First things first: thank you for your feedback on the last flip, and for checking up on this page while I haven't been writing. This flip sort of wrote itself, which means it fit in well with my limited writing time. It's the result of my finding out, some ... 13(!) ... years after I watched Grey's for the first time, that Addison called Derek "babe."

Babe.

I know! (/Monica from Friends voice) Seriously, though, I was completely shocked: first, that someone as focused on Addek as I am had missed the use of a pet name and second, that she full-on called him babe. Babe! In canon! So of course, like poor Derek pre-show, what happened? "Everything I know ... just shift[ed]." It had to. Because really? Babe?

Of course, she didn't call him babe in a vacuum. It's a quick throwaway scene in the end montage of 2.21, Superstition (the one with the juju. Maybe babe flew under the radar because juju became such a key piece of Addek fandom). Addison brings two cups of juju and gives one to Meredith, saying she's sorry for the loss of her patient. (And if you know me, you know I love Meredith and feel for her considerably in the Season 2 quagmire, but saying "thank you, Addison?" Girl, that may be the wife of your ex-boyfriend, but she's also your boss. That's Double-Board-Certified Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd to you.)

So what happens after Meredith says, "thank you, Addison"?

Addison saunters up to Derek, gives him the second cup of juju, and says (pause for drumroll)

Here you go, babe.

And then they leave. Together. God, the end of Season 2 is such a mind-fork.

A few of us started chatting about this. Why did she call him babe then? Was it purposeful? And if so, is there a story behind it? And if there's a story, could it be flipped into ... actual conversation?

With thanks to meadowlark and peachfresca for inspiring this quick and dirty (not like that) piece, here you go ... babes. I hope you enjoy!

Babe
(2.21, "Superstition")

Addison turns around, confused, having just asked her husband the simplest of questions (want a drink?)

And it deserves the simplest of answers, because who wouldn't want a drink after a long day of losses at the hospital, one piece of bad news after another?

Maybe she heard him wrong.

She must have heard him wrong.

"Derek. What did you just say?"

"I said, sure … babe."

He's smiling, looking somewhere between amused and smug.

"Since when do you call me babe?"

He gives her a knowing look. "Since you called me babe."

Oh.

Heat creeps into her cheeks. So he was paying attention.

(At all the wrong times, which shouldn't surprise her.)

She was being friendly, okay, bringing juju after the terrible day they all had, and offering it to him – and to Meredith first! – and she barely even remembers what she said to him when she handed it over.

… fine, she remembers approaching him, she remembers the way his hair looked when he turned his head to her, and the movement of his shoulders visible just barely against his dress shirt. And she remembers asking him: ready? so they could leave together … but he's her husband, isn't he? There's nothing strange about that.

Here you go, babe.

Okay, she might remember him clearing his throat in response, but in the Seattle humidity, clearing your throat is basically required. It has nothing to do with what she said.

So she's not sure what the big deal is.

Just because Meredith happened to be there.

Watching.

Watching … which is what Derek is doing, right now.

Instead of saying anything to him, she just climbs with as much grace as one can in what passes for their marital home to get a tumbler from the top cabinet.

(If her husband didn't choose this trailer with express measurements to make it easy for him and difficult for her – well, then it's another Derek Shepherd Convenient Coincidence.)

"Don't forget mine," he reminds her from behind her back – as if she would.

She just climbs back down with some dignity and pours a shot for each of them.

"Here you go." But then her cheeks flush again when she passes him the glass.

He looks amused – he looks almost like he's – winking.

"What's so funny, Derek?"

"Nothing, Addison." He takes a sip of his drink. "Mm. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She takes her own sip. "It's not that strange, you know. I call you babe."

"You don't call me babe."

"I do call you babe." She frowns. "I call you babe sometimes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You've called me babe … exactly twice," he says. "Twice, ever, since I've known you. Well. Three times if we're counting tonight's show."

"It wasn't a show!"

"… if we're counting tonight's show," he repeats, his tone mild.

"It was not a – " She stops. "What's your point?"

"My point is … you've only called me babe twice."

"Well, they can't have been very important times, because I don't remember them."

Based on his expression … he does, though.

Great.

..

