your arm?" he asks, frowning. She turns to look at where she's massaging her upper arm with the hand of her other arm, a little absently, he realizes, as if she didn't notice it either.

"My – oh, I had a tetanus booster." She sounds distracted, like she's just remembering it. Whatever's going on with her is presumably designed to irritate or manipulate him, if he knows her, and he's pretty sure – despite the last few months – that he does in fact know her.

And he's annoyed.

"Look, Derek, I just want to – "

But he interrupts her, moving a little closer and lowering his voice. Addison always wants something.

"You already have what you want, Addie. I took you back, I ended things with Meredith, like you wanted … that doesn't mean you get everything else you want too."

Her eyes are wide; for once, she seems not to have anything to say in response.

"I'll just see you at home," he says after a moment and hopes she can't tell, from the way he walks away, that he knows she's still staring at him.

..

She spends a long time sitting at her desk in the office that feels unfamiliar, still, staring at her left hand. Sometimes she runs the fingers of her right hand over her rings. Just for a little proof that she didn't make it all up. That he did love her, once. He bought rings. He knelt down, in public, no less, and Derek didn't like doing things like that in public, didn't even like dancing in public, but he'd say that was different, that was before you. He'd say that she made him want to do things.

That's the same Derek who looks at her so coldly, like he doesn't even remember her. Like she's a stranger. Angry she interrupted the life he was building here.

The thing is, she gets it. What she did to him – she gets it. And the fact that he doesn't know the half of it?

She gets that too. Maybe she's Satan. Maybe she's an adulterous bitch. But it doesn't do much for the persistent, gnawing guilt that leaves her hollow and exhausted every single day in this miserable city.

And that was … before.

Because if there's one thing she's learned, as a doctor, it's that there's always a before, when something's happened.

And whether Derek wants to talk to her or not … something's happened.

..

Derek feels guilty about their conversation in the hallway.

He doesn't say that, of course, or even imply it, but one of the privileges of eleven years of marriage is being able to read the little things about your spouse and she can tell just by the way he sits down to take off his shoes.

Just by the sound of it, because she's lying in bed pretending to be asleep. He won't want to talk, and she won't want to be rebuffed again, so better to forestall the whole thing.

She lies there, without saying anything, listening to the familiar sound of his getting ready for bed. Even in this tiny echoing space that's so different from any bedroom they've shared, his routine sounds familiar.

The air shifts when he gets closer. She's sleeping on the side closer to the door, her preferred side and his too, so that when she's there first she just … goes to sleep there, and lets him wake her to move when he gets home. He could climb over her and take the other side but that's not Derek's style. It's his trailer. It's his life. She's the one who should feel displaced.

And she does, so it must be working.

Then she feels the mattress dip, surprised; he's sat down on the small gap of space next to her.

"I know you're awake," he says.

She opens her eyes; artifice feels like a lot of work at this point. He looks a little fuzzy in the low light. "You don't know everything," she says.

"I know you're terrible at faking sleep."

It should be an easy transition from terrible at faking to the other terrible things she's done. Faking to lying to cheating. She waits for him to take the bait, but he doesn't.

He's quiet for a moment, looking at her. She notes without victory, just dull resignation, that she was right before. About the shoes. He does feel a little bad.

Good.

But he still doesn't say anything.

"What?" she asks finally, a little irritably.

He looks down at the covers. "You said you wanted to talk to me."

"Earlier, you mean?"

He nods, even though they both know exactly what he meant.

"I didn't say I wanted to talk to you. I said I needed to talk to you."

He makes a depreciating sort of gesture as if to say, same thing, but they both know too that it's not.

"Fine. Needed to talk to me," he repeats.

When she doesn't respond, he sighs a little. "I'm here now, so would you just – if you want to talk to me – "

She raises an eyebrow.

"Need to talk to me," he corrects himself, "then talk to me."

"It's too late now," she announces and he can't seem to help himself from rolling his eyes, looking aggravated.

"Why do you have to do this?" he asks, shaking his head.

"I guess I'm just a bitch," she says pleasantly. She needs to keep it pleasant because if she starts talking, she's going to cry, and if she starts crying, then it's all over.

He looks down at her for a moment, still sitting on the side of the bed. Then he stands up.

"Are you going to move over?" he asks. His tone is neutral, like he's asking someone ahead of him on line at Starbucks.

She moves wordlessly to the side to give him the better spot in the bed. She gets her own benefit: turned away, facing the window and the wall, she doesn't have to look at him. She's much less likely to cry now.

