Thank you to everyone who responded so positively to this fun, wish-fulfillment story when I posted the previous chapters. And thank you to everyone who responded so kindly to my return to posting with A Very Freaky Friday. I guess it's no big mystery that in stressful times, sometimes a little Addek fluff feels like the best place to start. So here is the next and LONGEST chapter of what we've been colloquially calling the Missyverse (hi, Peachfresca, and thank you for always helpful encouragement!).

Does Happy Addek make you smile? In the future, with the children they deserved, reminiscing about the past? ... yeah, me too. Happy Monday, Addek Nation.

So now, to borrow a phrase from the last intro, back to the so-called Missyverse, and to Derek and Addison's bedroom in the brownstone they never left (because why would they)? I hope you enjoy!

Part V: The Friends, Both Old and Older

"You know, Addie, if we're done reminiscing," Derek says hopefully, "we could go to sleep."

"We could." His wife of too many years to fall for his tricks pauses. "Or ... you could answer my question."

"I thought you didn't have a question."

"Derek."

"Okay, okay." He knows she's not really mad, not the way she's resting comfortably against him, one of her long legs draped over his. It's one of those moments when he's not quite sure how much he can get away with, but curious to try. "What was your question again?"

"Derek!"

… right. So they're not done reminiscing.

..

December 1989
..

"Okay, so for me to place in Cell Bio I'd have to beat Sam and Katie on the final," Missy says thoughtfully, "unless Katie misses another problem set which is totally possible considering Pete Connor dumped her last weekend, and—what?"

"Nothing." Derek glances at her. "It's just a little … numerical."

"I did major in math." His girlfriend flicks a strand of long blonde hair over the shoulder of her pink-and-white sweater. "Oh, come on, Derek, like you're not competitive too?"

He considers the question; it's a fair one. He's competitive, it's true. They all are. He just doesn't think of himself as quite so … number-crunching.

Missy is staring at him, waiting for an answer. He doesn't want to piss her off. Things have been … not so rosy the last few weeks. Maybe longer than that. Maybe it started when Missy joined Purity Club. (And yeah, he knows that doesn't make him sound great. To anyone other than Mark, that is.)

"I'm competitive too," he says truthfully.

Her face softens. "Good." She leans forward and kisses him.

(The teenager inside his head leaps into the air to celebrate; god, it's been a while.)

He kisses her back, reaching to pull her closer, and she ducks away. "Studying, Derek. Remember?"

Oh, how could I forget?

"Derek, great doctors don't just happen, they start in medical school. Remember? The Map to Success?"

"I remember," he mutters.

"Then focus."

I can't. There's a teenager inside my head … among other places.

"Some people say all work and no play makes … less than great doctors," he attempts, fairly sure he's just digging himself in deeper.

Pensively, Missy taps the closed tip of her pink pen against her bottom lip.

Derek, feeling a surge of hope, pushes ahead. "We have the place to ourselves for another …" he checks his watch "… hour."

(Any longer and he's going to need a hell of a lot less time than that.)

"Derek." Missy leans forward, her expression serious, her pink lips pursed. "I think you might be a sex maniac."

He laughs before he can stop himself. "A sex maniac?"

She nods gravely. "You talk about it a lot. A lot, a lot."

"I … ." He stops talking, remembering Mark teasing him in high school: you know what they say: the people talking about it are never the ones actually doing it.

"We are dating," he reminds her as delicately as he can.

"I know that." Missy rests her pink-tipped hands on her textbook, which is spread out over her legs. Studying might not be so bad if she didn't always end up covered in … stuff, index cards everywhere, textbooks and notebooks spread out so that he can't even ogle her (if he were crude enough to try to do such a thing). "I like you, Derek, but I happen to think our medical school performance is important."

"So do I!"

"I know you do," she says soothingly, "which is why I don't think you should be letting something so ridiculous and … common … distract you from what's really important."

Actually, sex is pretty uncommon these days, but who's counting?

"Forget it." He shakes his head, not sure which one of them he's annoyed with. He's not that guy, the one who pressures girls for sex. He's not Mark. So why is he acting like this, closed up in his dorm room with his girlfriend, just because she wants to study?

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"It's okay." Missy winds a strand of long blonde hair around one finger. "Hey, Derek … it's flattering, really."

"Really?" He looks up.

"Really. And you never know, maybe we'll finish studying early."

They don't.

But Derek swallows his pride and focuses on his class notes instead of his irritatingly raging hormones. He and Missy used to have fun together, right?

Well. They used to have sex, anyway, but sometimes they had fun. Once they'd finished plotting new pins on the Map to Success, anyway.

"I'm missing the notes from Class Eight," Missy is murmuring. "Nai said she was going to borrow some from her study group and—oh, god."

"What?" he asks nervously.

"Look at this!" She holds up a paperclipped stack of loose-leaf paper. It's certainly a lot less ... bright than what he's used to, studying with Missy, who color-codes everything in shades of pink and purple and, if supremely pressured, sometimes green.

This is ordinary blue pen, in handwriting that looks vaguely familiar, that for some reason is making him think of—

"Addison," Missy scowls, dropping the notes as if they've burned her. "I should have known Naomi would get notes from Addison Montgomery. They're friends, you know," she reports, her tone McCarthy-esque, and Derek nods as if he finds the news as scandalous as she does.

"I'm not going to use these," Missy continues, turning over the stack of loose-leaf and then reaching out for something to place on top of it, coming up with the old baseball he keeps on his desk as a paperweight, signed by his college teammates. For some reason, seeing something so personal of his on top of those notes makes him feel … confused.

