(no subject)
Title: Almost There, Going Nowhere
Part: 38/?
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: Of course the second I say I am taking a break from writing I get bombarded with ideas and have to GO! I feel like this is coming to a close...soonish, though my idea of an outline has ended up with 38 chapters so far so we'll see. Some creative licence taken with the medicine in this chapter, I tried to be as accurate as my searching allowed me to be though. And I think you all may like this one...hopefully. Onward-
~-~-~-~-~-~
Falling from my mouth, secondary doubts I've found myself in
Can't seem to look you in the eye
And I hope you can see
I'm more than this, this heap at your feet
- Richard Walters, "Elephant In the Room"
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Sloan?" A voice behind him squeaks, causing him to bolt out of the chair he was occupying.
Mark clears his throat, trying to appear alert, "Yes?"
"I need..." the nurse trails off, pointing at one of the two incubators he has been staring at.
"Right," Mark nods, moving out of her way, so she can check and monitor the little chest that he's spent the better portion of the day watching bounce up and down weakly. He opts for the doorway, trying to appear casual when it feels like his stomach is in a knot. Addison knows babies. He knows noses and stomachs and burns. The click of her nervous pen makes a tingle run down his spine and he'd ask her to stop but he's too terrified to open his mouth, lest she make a major mistake somehow. Instead he notes the smooth strokes she chooses, not wanting to read the actual scratches, and desiring nothing more at the same time. Ignorance is a tricky bastard.
The nurse jots a few more things down, well aware of who these children belong to, fortunate enough to have worked with Dr. Montgomery twice over the last year. She jives toward the door but he doesn't inch away, he holds his ground. "If you have questions I can send in Dr.-"
"I don't know what to tell her," Mark admits suddenly, overwhelmed with the reality, not wanting to resort to the usual jackass tendencies he relies on in these situations. "What would you say? Based on this," he motions wildly toward the twins. "What would you say to her?"
The nurse looks down, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder in a scrambled manner, not brushed this morning. On one hand Dr. Montgomery is a professional, she'd want to know exactly what is wrong, on the other hand she's the patient. A recovering patient who could do well without any added stresses. She takes a deep breath, "Tell her...they're alive. They're breathing," she says softly pointing back at the dimmed room.
He nods and wiggles toward the solo rocking chair in the room. The blanket cast over the back slaps the wood with each roll forward, his knees cracking as he plugs away. Every motion only brings him closer to the brink of insanity. He's not sure if Addison wants every update, every hour. Or if once was enough. She seemed disinterested, but he'd be willing to wager that, at the time, it may have been an unfair assessment, given the preceeding events.
One of his hand falls hesitantly over the plastic separating Baby A and himself after he's had enough rocking. "You are alive."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"How much longer?" Addison demands, glaring at her new best friend. A short woman, black hair that looks like it went through a meat grinder, fingers too polished to be working long hours.
The nurse glowers in return and then forces her to sit up carefully, noticing the grimace that occurs when it happens. "If it hurts-"
"I don't need any more pain medication. What I need is to get out of this bed."
"Not yet," the woman declares and places her clipboard down hastily next to Addison's blanketed legs.
"I need to be up, walking around," Addison argues, struggling for attention.
"Take it up with Dr. King."
"I did," Addison retorts, reclining once again, lids heavy with the exhaustion she won't allow herself to succumb to. Her new mission is to be walking down the hall by dinner. Perhaps lofty, but it will get her home faster, get her out of this bed of gloom and doom and back to the comforting disaster she's come to rely on.
"Not my problem," the nurse answers and gladly accepts the visitors whose faces are covered with pink balloons and vibrant flowers.
Addison can't help but stare as her ragtag group of co-workers piles into the room, new surprises in everyone's hand, ready to award her. She deserves none of it. There was no victory here today.
"Hey stranger," Naomi grins, and steals the seat next to bed before Sam can grab it. Pete remains awkwardly slumped against the wall, Violet and Cooper assigned to the couch, fingers tangled though no one is surprised. "Feeling better?"
"She was just gutted," Violet reminds them, earning herself a stern slap from Cooper.
"We decided to all take a late lunch together," Sam explains, Dell obviously charged with watching over the place. "Good looking bunch you have on your hands," he chuckles, referring to the girls they saw earlier this morning. When his redheaded friend doesn't reply he simply nods. She's quiet sometimes, a fact that all of her old friends like to forget, but they used to venture off together when it got to be too much. When Derek was being an ass, Mark was drunk, and Naomi was loud- they'd walk around the block, silent, impervious to the streets around them. He feels like he knows her better than the others sometimes, for having experienced the other end of her spectrum. Maybe it's not welcome, but then again, Addison rarely is these days.
"Got you on anything good?" Cooper laughs, pointing to the IV taped to the back of her hand.
"Not bad," Addison agrees, feeling the mask shift up a bit more comfortably. She can do this, the merry-go-round where they talk about nothing. "Any good patients?"
"It's slow," Pete chimes in across the floor.
"Kids with marbles up their noses," Cooper shrugs.
"Same old crazy," Violet offers.
The silence falls over them easily until Sam gives them the excuse of traffic and that they should get back to their non-patient filled lobby. Naomi promises to stop by again on her way home, to keep Mark in line, and the others practically skip free. She remembers a time when they were all huddled in her own living room watching Sam leave for a date, that they later crashed. She remembers playing poker with the guys, and having Pete hang out at the house to keep her company when Mark went missing. She thought they were friends, sort of, and now none of them can bear to be near her.
~-~-~-~-~-~
When he joins Addison, she's two steps to the door and wobbling toward the couch after declaring 'operation walk' a major fail. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I need," she bites down on her lip as she sits, the incision line pulling and bending with her, "to be up Mark. I need to walk."
"You need to rest," he says too loudly, catching her immediate attention. "I'm going to put you in the bed now," he warns, preparing his arms.
"Don't touch me," Addison replies seriously.
"Stop...Addison." He holds his hands up in defeat. "You're going to do whatever you want to do...I've learned that much. But, I need you to hear me out."
"Save the speech-"
"It's selfish. You," he annunciates clearly, "are being selfish. They are fighting Addison. Clawing their way through this and you're taking chances-"
"I'm not endangering-"
"You don't know that!"
"I do," she says calmly. "I do know this. It's all I know."
"They're alive," he replies, his voice cutting in a way he didn't intend for it to a few hours ago. "And I bet they'd like a mother when they grow up so I'm going to put you back in bed and you will listen to them. They're not as good as you, but they are your doctors and if they want to take extra precautions then you let them. Do no harm."
"Don't quote the damn o-" she cuts herself off, lifted easily against his chest, head falling to a rest despite what she wants it to do.
"I like you alive," Mark says, setting her down against the rumpled sheets, his lips stealing a kiss before pulling back.
"This is hardly a life and death situation," she shoots off. He opens his mouth to speak but she stops him. "Mark?"
"Yeah?" He spins around, expecting to hear her say that she likes him alive too.
"I was doing something good."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Do we look for a new OB/GYN?" Naomi asks softly, lips moving over to her blue mug next, filled with deliciously warm coffee. It's been a long one.
"It's not like we're incredibly busy," Sam counters, taking note of the empty hallway and popping a grape into his mouth.
"But if we do-"
"We managed for months before Addison," he reminds her. "I think it would offend her, to be replaced like that."
"She's practically working out of St. Ambrose as it is," Naomi states, stealing a piece of fruit from the bag in front of her ex-husband/on-again guy.
"It's her decision. We should leave it for another time."
"Yeah," Naomi nods thoughtfully. "It was nice, to have her here."
Sam chooses to break her nostalgia with something a bit more pressing. He's been thinking it over for quite some time, and then the Derek thing happened and it wasn't right to spring on her, but he has an excuse now. "Do you want...to move in together?"
"You want to come home?" Naomi clarifies, eyes clearly confused.
"I was thinking you could move in with me. Maya loves the beach and you'd have Addison right next door, or she would have you. They will need you. Addison is bound to yell and Mark will try and run away, I figure some man-on-man defense would be for the best."
"I'll give it some thought," Naomi smiles, and then rushes from the room before the need to giggle overwhelms her. What a day indeed.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark's not sure when they can be classified as out of the woods officially but he feels like forty-eight more hours gone by is a pretty clear indication of progress. A and B, nameless, and not a subject he wants to brooch at the moment with the ghostly form that has taken over Addison, are doing well. He's got a bit of skip to his step, and a grin on his face when he finds her, hospital gown replaced by gentle black pants that fall just past her knees, and a loose green shirt that hides her already dwindling form. Her red hair is pulled back haphazardly into a quick ponytail, bangs falling over her right eye. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Addison replies, steadying herself on the bed before taking hold of the leather bag firmly and extending it out to him. The smallest of movements tend to hurt but she doesn't much mind. All in the name of recovery.
"Sign everything?"
"I was cleared by Charlotte King herself," Addison confirms, to put his mind at ease.
She refuses his hand, and takes herself into the hallway without help, Mark lagging behind.
"Come on, I want to show you something."
She knew what she was getting herself into when they got off on the fourth floor, but that doesn't make this any easier. Most of the nurses have stopped asking her if she wants to go visit the children that don't even feel like hers. Mark offered to bring a camera in and take pictures, but she wasn't having any of it. He's not going to let her leave without seeing them. She drags her feet a little, because she can, and purposefully keeps her eyes down as people begin to stare at her crocs and sloppy outfit. It's more than a little embarrassing. She's a professional here, a peer, and now she's being paraded around like a zoo exhibit.
