(no subject)
Title: There Are Some Remedies Worse Than The Disease
Part: 3/3
Pairing(s): Noah/Addison, Pete/Addison, Pete/Violet, and some Sam/Addison friendship. Addison-centric.
Rating: R
Summary: Continuation of 2.22. Everyone struggles to find their footholds while dealing with disasters of their own making. Previous 1 - 2.
A/N: Well, I definitely meant to have this done before the show actually aired, but I got stuck and life got silly, so here we are. Thanks for reading, enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
There Are Some Remedies Worse Than The Disease
~-~-~-~-~-~
Morning finds Addison abruptly, its bright rays pouring into her neighbor's living room, delightedly dancing about. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, to regain memory and focus. Split seconds later she's dashing out the back toward her own home, shoes in hand.
Breathless, and sorely out of shape compared to a few months ago, she winces as the door slams behind her, scanning the couch to reveal an empty space that Pete was occupying just a few hours before. She careens her neck back and forth, trying to work the knots out that have built up overnight, reckless sleeping to cite for the aches.
Deep down she hopes he's come to his senses and gone, but moments later the sweet aroma of coffee fills her nostrils and she open hers eyes to find a large blue cup just under her chin. "Thanks," she mumbles, gulping the scalding liquid to hide the morning breath that has accumulated. She nearly spits it all back up though. "Please tell me you believe in sugar."
Pete smiles, working a few fingers through his hair. "I didn't want to go on a treasure hunt through someone's kitchen-"
"But you already-"
"I needed caffeine. I don't know how you take your coffee."
"With sugar," she fills him in. And creamer some days but that's besides the point. Today is a hot chocolate kind of morning if she's ever experienced one. And while there is no plausible or scientific reason for her to feel like she just spent the night at a frat house drinking until she was puking, she does, and it hurts. Everywhere.
"Now I know," Pete nods, dipping his mouth in to kiss the side of her neck as she moves toward the sugar. "I could work out the kinks for you, if you need. I have magical hands."
"So I've heard," Addison yells back, disappearing into a cupboard and digging through boxes that she never uses. Houses should be stocked with food, just in case.
"Where'd you disappear off to last night?" Pete asks wearily, sinking onto the couch and awaiting her return.
"I went to Sam's," Addison says, taking the open spot next to him even though her better judgment tells her to go sit on the opposite side of the room.
"I made you uncomfortable-"
"It...wasn't that." She wraps a hand around her warm cup, Pete peeking over and peering inside. Maybe it's a two cup kind of day.
"What was it then?" Pete pushes, his mug clapping onto the end table as he lowers the volume on the morning news. Forecast outside- sunny. Inside- gloomy and unbearably real. When she shrugs again, he sighs. They were friends, or working on being friends after the disastrous non-sex event, and surprisingly he's enjoyed it. She's a nice rock to lean upon. "Look, about before-"
"Don't," Addison cuts him off. She doesn't want to hear about that night, or the shower, or the lingering glances thereafter. She wants to forget. "It's...been difficult, is all. Nothing big Pete. How are you?"
"Good," Pete murmurs, taking her hand, squeezing gently. As long as they are both lying it's safe. "So married guy last night-"
"Still married, kind of," Addison confirms. He's leaving her, or Morgan's leaving him. She doesn't know. It doesn't really matter all that much. What's done is done, her role already determined. "It's complicated."
"But you're indulging-"
"How's Violet doing lately?"
"Bet the sex is great, all that pent up frustration."
"Naomi said Violet may be coming back to work soon. Maybe I should stop by and check on her."
They dissolve into their land of denial rather quickly, skin upon skin the only solution. He claws at her shirt, hiking her up around his waist and marching off to the kitchen counters. Different treasure hunt, she smiles. His tongue races along her ear, teeth nibble at her neck, biting too hard. He leaves marks on purpose, branding her with their remedy.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Pete loosens the sheet around his hip, flipping onto his stomach, watching Addison. Her arms are stretched above her head, a gentle grin on her mouth. "We going to work today?"