"No, I've had enough. She is sooooooooo not going to worm her way into my brain!" Missy stands up in a huff, her open pink-paper-covered textbook falling to the ground. "She shows up in my aerobics class, she shows me up in class, and now she's shoving her notes in my face."

Derek has dated Missy long enough to know now is not the time to point out that it was Naomi who … shoved the notes at Missy. And that he should try to placate his girlfriend.

"Um … maybe we can ask someone else for notes," he suggests. "Katie or Denise or—"

"Denise is Addison's roommate," Missy snaps, "which means she's probably the one who lent her that little … aerobics outfit in the first place."

They both pause.

"My point is, Denise is going to be on her side."

"Missy … ."

"Don't you be on her side too!"

Frankly, he's not even sure what they're talking about at this point.

"She's just so full of herself," Missy continues, apparently too heated even to draw out her signature syllable, "and I am done talking about her."

"Good," he says tentatively.

"As far as I'm concerned, Addison Montgomery doesn't exist." Missy is standing now, pacing the room as if it's too small to contain her annoyance. "I'm not going to talk about her. I'm not even going to think about her. Addison can just take her stupid too-tight jeans and her stupid—"

Later, he'll say he's not quite sure what happened.

He'll blame Missy (privately).

Missy will blame him (publicly).

But all of their rules, and there are other things we can do and I think you might be a sex maniac—all of that flies out the little leaden dormitory window as Missy pounces on him, her cheeks flushed, blonde hair clouding his vision as she pushes him onto the same bed where she scolded him for messing up her perfect piles of notes.

He could tell her to stop, of course.

But he's not an idiot, and he is … a guy. He is definitely a guy, a sort-of patient guy but a guy who has really, really missed girls.

(Later, he'll think that he should have said really missed his girlfriend, because it's not just about the sex … right? But that's later.)

And Missy is warm and soft and her pink and white sweater is already halfway over her head, she's not smiling exactly—in fact, she still looks sort of pissed off, maybe a little distracted—but she's fumbling with the fly of his jeans and he's helping her, moving her long hair out of the way, and trying not to think about how jeans is a distracting word all of a sudden.

"Don't tell Naomi," Missy says firmly when they're done; she's not exactly a cuddler and he's lying propped up on an elbow while she dresses like she's just finished a decontamination session in lab.

Derek, who has had one-on-one conversations with Naomi maybe a half dozen times all semester, just nods. He can't even imagine how that conversation would go. Hey, Naomi, how's everything going? Good? Classes okay? By the way, Missy and I finally had sex again, and the first thing she said when we finished was your name.

… okay, that doesn't sound great.

But he goes along with it, nodding and promising, and Missy smiles at him with what looks like relief, and he in turn doesn't mention—or even think too much about—the last thing she said before they started.

..

Present Day

..

"Derek."

"Yes, Addison?"

"Is this really your way of telling me how long you've known that Missy was—whatever?"

"Addison." He frowns. "It's the twenty-first century."

"But it wasn't the twenty-first century when we were in medical school," she reminds him pointedly, "which is when that charming reminiscence of yours took place."

"No, it wasn't," he agrees.

"And … you still didn't answer my question," she says.

"I thought you didn't have a question," he responds, knowing he's walking right into that well-deserved arched eyebrow and about this close to pushing her too far, so he pulls back on the reins (while simultaneously praying Addison never learns of that particular metaphor).

"Should I go on?" he offers in a generous tone and while she glares at him, she nods.

So he does.

..
December 1989
..

Derek doesn't tell Naomi about what happened—or anyone else—but he doesn't have to, it turns out. He gets cornered after lab anyway, during the break before their next class, as they're all spreading out down the flagstone path.

"Someone quit the Purity Club, huh?" Mark leers at him from under his ski cap, stopping short enough that Derek has to step off the path.

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek sees Addison glance over. There's a puff of breath in the cold air, but he has no idea what she said, if she said anything.

"Shut up, Mark," he mutters. "And how did you even—"

"Hey, I'm happy for you, man. I haven't heard anything but chit chat coming out of your room in forever."

Oh.

Right.

It's possible Missy was a little louder than usual yesterday. He swallows hard.

"Why were you listening, anyway?" he asks, feeling the tips of ears redden more from shame than the chill in the air. He hates that tell for blushing; he reminds himself to try to grow his hair a little longer to cover it, or at least to run the idea by Missy, who has very strict rules for hair … among other things.

"You didn't give me much choice." Mark waggles his eyebrows, then turns away. "Hey, Montgomery … what do you say you and I give Shepherd a little taste of his own medicine? Unless you're a quiet one … ."

"Mark," Derek says sharply.

Addison, who has been standing a dozen or so feet away looking at something in a little bound book—maybe a calendar, not that it matters, looks bored as she lifts a lazy eyebrow in their direction. "Oh, I wouldn't say I'm quiet, Sloan … not like you'll ever know."

"Give me a chance," he suggests, grinning at her.

"And let you give me VD? I don't think so," Addison says, looking amused now at Mark's outraged expression. She's wearing a soft-looking white winter hat that makes her cheeks look very pink.

She turns to Derek and for a moment something flashes on her face that looks almost like disappointment.

And for some reason, it makes his stomach turn over.

"Addison, wait …"

"Grow up, Sloan," she says coldly, interrupting him. "And as for you … ." She looks Derek up and down for a moment in a way he's not sure how to take. " … forget it."

