I now present what might be the cleanest chapter of this story ever, and not just because a fair amount of it is spent on the water. Here's the second half of the Hamptons part of Derek and Addison Take Manhattan (And Each Other).

When we last saw Our Heroes (or heard their testimony, anyway), Addison had just confessed the truth about her affair with Mark and Derek had just taken it in stride ... by striding right to his boat and taking off for some Alone Time. Which is fine, because hijinks never ensue in this story ...

With apologies to Henny Youngman for the title, I hope you enjoy this chapter! And if you're just tuning in to this story after a while away, please read Chapter 14 first - they're both new this week.

Six Miles High, Chapter Fifteen
Take the Hamptons (Please)

Well, that's that.

She did it. She dropped the bomb, and Derek left. He's alone on his boat and she's along on the property and he didn't even acknowledge her when she waved to him.

(That felt achingly familiar, unfortunately.)

She gets it, though. She deserves, at the very least, the sting of his snub.

She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she sprung this on him. With no warning. After he'd just opened up to her, after everything … she just unloaded on him. She's not going to add her own anxiety to his plate now too.

So she forces herself to go into the house; she's not helping anything out here.

If Derek needs space, she's going to give him space.

… and then, realizing she's cheating by pressing her nose against the windows, she forces herself to draw the curtains.

Now she can't obsessively try to look for him on the water.

So what is she supposed to do?

..

"Addie?"

"Sav." She exhales into the phone, feeling like she might cry. "I needed to hear your voice."

And the whole story tumbles out.

"Oh, Addie. You really have some timing." Savvy sounds sympathetic, though. "You couldn't have given him a little afterglow first?"

"I've given him plenty of afterglow," she sniffs, "this whole trip has been afterglow. Except now he hates me, and the worst part of it is—"

"He doesn't hate you, Ad."

"He should."

Savvy sighs. "You messed up, Addie, but people mess up. I think Derek gets that. And he messed up too."

"Not as much as I did."

"Not everything is a competition, Addie."

There's a pause where they both chuckle; that phrase has never applied to either of their marriages in the past, and they certainly can't imagine it applying in the future.

"I miss you, Sav," she says honestly.

"I miss you too." Savvy sighs. "Look, just keep your clothes on and your hands to yourselves in public—"

"—that shouldn't be a problem now—"

"—and you'll be back in the city in what, five days? We can have a drink. A clothed drink."

It doesn't sound so awful when Savvy puts it that way. Except everything is harder when Derek hates her. Even if she deserves it.

"Okay," she says in a small voice.

"Good." Savvy pauses. "What you need is some distraction, Addie—not that kind. Ooh … you want to know more about the dress I wore to lockup yesterday?"

"You know I do." With some effort, Addison walks fully away from the windows. "Go ahead."

..

" … hand stitching," Savvy says, "but then there was more rainfall than expected in Provence that summer, so the other designer …"

Addison is listening raptly—it's wonderfully distracting as only Savvy can be—but the word rainfall brings her back to the present.

Somehow, during Savvy's much appreciated paean to couture, the weather has turned from reasonably crisp spring-ish March to rainy March.

Very rainy March.

In like a lion …

"Is it raining there?" she asks, as she walks to the window she's been trying to avoid.

"No. It's nice here. Not to rub it in." Savvy pauses, and Addison can hear her fingers tapping—like she's at her computer. "But there's a storm moving out toward—oh, no."

"What is it?" Addison asks, alarmed.

"I'm looking at the radar, Addie. The storm is heading for Long Island."

"A storm, storm?" Addison looks out the window. There's a definite drizzle—okay, fine, a steady rain—but she grew up on East Coast beaches and so did Derek. They can handle a little rain. They both know there's rain, and then there's—

"A storm storm," Savvy repeats, sounding anxious now. "A whole … system or whatever, and it's picking up."

As if to underscore her words, there's a clap of thunder.

Fuck.

"Derek's still out there," she whispers.

"Well, he must be heading in. He's experienced, he knows what he's doing."

"I see him!" Addison can just about make out the little white boat, except … "he's not coming in," she says, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's either stopped the boat still or going further out." She studies the mediocre view (not in real estate terms, to be clear, just in finding-your-husband-during-a-storm-storm terms) a little longer. "I think he's just standing still."

"That doesn't sound like Derek."

"Something must be wrong." Addison paces the second floor hallway. "Something must be wrong with the—oh no, Savvy!"

"What?"

"The steering thing. The stupid steering column—thing—on the stupid boat." Her words fall over each other frantically. "There was something wrong with it last spring, Derek was going to get the boat serviced before we opened up the house for the summer but then—"

She doesn't have to finish.

"Oh no," Savvy breathes, "how bad is the steering … thing? Is the boat seaworthy? Should I call someone? Addie—"

But Addison doesn't hear.

The phone is too far away, sitting face up on the hall table while she throws on the warmest, most waterproof clothes she can find and dashes to the dock.

..
..

"No rescue plan, no backup, no registering the route with emergency services," the Coast Guard officer cuts in, rather rudely reciting her sins.

Addison, who was in the middle of what she would consider a dramatic part of the story, pauses, annoyed.

"I was a little preoccupied at the time," she reminds the officer.

"You know what happens to preoccupied people, lady? They drown."

Addison raises her eyebrows. "I didn't drown. I'm standing right here."

"There's always next time," the officer mutters.

"Excuse me. Aren't you supposed to serve and protect or whatever?"

"Mrs. Shepherd," the judge cuts in wearily. "Can you please get to the rest of the story."

"Did you hear her," and Addison points to the Coast Guard official, "say she wished I drowned?"

The judge looks at the court reporter.

The court reporter looks at the judge.

They both look at the Coast Guard official.

And then all three of them look at Addison.

