A/N: Hello, I'm back! We're in a weird time right now with this pandemic happening and I thought it would be a good idea to publish a new story to take our mind with everything going on for just a few minutes.

Initially, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but given the length, I decided to break it into two parts. This story was prompted by my friend ( idawnutcare on Twitter) and I hope you enjoy.

Also, the title is inspired by Coldplay, so listen to the song while reading if you want.

"I never meant to cause you trouble
And I never meant to do you wrong."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The ambiance almost seemed… perplexed; a tinge of trepidation and wariness looming.

There was never an exact ambiance – it was Joe's. Patrons, consisting of SGH faculty, came and went. It was a place to unwind, drink one's sorrows out. Nobody gave much thought to others occupying the small vicinity.

But, simultaneously, it felt as if something had shifted out of place.

He's sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of his usual–double scotch, single malt–minding his own business, while taking a swift observation of everyone around him. Nothing seemed out of place, based on his quick analytical assessment of everyone around him, he couldn't distinguish at the moment what seemed so erroneous.

"Joe," a familiar voice called, rather haughtily. "I'll have what he's having."

"Mark?" Derek asks, tightening his grip on his glass of scotch. "What are you doing here?"

"Doing what everyone else is doing," Mark replies matter-of-factly, settling down on a stool besides Derek. "Long day at work, I need a drink, you?"

"Yeah, the same,"

He fiddles with the glass occupying his hands, discerning whether to consume the remaining contents and leave to drown his sorrows out elsewhere, or voicing his concerns about...

"Have you heard from Addison?" he asks, rather abruptly. "I mean, has she said anything to you?"

Joe approaches the pair by then, delivering Mark's double scotch, single malt, "Anything else?" Joe asks, turning to Derek and eyeing his nearly empty glass, "Refill?"

He shakes his head, absentmindedly fiddling with his glass, "No thanks, Joe, I think this will be all for tonight."

Joe nods in response, proceeding to serve other patrons. Mark doesn't acknowledge his drink, only eyeing Derek curiously, "Are you seriously asking me?" he questions, rather uncomfortably. "Because from what I remember from about a few months ago, you didn't care to even glance at her, and now you're worried about her?"

Derek sighs exhaustedly, running his hands through his disheveled hair, "I know, it's ridiculous," Derek counters rather softly, "I've been trying to reach her all day but my calls go straight to her voicemail. I was just wondering if you knew anything,"

Mark shrugs, eyeing his glass, "I haven't seen her all day, and I haven't heard from her since yesterday," Mark informs, eyeing Derek inquisitively, "But she hasn't said anything to me."

There was a pregnant pause.

"And the last time I saw her," Mark added quietly, peering around him to assure that no inquisitive ears fell on their conversation, "She was carrying around a bag. It looked like she was leaving."

Derek stares at him in disbelief, wondering where Addison could have fled off to without notice – New York?

New York was a possibility. New York was… home; she was genetically engineered to hate everywhere except Manhattan. Though simultaneously, New York was familiar territory, and it could easily remind her of him.

She's yearning for a change. She's everywhere but New York.

They lapse into silence. Mark takes a generous sip of his scotch before signaling Joe for another round. He takes another glance at Derek, who's appearing to be devastated by Addison's supposed departure from Seattle.

"And I don't know where she's going," Mark adds before Derek can interrogate him further on Addison's whereabouts, "She didn't say anything, well, at least not to me. It just looked like she was leaving,"

Derek nods, pushing away his half-empty glass and burying his head into his hands.

"I know it's not my place," Mark pauses, discerning whether or not it was appropriate to ask Derek, but proceeded anyway, "Why are you trying to get in contact with her? You're no longer obligated to care about her."

And that's what Derek couldn't seem to figure out; why was he trying to reach out to her now?

Maybe he could not surrender the feeling of familiarity, constantly searching for something more–something that meant more than a girl in a bar.

Addison wasn't just the "girl in the bar", she was the girl whose eyes he met over the cadaver; and he remembers his cerulean eyes gazing upon the most vivid, azure eyes. The girl who kindly rejected him at the mention of a date, and the girl who made it clear that she was focusing on her academics.

Summer of '90, and she had intended to never see him again. Though, it was impossible. He had every class with her, including neuroanatomy, in which she seemed to struggle in; and Addison was aware of it. With much hesitation and a little push, she had turned to Derek for help in neuroanatomy.

It was one tutor session, a little coffee shop just a couple blocks from Columbia. It was late nights, copious amounts of coffee, and several diagrams of the brain strewn across the minuscule table. It was one tutor session, and then two, three…

Slowly it transformed into hangouts after lectures, midday coffee runs, and Chinese food on Friday nights. Then, suddenly at all once, everything changed; the night he had jokingly asked her out again while helping her study for her neuroanatomy final, she had said yes without any hesitation.

From then on, everything was history. Summer of '90 became an unforgettable memory. They had easily gone from Addison and Derek to becoming AddisonandDerek.

"Maybe," Derek began, "Maybe I didn't realize what I had lost until I let her go."

He was reaching for the familiar, and his mind couldn't seem to surrender all the memories that he and Addison created.

It was never easy with her. There always seemed to be a twist and a turn, a surprise. And maybe that was what he missed; the complications. Or maybe it was something more he still couldn't quite discern.

Maybe it was guilt, and most importantly, maybe it was the remorse.

The remorse originating from the way he physically removed her from their brownstone in New York in the pouring rain instead of allowing her to explain what had happened.

The remorse stemming from constantly blaming her for the affair, when in reality, the demise of their marriage was primarily caused by his actions; the inability to be present for her, the sudden indifference he had felt towards her.

Maybe that's why he was reaching out to her. To apologize, maybe once or twice, but deep down, he knew that wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

A simple apology would never be enough for the emotional scars he had caused her.

"Sorry, I need to take this," Mark murmured, holding his phone up and disrupting Derek's repetitive thoughts. Mark removes himself rather quickly, disappearing in the hallways leading to the bathrooms, sensing that whoever was contacting him was an urgent matter.

Derek has lapsed into his recurrent thoughts once again and losing track of the time, he isn't sure how quick or how long it was before Mark shook his shoulder.

"Derek, we need to go," Mark said, rather unsteadily. "We need to go. Now."

Derek stares at him with disbelief, wondering what had transpired during the phone call and why there was a sudden urge for both of them to leave. And almost instantly, Derek reaches for his pager.

Nothing.

Then his eyes widened, reaching for his phone. His phone that he had willingly decided to turn off upon his arrival at Joe's.

Mark watched him carefully, as Derek impatiently waited for his phone to turn back on.

"Derek," Mark urged, "We don't have time."

It only took a minute before his phone powered back.

And then there it was… a missed call from Addison.

First, it was shock, and soon enough, distress followed shortly after.

"Mark, what's going on?"

Mark shook his head, hesitating whether or not to tell him. However, given the circumstance and the phone call, there was no time.

No time to argue, and certainly no time to ask an abundance of questions.

"We need to head down to Portland," Mark said. "It's Addison, she's been in an accident."