FIC: The Space Between
Title: The Space Between
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: BSG/Grey's
Spoilers: BSG, 2.17. Grey's, 1.09ish? Give or take? Takes place in the BSGverse. (GA people, this means that you are NOT SUPPOSED TO READ IT if you're only up to 2.10. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.)
Summary: Everyone's suffering. (Addison/Derek, Addison/Laura Roslin)
Rating: PG-13, R, something around there.
Notes: For rianax in the Get Laura Laid ficathon. Prompt: Laura/Addison, completely in BSGverse.
2,430 words
I. Before
Addison's been through more transports than she can count, at this point. All of her things are back there, in the little cell on the Grace where she'd been living since frak-knows-when, but they can't both be there anymore and it might as well be him. That way they're both punished; she won't have a home to go back to and he won't get to sleep through a night without knowing that it just as easily could have been Mark in that bed.
Everyone's suffering. Fine.
Except that he's suffering because he can, because he likes it, because it causes his face to crease in new and interesting ways that make him look deep and make Addison feel guilty. She, on the other hand, is suffering because she has to. Because it's one thing to be there and force each other to maintain a life together, now that everyone else is dead and they have no choice but to pretend to be people they're not, but it's an entirely different story when the Colonies are falling apart and suddenly pregnancy is mandated by the courts and there aren't exactly enough OB-GYNs to go around.
Maybe going to see the president was a crazy, gut instinct, disproportionate reaction. But, Addison thinks, it can't be worse than doing nothing. And no matter what happens with the president- being laughed away, being sent to the brig, hell, being sent out the airlock- it can't be worse than being back with Derek in the too-quiet room with no options but talking to him.
So she left him, and now she's going to throw her life away to be the pawn of a political martyr.
She's seen the president in all the news broadcasts the media saw fit to send over to the Grace. No one can figure out if she's the least threatening mother figure the colonies have ever seen, or an evil bitch out to destroy the fleet. Maybe both. Addison doesn't much care, at the moment. She's not entirely sure how saving pregnant woman from poor prenatal care is a way to make amends for sleeping with a plastic surgeon who's been dead since the Cylon attacks. But if it works, she'll take it.
She didn't expect the president to see her right away. But she doesn't protest when, after she reports her request, they take her straight to Colonial One, sit her in a chair, and present her to her leader.
It's like looking in a mirror. A tired mirror, which just outlawed the right to choice. But a mirror nonetheless.
"Addison Shepherd," the president says, in a voice that sounds at once welcoming and cautious.
"Montgomery," Addison corrects, and then wonders why she's done it; she and Derek are not, officially, separated.
"I'm sorry," the president says.
Addison is not entirely sure why, but nods like she appreciates the gesture nonetheless. She should acknowledge- should correct herself- should say "sir"- she doesn't know. Whatever she should do, she doesn't; she just watches and waits.
"What can I do for you?" the president asks.
There's a list. There are several lists. There are pages and pages of things that could be done for Addison to make her life even marginally less painful. But this is not for Addison. "I want to see the pregnant women," she says.
It spills out too fast, makes her sound unprofessional. She knows but she can't stop talking once she's started: about her work in neonatal, about her work in surgical, about the problems that come out when no one's being watched out for.
And the president softens, somehow, or maybe hardens; Addison can't tell, except that something shifts, nearly imperceptibly, and she realizes she's being listened to. Which shouldn't be a heady feeling- which wasn't, back when she was Addison the Surgeon- but in the months since her world fell down, she has been one half of Addison and Derek, and the experience of being listened to is heady. It makes her respect the president more, and reminds her of why she respects herself.
And then Addison delivers the coup de grace. She talks about how, if they aren't going to let anyone... take care of these women (she uses the euphemism carefully, never taking her eyes away; respect does not necessarily breed trust), she needs to make sure they won't be hurting even more. And there's something in the president's eye, something that lets her know she's won, which makes her wonder if it was ever a battle where they were on different sides.
You will stay on Colonial One, the president tells her, until we can get you a place to work.
And so they do.
Addison hasn't had a private room in months. It isn't much, here; it's Cottle's examining room. But at night she has that tiny band of privacy. It means everything.
Lying in bed her fingers find their way under the cheap fabric of the clothes she's turned into nightwear, and as hard as she tries to think about Derek, she thinks about President Roslin instead.
II. During
Roslin is as good as her word, even if the word itself was never uttered. She makes very clear, to all ships in the fleet, that the best neonatal surgeon in the Colonies has survived, and she is willing to see anyone who needs to be seen. She makes sure Addison has an office of her own now; she makes sure there are tools Addison can use which are both sterile and of value. It's not as nice as Addison's practice had been back home, but it's close enough. She can work.