A little nudge on the small of her back and soon they are both in the room that Mark has spent an inordinate amount of time in so far. "You can look. It's scary at first, but...you know, everything in here is to help them. You know that Addison. Look up."
She obeys, feeling herself shut down. It's automatic. They aren't what she imagined the few times she allowed herself to indulge. They aren't what she thought her and Derek's kids would look like. It's painfully obvious who their father is, and she finds herself searching for anything that looks like it could have been inherited from her side of the genes. She settles on the floor again pretty quickly, and Mark makes himself at home in the chair opposite her.
"Baby A," he clears his throat, "is here. And Baby B is over here. They-need-names." He smashes all the words together in a barely decipherable sentence and hopes she doesn't start yelling.
"Yes they do," she nods. Addison always hated when she had nameless people under her care. She'd make up names for them in the meantime, whispering gently when the rooms were vacated and left to her care.
"Maybe we could start looking, unless...you already had something picked out." His voice carries at the end, obviously hopeful.
"I can't," she shakes her head, and stumbles back out away from the monitors telling her that the very things she carried for months are actually alive, out in the world.
"Later," he encourages, watching for a few more minutes, not noticing that she has already left.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I could get Violet," Mark offers helplessly, watching Addison flip through the channels upstairs in their bedroom.
Addison laughs a little, and then gives up when it hurts. "When are we moving?"
"Now isn't a good time. I meant that."
"You house is bigger," Addison counters, not particularly looking for a fight, shying away from that line with her tone. "We can hire movers. It doesn't need to be a big production."
"Except you'll want to redecorate, and then I'll end up painting something wrong, and it will become a huge mess. Let's keep it calm, just for now." He readjusts, flipping his legs out, stretching toward the ocean.
"People paint for a living too."
"Addison," he warns.
"Mark," she teases back.
"When they come home, then I'll think about it. Until then, back off." The message wavers over the room unstably, but its affect is profound. He can almost see her retreating back into herself, a shell covering the tender portion that just poked out to say hello. He sighs loudly, frustrated with her for the hundredth time in the last seven hours of having her back home, and reaches up to brush her arm soothingly. "They looked good this morning remember," he repeats, watching her stiffen at their mention. He says the same thing every forty minutes, like a broken record, they both notice.
Addison rolls her eyes, not needing the benefit of yet another update, not wanting the guilt of knowing another second has passed wherein she's willingly neglected her children. She's busy fighting a beast with a thousand heads. They look like Derek, and they're sick, and they might die, and she feels absolutely nothing, and it's all terrifying. And then there's the added pressure of Mark being nothing short of doting and perfect while she's resigned to feeling like there is a hurricane happening inside her head. The role reversal is unkind and startling. "Don't start."
"I know you care," Mark states evenly.
"Do you?"
~-~-~-~-~-~
The main way she was roped into this visit was simply out of resignation. She didn't want to argue, she didn't really want to be speaking, so she brushed her hair and threw on some mascara, made sure her shoes matched and found something that fit. The car ride was silent minus Mark's obscenities, remarking over how horrible Los Angeles drivers are in comparison to New York. She'd tell him they're just different, that it's all different here, but it's rather pointless. He believes what he wants and he's often times more stubborn than she is. That much she has learned.
They arrive without the fanfare of the day before, hardly anyone notices that she's present, and she gives wordless appreciation as the elevator carries them upward.
"Hello," Mark says softly, undaunted by Addison's presence behind him as he quickly shuffles forward to the children he just spent his first night without since their birth. It was torturous. He spent the duration tossing and turning, thinking about all the things that could go wrong while Addison seemingly slept peacefully next to him. Although, he thinks the narcotics that they still have her on may have played a larger role than he wants to admit.
He looks them over carefully, already aware of the fact that he'll never be able to tell them apart and they may as well tattoo one with a distinguishing mark so that he can stand a chance. Or maybe they'll get lucky and they will have completely opposite personalities. "Come here," he urges, drawing her hand to pull her closer. "We don't have to stay long if it makes you nervous, but they said it's good...they need human interaction."
"Then they should co-bed them," Addison mumbles to herself.
"They're doing a good job Addison," Mark reminds her, evidenced by both of them still being alive despite some frightening respiratory issues. Well, frightening to him. Apparently not to Addison who sees, or rather used to see, this stuff all the time.
"I don't want to be here."
"You think I don't know that?" Mark snaps instantly, then regrets it as she inches back to the open door. He closes his eyes and takes a momentary time out. Then, he tries again. He needs to reset a lot these days. "Why don't you want to be here?" The million dollar question.
"When can we go?" Addison asks, fidgeting with her sleeve.
"When you come over here and spend time with them."
"You can't force me to do that Mark. Don't you need to be at work today?"
"Naomi said I could have the day off to do this. I have patients tomorrow though," he says softly, reaching out a finger to trace along the incubator of A. Montgomery or Shepherd, or Montgomery-Shepherd, or maybe someday Sloan, or a variation thereof. It's complicated. In his head Sloan is as fine as any but he has a feeling Addison will greatly disagree.
"If you are going to stay," Addison stops when he glares at her, "If you want to stay then I can just grab a cab home, or maybe Naomi-"
"No," Mark asserts. "We're staying here, and then we will go get some lunch, and then you can go home."
"I don't need a tour guide, or a parent Mark. If you want to stay-" she is suddenly cut off this time by sharp monitors, alerting everyone in the room of something wrong. And, not for the first time Mark freezes. She's seen it before, not a proud moment for him, but she springs into action, doctor mode kicking in without thought. "Find a chest tube."
"Addison, you shouldn't-"
"Do it now," she demands as the nurses rush into the room and turn the alarms off. She takes the needle carefully between her fingers, removing the impeding plastic as she prepares herself. She pushes down carefully, puncturing the skin of whichever baby and waits for the tiny puff of air. Then she steals a stethoscope from the neck of the blonde next to her and waits impatiently for equal breath sounds. Satisfied, she steps back and watches the numbers as they steady within the correct range.
Mark pushes off against the wall he seems to find himself fastened to with a steady gulp and a loud, "Fuck" that grabs everyone's attention as they carry on with protocol. When his feet feel steady enough and he's certain that he isn't going to throw up from the adrenaline he presses forward to make sure everything really is normal.
"Her lung collapsed. Sometimes that happens with preemies," the nurse shrugs.
"Addison," Mark breathes, noting her lack of existence within the bustle of the now very active room.
"We'll keep you updated, and I'll page you when Dr. Wynn gets in. She's stable for now."
"Ok," Mark nods absently, checking the group of people once more.
"Dr. Sloan?"
"Yeah?" he answers.
"She went to the left," the nurse announces, pointing to the hallway.
"Oh- I, I wasn't looking-"
"I'll page you if anything changes," she tells him once more, "Go."
When he finds her, after trying to call her, checking on call rooms, and an unfortunate conversation with Dr. King, she's leaning up against the car, watching the clouds that look like they are mercifully packing rain. "Addie."
"Don't," she shakes her head. "Can we go now?"
"She's okay."
"I know that," Addison mocks, eyeing the handle and making it perfectly clear that she'd appreciate it if he would unlock the doors now. "What are we having for lunch?"
"Are you hungry?" he asks surprised.
"No, I'm just making conversation," she replies dryly, growing more antsy by the second.
"You just- plunged- into her," he stammers.
"Well, one of us had to," Addison tells him curtly, not caring if he gets a little bruised by the conversation.
"We need to go back in there."
"We need to go home," she states plainly, her decision made before they even set foot on the grounds, but now more concrete within.
"Please," Mark practically begs, eyes searching to find something he recognizes in her, something he can play to. Perhaps some sympathy, though he dare not say she possesses an ounce of it anymore.
"If you let me grab my purse out of the car, I will call a cab, or Naomi, or Sam. You can stay."
"Addison-"
"I did that!" she yells suddenly, hands slamming into the panel of the door. "That's my fault in there so excuse me if I can't bear to be in the same room as them-"
"You didn't-"
"I did!" She pushes him back when he steps forward, presumably to stroke and soothe something that she doesn't want alleviated. This is her guilt to live down. "They could have been stronger- they could've been better...that's on me, you said. And I- if they don't make it, I...can't. I can't do that again...I don't have anything left to give...there's nothing left Mark, so please can I go home now?"
He watches her wipe her cheeks angrily, the tears still storming down freely. He'd tell her that they will be fine except one of them just tried to jump ship. He'd advise her that this is just difficult and that no one is to blame, but she is right. They could have been healthier, they could have at least weighed a bit more, if she hadn't been so hell bent on controlling every single detail of her neurotic life. "You can't pretend they don't exist because it makes you feel better," he says softly, an ambulance cutting well above his level in the background.
"Watch me."
~-~-~-~-~-~
The dark is consoling in a way the light cannot be yet. In the pitch black it's okay to be inadequate, and afraid. The night falls, leaving only herself to be the judge, Mark sprawled out across the bed beside her. She used to have dreams. Little redheaded children running down the stairs in the brownstone, blue eyed monsters chasing her through their home. It never happened, and the dream got altered to fit into real time- being a single parent. She's stronger alone, she thinks she could be a better person without him constantly by her side wanting in on something she hasn't very well figured out yet.
Addison slips her warm feet to the floor and slides away from her spot, headed downstairs for something to drink. She handles the stairs like a champion, having conditioned herself while Mark is at work, and pours a tall glass of water. She settles at the table, toes skimming the cold wood beneath them, eyes focusing in the darkness that envelops the house. They haven't talked much lately, and it's obvious that he's angry with her for being defensive, but one must rely upon old standbys in a time of need, and being a bitch about everything is what she has. It is interesting though, she thinks, that instead of picking fights with her like he used to do back in New York, he is now content to simply be in the same room with her rage.
