(no subject)

[xyliette]

Title: Almost There, Going Nowhere
Part: 39/?
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: R
Summary: Addison attempts to start her life over post Season 3 and runs into a barrel of trouble trying to get there. Previous parts can be found here.


A/N: I got bored and created a new community for my rambling attempts. Don't know if I like it, seems like a lot of fuss, and I'm a rather simple person, so we'll see if it lasts. Also, in case it does, feel free to let me know if it is easy to read in the font I've chosen and any other random things. Since I tend to go on and on I try to make it easy on the eyes. Enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
I watched you deal in a dying day
And throw the living past away
So you can be sure that you're in control
You're just somebody that I used to know
- Elliott Smith, "Somebody That I Used To Know"
~-~-~-~-~-~

"You have to fix me."

Jake clears his throat, trying to reign her back in, snap her into reality. "You will fix you Addison. I can help. We can do this together."

"Ok," Addison nods, pursing her lips in thought. "So...what are you thinking?"

Jake balks for a second, unsure of how to proceed with how forward she's being. "Twice a week. Hour long sessions. And from there we'll develop more."

"But," Addison's face crumples. "Can't you- I was hoping," she clarifies. "I thought...maybe some sort of anti-depressant."

"Self-diagnosing?" Jake asks with an impolite chuckle to which she does not reply. "I'm not sure you're depressed."

"I-" Addison gulps, throat suddenly tightening, "am. Definitely."

"Well, you'll have to humor me. I like to talk to my patients before I sign off on anything."

"I want to be fixed," Addison restates, befuddled, ground beginning to shake.

"That's admirable, and I'm pleased that you've returned but you need to understand that I don't know anything about you Addison. I'm a responsible doctor so just stop by and see Sandy on your way out and we'll start whenever you are ready."

"I...keep thinking I killed her. I dream about it- I don't sleep well. And I...don't know how to be with him. I think I love him, but I just...can't breathe when he's there," she swallows the emerging knot carefully, gaging Dr. Atwater's response. She's pulling out all the stops, manipulating the ending she so badly needs. "I compartmentalize. I don't deal with things, I bury them. And I'm scared that I'll never get over him, what happened. And I need to move on. It is time to move on."

"Killed who?" Jake asks, tackling the largest problem first. He's got seven minutes and if she wants to talk then that's fine. The pacing though, he could do without that.

"I didn't. I know, logically, I didn't. I wasn't there. I wasn't driving the car, but sometimes I think...I don't know- I could have stopped it...or if I would have called back then..." Her hands wind through themselves, tangling intricate patterns of flesh in the open air. "I have her kids, and I don't want them. I don't want my own."

"Why?"

"I'm scared," Addison adds, not paying attention to him, tears threatening the corners of her eyes for the first time in well over a week. "I don't recognize...I'm not coming back, and I hate this person inside my head."

"Time," Jake murmurs, letting his pen slide onto the table.

"I never thought," Addison smiles weakly, "I'd want to go back to...all of that, but I- I miss me. Even...that me."

"Go back to where?" he attempts futilely.

"What if I'm...not?"

"Addison," Jake says softly, "I want to continue this," he nods enthusiastically, "but right now, I have someone waiting. Sandy can help you figure out what works with your schedule."

She sighs loudly, collecting her emotions, pulling the hurricane back within. "I need you to give me-"

"And maybe I will," Jake assures her, "but not today. Tomorrow. Come back."

~-~-~-~-~-~

"That doesn't look like it went well," Pete notes, observing Addison's sunglasses over her splotchy face.

"Went fine," Addison snuffles, resting her head against the cool tinted glass of the window.

"If you ever...need anything Addison-"

"Don't," Addison whispers, barely over the hum of the engine in traffic, "please don't."

~-~-~-~-~-~

When the NEC scare happened to be nothing more than just a scare Mark was overjoyed, and the first time he got to stick a hand inside the incubator he thought his heart was going to explode, but nothing is comparing to this. Pressed against his chest, a little ball of warmth lies, breathing carefully, wrapped snuggly in a white blanket.

He whispers things, saying hello, pointing out her sister, mentioning a few details about his day thus far. "A" is quiet, they both are, fighting for the strength they have and not able to scream to their mind's content quite yet. Mark thinks they'll be loud though, they're women, and if the Shepherd household taught him anything it's that women, especially in groups, are insanely loud. They border on annoying ninety-nine percent of the time, but these two will be different.

There's a bond he can't explain. He feels full, unearthed from the hole he was wallowing in. They give purpose, renew his hope, and make him remember what it was like all those years ago to actually dream. And as soon as they are healthier, as soon as they can handle their feedings, then they will be where they belong. At home, together, as a family.

Mark grins and lightly rests his hand on A's back. He's finally found his people, his spot, where he isn't unwanted and cast off. Here he is an integral part of every day activities, and they are the reason the sun shines.

He only wishes Addison felt the same.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Pete gets both redheads through the door with relative ease, watching Addison dash off upstairs as soon as the keys come to a rest on the kitchen counter. He takes it upon himself to jiggle the now fussy baby, swaying slowly in the living room. "Addison!" he yells upward, "When was the last time she ate?"

The silence cues his feet forward to the kitchen littered with dishes in need of a scrubbing, Addison's once pristine home tarnished by children's messy hands. Cereal bowls clutter the edge of the sink and Pete riffles through drawers trying to find a clean bottle, checking the refrigerator and cupboards to see if maybe she is switching to real food any day soon.

"What are you doing?" Addison asks, leaning against the wall, watching him suffer.

"I was...hoping she's hungry," he says quietly, looking at her now changed body. Two and a half weeks and she's carrying almost none of the weight she gained. She's fuller though, warmer than he recalls. He gulps suddenly, turning back to the drawer. It's not his place, but it doesn't mean he doesn't feel something for her still. Residual flames of something never really tested.

"Do you think..." Addison pauses, unsure of what he'll say. They don't know each other at all. "Do you think I'm different...than I was?"