"It's Saturday," Addison replies softly, trying not to break their quiet truce. She needs to stare at the ceiling for a few hours, post-orgasmic bliss. She needs to be still, to analyze what in the world she has managed to get wrapped up into this time.
"True," Pete muses, continuing to watch the slight creases by the corner of her still swollen lips. She tastes good, different. It's refreshing, she isn't expecting anything anymore.
"Pete," Addison sighs, feeling his hand snake under the blanket over her stomach, softly caressing her warm flesh.
"We have all day," Pete mumbles against her chest, dragging the offending material away with his teeth, attempting to find the puckered nipple his free hand has been paying special attention to.
"I can't," Addison decides suddenly, springing up, the blanket falling toward her legs as she exposes herself.
"You have plans?" Pete asks carefully, pulling back reluctantly, enjoying his prize far too much for a man that is thoroughly wiped after the last hour.
"No-I...yes, I have plans. Research, actually."
"I see." Pete's head sinks back down into the fluffy pillow, heart dissolving the opportunity lost. "Tonight, maybe-"
"Pete," Addison swallows deeply, the residual taste of guilt and coffee bubbling upward. She says his name when she's buying time, when she's unsure that pushing forward really is the best option. "You should go back to Violet," she advocates. "She needs you and I think- you're hurting. It's understandable, but it shouldn't continue. We shouldn't...continue."
"You don't enjoy it?" Pete dares, sitting straight up, eyes locked on his target.
Addison reaches around the back of her neck, scraping at the tired muscles. "That's not the issue-"
"Why don't you leave my issues to me-"
"I'm trying to do the right thing here," Addison argues, immediately feeling defensive. "Violet-"
"-is none of your business," Pete finishes harshly, yanking his boxers back up around his waist and lunging under the discarded blankets to discover his jeans. He comes here to escape, he comes here to live in another moment in time. "Look, I'm here because I want to be. Not because I'm hurting, or because...just, I thought we were having fun-"
"Does Violet know you're here?" Addison asks, securing the robe she found on the back of the bathroom door. "Or does she think you're at home?"
"She- I don't know...what she thinks-"
"If you need to talk, I'm here," Addison offers weakly as he covers his amazingly comfortable chest, buttons coming to a quick shut. "I'm not the fun time girl, Pete. I'm not..." she flails unconvincingly, trying to pull words from the thick air around them, "This," she gestures between them, "This isn't about us...and you know that. But I'm still your friend, if you need anything. This can't be easy-"
"Not my kid," Pete grunts, shuffling to the door, and disappearing before his "friend" can take any more pity on him. He doesn't need help. He needs understanding, and he's not going to find it in her.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Montgomery?" Morgan tries to rouse the redheaded woman from the seeming coma-like state she appears to be in behind her desk.
"Morgan," Addison smiles nervously. "Is there something wrong?"
"No," Morgan shakes her head, giving herself permission to take a seat on the couch, fingers linking unceremoniously.
"Do you feel okay? Is the baby ok?"
"Yeah, fine," Morgan replies. "It's...Noah, and I know I shouldn't be here, and I know this isn't your problem...but I kind of thought we were friends, and maybe I'm just a hormonal crazy woman but...I thought maybe you'd have the answer. You always have the answers."
"Morgan," Addison begins patiently, telling herself that this is just another emotional first time mother. This is just another patient. She can be kind, she can be exceptional, professionally. Personally, she slept with the woman's husband a few feet from where she is sitting presently. But that's neither here nor there. "I really don't think this is any of my business," she spews out suddenly, cursing Pete for infecting her mind earlier in the week, and then not bothering to show up at work and help her detox.
"I think there's another woman," Morgan whispers softly, seeing how the weight of it carries across the room. They've been married for so long, unhappily or not, it's a shock to hear aloud. "Maybe I'm overreacting, right? Maybe I'm sleep deprived and crazy and imagining things...but he's never home, and he said he wants a divorce. I'm...I just want to go to bed one night and wake up and realize it was all a bad dream. And I know life doesn't work like that, but I think...if there's someone else...I deserve to know that, right? I deserve something in this."