The one thing she hates about the night is that her control wavers. Her mind can flit from Mark being oddly nice one minute to replaying the entire scene back at the hospital earlier in the week. Darkness allows for overanalyzation, and in hindsight she could have at least been more compassionate given that he was clearly struggling. It was easy for her, it was like auto pilot, jumping to action. But Mark froze, a rarity. Her feet swing back and forth carelessly over the dustless floor. They'll be coming home soon, Mark says, and she doesn't know how to tell him that she doesn't feel anything but terror and guilt. He wouldn't take it the right way, he'd call her selfish again, tell her that she has other people to think about. And she does, think about them, she simply doesn't have any pulsing desire to be their mother.
When dawn breaks over the ocean she stands, rattled, and prepares Mark's coffee, sliding a raisin bagel into the toaster in case he's hungry. She used to have vivid dreams. Now she has waking nightmares.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Sloan," the brunette nurse smiles warmly, watching him swagger into the room in his scrubs, fresh from whichever surgery.
"Hey...Holly," he reads off her badge carefully, "How are they today?"
"Good," she looks down. "Dr. Wynn will be in a few minutes to go over some changes."
"Changes?"
"Overnight things," Holly nods, trying to be cheerful. She gathers her things, and bolts from the room, telling the nurse at the counter to page Dr. Wynn as she goes.
"Overnight," Mark repeats softly, taking his usual seat and pulling it as close as he can get away with. He'd stand and lull over them but he's been on his feet all day and he knows his body needs a bit of a break. He tells the twins, A & B everyone calls them (to his displeasure), about his day. From his brief run-in with Naomi who keeps asking when she can come check on Addison (to which he says to leave her alone, for the love of God) to Dr. King asking when they can expect their rotating star back (not anytime soon, he hopes) to all of his borderline annoying patients. He doesn't really talk to the twins about Addison, it feels wrong, to explain why she isn't there to two people who aren't understanding anything he is saying anyway. However, he's sure his voice would take on a new tone and he doesn't want to cause them any undue stress.
"Dr. Sloan," Dr. Wynn greets, sweeping into the room, looking busy as usual. She doesn't wait for Mark to reply, just begins whether he is ready or not. "Slight problem last night," she tosses the chart at him, "we're hoping it won't show on the labs later but we went ahead and switched antibiotics around three this morning. So far, she's responding well."
Mark looks over at B, further away and predictably asleep. Another setback, another flaw prolonging Addison's recovery. "How much longer?"
"I would have said they should be ready, if their weight gain was consistent and the feedings went well, by the end of next week."
"Now?"
"Baby A will be leaving before Baby B," Dr. Wynn explains. "Do you want to try holding her, she's strong enough."
Mark clamps his mouth shut to keep from screaming "Yes!", because it's Addison's gift, not his. She needs this. "Uh- no, I need, I have a surgery in a few minutes that I need to scrub in for."
"Right," Dr. Wynn agrees. "If anything changes-"
"You'll page me," he finishes, having heard the same phrase one hundred times, and yet not paged when anything does actually occur.
"You'll notify Dr. Montgomery?" Dr. Wynn has yet to see her, for a myriad of reasons according to the gossip mill.
"Yes," Mark swallows. "If it-"
"Then we'll treat it as aggressively as possible, maybe operate, but let's not get ahead of ourselves all right? We'll see how she does, it's looking like a scare and nothing more." Dr. Wynn rests a hand on the appropriate incubator and tries to smile.
"Right."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Hi Ellie," Addison smiles warmly the next day, noticing the early time and that her niece is definitely not in school where she belongs.
"Hi," she replies, dragging a purple suitcase in behind her. She tromps toward her old room, now laden with dust bunnies and cobwebs that need sweeping out.
"Pierce," Addison nods and takes a bag from his arms as he makes his way inside.
"I'm sorry I called so early," Pierce apologizes, plucking his youngest daughter from her seat and thrusting her at Addison. "I just...things sort of fell through last night. I talked to the partners and they agreed to give me some time off, straighten things out and make up my mind, but they called last night and I need to be in San Francisco by 4."
"You made up your mind," Addison confirms, absentmindedly rubbing circles over the back of a very drowsy five month old.
"I had a co-worker draw up the papers, and I signed. I can be back down this weekend to finalize things. I pulled a few strings and Judge Williams is willing to sit in."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to do this. Mark was out of line. He was stressed, I was-"
"It's for the best," he smiles reassured. "This is right. I only regret taking so long to realize it. They didn't need to be bounced around like that."
"But-"
"Addison, I would love to discuss things more thoroughly, but I do not have the luxury right now. I brought most of their things and," he reaches a hand into his black slacks, "this is a key to the house. I haven't- I can't bear to part with it...yet, but if you need anything out of there the code is 0814."
"Her birthday," Addison breathes out steadily.
"Yeah, she was always afraid she would forget and set off the alarm and scare Ellie."
"She was a good mom," Addison says softly, cuddling the child against her more tightly.
"She was a good person," Pierce corrects, dabbing at the corner of his eyes quickly out of habit, surprised when there is nothing to cover up. "I...notified Elianna's school so you shouldn't have any problems there and...you have my cell number just in case-"
"It's okay," Addison supports. "It'll be okay." It's amazing how easily this comes back to her, being absorbed in another's problems, pushing away her own.
"I heard...Naomi said...how are they?" He stumbles through the minefield.
"They're good," Addison parrots, telling him the same thing Mark told her the night before about the twins minus the bit about the NEC scare. "They'll be home in no time."
"That's nice to hear," he reaches out for a brief hug, perhaps holding her too strongly for too long but not caring one way or another. She still smells like home and for a brief second he can forget, for just a moment he can breathe normally. "I should go. I have a flight to catch."
"Of course," she mumbles, shifting the heavy weight against her other shoulder. It feels so out of place to be holding Kennedy.
"This is it," he mumbles, looking back toward the stairs where Ellie disappeared to.
"You'll be back," Addison assures him. He needs to come back. She can't deal with the one upstairs if he flat out abandons them again.
"Yeah."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark fingers the ring in his pocket once more, his heart racing a mile a minute. He stuffs the flowers, white and yellow, behind his back, and takes another deep breath. He can't believe he's about to do this, that he's going to do it this lame ass way, but today just feels like the right day and women like romantic stuff. It's hard to explain. He twists the doorknob praying that she's had a good day, and then drops the flowers on the counter when the lower half of the house is already dim with the setting sun.
"Addison?"
"Up," she calls back.
He takes the stairs two at a time, clumsily, almost falling more than once, and grins like an idiot when he sees her sitting on the floor, sorting through her closet. "Busy?"
"Occupying my time," Addison answers, flipping through her fall wardrobe and preparing to move it out of the way. It helps to keep her hands in motion, and she's out of things to read. "Why?" she asks wearily, questioning his joyful mood.
"I was going to make dinner," Mark says, taking a spot on the floor next to her.
"You were going to cook? Voluntarily?"
"I thought it might be nice."
"And I won't die from food poisoning?"
"I can cook," Mark refutes, going through his menu. It's simple spaghetti and salad. No one will be injured. No kitchens will be burnt down in the process, it's the one thing Mrs. Shepherd actually managed to drill into his thick skull before he started getting interested in girls.
"Okay," Addison nods, "Have fun."
"And you'll stay up here?"
"Mark," Addison groans. "I'm not in the mood for company- if you invited people over, you should have called-"
"No people, but Mom called..."
"You didn't," Addison moans, covering her face.
"I can't lie to that woman."
"The only one in the world, apparently," Addison attempts to tease and is met by a blank stare.
"She's upset," Mark says. "She wanted to be here."
"Imagine that," Addison retorts, watching him stand back up and brush off his jeans, fingers twitching as they finally find his pockets. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," he tells her unconvincingly. "You just...stay here, and then I'll get you when it's ready."
"Ma-rk?" Addison stutters as he reaches the doorway.
"Yeah?" he answers, concerned by the odd look on her face. He stills thinking that it may be a moment, an actual breakthrough. "Addie?"
"I was...hoping, maybe we could go-"
"We can go," Mark nods eagerly. "A, not a but ummm...A," he struggles, trying to figure out how to imply something that remains nameless. "They said- we can hold her. I didn't, I thought you should first-"
Addison's face falls, her rouse up. "- to see the elephants tomorrow," she finishes.
"Wh-" Mark begins but is suddenly wrapped up in catching a five year-old as she storms out of the bathroom and clings to his legs. "She in there the entire time?" Mark asks, amused by the attention, as Addison has turned back to shuffling through her wooden hangers. Evidently, she wasn't kidding.
"You talk a lot," Ellie answers for him, Addison silent.
"You talk a lot," Mark tells her, swinging her up easily into his embrace. "What are you doing here?" he asks pointedly, looking at Addison.
"Daddy said me and Kendy stay here now," Ellie says, fingering the collar of his white shirt. "Mark, I'm hungry."
"You didn't feed her?" Mark says, this time a little louder.
"She never-"
"It's eight Addison, she should be in bed by now. You know that- Where's Kennedy?"
"Asleep, in her room. And she isn't hungry and she doesn't need to be changed," she answers for him, before he can ask. "I'm not incompetent."
"I never-"
"Don't," Addison warns before he can launch into a tirade about how he does trust her and how she's a good Aunt. She doesn't need another speech. She doesn't need to be lied to. "Go cook, she's hungry."
Mark rolls his eyes and turns back to the child in his arms. "Wanna help?"
"Yeah," Ellie answer eagerly, happy to be doing anything with any adult. Thankful for the recognition.
