Addison sat alone at a corner booth, slowly playing with the edges of her napkin. She had driven back to her hotel after her shift was through, only to turn around and head to her favorite bar for some comfort
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Mark collapsed onto the barstool, ignoring the condescending look the bartender was giving him.
"Double scotch, single malt," he ordered gruffly, snatching up the drink greedily when it was placed before him.
If he were a sentimental man, he would've offered up a toast to his almost-family and all the almost-futures they could've had. He would've taken a moment to reflect on his life and how he came to this point in time. But Mark was far from sentimental and as soon as the glass touched his lips he glanced out the corner of his eye at the blond three stools away, not moving but silently assessing his options; trying to decide he he wanted to prove Addison's words about him correct, or simply ignore her theories and use another person to help fend off the crushing loneliness that seemed to follow him like a shadow.
Five minutes later Addison made her way towards the bar, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other as she attempted to steady her wobbly heels. She had waited for her drink patiently until assured it had no intention of showing up on her table.
Her palms slapped onto the counter as she swayed to the beat of the distant sound of a song coming from the speaker in the ceiling, drowned out by the chatter filling the bar.
"My margarita," she reminded Joe when he leaned towards her over the counter, grinning in satisfaction when he reluctantly nodded and left for the drink. "And keep 'em coming," she suggested with a snap of her fingers, oblivious to the fact that the bartender had switched his attention to preparing her drink.
He had been casually glancing over at the blonde, wondering how long it was going to take for her to move over to where he was seated when the sharp staccato sound of flesh hitting wood snapped his head over in the direction of the offending sound.
He threw back the remnants of his scotch and waited until Joe turned with Addison's drink before he gestured for another. Pulling his credit card from his wallet, he handed it to the bartender, indicating to combine their bills, anticipating what would be another round of Addison chasing away her pain with alcohol.
He threw back the second drink, his stony facade in place when the glass returned to the counter.
"That's the matter doc?" he shot towards her snidely. "Rough day on the Gynie Squad?"
Addison tried out her new drink as she turned around and leaned her back on the counter, observing the crowd. When a voice spoke beside her her head snapped to the left, eyes widening when she saw the man sitting a few feet away from her.
She made a face at him, her forehead wrinkling and her bottom lip sticking out as she crawled onto a stool beside him.
"Whats the matter Mark?" She shot back, "Having some trouble finding a toy?"
Her attention was drawn to the glass before her once again, and she took a sip, breaking out in laughter when she spied a young platinum blonde glancing over her shoulder in Mark's direction.
"I think Blondie over there would volunteer," she snorted, nodding towards the onlooker. "Of course, she might be looking at me," she grumbled into her glass.
Mark toyed with the keys resting in his pocket, tracing the ridges of the keys with his thumb as they approached his door. Once he stood in front of the door to his apartment, looked towards the floor as he drew out the keychain, throwing a hesitant glance back at Addison, before he inserted the key and opened the door.
"So, I know it's not much," he offered lamely, pulling off his coat and tossing it along with the keys on the nearest cardboard box, "but it's got a good location and enough space."
He paused as he watched Addison step from the entry into the living room, standing in the hallow room, empty save boxes, a couch, and a television. Again the squeezing feeling of apprehension settled in his stomach. As Addison's eyes swept across the room, he assumed she was taking a mental inventory of everything the apartment was lacking-- everything he was lacking. Mark gulped hard, forcing down the lump forming in his throat.
"I'm going to grab a beer," he gestured towards the kitchen, "want anything?"
The corners of her mouth twitched upward, though her expression remained unchanged. The apartment was great; spacious, with wide windows and dark hard wood floors. But it wasn't familiar, unlike the penthouse Mark owned in New York. There were noticeable beginning traces of him, like the leather couch she grazed with her fingers as she crossed the room to peak out the window, and the flat screen TV still leaning against the wall. (Because God forbid he missed a Yankees game
( ... )
"Uh, about three weeks ago," he shrugged off her compliments as he took a long sip from his beer before joining her next to the window. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she surveyed the skyline. "It is pretty nice," he finally conceeded before her yawn interrupted him.