And before he can try to find out what she means, she's gone.

"Nice one," he says sarcastically, shoving Mark's shoulder. "Do you have to hit on every girl at school?"

"Only the hot ones." Mark's tone is defensive. "And, you know, if I've had a few beers, the semi-hot ones."

"Who's semi-hot?" Missy asks in a suspicious tone as she catches up to them, straightening the wooly pink scarf that sits on the shoulders of her ski jacket. "And what was Addison saying about VD?"

"Nothing about VD," Mark says hastily, "and as for who's semi-hot … definitely not you." He gives her another leer and Missy rolls her eyes.

"When are you going to give it up?" she asks.

Derek tries hard not to laugh. Mark just looks so … surprised, even hurt, at the idea that someone wouldn't find his lecherous behavior amusing. And it's Mark, his best friend, his most loyal friend, except that even Derek is getting a little tired of watching him try to hit on all the girls in their class.

"Ooh, give it up, that's a good one," Mark says after a moment, "like you finally did last night?"

Missy's eyes widen; Derek gives her a quick shake of the head in his own defense, hoping it looks as truthful as it is, and then Mark reminds him why they're friends.

"Your Romeo didn't say anything, Fox, don't get your panties in a twist. The walls are thin, remember? And so was your time in Purity Club, I guess."

"Mark," Derek says, frowning.

"You know what, Mark?" Missy asks in a serious tone, "I think you should join Purity Club. Maybe if you stopped having sex all the time, you'd stop being such an asshole."

"I'll join," Mark says while Derek tries to register the first curse he's heard from his normally sugary sweet girlfriend's lips. "Lots of horny, repressed girls all wound up tight—"

"And guys, too, don't forget." Missy gives him a sweet smile. "You know, Mark, some people might say you're compensating for something with all your … ." She gestures toward his general bearing. "Maybe it's not really girls you're after."

"What do you mean?" Mark looks genuinely confused.

"I think you might be gay."

"Gay?" Mark looks like he can't figure out how to respond. "Me, gay?"

"It would explain a lot," Missy muses.

"Tell that to Katie Carrero," he says, "or maybe you didn't see her leaving our place this morning?"

"Whatever you say, Sloan."

"And anyway, what's wrong with being gay?" Mark asks.

Now Missy is the one who looks like she's not sure what to say.

Derek, though, isn't really surprised.

Mark might reserve his leering for women, whether hot or semi-hot, but wasn't he the only guy in school who would stand up for Toby Garrity, who did community theatre and never played a single sport? Mark got in more than a few fights defending him, too. Missy can't know that, of course, she wasn't there—and Derek's never quite been able to put into words how yes, Mark is Mark, but being Mark also includes a certain defense-of-the-underdog that he's always respected.

(It helped that Mark was the biggest guy in their class, and no one crossed him. But still.)

"I … nothing," Missy says after a moment, in a small voice. "Nothing's wrong with it."

"That's right." Mark folds his arms over his chest. "I accept your apology."

"What apology?" She stands up to her full height. "Now you're having auditory hallucinations?"

"Can you two stop arguing?" Derek interjects. "Mark, go away. Missy, we're going to be late for class."

"Fine." Missy tucks her arm through his, stopping to glare at Mark—which would be more effective, Derek is aware, if her swivel didn't just give Mark a 360-degree view of her body.

"Just ignore him," Derek mutters as they walk, but sure enough—

"Definitely still straight!" Mark calls after them as they walk away.

..

Present Day
..

"You do realize these nice memories of Mark harassing everyone in our class are kind of disturbing, right, honey?"

"I do." Derek glances at her. "He did learn his lesson, though."

"He did," Addison confirms. "But I guess that's another story."

"Right. And in this story," he sits up a little taller against the pillows, "Mark's … harassment was actually kind of … supportive."

"Really. What a nice moment," Addison says, rolling her eyes. "Hallmark could print cards about it."

"Would you just—never mind." Derek reaches for the chain on the bedside lamp. "It's late."

The room descends into darkness.

… and then is flooded with light again.

"Now what?" he asks patiently.

"Derek."

"Yes?"

But she doesn't say anything. She just looks at him, for a long time, and he has to try not to smile because not only is he very fond of her particular face, but it's all swirled up now in memories from more than twenty years ago.

They were so young.

"Good night," Addison says, surprising him, leaning over for a brief kiss as she reaches past him to turn the light off again from his side of the bed.

..
..

And that's that.

The end of the Missy Fox/Melissa Majors/Forensic Pathologist saga.

Everything goes back to normal.

… in a manner of speaking. That is to say, Avery does wait a polite three minutes after Addison walks in the front door before asking, breathlessly, whether she's spoken to Dr. Majors yet.

Addison, who is trying to remove her jacket while Paige is plastered to her like a small blonde leech, doesn't respond right away. And Derek reminds himself to add timing to the list of topics he oh so casually brings up one of his next man-to-man walks with Avery.

"Mommy! Did you talk to Dr. Majors? Is Avery gonna be on TV?" Paige asks brightly as Addison finally manages to hang her coat in the hall closet.

"And, um, did you have a good … day?" Avery asks, his cheeks coloring a little.

(So there's hope for him yet.)

Addison smiles at both her children (the third is still at hockey practice, at least until the next time she's benched). "I did have a good day, thank you, Avery."

Their son exchanges a glance with his father. "… oh," he says.