On their way downstairs, in a very different mood, he has to poke his head in and check on the baby in the other room. She's asleep, just like he was told, but the fact that he had to make certain completely ruins all of his plans for the evening. Proposing can wait. There are more pressing matters at hand, like the girl on his back urging him to hurry up.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison!" Mark yells up the stairs, looking back over his shoulder at Ellie who has decided not to wait for anyone to start eating. He grumbles when he gets no response, and climbs the stairs begrudgingly, angry that she seldom answers when he calls for her anymore. She was better behaved on bed rest.
"Dinner," Mark says as calmly as possible, finding her asleep, pathetically wound into discarded shirts, a dress as her pillow. He sighs and takes the duty of scooping her up willingly. She mumbles when disturbed, groaning angrily about being moved. Sometimes Mark likes half-awake Addison more than the real version. He gets little bursts, brilliant and fleeting, of what she once was like. It feels like home.
Addison curls into a tight ball as soon as she is deposited on the bed, tugging a pillow against her chest to clutch at. He can tell she fights against the dreams still, often taking extra precaution to not wake him. He hears the short gasps, can feel her racing pulse across the mattress, traveling like a jolt of electricity. Most of the time he lets her handle it herself, but on occasion he reaches across the expanse, the canyon they've made together, and shuffles her back against him. He can't really tell if it ever helps, he's not sure anything does anymore.
~-~-~-~-~-~
After dinner is mostly cleaned up, dishes in the sink left for the morning hours, Mark settles Ellie into a bedtime story instead of a movie (her idea, he was leaning toward letting the underused television do some work for once), and finally wishes her a goodnight. The door cracked open, night light firmly switched on. He checks on Kennedy once more, surprisingly quiet after a quick bottle, and finds her passed out, apparently making up for lost time on all the sleep she missed earlier in her life.
The water from his nightly shower cascades down, scalding, washing him clean of the day. One thing is official, children are draining. He thinks he may have been able to handle it if he had some in his early thirties, not that he wanted any then, not that he wanted any before he had them. Some things just have to beat you over the head to understand, but he's thankful. Happy mostly, because they represent another thing to concentrate energy on.
It's all he does lately. Being in the present. When he works he gives one-hundred-ten percent, when he's at home it's the Addison show, when he's in traffic he finds a case to think over or now, wonders what the twins' stats are looking like.
If every moment is taken there is no time left to hurt, there is nothing to haunt him if he can just remain in control.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison tumbles from the bed, loud cries coming from the hall. Panic sets in first, before she realizes who she is, and what her life has become. And then she understands it's just her niece needing something. So she peels her tongues from the roof of her mouth, trying to remember to brush her teeth when she comes back, and wipes the sleep from her eyes. Mark is soundly asleep somehow, and the last thing she wants is another conversation so she steadies herself and heads out to handle the storm that is Kennedy.
"Ow," she groans, her bare heel coming in contact with something too sharp for the midnight hour. She bends over, almost losing her balance in the dark, and dislodges the offending article from her foot. It takes about thirty seconds of palming and squinting to realize that it's a ring. She folds her fingers over it and rushes out, hoping that everyone will just stay asleep.
It's awkward in a way she didn't think it would be anymore, having seen Kennedy and her many moods too many times to count. But she's bigger now, heavier, and slightly less temperamental. She takes diaper changes like a pro, soothing herself with her thumb when the cold air hits her skin. It's like dealing with a stranger. A stranger who needs a lot of help.
Addison tucks the baby against her chest, feeling her hair already being tugged into little fingers, and heads downstairs to find a bottle. As she sways across the kitchen floor, murmuring comforting tones she didn't think she knew, she examines the ring on the counter more carefully. It's not hers, but she's been at the house so damn much that she knows no random blonde left it on the floor. All of which leaves one possibility.
She doesn't think she'd blame him, swallowing the truth as she checks the temperature of the formula in front of her. It's been a while for them, especially with bed rest, and he has needs. It doesn't burn like she expects it to, it simply runs through her with a chill, coming to a rest in her head as something that doesn't need to be argued about. Mark's still here, after all. And he made dinner for a child that isn't his, and he keeps other children that aren't his company as they fight for their lives. At some point the tables turned, Mark becoming the good guy, Addison becoming the woman who is overly tolerant of things that would have made her yell and cry before.
Now not even a smidgen of anguish comes, there's no tingle in her core, no slow fizzle that tightens her throat and threatens tears. She used to be glass, now she feels like concrete. No longer empty and fragile. She's full of dense, compacted pain, heavy, and cracked. She's been treaded upon without pricking anyone, but her surface is never smooth, compounded with divots and holes, an always surprisingly terrible plane of travel.
~-~-~-~-~-~
When she returns, minus a sleepy infant, one of the bedside lamps is on and Mark is scrubbing his hands over his face.
"She was just hungry," Addison tells him, ring burning her palm as she discards it on the dresser. On a whim, an attempt to be the fiery individual she seems to have lost, she plucks it back up from the mess and holds it out, her face questioning.
It takes Mark's eyes a second to focus, but when they do, his stomach jumps into his throat. "I-you weren't supposed to find that."
Addison nods grimly, feet seemingly frozen. "I figured."
"You weren't supposed- it wasn't supposed to be like this," Mark shakes his head sleepily and resigns himself to giving up the game. It's less glamorous than a candlelit dinner next to the waves, and he doesn't remember much of the long winding speech he wanted to give her about how they aren't perfect, but how he loves more for it. He shifts his feet out first, wobbly legs coming next. Then it's two feet forward and he drops down on one knee, taking the ring from its perch in her fingers.
"What- are you doing?" Addison asks nervously. He was cheating on her, and she was okay with that outcome. This not so much.
"I was going to make you dinner," Mark gulps. "And I wanted it to be different, but- I just...I love you."
"Mark-" Addison warns, feeling her eyes cloud over with panic.
"Will you marry me?" he asks, feeling it roll off his tongue for the first time ever, if you don't count the practicing in the car, and while he waited for elevators.
Her first instinct is to laugh, loudly, but the flash of sincerity and then subsequent fear are enough to make her realize that he isn't kidding at all. He really was going to make her dinner, and propose apparently. Then, "Why?" comes tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop herself and Mark's mouth falls open in thought.
"Addie-"
"Yes," Addison recovers quickly, afraid she wasn't fast enough to recoup the grand mistake she just made. "Yes, I will marry you."
She feels her feet leave the ground a few seconds later, his lips lightly kissing her neck, her arms wrapping around his neck out of habit. Mark is happy. Genuinely and wholly. And he deserves it, she notes, as his hands slide down her waist carefully, the moment of truth inching closer as his mouth begins to explore the finer points of three a.m. kisses.
Mark needs this, but Addison still wants to know why.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"How you been?" Pete asks, pushing the sunglasses off his face, and dropping them into the pocket of his leather coat.
"Fine," Addison answers, her right ring finger weighted with an ill-made decision, but one that she'll uphold because ultimately she knows this is what is supposed to happen, what she wanted to happen. "I need a ride," she elucidates, cutting right to the chase.
Pete knocks a few fingers against the motorcycle helmet in his hand, signaling her that she picked the wrong person for the job. "Sam is on lunch, if you want."
"No," Addison answers too fast, scaring him. "I...we can take my car." She runs from the room, knowing she has only two hours before Mark will come home for lunch, no doubt in an even more joyful mood than he was when he left with Ellie earlier this morning. She grabs her purse, and Kennedy, already prepared in a car seat, and rushes back toward the entryway.
"Do I want to know what we are doing?" Pete asks skeptically.
"It's just a ride Wilder. I can't drive. Nothing illegal, scout's honor."
"All right then," Pete smiles, light from her hand distracting him. "You're getting married?"
"No," Addison scoffs, but then Pete lifts her palm and she remembers once again what feels so foreign there. "Oh...yeah. We need to go."
"You don't sound excited," Pete notes, as they make their way to the garage.
"I am," Addison argues. "I just have a million things to do and-"
"Got it," Pete nods sorrowfully. Sure, his chances grew slimmer by the day but with that shiny piece of gold on her finger they're all but extinct now. Plus, Mark's turned out to be a pretty great guy, not that he knows much about their relationship, but he believes they could make it. Addison is the marrying type anyway, Naomi always says.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Thank-s, thank you for seeing me again," Addison stammers, staring at Jacob Atwater like he holds the key to her future.
"Not a problem Addison, please sit," Jake tells her, pointing to chair. He always feels more comfortable when his patients are calm.
"No," Addison declines, twisting the new ring around her finger mindlessly.
"You're ready?" Jake asks, just to be sure.
"Yeah," Addison nods.
"Why do you think you are ready now?" he asks, taking into account the fact that she looks significantly slimmer in her jeans than before. He'll get to that later. Her hair doesn't look crazy enough, her eyes not baggy enough to have had a newborn living with her. And he would know, he and his wife have done that dance of no sleep and eight cups of coffee a day four times already.
"He proposed," Addison grins despite herself, beginning to pace the floor.
"He?"
"Mark...my...whatever. He proposed."
"Fiancé," Jake corrects for her, scribbling a few notes down.
"He proposed," Addison rambles, "And all I could say was why. I asked him why."
"What did he say?" Jake questions, pen getting its mileage.
"Normal people don't ask why," Addison continues. "I...don't ask why," she recalls, Derek on one knee, the dusk in the background.
She looks up at him clueless, face washed clean of everything she once knew, red lips slacking. Jacob pauses, breaking with tradition and not firing off another question. He lets the silence shroud them in her confusion, in her moment.