He smirked over at her as she tried to daintily covered her mouth. "You can take the bed, if you're tired," he offered, jerking his head in the direction of bedroom. "I can sleep on the couch."
"Addison," he interrupted her as she rambled on about where she should sleep, "it's fine." But the insistence behind the word that said she should just sleep in the bed like they had decided before sounded anything but fine.
He was annoyed. Disappointed and disgusted with himself for even allowing himself to think she would possibly treat him differently than she ever had, and yet he couldn't silence the voice in his mind that said by stopping... whatever was going on, she was. She wasn't using him, she didn't seem upset or angry. Maybe this was something. He just didn't know what.
"Addison," his voice strained as he tried again, before his voice noticibly softened. "It's fine," his head nodded slighty as if he was trying to tell her he was meant what he said.
Addison winced at his insistence, but nodded in agreement. "Okay," she replied, comforted a little by the softening of his voice if not by his response
( ... )
He heard, rather than watched her leave, listening to the sticking sound of bare feet against the hardwood. His eyes drifted back to the television screen, groaning as an infomercial had replaced the couple. Grabbing the pillow, he placed it on one end of the sofa, punching it into place.
He grabbed the remote and idly flipped through the muted channels, hoping eventually he would become tired and sleep would take over. Eventually he shut off the television, flopping back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling through the darkness.
But much as it had many times before, sleep wouldn't come.
Not when there were so many things he regreted. Not when there were so many things he wanted to do differently.
He rolled his eyes in the dark, annoyed with himself for imagining something that wouldn't ever be and imagining a life he could never have.
Curled up on her side with her cheek pressed deep into the softness of Mark's pillow, Addison lay still with a few occasional sniffs and hiccups escaping her throat, listening to the rain beat onto the window behind her. A few hours had passed since she retreated to the bedroom, leaving Mark sitting quietly on the couch. She thinks it's probably been about two hours but she isn't sure, because there is no clock in the room yet, and she left her cellphone in the passenger's seat of her car. Whatever amount of time had passed, Addison had had enough to spend a decent number of minutes staring blankly at the ceiling, tossing and turning, and dreaming something terrible as soon as she finally managed to convince her body to sleep
( ... )
Addison wrinkled her nose in her sleep and pulled the covers up to her neck before sighing deeply. The firm wheezing noise coming from behind her showed no signs of stopping. Groaning, she fumbled with the blanket and turned onto her back. A long snort escaped his throat and Addison elbowed Mark in the ribs, gently at first, but then with a little more force when he refused to comply with her opaque demand. "Mmm, stoooop," she whined weakly, absently lifting a hand to his face in order to nudge his jaw while she kicked her feet in a small fit.
Mark awoke to feeling pushed and rattled. Gradually he became aware other sensations-- the crick in his neck from sleeping on his side on a sofa, the weight resting on him, being kicked...
"What?" he groaned finally opening his eyes, peering down at Addison.
Addison raised her arms over her head and dug her feet into the armrest of the couch, stretching. "Snoring, you were," she murmured incoherently, opening her eyes and squinting up at him. But her pupils widened a little in alarm when she felt their impossibly close proximity (her side was completely pressed into him), the arm still draped over her stomach (and curled around her, holding onto her waist), and the piercing pain in her head (a sign of alcohol which was never a comfort to wake up to).
"Sorry," Mark grumbled, shifting to hide his face behind her neck to shield his eyes from the bright morning light streaming through the cheap blinds. He clamped his eyes shut and Addison's hair tickled his face.
Anything to keep the day at bay and gain an extra five minutes.
Mark pulled her close, his nose brushing her skin where her neck and shoulder met. "Go back to sleep, babe," his breath kissed her skin and he buried his face. As he felt sleep beginning to wash over him again, he hadn't even given a thought to mumbling the former term of endearment, the events from the night before still resting in the fringes of his consciousness.