"Two words," he says, taking a long sip as he settles onto the couch. "Becky Ridowski."

"Becky Ridowski," she repeats the name blankly. It sounds familiar … somewhat. She stretches the arch of her foot, sore after her long day.

"Medical school," he prompts.

She shakes her head; she still can't quite picture her.

"She had dark hair – she was from Cleveland – "

"Do you want me to dig out the yearbook?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," he says. "You remember Becky."

"And yet – "

"She had dark hair," he repeats.

"And she was from Cleveland. This is all very helpful, Derek, but it's just not ringing a bell."

"She used to wear a Harvard sweatshirt with the collar cut down to – "

"Oh, that Becky."

"That Becky."

"I guess I remember her."

"I thought you might." He grins at her. "So you remember the night Becky and I were studying together for our p-chem midterm in Rhodes– "

"No. You were studying, Derek. Becky Ridowski … was evaluating her options."

"Her options." He cocks his head. "I was her option?"

"You were not her option, Derek. You had a girlfriend."

"I did? I seem to remember the girl I was dating telling me we weren't exclusive."

Her cheeks flush with the memory. "I was … keeping my options open?"

"Charming." He shakes his head at her, looking more amused than annoyed. "And Becky was keeping her options open, too."

"Fine, I remember." She busies herself pouring another drink. "What's your point?"

"My point is, we were sitting in Rhodes, studying, perfectly innocent – "

She snorts at this.

" – and in walks an angry redhead – "

"I wasn't angry."

"in walks a redhead," he amends, "carrying two cups of coffee." He pauses. "Sound familiar yet?"

"Maybe."

"And you brought me one of the cups, and you said – "

"I thought you could use a little pick-me-up," she mutters.

"Wrong."

"Wrong?"

"You said, I thought you could use a little pick-me-up … babe."

Her cheeks flush. "Well. You could be a little more appreciative. It was coffee!"

"And the other cup, which I'm pretty sure Becky actually reached for – "

"That cup was for me," she admits, pressing her lips together to tamp down her smile.

"Very subtle."

"Thank you." She raises an eyebrow. "It was too subtle for Becky, anyway, because she didn't take the hint."

"No, she didn't," he says reminiscently. "She stuck around for the rest of that study session, didn't she? Even when you plopped down across the table and started running your foot – "

"There's no need for all the details," she cuts him off quickly. "She should have taken the hint, anyway. As I assume you noticed during that study session … Becky Ridowski wasn't exactly the brightest."

"That's not very nice."

"She wasn't very nice," Addison reminds him. "Going after another girl's – what?"

"Nothing," he says innocently. "Just – is this part of your argument for how babe isn't you marking your territory? Or have you not gotten to that part yet?"

"Shut up," she mutters.

"Whatever you say … babe."

(She's going to kill him. She's going to actually kill him, and then she's going to erect a stone that says HERE LIES BABE, and then she's going to revive him just to make sure he has to read it.)

"Poor Becky," he says, his expression very serious and if she didn't know him well enough to recognize the twinkle in his eyes –

"I'm sure Becky is doing just fine," Addison says, using serious effort not to roll her eyes. "Now that you reminded me – " and she saunters past him – not very far past him, in this trailer, to pick up the Alumni magazine she'd almost forgotten was sitting in her briefcase. (She gets her mail at the hospital. You try asking vendors to change your mailing address to My Semi-Estranged Husband's Mid-Life Crisis in the Woods.) "Ridowski … Ridowski … there it is!" She points to the page with satisfaction. "Rebecca Carteret, née Ridowski, has accepted a position as – there you go. She's a pediatrician, with a private practice, and she lives in Darien so she's obviously not doing too badly." She runs a finger down the page. "And she has twins!" she adds triumphantly.

"Just imagine how far she could have gone with an extra cup of coffee before her P-Chem midterm," Derek says pensively. "She could be Surgeon General by now. With triplets."

With great effort, she doesn't throw the alumni magazine at him.

..

They're getting ready for bed in that piecemeal way – when you're both tired but no one's in a particular rush, so you pass each other strolling with a half buttoned shirt or a washcloth in hand, marking space on the floor.

Every once in a while, she catches him giving her a significant look.

