(no subject)
Title: A Three-Legged Workhorse
Part: 3/?
Pairing: Derek/Addison
Rating: PG
Summary: Set in late Season 2, various points in time wherein Derek and Addison think that their marriage may just be on the road to reconciliation. Previous.
A/N: I kind of love this writing every day kind of thing. Or maybe I just love Derek and Addison. It's a toss up. Thanks for reading. Enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
A Three-Legged Workhorse
~-~-~-~-~-~
After a while things accumulate. Drenched from the shoulders up, and knees down, Addison plows into her office, glaring at Richard as he gives her a sympathetic look. Pity is the last thing on Earth that she needs. A good hug, a husband who will pick for once, or a strong drink are other options, however. And since she can't get sloshed at work, has no friends who will wrap their arms around her (or the pathetic desire to ask an acquaintance), and her husband has spent the better part of his week ogling another woman, she seems to be about out of luck.
Addison throws her soaked umbrella into the corner, missing the designated holder, and not caring that there is a line of water from the door all the way across the floor. Then she kicks out of her heels, grumbling to herself, and quickly unwinds the intricate pattern she choose for her hair this morning. Yes, she's starving for attention. Yes, she's attempting to grab his eye. And no, it's not working.
Yesterday she purposefully picked out a skirt with a much higher slit than she found appropriate for work and got up early so he'd be sure to see what she had chosen. The only thing he said was that he was planning on being home late and that they should take separate cars in. And as she prepared to leave for the evening she noticed that his name wasn't anywhere on the OR board, simply that he had assigned himself to an extra shift.
He's evading. He's unsure. He's terrified.
All she wants to do is talk to him, because she knows him, knows how he's reacting and why and there aren't enough ways to apologize or express her guilt. But she doesn't know how to make it better, how long to wait before she unpacks her spine from one of the many suitcases cluttering the trailer. It's the waiting that's killing her, that and her husband firing her up deliberately by openly flirting with a girl much younger than him.
There's nothing she can do, her hands are tied. Bound, wound, and stuck to her marriage. Because she loves him, and she's positive that he loves her, even if it makes them hate each other and themselves in the process. She can't give up on someone who gave her the best years of her life, can't walk away in a fit of despair because she didn't know what angle to try anymore. She doesn't know how to have that conversation, never has.
So she waits. And she cries.
In cars, in empty galleries, in closets. Far more than she's accustomed to. But this is her punishment to bear, and she sinks down against the smooth leather of her chair, burying her head in her hands, tears coursing down whatever parts of her face that have managed to dry.
When Miranda Bailey asks why she's congested all of the time she says it's because she hasn't adjusted to the climate. When Richard gets that look in his eyes she tells him that he knows she has allergies, and that Seattle is pressing all the right buttons. In more way than one.
Addison sniffles into her sleeve, thankful that she's so overbooked that most of her day will be spent racing around in the new blue scrubs she is forced to wear. She has to blend in, after all. And just when she thinks her day couldn't possibly start off worse (Derek gone when she awoke, no note in sight), she realizes that she most definitely did not shut her blinds and now the entire staff taking their breakfast break can see that she is emotional time bomb ticking down.
Just off to the side is Meredith Grey and her goons, ashamedly looking away, but she knows what they've seen and rises, yanking her stethoscope from a drawer and slamming her office door on the way out. The reverberating noise makes her feel the tiniest bit better.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Her day went from bad to outright horrible at three o'clock when she lost not only a mother but also a set of very premature twins just two hours into their tumultuous lives. The father, Jeff, exploded, having to be restrained when she announced that his wife died during a rather routine procedure, and now she gets to deliver this crippling blow, swiping the last bit of hope out from under his unstable feet.
“Mr. Murphy?” Addison squeaks, poking her head into the waiting room that he has taken to pacing.
“Yeah?” he croaks, looking up at her like she has all the answers.