Pete purses his lips, mulling it over. Of course she's different, he just doesn't know how to respond appropriately. "People change," he shrugs, carefully moving Kennedy as he finally fishes a bottle free and looks around for the formula.

"Yeah," Addison nods, and strolls forward, taking over for him as he continues to soothe the baby on his shoulder. "Did you...ever....talk about kids?"

Pete frowns, "I never really thought about it. Anna didn't...it wasn't for...no. How are yours?"

"Good," Addison tells him. She still has no clue, sometimes Mark will mention something, other times it seems he's completely given up on her.

"Coming home soon?" Pete asks her, as she tries to organize the madness around the sink. Her housekeeper got ill and no replacement was sent so for the last five days chaos has just been ruling the area. If she has the strength to care she'd call for another, but it's too much.

"I'm not really sure," Addison says sheepishly.

"Did you name them yet? Violet started a bet with Cooper-"

"Pete," Addison interjects, handing him the now warm bottle. "I can't."

"Ok," he agrees easily, and slides out of the kitchen and to a nearby couch.

She lets him feed Kennedy because he seems comfortable and despite her best attempts the child still likes most everyone better than her. It's nice to have his help anyway.

Pete traces a light finger over Kennedy's sucking cheek, reveling in its softness. She looks a great deal like Addison, both girls do, their mother's features a strong family trait apparently. But Addison isn't calm like the child in his arms, she's nearly squirming off the couch, feet tucked under her legs, a pillow fisted into her grip. "You can talk to me, you know."

"You should get back...to work."

"I took a long lunch, and then I just called it. I don't have any patients anyway," Pete informs her, now rubbing Kennedy's foot. "Are you really going to marry him?" When she stares back him challengingly he presses forward. "He just doesn't seem like Addison Montgomery material."

"You don't know me Pete," Addison warns, predatory tones ready at the will.

"I know you don't look happy. You don't look like you did in the beginning."

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Addison? Addie!" Mark calls through the house, dropping his stuff by the door and looking around at the stillness that the room is enveloped in. No tiny feet rush to greet him, there's no screaming in the background. His heart begins pounding, and deep down he resents her for scaring him like this so constantly.

They're always on this ledge, and he's afraid she's going to topple over without him.

"Addison!" he yells once more, before sweeping the downstairs and finding no one.

She turns up in the hallway, midway between their room and Kennedy's. Her face is buried in her legs, palms clenching her knees shut, sobs stifled by the material that she is trying to draw breath from. There's never been a part of Mark that sits well with her in this state. He supposes it's a man thing to want to help her, heal her, but it's also just them. That's the relationship they've always shared and she's slowly breaking away from him. It's terrifying.

He used to be the person to catch her when Derek dismissed her. He'd hold her hand when it was shaking, and let her apologize after crying all night while they waited for him to come home. In one respect he cherishes Derek for putting them together, for giving him that, but in the more obvious way he hates that it even had to happen.

Mark taps her shoulder, but she refuses to look up, refuses his support. She appears to be content with the suffering so he gently glides down the wall, a few inches apart. Inches that should be miles for all she has let him in lately. He can't comfort her because to reach out and grab would send her into a fury. He can't kiss it all better, because he never fucking knows what the hell is wrong anymore. They're engaged, and in every story he knows, even the bad ones, they involve some sort of pleasure at this stage of the relationship.

So he waits it out, hoping that Kennedy is simply napping and that someone has Ellie because certainly making her feel inferior and like a bad guardian won't make the situation any better. And while he knows she'd never willingly endanger the girls, he also knows that Aunt Addison isn't herself and that has repercussions. "Addison?" he questions softly, as she trembles next to him.

"Go away," she squeaks achingly. She's a holy wreck, a hot mess on the tracks about to be hit by a train and he doesn't need to be involved. She doesn't need or want coddling, she doesn't want someone to make her feel any better because the pain, the sheer anguish that's hers to bear. There's no armor with which to defend herself and every stab reaches just a bit further inside. Addison lifts her head slowly, tears warm down her cheeks, and faces him. She can read it in his worried eyes, and it hurts more than the rest that he doesn't trust her anymore. "Just ask."

Mark sighs but continues anyway, his hand being blocked as he tries to wipe away a few stray tears. "Where is Ellie?"

"At a friend's house," Addison holds a hand up when he tries to interrupt. "She wanted to go, and she hasn't had a friend. I thought it would be good. We have to pick her up at seven. Sam has Kennedy, he offered." And it was in the silence of her house, devoid of loud toys or earth defying screams that Addison lost her resolve and finally began to mourn the loss of her previous self.

She tried for so many months to get it back, to just retreat to the powerhouse she used to be, but it's more obvious than ever that it was a faulty tactic.

"Ok," Mark says, checking his watch and seeing that he still has about twenty minutes before he needs to leave, secretly wondering if he was any later if she would have remembered to have someone pick Ellie up, or if she would even bother to call. "Do you want..." he motions to his lap, hoping maybe she'd like to curl up in his arms but she declines and sets her head back on her knees, turning away from him. "Addison-"

"I just want to be alone Mark," Addison says curtly, wanting him to skip off and prove her right. He refuses to screw up, always so perfect the last few months, taking the right steps even when they seem wrong. It makes her anxious because she's such a fuck up, scared he'll give up, frightened she's going to end up all alone. She feels the thump against the wall as he begins to stand. "Please don't hate me," she blurts out, embarrassment fresh in her cheeks.

Mark shakes his head, floored by her pleading. All he wanted to do was come home, eat dinner, watch some television and tell her about his great adventures with holding A. Now she's pulling this crap, and looks justifiably horrified by her own demeanor. "I don't hate you," Mark replies carefully, squatting down, his jeans straining against his legs. He tilts her chin up slightly and presses a firm kiss to her cheek, afraid to touch her watery lips.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Addison admits, God she wanted those pills so badly. Just to prove to herself that it could be fixed. Just to prove that there is something wrong, that this isn't her new permanent state of being. "I can't...get past anything."