The mattress dips as he gets in beside her. But she winces when she tries to settle on her side; the damn tetanus booster has done its work.

"Now what?" Derek asks.

"Nothing." She tries to shift to ease the pressure on her upper arm and gets the sense he's still watching her. Now he's interested? Somewhat darkly she hopes he doesn't plan to try anything. She's made a practice of saying yes, or at least not saying no, since that first awkward encounter on Thanksgiving.

"From the booster," he says.

She's a little surprised he remembers. Since when does he listen to her?

"Right." She pauses, hoping her turned posture is sufficiently discouraging for anything more interesting than sleeping. "Good night," she says after a moment.

"Good night, Addison."

But she's having trouble getting comfortable. If she can't sleep on her left side then it will have to be her right, which would be the best way to keep her sore bicep away from the pressure of the mattress. But that also means turning to face her husband.

When she finally does, she sees he's lying on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Awake.

"Still hurts?" he asks.

Like you wouldn't believe.

"Yeah, a little."

"So sensitive," he teases her lightly, like he used to when they'd line up together for the mandatory flu shots in the hospital every fall. Be gentle with Dr. Shepherd, he instructed the nurse and she looked as besotted by the twinkle in his eyes as Addison herself was – so she couldn't judge.

She misses that Derek.

"I was helping a student nurse finish her clinical numbers," Addison says in a small voice, feeling a little ridiculous, but still wanting some validation. Even after everything, wasn't that the whole point?

"That was nice of you," Derek says, and even though it's embarrassing, she feels a little spark of warmth in her midsection. "Nice," he repeats, "… and maybe a little stupid." Before she really registers what he's doing, he's turned toward her and is running a gentle hand over the sore spot on her upper arm.

"Ow," she says, pulling away.

"Would you just – "

"Fine." She offers him her arm again, then finds herself, for some reason, defensive of Kylie with her long ponytail and nervous questions. "She did a fine job," Addison says. "It's not her fault. I'm just … ." Her voice trails off.

"Sensitive," Derek suggests.

"Sensitive," she echoes. "You think so?"

"I think so," he says. He's gripping her arm carefully now, just barely massaging the knot under the skin with his thumb, and she can't deny it's effective.

"I thought I was Satan."

"You can't be both?" His voice has that teasing quality again. Maybe he only likes her in the dark.

When he can't really see her.

I look at you and I feel nauseous.

But they have to turn on the lights sometime.

"Better?" he asks.

Than what?

"Yes. Thank you."

She sounds so formal. With the man she's been married to for eleven years. Yes, doctor, the treatment appears to be working. Thanks so much for your services.

"Good." He releases her arm and she hopes it's not obvious that she misses the contact. He rolls onto his back again and she's left there on her side, facing him. She's looking right at the spot on his chest where she used to rest her head, but it's not hers any more than he is, now.

He may still feel a little guilty, but she … she feels a lot guilty. About a lot of things.

She closes her eyes. She has a feeling she's going to be awake for a while. But Derek is already three quarters of the way to slumber so he won't notice, at least, if she has to fake sleep for a few hours.

He was right, you know. She's terrible at faking sleep.

She has a faint stab of hope – and of regret, too, all at the same time – that she's at least better at faking other things.

..

He wakes up early with Doc before the eager dog can wake Addison. He already has both paws on the bed and an expression of pure canine enthusiasm when Derek swings his legs out.

"You want to go for a – outside?" Derek whispers, realizing a moment too late that he came far too close to the word walk for any kind of calm reaction. Doc barks joyfully and loudly, claws scrabbling the trailer floors when he darts in joyous circles.

"Derek?" Addison is rubbing her eyes. "It's my turn to take him out."

"I'm already up." He steps into his boots, noticing that his words sound sincere. Addison doesn't need to know that he feels a little – well, that she could use some extra sleep, is the point. "Go back to sleep," he says.

The thing is … being a dog is enviable.

This is what he decides while he walks with Doc's leash loosely on one hand and Doc expresses boundless enthusiasm for every square inch of their regular morning routine.

It's crisp outside – not quite spring, not quite not. He's still getting used to the weather here. When Addison complains, he pretends it's ideal. Contradicting her is more important than the truth, which is that it's different. Whether it's better or worse … it's different. Things are different now.

..

"I thought you were off duty this morning."

He looks up, squinting a little in the faint sun, at the familiar face. "Change of plans," he says.

"Yes. I got that from your call. See, this is why it's hard to keep up with you." She says it like she's joking, her tone light and amused.