The patients are girls; none of them are old enough to be thought of as women. They are afraid, invariably. Some have their fear mixed with excitement; others show nothing but pure terror. Addison's job is as much to soothe them as it is to make sure the mothers are eating well and sleeping well. It's a good job; she goes to bed exhausted each night, but feels more useful than she has in years.
Roslin comes by sometimes to watch her work. Never when the girls are being examined, but before or after, when their terror spills out. Roslin listens, and Addison is always impressed at how much they trust the woman who dictated their condition. Not that she blames them; it would, she thinks, be difficult to not trust the woman when she uses that smile and that voice. Roslin has a gift that makes each girl think she has chosen to propagate the human race all by herself, and she is giving of her youth for her people in ways that will reward them, yes, but also herself and her new child.
Some nights they drink together, bottles of ambrosia people fall over themselves to deliver to Roslin any time she so much as mentions she might want some. It was not, Roslin maintains, something she would have done on her own, but with Addison goading her it becomes hard to say no. They talk, then, about anything and everything. Roslin is a skilled communicator even more than she is a politician. Before reaching Colonial One, Addison hadn't had real conversations with anyone but Derek since the Cylon attacks. But Roslin can talk about more than just medicine; she and Addison stay up late, discussing everything Addison can think of.
She's aware, on some level, that the balance is uneven; Addison volunteers more than Roslin ever does, about her history and her life and everything she doesn't want to talk about. But talking is a relief, far better than not, and as the nights go on the conversations lose the respectful sirs which should litter their discussions and become more familiar. The more that happens, the more Addison notices the stress lines on Roslin's face relaxing away. The part of Addison that is a doctor realizes that being talked to as an equal, instead of a symbol, changes everything Laura Roslin is dealing with. It's as good for her as it is for Addison. Good, then; the conversations clear everything in Addison's head, so she's glad it goes both ways.
It's not hard to see the morals of their conversations. Roslin, after all, fought cancer- fought certain death- and lived. No one knows how she went into remission ("the grace of the gods," is all Roslin ever says), but it has left her with what Addison recognizes as new confidence in her own skin. "You can't live in fear," is all the president says, but it is enough.
It takes her weeks to do it, but one night she finds the strength to call the Grace. The connections are hard to make, would be impossible were not for Addison's newfound power or Roslin's influence. As the call goes through she rehearses her part in her head. Not apologies, no, but explanations, requests, points of compromise and points of level ground between them. Her mouth is ready to say them; she hopes he's ready to hear them. Acknowledging it or not, she's been waiting to hear his voice for months.
She pauses, prepared to hear him say hello.
"Meredith, I can't," he says instead. "Not after last night. I'm still exhausted." And he laughs, the laugh that used to be hers, that she realizes isn't anymore.
The silence is deafening. Addison's grip on the phone loosens, tightens; she can't tell. She just knows the phone could fall at any moment.
"Meredith?" he continues, and then "Hello?"
She hangs up the phone without saying a word. Addison means to head to her own room, but finds herself in Roslin's. Neither of them is particularly surprised. It's nice to not sleep alone for once.
III. After
The polls have been falling dramatically. No one can deny it anymore, not even Tory, although she tries. Laura Roslin is not one to accept failure from anyone, least of all herself. She's still beating Baltar by a hefty margin, but it's not enough; they all know she should be doing far better than she is.
Addison Forbes Montgomery, on the other hand, is experiencing popularity the likes of which she's never seen. They know her as half prophet and half surgeon, a witch doctor who never seems to get it wrong. She sees more patients from Gemenon than Caprica; they've seen doctors, trust them, but believe more purely in faith healing than simple medical science. Addison's found a few prayers mixed with pills and a healthy diet go a long way with her new patients. The whole process elevates her, for her patients, from a Them to part of an Us. In just a month things are transforming. The children are being born healthier now, their parents happier. As far as Laura's visions have separated her from the people, that is how close Addison has come to them. Two forms of salvation, in vastly different clothes. There are people who think Addison should have run against Baltar, that she could have won if she'd tried.
But she wouldn't do that to Laura.