"It's a lot Addie," Mark tells her, sinking to the floor, sliding closer to her, one leg on each side of her shaking body. "It's a lot to get past."

Addison looks up briefly. She doesn't know how to talk to him. She doesn't know how to say that she misses Derek but in a platonic sort of way that breaks her heart. Or how to tell him that seeing the kids that he demanded they keep day in and day out is causing literal flashbacks, panic attacks and nightmares. She doesn't know how to say that she doesn't want to actually marry him but that she does want to spend her life right here. And she can't say she isn't happy, and that this, whatever mess they are making, isn't working for her. They agreed to talk, but these things, they are off limits. None of it his fault, but she's never been good at not taking it out on him. She stuffs it all down with a big gulp. "Yeah."

"It's getting better," Mark assures her. And it is, for him. He's ten million steps above drinking himself into a stupor and hanging out on random sidewalks until people shoo him away. Those days are long gone, and even with the commitments racking up he feels no desire to run. For the first time, Mark feels secure, correct in his decisions. He just doesn't know that those same choices are spinning Addison in a dizzying dance of self-loathing and manic depression. "It's already gotten better."

Addison thinks she was better at Christmas, cloaked on Callie and Cristina's couch. She was better standing in the sand, telling Derek he was going to be a father. It was better in Seattle, where he refused to be. She feels like she is scraping the bottom of the barrel here, dying a slow death in the perpetually bright sun, dry drowning. But the months before, the plane ticket and the sonograms, the revelations and working- it was all doused in a high volume of denial. She put so much effort into feeling nothing at all, firm that it would help, that now there is no recourse. It must slam down violently and come to its own resting point. Tortuously dragged out, she envies him endlessly.

"I'm going to go pick up Ellie. Does Sam know where-"

"Yes," Addison croaks, stopping him short.

"I'll be back. I'll get dinner."

Mark disappears down the stairs, taking another helpless look upstairs as she cradles her own head, stuck in the same spot she's probably been in for hours.

Two minutes after the door clicks closed, Addison realizes that her temporary salvation is waiting in the kitchen. She ambles downward, skull pounding from her endeavors, and pours a tall glass of red wine. The first sip is electric, jumbling her fried nerves. She sets the glass down, looking at the ocean, and then grabs the bottle and heads to the beach for some self-medicating.

It worked for Mark.

~-~-~-~-~-~

The second time Mark arrives home he is busy trying to juggle backpacks and babies, listening to Ellie yammer on and on and on about her new friend Scottie, who to Mark's surprise was actually a boy, not a cute nickname for the weird girl in class.

"Scottie says that sometimes his mommy lets friends sleepover, can I do that Mark?" Ellie bounces, happily, finally getting some scheduling in her life.

"We'll see."

"I really, really, really, really want to," Ellie whines suddenly, waves betraying her ecstatic attitude, letting him see just how tired she really is, and why it was probably a horrible idea for Addison to allow her to go to a friend's on a school night.

"I know, maybe though, okay? Go get ready for bed."

"But I'm hungry," Ellie tells him, trying to get his attention as he plays with her blabbering sister. She resents the attraction, hates that it is generally about Kendy. She can scream too.

"We're eating in our pajamas," Mark tells her, lying through his teeth, astonished that this seems to come so easily after being told (repeatedly, by many) that he'd be shit for a father figure. Apparently, you just have to want it bad enough. Whatever the cause, Ellie seems to be keen on the idea and skips off to find something to sleep in while Mark tries to settle the youngest one down. He tries the swaying, the bouncing, the weird jungle gym thing that Kennedy likes to kick at but she's not having any of it. Unable to focus, or go get dinner out of the car he heads toward where Addison's ponytail flames are shooting up over a lounge chair on the deck.

He talks softly to the baby in his arms, relieved to see that she seems to like the noise of the ocean roaring around her. "Addie, can you hold her- I need to go get dinner out of the car."

"Sure," Addison grins sloppily, reaching out, eyes still glazed over from her earlier attempts at self-soothing before becoming inebriated was an option.

"You're drunk," Mark accuses, her busy hand looped around a mostly empty bottle that used to live in the kitchen.

"Almost," Addison agrees with a reflective frown. She's so close she can feel her skin buzzing, her teeth chattering in the wind. But it's just not there yet. The pinprick of relief hasn't been torn wide open yet, but it's coming.

"Wh-" Mark stops himself as she licks around the bottle opening, her tongue swirling anxiously, a wobbly hand still waiting for Kennedy to be deposited. "Forget it," he storms, leaving her to her ideas, and his rumpled sweatshirt.

The door slamming sounds far off to Addison, who stumbles forward into the sand, falling over unceremoniously, fingers tracing through the damp granules. The stars are hidden behind smog, and haze, but the ocean is loud enough to cancel out any residual thoughts she may have. Seconds later she's in the salty water, waves lapping at her knees, Mark's borrowed pajamas soaked up to her thighs.

Experimentally she leaps forward, buoyant, but arms weighed down by twisting sleeves. She strips the material, her tank top hanging limply across her relaxed form. She lies back, the water catching her, and rides the swell all the way back to the sand where she began. Again and again the gentle liquid carries her lifeless body over silky sea plants, the floor stirred by her dangling feet. The mercifully black night wrapping her in a bath of understanding until she takes the initiative to dive in head first, just missing a breaking crest.

The ocean is her solace, the alcohol her savior, and ten minutes later Mark is her hero as he pumps away on her chest, attempting necessary life saving measures on the redhead that just tried to drown herself a few feet from him.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Mark's tired the next day, and rightfully so. After pulling Addison from the water that threatened their new life, after bringing her back to him, after listening to her deluded and pathetic excuses as she combed her tangled hair with her fingers-well, he feels like he could fall asleep on his desk if only he would lay his head down.

He hasn't made it to see the twins today yet, and without a surgery on the board over there, it's looking less than likely that he'll make it. He reasons that they'd understand if they knew, but he hopes they never have to know Addison in the frightening capacity that he witnessed her in last night.