“I came...I need...sit down,” Addison stammers uncharacteristically. She's usually so focused, so driven at work. She knows the speeches, lines, can recite them from memory. She's been slapped, hugged, sued, and everything in between. She has a plan for all contingencies, but here, in Seattle, she has fallen apart.
“What is it?” he asks nervously, picking up speed. “Are they okay? I know you said they were early, but they were good, right? They're good? Can I see them?”
And she freezes, head swirling in the tornado of her failure. Normally, she'd explain, and soothe. She'd rest a hand on his arm or offer a tissue, but she just can't break this man again. He stopped being a patient's husband, it's gotten too close for her, and much like her earlier years she now has a problem drawing the line. Her personal life is smudging over into her professional one and she loathes it.
“Maybe...in a little while,” she nods. “I just came to check on you.”
“Oh,” he grins, water littering his eyes, “thanks...”
Slowly, reassuringly, Addison steps out of the room and makes it ten feet down the hall before slamming back against it, taking deep breaths. And because today is not her day, the husband she hasn't been able to locate is standing at the nurse's station staring at her, watching her hover over the edge of another glorious breakdown.
She feels his arm lead her to the left, hears the door click behind them. “What?”
“What do you mean what?” Derek replies. “You looked like you were going to either blow up the place or have a panic attack out there. You tell me what,” he demands, sitting down on the empty table, swinging his legs slowly.
“It's nothing,” Addison gulps. They all have off days. They all have traumatic experiences at work, it's a job hazard.
“Addison-”
“I've killed 9 people this week Derek, 9,” she blurts out suddenly. It's not a record, but it's damn close. And yes there was a massive accident on Tuesday, and today accounts for one third of her ratio, but it still stings.
“We all lose patients Addie, it's part-”
“Don't,” she interjects, “just don't...do that.” She hates when he shuts down and goes all high and mighty on her. Like she just became a doctor yesterday and she's three years old.
“Okay,” Derek sighs, at an impasse.
“I have to go inform my dead patient's husband that both of his children weren't able to survive either, excuse me.”
She wrenches her arm free of his tight grasp and narrowly escapes sobbing all over his well used shoulder.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You said you would take care of them, I trusted you. I trusted you!” Jeff shouts angrily.
Addison is squirming in her seat anxiously, trying not to leave too early, attempting to block out a majority of this self-esteem ruining tirade. “Mr. Murphy-”
“How...how could you? How did this happen!”
“Their lungs weren't fully developed, they-”
“You said you've done this a million times before!”
“And I have,” Addison nods sadly. All with varying results, most positive, some not so pleasant. She can see Richard pacing the hall, wondering what all the ruckus is about.
“You were supposed to make sure they were okay...they're gone, and...I never even got to hold them. I never even touched my own children.”
“Again, I am so sorry-”
“Sorry isn't getting us anywhere,” Jeff mumbles, subdued by his loss.
“No, it isn't,” Addison agrees, rising, exiting thankfully. Just outside the room she can hear the soft whimpers of a grown man at rock bottom, and even though it's not her fault, it is her fault.
“Here,” Derek speaks up, gathering his body off the ground where he was patiently waiting.
Addison accepts the Styrofoam cup he is offering to her, smelling the delicious hot chocolate swirling beneath her nose. “Juju,” she whispers.
“Sounded like you could use some,” Derek grins.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” Derek replies, brushing a light kiss to her temple, a hand wrapping around her back as he escorts her toward the elevator. “I traded shifts, I'm off in two hours,” he says once they are safely enclosed, alone, no one daring to get trapped with them, even though they are perfectly civil most of the time.
“I need to go check on a few things and then I'm done,” Addison responds, leaning against the climbing wall. She frowns in thought and then decides to go ahead. “I'm...sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to take it out on you.”
“Yes you did,” Derek argues.
“Ok, fine. I did, but-”
“I asked for it,” Derek finishes understandingly. “I forgot some things...when I moved...I'm working on it.” He forgot how tender she can be, how fooling her exterior often is.