One she knows well.

He's waiting.

He looks – almost amused.

He wants to her ask.

He really does.

And she's not going to indulge him.

"Derek, would you just – " she snaps finally.

"What?" His eyes are wide and innocent.

"Fine, just – tell me the other time."

"The other time?"

She's going to kill him.

"The other time I called you babe," she says, enunciating carefully, " … in your recollection, anyway."

"In my recollection," he repeats, as he slowly shakes out his pajama pants.

"Yes, in your recollection. Who was it this time? Someone else in medical school? A nurse? An – "

She stops talking before she can say intern, flushing a little.

"Actually," Derek says lightly, "it was my mother."

"Your mother?" She stares. "Derek. You can't seriously be accusing me of … babeing you to your mother."

"Oh, I'm very serious. I remember it well."

She shakes her head. "Is it possible you're just flattering yourself in this memory, Derek?"

"It's possible … " His expression is irritatingly close to a smirk right now. "But maybe I can refresh your memory. Christmas – "

" – we've had a lot of those," she reminds him, half turning to slip her nightgown over her head.

"Christmas 1994," he continues as if she's never interrupted. "I think you remember Christmas 1994?"

Our first married Christmas.

"1994," she says out loud, adopting a thoughtful tone, "I suppose that was a memorable year."

He nods, looking satisfied.

"It's not like you can forget it," she continues.

"Thank you."

"… it's not every year there's a baseball strike."

"Very funny." Derek shakes his head.

"You didn't think it was funny at the time."

"It wasn't. But you know I'm talking about something a little more serious, Addison."

"The Bosnian War?"

"Not that serious." He sighs, turning to thump his pillow a few times – maybe to fluff it, maybe because he's picturing her face. Who knows? He turns back to her: "Do you really need to make everything difficult?"

" … maybe."

They just exchange a look, then. Visual chicken. Two stubborn, hard-headed –

"Oh, right," she says innocently. "The wedding."

"Thank you," he says again, his tone grim.

"Such a lovely wedding, too," she says in a reminiscent tone. "Your mother was so pleased. I knew that nice young man just needed to settle down."

He's glaring at her again. "Addison – "

"Were we not talking about Lisa Marie Presley and Michael Jackson?"

"No, we were not." But his face has started to look less annoyed. "My mother did have a thing for the Jackson Five."

"Well, five children … it's too bad that Shepherd Five Partridge Family thing never took off," she agrees. "But you did look pretty good in those bell bottoms."

"Thank you," he says, for the third time, sounding a little more sincere now.

"Not to mention your hair actually worked pretty well for the – "

"Addison."

She lifts her hands innocently. "Fine, forget it. Go ahead and tell me the story, then."

"If you're sure," he says with exaggerated politeness. He clears his throat. "It was Christmas 1994, and we were at my mother's house."

Of course they were.

"We were getting ready for the annual family photo. John was setting up the tripod, and you had given me a blue sweater for Christmas that year."

Derek isn't exactly a man of fabrics, but blue sweater really doesn't do that gift justice. It was the softest cashmere, in a shade perfectly calculated to bring out his eyes. She was right – it looked great on him, of course, and when she fussed over him he teased her a little.

Okay, Addie, if I look this good in a blue sweater, maybe I should wear one every day.

Not just blue, she told him firmly, it's indigo.

He'd laughed: indigo, really?

It really was.

And it looked really good on him.

Derek clears his throat a little again, and she wonders if he's been thinking about the same thing.

"The photo," he says.

"Right."

"So my mother wanted me to change into the Christmas sweater she knit for me – "

"When you were seventeen, Derek, and it had a moose on it."

"A reindeer."

"My point stands," she says with dignity.

She remembers the rest.

Her mother-in-law, a disapproving look on her face, holding out the garish, ancient Christmas sweater. "Derek, you always wear the sweater I knit on Christmas. You wore it last Christmas."

And Addison remembers that she smiled sweetly at her mother-in-law. Well, he wasn't married last Christmas, she reminded her.

Derek, for his part, stood swinging his head back and forth like he was at a –

" – tennis match." He shakes that same head now. "And I was in the middle."

"Well, if you'd handled it, you wouldn't have been in the middle!"