Mark didn't want to leave her this morning, offered to call in sick and sit angrily downstairs, but she swore she wouldn't try anything funny and that her current headache was going to be punishment enough as soon as Kennedy woke up from her first nap of the day. So reluctantly he slung his bag over one shoulder and stomped to the car. He ditched the morning meeting in favor of fetching his own coffee, and begged off of rounds at St. Ambrose, hoping that Charlotte wouldn't notice him missing.

He was awake all night, watching the slow rise and fall of Addison's chest, afraid it may stop again after she swore she didn't need any further medical attention. He felt like 5150'ing her. Dragging her in and putting down his own name on the psychiatric hold, but somehow that didn't feel like the answer. Unfortunately, he doesn't know what is anymore.

He groans when the knock at his door brings him back from almost dialing home to talk to her again, the fifth time in four hours. He doesn't know when he turned into this guy.

"Mark," Naomi greets, inviting herself in and to one of his seats, staring at him until he replies with a grunt of her name.

"Long night?" Naomi asks. "We missed you this morning."

"I...had a thing. Anything good?"

"I'll have Dell fill you in," Naomi smiles as he drifts off, his cell phone clutched in one hand. "Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"You need anything?" Naomi wonders aloud. He seems a little off his game today, and he was so inexplicably, deliriously happy yesterday that the change feels a bit bi-polar.

Mark thinks he may need many things, including a new fiancée, if she is ever to become successful in her endeavors. "I'm good. Just...a rough one."

"Right," Naomi nods. "I...was thinking about dropping in to see Addison on my way home tonight. She hasn't returned any of my calls...I kind of miss her."

"That'd be good," Mark agrees. Really, anything could help.

"Yeah," Naomi mumbles, heading toward the door. "Mark?" he looks up in a reply, an unreadable expression masking his face. "She knows...I didn't mean to abandon her-she's my best friend, I didn't do that on purpose...she pushes people away."

"She knows," Mark comforts her. But what Addison knows and what she chooses to acknowledge seem to be completely different things these days.

"Good. Thank you."

Mark nestles his head in his arms after she goes, his blinds already drawn against the sun. It wouldn't be such a horrible thing to squish in a quick bit of shut eye.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"I may have subconsciously tried to drown myself last night," Addison opens, looking at Dr. Atwater impatiently, waiting for him to throw a prescription in her face.

"Sub-"

"I decided to go swimming. In the ocean. At night. Also, I was a little drunk."

"You're alive."

"No thanks to you," Addison retorts, taking note of the green sprigs beginning to take hold outside. It's been unseasonably cold but there they are. Trying.

"I wasn't under the impression you were suicidal, forgive me," Jake continues, challenging her to say something real.

"I'm not," she replies. "I'm...not. It was an accident."

"You don't sound remorseful," Jake notes, scribbling in the margins of his yellow pad. He doesn't feel the need to write anything with her. He doesn't think he could forget their sessions if he wanted to.

"Mark pulled me out of the water-"

"Mark is?"

"My fiancé," Addison informs him obliviously.

"We have a fiancé still. No ring." He points to her hand, bare and twitching.

"It's in the ocean," Addison grieves. She doesn't know if Mark noticed, if he thinks she took it off purposefully, if he believes it is hidden in their bedroom somewhere.

Jake nods understandingly. "Why don't we pick up where we left off yesterday. Tell me more about your child."

"Children," Addison corrects thoughtlessly. That's kind of the extent of what she knows. There's two of them. They're rather intimidating.

"Go ahead," he urges, crossing his legs, and preparing for her story.

What he doesn't expect is her silence.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Can we stop off at the pharmacy?" Addison asks, trying to be casual, heart racing rapidly under her purple blouse.

"I- uh, sure," Pete stumbles, flicking his blinker on to get over as far as he can as they head deeper downtown in a mess of traffic and crashes.

"Does Mark know about this?" Pete questions as they ride back to her house, a white bag clutched in her fists.

"No," Addison laments, eyes trained outside of her window, ignoring Kennedy babbling in the backseat. Her eyes are bloodshot and feel like there are shards of glass in them, her throat is cracked and raw, sore and tired. Her hair feels limp, her clothes showing off things she isn't proud of, the heels on her feet squishing her toes painfully. It isn't a good day to mess with her.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"It's not your place," she reminds him as they pull into the driveway, deflecting his question.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Addison manages to stuff away her pills amongst the piles of clothes that are occupying her closet, ready and waiting for dry cleaning. She figures Mark isn't going to take it upon himself to clean up anytime soon, and the first time she tries to swallow the medicine, the guilt, it nearly gets stuck in her throat. She washes it all down with a full glass of water and then turns back to Kennedy, who is rocking herself back and forth, hands and knees, attempting to get mobile.

Addison has enjoyed watching her nieces grow and change, self-assured that their mother would be infinitely proud of the finger painted pictures littering the refrigerator, of the macaroni necklace Addison refuses to wear around her neck but will loop around her wrist to prance around the house when Ellie insists that they play dress up. Everything takes a huge amount of effort, however.

The incision itself isn't pulling anymore, and it looks good, but the fog that surrounds her mind, the cement hold on her heart, it's difficult to deal with. It's hard to slip a pair of heels on Ellie's feet and pretend her laughs are genuine, not like she's waiting for Mark to come home and relieve her of her duties. And his arms, that once previously were the only thing holding her together, now feel like she is trapped in a vice, unable to breathe, unable to move.

She feels trapped, and she feels at fault for not being able to recognize that this, despite the children in a NICU far away, is probably the best her life has been going in months, maybe years.

A man who loves her, nieces who she adores (albeit dislikes also), and a happy practice anxiously awaiting her return. She has everything she ever set out to have, achieved in the most unconventional ways possible.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Because sleep never came for Mark he decided to skip out of the office early, changing his voicemail and letting the receptionist know to only contact him if it was an absolute emergency. On his way to the local watering hole Pete showed him months ago he is lured in by bright ambulance lights, and the next thing he knows he is flipping a u-turn and headed straight toward St. Ambrose.