The elevator interrupts them both before another phrase can be shared, and Addison is pouring out of the machinery, legs stretching and striding as he calls after her.
“Addison!” Derek shouts once more, above the bustle of the hallway, but trying to not draw anyone's attention. Finally she stops. “I was thinking-”
“Oh goody-”
“Never gets old, does it?” he asks rhetorically. “I was thinking earlier today that a bath sounded nice.”
“Yeah,” she concurs wistfully. They have a shower. A teeny, tiny shower with no water pressure and two quarts of actual hot water at a time. She's never washed her hair quicker.
“Maybe you could find us some place with a great bathtub, and I could get dinner on my way, Chinese.”
“Snappy Dragon?” Addison asks, referring to her personal favorite, and not Derek's House of Hong pick.
“Sure, Snappy Dragon,” he tells her, secretly hell bent on believing she only likes the place because of the name.
“Really?” Addison asks once more, not to jinx it, but just to be sure her day actually pulled off a turnaround of sorts. Of course the real victory will be when he arrives with their dinner and they let it sit for cold as they enjoy the scalding water and dim lighting. God, she misses baths.
“Just let me know where.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison relaxes against Derek's slippery chest, feeling his hands begin to knead at her tight shoulders. He actually showed. No message boy telling her that her husband was busy, no voicemail to let her know about an emergency surgery. Just Derek, wet hair, and two bags loaded with Snappy Vegetables, prawns, egg rolls, and whatever he ordered. Her eyes slide closed as he flips on the comforting jets of the tub, bubbles rapidly building around their locked form.
It's not her best day in Seattle, but all in all it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. Yes, old Derek probably would have stepped into the room when Jeff raised his hand at her (even though he dropped it seconds later) and she probably would have gotten a hug or two by now, but bath time with a husband who isn't pretending she doesn't exist (even if he is pretending she's another woman) is just enough to rectify the day, to keep her dreams alive for another week.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part: 3/?
Pairing: Derek/Addison
Rating: PG
Summary: Set in late Season 2, various points in time wherein Derek and Addison think that their marriage may just be on the road to reconciliation. Previous.
A/N: I kind of love this writing every day kind of thing. Or maybe I just love Derek and Addison. It's a toss up. Thanks for reading. Enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
A Three-Legged Workhorse
~-~-~-~-~-~
After a while things accumulate. Drenched from the shoulders up, and knees down, Addison plows into her office, glaring at Richard as he gives her a sympathetic look. Pity is the last thing on Earth that she needs. A good hug, a husband who will pick for once, or a strong drink are other options, however. And since she can't get sloshed at work, has no friends who will wrap their arms around her (or the pathetic desire to ask an acquaintance), and her husband has spent the better part of his week ogling another woman, she seems to be about out of luck.
Addison throws her soaked umbrella into the corner, missing the designated holder, and not caring that there is a line of water from the door all the way across the floor. Then she kicks out of her heels, grumbling to herself, and quickly unwinds the intricate pattern she choose for her hair this morning. Yes, she's starving for attention. Yes, she's attempting to grab his eye. And no, it's not working.
Yesterday she purposefully picked out a skirt with a much higher slit than she found appropriate for work and got up early so he'd be sure to see what she had chosen. The only thing he said was that he was planning on being home late and that they should take separate cars in. And as she prepared to leave for the evening she noticed that his name wasn't anywhere on the OR board, simply that he had assigned himself to an extra shift.
He's evading. He's unsure. He's terrified.
All she wants to do is talk to him, because she knows him, knows how he's reacting and why and there aren't enough ways to apologize or express her guilt. But she doesn't know how to make it better, how long to wait before she unpacks her spine from one of the many suitcases cluttering the trailer. It's the waiting that's killing her, that and her husband firing her up deliberately by openly flirting with a girl much younger than him.