Addison and Laura are not officially together, any more than they are officially apart. People relate them, in their minds, but not for any relationship, any more than Laura could be tied to Tory or Billy or (gods forbid) either of the Adamas. Just for a plan, which got criticism, and the human embodiment of a nearly-ideal way around it. Addison and Laura, who are working for the women of the Twelve Colonies, although when it's stated like that it is President Roslin and Dr. Montgomery who are doing amazing and newsworthy things. Addison and Laura are background figures no one sees, buried under layer upon layer of competence and a steely eye focused on the mission.
They make no pretenses about being in love. Frequently they go days without seeing each other at all; there are more pregnant women needing help now, and Addison's trips to the other ships take days or weeks. When she's back home (Colonial One, now; the Grace seems so far away it might as well be a dream), Laura is rarely there; there are debates to be had, after all, and wars right on the outskirts of being waged. But they are there for each other, in ways no one else can be, or maybe it's just that no one else wants to.
Sex, when they have it- and they do- is never making love. It's closer to frakking, red and raw as any of the kids in the military who think they know everything grinding against each other in desperate lust. Addison and Laura are adults. They should be more in control, less desperate, and they both know it. But they've wasted years being calm. Every time they get the chance, there's biting, scratching, screaming- Laura is a screamer and gods-damned proud of it, and there are days when she'll spend hours making sure that Addison is one as well- and there's never the look of regret that they both know is expected.
It's dodging expectations, more than anything, that makes it worthwhile. It feels like something new, something different, something that keeps life going that isn't dissolving marriages or breast cancer or cylon attacks. It's normality in the face of consistent terror; it's creation in the face of destruction. It's what no one would expect and no one even knows to look for.
And maybe that's what keeps it out of the press, too; if it were just Tory working overtime, there would still be questions and looks, but everyone's so preoccupied with Dr. Montgomery the Doctor and President Roslin the Falling that Addison and Laura slide right under the radar, approaching something like peace.
Derek calls, once, after seeing a news article about her. He's clipped it for her. He wants to know if she's going to come home, soon, after. He leaves the after hanging, but they both know: after Baltar is elected. After the ban is lifted. After things return to normal.
After she hangs up, she feels like she should sob, or throw things, or hit, but instead Laura passes her a cigar she got from frak-knows-where, and it's ridiculous but Addison lets her light it, and she just lies there and smokes, letting everything enter and exit her lungs all at once. Laura's skin against her arm is warm, and reminds her of something she can't quite place.
There are different ways of suffering. And then there are the spaces in between, the ones that make it all worthwhile.
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: BSG/Grey's
Spoilers: BSG, 2.17. Grey's, 1.09ish? Give or take? Takes place in the BSGverse. (GA people, this means that you are NOT SUPPOSED TO READ IT if you're only up to 2.10. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.)
Summary: Everyone's suffering. (Addison/Derek, Addison/Laura Roslin)
Rating: PG-13, R, something around there.
Notes: For rianax in the Get Laura Laid ficathon. Prompt: Laura/Addison, completely in BSGverse.
2,430 words
I. Before
Addison's been through more transports than she can count, at this point. All of her things are back there, in the little cell on the Grace where she'd been living since frak-knows-when, but they can't both be there anymore and it might as well be him. That way they're both punished; she won't have a home to go back to and he won't get to sleep through a night without knowing that it just as easily could have been Mark in that bed.
Everyone's suffering. Fine.
Except that he's suffering because he can, because he likes it, because it causes his face to crease in new and interesting ways that make him look deep and make Addison feel guilty. She, on the other hand, is suffering because she has to. Because it's one thing to be there and force each other to maintain a life together, now that everyone else is dead and they have no choice but to pretend to be people they're not, but it's an entirely different story when the Colonies are falling apart and suddenly pregnancy is mandated by the courts and there aren't exactly enough OB-GYNs to go around.
Maybe going to see the president was a crazy, gut instinct, disproportionate reaction. But, Addison thinks, it can't be worse than doing nothing. And no matter what happens with the president- being laughed away, being sent to the brig, hell, being sent out the airlock- it can't be worse than being back with Derek in the too-quiet room with no options but talking to him.
So she left him, and now she's going to throw her life away to be the pawn of a political martyr.
She's seen the president in all the news broadcasts the media saw fit to send over to the Grace. No one can figure out if she's the least threatening mother figure the colonies have ever seen, or an evil bitch out to destroy the fleet. Maybe both. Addison doesn't much care, at the moment. She's not entirely sure how saving pregnant woman from poor prenatal care is a way to make amends for sleeping with a plastic surgeon who's been dead since the Cylon attacks. But if it works, she'll take it.
She didn't expect the president to see her right away. But she doesn't protest when, after she reports her request, they take her straight to Colonial One, sit her in a chair, and present her to her leader.
