(no subject)
Title: Some Rooms Become Us
Character: Charlotte
Rating: R
Word Count: 389
A/N: The city I am in has been dusted with about four inches of snow and tons more is expected. Perfect writing weather, enjoy-
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Some Rooms Become Us
- Panoptique Electrical
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There seems to be no beginning. It's there before she awakens, recklessly thrashing through her dreams, holding her hands down as she relives every wretched second of the one night she'd pay greatly to forget ever happened.
It's put a damper on the way she lives- the way she dresses each morning, the way Cooper clings to her hand in the car when they share a ride, the way she is addressed in meetings, the way people breathe around her. As though she may have a complete emotional breakdown at any moment. They should be so lucky, she thinks, to be able to witness that catastrophe. And she knows, through her dealings with coworkers, ex-friends, and lovers that there are some people in the world that would enjoy nothing more than to see her in this trauma- to scrutinize her pain and tell her somehow (though never aloud) that she sort of deserves this.
She's sure they'd get a good chuckle while feigning distress that something so monumental could have happened to someone they know. They'd make it about themselves without realizing that her heart seizes every time she hears a door click, every time she hears an unfamiliar voice. If they knew- if they knew how much of a struggle it is not to jump off the couch when Cooper swaggers through a room (to know the heartache of not wanting to hide in his embrace), if they knew how her teeth are constant ground together in anxiety, if they knew how much of an effort it is to stay still when her skin is crawling, well then she suspects that they may ease up a bit.
But that isn't what she wants, nor what she needs. She needs to get back to a place where doors are something she slams in people's faces, where her office is a place of work, where her throat doesn't ache when her eyes pop open each morning. She needs them to become unconsumed so she can follow suit. Because it's much too much to be carrying the load alone, to shoulder the burden of fixing everyone in the damn practice.
But as the days linger into weeks, and weeks into months there appears to be no clear starting line of healing; no end in sight.
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Title: Our Door Handles Stopped Moving Years Ago
Pairing: Kevin/Addison
Rating: R
Word Count: 494
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Our Door Handles Stopped Moving Years Ago
- Youth Pictures of Florence Henderson
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“Where'd you go to school?” Kevin asks, plopping down a container of egg rolls on the coffee table and making himself comfortable on Addison's couch.
“Yale,” Addison answers quickly, mouth inappropriately half-full. “Well, Columbia and Yale.”
“No, I meant high school. Some private school?” Kevin rephrases, watching her swallow.
“That was a long time ago,” Addison says with a frown. All he can talk about lately is the money, edging its way into conversations about absolutely nothing. So far he's figured out where she lived in New York because she mentioned how she used to love skipping out into Central Park when it was freshly blanketed with snow, and that she's not simply a doctor who delivers babies, but one of a very small group of people who can deliver the results that are classically identified as miracles. It's all incredibly uncomfortable, being under inspection, and she doesn't miss this from her childhood.
“Yeah, but, you don't forget. I went to a public school, played basketball, football one year, straight B student, and had a very fun prom night.”
“I hated prom,” Addison sighs, dropping her chopstick in a white, cardboard container. “Look Kevin, just- it is whatever you think it was. Private school, big white house, maids, nannies, vacations in foreign countries. But that's not- me, it's...I'm not that person anymore. I don't think I ever was.”
“First job?” Kevin quizzes. He worked at the gas station down the block from his father's apartment the summer her turned 15.
“I'm not doing this anymore,” Addison declares, scooping up her leftovers and heading for the kitchen. She refills her glass of wine, buying time before she has to return and explain her first job was her career, unless helping grade her father's classes' lab assignments when she was 12 really counts. It takes three full minutes before he comes in, wraps his arms around her waist, and huffs into her neck. “I don't want to talk about it,” Addison admits.
“Addison-”
“You know who watched me graduate high school, college, and med school? Archer. I don't want to talk about it anymore. It wasn't glamorous and fun, ok?”
“Ok,” Kevin agrees, cinching his hands around her tighter. “I'm sorry.”
“Prove it,” Addison whispers, pulling back and reaching for the top button on his shirt.
And before he can think to probe deeper, apologize more for upsetting her, or anything else, she has herself up on a counter, bare feet pressing into the back of his thighs. It's not exactly the result he was looking for, but ever since that night, that stupid party, nothing has been satisfying.