"I handled it," he mutters.

"Oh, please." She tosses her hair. "Your mother got all – huffy – and said, Derek, don't you wear this sweater every year? Tell Addie. And what did you do?"

Derek has the good grace to look a little embarrassed.

He'd flushed a little – she smiles in spite of herself remembering his youthful face, more than eleven years ago now – and said, awkwardly, I do wear that sweater every year.

"And you said," Derek continues, "now you have a new sweater."

Addison nods, and when he waits for her to pick up the story, she chimes in: "… Lucky for you, that's one of the many benefits of having a new wife."

He raises an eyebrow.

She sighs. "Fine, Lucky for you, that's one of the many benefits of having a new wife … babe."

"And there it is." He smiles triumphantly. "I'll drink to that." He's wearing pajamas now, had one hand on the duvet, but apparently he's not quite ready for sleep. He pauses. "Do you want another?"

… oh, she might as well.

..

Halfway through her next drink, she points an accusatory finger at him. Or she meant it to be accusatory, but she's a little warm and sleepy at this point, sitting on the side of the bed with her legs crossed. Her dangling foot is distracting her a little, back and forth like a metronome. He seems to be watching it too.

"Derek …"

He glances at her.

"You don't make a big deal over my calling you honey."

"That's different," he says. "Honey isn't a … territorial dogfight."

"A dogfight," she repeats. "Lovely imagery, honey, thank you for that one."

"See?" He looks triumphant.

"See what?"

"You just called me honey."

"I did?" She pauses. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Oh. I didn't notice."

"… proving my point." He toasts her smugly with his tumbler of scotch, which has very little liquid left now.

..

"I wasn't … territorial dogfighting, at work tonight," she says quietly. They're lying side by side in bed, drinks finally abandoned. In bed … but not asleep. The bedside light is still on; Derek hasn't plugged in their blackberries to charge.

"You weren't?" he asks.

"No. I just brought you juju. That's all."

"You just brought me juju … babe," he corrects her. His eyes are twinkling a little in the low light, and his tone is teasing, but she finds herself defensive anyway.

He sighs, recognizing her expression. "Don't get upset."

"I'm not upset." She frowns. "You're the one who's upset."

"I'm not upset."

"You are! You're upset because I interrupted your … chance to chat with Meredith tonight."

"No, I'm upset because you wouldn't admit that my ... chance of chatting with Meredith tonight upset you." He pauses. "I'm not upset, Addison. But if I were, it would be – "

He takes another sip of his drink.

"We're going in circles," she sighs.

"I noticed … babe."

She sticks her tongue out at him and he, looking quite pleased with himself, doesn't return the gesture.

..

"I didn't drink the other," she says in the darkness.

One, two … and the light flicks back on, illuminating her husband's confused expression.

"The other what?"

"The other juju." She sighs when he doesn't seem to understand. "I gave it to Meredith."

"I know you did. What does – oh."

He stops.

"Meredith isn't Becky," she says pointedly. "And we're not in medical school anymore."

"No, I guess we're not."

..

Just before he flicks out his light, she rests a hand on his arm and he turns to look at her quizzically.

"Now what?" he asks, but his tone is surprisingly gentle, and she doesn't let it stop her.

"You never call me anything," she says quietly.

"What does that mean?" His brow crinkles. "I call you things."

"You used to call me things. You used to call me Addie, at least."

Now he's full on frowning. "I still call you Addie. It's your name, isn't it?"

"Nickname."

"Same thing."

"Different things!"

He sighs a very put upon and not very flattering sigh. "So I'm not allowed to call you Addison?"

"You're allowed."

"Good."

"But you used to call me Addie. Not all the time, but a lot of the time, and – stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you think I'm being ridiculous."

"So … accurately, then," he murmurs, with the good sense to keep his voice low. She hears him anyway.

"Derek."

"Addison."

She makes a triumphant gesture. "See? You just did it again!"

"Addison … ."

" … and again."

"Would you just – ." He reaches out as if for his drink, then seems to remember it's gone. "What's your point, Addison?"

"Three times," she says. "That's my point."

"Three times – "

"You've only called me Addie six times. Since I've been in Seattle, only six times."