"Honey, these things take time."

"It's okay, I know." But Avery's expression is so crestfallen—reminiscent of the kindergartener who once dropped two scoops of handmade ice cream on the sidewalk outside of Amorack & Tyler—that even Addison looks almost sympathetic.

"These things take time," she repeats, "which is why I'm not meeting with … Dr. Majors."

Avery nods bravely.

"…until tomorrow."

(There's a rather high-pitched squeal of excitement that, for dignity's sake, we'll just assign to Paige.)

"Really?" Avery asks, his face lit up now.

"Really," Addison confirms, just a trace of sarcasm in her voice, but she doesn't seem to mind when her son—taller than she is now—throws his arms around her with appreciation.

"I can't believe this," Avery marvels. "You're the best. The best mom in, like, the known universe."

(Derek reminds himself to add scale and hyperbole to the next man talk agenda as well.)

"I'm glad you're happy," Addison says, "and I'm not promising anything, just … a meeting."

She glances at Derek. "Nothing to add?" she asks, eyes deceptively wide.

… nothing that won't get him into trouble, apparently.

"Internships are tricky things, son," he says finally, resting a hand on Avery's shoulder. It's so hard to believe this tall teenager was once the one tugging at their hands when they came home from work, preventing them from taking off their coats.

"I know. But still, there's a chance, right? And Mom's meeting with her. And Mom can talk anyone into doing stuff," Avery adds, his tone reverent enough that Addison looks just a little bit flattered.

"We'll see," that's all she manages before Paige manages to drag her to the kitchen, where she and Sylvie apparently turned the bananas the Shepherds never manage to remember to eat before they brown into some delicious-looking (and even better smelling) bread.

"Dinner first," Addison says quickly.

But it's in vain because Emma blows through the door, dropping her winter coat on the floor before grudgingly, at a Look from her mother, picking it up and tossing it on the bench that lines the foyer.

"I'm starving," she moans. "Practice went over like twenty minutes."

"I made banana bread!" Paige announces with a youngest sibling's delight to be able to problem solve (and a Shepherd's ability to take full credit for a joint project).

Emma hoists herself onto a kitchen stool with a thick, still steamy slice in her hand, before either parent can suggest waiting for dinner. "It's so good, Paigey," Emma says approvingly, and her little sister beams.

Avery has to dig in then—it's only fair, and all five Shepherds end up sampling the loaves before Addison finally opens the refrigerator to see what Sylvie left them for dinner.

..
..

"No comment, really?" Addison asks, toothbrush in hand, turning to her husband.

"On the banana bread? It was great."

"Not on the banana bread," Addison sighs. "On Missy."

"Oh, her."

"Yes, her." Addison pauses to squeeze a neat line of toothpaste onto his toothbrush, and to seek (and receive) a minty-flavored kiss of appreciation.

Derek brushes for a few vigorous moments before responding.

"What can I say?" he asks finally. "You convinced her to meet with you. I'm not exactly surprised."

"You're not?" Her gaze in the oversized mirror is suspicious.

"I'm not." He smiles at her reflection. "I'm well aware of how persuasive you can be."

Addison looks flattered, then frowns. "Persuasive in a good way, or a bad way?"

"Is there a bad way?"

"I mean, persuasive in a Securing a Meeting for Her Son's Future Professional Internship way, or persuasive in a Taking Other People's Men way?"

Ah.

He rinses his toothbrush before he responds; it seems important.

"The former," he says finally, firmly. "Only the former."

She considers this.

"Naomi shouldn't have said that," he adds.

It's true.

"Naomi shouldn't have said a lot of things," Addison grumbles.

They're friends—good friends, even, but Nai's bluntness and Addison's sensitivity have never exactly meshed. There have been … conflicts, over the years, some more memorable than others.

But then …

Well.

There are some things Naomi has said that have come in rather handy, in hindsight.

(Even if, at the time, they stung.)

..
December 1989
..

"Addie, were you on the quad yesterday between lab and lecture? I heard Missy and Derek were having a whole thing." Naomi removes one of her mittens to fish change from her pocket for the falafel guy, then shakes out her cold fingers.

Addison, who was in fact on the quad, isn't sure she would have characterized it that way. She's not sure how to respond; she focuses, instead, on her own foil-wrapped falafel.

(It's pretty hard to eat in a ladylike way, which is probably why she's come to enjoy it so much in medical school, far from Bizzy's prying eyes. Plus, it's cheap, and filling, and very tasty, which is probably why she can recognize several of their classmates on line behind them.)

"You do know they've been having problems. Missy and Derek, I mean." Naomi is no stranger to gossip, but after she shares this tidbit she arches her head back to look closely at Addison as if she's waiting for some sort of reaction.

"I'm … sorry to hear that?"

Naomi shakes her head. "You don't sound very convincing."

Addison, mindful of their classmates nearby, gestures toward the covered archway of Pendermere Memorial and Naomi, after adjusting her purple scarf, follows her.

"What do you want me to say, Nai?" she asks once they've sought shelter out of the wind.

"I guess I want you to say that you're not after Derek Shepherd."

Addison takes a step back in the dry heat of the lobby. "Wait, seriously? I'm not after him. First of all, he has a girlfriend."

Naomi doesn't respond.

"Second of all, you were there when he asked me out way back in August, Nai. If I wanted to go out with him, I would have."