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"Double scotch, single malt," he ordered gruffly, snatching up the drink greedily when it was placed before him.
If he were a sentimental man, he would've offered up a toast to his almost-family and all the almost-futures they could've had. He would've taken a moment to reflect on his life and how he came to this point in time. But Mark was far from sentimental and as soon as the glass touched his lips he glanced out the corner of his eye at the blond three stools away, not moving but silently assessing his options; trying to decide he he wanted to prove Addison's words about him correct, or simply ignore her theories and use another person to help fend off the crushing loneliness that seemed to follow him like a shadow.
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Her palms slapped onto the counter as she swayed to the beat of the distant sound of a song coming from the speaker in the ceiling, drowned out by the chatter filling the bar.
"My margarita," she reminded Joe when he leaned towards her over the counter, grinning in satisfaction when he reluctantly nodded and left for the drink. "And keep 'em coming," she suggested with a snap of her fingers, oblivious to the fact that the bartender had switched his attention to preparing her drink.
Reply
He threw back the remnants of his scotch and waited until Joe turned with Addison's drink before he gestured for another. Pulling his credit card from his wallet, he handed it to the bartender, indicating to combine their bills, anticipating what would be another round of Addison chasing away her pain with alcohol.
He threw back the second drink, his stony facade in place when the glass returned to the counter.
"That's the matter doc?" he shot towards her snidely. "Rough day on the Gynie Squad?"
Reply
She made a face at him, her forehead wrinkling and her bottom lip sticking out as she crawled onto a stool beside him.
"Whats the matter Mark?" She shot back, "Having some trouble finding a toy?"
Her attention was drawn to the glass before her once again, and she took a sip, breaking out in laughter when she spied a young platinum blonde glancing over her shoulder in Mark's direction.
"I think Blondie over there would volunteer," she snorted, nodding towards the onlooker. "Of course, she might be looking at me," she grumbled into her glass.
Reply
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"So, I know it's not much," he offered lamely, pulling off his coat and tossing it along with the keys on the nearest cardboard box, "but it's got a good location and enough space."
He paused as he watched Addison step from the entry into the living room, standing in the hallow room, empty save boxes, a couch, and a television. Again the squeezing feeling of apprehension settled in his stomach. As Addison's eyes swept across the room, he assumed she was taking a mental inventory of everything the apartment was lacking-- everything he was lacking. Mark gulped hard, forcing down the lump forming in his throat.
"I'm going to grab a beer," he gestured towards the kitchen, "want anything?"
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He smirked over at her as she tried to daintily covered her mouth. "You can take the bed, if you're tired," he offered, jerking his head in the direction of bedroom. "I can sleep on the couch."
Reply
He was annoyed. Disappointed and disgusted with himself for even allowing himself to think she would possibly treat him differently than she ever had, and yet he couldn't silence the voice in his mind that said by stopping... whatever was going on, she was. She wasn't using him, she didn't seem upset or angry. Maybe this was something. He just didn't know what.
"Addison," his voice strained as he tried again, before his voice noticibly softened. "It's fine," his head nodded slighty as if he was trying to tell her he was meant what he said.
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He grabbed the remote and idly flipped through the muted channels, hoping eventually he would become tired and sleep would take over. Eventually he shut off the television, flopping back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling through the darkness.
But much as it had many times before, sleep wouldn't come.
Not when there were so many things he regreted. Not when there were so many things he wanted to do differently.
He rolled his eyes in the dark, annoyed with himself for imagining something that wouldn't ever be and imagining a life he could never have.
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"What?" he groaned finally opening his eyes, peering down at Addison.
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Anything to keep the day at bay and gain an extra five minutes.
Mark pulled her close, his nose brushing her skin where her neck and shoulder met. "Go back to sleep, babe," his breath kissed her skin and he buried his face. As he felt sleep beginning to wash over him again, he hadn't even given a thought to mumbling the former term of endearment, the events from the night before still resting in the fringes of his consciousness.
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