There's nothing she can do, her hands are tied. Bound, wound, and stuck to her marriage. Because she loves him, and she's positive that he loves her, even if it makes them hate each other and themselves in the process. She can't give up on someone who gave her the best years of her life, can't walk away in a fit of despair because she didn't know what angle to try anymore. She doesn't know how to have that conversation, never has.
So she waits. And she cries.
In cars, in empty galleries, in closets. Far more than she's accustomed to. But this is her punishment to bear, and she sinks down against the smooth leather of her chair, burying her head in her hands, tears coursing down whatever parts of her face that have managed to dry.
When Miranda Bailey asks why she's congested all of the time she says it's because she hasn't adjusted to the climate. When Richard gets that look in his eyes she tells him that he knows she has allergies, and that Seattle is pressing all the right buttons. In more way than one.
Addison sniffles into her sleeve, thankful that she's so overbooked that most of her day will be spent racing around in the new blue scrubs she is forced to wear. She has to blend in, after all. And just when she thinks her day couldn't possibly start off worse (Derek gone when she awoke, no note in sight), she realizes that she most definitely did not shut her blinds and now the entire staff taking their breakfast break can see that she is emotional time bomb ticking down.
Just off to the side is Meredith Grey and her goons, ashamedly looking away, but she knows what they've seen and rises, yanking her stethoscope from a drawer and slamming her office door on the way out. The reverberating noise makes her feel the tiniest bit better.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Her day went from bad to outright horrible at three o'clock when she lost not only a mother but also a set of very premature twins just two hours into their tumultuous lives. The father, Jeff, exploded, having to be restrained when she announced that his wife died during a rather routine procedure, and now she gets to deliver this crippling blow, swiping the last bit of hope out from under his unstable feet.
“Mr. Murphy?” Addison squeaks, poking her head into the waiting room that he has taken to pacing.
“Yeah?” he croaks, looking up at her like she has all the answers.
“I came...I need...sit down,” Addison stammers uncharacteristically. She's usually so focused, so driven at work. She knows the speeches, lines, can recite them from memory. She's been slapped, hugged, sued, and everything in between. She has a plan for all contingencies, but here, in Seattle, she has fallen apart.
“What is it?” he asks nervously, picking up speed. “Are they okay? I know you said they were early, but they were good, right? They're good? Can I see them?”
And she freezes, head swirling in the tornado of her failure. Normally, she'd explain, and soothe. She'd rest a hand on his arm or offer a tissue, but she just can't break this man again. He stopped being a patient's husband, it's gotten too close for her, and much like her earlier years she now has a problem drawing the line. Her personal life is smudging over into her professional one and she loathes it.
“Maybe...in a little while,” she nods. “I just came to check on you.”
“Oh,” he grins, water littering his eyes, “thanks...”
Slowly, reassuringly, Addison steps out of the room and makes it ten feet down the hall before slamming back against it, taking deep breaths. And because today is not her day, the husband she hasn't been able to locate is standing at the nurse's station staring at her, watching her hover over the edge of another glorious breakdown.
She feels his arm lead her to the left, hears the door click behind them. “What?”
“What do you mean what?” Derek replies. “You looked like you were going to either blow up the place or have a panic attack out there. You tell me what,” he demands, sitting down on the empty table, swinging his legs slowly.
“It's nothing,” Addison gulps. They all have off days. They all have traumatic experiences at work, it's a job hazard.
“Addison-”
“I've killed 9 people this week Derek, 9,” she blurts out suddenly. It's not a record, but it's damn close. And yes there was a massive accident on Tuesday, and today accounts for one third of her ratio, but it still stings.
“We all lose patients Addie, it's part-”
“Don't,” she interjects, “just don't...do that.” She hates when he shuts down and goes all high and mighty on her. Like she just became a doctor yesterday and she's three years old.
“Okay,” Derek sighs, at an impasse.
“I have to go inform my dead patient's husband that both of his children weren't able to survive either, excuse me.”