Her friend's mouth opens, then closes. "Never mind," Naomi says, and she's silent until they're in the student lounge, sitting side by side on the orange cracked-leather chairs that line the south wall. It's cold outside—no snow yet—and Addison stares out the windows at the quad while she toys with the loose foil around her pita. Somehow, she's not as hungry as she was at the food cart.

When she looks up, Naomi is staring at her.

"Okay, you know what? I can't not say it, Addie."

"Can't say what?"

Naomi takes a deep breath. "That I think Missy might be right that you need to get over yourself."

"Excuse me? I'm not … under myself," Addison says, annoyance battling with hurt. "You asked me about Derek."

"And you said …" Naomi stops, her voice very tight when she starts talking again, her voice low even though the other pods of students all look thankfully preoccupied with their own business. "And you said Derek asked you out at the beginning of the semester."

"He did."

"We all know, Addison. Sam asked you out then too … in case you'd forgotten."

Addison blinks; she didn't realize Naomi knew that. "Who—"

"It doesn't matter. The point is, you really think all you have to do is snap your fingers and these … guys you said no to months ago will just come running back? Even if they're with other girls now? Because you're just so much better than the girls they're seeing now?"

"Of course not!" Addison feels her cheeks coloring. "I never said that."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to say it."

"That's not fair, Nai." To her supreme embarrassment, she finds herself having to blink back tears. Thankfully, dry heat is pumping in the building, but still … she's hardly going to cry in the student lounge where anyone could see her. And not over this, of all things.

"Maybe it's not fair, but maybe you're not fair either," Naomi continues. "Are you being fair to Missy?"

"I didn't do anything to Missy!"

Naomi just looks at her.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Addison lifts her hands in the air, giving up. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"You should apologize to Missy."

"For what? What did she tell you, Naomi, because I didn't—"

Addison stops talking, realizing it doesn't matter.

"I thought you were my friend," she says finally, hating how small her voice sounds.

"I am your friend, that's why I'm telling you this." Naomi sighs, then indicates the wrapped foil on Addison's lap. "Are you going to eat so we can go over the problem set?"

Addison swallows, hard.

"I'm not hungry. Let's just start working," she says in a small voice, but if Naomi notices anything amiss she doesn't bring it up.

Walking back to her dorm in the cold December air, she misses Savvy enough to almost—almost—wish she'd gone to law school instead. She could be with her best friend, who actually gets her, away from everyone here who's totally stressing her out, and if she has to study torts or whatever to do it, then fine. (What exactly torts are, beyond a slight misspelling of something the cook used to make when they had an excess of fresh raspberries in the country … she's not quite sure, but it doesn't matter.)

Because Naomi? Isn't the same. Not even close.

Some friend.

That's what Savvy says that night when Addison calls her from the floor of her bedroom closet, white phone cord wrapped around her hand.

"With friends like that, who needs enemies?" Savvy asks.

"She's a good friend, usually," Addison says, wondering if she's being fair to Naomi. "You know, she's … nice … and stuff."

Savvy doesn't say anything.

"Look, pickings are slim here, Sav. Everyone's out to get everyone else. They're like … insanely competitive. Cutthroat. It's not like college, and we don't even know first semester rankings yet."

"Here too," Savvy sighs. "If I hear one more person from my Contracts class ask me if I've seen The Paper Chase, I'm going to jump off the … curve." She pauses. "What about that Shepherd guy … Derek? Is he cutthroat?"

Addison blinks. "Why do you ask that?"

"Just wondering."

"I don't know if he is," Addison says, "and it doesn't matter, because we're not friends."

"Not like you and Naomi, you mean?"

Addison lets this sink in.

"I'm just saying," Savvy says quietly, "if you think maybe you've … changed your mind … about him, that might not be such a bad thing."

"I haven't changed my mind," Addison says quickly, "and I couldn't even if I wanted to because Derek is dating Missy."

"And I'm sooooooooooo happy for her," Savvy cracks, Addison feeling a flash of guilt. Has she really imitated Missy to Savvy? Maybe she is a jerk, just like Naomi implied. "Is she still in the Virgin Mary Club?" Savvy asks.

Addison is about to tell Savvy it's not very nice to mock … purity or whatever … but considering how many times she and Savvy accidentally walked in on each other during the four years they lived together in college … she figures she can let it go.

"She's not a Virgin Mary," Addison reminds her best friend, "not before the club and not anymore. Apparently they were knocking down the walls of Hartwell the other night."

Savvy is quiet for a moment. "Well, that's new."

"Yeah." Addison shifts a little in her cramped position; the walls are thin and she gets along fine with Denise, her roommate, but the last thing she wants to do is give her more fodder for the rumor mill. "Look, forget it. Tell me about you. How are your classes going? Because I might be transferring to law school."

"You, law school?" Savvy laughs. "Oh, you'd last about five minutes here, tops, before you were bored out of your skull and wanted back to dissecting frogs."

"But the other students—"

"—are as lame as the ones in your class." Savvy sounds amused. "Look, Ad, the sooner we realize it doesn't get better than this, the sooner we can adjust."

"They should write that in the brochures." Addison fiddles idly with a strand of her long hair. God, she misses having a best friend. "What about your love life, Sav? Did you ever end up having a study date with that guy from your section?"

"Who, Stevie? Yeah, we had a study date," Savvy reports grimly, "but study is all we did."

"He's not interested?"

"I didn't say that," Savvy admits. "He's just … obnoxious, okay? Always cracking jokes. And he acts like he's brilliant."