They cover ground quickly, sharing a water bottle and morning energy alike. They're cresting the hill when Doc canters away from them to smell a patch of rocks and Meredith pauses to run her fingers through her hair.

Then she looks at him.

"Derek."

"Hm?"

"Nothing's wrong with Addison, is there?"

Oh, plenty is wrong with Addison.

"No. What do you mean?" he asks.

"One of the student nurses told Monica that Addison bolted out of the room yesterday in the middle of … something."

"Ah." He studies her face for a moment, alive here in the outdoors with the rustling of other hikers and leaves and small animal noises. "Is this what passes for gossip in the hospital halls these days?"

"I guess it's been slow since the big news." Her tone isn't accusatory, but he feels the accusation nonetheless. Since Addison got here and the two of you blew up my life.

"Addison … is not a fan of shots," he says, "despite being a doctor. She's been bolting out of exam rooms for years." He pauses. "How did you find out this … fascinating news, anyway?"

"Monica and I were stuck in the scrub room for twenty minutes yesterday afternoon waiting for Pierson," she says, accepting the distraction easily. "He really makes his own schedule. Which is – yeah, I know he's amazing, but so are you and you're always on time."

"Not everyone can be me."

"No … they can't."

She's looking at him in a way that makes him feel a little uncomfortable.

He shouldn't feel uncomfortable.

Yes, he called her, and told her he was walking Doc this morning. And they would have met tomorrow, when he walked Doc, even if he hadn't called.

But it's just a walk.

It's just a walk, and they're friends.

Why shouldn't he have friends?

"Meredith – "

"I'm supposed to work with Dr. Agarwal today," she says, and he's intensely grateful that she's picked another topic, "which I was really excited about but now I don't think I can look him in the eyes after Izzie saw his iPod in the elevator last night and he was listening to Britney Spears." She sounds amused. "Britney Spears. I mean, there are weird surgical rituals … and then there's Britney Spears."

Doc interrupts, barking joyfully at the sight of a squirrel, then bolting back to them to jump up on each of their legs in turn.

"So hospital gossip is exciting, then," he says.

"That's what I'm saying." She gives him a sideways smile that tenses his muscles.

"Meredith – "

"Doc, no!"

She's chasing him up the path. "Spit that out!" she commands and Doc looks up at her with bright-eyed puzzlement, then darts away.

"Derek, would you just – stop laughing, it's disgusting."

"It's just an old shoe."

"There could be an old foot in it!"

"What kind of a trail do you think this is?" he asks, but at a look from her he consents to help her chase Doc and wrestle the old shoe out of his gleefully furry muzzle. Their hands meet in his fur and he has a momentary spark of – something. And then he snaps out of it.

"I should head back," he says, beckoning Doc and then re-clipping his leash. "You coming?"

"I might stay a little longer," she says. "I have late call."

"Okay." He pauses a few paces away. It's a busy trail, with plenty of walkers and hikers in the morning, and Meredith has a cell phone. "See you at work, then," he says.

"I'll be there," she responds without turning around. One of her arms is lifted to shade her eyes; she's looking up the trail – at what, he's not sure.

..

The thing is, she has no idea what she would have told him, if he'd been willing to talk to her yesterday. When she needed him. When the shock of it was still – the thing is that she's ninety percent bluff sometimes, and she gets that. So she showers like she lives here and she grinds beans she bought herself that Derek pretends to hate.

So, honey, the thing is, I kind of lost track of time here in this depressing town and I didn't quite realize that I was late. Like really late. Like the kind of late my patients are when they come visit me and then I stick a wand in –

Maybe not like that.

The thing with boring sex is, it doesn't actually have to be exciting to get the job done, as long as –

She's been taking hormonal birth control for years. It's part of her regular routine. Like Derek complaining about how much she spends on coffee beans, even though he knows and she knows he knows that her coffee just tastes better.

And here's the thing. No, here are three things. Three things she knows:

First, her routine is off. What passes for routine, here in Seattle, isn't really routine at all.

Second, the pill isn't a hundred percent effective, because nothing is except abstinence, and we all know how good she is at that.

And third, finally, she's an OBGYN by training and she knows that for whatever reason, a pregnancy is more likely … after another pregnancy.

It's one of those snake-eating-its-own-tail frustrating facts that makes OBGYN both fascinating and heartbreaking, but she's seen it time and time again.

Which means that it's not one pregnancy she's currently keeping from Derek.

It's two.

..

"How was your walk?" Addison asks when he lets himself back into the trailer.