"I didn't hear a thing," the judge says.

Honestly. That's the last Billy Joel fundraiser the Shepherds attend in Suffolk County, she can tell you that much.

..

Savvy wasn't kidding about the weather.

It's not raining, it's full on storming by the time she gets to the boathouse. Storm storming. Derek is in a decent-sized runabout but it's not like they have a whole slip of boats. How the hell is she supposed to get to him?

She throws an arm over her eyes to block the rain—failing, because it's diagonal by now—and tries to spot her husband in the water.

(It shouldn't be hard, since their life jackets are so bright orange they can basically be seen from space, and Derek always rolled his eyes and flat-out refused when she pleaded with him to upgrade to a color that didn't wash her skin out so much.)

What they need is a helictoper.

Why didn't they ever buy a helicopter—that would have come in handy right about now.

There's another clap of thunder, and Addison shudders.

Screw helicopters.

Derek is out there, alone … and she's going to go find him.

Except the problem is her choices for marine travel are the following:

A canoe she's pretty sure was Archer's in the seventies, and smells strongly of … let's just say Woodstock.

A stand-up paddleboard … that's actually pretty sturdy, based on what they did on it three summers ago, but that was July, there were basically no waves, and—and that's neither here nor there. She's not going to stand up paddle, or lie-down-anything-else, her way across the water.

Three flippers, all different colors and sizes. … no idea on that one.

A very small rowboat that was supposed to be romantic but wasn't as sturdy as it looked.

A two-seater kayak, which actually was surprisingly sturdy, and an only slightly misshapen oar. (There's a crashing sound from outside as if to underscore her point: no paddling tonight.)

What is she supposed to—

And then her eye falls on the small motorized kayak. It only fits one person and Derek is supposed to use it to go fishing but it exists, it hasn't been defiled recently, and it doesn't require paddling.

Sold.

… and wet. Very wet.

Wet, and cold, and it takes her forever to get the damn thing going once she's in the water—and that's after almost falling in when it tries to leave the dock without her.

But finally she's out on the water, zooming (choppily) in the general direction where she saw Derek.

She can just about make out the light on the prow …

Derek.

Lighting splits the sky and she squeezes her eyes shut automatically as thunder roars.

Then she squares her shoulders.

She feels a light beckoning from the distance, like the call of a far-off land. The sea roars like a caged lion in return but—well. The sea may be unforgiving, but it's no match for Addison Shepherd. She's going to gird her loins and fight and she's certainly not scared of any storm, especially if—

..
..

"I'm sure you were very heroic," the judge cuts in drily, having the nerve to sound like he doesn't mean it, "and we're all in awe."

The two Coast Guard officials, both of whom have been involved in large-scale rescues at sea and one of whom served in the Navy, look like they're trying to keep straight faces.

On the other side of the courtroom, Derek mouths caged lion to her, looking amused, as if he has any right to mock her when he's squeezed into a lilac scrub top that would barely fit their tweenage nieces.

The nerve.

"Just continue, Mrs. Shepherd," the judge says, looking rather like he wishes he could have been the one to drown, "perhaps without so much … embellishment."

"I'm just trying to set the scene," she explains.

"And we're all so grateful." The judge clears his throat. "Tell you what. I'll take judicial notice of the fact that Mrs. Shepherd was—" He glances at the court reporter. "Elaine?"

"… certainly not scared of any storm," Elaine reads back without expression, never looking up from her typewriter.

"Thank you," Addison says politely, "that's all I was asking."

..

… yeah, she's actually a little scared of the storm.

To be clear, she's experienced on the water under normal circumstances. But she wouldn't normally take out the boat her sister-in-law refers to as Barbie's Dream Kayak during bad weather.

You know … it's a little small.

It's a little light.

So yeah, she's a little scared.

No one is going to drown tonight: This is her mantra as she fights through the water to Derek—fine, it's mostly the motor that's fighting, but it's freaking cold and it's raining.

It's pouring. Horizontal sheets of rain that keep her from seeing more than a few feet ahead.

She can't see the dock behind them.

She can barely make out the faintest glow of what she sure as hell hopes is actually Derek's boat, because if not—

"Addison?"

There's no mistaking the shout she hears across the water.

"Derek!"

Hearing him gives her enough strength to reorient the little motorized boat and aim it toward her husband until finally she can make him out through the rain.

He's gripping the side of the boat with both hands, leaning out like he's looking for something. He's wearing a soaking wet orange life vest, his hair is wild from the wind, and his face is more than a little pissed off as he glares at her. … and she's pretty sure she's never been happier to see him in her life.

"What the hell?" he shouts into the rain as she forces her way closer to his idling boat.

(He doesn't actually say hell, but remember her audience.)

"The boat!" she cries as she gets close enough that he can hear her. "Derek, the boat!"

Still gripping the edge, he leans down to talk to her (more like yell at her) from his much larger vessel.

"What are you doing taking that thing out here? Are you insane?"

I might be.

"Derek, you have to listen to me, you're in danger!"

"I'm in danger?" He looks taken aback. "You're the one in a Barbie—whatever—in the middle of a storm!"

"No, it's your boat! The steering—thing! You can't be out here, it's dangerous, it's—" she pauses, swiping damp hair out of her eyes and catching her breath. "Wait. Why don't you look worried?"

As if the storm is trying to help them talk, the rain lessens enough to make it easier to hear each other.

"Because the steering thing is fine, Addison." He sounds exasperated.

"How can it be—"

"The guy came and fixed it."

"But you were—"

"I called the guy while I was in Seattle," Derek clarifies, "and he came out here and fixed it. It's fine."

It's fine.

Relief courses through her.

And then something else entirely.

The rain picks up so she has no choice but to raise her voice.