It's not like they can recognize him or even focus on his face, but Mark likes to think that the twins take comfort in him showing up everyday, in knowing that someone is waiting for them to get all the way better. It's this compassion, usually reserved for the most tender of his patients, that draws Charlotte toward the NICU on her way out.

"Sloan," she barks, dusting off her lab coat and pushing a pen into her pocket.

"Dr. King," Mark greets, eyes never leaving B. His finger is grasped tightly in her strengthening hold.

"How are they?" Charlotte asks interestedly, motioning to a lulling nurse for a piece of paper to read over. She's been getting daily report cards from the department on these two very special ladies, but she has yet to be able to swing by since their birth, weeks ago.

"They're good," Mark murmurs to himself softly, scooting closer to the incubator. He hasn't been able to hold B yet, she isn't steady enough to be removed from the warmth and security she has come to know, but the day is coming, he is positive.

"They're strong," Charlotte comments, reading through the scribbles. "Where's Montgomery?"

"At home," Mark replies, hoping that is actually where she is. Sam agreed to take Ellie home from school on his way to drop Maya off at her violin lesson, and with any luck Addison is there to receive her. He hasn't heard any news to the contrary, but he also hasn't called and checked in for nearly three hours.

"Has she-"

"No," Mark interjects. Addison hasn't been here, Addison doesn't see them, Addison doesn't really seem to care one way or another, no matter how untrue Mark wants to think it all is- her charade. He remembers how she used to coo at the newborns back in Seattle, how she'd talk to them quietly, mouth little things to them in her own private world. She was always so good with babies, Mark thought for sure she'd come around by now. Be in here, with him, rocking A, maybe try feeding her.

He had expectations. He's learning to give them up. The house with the fence, and the kids, it's just not their lives. It was never meant to be that way.

"I see," Charlotte drawls slowly. "She will need to sign off-"

"I know," Mark complies. She will have to show up sooner or later, whether she wants to or not. He just doesn't want to drag her in here, kicking and screaming the entire way, inventing reasons as to why he can handle everything.

"Well, I'll leave you to them. They look good."

"Thanks," Mark smiles, switching babies, preparing himself to lift the lightweight in front of him.

Charlotte pauses by the door watching the well muscled man wrangle a fluffy blanket, carefully adjusting the baby against his chest. He looks utterly out of place and completely at ease in his role. "Also, pick some goddamn names already. It's confusing."

Mark laughs, his lungs puffing out, and scaring a squawk out of the infant close to him. "I'll work on her."

Mark settles into the rocking chair in the corner, swaying lightly, the blanket draped over the back slapping against the wooden spindles. Holding A, feeling her body against his, it's the most wonderful drug in the world. He's filled with warmth, love, pride, astonishment. The space around him comes to a screeching halt when she's there, little hands flying into the air, mouth relaxed. He's surprised by how much they look like Derek. His surely wavy dark curls atop their heads, his eyes, his ears. But there's also a lot of Addison that he thinks people don't see. It's in their cheeks, their nose. Subtle, but becoming more and more obvious to him.

He takes comfort in their familiarity, in their combined genes. The two people he loved most together. It's calming when he thought it would be provoking, assuring when thought it would be a sound source of anxiety. It's nice to see a bit of his best friend when he looks down, revitalizing even. There's no fresh pain, just a dull ache of longing and memories. Some days are still harder than others, but having this, having them and Ellie and Kennedy to look forward to, to occupy him, well he couldn't have asked for a better course of healing.

He just wishes that Addison felt the same, that he could help her in the way that they have all helped him.

~-~-~-~-~-~

It took Naomi nearly five days to make good on her proposal, Sam, Maya, and work all tying her hands until at the end of the day she could do nothing more than swallow sweet wine and collapse into bed. She understands that she hasn't seen Addison in over three weeks, not nearly their longest stretch, but certainly deplorable considering she's spent a majority of her time right next door. Naomi raises her hand and lightly touches her knuckles against the door. She knows Addison has Kennedy in there somewhere and tears never seem to make any visit better than another.

"Nae," Addison gulps, pulling back the door and adjusting her lopsided ponytail.

"Hey," Naomi grins, trying to convince them both out of the awkwardness that shrouds the enclosure. "I brought food." She holds up the brownies as a peace offering, and is ushered inside, Addison sweeping the snack out of her hands and taking it into the kitchen to find plates and utensils. Naomi follows her friend diligently, remarking over all of the changes she's missed out on.

There are still a few toys scattered across floor, the house impeccably clean for such a chaotic mess it must be. But more importantly, there is silence encasing the walls. "Where's-"

"Napping," Addison fills in before the question can be finished. She tries to smile but fails horrendously. She's so sick of being second guessed, or being given the third degree about where the girls are or why they are there and how long have they been up alone playing that she could strangle someone-preferably Mark.

"It's nice," Naomi tells her, slipping onto the couch, cradling her sweet treat closely. Suddenly, she can't remember how to talk to her best friend. They've become so consumed and wrecked by life as of late that conversation feels forced no matter which direction she tries shooting off in. She goes for work and receives a longing glance, Mark a glare, and the twins staunch silence.

"I- I'm going to go check on Kennedy-" Addison blurts out, well aware that it's time for her pill, and that if they stand any chance of starting to work then she needs to be taking it as prescribed.

"I'll come with," Naomi nods.

"No!" Addison yells, causing her best friend to stumble back against the couch. "I mean- tha-t's not really necessary. Stay, relax. I'll be right back."

"I don't mind," Naomi informs her, standing tall against the screech that is still bouncing off her eardrums. "I haven't seen her in a while anyway."

"I, uh, okay," Addison gives in grievously, face dropping as they climb the stairs. She needs to dash into the other room, she needs to be better.

Five days and counting and so far she sees no changes. The only thing different is she constantly feels like she is stuck in a cloud, mind so fuzzy that Mark repeatedly has to snap her out of it. She's always two steps behind, but it's for a good cause. The lack of sleep, the agitation doused in her tone, it will be worth it.