"Six times," he repeats, frowning. "No, that can't be right. I call you Addie all the time."

"You used to call me Addie all the time, and then you stopped."

He doesn't respond.

"Six times, Derek. Six times in six months isn't a nickname, it's a … magazine subscription."

He shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"But I know so. I kept track," she admits.

"You kept – " he shakes his head. "You kept track? Nice, Addie. Don't let anyone tell you you're not petty."

"You know what? I need another drink." She climbs over his mostly supine body, ignoring the way he rests an automatic hand on her hip as she makes her way to the floor.

"Addison …"

She ignores him, pouring herself another scotch instead. "Here's to seven," she says, lifting it toward him in a toast and then taking a long sip.

"Seven – oh, come on." He looks slightly irritated now. "Is this another complaint? You want me to call you Addie more often?"

"Not in that tone, no." She takes another sip.

"You could at least leave some for me," he says grumpily. He's out of bed now too; he takes the tumbler from her hands without an invitation and drains half of it.

..

After that, he needs his own.

It's possible she's a little tipsy at this point … but who's counting?

She's leaning against the narrow counter in what passes for a kitchen, trying not to hope too much that her husband's eyes are skimming over the bodice of her nightgown with interest rather than just habit. It's better, in this trailer, not to hope too much.

"Derek?"

"Hm?" He lifts his eyes to her face.

"Do you still have that sweater?"

His expression hardens.

"I'm just asking." She takes a swallow of the drink to hide her trembling lips. Scotch makes her sensitive – maybe because the taste reminds her of Derek. Maybe she's just always sensitive here. Sensitive to her husband's friendship with Meredith Grey. Sensitive to her place in his life.

She was home in the morning when he arrived to pack his things, just as he said he would. (It wasn't lost on her that, for once, he came home when he said he would.) She was bleary eyed and half-sick from crying most of the night, dozing on the couch, and by the time she got herself together to climb the stairs, he was already finished, passing her going the other direction with one suitcase in his hand. She had to flatten herself against the wall so he could get by; it was the bigger suitcase, the one they used to share when – but she remembers thinking she only had this one moment and she called after him, Derek, where are you going? He did turn around to look at her as he pulled open the front door but that's all he did. Look at her for a moment, without speaking, and then walk out of her life.

She never checked to see what he brought with him.

"It's a good color on you," she says quietly, embarrassed now. "That's all. That's why I asked."

He's studying her face; the harshness is mostly gone from his expression.

"It was a good sweater," he says finally.

She nods.

"I have been known to have good taste," she responds, keeping her tone light, hoping to get away from the sadness that started to descend.

"That is an understatement … babe."

She laughs in spite of herself, mainly at the mischievous expression on his face. "Babe?" she repeats with disbelief.

"Babe," he says. He tilts his head. "You don't like it?"

"I don't know." She takes a step closer, resting a hand on his chest. His skin is warm through the thin material of his t-shirt. "Say it again."

He laughs a little now too and then stops when she leans in closer to capture his lips. Not every kiss is a duel, he said that once, but they're Addison and Derek and when you don't quit … well, you fight a lot of duels.

"… Babe," he says obediently when she pulls back, leaving him room to speak.

She thinks.

Hard.

She looks at him (literally).

She looks at herself (figuratively).

" … no," she says at last.

"No babe?"

"No babe." She tucks her hair behind her ears, feeling a little self-conscious now about the way he's looking at her. Both of his warm hands are resting on her hips now, his thumbs moving on the silky fabric of her nightgown in a way that's somehow both comforting and exciting.

That's how it used to be. It was both. We were both.

"Okay," he says. "It's a deal. No babe."

She smiles at him. "Thanks … babe."

His outraged expression makes her laugh again.

She's still smiling when he muffles the rest of her laughter with his lips.

… that's four.

(Not that it matters. She's a little too busy right now to keep track.)

... and, scene. I can't help it. I love the image of baby passive-aggressive Addison with the coffee and newly-married passive-aggressive Addison with the sweater and winning-my-husband-back season 2 Addison with the juju. This is a woman who thinks about what she says, and so we should too. I hope you enjoyed. I'd love to know what you thought!