"Wait a minute. You called the guy? From Seattle?" she shouts into the rainy wind.

"I already told you I called the guy!"

"Him, you called!" She throws her hands up, annoyed. "But my calls … you never returned those!"

"Well, he hadn't just slept with my best friend! And would you please pay attention?" He gestures with annoyance at her raised hands. "You're driving a goddamn toy boat in a storm!"

(He doesn't say goddamn either, but you probably get the point.)

And there it is.

Mark.

The reason Derek is out here in the first place. It's her fault.

She takes a deep breath of salty, rainy air.

"I'm sorry, Derek. I really am. I handled this all wrong. I deserve it if you decide never to—"

"All right, Addison, enough, would you just—"

"I'm sorry!" She covers her face with both hands. "I've ruined everything."

"Addison, snap out of it!" He shouts even louder; a fresh crack of thunder overhead presages even worse weather. "You don't cover your eyes when you're in the middle of a—"

He never gets to say storm again because a sheet of rain descends so powerful that it rocks the boat even more than before and Addison, startled with her hands over her face, doesn't have enough time to grab the side of the boat to steady it.

The little craft flips over, plunging her into the water as Derek shouts her name into the wind.

..
..

" … but I didn't answer," Addison recites solemnly. "Or should I say … I couldn't answer."

She pauses for effect.

"We already know you survived, Mrs. Shepherd," the judge says, sounding bored, "you're standing right here."

"Well, yes, but we didn't know it then," Addison persists.

"Enough with the … embellishments." He waves a weary hand. "Just finish the story already."

Addison glances at Derek.

"Maybe my husband should take over," she suggests tentatively.

"Maybe he should."

..
..

"Addison!" Derek shouts into the wind. It's only a half a second that she disappears in the rain-blurred night, the storm blocking his vision so severely he can't even the capsized kayak. "Addison!"

He's frozen, all that time-consuming boy scout training be damned.

He can't do anything.

He can't see her.

He's fairly certain he's not breathing, either. What the hell was she thinking, coming out here in that thing in this storm? When they get out of this, he's going to kill her.

"Addison!"

And then she's there—bobbing in her orange life jacket, white-faced, she's panting for breath—he knows how cold the water is just from what's splashing above him.

"Derek!" she calls, her voice shaky with cold. "I'm okay!"

The sight of her—soaked, shivering, but whole—galvanizes him. Time speeds back to normal as he goes into scout mode for real this time, yanking open the emergency storage door, grabbing the life preserver and throwing it to her, fear somehow translating to calm as he encourages her to grab it, at the top of his voice to be heard over the waves.

"The k-kayak," she stammers.

"Forget the kayak! Just grab the ring, Addison!"

Another sheet of rain falls; he sees her splutter as it clears, and then grab the ring with no more argument for once.

He tows her in swiftly, hooks the ring to the side of the boat and then leans over to grab hold of her. No doubt about it, he's been fishing his whole life but she is definitely his biggest, and angriest, catch.

(As if she has anything to be angry about! Knowing Addison, it's the indignity of having to accept a little help rather than drown.)

The wind keeps pushing the boat, sliding the ring out of his grasp and leaving him angrier as she slips out of his grasp.

"What were you thinking?" he yells, making another grab; the boat rocks in the wind and his cold fingers just miss her sopping wet sleeve.

Damn it.

"I was t-trying—to h-help you!" she's treading frantic water with her legs to stay warm—and he's grateful for it.

"By drowning? What the hell, Addison? How could you take a kayak out in weather like this?"

She opens her mouth, to argue with him presumably—only Addison would keep arguing when she's half-frozen in open water during a storm.

Frustrated, he manages to steady the boat long enough to grab hold of her and, with some effort—her sopping wet clothes seem to weigh as much as she does—haul her over the side of the boat.

… where she promptly falls into him, nearly toppling them over the other side.

"Are you planning to drown both of us tonight?" he snaps, his fear at seeing her in the water translating to heated anger.

"I s-slipped," her teeth are chattering so hard he can barely understand her, and the gravity of the situation hits him harder than her icy cold body did. "I—sorry," she can't quite tie the words together. "S-sorry."

"Okay. It's okay." He grabs her face, half to make sure she's actually okay and half to still the chattering of her teeth. "You're freezing."

"I'm—okay."

She's not; she's shaking violently. Her cold, wet face is the whitest he's seen it—no matter how much she used to nag him about the color of the life vests—and she can't seem to stop shaking.

"You're hypothermic, Addie."

"No—kidding," she grits between chattering teeth, and he has the fleeting thought that irritability—a sign of second stage hypothermia—isn't likely to be diagnostic right now.

Not in Addison's case.

"Okay. Okay. Just—calm down," he says, even though he's pretty sure he's the more frantic one between the two of them. Nothing like a little hypothermia to slow the pulse and—"Addison!" He grips her wet arms. "Focus," he orders her.

"On—what?"

Okay, that sounds more like her.

"We need to get you warm," he says firmly, speaking up to be heard over the rain. "It's too rough right now to head back to shore but as soon as the storm passes, we'll go in. That's why I was idling. The boat is fine. … we're fine," he says, not sure he believes it.

Addison doesn't look particularly convinced. She blinks slowly. Her eyes are huge and pale in her white, blue-lipped face, making him even more anxious.

"Addie, look at me. Addison."

She nods blearily.

"We need to get you warm," he repeats, louder this time. He scans her soaking, trembling body, then squares his shoulders. There's only one thing to do.

"Take off your clothes, Addison."

"B-buy me a—drink—first, D-Derek."

"I'm serious, Addie, stop screwing around! You need to warm up. I'm taking my clothes off too," he promises her, starting to unstrap her life jacket as she bats ineffectually at his hands. "We just need to both get naked, and then—"

..
..