Nothing has relieved the pressure of trying to live up to her past; nothing she can do eases the discomfort of knowing they aren't evenly matched.
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Title: Oh My Stars
Pairing: Sam/Addison
Rating: R
Word Count: 433
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Oh My Stars
- Andrew Belle
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“Slow down,” Sam whispers, grasping her hands tightly in his and licking his way down her stomach, taking his sweet time. He can feel her hips trying to grind up against him, and he'll get there eventually. They have all weekend for tasting, sucking, and exploring skin he's seen a thousand times already but never properly savored.
The sheets are already covered with a thin layer of perspiration, from their previous endeavor, where he let her lead the way into an explosion of fury and frantic murmurs of “harder” and “faster”. And that was fun, more than fun, and enjoyable, but this is his journey- to show her exactly what he's feeling with every inch of his body.
And it sounds so silly, seven months into this, but he hasn't had many nights of slow, long, and loving rounds of sex. One of them will get paged, or someone has to be up early for a surgery, or to check on Maya, or Amelia is down the hall. It's always something that prevents him from spending the night wrapped in the sheets above and below her.
But now, a few hundred miles away from home and the beach, in the heart of wine country, he has no pager, no bothersome roommates, and no responsibilities to hold him back from sliding his tongue over her clit and denying her when she reaches out to show him where she wants his hand to press.
He's got chilled champagne, a roasting fireplace, those damn rose petals coating the floor, and if Sam in the earlier years would have seen this he may have said he was trying just a touch too hard, but the Sam that's with Addison wants to try everything. He wants the cheesy jacuzzi tub in the living room and the hotel that expects them to spend the entire weekend holed up in the room so they've prepared an excellent selection for their room service.
He wants to know exactly what her toes look like when they curl, if she prefers the top or bottom, if she likes props, toys, and role plays or if she just prefers his talented fingers and dedicated tongue. He wants to wake her up in the middle of the night with a proposition she can't refuse even if they aren't 29 anymore, and actually do enjoy their sleeping hours.
He wants to hold her under the stars and pretend like they still believe in wishes; like they don't depend on second, third, and fourth chances no matter their beginnings.
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Title: Dime and Suture
Characters: Pete, Addison
Rating: PG
Word Count: 373
A/N: A hint spoilerish, kind of.
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Dime and Suture
- Gifts From Enola
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He finds her with coffee wrapped between her gloved hands, coat buttoned as high as it will go on her neck, and cheeks rosy in the California winter air. They haven't done this much at all lately, he realizes, as his legs hit the bench behind him and he is inclined to sit, suggesting she do the same.
He'd ask how she's doing, but from the quiet that surrounds her, and has been for weeks, he knows better than to inquire. Addison isn't fine, and hasn't been for a while now. “I'm a lousy husband,” Pete begins with a shrug, sipping at his own bitter tea, a seasonal virus attacking his immune system, nose as stuffed as they come. “I'm just no good and Violet is there, trying.”
“Pete,” Addison sighs, patting him on the arm. She has no words of assistance, no background for this conversation. She was a bad wife, a worse girlfriend, and a outright horrible friend. It's a wonder he's still talking to her.
“Your turn,” Pete announces, not willing to take it any further.
“My mother- I- can't,” she exhales slowly and decides to take another route. “Sam doesn't want kids, I don't think, Sam,” she tells him exasperated by her findings.
“And you do,” Pete assumes, finding it not at all awkward to speak of him seeing as most of their mutual relationship was centered on other people. He's missed this over the months, her companionship and sturdy guidance even when her own world is shaking.
“I really do,” Addison mourns. “I just have a feeling...I feel like there's this piece missing.”
“Kids are...a lot of work,” Pete tosses in for good measure, in case she needs to be reeled in from this crazy fantasy.
“I'm supposed to be someone's mother Pete.”
“Yes,” he agrees, remembering her with Lucas. When her head falls on his shoulder he doesn't shrug it off, instead he loops an arm around the back of the bench, around her bundled shoulders.
“You're a good husband,” Addison mumbles trying to curb his nerves.