"Addison?" Naomi asks for the third time, watching the redhead lean against the door absently. She's never seen Addison this out of tune, this calmly distraught, it's alarming.

"What?"

"Did you hear me?" Naomi questions, not sure what is happening. They're still standing next to the nursery, Kennedy still peacefully asleep.

"N-no," Addison admits. She hasn't heard much of anything the last few days, a constant source of tension between her and Mark.

"I was wondering, since you can bring her home now, what you were thinking for names?"

"Bring who where?" Addison shakes her head, fingers rolling the hem of her shirt rhythmically.

"One of the twins, Mark said- he told you right?"

"Home," Addison repeats, her eyes opening wide. It's not time, she's not ready yet.

"He didn't tell you," Naomi sighs. He was practically leaping off of chairs and screaming it across the halls when Charlotte called him personally. She assumed he would have at least mentioned it by now.

"No, I guess he forgot."

~-~-~-~-~-~

Because Pete asks too many damn questions, and because he sticks his nose where it doesn't belong, Addison clears herself to drive, having decided her body is fully healed and will not interfere with her road rage. She stops in the first spot she can see, dutifully grabs the baby in the back of her car, and storms inside. Thankfully, Dr. Atwater is just back from lunch and not yet with a patient.

Addison slams the door in fury, and throws the bottle of pills against the couch. "They don't work."

Jake looks up instantly, confused and then resigned. He had a feeling she'd be back. "They do work, I know you know that. It just takes longer than a week to get your system to respond."

"Oh, I'm responding all right. I haven't slept in days."

"I can switch your dosage. It's a guessing game."

"I don't have time for you to play detective! I am out of time. Fix me."

"Addison, please sit," Jake instructs, giving a quick glance at the baby she tossed down by the door. There's an immediate resemblance, but having had his own children he knows that that child is far too old to be hers.

"I can't!" she shouts at him, panic setting in quickly. Her heart rate hasn't dropped since Naomi left last night, and she waited out an entire ten hours to be here. The pent up frustration is begging to explode. "There has to be another way."

"There are alternative options," Jake nods, watching her pace the room frenzied, frazzled. She's generally very well put together, but lately, she's a mess. "But you'll need a different doctor. I have a friend-"

"I don't have time for your friends of friends," Addison sneers. "Please," she begs when his face hardens.

Interest overwhelms him, he can't control it. "What is this about?"

Addison breathes deep, her releases short, gapped. Her chest pounds angrily in protest as she marches along his rug. Finally she sits, curling her knees together, arms resting in a heap over them as she slowly folds herself together, head hanging. "I was going to be such a good mom, I was...it's not fair. I wanted this so badly, I always wanted kids," she gulps, tears pouring out onto her jeans. "But I'm not ready yet," she sniffles. "They can't see me this way, please, please..."

"Addison, breathe," he warns belatedly. She gasps and sputters, clutching at her chest as it tightens. He sees the drive in her eyes, he pressing urge to escape. How he ends up in a heap on the floor with her, he doesn't know, reactions followed without much thought. She claws at him as he presses her closer and finally there is easement into the remorse. He hears her apologize profusely, feels her shaking hands against his chest, but she makes no great effort to rearrange her limbs, to stand.

Professionally, he should straighten this out. Personally, he's afraid it may do more harm than good.

"Jake, I need a minute-" Violet rushes in, eyes trained to her cell phone that counts down the minutes of lunch she has left before she has to return and diagnose other people's problems when all she can think about are her own. "Addison."

Addison closes her eyes tightly, hoping to disappear. Violet did tell her to come, she didn't tell her to end up entangled on the floor.

"Jake," Violet stammers on, watching him help Addison stand up, brushing himself off.

"It's not-" Addison begins but it cut short by another voice.

"Addison was experiencing some symptoms that required-"

"Confidentiality," Addison chimes in gloriously saving herself.

"Right. Violet I will be with you in a minute, if you can wait." Jake sits down, trying to remain as cool as possible. He watches her leave as Addison gathers her things, not noticing the baby babbling away in her seat. "We aren't done here," Jake tells her sternly.

"We- I am done," Addison reveals, looping a purse around her arm. "I'm sorry I interrupted your afternoon Dr. Atwater. Sorry about..." she motions at the rug, "that."

"Addison, you already are a good mother," he says softly when she reaches the door. "Believe that, the rest will come with time, and give the medication a chance to work. You are okay. I want to see you on Monday."

Not astonishingly, Monday comes and goes without her noticing.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Mark dances along the hallway of Oceanside, bubbling inside and out. After two incredibly successful surgeries and an impressive consult that even drew Dr. King's attention he is finally getting to the one thing that he has been waiting on for weeks now. A is coming home. He's spent the last four nights slipping out of bed when he's sure Addison is asleep, and working on the office turned nursery downstairs. It's a rather tiny room, and double doors make it awkward but it has enough space for the two cribs he labored over, a changing table, and a rocking chair he is positive Addison would love, if she loved anything anymore. She's a different story though, he reminds himself.

Though he was drawn to the footballs, helmets, and cars that adorned many blankets and sheets that he's seen over the last few days, he stuck to a simple green and lavender that isn't too frilly nor too masculine. He likes to think it's a good balance, he likes to think that he hasn't wasted nearly a week on something that will instantly be redone when Addison snaps out of this latest funk.

While part of him minds her retracting when he reaches out to hold her at night, while his mind is telling him he shouldn't put up with this nonsense, the greater part of him is still too elated about their pending nuptials and the almost life they are building each and every day. It's unideal, but they deserve a real chance, even if it must come a rock-bottom point in time. So he's giving her more leeway until he gets fed up and starts yelling about how he is pulling the majority of the load. But it doesn't mean he isn't seeking out advice on how to handle it without going off and screwing some nurse to relieve the tension.

"Hey Sam, you got a second?"

"Yeah," Sam smiles genuinely, checking his watch just to be sure. "I just saw Addison in with Naomi, she's looking good."

"Yeah, uh...that's kind of what I wanted to talk about."

