"This Ruined Puzzle"
Part: 3/?
Pairing: Derek/Addison.
Rating: PG-13.
Authors: A group effort by Hannah
escapismrocks) and Sarah (
xyliette).
Description: We start with some history, then weave carefully around cannon, and finally head completely A/U.
Summary: A bit more history from a different viewpoint.
Disclaimer: None of the characters within this fiction are ours.
Give it a shot because we can't reveal too much within the description.
A/N: So one more dose of some history and then we are going into canon to get this thing rolling. Thanks for reading and all the comments, we love it! Enjoy....
~~~~~~~~~~
Pick up the fragments and piece them together
Tell me do you like what you've found?
Are your thoughts like the earth spinning round?
Existence is pure pantomime
Why is life such a puzzle sometimes?
-Skyclad- "The One Piece Puzzle"
It is pouring hard against my shoulders as I make my way up our front steps. The flowers in the corner have been pelted by the hard rain and are lying tethered in the mud hole that is their holder. I can’t help but think of how well it mirrors the despair filled situation that my marriage has become. I turn my key in the front door only to discover my wife left it open for once. I step into our foyer and quickly scan the room. Something feels off.
I pause slightly trying to figure out if Addison got bored enough to re-arrange the furniture again. Everything looks the same. I set my briefcase down next to the stairs and wander into the kitchen. The smell of dinner burning in the oven really shouldn’t surprise me. My wife tends to be forgetful when cooking so I turn the temperature off and pull the charred roast out of the hot oven. I survey the table. Another night where she set it for two even though she knew I had a surgery. One that got postponed and has lead to me attempting to come home and spend time with her, but that is neither here nor there. The candles wind down to their ends, the wax spilling over and down the silver holder. I notice the near empty bottle of wine and know that it is going to be one of those nights.
One of those nights where, if she is awake, I will be yelled at until morning for everything that is so wrong in our marriage. But if she is asleep it will be my fault when she wakes up with the slightest hangover. Truly we stopped fighting about the important things years ago but we still manage to bicker at one another until the one of us breaks and runs for the freedom that only the hospital can provide. She has grown clingy throughout the years, which I suppose I am to blame for also, but she is otherwise perfect and the flawlessness has been driving me up a wall. I glance at our wedding photos from years ago that are displayed across the shelf and try to shake the recognizable images from my head. We aren’t that couple anymore.
Something is definitely different and I can’t exactly put my finger on it until I hear a noise upstairs. It is faint and hushed. Without a doubt Addison’s voice. I receive a twinge down my spine and then I know. In that moment I know exactly what my wife is doing upstairs. My mind rushes and my heart drops into my stomach anticipating the aching betrayal that is taking place upstairs somewhere.
I get feelings like that. More often than not they happen at work. It’s like a sixth sense. I know when things are about to go down the drain, I can smell impending doom. This time it is my own. I storm up the stairs wondering which guy she has hauled home from the hospital. This is a staging. An exhibition to prove that she doesn’t need me anymore. It is all for show; for the attention. She is a vindictive manipulative red-head; I’ve known this since day one. The thing is that I have always enjoyed the view point from behind her watching the wrath spew forward, not at me.
I storm up the stairs, past some of her clothing, as the voices in my own bedroom grow louder with each passing step. Of course she would use our room; that is just the kind of woman she is. I reach the landing and then my eyes lock with an all too familiar article of clothing. Everything I know shifts. If the coat belongs to who I am almost certain it does then this is not a sick malicious extravaganza. The sheer anger subsides to an insurmountable amount of pain as I push open our already cracked door. On our bed, our sheets, our pillows, our blankets, our house. My best friend and my wife. My head spins in a dizzying dance and I think I might throw up as I hear her scream out his name.
I watch from the doorway, eyes trapped in utter horror, as the ultimate waltz of treachery inches its way towards being fully completed. I am ghost, a visitor in my own home until she finally sees me. Her moans die immediately in her throat and she pushes him away as she wraps a sheet around her flushed skin. My words fail me and all I can say is, “Get out, get out, get out.” It is not so much a request as it is a mantra. All I really want to do is wake up from this cruel nightmare and be in any on-call room with my wife angrily tucked away in our bed alone.
In one swift and unimaginable move she ended our lives. I know she meant it and if it was anyone else I may have forgiven her but for now all I can do is throw her into the rain while I try and regain some form of a thought pattern. I hate it when she cries, and no matter what anyone tells you from here on out know that I loved my wife. I may have had an odd way of showing it but I did. She was the love of my life, my best friend, so I open the heavy glass door slowly and step away from her. My mind is reeling and the only thing I know is that I have to leave. I can’t simply stay in the site that shattered all of my remaining hopes and dreams.
I shiver within my warm coat as I make my way through Central Park. I shouldn’t be out here at night but I think that if anyone tried to kill me right now I would just as soon let them. The streetlamp that dimly lights the path reflects the gold of my wedding band into my eyes and it is then when I realize that it is over. 10 wasted years. All so that on the night I come home, intent on apologizing for every horrid thing that has gone on between us for the last few years, I am forced to find that she has already given up. I have no other choice but to follow suit, so I head up the dark trail in search of something new. Something that can take this guttural aching away.
~~~~~~~~~~
Part 4. My heart feels like it's frozen.