She wrenches her arm free of his tight grasp and narrowly escapes sobbing all over his well used shoulder.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“You said you would take care of them, I trusted you. I trusted you!” Jeff shouts angrily.
Addison is squirming in her seat anxiously, trying not to leave too early, attempting to block out a majority of this self-esteem ruining tirade. “Mr. Murphy-”
“How...how could you? How did this happen!”
“Their lungs weren't fully developed, they-”
“You said you've done this a million times before!”
“And I have,” Addison nods sadly. All with varying results, most positive, some not so pleasant. She can see Richard pacing the hall, wondering what all the ruckus is about.
“You were supposed to make sure they were okay...they're gone, and...I never even got to hold them. I never even touched my own children.”
“Again, I am so sorry-”
“Sorry isn't getting us anywhere,” Jeff mumbles, subdued by his loss.
“No, it isn't,” Addison agrees, rising, exiting thankfully. Just outside the room she can hear the soft whimpers of a grown man at rock bottom, and even though it's not her fault, it is her fault.
“Here,” Derek speaks up, gathering his body off the ground where he was patiently waiting.
Addison accepts the Styrofoam cup he is offering to her, smelling the delicious hot chocolate swirling beneath her nose. “Juju,” she whispers.
“Sounded like you could use some,” Derek grins.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” Derek replies, brushing a light kiss to her temple, a hand wrapping around her back as he escorts her toward the elevator. “I traded shifts, I'm off in two hours,” he says once they are safely enclosed, alone, no one daring to get trapped with them, even though they are perfectly civil most of the time.
“I need to go check on a few things and then I'm done,” Addison responds, leaning against the climbing wall. She frowns in thought and then decides to go ahead. “I'm...sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to take it out on you.”
“Yes you did,” Derek argues.
“Ok, fine. I did, but-”
“I asked for it,” Derek finishes understandingly. “I forgot some things...when I moved...I'm working on it.” He forgot how tender she can be, how fooling her exterior often is.
The elevator interrupts them both before another phrase can be shared, and Addison is pouring out of the machinery, legs stretching and striding as he calls after her.
“Addison!” Derek shouts once more, above the bustle of the hallway, but trying to not draw anyone's attention. Finally she stops. “I was thinking-”
“Oh goody-”
“Never gets old, does it?” he asks rhetorically. “I was thinking earlier today that a bath sounded nice.”
“Yeah,” she concurs wistfully. They have a shower. A teeny, tiny shower with no water pressure and two quarts of actual hot water at a time. She's never washed her hair quicker.
“Maybe you could find us some place with a great bathtub, and I could get dinner on my way, Chinese.”
“Snappy Dragon?” Addison asks, referring to her personal favorite, and not Derek's House of Hong pick.
“Sure, Snappy Dragon,” he tells her, secretly hell bent on believing she only likes the place because of the name.
“Really?” Addison asks once more, not to jinx it, but just to be sure her day actually pulled off a turnaround of sorts. Of course the real victory will be when he arrives with their dinner and they let it sit for cold as they enjoy the scalding water and dim lighting. God, she misses baths.
“Just let me know where.”
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison relaxes against Derek's slippery chest, feeling his hands begin to knead at her tight shoulders. He actually showed. No message boy telling her that her husband was busy, no voicemail to let her know about an emergency surgery. Just Derek, wet hair, and two bags loaded with Snappy Vegetables, prawns, egg rolls, and whatever he ordered. Her eyes slide closed as he flips on the comforting jets of the tub, bubbles rapidly building around their locked form.
It's not her best day in Seattle, but all in all it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. Yes, old Derek probably would have stepped into the room when Jeff raised his hand at her (even though he dropped it seconds later) and she probably would have gotten a hug or two by now, but bath time with a husband who isn't pretending she doesn't exist (even if he is pretending she's another woman) is just enough to rectify the day, to keep her dreams alive for another week.
~-~-~-~-~-~