"—and then you end up here," the judge says, massaging his forehead, which manages to look a little more wrinkled once he's done.

The Coast Guard officer next to Derek looks like he wishes he'd joined the National Park Service instead.

(Hopefully, the record of what that one Forest Ranger found the weekend Addison and Derek visited Zion never made it to their ever-growing rap sheet.)

"But don't you see, it wasn't that kind of naked," Addison interrupts, "I mean, it wasn't that kind of naked, Your Honor."

He stares at her over the top of his glasses.

"… sir," she adds, feeling herself shrink a little into the hideous Islanders sweatshirt.

"Should I keep going, Your Honor?" Derek asks politely.

"Please. Why stop at the climax?"

(Let the record reflect, especially if it will be useful for sentencing, that both Derek and Addison manage not to make any outward sign of amusement at the judge's vocabulary.)

..
..

"I'm—n-not—going—to get—hypo—thermia," Addison manages to get out the words between violently chattering teeth as he tries to keep both of them balanced on the slippery floor of the boat. "S—Stop."

"Don't be ridiculous, Addison. You're already hypothermic. Stop it," he snaps when she pushes at his hands. He manages to peel her life jacket off, then drags her closer when she starts to pull away. "You want to fall overboard again?"

"No—Derek," she sounds desperate to get his attention, chattering teeth and all, while he's trying to pull her soaking wet sweater over her head. "C-cops," she moans desperately, close to his ear, and he follow her gaze out into the stormy night …

… to the blinking red lights of a Coast Guard rescue vessel.

Far enough out, but instantly recognizable.

Good. That's his first thought. He wouldn't mind a little help; Addison isn't exactly cooperative under the best of terms and hypothermia seems to have only heightened her contrary tendencies.

She's saying something to him, or trying to, maybe about the Coast Guard, but he's focused on one thing: getting her warm.

Damn this boat, with the wide seats they selected for their comfort and the tiny underbelly that barely holds one person, let alone two. There are blankets in the storage chamber, though, and a tough looking nylon sleeping bag, too. Quickly, he drags it out.

And then he starts to pull her sweater off again, determined this time, but she's grabbing at his face with her ice-cold hands. "No," she moans. "We—can't g-get—naked," she manages to make out between chattering teeth. "P-public—probation," she stammers, her gaze still locked across the sea on the Coast Guard boat, and the officers of the law it presumably holds.

Probation.

That's when he realizes what she means.

The one thing they can't do, in public, this week.

The one thing they promised not to do.

Get naked.

"No," she moans again, but the word comes out weakly, like she's losing her energy, as she shivers violently in his arms.

That's it.

"Screw probation," he says grimly. "We're getting you warm. I don't care if we get arrested."

He's taken the decision out of her hands, stripping the soaked sweater over her shocked white face and then dragging the sopping thermal shirt off next—with no small effort, each layer heavier than the next, before addressing her wringing wet jeans.

It's no easy task, the material is thoroughly saturated and heavy; it's like stripping off chain mail … from a knight who isn't particularly cooperative. At least Addison has given up trying to talk him out of it; she's just shivering silently … except for the moment he finally wrenches her jeans free of her icy cold legs, when the contact with her sore ankle makes her whimper.

"Sorry, Addie, just—stay close." He pushes her behind him, closer to the center of the boat, nervous about the lack of life vests but knowing they need skin to skin, and makes short work of his own clothes.

Addison has either given up protesting, too tired or cold to fight him … or is just saving her energy; without resistance, he pulls her frozen body close to his, folding them both into the rough flannel of the old sleeping bag.

And then she makes a soft whimper of pain as it contacts her skin—he apologizes, drawing her closer, feeling his own heart pounding and hers, slower and a little sluggish, making his stomach clench.

Cold.

She's so cold.

There's no avoiding it now, when it's just their naked bodies pressed together in the ancient sleeping bag that has certainly seen better days.

There's nothing he can do but hold her close under the rough flannel, trying to warm her with his own heat while he takes on some of the icy chill that's lowered her body temperature. She's trembling violently against him as he holds her close, so hard his own teeth are chattering.

"We need to warm you up," he mutters, talking to himself as much as he is to her.

Slowly—it could be a minute or an hour, time has escaped him—he feels her tremors starting to lessen.

And, if his imagination isn't playing tricks, the wind is lessening a little too. He still has to raise his voice to be heard, but not quite as much.

"Better?" he asks, giving the arm closest to him a squeeze. "Addie?"

"B—better," she's trembling with cold still, but she's holding on tightly. "I'm—sorry," she whispers after a few moments, her voice still staccato.

His heat is seeping into her and she gets it—skin on skin—she's an obstetrician, of course she understands the importance of that contact like no other to transfer warmth. Her ears aren't ringing anymore; her body feels a little more like a body and less like the cold rubbery fish she was dragging through the water.

"It's okay." He shifts a little to pull her closer, if possible. "Just … stay close," he repeats. "We need to get you warmed up."

"I didn't—mean to—"

"I know," he says quietly, as the boat rocks with some force around them. "You were worried about the weather. You were trying to come find me."

"But—"

"Shh." He pushes some of her wet hair away from her face and then draws her head back to his shoulder. "Just focus on getting warm, Addie."

"B-before," she mumbles. She's sounds so tired, but she keeps trying to talk. "I'm s—sorry about—before."

He pauses the hand that's been rubbing circles on her back pauses. "… I know," he says after a moment. "I'm sorry too."

"It's—my fault." She holds onto him tighter. "I should have—should have told you before. Then—no boat."

"Then no boat," he agrees, as the boat in question takes a particularly steep tilt, water sloshing the sides loudly enough that she startles in his arms.

"It's bad—out there," she whispers.