He has to stifle his knee-jerk response – she's actually not being passive-aggressive for once, she has no idea you were walking with Meredith. "It was fine," he says, unclipping Doc, who bounds toward Addison with glee. She sets down her coffee and squats in front of him to greet him, burying her hands in his fur. The sight of her hands – so different from Meredith's, so much bigger and with the light-catching rings – buried in that same fur makes him feel distinctly unsettled.

He pours a cup of coffee to distract himself, so he won't watch, and won't think how much most of the denizens of Seattle Grace would be somewhere between shocked and amused to see Satan crouching on the floor in her robe cooing adoringly to the faintly muddy and barely trained mutt, who is currently licking her face.

Addison stands up finally and leans against the counter. "I knew it was the right call to wait to do my makeup," she says a little ruefully. Doc, nestled loyally by her feet, lets his tongue loll a bit as if to take credit. It's hard not to smile.

"We could train him," he suggests.

"We could." Addison looks down at Doc. "Not that he's not great the way he is."

"He is great. Obedient … not so much. But great."

"He knows some commands. Doesn't he?" Addison looks down. "Doc. Sit," she says.

"He's already sitting, Addison."

"I know. But he stayed sitting, didn't he?"

"Pretty sure you've trained a few residents who'd be surprised by what you apparently think counts as obedience."

She smiles a little at this. "Did he give you any trouble out on the trail?"

"No. Well, he did try to eat a particularly filthy stray shoe. I had to chase him down."

"We know he likes to eat shoes." Addison takes a sip of coffee. "At least it wasn't one of mine."

"No, it definitely wasn't one of yours. And it looked like it had been there for a while. It was a very old shoe."

Addison wrinkles her nose. "At least there wasn't a very old foot in it," she says.

"That's just what she said."

He hears the words as if they come from a stranger's mouth, lips thick.

Time suddenly slows down. Shepherd, you idiot.

"She?" Addison asks. Time jerks forward again and he sees that his wife looks confused, but not particularly suspicious.

"A couple of hikers helped me chase Doc down," he says, relieved but also a little troubled by his own lie, there's no time to question it now.

"Ah." Addison nods. "Good thing you weren't alone out there, then."

Something like that.

..

They get ready for work in parallel, mostly silent, sometimes not, and it's so calm and – is it civil? – that he feels an unwelcome pang of guilt. She wanted to talk to him about something.

No, what was her correction – she needed to talk to him about something, and he shut her down. And then she shut him down.

What was that Meredith said on the trail? Nothing's wrong with Addison, is there?

Is it possible there was more to her tetanus booster than just the sting of the vaccination? For a brief moment of nervousness he's back in the conference room with Savvy and Weiss and Addison too, arguing over test results. Addison isn't sick. If Addison were sick, she'd tell him.

Wouldn't she?

Or she'd try, and you'd shut her down.

"Addison?"

"Hm?" She leans out of the bathroom at the sound of her name. She's holding a brush that he knows from living with her a third of his life belongs to a complicated set that he has no idea why she needs, and that every single one is crucially important for different reasons that he couldn't possible understand. The upshot is that she needs all his counter space, and he needs to deal with it. Such is life with Addison.

"Are you all right?"

Her brow furrows a little. "What do you mean?"

Okay, that's a fair question.

"I just mean – there's something going around," he says, wondering if he sounds as unconvincing to her as he does to himself. "You know, early spring."

"Oh." She looks at the makeup brush in her hand then back at him. "I'm not sick," she says.

"Good."

Her mouth quirks a little. "Okay," she says. "Well, I'm just going to – " she gestures inside the bathroom with her brush, and he nods like he needs her permission.

There you go. She's fine.

She's fine, and he's fine, and everyone's telling the truth and no one is lying and how is this his life, sixteen years after the day he met his wife for the first time?

"You want to drive together?" she asks him as she shrugs into her coat. There's something in her voice – hope, a little bit of hurt – that compels him to say yes, even though he wants nothing more right now than to be alone. She smiles a little, which makes it worse.

"But don't backseat drive," he warns her, pointing a finger in her direction.

"Don't point at me," she says, but she's still smiling.

"Quid pro quo?" he asks, holding open the trailer door for her.

She leans in and gives him a quick kiss as she walks past him, surprising him a little. "Something like that," she says.

My babies. There's a reason I've been trash for you since 2006. I'll admit it: I'm excited for this story, and I PROMISE not to give up any WIPs in the process, so ... review, and let me know what you think? Thank you times infinity as always for reading!