"Sure," Sam nods knowingly. He leads Mark toward his office for more privacy, both of them smiling when Addison looks up from her seat in front of Naomi. Sam sees an old friend, Mark a woman who looks so socially awkward that she may give herself a heart attack. They haven't been out of the house that much since she had the twins, telling himself that she needed to be resting, but she seems to have forgotten the effervescent demure that screams Addison. "So," Sam acknowledges. "Addison."

"We're taking one of the babies home tonight," Mark sighs. It's why she's there, having had been picked up by Mark on his quick lunch break, and has been making the rounds through her old haunts for a few hours. He suggested she take a nap on her couch if she was tired, but she insisted that she was fine.

"That's great," Sam tells him.

"It is," Mark agrees, "but...I don't know how to explain..."

"Try me," Sam encourages. "I offered to let Naomi move in with me and it's been weeks and no answer. She runs in the opposite direction most of the time, but then she shows up after work with enough clothes to stay the week. Women."

"She loves you," Mark murmurs halfheartedly. He wishes that was his only problem. "I think Addison...is depressed or something. Not like I've seen her before, not...like when Derek-it's not the same...and I..."

"You want to help," Sam finishes for him, "But you don't know how, and you're afraid for the first time in your life that a girl may leave you before you get a chance to leave her."

"You need to stop hanging out with Violet so much," Mark rolls his eyes but confirms Sam's suspicions.

"Talk to her," Sam rubs his hands together. "I think that's your best option."

"What are the other options?" Mark asks out of curiosity. Talking about it sounds nothing short of horrible.

"Nothing good. I mean, you could ignore it and let it grow, or you could leave- just talk to her Mark. She likes you the best of all of us. Always has," Sam smirks. They go way, way back, and he has a niggling the first time the group was together that there was going to be far more to Mark and Addison than anyone would be okay with.

"Good luck with Naomi," Mark grins, "she's crazy."

"That she is." But Sam wouldn't have it any other way, much like his friend who is headed out to face the music.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Are you okay with this?" Mark croaks as they come to a halt at a red light. They've been at the this intersection for three rounds now, and the silence is killing him.

"Do I have a choice?" Addison smiles lazily. The last few days have felt a little better. She even managed to get herself into organizational mode and tackle the closet. There are still moments where she feels like hiding in bed all day, or bursting into tears for no apparent reason, but true to his word, Jake had a point. The medicine she knows is not a cure all, but it takes enough of the edge off for her to feel like functioning in the real world once more. The bigger issues, the anxiety attacks, the dreams, they remain just at bay. There will come a time for them to be dealt with, but she's talked herself into starting slowly. It was half the battle, the attack plan.

"Addison-"

"I'm scared," Addison laughs nervously.

"Me too," Mark breathes, relieved at the final connection. He's noticed tiny changes over the last week, her receptiveness to his conversation and general state of attention, but he can never be too sure what is happening. "We can do this," he says strongly, removing his hand from the gear shift and giving hers a gentle squeeze.

"Remind me of that when we are both still up at three in the morning, okay?"

"Will do."

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Name them," Charlotte demands. She wants the damn birth certificates to say something, the very fiber of her being is revolting against sending home a child with no name. She holds the papers out to Addison and then yanks them away, placing them behind her back.

Mark looks between the pair helplessly. They haven't talked about names, the car ride over was the most she's ever talked about either baby. He hasn't even found the balls to bring it up yet. Between feeding kids, cleaning kids, and getting kids to sleep they don't have much time on their busy hands. However, Charlotte looks determined and for as fierce as he's ever seen Addison, he's not sure she could win that battle in the state she's in right now. He caught her crying in the car on the way over after their short talk churned back into quiet, and she's hand his hand clenched in hers ever since they got out of the car. He swears he can feel her pulse racing. "Addie, do you have anything in mind?"

"I can't....I don't know," Addison forces out, nostrils flaring in her mass of vexation.

"Then you aren't taking her," Charlotte enforces, backing herself up against the incubator.

"Fine," Addison complies, turning toward the door.

"Wait!" Mark yells, grabbing more than a few glances in the process. "Charlotte, get out. Give us a minute." It's an incredibly tender moment, he doesn't wanted ruined over pettiness and shallow games.

Addison finds his hand again, desiring the support she knows he'll gladly give. She hasn't let her eyes leave the poster about vaccines above the tiny border on the wall. "Mark," she whines.

"You never thought about...naming kids with...him?" Mark asks desperately. All he has is a stockpiled version of the many flavors of women he has bedded. He doesn't want his kids to be named after any of them.

"They're Derek's," Addison whispers, finally looking down, really looking for the first time. A mess of dark hair, tiny squirming fingers and legs, pale skin, and the undeniable aspect of blue eyes she used to know very well. They're everything she ever imagined they would be, and she wishes instantly that Derek was here to share this with her, to talk her off the canyon she teeters over. It's just names, she tells herself. Then again, it's their names. "Shepherd," she breathes. "I want...maybe Montgomery-Shepherd."

"That sounds good," Mark says quietly, not wanting to break her exploration. He watches her approach the first incubator, scrutinizing every inch of perfect skin. He really doesn't care about their last name, they are his, and he is theirs. Derek told him to watch over them, and he intends to do just that for the rest of his life.

"I don't know," Addison tells him, watching the baby girl in front of her stretch out, opening her eyes against the light and startling at her presence. "What...would...do you think-"

"It's your call Addison," Mark replies, witnessing her hand gently brushing the impossibly smooth palm of her child. It's the most balanced he's seen her in weeks, nothing short of a miracle. "I'll like whatever you pick."

"Time's up," Charlotte announces, waltzing back into the room. "So who do we have in here?"

"Charlotte," Addison squeaks abruptly.

"Yes?" Charlotte asks, looking up, no longer willing to bide time to someone who she owes nothing. Technically, this should have been done weeks ago, but she held off. No longer.