"It's okay. It's slowing down, I think. It never storms like this for long."

God, he hopes he's right.

He can make out her eyes in the light from the bow; wide with anxiety. "The b-boat—Coast Guard—"

"I guess they didn't see us," he says, sighing, not that he wanted to get arrested but he wouldn't have minded getting Addison a little medical attention. So much for that trade-off. He pulls her a little closer. No officials, no arrest, no help. Just the two of them.

Cold, shivering, and very naked.

Alone.

At least she's warmer now. He's pretty sure he would have called the Coast Guard back himself, despite the risk of jail time, if she were still shivering as violently as she was before. Even if she killed him for it … which she probably would have, once she warmed up.

"I'm … warmer," she mumbles into his neck.

"Good." He holds her close, feeling her heart beating against his.

Now that they're safe, he can admit the way he felt that terrifying moment he couldn't see her in the water. He took the boat out to get away from her, but then when he thought he'd lost her …

He can tell by the way she's clinging that she was thinking the same thing.

(That, or she's just determined to steal all of his body heat … but right now, he wouldn't mind handing it over.)

"I –" and she's mumbling something that sounds like spring it and you.

She did spring it on him. But maybe he would have heard it earlier, if he'd been listening.

"I left," he admits.

"J-just on the boat." Her cold fingers are tangling in his hair. "We—talk," she murmurs. "We should—"

"We should talk," he agrees. The wind is still whipping; he frees a hand to push her wet hair out of her eyes. "And we will. Later. For now, just try to relax. We're safe, and—"

"Passengers!"

They both jump at the loud voice blaring out of what must be a bullhorn.

"Passengers, show yourselves!"

Hesitantly, shakily, both Shepherd heads poke out from the sleeping bag, squinting in the glaring lights of a boat a hell of a lot closer than it was before.

… so the Coast Guard did find them after all.

..
..

"… and that's when we showed ourselves," Derek testifies.

The two Coast Guard officers exchange a look, perhaps remembering—none too fondly—just how much of himself he showed.

"The Coast Guard tagged the boat and took us onboard," Addison narrates, "they checked us out and brought us to the hospital station at Shinnecock and, well, I guess the officers there ran a background check."

The two Coast Guard officials exchange unamused looks.

"We didn't, um, have any clothes so the station did what they could…"

All eyes in the small courtroom drift from one uncharacteristically dressed Shepherd to the other; Derek clears his throat and attempts once more to pull down the too-tight lilac scrub top straining at his chest.

" … they cleared us medically but they wouldn't release us until they talked to the police and they said a judge … well, I guess you know that part." Addison looks down at her hands.

The judge, based on his expression, is less than sympathetic.

"We were following a direct order," Addison offers hopefully, "when we, um, when we showed ourselves." She throws the Coast Guard officials an apologetic look.

"And violating one too, it seems." The judge is sifting through a sheaf of paper. "According to—Elaine, what was that fellow's name?"

"Reilly," Elaine reports without expression, not looking up from her typewriter.

"Reilly, yes. According to Officer Reilly, from—let's see, the first precinct, and Officer Pulaski from the one-nine," the judge says, reading from his sheaf of papers, "the two of you are strictly prohibited from public nudity—" the judge stops reading, then gives the Coast Guard officera confused look. "Isn't everyone strictly prohibited from public nudity?"

"You would think," the officer says darkly.

"We really are very sorry," Addison cuts in. "Both of us. It was a matter of life and death—"

"The EMTs at the station said you were fine."

"I was fine, but my husband didn't know that." She lowers her voice. "He was looking out for me," she says quietly. "He—didn't have to get naked, Your Honor. He knew the Coast Guard might see us, but he was … worried."

"Mrs. Shepherd." The judge frowns.

" … he did it for me."

Derek meets her eye and she communicates with all the wordless energy she has just how sorry she is for all of this. He opens his mouth like he's about to speak to her and she starts to take a step forward—

Only to be stopped with the loud bang of a gavel.

"This is a courtroom, not a bedroom," the judge says sharply. "You, stay on this side," he directs Addison, "and you—on that side. Don't make me regret not cuffing you."

Addison gulps.

"Do you have anything else to say for yourselves?"

Derek and Addison exchange a nervous glance.

"Yes. I'd like to request … leniency," Addison says tentatively. "For medical reasons."

"You were cleared at Shinnecock."

She pauses. "Even though my hypothermic state had, um, had resolved naturally by the time we got to Shinnecock, I might still be … compromised."

Across the aisle, Derek looks like he's not sure what she's getting at.

Frankly, she's not too sure either. What she is sure of is that the judge doesn't seem particularly sympathetic.

"Oh, yes," the judge says now, "the notes say…" and he scans what must be the hospital station report, "that your left ankle was … 'swollen and tender to touch'." He pauses. "You sustained that injury on the boat."

"Not exactly … I, uh, I slipped getting a bottle of wine."

"Mm." The judge just nods. " … hematomas on both arms," he continues.

"Bruises," she says automatically, not really liking the judge's expression. She glances at Derek, who looks concerned. "My husband was … helping me out of a burning house."

Dragging would be more accurate, but she's not going to complain about the methods when he saved her life.

"Oh, and maybe some of them are from when he pulled me onto the boat."

"… and the minor swelling on the back of your skull?"

"Not from the boat," Addison admits. "I bumped my head on … the shower. Alone," she adds, not sure if she's making it better or worse.

The judge adjusts his reading glasses. "Several bruises on your … hips," he says, clearing his throat, "also from the maritime rescue, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Addison whispers.

"…and the only other thing I see is … mild abrasions on both knees."

Addison is pretty sure at this point her face is as red as her hair. " … no idea about those," she says, staring at her feet.