"Is he?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. And besides, can you imagine us as a couple? Savvy White and Stevie Weiss," she pronounces with disdain, "coming soon to a Vaudeville stage near you."

Addison laughs at this. "You know what they say, though. A rose by any other name …."

"Well, Stevie doesn't have any other name. He has that one. And I don't have any interest in him, anyway. You know I don't like boys with curly hair, Addie. Remember Ezra, junior year?"

"I remember Ezra, but I don't remember the problem being his curly hair." Addison draws her knees in closer. "Wasn't the problem more that he slept with Tina Biederman while you two were supposed to be exclusive?"

"Well, that too. But it definitely soured me on curly hair."

Savvy laughs a little and then Addison does too, wondering why thinking about curly hair is making her feel just a bit … confused.

..
Present Day
..

"What's wrong with curly hair?" Derek asks, far less offended than he might have been in 1989. After all, he did get the girl, didn't he? Plus, Addison has never had any complaints about his hair since. Much the opposite.

(Which reminds him that hair products are another topic for a future man-to-man talk with their son.)

"Nothing, honey. I love curly hair."

"Do you love Weiss's curly hair?" Derek adopts a faux-suspicious tone and Addison, in return, a faux-dreamy expression.

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding." She gives him a quick, conciliatory kiss and they share a silent—and not very nice—look of amusement at the thought of either of them ever dating a non-surgeon (much less a lawyer).

"Well, I'm glad you like curly hair, Addie."

"All things considered … so am I."

"All things considered?"

"It's just an expression, Derek."

"Of course." He trails her out to the bedroom, where she sits down at her vanity, preparing to brush her hair—then stops, hairbrush in hand.

"Derek," she says, "what you were saying before—about Mark—"

"—being a sexual harasser?"

"Well, that too." She pauses. "I was pretty hard on him in medical school."

"He deserved it," Derek says automatically.

"Of course he did." Addison smiles at her husband. "But …"

" …you softened on him eventually," he reminds her.

"Right." She lifts the brush to her hair, then lowers it, looking contemplative.

Her shoulders are pretty (shoulders can be pretty, especially if you're married to Addison Shepherd) in her blue silk pajamas and he rests his hands on them, automatically massaging the tension he feels in her muscles.

"That's nice," she murmurs appreciatively.

They're both quiet for a few very nice moments.

"I had a point about Mark," Addison says finally, sounding sleepier than before (and not just because of having to referee a voluble pre-bedtime argument between their two daughters over who left a wet towel on the floor of the girls' bathroom).

"You did?"

"I did." She nods slowly. "You know I don't think he's all bad."

Derek smiles at her, in the reflection of her vanity mirror this time. "I know. You did make him Emma's godfather, after all."

"True." Addison smiles slightly into the mirror now. "He could actually be sweet sometimes."

"Sweet?" Derek makes a face.

"Fine, maybe not sweet, but … nice, I guess." Addison pauses. "You remember the day in the snow, when we talked outside of—"

"Of course I remember."

It was only a day that changed the course of his entire life.

"Well." She sits up a little straighter. "I'm not sure you know this, actually, but right before you showed up … I talked to Mark."

"You talked to Mark? That day?" Derek raises his eyebrows. "Mark never mentioned it."

Addison looks amused. "Really? When he's such an adherent of Bros Before—

"Wives," Derek cuts in quickly.

"Right, exactly."

"What did you say to Mark?"

"Not so fast." Addison smirks at him in the mirror. "You still haven't told me when you found out Missy was—"

"—whatever," Derek supplies helpfully. "So?"

"So you tell me, and I'll tell you."

Derek considers this. "You realize you also never told me what you and Missy talked about."

"That's different, Derek. Sisterhood."

"What about brotherhood?"

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"You know I do." He starts to sit down on the bed to listen until Addison looks rather sadly at one of her shoulders.

"I'm still a little stiff."

"Let's hear the story first," Derek says, amused by her expression, "and see if it's worth another massage."

"After that, I shouldn't even tell you the story."

(But she does.)

..
December 1989
..

"Hey … Montgomery. You okay?"

"Oh, don't start." She shoves her hair behind her ears, gloved fingers bumping the edges of her hat as she does. It's cold, which at least is a good excuse for her cheeks being pink.

No reason for it to be because of how it felt to sit next to Naomi in lab knowing exactly what her friend thinks of her.

And Missy at the next table, just looking at her.

It was like high school all over again, even if she looks a lot better now. It still felt lousy.

Really lousy.

"Start what?" Mark asks, having the nerve to look offended … when he was the one who approached her when she was just trying to get some space.

"I have an older brother, okay? And yeah he's not as much of a jerk as you," because who could be, she doesn't say out loud, "but he gets a lot of girls. So I know the drill."

"What drill is that?"

"The ohh, are you okay? drill," Addison explains woodenly. "You come over all sympathetic how can I help and next thing you know … ."

"Next thing you know, what?" He asks, his expression eager.

He takes another step closer to where Addison is sitting on the cold brick wall outside the imposing stone building.

"Go away, Sloan."

"Hey, I was just trying to be nice."

"No, you weren't. That's my point."

"Because you're the queen of nice, Montgomery. Or did you forget accusing me of having VD yesterday," and he whispers that last part, apparently worried some future conquest will overhear, "in front of a bunch of people?"

"It was the day before yesterday. And I didn't forget," she mutters, "but in fairness, none of that bunch of people were going to sleep with you anyway. Derek … obviously not. And Missy is dating Derek," she says, keeping her voice even, "plus she's in Purity Club, and Naomi is basically the president of the club, so …."