"You have to fix me."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part: 38/?
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: Of course the second I say I am taking a break from writing I get bombarded with ideas and have to GO! I feel like this is coming to a close...soonish, though my idea of an outline has ended up with 38 chapters so far so we'll see. Some creative licence taken with the medicine in this chapter, I tried to be as accurate as my searching allowed me to be though. And I think you all may like this one...hopefully. Onward-
~-~-~-~-~-~
Falling from my mouth, secondary doubts I've found myself in
Can't seem to look you in the eye
And I hope you can see
I'm more than this, this heap at your feet
- Richard Walters, "Elephant In the Room"
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Sloan?" A voice behind him squeaks, causing him to bolt out of the chair he was occupying.
Mark clears his throat, trying to appear alert, "Yes?"
"I need..." the nurse trails off, pointing at one of the two incubators he has been staring at.
"Right," Mark nods, moving out of her way, so she can check and monitor the little chest that he's spent the better portion of the day watching bounce up and down weakly. He opts for the doorway, trying to appear casual when it feels like his stomach is in a knot. Addison knows babies. He knows noses and stomachs and burns. The click of her nervous pen makes a tingle run down his spine and he'd ask her to stop but he's too terrified to open his mouth, lest she make a major mistake somehow. Instead he notes the smooth strokes she chooses, not wanting to read the actual scratches, and desiring nothing more at the same time. Ignorance is a tricky bastard.
The nurse jots a few more things down, well aware of who these children belong to, fortunate enough to have worked with Dr. Montgomery twice over the last year. She jives toward the door but he doesn't inch away, he holds his ground. "If you have questions I can send in Dr.-"
"I don't know what to tell her," Mark admits suddenly, overwhelmed with the reality, not wanting to resort to the usual jackass tendencies he relies on in these situations. "What would you say? Based on this," he motions wildly toward the twins. "What would you say to her?"
The nurse looks down, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder in a scrambled manner, not brushed this morning. On one hand Dr. Montgomery is a professional, she'd want to know exactly what is wrong, on the other hand she's the patient. A recovering patient who could do well without any added stresses. She takes a deep breath, "Tell her...they're alive. They're breathing," she says softly pointing back at the dimmed room.
He nods and wiggles toward the solo rocking chair in the room. The blanket cast over the back slaps the wood with each roll forward, his knees cracking as he plugs away. Every motion only brings him closer to the brink of insanity. He's not sure if Addison wants every update, every hour. Or if once was enough. She seemed disinterested, but he'd be willing to wager that, at the time, it may have been an unfair assessment, given the preceeding events.
One of his hand falls hesitantly over the plastic separating Baby A and himself after he's had enough rocking. "You are alive."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"How much longer?" Addison demands, glaring at her new best friend. A short woman, black hair that looks like it went through a meat grinder, fingers too polished to be working long hours.
The nurse glowers in return and then forces her to sit up carefully, noticing the grimace that occurs when it happens. "If it hurts-"
"I don't need any more pain medication. What I need is to get out of this bed."
"Not yet," the woman declares and places her clipboard down hastily next to Addison's blanketed legs.
"I need to be up, walking around," Addison argues, struggling for attention.
"Take it up with Dr. King."
"I did," Addison retorts, reclining once again, lids heavy with the exhaustion she won't allow herself to succumb to. Her new mission is to be walking down the hall by dinner. Perhaps lofty, but it will get her home faster, get her out of this bed of gloom and doom and back to the comforting disaster she's come to rely on.
"Not my problem," the nurse answers and gladly accepts the visitors whose faces are covered with pink balloons and vibrant flowers.
Addison can't help but stare as her ragtag group of co-workers piles into the room, new surprises in everyone's hand, ready to award her. She deserves none of it. There was no victory here today.
"Hey stranger," Naomi grins, and steals the seat next to bed before Sam can grab it. Pete remains awkwardly slumped against the wall, Violet and Cooper assigned to the couch, fingers tangled though no one is surprised. "Feeling better?"
"She was just gutted," Violet reminds them, earning herself a stern slap from Cooper.
"We decided to all take a late lunch together," Sam explains, Dell obviously charged with watching over the place. "Good looking bunch you have on your hands," he chuckles, referring to the girls they saw earlier this morning. When his redheaded friend doesn't reply he simply nods. She's quiet sometimes, a fact that all of her old friends like to forget, but they used to venture off together when it got to be too much. When Derek was being an ass, Mark was drunk, and Naomi was loud- they'd walk around the block, silent, impervious to the streets around them. He feels like he knows her better than the others sometimes, for having experienced the other end of her spectrum. Maybe it's not welcome, but then again, Addison rarely is these days.
"Got you on anything good?" Cooper laughs, pointing to the IV taped to the back of her hand.
"Not bad," Addison agrees, feeling the mask shift up a bit more comfortably. She can do this, the merry-go-round where they talk about nothing. "Any good patients?"
"It's slow," Pete chimes in across the floor.
"Kids with marbles up their noses," Cooper shrugs.
"Same old crazy," Violet offers.
The silence falls over them easily until Sam gives them the excuse of traffic and that they should get back to their non-patient filled lobby. Naomi promises to stop by again on her way home, to keep Mark in line, and the others practically skip free. She remembers a time when they were all huddled in her own living room watching Sam leave for a date, that they later crashed. She remembers playing poker with the guys, and having Pete hang out at the house to keep her company when Mark went missing. She thought they were friends, sort of, and now none of them can bear to be near her.
~-~-~-~-~-~
When he joins Addison, she's two steps to the door and wobbling toward the couch after declaring 'operation walk' a major fail. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I need," she bites down on her lip as she sits, the incision line pulling and bending with her, "to be up Mark. I need to walk."
"You need to rest," he says too loudly, catching her immediate attention. "I'm going to put you in the bed now," he warns, preparing his arms.
"Don't touch me," Addison replies seriously.
"Stop...Addison." He holds his hands up in defeat. "You're going to do whatever you want to do...I've learned that much. But, I need you to hear me out."
"Save the speech-"
"It's selfish. You," he annunciates clearly, "are being selfish. They are fighting Addison. Clawing their way through this and you're taking chances-"
"I'm not endangering-"
"You don't know that!"
"I do," she says calmly. "I do know this. It's all I know."
"They're alive," he replies, his voice cutting in a way he didn't intend for it to a few hours ago. "And I bet they'd like a mother when they grow up so I'm going to put you back in bed and you will listen to them. They're not as good as you, but they are your doctors and if they want to take extra precautions then you let them. Do no harm."
"Don't quote the damn o-" she cuts herself off, lifted easily against his chest, head falling to a rest despite what she wants it to do.
"I like you alive," Mark says, setting her down against the rumpled sheets, his lips stealing a kiss before pulling back.
"This is hardly a life and death situation," she shoots off. He opens his mouth to speak but she stops him. "Mark?"
"Yeah?" He spins around, expecting to hear her say that she likes him alive too.
"I was doing something good."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Do we look for a new OB/GYN?" Naomi asks softly, lips moving over to her blue mug next, filled with deliciously warm coffee. It's been a long one.
"It's not like we're incredibly busy," Sam counters, taking note of the empty hallway and popping a grape into his mouth.
"But if we do-"
"We managed for months before Addison," he reminds her. "I think it would offend her, to be replaced like that."
"She's practically working out of St. Ambrose as it is," Naomi states, stealing a piece of fruit from the bag in front of her ex-husband/on-again guy.
"It's her decision. We should leave it for another time."
"Yeah," Naomi nods thoughtfully. "It was nice, to have her here."
Sam chooses to break her nostalgia with something a bit more pressing. He's been thinking it over for quite some time, and then the Derek thing happened and it wasn't right to spring on her, but he has an excuse now. "Do you want...to move in together?"
"You want to come home?" Naomi clarifies, eyes clearly confused.
"I was thinking you could move in with me. Maya loves the beach and you'd have Addison right next door, or she would have you. They will need you. Addison is bound to yell and Mark will try and run away, I figure some man-on-man defense would be for the best."
"I'll give it some thought," Naomi smiles, and then rushes from the room before the need to giggle overwhelms her. What a day indeed.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark's not sure when they can be classified as out of the woods officially but he feels like forty-eight more hours gone by is a pretty clear indication of progress. A and B, nameless, and not a subject he wants to brooch at the moment with the ghostly form that has taken over Addison, are doing well. He's got a bit of skip to his step, and a grin on his face when he finds her, hospital gown replaced by gentle black pants that fall just past her knees, and a loose green shirt that hides her already dwindling form. Her red hair is pulled back haphazardly into a quick ponytail, bangs falling over her right eye. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Addison replies, steadying herself on the bed before taking hold of the leather bag firmly and extending it out to him. The smallest of movements tend to hurt but she doesn't much mind. All in the name of recovery.
"Sign everything?"
"I was cleared by Charlotte King herself," Addison confirms, to put his mind at ease.
She refuses his hand, and takes herself into the hallway without help, Mark lagging behind.
"Come on, I want to show you something."
She knew what she was getting herself into when they got off on the fourth floor, but that doesn't make this any easier. Most of the nurses have stopped asking her if she wants to go visit the children that don't even feel like hers. Mark offered to bring a camera in and take pictures, but she wasn't having any of it. He's not going to let her leave without seeing them. She drags her feet a little, because she can, and purposefully keeps her eyes down as people begin to stare at her crocs and sloppy outfit. It's more than a little embarrassing. She's a professional here, a peer, and now she's being paraded around like a zoo exhibit.
A little nudge on the small of her back and soon they are both in the room that Mark has spent an inordinate amount of time in so far. "You can look. It's scary at first, but...you know, everything in here is to help them. You know that Addison. Look up."