"Then let's pronounce you in good health, shall we?"

She just nods meekly.

The judge exhales rather louder than necessary. "Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd … you both violated the terms of your suspended sentence," he recites. "The conditions were very clear."

"Wait!"

"Now what?"

"The conditions were … we promised no sex," Addison blurts, "but this wasn't sex. I mean, it wasn't sex, Your Honor. It wasn't sexual. It was … medicinal. I can prove it." She takes a deep breath, hoping she's not starting to babble. "My husband, he wasn't—" she glances at Derek, who makes a quick cut it off gesture. "… he wasn't," she says without further elaboration. "He was a hundred percent medicinal. Ask the Coast Guard, they saw him!"

"I didn't see anything," says the male Coast Guard officer.

Addison turns pleading eyes to the female Coast Guard officer.

"I'm a professional," she snaps.

"But you have eyes!"

"Mrs. Shepherd," the judge calls from the bench, "this is highly irregular."

"But it's important," Addison protests, "because Derek and I weren't having sex. So we didn't violate anything!"

The judge turns to the female Coast Guard officer.

"Seaman," he addresses her, while Addison prays that Derek can keep a straight face, "if you do have information relevant to Mrs. Shepherd's testimony …."

The Coast Guard officer glances at Derek, and then at the judge, then back to Derek, who shifts a little as if to conceal his modesty with his oversized lilac scrub pants.

"Fine," the officer says with an audible sigh. "I did see it."

Addison beams. "And it was … medicinal. Right?"

"I would describe it more as—"

"Thank you, Seaman," the judge cuts her off. "I get the picture. You didn't witness a … violation."

"It can violate," Derek interjects quickly, "for the record, when needed, it's just that in that moment—"

"Thank you, Mr. Shepherd, no need to continue." The judge stares at him over the top of his glasses. "I'm sure your sexual prowess off the water is … impressive."

Addison feels her cheeks coloring.

"And I appreciate the testimony, but I'm afraid the terms of your bail forbid any public nudity, regardless of whether it's medicinal or … violating."

Derek shoots Addison a look suggesting that he's less than appreciative, with this new information, of the court's examination of his anatomy.

Addison, meanwhile, swallows hard. If it's just nudity, and they violated it … then their desk appearance tickets will be revoked. That's what their lawyers have been trying to tell them all along, both Savvy and Weiss and even Carter Black.

"Then they'll go to lockup?" the female Coast Guard officer asks hopefully, throwing Addison a dark look, apparently still annoyed that she was forced into acknowledging her view of … the defendant.

"Whose side are you on?" Addison hisses.

"The sea's side," the officer says with dignity, glaring at her. "Are you the sea? I don't think so."

"The sea doesn't have a—"

"Mrs. Shepherd," the judge barks, and Addison practically digs hollows in her palms with her own nails trying not to correct him. Based on Derek's expression he's having the same reaction, which is at least heartening … somewhat.

..

The thing is, she's a surgeon. She's used to a little more deference. And—fine, there's somehow a piece of dried seaweed stuck to the side of her neck, but she's still a citizen and she deserves some respect, no matter how ridiculous her Islanders sweatshirt might be, or how lilac Derek's scrubs.

It's unfair, is what it is.

Addison can't help noticing that the Coast Guard officers have somehow found the time to change into crisp dark blue uniforms with official-looking patches and gold braiding on the shoulders—and not even a single strand of dried seaweed, either. They look, objectively speaking, like trustworthy officers of the law. It's a far cry from the way they looked when they roared up to Derek's boat: all seafaring and rugged, with bright orange life vests. … all this while the Shepherds are clothed in ill-fitting borrowed clothes so unseemly they make the purple leather miniskirt Addison once hid in the back of her wardrobe, only to have the maid find it and Bizzy throw it out, look like one of her mother's perfectly-tailored Chanel skirts.

It's unfair.

It's … biased. Or something. She'll have to ask Savvy about this another time, since even the most dedicated of best friends isn't going to drive all the way out to night court in Southampton.

They're all alone here … at (metaphorical) sea, with no one to represent their interests.

"Your Honor, excuse us …"

And just like that, the courtroom doors swing open with the most beautiful sight and sound she could imagine: Savvy's voice (and the tapping of her very well designed and very high heels) and, on her tail, Weiss.

There's a tumultuous few minutes where everyone is talking at once, and then the judge bangs his gavel a few times and beckons Savvy and Weiss—who are both somehow still dressed for court despite the hour, although Addison has seen Savvy change into a black-tie gown in the back of a taxi once so she's not that surprised.

Then Savvy and Weiss are talking to the judge and Addison and Derek can only hear bits and pieces of it—clients and conflict of interest and jail. That last word makes her shudder; it's a lot worse now that she has a mental image … not to mention a mental odor.

"Derek," she whispers, trying to get his attention across the aisle, but the judge apparently has ears on the front of his robe or whatever because he bangs the gavel again and orders them to be quiet.

Finally, Savvy and Weiss separate, one going to each of Addison and Derek, and Addison can finally squeeze her best friend's hand in a hasty courtroom greeting.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispers.

"Neither can I," Savvy whispers back. "Sorry about the Coast Guard, by the way. When I called for help I didn't realize you and Derek would be naked."

"Ladies, if you can stop gossiping," the judge calls from the bench and there's such a strong joint effort not to snap back at him from both Addison and Savvy that she's pretty sure the air around them displaces.

But it's fine.

What's a little not-so-subtle sexism when her legal future is on the line?

Apparently whatever Savvy and Weiss said to the judge worked, because neither Shepherd is going to jail.

Their Desk Appearance Tickets aren't revoked.

Essentially, their probation remains unchanged … which is the purest of blessed relief until the judge clears his throat.