Pairing: Derek/Addison.
Rating: PG-13.
Authors: A group effort by Hannah
escapismrocks) and Sarah (
xyliette).
Description: We start with some history, then weave carefully around cannon, and finally head completely A/U.
Summary: A bit more history from a different viewpoint.
Disclaimer: None of the characters within this fiction are ours.
Give it a shot because we can't reveal too much within the description.
A/N: So one more dose of some history and then we are going into canon to get this thing rolling. Thanks for reading and all the comments, we love it! Enjoy....
~~~~~~~~~~
Pick up the fragments and piece them together
Tell me do you like what you've found?
Are your thoughts like the earth spinning round?
Existence is pure pantomime
Why is life such a puzzle sometimes?
-Skyclad- "The One Piece Puzzle"
It is pouring hard against my shoulders as I make my way up our front steps. The flowers in the corner have been pelted by the hard rain and are lying tethered in the mud hole that is their holder. I can’t help but think of how well it mirrors the despair filled situation that my marriage has become. I turn my key in the front door only to discover my wife left it open for once. I step into our foyer and quickly scan the room. Something feels off.
I pause slightly trying to figure out if Addison got bored enough to re-arrange the furniture again. Everything looks the same. I set my briefcase down next to the stairs and wander into the kitchen. The smell of dinner burning in the oven really shouldn’t surprise me. My wife tends to be forgetful when cooking so I turn the temperature off and pull the charred roast out of the hot oven. I survey the table. Another night where she set it for two even though she knew I had a surgery. One that got postponed and has lead to me attempting to come home and spend time with her, but that is neither here nor there. The candles wind down to their ends, the wax spilling over and down the silver holder. I notice the near empty bottle of wine and know that it is going to be one of those nights.
One of those nights where, if she is awake, I will be yelled at until morning for everything that is so wrong in our marriage. But if she is asleep it will be my fault when she wakes up with the slightest hangover. Truly we stopped fighting about the important things years ago but we still manage to bicker at one another until the one of us breaks and runs for the freedom that only the hospital can provide. She has grown clingy throughout the years, which I suppose I am to blame for also, but she is otherwise perfect and the flawlessness has been driving me up a wall. I glance at our wedding photos from years ago that are displayed across the shelf and try to shake the recognizable images from my head. We aren’t that couple anymore.
Something is definitely different and I can’t exactly put my finger on it until I hear a noise upstairs. It is faint and hushed. Without a doubt Addison’s voice. I receive a twinge down my spine and then I know. In that moment I know exactly what my wife is doing upstairs. My mind rushes and my heart drops into my stomach anticipating the aching betrayal that is taking place upstairs somewhere.
I get feelings like that. More often than not they happen at work. It’s like a sixth sense. I know when things are about to go down the drain, I can smell impending doom. This time it is my own. I storm up the stairs wondering which guy she has hauled home from the hospital. This is a staging. An exhibition to prove that she doesn’t need me anymore. It is all for show; for the attention. She is a vindictive manipulative red-head; I’ve known this since day one. The thing is that I have always enjoyed the view point from behind her watching the wrath spew forward, not at me.
I storm up the stairs, past some of her clothing, as the voices in my own bedroom grow louder with each passing step. Of course she would use our room; that is just the kind of woman she is. I reach the landing and then my eyes lock with an all too familiar article of clothing. Everything I know shifts. If the coat belongs to who I am almost certain it does then this is not a sick malicious extravaganza. The sheer anger subsides to an insurmountable amount of pain as I push open our already cracked door. On our bed, our sheets, our pillows, our blankets, our house. My best friend and my wife. My head spins in a dizzying dance and I think I might throw up as I hear her scream out his name.
I watch from the doorway, eyes trapped in utter horror, as the ultimate waltz of treachery inches its way towards being fully completed. I am ghost, a visitor in my own home until she finally sees me. Her moans die immediately in her throat and she pushes him away as she wraps a sheet around her flushed skin. My words fail me and all I can say is, “Get out, get out, get out.” It is not so much a request as it is a mantra. All I really want to do is wake up from this cruel nightmare and be in any on-call room with my wife angrily tucked away in our bed alone.
In one swift and unimaginable move she ended our lives. I know she meant it and if it was anyone else I may have forgiven her but for now all I can do is throw her into the rain while I try and regain some form of a thought pattern. I hate it when she cries, and no matter what anyone tells you from here on out know that I loved my wife. I may have had an odd way of showing it but I did. She was the love of my life, my best friend, so I open the heavy glass door slowly and step away from her. My mind is reeling and the only thing I know is that I have to leave. I can’t simply stay in the site that shattered all of my remaining hopes and dreams.
I shiver within my warm coat as I make my way through Central Park. I shouldn’t be out here at night but I think that if anyone tried to kill me right now I would just as soon let them. The streetlamp that dimly lights the path reflects the gold of my wedding band into my eyes and it is then when I realize that it is over. 10 wasted years. All so that on the night I come home, intent on apologizing for every horrid thing that has gone on between us for the last few years, I am forced to find that she has already given up. I have no other choice but to follow suit, so I head up the dark trail in search of something new. Something that can take this guttural aching away.
~~~~~~~~~~
Part 4. My heart feels like it's frozen.