“You'll be a great mother Addison,” Pete tells her encouragingly. “With or without him.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Character: Charlotte
Rating: R
Word Count: 389
A/N: The city I am in has been dusted with about four inches of snow and tons more is expected. Perfect writing weather, enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Some Rooms Become Us
- Panoptique Electrical
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
There seems to be no beginning. It's there before she awakens, recklessly thrashing through her dreams, holding her hands down as she relives every wretched second of the one night she'd pay greatly to forget ever happened.
It's put a damper on the way she lives- the way she dresses each morning, the way Cooper clings to her hand in the car when they share a ride, the way she is addressed in meetings, the way people breathe around her. As though she may have a complete emotional breakdown at any moment. They should be so lucky, she thinks, to be able to witness that catastrophe. And she knows, through her dealings with coworkers, ex-friends, and lovers that there are some people in the world that would enjoy nothing more than to see her in this trauma- to scrutinize her pain and tell her somehow (though never aloud) that she sort of deserves this.
She's sure they'd get a good chuckle while feigning distress that something so monumental could have happened to someone they know. They'd make it about themselves without realizing that her heart seizes every time she hears a door click, every time she hears an unfamiliar voice. If they knew- if they knew how much of a struggle it is not to jump off the couch when Cooper swaggers through a room (to know the heartache of not wanting to hide in his embrace), if they knew how her teeth are constant ground together in anxiety, if they knew how much of an effort it is to stay still when her skin is crawling, well then she suspects that they may ease up a bit.
But that isn't what she wants, nor what she needs. She needs to get back to a place where doors are something she slams in people's faces, where her office is a place of work, where her throat doesn't ache when her eyes pop open each morning. She needs them to become unconsumed so she can follow suit. Because it's much too much to be carrying the load alone, to shoulder the burden of fixing everyone in the damn practice.
But as the days linger into weeks, and weeks into months there appears to be no clear starting line of healing; no end in sight.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Title: Our Door Handles Stopped Moving Years Ago
Pairing: Kevin/Addison
Rating: R
Word Count: 494
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Our Door Handles Stopped Moving Years Ago
- Youth Pictures of Florence Henderson
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Where'd you go to school?” Kevin asks, plopping down a container of egg rolls on the coffee table and making himself comfortable on Addison's couch.
“Yale,” Addison answers quickly, mouth inappropriately half-full. “Well, Columbia and Yale.”
“No, I meant high school. Some private school?” Kevin rephrases, watching her swallow.
“That was a long time ago,” Addison says with a frown. All he can talk about lately is the money, edging its way into conversations about absolutely nothing. So far he's figured out where she lived in New York because she mentioned how she used to love skipping out into Central Park when it was freshly blanketed with snow, and that she's not simply a doctor who delivers babies, but one of a very small group of people who can deliver the results that are classically identified as miracles. It's all incredibly uncomfortable, being under inspection, and she doesn't miss this from her childhood.
“Yeah, but, you don't forget. I went to a public school, played basketball, football one year, straight B student, and had a very fun prom night.”
“I hated prom,” Addison sighs, dropping her chopstick in a white, cardboard container. “Look Kevin, just- it is whatever you think it was. Private school, big white house, maids, nannies, vacations in foreign countries. But that's not- me, it's...I'm not that person anymore. I don't think I ever was.”
“First job?” Kevin quizzes. He worked at the gas station down the block from his father's apartment the summer her turned 15.
“I'm not doing this anymore,” Addison declares, scooping up her leftovers and heading for the kitchen. She refills her glass of wine, buying time before she has to return and explain her first job was her career, unless helping grade her father's classes' lab assignments when she was 12 really counts. It takes three full minutes before he comes in, wraps his arms around her waist, and huffs into her neck. “I don't want to talk about it,” Addison admits.
“Addison-”
“You know who watched me graduate high school, college, and med school? Archer. I don't want to talk about it anymore. It wasn't glamorous and fun, ok?”
“Ok,” Kevin agrees, cinching his hands around her tighter. “I'm sorry.”
“Prove it,” Addison whispers, pulling back and reaching for the top button on his shirt.
And before he can think to probe deeper, apologize more for upsetting her, or anything else, she has herself up on a counter, bare feet pressing into the back of his thighs. It's not exactly the result he was looking for, but ever since that night, that stupid party, nothing has been satisfying.