She obeys, feeling herself shut down. It's automatic. They aren't what she imagined the few times she allowed herself to indulge. They aren't what she thought her and Derek's kids would look like. It's painfully obvious who their father is, and she finds herself searching for anything that looks like it could have been inherited from her side of the genes. She settles on the floor again pretty quickly, and Mark makes himself at home in the chair opposite her.
"Baby A," he clears his throat, "is here. And Baby B is over here. They-need-names." He smashes all the words together in a barely decipherable sentence and hopes she doesn't start yelling.
"Yes they do," she nods. Addison always hated when she had nameless people under her care. She'd make up names for them in the meantime, whispering gently when the rooms were vacated and left to her care.
"Maybe we could start looking, unless...you already had something picked out." His voice carries at the end, obviously hopeful.
"I can't," she shakes her head, and stumbles back out away from the monitors telling her that the very things she carried for months are actually alive, out in the world.
"Later," he encourages, watching for a few more minutes, not noticing that she has already left.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I could get Violet," Mark offers helplessly, watching Addison flip through the channels upstairs in their bedroom.
Addison laughs a little, and then gives up when it hurts. "When are we moving?"
"Now isn't a good time. I meant that."
"You house is bigger," Addison counters, not particularly looking for a fight, shying away from that line with her tone. "We can hire movers. It doesn't need to be a big production."
"Except you'll want to redecorate, and then I'll end up painting something wrong, and it will become a huge mess. Let's keep it calm, just for now." He readjusts, flipping his legs out, stretching toward the ocean.
"People paint for a living too."
"Addison," he warns.
"Mark," she teases back.
"When they come home, then I'll think about it. Until then, back off." The message wavers over the room unstably, but its affect is profound. He can almost see her retreating back into herself, a shell covering the tender portion that just poked out to say hello. He sighs loudly, frustrated with her for the hundredth time in the last seven hours of having her back home, and reaches up to brush her arm soothingly. "They looked good this morning remember," he repeats, watching her stiffen at their mention. He says the same thing every forty minutes, like a broken record, they both notice.
Addison rolls her eyes, not needing the benefit of yet another update, not wanting the guilt of knowing another second has passed wherein she's willingly neglected her children. She's busy fighting a beast with a thousand heads. They look like Derek, and they're sick, and they might die, and she feels absolutely nothing, and it's all terrifying. And then there's the added pressure of Mark being nothing short of doting and perfect while she's resigned to feeling like there is a hurricane happening inside her head. The role reversal is unkind and startling. "Don't start."
"I know you care," Mark states evenly.
"Do you?"
~-~-~-~-~-~
The main way she was roped into this visit was simply out of resignation. She didn't want to argue, she didn't really want to be speaking, so she brushed her hair and threw on some mascara, made sure her shoes matched and found something that fit. The car ride was silent minus Mark's obscenities, remarking over how horrible Los Angeles drivers are in comparison to New York. She'd tell him they're just different, that it's all different here, but it's rather pointless. He believes what he wants and he's often times more stubborn than she is. That much she has learned.
They arrive without the fanfare of the day before, hardly anyone notices that she's present, and she gives wordless appreciation as the elevator carries them upward.
"Hello," Mark says softly, undaunted by Addison's presence behind him as he quickly shuffles forward to the children he just spent his first night without since their birth. It was torturous. He spent the duration tossing and turning, thinking about all the things that could go wrong while Addison seemingly slept peacefully next to him. Although, he thinks the narcotics that they still have her on may have played a larger role than he wants to admit.
He looks them over carefully, already aware of the fact that he'll never be able to tell them apart and they may as well tattoo one with a distinguishing mark so that he can stand a chance. Or maybe they'll get lucky and they will have completely opposite personalities. "Come here," he urges, drawing her hand to pull her closer. "We don't have to stay long if it makes you nervous, but they said it's good...they need human interaction."
"Then they should co-bed them," Addison mumbles to herself.
"They're doing a good job Addison," Mark reminds her, evidenced by both of them still being alive despite some frightening respiratory issues. Well, frightening to him. Apparently not to Addison who sees, or rather used to see, this stuff all the time.
"I don't want to be here."
"You think I don't know that?" Mark snaps instantly, then regrets it as she inches back to the open door. He closes his eyes and takes a momentary time out. Then, he tries again. He needs to reset a lot these days. "Why don't you want to be here?" The million dollar question.
"When can we go?" Addison asks, fidgeting with her sleeve.
"When you come over here and spend time with them."
"You can't force me to do that Mark. Don't you need to be at work today?"
"Naomi said I could have the day off to do this. I have patients tomorrow though," he says softly, reaching out a finger to trace along the incubator of A. Montgomery or Shepherd, or Montgomery-Shepherd, or maybe someday Sloan, or a variation thereof. It's complicated. In his head Sloan is as fine as any but he has a feeling Addison will greatly disagree.
"If you are going to stay," Addison stops when he glares at her, "If you want to stay then I can just grab a cab home, or maybe Naomi-"
"No," Mark asserts. "We're staying here, and then we will go get some lunch, and then you can go home."
"I don't need a tour guide, or a parent Mark. If you want to stay-" she is suddenly cut off this time by sharp monitors, alerting everyone in the room of something wrong. And, not for the first time Mark freezes. She's seen it before, not a proud moment for him, but she springs into action, doctor mode kicking in without thought. "Find a chest tube."
"Addison, you shouldn't-"
"Do it now," she demands as the nurses rush into the room and turn the alarms off. She takes the needle carefully between her fingers, removing the impeding plastic as she prepares herself. She pushes down carefully, puncturing the skin of whichever baby and waits for the tiny puff of air. Then she steals a stethoscope from the neck of the blonde next to her and waits impatiently for equal breath sounds. Satisfied, she steps back and watches the numbers as they steady within the correct range.
Mark pushes off against the wall he seems to find himself fastened to with a steady gulp and a loud, "Fuck" that grabs everyone's attention as they carry on with protocol. When his feet feel steady enough and he's certain that he isn't going to throw up from the adrenaline he presses forward to make sure everything really is normal.
"Her lung collapsed. Sometimes that happens with preemies," the nurse shrugs.
"Addison," Mark breathes, noting her lack of existence within the bustle of the now very active room.
"We'll keep you updated, and I'll page you when Dr. Wynn gets in. She's stable for now."
"Ok," Mark nods absently, checking the group of people once more.
"Dr. Sloan?"
"Yeah?" he answers.
"She went to the left," the nurse announces, pointing to the hallway.
"Oh- I, I wasn't looking-"
"I'll page you if anything changes," she tells him once more, "Go."
When he finds her, after trying to call her, checking on call rooms, and an unfortunate conversation with Dr. King, she's leaning up against the car, watching the clouds that look like they are mercifully packing rain. "Addie."
"Don't," she shakes her head. "Can we go now?"
"She's okay."
"I know that," Addison mocks, eyeing the handle and making it perfectly clear that she'd appreciate it if he would unlock the doors now. "What are we having for lunch?"
"Are you hungry?" he asks surprised.
"No, I'm just making conversation," she replies dryly, growing more antsy by the second.
"You just- plunged- into her," he stammers.
"Well, one of us had to," Addison tells him curtly, not caring if he gets a little bruised by the conversation.
"We need to go back in there."
"We need to go home," she states plainly, her decision made before they even set foot on the grounds, but now more concrete within.
"Please," Mark practically begs, eyes searching to find something he recognizes in her, something he can play to. Perhaps some sympathy, though he dare not say she possesses an ounce of it anymore.
"If you let me grab my purse out of the car, I will call a cab, or Naomi, or Sam. You can stay."
"Addison-"
"I did that!" she yells suddenly, hands slamming into the panel of the door. "That's my fault in there so excuse me if I can't bear to be in the same room as them-"
"You didn't-"
"I did!" She pushes him back when he steps forward, presumably to stroke and soothe something that she doesn't want alleviated. This is her guilt to live down. "They could have been stronger- they could've been better...that's on me, you said. And I- if they don't make it, I...can't. I can't do that again...I don't have anything left to give...there's nothing left Mark, so please can I go home now?"
He watches her wipe her cheeks angrily, the tears still storming down freely. He'd tell her that they will be fine except one of them just tried to jump ship. He'd advise her that this is just difficult and that no one is to blame, but she is right. They could have been healthier, they could have at least weighed a bit more, if she hadn't been so hell bent on controlling every single detail of her neurotic life. "You can't pretend they don't exist because it makes you feel better," he says softly, an ambulance cutting well above his level in the background.
"Watch me."
~-~-~-~-~-~
The dark is consoling in a way the light cannot be yet. In the pitch black it's okay to be inadequate, and afraid. The night falls, leaving only herself to be the judge, Mark sprawled out across the bed beside her. She used to have dreams. Little redheaded children running down the stairs in the brownstone, blue eyed monsters chasing her through their home. It never happened, and the dream got altered to fit into real time- being a single parent. She's stronger alone, she thinks she could be a better person without him constantly by her side wanting in on something she hasn't very well figured out yet.
Addison slips her warm feet to the floor and slides away from her spot, headed downstairs for something to drink. She handles the stairs like a champion, having conditioned herself while Mark is at work, and pours a tall glass of water. She settles at the table, toes skimming the cold wood beneath them, eyes focusing in the darkness that envelops the house. They haven't talked much lately, and it's obvious that he's angry with her for being defensive, but one must rely upon old standbys in a time of need, and being a bitch about everything is what she has. It is interesting though, she thinks, that instead of picking fights with her like he used to do back in New York, he is now content to simply be in the same room with her rage.
