So I realize I haven't writen anything in awhile but I love this song and I love this couple which I know will never happen. So Merry Christmas.

Green Eyes, yeah the spotlight, shines upon you… And how could, anybody, ever deny you…

She used to stand, under the effervescent glow of New York lights. She used to bask in their warmth. It was those days, when Derek and she walked hand in hand, strolling down Broadway. And all the success, all the fame that would come later would never compare.

The world ended for her the day that Derek left, and Mark became some sort of drug. That's how she treated him. She had her heart torn out and he was the oxytocin. He fucking hated it. She always saw him as the habit she had to break. He saw himself as the cure.

They had a conversation years later, she had entrenched herself in her relationship with Sam and he with Lexie, but the pain was still evident somewhere deep inside him. He'd been treated as a stepping stone. He wanted to kill her still, rip her apart, but one word in he realized he couldn't.

"Sam is great, I am great, we are great."

"That's a lot of greats in one sentence."

"Well," he can hear the clatter of the pans in the background, "I am great."

"That is good to hear."

"Yeah," she sifted something in her arms, "So how are you and 'little Grey' doing?"

"We're pretty good;" he clicks the remote almost violently, "Derek's been having a break down lately."

Addison laughed, "When isn't he having a break-down."

He didn't realize it exactly then, but she was in pain. He had been out of practice for so long that the signs were unfamiliar. The world didn't stop turning for another two years but when he visited her in L.A. at that fateful time, he realized that colors had mostly turned gray and feeling had mostly turned dull. When he saw the red of her hair, the world came rushing back; he used to live for life, he used to breathe in air and somewhere along the way he'd lost that sense of adventure. He'd grown old.

Later, people would tell him that he'd matured, grown less selfish, and finally discovered life. But he can feel the fishbowl closing in around him. He calls her sometimes and listens to her pretentious small conversations. They stopped living sometime in their forties until one day, she went and stood once again in the effervescent New York lights, and he held her hand and stood with her.