Nothing has relieved the pressure of trying to live up to her past; nothing she can do eases the discomfort of knowing they aren't evenly matched.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Title: Oh My Stars
Pairing: Sam/Addison
Rating: R
Word Count: 433
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Oh My Stars
- Andrew Belle
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“Slow down,” Sam whispers, grasping her hands tightly in his and licking his way down her stomach, taking his sweet time. He can feel her hips trying to grind up against him, and he'll get there eventually. They have all weekend for tasting, sucking, and exploring skin he's seen a thousand times already but never properly savored.
The sheets are already covered with a thin layer of perspiration, from their previous endeavor, where he let her lead the way into an explosion of fury and frantic murmurs of “harder” and “faster”. And that was fun, more than fun, and enjoyable, but this is his journey- to show her exactly what he's feeling with every inch of his body.
And it sounds so silly, seven months into this, but he hasn't had many nights of slow, long, and loving rounds of sex. One of them will get paged, or someone has to be up early for a surgery, or to check on Maya, or Amelia is down the hall. It's always something that prevents him from spending the night wrapped in the sheets above and below her.
But now, a few hundred miles away from home and the beach, in the heart of wine country, he has no pager, no bothersome roommates, and no responsibilities to hold him back from sliding his tongue over her clit and denying her when she reaches out to show him where she wants his hand to press.
He's got chilled champagne, a roasting fireplace, those damn rose petals coating the floor, and if Sam in the earlier years would have seen this he may have said he was trying just a touch too hard, but the Sam that's with Addison wants to try everything. He wants the cheesy jacuzzi tub in the living room and the hotel that expects them to spend the entire weekend holed up in the room so they've prepared an excellent selection for their room service.
He wants to know exactly what her toes look like when they curl, if she prefers the top or bottom, if she likes props, toys, and role plays or if she just prefers his talented fingers and dedicated tongue. He wants to wake her up in the middle of the night with a proposition she can't refuse even if they aren't 29 anymore, and actually do enjoy their sleeping hours.
He wants to hold her under the stars and pretend like they still believe in wishes; like they don't depend on second, third, and fourth chances no matter their beginnings.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Title: Dime and Suture
Characters: Pete, Addison
Rating: PG
Word Count: 373
A/N: A hint spoilerish, kind of.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Dime and Suture
- Gifts From Enola
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
He finds her with coffee wrapped between her gloved hands, coat buttoned as high as it will go on her neck, and cheeks rosy in the California winter air. They haven't done this much at all lately, he realizes, as his legs hit the bench behind him and he is inclined to sit, suggesting she do the same.
He'd ask how she's doing, but from the quiet that surrounds her, and has been for weeks, he knows better than to inquire. Addison isn't fine, and hasn't been for a while now. “I'm a lousy husband,” Pete begins with a shrug, sipping at his own bitter tea, a seasonal virus attacking his immune system, nose as stuffed as they come. “I'm just no good and Violet is there, trying.”
“Pete,” Addison sighs, patting him on the arm. She has no words of assistance, no background for this conversation. She was a bad wife, a worse girlfriend, and a outright horrible friend. It's a wonder he's still talking to her.
“Your turn,” Pete announces, not willing to take it any further.
“My mother- I- can't,” she exhales slowly and decides to take another route. “Sam doesn't want kids, I don't think, Sam,” she tells him exasperated by her findings.
“And you do,” Pete assumes, finding it not at all awkward to speak of him seeing as most of their mutual relationship was centered on other people. He's missed this over the months, her companionship and sturdy guidance even when her own world is shaking.
“I really do,” Addison mourns. “I just have a feeling...I feel like there's this piece missing.”
“Kids are...a lot of work,” Pete tosses in for good measure, in case she needs to be reeled in from this crazy fantasy.
“I'm supposed to be someone's mother Pete.”
“Yes,” he agrees, remembering her with Lucas. When her head falls on his shoulder he doesn't shrug it off, instead he loops an arm around the back of the bench, around her bundled shoulders.
“You're a good husband,” Addison mumbles trying to curb his nerves.
“You'll be a great mother Addison,” Pete tells her encouragingly. “With or without him.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~