It's like looking in a mirror. A tired mirror, which just outlawed the right to choice. But a mirror nonetheless.
"Addison Shepherd," the president says, in a voice that sounds at once welcoming and cautious.
"Montgomery," Addison corrects, and then wonders why she's done it; she and Derek are not, officially, separated.
"I'm sorry," the president says.
Addison is not entirely sure why, but nods like she appreciates the gesture nonetheless. She should acknowledge- should correct herself- should say "sir"- she doesn't know. Whatever she should do, she doesn't; she just watches and waits.
"What can I do for you?" the president asks.
There's a list. There are several lists. There are pages and pages of things that could be done for Addison to make her life even marginally less painful. But this is not for Addison. "I want to see the pregnant women," she says.
It spills out too fast, makes her sound unprofessional. She knows but she can't stop talking once she's started: about her work in neonatal, about her work in surgical, about the problems that come out when no one's being watched out for.
And the president softens, somehow, or maybe hardens; Addison can't tell, except that something shifts, nearly imperceptibly, and she realizes she's being listened to. Which shouldn't be a heady feeling- which wasn't, back when she was Addison the Surgeon- but in the months since her world fell down, she has been one half of Addison and Derek, and the experience of being listened to is heady. It makes her respect the president more, and reminds her of why she respects herself.
And then Addison delivers the coup de grace. She talks about how, if they aren't going to let anyone... take care of these women (she uses the euphemism carefully, never taking her eyes away; respect does not necessarily breed trust), she needs to make sure they won't be hurting even more. And there's something in the president's eye, something that lets her know she's won, which makes her wonder if it was ever a battle where they were on different sides.
You will stay on Colonial One, the president tells her, until we can get you a place to work.
And so they do.
Addison hasn't had a private room in months. It isn't much, here; it's Cottle's examining room. But at night she has that tiny band of privacy. It means everything.
Lying in bed her fingers find their way under the cheap fabric of the clothes she's turned into nightwear, and as hard as she tries to think about Derek, she thinks about President Roslin instead.
II. During
Roslin is as good as her word, even if the word itself was never uttered. She makes very clear, to all ships in the fleet, that the best neonatal surgeon in the Colonies has survived, and she is willing to see anyone who needs to be seen. She makes sure Addison has an office of her own now; she makes sure there are tools Addison can use which are both sterile and of value. It's not as nice as Addison's practice had been back home, but it's close enough. She can work.
The patients are girls; none of them are old enough to be thought of as women. They are afraid, invariably. Some have their fear mixed with excitement; others show nothing but pure terror. Addison's job is as much to soothe them as it is to make sure the mothers are eating well and sleeping well. It's a good job; she goes to bed exhausted each night, but feels more useful than she has in years.
Roslin comes by sometimes to watch her work. Never when the girls are being examined, but before or after, when their terror spills out. Roslin listens, and Addison is always impressed at how much they trust the woman who dictated their condition. Not that she blames them; it would, she thinks, be difficult to not trust the woman when she uses that smile and that voice. Roslin has a gift that makes each girl think she has chosen to propagate the human race all by herself, and she is giving of her youth for her people in ways that will reward them, yes, but also herself and her new child.
Some nights they drink together, bottles of ambrosia people fall over themselves to deliver to Roslin any time she so much as mentions she might want some. It was not, Roslin maintains, something she would have done on her own, but with Addison goading her it becomes hard to say no. They talk, then, about anything and everything. Roslin is a skilled communicator even more than she is a politician. Before reaching Colonial One, Addison hadn't had real conversations with anyone but Derek since the Cylon attacks. But Roslin can talk about more than just medicine; she and Addison stay up late, discussing everything Addison can think of.
She's aware, on some level, that the balance is uneven; Addison volunteers more than Roslin ever does, about her history and her life and everything she doesn't want to talk about. But talking is a relief, far better than not, and as the nights go on the conversations lose the respectful sirs which should litter their discussions and become more familiar. The more that happens, the more Addison notices the stress lines on Roslin's face relaxing away. The part of Addison that is a doctor realizes that being talked to as an equal, instead of a symbol, changes everything Laura Roslin is dealing with. It's as good for her as it is for Addison. Good, then; the conversations clear everything in Addison's head, so she's glad it goes both ways.
It's not hard to see the morals of their conversations. Roslin, after all, fought cancer- fought certain death- and lived. No one knows how she went into remission ("the grace of the gods," is all Roslin ever says), but it has left her with what Addison recognizes as new confidence in her own skin. "You can't live in fear," is all the president says, but it is enough.