"No...Charlotte," Addison says, voice unwavering, fingers tracing a tiny pattern from her baby's wrist to elbow. She isn't swaddled tightly, which Addison assumes to mean that she dislikes it enough to cause a disruption so loud that someone has no choice but to correct it. She's learned something, picked up on a trait. It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. "This is Charlotte."

"Charlotte," Mark repeats, testing it out on his tongue. He's dated many Charlottes, but this one holds greater meaning than all of them combined.

"Ok then," Dr. King smiles, proud to be sharing the room with another. She scribbles down the information. "A" finally has a name, one befitting her, she thinks. "Middle name?"

"I- uh..." Addison racks her brain, trying to think of something that goes together with it correctly. "Presidents Mark, name some."

"What?" Mark asks, steering himself towards lonely B whose name will probably be decided on another day.

"It's tradition," Addison tells him. One she never thought she'd be participating in, but tradition nonetheless. Her fall back in a place of great need.

"Well...Kennedy," Mark shrugs, finally putting two and two together. "Washington, Adams, Roosevelt, Hoover...Reagan, Clinton, Bush..."

"No," Addison replies. None of those are right.

"McKinley," Charlotte pipes up from behind her pen. She's had them memorized since 3rd grade, an odd quirk, the least she can do is help. Her obsession with history is finally useful.

"Charlotte McKinley. Works for me," Mark shrugs, looking to Addison for guidance. It's a little weird, but he can live with it.

"Ok," Addison whispers entranced with the being in front of her, one that was once a part of her. For as much strength she is gaining daily, the medication slowly unwinding, she still isn't the one to lift the baby out of her home and place her in the car seat on the floor.

She's not there yet. But for the first time in months she believes that she could be. She could be that mother. The one who colors with their child on ocassion instead of always watching out of the corner of their eye. The one that plays dress up too, who gives special treats for no reason, and never forgets to pick her little student up from school. She wants it so badly it aches within her chest.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"I did something," Mark confesses when they get home, the house quiet and dark, both Kennedy and Ellie safely tucked away with the Aunt Naomi for the evening. Originally, Mark wasn't comfortable with the idea of just them and the infant, alone, but he has since decided that it's for the best. There's a level of agitation missing in Addison when the other two aren't around. She's almost serene without them, and Mark begins to wonder just what it is that he has done in his quest to help.

"Something bad or something good, because I don't think I can handle something bad today Mark."

He takes her hand hesitantly, his other wrapped around the handle of sleeping Charlotte, who apparently loves car rides. The door to the nursery falls open easily, he's not sure if Addison ever used it for more than storage. He gives her a few seconds and then asks, "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," Addison replies, overcome with an odd sensation. She neglected to realize that they would even need another room, completely forgot about getting anything new, assuming doltishly they would use the stuff they had upstairs for Kennedy. And just as quickly as she rose, she falls. Her mind seals off as she investigates his swirling border and careful placement of furniture.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Three hours later they settle into bed, Charlotte safely tucked into the bassinet Kennedy once used. The sweet darkness cloaks them both, lost in their respective worlds. Mark contemplating when they will have to wake up again to feed, if Addison wants to try breastfeeding or if they will need to get more bottles and a live-in dishwasher/cook while they're at it. Addison is paralyzed with new fear now that her daughter is home. There are so many things she could screw up and Mark only has three days off. Then she's on her own.

It's surreal, this moment has been so out of reach until now.

She rolls over cautiously to face him. The light peeking in under the blinds illuminates a very sleepy silhouette. Chills sweep over her bare arms, causing her to reflexively curl into him. His arms feel receptive and she pushes further, wiggling into the nook under his warm neck. The sheet bunches around her right ankle, but he tugs the blanket he was using over them both with a light grumble that makes her smile, lips stretching against his stubble.

"Thank you," she whispers, toes curling when he drags a finger along her barely clothed spine.

"Welcome," Mark mumbles, pulling her closer, relishing in the wonderful feeling of her molded against him. There are times when all of the arguments, all of the lonely mornings, and all of the silence are voided out. Tonight is one of those rare times for him.

"I mean it, thank you for everything Mark...I'm a mess...I know I'm a mess." She wriggles closer, clutching at his shirt.

"Not a mess," Mark replies half-awake, hoping this doesn't turn into a full-blown serious conversation that he will need to be conscious for. Girls always seem to click on at night.

"I...I've been taking pills," Addison tells him honestly, her conscience demanding she clear the air. "I think they're starting to help a little...I'm trying."

"I know you are," he says soothingly, rubbing her back in earnest now. He slowly starts to slip back off to dream land, everything slowly falling into place. And while he wishes she was comfortable enough to tell him outright before it had to go this far at least it was nothing major. At least she acknowledges the disaster zone she's been lately, even if he'd never say it to her face. Sam probably had a point when he told him to talk to her, but it can wait. He's content to hold her for now.

"I want to be better," she confides.

"We'll get there," he promises, hands coming to a rest against her, mind daring him to turn off for the evening.

"Promise?" Addison asks wearily. She used to people walking away, so accustomed to being left, that the stability she cherishes is also the thing that perpetually threatens her into constant consternation.

"I promise," Mark soothes her. They said they would be more open, more ready to share. But saying and doing are vastly different things and he's had his fair share of steps backwards too. If not physical, emotional. He's thought of leaving more than once, used it as a tool to comfort himself when things at home get too extreme. Love, he decides, does illogical things to him. Or maybe it's just Addison. But it's been worse, it's been more pathetic, him chasing her across the country and practically begging her to come back. This should be cake.

"See you in a few hours," Addison whispers, breaking into his cycled thoughts.

"Night," Mark whispers gruffly, pressing an indiscernible kiss atop her tousled hair. Finally, for what feels like the first time in years, his eyes fall gracefully shut, rest an probable certainty.

~-~-~-~-~-~

A/N: I've always maintained that this will be fluffilicious at the end, and frankly, it's all downhill from here. There will still be some adjustment issues and the like, but nothing near the magnitude of what I've done. So...if you have anything specific you would like to see or have them do, let me know. You all deserve a reward and the next few chapters aren't really fully outlined. Thanks for reading, and enduring. :)