"And you."

"What?" Pardon?

"You were there too," Mark says with a leer. "But you left yourself off the list. Does that mean that you were going to—"

"Ugh, just shut up."

Miraculously, he does.

Addison takes a deep breath. "Fine, I'm sorry I said you have VD."

Mark nods, looking more satisfied now.

"Well?" she prompts.

"Well, what?" he asks.

"Well, aren't you going to apologize for propositioning me … yet again … in front of all those people?"

"Oh. That depends," he says slowly, "is it definitely off the table? You and me?"

Addison laughs in spite of herself at his expression, which his almost hopeful. "Oh yeah," she says, "it is definitely off the table."

Mark looks disappointed.

"It's so far off the table, it's actually on the floor."

"Okay, I get it. No need to rub it in."

"No, wait, it's not even on the floor. It's, like … in a separate room. Maybe a separate zip code?"

"You made your point, Montgomery."

He actually smiles at her—not a leer—and damn if it doesn't make her feel sad all over again.

"Now what?" And without an invitation he drops down next to her on the bench. "Is it PMS?" he asks in a tone so serious that she actually laughs.

He is the worst—but in a way that actually feels kind of nice right now. Mark Sloan is nothing like Savvy, but he does remind her a little of Archer. And, as annoying as Archer can be … she misses her brother.

(Not that she would ever tell him what Naomi said. Archer has a long history of making life miserable for people who mess with his little sister, and while she loves that about him, really, this isn't exactly that type of situation, and Archer is not exactly a man of nuance.)

"It's okay," Mark says with a grin, "go ahead and vent your feminist rage at me for saying PMS."

"Feminist rage?" Addison rolls her eyes. "What year is it again?"

"Beats me. I never leave the library."

"I would sympathize, but unless you're having all that sex in the library, you must be leaving sometimes."

"Not every time," he says and she makes a face.

"I guess I walked into that one."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not." She studies him for a moment. "You know what, Sloan—"

"You hate me," he interrupts. "I know."

"Actually, no. I was thinking that you'd get along well with my brother."

Maybe too well.

Mark raises his eyebrows. "Are you inviting me to meet your family, Montgomery? It's a little soon, but I'll consider it."

Addison can't help smiling, even though he doesn't deserve it. "Yeah … trust me, Sloan, you don't want anything to do with my family. I'm not from … Mayberry or wherever."

Because she's heard Mark and Derek talking—well, overheard anyway—when their shared childhood comes up and it's little league this, church picnic that. She knows for a fact Derek wore two different handmade sweaters his mom knit for him when the temperature dropped last week. And when Mark teased him about it after Ethics, Derek pointed out that Mark has plenty of hand-knit sweaters too.

See? Wholesome.

(The Montgomerys are many things, but wholesome is not one of them.)

"Yeah, well." Mark looks down at his hands. "My folks aren't exactly the Griffiths either."

"Oh." Addison looks over his shoulder toward the looming gothic structure of the library, not sure if she's hit a sensitive point or this is just another strategy to get her into bed.

"Forget it." Mark pushes off the brick wall.

"I just miss my friends sometimes," she says, not sure why she feels compelled to be honest. "My not-medical-school friends," she adds, lest Mark gain any weapons to use against her.

"Yeah?" He seems to be considering this. "I guess your friends here are pretty lame."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Just … it's hard, sometimes. Being here."

Mark looks at her for a moment. "You're not supposed to say that. The administration will find out and you won't make honors."

Addison makes a face. "Everyone is so cutthroat."

"And you're not?"

"I just told you I think medical school is hard. If I were cutthroat, would I have said that?"

"Maybe," Mark says thoughtfully, "if you were running a long con."

Addison laughs again, in spite of herself. "You caught me, Sloan. That's what I was doing."

"I figured." He pauses. "You really think it's hard?"

"Sometimes."

"Yeah." Mark toes the spiky winter grass with one boot. "Me too. Sometimes." Then he pauses.

"Montgomery …"

"Yeah?"

"You're not so bad."

"Gosh, thank you," she says in her best country club voice, "I've been hoping and hoping you'd say just that."

He laughs, and it actually seems like an honest reaction, not a come-on. For the first time, it kind of makes sense that Derek might be friends with him.

"You know," and Mark is still looking at her thoughtfully, "I think Shepherd might have been right about you after all."

"What does that mean?" she asks, feeling her heart start to beat a little faster.

(Not for any particular reason. Probably she just needs more cardio, although the last time she tried aerobics started a whole thing.)

Mark looks her over once more. "Nothing," he says. "See you around, Montgomery."

I hope not. But Mark has been almost—nice, so she doesn't say it out loud.

Instead she stands there at the back of Grosvenor Hall for a long time, just … thinking, mulling things over in her mind, even as the temperature starts to drop …

So that by the time Derek finds her there, on his way back from the library, a few snow flurries have started to fall, lightly, settling in his dark hair and on the shoulders of his red and blue winter coat.

He says hey, and she says hey, and that could have been it.

That could have been the end of the story.

But it wasn't.

"It's snowing," he says, looking almost surprised that he said it.

"It's snowing," she agrees.

He looks from the snow-dusted brick wall where she's sitting to the frosty grass of the distant quad. The glow of the lamplights from the path, and the looming library, make it easy enough to see. There's sufficient snow on her messenger bag, propped on the wall next to her, that it must be obvious she's been sitting here for a while. She should be embarrassed, maybe, but Derek doesn't look like he's judging her.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks finally, politely.