"I wasn't finished." He pauses. "For the duration of the time until your hearing in Manhattan, I'm issuing joint temporary stay away orders."

"Stay away orders?" Addison whispers to Savvy. "What does that—"

"No contact," the judge continues loudly from the bench, "between Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd."

No contact, okay, she can do that. Just more sex probation.

But the judge apparently isn't finished.

"No contact of any kind," he drones on. "Zero communication. That means no meeting in person, no talking on the phone, no emails, no mail mails, no nothing." He pauses before addressing the court reporter. "Elaine, what are the kids using these days?"

Elaine looks up from her typewriter. "The kids are using the MySpace these days, Your Honor."

"The MySpace." The judge nods decisively. "You're not to communicate on the MySpace, either."

Addison and Derek nod dutifully, though she's fairly certain he has no idea what the MySpace is and she only knows—well, sort of knows—because of some of the wildly unrequested information she received from their niece Alice at Nancy's apartment what seems like forever ago … but was really only a few nights ago.

(All she remembers, in fairness, since the pleather pants by then were cutting off too much oxygen for much intellect, is squeaking out is that a bathing suit? And Alice shaking her head sadly and suggesting her aunt was woefully out of date, not to mention embarrassingly body-negative, whatever that means.)

"No. Contact." The judge looks from one of them to the other, signing the orders with a flourish. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor," both Shepherds mumble from opposite sides of the courtroom. Desperately, Addison seeks her husband's eyes—he looks as confused and concerned as she does, lilac scrubs and all.

"Your Honor," Savvy cuts in, "our clients need to discuss some … logistics before they can separate per the order."

"Fine," the judge said, "they can have three minutes. And they can talk right here. The last thing those two need is privacy for … logistics." He indicates the pile of paper on his desk where Addison knows the many spurious (and not so spurious) accusations against the Shepherds' libidos are printed in black and white.

"Savvy," Addison whispers, "I really need to talk to Derek alone."

"Two minutes and forty-five seconds," the judge announces and Addison jumps a little at his tone.

If that's all they have—she crosses the space between them swiftly, reaching for Derek. No matter how lilac his scrubs might be, she needs to touch him right now, because the last time—

"No touching!" The bang of the gavel makes them jump apart even before the judge's words. "You can speak without touching each other," he orders.

"I'm not so sure," Weiss mutters, but his face is sympathetic.

Addison, meanwhile, is trying her hardest not to cry. Two and a half minutes now? Something like that? They can't even touch and they have to figure out where to go.

"You take the house," Derek says quickly, his voice sounding hoarse—probably from shouting over the waves during the storm. "I'll find somewhere else to stay."

She blinks. "No, Derek, it's my fault. You stay in the house. I'll go."

"It's my fault," he corrects her, not quite meeting her eyes. "I'm the one who told you to get naked."

"I'm the one who went out on the boat."

"I went out on the boat first," he reminds her.

"Well, I … made you want to go out on the boat in the first place." She chews her lower lip. "We're both equally at fault, okay? So please … take the house."

"Hey – Sonny and Cher over there—"

They both turn around, to the judge's amusement. He doesn't bother to hide it much, either. Frankly, the treatment by civil servants on this trip … let's just be glad her mother has no idea.

"Yes, Your Honor?" Addison says politely, straightening the hem of her oversized Islanders sweatshirt. She's just noticed what looks like a mustard stain on one sleeve and is using all her willpower not to shudder.

"Your generosity is … touching. What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours and in sickness and in health." The judge looks unimpressed. "But I think I speak for all of Suffolk County when I say you've overstayed your welcome."

Addison blinks. "Are you … kicking us out?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mrs. Shepherd. I don't have that authority." He lowers his glasses and stares at her for several long, uncomfortable seconds.

"Actually … I think maybe we'll go back to Manhattan," Addison says finally, faintly. "Both of us. But, um, separately."

"What a fine idea." The judge clears his throat. "See that you keep apart. Leave enough room for a police officer between you … so I don't have to send one to actually get between you. Understood?"

"Understood," Addison says faintly.

"Understood."

So neither of them gets the house.

And she's definitely going to cry, because she has no idea where—

"Your Honor," Derek says, "we used those minutes for, uh, Suffolk County logistics, so we actually need more time."

Addison winces a little, waiting for them to get yelled at.

The judge, though, doesn't look angry. He stares at them both for a moment.

"Fine. You have two more minutes for … logistics." He waves a hand suggesting how important he thinks this is. When Addison starts to move again he bangs his gavel; she jumps. "Right here." He points, indicating the spot in front of him now. "Both of you." He turns to the policemen who have been flanking his podium.

"Officers—you'll escort them back to the house to get their things. Separately; they can take turns. Accompany them at all times. Two officers," he adds.

Addison is desperately trying to figure out what she can say with all eyes—and ears—on them. She needs to talk to him. In private.

"You go with Savvy and Weiss," Derek is talking now. "Addie—you hear me?"

She nods, too numb to speak.

"They have a car," Derek continues, "and they'll drive you back." He glances at Weiss, who nods.

"A rental," Weiss adds.

Derek winces. "Sorry about that."

He turns pained eyes to Addison and she has to wipe tears out of her own. Damn it.

"No problem, man. You drive our car," Weiss says, apparently realizing Addison and Derek are in no shape for logistics now. "Addison can come with us."

He nods. "I'll drive Weiss and Savvy's car back to Manhattan."

Alone.

She hates driving alone to or from the island; in fact, Derek has never made her do it.

She swallows hard. "We can't go back to the brownstone," she whispers; it's the first thing she's managed to say.

"Or within ten feet of it," Weiss adds helpfully, "or any member of the Kraus family."

"Addison can stay at our place," Savvy says quickly.

"But what about Derek?"