The one thing she hates about the night is that her control wavers. Her mind can flit from Mark being oddly nice one minute to replaying the entire scene back at the hospital earlier in the week. Darkness allows for overanalyzation, and in hindsight she could have at least been more compassionate given that he was clearly struggling. It was easy for her, it was like auto pilot, jumping to action. But Mark froze, a rarity. Her feet swing back and forth carelessly over the dustless floor. They'll be coming home soon, Mark says, and she doesn't know how to tell him that she doesn't feel anything but terror and guilt. He wouldn't take it the right way, he'd call her selfish again, tell her that she has other people to think about. And she does, think about them, she simply doesn't have any pulsing desire to be their mother.
When dawn breaks over the ocean she stands, rattled, and prepares Mark's coffee, sliding a raisin bagel into the toaster in case he's hungry. She used to have vivid dreams. Now she has waking nightmares.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Sloan," the brunette nurse smiles warmly, watching him swagger into the room in his scrubs, fresh from whichever surgery.
"Hey...Holly," he reads off her badge carefully, "How are they today?"
"Good," she looks down. "Dr. Wynn will be in a few minutes to go over some changes."
"Changes?"
"Overnight things," Holly nods, trying to be cheerful. She gathers her things, and bolts from the room, telling the nurse at the counter to page Dr. Wynn as she goes.
"Overnight," Mark repeats softly, taking his usual seat and pulling it as close as he can get away with. He'd stand and lull over them but he's been on his feet all day and he knows his body needs a bit of a break. He tells the twins, A & B everyone calls them (to his displeasure), about his day. From his brief run-in with Naomi who keeps asking when she can come check on Addison (to which he says to leave her alone, for the love of God) to Dr. King asking when they can expect their rotating star back (not anytime soon, he hopes) to all of his borderline annoying patients. He doesn't really talk to the twins about Addison, it feels wrong, to explain why she isn't there to two people who aren't understanding anything he is saying anyway. However, he's sure his voice would take on a new tone and he doesn't want to cause them any undue stress.
"Dr. Sloan," Dr. Wynn greets, sweeping into the room, looking busy as usual. She doesn't wait for Mark to reply, just begins whether he is ready or not. "Slight problem last night," she tosses the chart at him, "we're hoping it won't show on the labs later but we went ahead and switched antibiotics around three this morning. So far, she's responding well."
Mark looks over at B, further away and predictably asleep. Another setback, another flaw prolonging Addison's recovery. "How much longer?"
"I would have said they should be ready, if their weight gain was consistent and the feedings went well, by the end of next week."
"Now?"
"Baby A will be leaving before Baby B," Dr. Wynn explains. "Do you want to try holding her, she's strong enough."
Mark clamps his mouth shut to keep from screaming "Yes!", because it's Addison's gift, not his. She needs this. "Uh- no, I need, I have a surgery in a few minutes that I need to scrub in for."
"Right," Dr. Wynn agrees. "If anything changes-"
"You'll page me," he finishes, having heard the same phrase one hundred times, and yet not paged when anything does actually occur.
"You'll notify Dr. Montgomery?" Dr. Wynn has yet to see her, for a myriad of reasons according to the gossip mill.
"Yes," Mark swallows. "If it-"
"Then we'll treat it as aggressively as possible, maybe operate, but let's not get ahead of ourselves all right? We'll see how she does, it's looking like a scare and nothing more." Dr. Wynn rests a hand on the appropriate incubator and tries to smile.
"Right."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Hi Ellie," Addison smiles warmly the next day, noticing the early time and that her niece is definitely not in school where she belongs.
"Hi," she replies, dragging a purple suitcase in behind her. She tromps toward her old room, now laden with dust bunnies and cobwebs that need sweeping out.
"Pierce," Addison nods and takes a bag from his arms as he makes his way inside.
"I'm sorry I called so early," Pierce apologizes, plucking his youngest daughter from her seat and thrusting her at Addison. "I just...things sort of fell through last night. I talked to the partners and they agreed to give me some time off, straighten things out and make up my mind, but they called last night and I need to be in San Francisco by 4."
"You made up your mind," Addison confirms, absentmindedly rubbing circles over the back of a very drowsy five month old.
"I had a co-worker draw up the papers, and I signed. I can be back down this weekend to finalize things. I pulled a few strings and Judge Williams is willing to sit in."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to do this. Mark was out of line. He was stressed, I was-"
"It's for the best," he smiles reassured. "This is right. I only regret taking so long to realize it. They didn't need to be bounced around like that."
"But-"
"Addison, I would love to discuss things more thoroughly, but I do not have the luxury right now. I brought most of their things and," he reaches a hand into his black slacks, "this is a key to the house. I haven't- I can't bear to part with it...yet, but if you need anything out of there the code is 0814."
"Her birthday," Addison breathes out steadily.
"Yeah, she was always afraid she would forget and set off the alarm and scare Ellie."
"She was a good mom," Addison says softly, cuddling the child against her more tightly.
"She was a good person," Pierce corrects, dabbing at the corner of his eyes quickly out of habit, surprised when there is nothing to cover up. "I...notified Elianna's school so you shouldn't have any problems there and...you have my cell number just in case-"
"It's okay," Addison supports. "It'll be okay." It's amazing how easily this comes back to her, being absorbed in another's problems, pushing away her own.
"I heard...Naomi said...how are they?" He stumbles through the minefield.
"They're good," Addison parrots, telling him the same thing Mark told her the night before about the twins minus the bit about the NEC scare. "They'll be home in no time."
"That's nice to hear," he reaches out for a brief hug, perhaps holding her too strongly for too long but not caring one way or another. She still smells like home and for a brief second he can forget, for just a moment he can breathe normally. "I should go. I have a flight to catch."
"Of course," she mumbles, shifting the heavy weight against her other shoulder. It feels so out of place to be holding Kennedy.
"This is it," he mumbles, looking back toward the stairs where Ellie disappeared to.
"You'll be back," Addison assures him. He needs to come back. She can't deal with the one upstairs if he flat out abandons them again.
"Yeah."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark fingers the ring in his pocket once more, his heart racing a mile a minute. He stuffs the flowers, white and yellow, behind his back, and takes another deep breath. He can't believe he's about to do this, that he's going to do it this lame ass way, but today just feels like the right day and women like romantic stuff. It's hard to explain. He twists the doorknob praying that she's had a good day, and then drops the flowers on the counter when the lower half of the house is already dim with the setting sun.
"Addison?"
"Up," she calls back.
He takes the stairs two at a time, clumsily, almost falling more than once, and grins like an idiot when he sees her sitting on the floor, sorting through her closet. "Busy?"
"Occupying my time," Addison answers, flipping through her fall wardrobe and preparing to move it out of the way. It helps to keep her hands in motion, and she's out of things to read. "Why?" she asks wearily, questioning his joyful mood.
"I was going to make dinner," Mark says, taking a spot on the floor next to her.
"You were going to cook? Voluntarily?"
"I thought it might be nice."
"And I won't die from food poisoning?"
"I can cook," Mark refutes, going through his menu. It's simple spaghetti and salad. No one will be injured. No kitchens will be burnt down in the process, it's the one thing Mrs. Shepherd actually managed to drill into his thick skull before he started getting interested in girls.
"Okay," Addison nods, "Have fun."
"And you'll stay up here?"
"Mark," Addison groans. "I'm not in the mood for company- if you invited people over, you should have called-"
"No people, but Mom called..."
"You didn't," Addison moans, covering her face.
"I can't lie to that woman."
"The only one in the world, apparently," Addison attempts to tease and is met by a blank stare.
"She's upset," Mark says. "She wanted to be here."
"Imagine that," Addison retorts, watching him stand back up and brush off his jeans, fingers twitching as they finally find his pockets. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," he tells her unconvincingly. "You just...stay here, and then I'll get you when it's ready."
"Ma-rk?" Addison stutters as he reaches the doorway.
"Yeah?" he answers, concerned by the odd look on her face. He stills thinking that it may be a moment, an actual breakthrough. "Addie?"
"I was...hoping, maybe we could go-"
"We can go," Mark nods eagerly. "A, not a but ummm...A," he struggles, trying to figure out how to imply something that remains nameless. "They said- we can hold her. I didn't, I thought you should first-"
Addison's face falls, her rouse up. "- to see the elephants tomorrow," she finishes.
"Wh-" Mark begins but is suddenly wrapped up in catching a five year-old as she storms out of the bathroom and clings to his legs. "She in there the entire time?" Mark asks, amused by the attention, as Addison has turned back to shuffling through her wooden hangers. Evidently, she wasn't kidding.
"You talk a lot," Ellie answers for him, Addison silent.
"You talk a lot," Mark tells her, swinging her up easily into his embrace. "What are you doing here?" he asks pointedly, looking at Addison.
"Daddy said me and Kendy stay here now," Ellie says, fingering the collar of his white shirt. "Mark, I'm hungry."
"You didn't feed her?" Mark says, this time a little louder.
"She never-"
"It's eight Addison, she should be in bed by now. You know that- Where's Kennedy?"
"Asleep, in her room. And she isn't hungry and she doesn't need to be changed," she answers for him, before he can ask. "I'm not incompetent."
"I never-"
"Don't," Addison warns before he can launch into a tirade about how he does trust her and how she's a good Aunt. She doesn't need another speech. She doesn't need to be lied to. "Go cook, she's hungry."
Mark rolls his eyes and turns back to the child in his arms. "Wanna help?"
"Yeah," Ellie answer eagerly, happy to be doing anything with any adult. Thankful for the recognition.