It takes her weeks to do it, but one night she finds the strength to call the Grace. The connections are hard to make, would be impossible were not for Addison's newfound power or Roslin's influence. As the call goes through she rehearses her part in her head. Not apologies, no, but explanations, requests, points of compromise and points of level ground between them. Her mouth is ready to say them; she hopes he's ready to hear them. Acknowledging it or not, she's been waiting to hear his voice for months.
She pauses, prepared to hear him say hello.
"Meredith, I can't," he says instead. "Not after last night. I'm still exhausted." And he laughs, the laugh that used to be hers, that she realizes isn't anymore.
The silence is deafening. Addison's grip on the phone loosens, tightens; she can't tell. She just knows the phone could fall at any moment.
"Meredith?" he continues, and then "Hello?"
She hangs up the phone without saying a word. Addison means to head to her own room, but finds herself in Roslin's. Neither of them is particularly surprised. It's nice to not sleep alone for once.
III. After
The polls have been falling dramatically. No one can deny it anymore, not even Tory, although she tries. Laura Roslin is not one to accept failure from anyone, least of all herself. She's still beating Baltar by a hefty margin, but it's not enough; they all know she should be doing far better than she is.
Addison Forbes Montgomery, on the other hand, is experiencing popularity the likes of which she's never seen. They know her as half prophet and half surgeon, a witch doctor who never seems to get it wrong. She sees more patients from Gemenon than Caprica; they've seen doctors, trust them, but believe more purely in faith healing than simple medical science. Addison's found a few prayers mixed with pills and a healthy diet go a long way with her new patients. The whole process elevates her, for her patients, from a Them to part of an Us. In just a month things are transforming. The children are being born healthier now, their parents happier. As far as Laura's visions have separated her from the people, that is how close Addison has come to them. Two forms of salvation, in vastly different clothes. There are people who think Addison should have run against Baltar, that she could have won if she'd tried.
But she wouldn't do that to Laura.
Addison and Laura are not officially together, any more than they are officially apart. People relate them, in their minds, but not for any relationship, any more than Laura could be tied to Tory or Billy or (gods forbid) either of the Adamas. Just for a plan, which got criticism, and the human embodiment of a nearly-ideal way around it. Addison and Laura, who are working for the women of the Twelve Colonies, although when it's stated like that it is President Roslin and Dr. Montgomery who are doing amazing and newsworthy things. Addison and Laura are background figures no one sees, buried under layer upon layer of competence and a steely eye focused on the mission.
They make no pretenses about being in love. Frequently they go days without seeing each other at all; there are more pregnant women needing help now, and Addison's trips to the other ships take days or weeks. When she's back home (Colonial One, now; the Grace seems so far away it might as well be a dream), Laura is rarely there; there are debates to be had, after all, and wars right on the outskirts of being waged. But they are there for each other, in ways no one else can be, or maybe it's just that no one else wants to.
Sex, when they have it- and they do- is never making love. It's closer to frakking, red and raw as any of the kids in the military who think they know everything grinding against each other in desperate lust. Addison and Laura are adults. They should be more in control, less desperate, and they both know it. But they've wasted years being calm. Every time they get the chance, there's biting, scratching, screaming- Laura is a screamer and gods-damned proud of it, and there are days when she'll spend hours making sure that Addison is one as well- and there's never the look of regret that they both know is expected.
It's dodging expectations, more than anything, that makes it worthwhile. It feels like something new, something different, something that keeps life going that isn't dissolving marriages or breast cancer or cylon attacks. It's normality in the face of consistent terror; it's creation in the face of destruction. It's what no one would expect and no one even knows to look for.
And maybe that's what keeps it out of the press, too; if it were just Tory working overtime, there would still be questions and looks, but everyone's so preoccupied with Dr. Montgomery the Doctor and President Roslin the Falling that Addison and Laura slide right under the radar, approaching something like peace.
Derek calls, once, after seeing a news article about her. He's clipped it for her. He wants to know if she's going to come home, soon, after. He leaves the after hanging, but they both know: after Baltar is elected. After the ban is lifted. After things return to normal.
After she hangs up, she feels like she should sob, or throw things, or hit, but instead Laura passes her a cigar she got from frak-knows-where, and it's ridiculous but Addison lets her light it, and she just lies there and smokes, letting everything enter and exit her lungs all at once. Laura's skin against her arm is warm, and reminds her of something she can't quite place.
There are different ways of suffering. And then there are the spaces in between, the ones that make it all worthwhile.