For some reason, that makes her cheeks feel warm again, underneath the pink cold of the winter.

"Just waiting, I guess," she says, feeling a little silly. "The snow, um, the snow is nice."

"It's nice," he agrees, "but … it's a little cold."

"Nice, but a little cold," she concedes. Truthfully, she's been sitting out here for a while, and it's more than a little cold.

Derek doesn't say anything, but he doesn't leave. Visible puffs of breath escape both their mouths in the winter chill.

"Actually, I like the cold weather," Addison admits. "Snow, and all of that." She pauses. "It's kind of lame."

"Yeah?" Derek glances up at the sky, where light flurries are continuing to swirl. "Then I guess I'm kind of lame because I like it too."

"That's not the really lame part." Addison gives him a sidelong glance. "I haven't told you why I like the cold weather."

"That's true. You haven't." Derek tilts his head, and she sees a few crystals of ice drop from his curly hair onto the collar of his down jacket. "I'm listening," he says.

So she tells him.

..

Present Day
..

"I remember that conversation," Derek says immediately, back in the present—no snow in his hair, but a sprinkling of salt mixed in with the pepper anyway that always reminds her of that winter evening. "That's when you told me that you like the cold weather because it means Christmas is coming—and you love Christmas."

"Which really should prove I wasn't trying to take anyone else's man," Addison points out, "because that's not exactly a sexy pickup line."

"I don't know." Derek tilts his head. "I'm pretty sure it seemed sexy at the time."

There's a pause where they both go quiet, remembering.

"That was a nice snow," he says finally.

"It really was."

"I didn't realize you talked to Mark right before I saw you, though." Derek lifts an eyebrow. "I guess it's a good thing it wasn't snowing then, or this could have all turned out very differently."

"It was snow, Derek, not … Viagra or whatever." She shudders a little. "Besides, if it had snowed when Mark was there, and I told him I loved Christmas, he would have just made some disgusting suggestion about Mrs. Claus."

"So you're saying you wouldn't have married Mark."

"Of course not." Addison curls a little into him—somehow, during the retelling of the snowy evening, she's ended up on the bed next to her husband. "Mark was single at the time, and you know I only like taking other people's men—hey!" she sits up when he swats her. "That hurt."

"No, it didn't."

"Fine, it didn't." She settles back against him, accepting a conciliatory rub on the same silk-covered spot where he swatted her. "Derek?" she says after a moment.

"Yeah."

"I'm glad it didn't snow until you got there."

"I'm glad too."

She's quiet for long enough that he thinks she might be dozing off.

"Addie?"

"Hm?"

"What about my end of the bargain?"

It isn't like his wife not to hold him to it.

"You're end of the—oh," she says. "Right. You were going to tell me how you knew about Missy."

"Do you want to know?"

"I already know." She gives him a sleepy smile.

"You do? How?"

"You told me," she says. "I mean … not in so many words."

She's not saying very many words now, either, but he's never needed too many to understand her.

"Mark knew," Addison says, sounding like she's putting the pieces together. "He knew before you."

"Actually, he knew before anybody." Derek fingers the silk cuff of his wife's sleeve. "He didn't even tell me until Missy said he could."

"Mark's not so bad," Addison says quietly.

"No, he's not."

She curls into him again and he rests his cheek against her hair. He's poised for her to ask the followup he knows she hasn't forgotten—when did Mark actually tell him, but she doesn't.

"So tomorrow," he says tentatively.

Addison sits up a little. "I'm meeting her at ten. And remind me to tell you what her assistant said—I can't repeat it now, or I'll get all … riled up."

He's heard enough of her impressions to believe the truth of that.

"You're really meeting with her?"

"I'm really meeting with her." Addison pauses. "It's for Avery."

Derek considers the circumstances of their last (impromptu) meeting with Missy, shortly after Paige's birth, when all five Shepherds were at their … less than best, both sartorially- and sleep-wise. He's certainly not implying that Addison needs to make up for anything, or would want to. They're not in medical school anymore; not everything is a competition.

"For Avery," he echoes.

"Exactly."

"Am I invited?" Derek asks.

"You're always invited, honey," Addison says, which doesn't answer the question; apparently, it wasn't intended to.

He waits for her to tease him about just wanting to see Missy again, but she doesn't. She's still settled against him but doesn't seem particularly sleepy. She rests a hand on his chest, her palm warm through his undershirt.

"Actually … it's kind of sweet that Missy came out to Mark first," Addison says after a moment. "You know, now that I think about it, other than Naomi and me I think Missy was the only girl in medical school Mark never saw naked—what?" she asks at Derek's expression.

He doesn't say anything, but Addison catches on immediately.

"Seriously, Derek? Mark slept with her too? Wait … actually, don't answer that, honey. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Let me have this one nice moment."

He lets her have more than that.

(After all … Christmas is only eight weeks away, and it's never too early to start getting in the mood.)

To be continued. Tomorrow: the Shepherd-Fox-Majors-Whatever reunion some of us have been waiting for. It's for Avery, of course, beacuse Addison has nothing to prove. And as for Naomi-I love Audra McDonald so very very much, but I think we can all agree that Nai was often That Friend, the backstabbing one who was all too quick to tell her bestie her faults. That was the initial inspiration for the story, after all. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you'll review and tell me what you thought. Let's keep the Addek Nation going strong in the 2020s!