On their way downstairs, in a very different mood, he has to poke his head in and check on the baby in the other room. She's asleep, just like he was told, but the fact that he had to make certain completely ruins all of his plans for the evening. Proposing can wait. There are more pressing matters at hand, like the girl on his back urging him to hurry up.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison!" Mark yells up the stairs, looking back over his shoulder at Ellie who has decided not to wait for anyone to start eating. He grumbles when he gets no response, and climbs the stairs begrudgingly, angry that she seldom answers when he calls for her anymore. She was better behaved on bed rest.
"Dinner," Mark says as calmly as possible, finding her asleep, pathetically wound into discarded shirts, a dress as her pillow. He sighs and takes the duty of scooping her up willingly. She mumbles when disturbed, groaning angrily about being moved. Sometimes Mark likes half-awake Addison more than the real version. He gets little bursts, brilliant and fleeting, of what she once was like. It feels like home.
Addison curls into a tight ball as soon as she is deposited on the bed, tugging a pillow against her chest to clutch at. He can tell she fights against the dreams still, often taking extra precaution to not wake him. He hears the short gasps, can feel her racing pulse across the mattress, traveling like a jolt of electricity. Most of the time he lets her handle it herself, but on occasion he reaches across the expanse, the canyon they've made together, and shuffles her back against him. He can't really tell if it ever helps, he's not sure anything does anymore.
~-~-~-~-~-~
After dinner is mostly cleaned up, dishes in the sink left for the morning hours, Mark settles Ellie into a bedtime story instead of a movie (her idea, he was leaning toward letting the underused television do some work for once), and finally wishes her a goodnight. The door cracked open, night light firmly switched on. He checks on Kennedy once more, surprisingly quiet after a quick bottle, and finds her passed out, apparently making up for lost time on all the sleep she missed earlier in her life.
The water from his nightly shower cascades down, scalding, washing him clean of the day. One thing is official, children are draining. He thinks he may have been able to handle it if he had some in his early thirties, not that he wanted any then, not that he wanted any before he had them. Some things just have to beat you over the head to understand, but he's thankful. Happy mostly, because they represent another thing to concentrate energy on.
It's all he does lately. Being in the present. When he works he gives one-hundred-ten percent, when he's at home it's the Addison show, when he's in traffic he finds a case to think over or now, wonders what the twins' stats are looking like.
If every moment is taken there is no time left to hurt, there is nothing to haunt him if he can just remain in control.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison tumbles from the bed, loud cries coming from the hall. Panic sets in first, before she realizes who she is, and what her life has become. And then she understands it's just her niece needing something. So she peels her tongues from the roof of her mouth, trying to remember to brush her teeth when she comes back, and wipes the sleep from her eyes. Mark is soundly asleep somehow, and the last thing she wants is another conversation so she steadies herself and heads out to handle the storm that is Kennedy.
"Ow," she groans, her bare heel coming in contact with something too sharp for the midnight hour. She bends over, almost losing her balance in the dark, and dislodges the offending article from her foot. It takes about thirty seconds of palming and squinting to realize that it's a ring. She folds her fingers over it and rushes out, hoping that everyone will just stay asleep.
It's awkward in a way she didn't think it would be anymore, having seen Kennedy and her many moods too many times to count. But she's bigger now, heavier, and slightly less temperamental. She takes diaper changes like a pro, soothing herself with her thumb when the cold air hits her skin. It's like dealing with a stranger. A stranger who needs a lot of help.
Addison tucks the baby against her chest, feeling her hair already being tugged into little fingers, and heads downstairs to find a bottle. As she sways across the kitchen floor, murmuring comforting tones she didn't think she knew, she examines the ring on the counter more carefully. It's not hers, but she's been at the house so damn much that she knows no random blonde left it on the floor. All of which leaves one possibility.
She doesn't think she'd blame him, swallowing the truth as she checks the temperature of the formula in front of her. It's been a while for them, especially with bed rest, and he has needs. It doesn't burn like she expects it to, it simply runs through her with a chill, coming to a rest in her head as something that doesn't need to be argued about. Mark's still here, after all. And he made dinner for a child that isn't his, and he keeps other children that aren't his company as they fight for their lives. At some point the tables turned, Mark becoming the good guy, Addison becoming the woman who is overly tolerant of things that would have made her yell and cry before.
Now not even a smidgen of anguish comes, there's no tingle in her core, no slow fizzle that tightens her throat and threatens tears. She used to be glass, now she feels like concrete. No longer empty and fragile. She's full of dense, compacted pain, heavy, and cracked. She's been treaded upon without pricking anyone, but her surface is never smooth, compounded with divots and holes, an always surprisingly terrible plane of travel.
~-~-~-~-~-~
When she returns, minus a sleepy infant, one of the bedside lamps is on and Mark is scrubbing his hands over his face.
"She was just hungry," Addison tells him, ring burning her palm as she discards it on the dresser. On a whim, an attempt to be the fiery individual she seems to have lost, she plucks it back up from the mess and holds it out, her face questioning.
It takes Mark's eyes a second to focus, but when they do, his stomach jumps into his throat. "I-you weren't supposed to find that."
Addison nods grimly, feet seemingly frozen. "I figured."
"You weren't supposed- it wasn't supposed to be like this," Mark shakes his head sleepily and resigns himself to giving up the game. It's less glamorous than a candlelit dinner next to the waves, and he doesn't remember much of the long winding speech he wanted to give her about how they aren't perfect, but how he loves more for it. He shifts his feet out first, wobbly legs coming next. Then it's two feet forward and he drops down on one knee, taking the ring from its perch in her fingers.
"What- are you doing?" Addison asks nervously. He was cheating on her, and she was okay with that outcome. This not so much.
"I was going to make you dinner," Mark gulps. "And I wanted it to be different, but- I just...I love you."
"Mark-" Addison warns, feeling her eyes cloud over with panic.
"Will you marry me?" he asks, feeling it roll off his tongue for the first time ever, if you don't count the practicing in the car, and while he waited for elevators.
Her first instinct is to laugh, loudly, but the flash of sincerity and then subsequent fear are enough to make her realize that he isn't kidding at all. He really was going to make her dinner, and propose apparently. Then, "Why?" comes tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop herself and Mark's mouth falls open in thought.
"Addie-"
"Yes," Addison recovers quickly, afraid she wasn't fast enough to recoup the grand mistake she just made. "Yes, I will marry you."
She feels her feet leave the ground a few seconds later, his lips lightly kissing her neck, her arms wrapping around his neck out of habit. Mark is happy. Genuinely and wholly. And he deserves it, she notes, as his hands slide down her waist carefully, the moment of truth inching closer as his mouth begins to explore the finer points of three a.m. kisses.
Mark needs this, but Addison still wants to know why.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"How you been?" Pete asks, pushing the sunglasses off his face, and dropping them into the pocket of his leather coat.
"Fine," Addison answers, her right ring finger weighted with an ill-made decision, but one that she'll uphold because ultimately she knows this is what is supposed to happen, what she wanted to happen. "I need a ride," she elucidates, cutting right to the chase.
Pete knocks a few fingers against the motorcycle helmet in his hand, signaling her that she picked the wrong person for the job. "Sam is on lunch, if you want."
"No," Addison answers too fast, scaring him. "I...we can take my car." She runs from the room, knowing she has only two hours before Mark will come home for lunch, no doubt in an even more joyful mood than he was when he left with Ellie earlier this morning. She grabs her purse, and Kennedy, already prepared in a car seat, and rushes back toward the entryway.
"Do I want to know what we are doing?" Pete asks skeptically.
"It's just a ride Wilder. I can't drive. Nothing illegal, scout's honor."
"All right then," Pete smiles, light from her hand distracting him. "You're getting married?"
"No," Addison scoffs, but then Pete lifts her palm and she remembers once again what feels so foreign there. "Oh...yeah. We need to go."
"You don't sound excited," Pete notes, as they make their way to the garage.
"I am," Addison argues. "I just have a million things to do and-"
"Got it," Pete nods sorrowfully. Sure, his chances grew slimmer by the day but with that shiny piece of gold on her finger they're all but extinct now. Plus, Mark's turned out to be a pretty great guy, not that he knows much about their relationship, but he believes they could make it. Addison is the marrying type anyway, Naomi always says.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Thank-s, thank you for seeing me again," Addison stammers, staring at Jacob Atwater like he holds the key to her future.
"Not a problem Addison, please sit," Jake tells her, pointing to chair. He always feels more comfortable when his patients are calm.
"No," Addison declines, twisting the new ring around her finger mindlessly.
"You're ready?" Jake asks, just to be sure.
"Yeah," Addison nods.
"Why do you think you are ready now?" he asks, taking into account the fact that she looks significantly slimmer in her jeans than before. He'll get to that later. Her hair doesn't look crazy enough, her eyes not baggy enough to have had a newborn living with her. And he would know, he and his wife have done that dance of no sleep and eight cups of coffee a day four times already.
"He proposed," Addison grins despite herself, beginning to pace the floor.
"He?"
"Mark...my...whatever. He proposed."
"Fiancé," Jake corrects for her, scribbling a few notes down.
"He proposed," Addison rambles, "And all I could say was why. I asked him why."
"What did he say?" Jake questions, pen getting its mileage.
"Normal people don't ask why," Addison continues. "I...don't ask why," she recalls, Derek on one knee, the dusk in the background.
She looks up at him clueless, face washed clean of everything she once knew, red lips slacking. Jacob pauses, breaking with tradition and not firing off another question. He lets the silence shroud them in her confusion, in her moment.
"You have to fix me."
~-~-~-~-~-~