Derek looks at his – well, they're not his – shoes. They're large canvas sneakers that make him look like a rather sad clown. "I'll be fine, Addison. You stay with Savvy and Weiss," he says.

"But where are you – "

"I'll, just—I'll call Nancy."

… and sleep in a virtual zoo, as much as both of them love their nieces and nephew and the genial chaos of that apartment?

While Addison stays in luxuriously serene comfort with Savvy and Weiss?

That's not fair.

"No, Derek, you should stay with Savvy and Weiss. This is my fault."

"Addison—"

The gavel bangs and they jump apart again.

"Case dismissed."

"But, judge—"

"Get moving, Mrs. Shepherd, before I change my mind about jail."

..

She staggers out of the courtroom, an officer on her tail she assumes will be escorting her back to their country house, trying to make sense of all of this.

I need to talk to Derek, is the only thought in her head, except she knows that she can't.

"Addie!" Savvy catches up and hugs her.

"Are you—crying?" Addison takes her friend's hand, touched and a little concerned about her now. "Sav, I was never in any danger of drowning, I promise, I'm so sorry I worried you."

"It's not that," Savvy sniffs. "It's just—seeing you like this…"

Addison gives her friend another hug. "I know. It was bad enough in lockup last time, but at least that was Manhattan … during the day. Not night court. I'm sorry I keep doing this to you."

"It's not the night court thing either." Savvy stands back, looking like she's trying to pull it together. "It's—this." She gestures vaguely toward Addison's person. "Is that an Islanders sweatshirt? It's so … boxy. The fabric is definitely carcinogenic." She shudders. "And you don't even like basketball."

"I think what Savvy means to say," Weiss cuts in diplomatically, "is that it will be good to see you back to your … usual self." He pats her shoulder, then turns to his wife.

"Hockey, Sav," Weiss mutters under his breath, but not so quietly Addison can't hear, "there's a giant puck in the middle of that acid trip of a sweatshirt; it's not exactly hard to see."

"I was trying not to look too closely."

"Are you sure Derek can't stay at your place too?" Addison asks hopefully. "Maybe in separate rooms, or …."

Her voice trails off.

"Derek and I really can't talk to each other … at all?"

Savvy and Weiss exchange a look.

She watches as Weiss goes over to Derek, and the two men speak too quietly for her to hear across the unfortunately bustling lobby.

"Weiss!"

Their friend turns around at Derek's beckoning call and then, looking very serious, nods.

Right now, Addison would give anything to be able to go over there and talk to Derek herself.

She would give up the country house and its perfect, enormous soaking tub.

She'd give up … her shoe collection.

She would even agree to wear nothing but this Islanders sweatshirt forever.

(Okay, fine, maybe not that last part. But only because it would be cruel to Derek, too, and with the very minor problems he experienced back at the brownstone, she certainly doesn't want to give him any more performance issues.)

The point is: she wants to talk to her husband.

She needs to talk to her husband.

And she's not allowed to talk to her husband.

And even though he's the one who insisted she strip off her wet clothes and he's the one who said he didn't care if they got arrested and he's the one who's been determined to take the blame … it still feels like her fault.

Derek would never have gone off in the boat if she hadn't sprung her past with Mark on him like that. She wouldn't have had to chase him in the motorized kayak and they would be home, right now, in the country house they decorated jointly (well, she decorated it and he grudgingly weighed in on her choices on pain of removal of sexual favors).

They would be together.

And everything would be okay.

"Hey … Addie."

She looks up at Weiss's voice. He's smiling at her, though he looks a little sad.

"It's going to be okay," he says.

"Yeah?" She swipes some of her hair out of her face—it's "dried," if you can call it that, in salty-stiff waves that she's pretty sure make her look like a witch (and not a hot one, like Morticia Addams, a regular one). "I'm not allowed to talk to my husband and I'm dressed like an extra in the Amityville Horror. What's okay about that?"

"Well." Weiss rests a hand on her shoulder. "It's not forever, for one. It's fivedays. Just until the hearing. You can manage five days, can't you?"

Weiss is the same one who's scolded them repeatedly for not being able to manage any days without … violating their probation. But it was funnier then, when she and Derek could laugh together.

"It's five days," Savvy repeats, coming to stand on her other side and linking her arm through Addison's, then withdrawing it quickly as if even the brief contact with her carcinogenic hockey sweatshirt might be contagious. "And we'll be with you, Ad. We'll help you through it."

"I owe you," Addison says softly, then pauses. "It's just … who's going to help Derek through it, though?" Addison looks from Weiss to Savvy and back again. "I'm more worried about him."

"Funny." Weiss squeezes her shoulder. "That's just what he said about you."

Addison swallows hard, wiping her eyes. Her friends give her a tactful moment and then exchange a glance over her head.

"Let's go," one of the officers calls.

Right.

To the house, to collect her things so she can be driven back to exile in Manhattan.

"Come on, Addie. It's late," Weiss says gently.

Savvy glances at her husband. "It's chilly out there too, honey. Lend Addie your trench coat."

"Of course," Weiss says, starting to slip it off his shoulders.

"It's fine, Weiss, I'm not cold."

"Addie." Savvy stops her with a hand on her arm. "You know how you said you owe me?"

Addison nods.

"Well, I'm cashing in. Cover up that sweatshirt …." She helps Weiss shrug his trench coat off and then wraps it securely around Addison, "…and we'll call it even."

Don't give up hope - our favorite criminals never stay apart for long. Next time: the forced separation means a lot of individual reminiscing ... if you know what I mean (and chances are, if you're reading this story ... you do know what I mean). Thank you so much for reading! I feel about review the exact opposite of the way the night court judge feels about Addison's embellishments, so please ... bring it on. See you next time!