"Morgan, I think you should talk to Noah. It's the only way you're going to get your answers," Addison says reasonably. God, does she always sound this calm and in control around people? And why in heaven's name can't it transfer outside the walls of her medical skills and years and years of training.
"Yeah," Morgan gulps, prying her hands apart, wiping them nervously on her pants. "Tell me something. Distract me...from this before I go completely insane."
"Ummm," Addison bites down on her lip. She hates this game, oh how she hates it. Improvisation is one thing, sharing something real and personal is another. She reaches for the journal on her desk and plops it down on Morgan's legs, tapping the cover. "That's my brother," she points to the headline. She leaves Derek out of the equation, she likes to leave him in his box whenever possible.
"Parasites in his brain?" Morgan gapes, disgusted.
"Indeed," Addison smiles.
"He's okay now?" Morgan asks, skimming through the article.
"He is," Addison confirms, though she hasn't heard from Archer since he ran away. There was a two line Um mm a few months ago, something about going off to Europe for another book tour, but it was a mass letter sent to at least 50 people, replying felt unimportant at the time.
"Thank you," Morgan grins guiltily, sliding the glossy pages down onto the coffee table in front of her. "For everything."
Addison returns the sentiment along the lines of 'no problem' or 'don't worry about it' but she can't actually remember what she says as her mind drifts off to a place where she stores her memories of Noah.
She's the other woman. She's what's got Morgan going in circles. And here she is trying to sedate her, to ease the storm she is causing. It's backhanded and sneaky, unforgivable and yet in every scenario that comes to mind she'd do it again. Because she likes Morgan, she may love Noah, and she's even okay with seeing them together, and nothing about that adds up correctly.
As Addison watches the younger woman make her apologetic and equally thankful exit she knows that she doesn't want to be a part of the catastrophe that is about to blow wide opened. She doesn't want to be standing in the wreckage, flaming debris swirling around her.
She's not sure she'd survive the explosion anymore.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison fiddles with the numbers on her cell phone trying to work up the courage to dial, trying to maintain the savage ability to keep her lunch down at the same time. It takes almost 20 minutes, a few pep talks, and more than one near breakdown, but she eventually manages.
There will never be enough words for how grateful she is to receive his voicemail instead of him. There will never be enough ways for her to express the magnitude of sadness that keeps rolling through her.
"Hi Noah, it's me, Addison. I know we haven't spoken in a few days...and the thing with Pete...was, awkward. But I wanted to call to say that if you were going to call, or meant to call just...don't. Morgan is a good person, and she loves you, and every time I try and wrap my head around what we are doing...I can't. So, don't call. And don't show up. Just...be with her, for me. And I know that's selfish and stupid and very...womanly of me to do, but it's the right thing, I hope. Be with your wife."
When she reaches the end there are tears welling in her eyes, a heaviness in her chest, and the last bit is forced, "Goodbye."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison," Pete scowls, opening his door wider, soaking in her disheveled appearance in the dim light of his porch.
"Good, you're alive," she snarls, digging the point of her heel into the concrete below her. "Look, I need to know when you are coming back to work, if you are coming back."
"Monday," Pete answers honestly, watching the crinkle of her eyes begin to brighten. "I was an ass," Pete says after a few moments of self imposed silence.
"No-" Addison holds up a hand. She's had the better half of a week to come to terms with this, and since she managed to call Noah today she figured why stop the roll. "It's...it was a mistake, we don't have to talk about it."
"Right," Pete agrees.
"Is Violet okay?" Addison asks seriously, not meaning to torture him for the first time since they began their dizzying dance.
"She's doing a little better. It takes time, right?"
"She's worth it," Addison observes, Pete's face bouncing joyously.
"Yeah, she is."
"Good," she breathes. "Well, good. I'm glad...for you."
"Addison," Pete interrupts what is certain to be a long-winded rambling speech, a collected hand on her slumping shoulder. "Addison," he repeats, biding his time. What he really wants to say is thanks, but it seems inappropriate given all the sex and lies and delusion they were drowning themselves in.
"It's okay," she assures him before he can come up with anything, even sliding his hand down off of her.
"I hope things work out, with Noah," Pete says wistfully, filling in a blank that's meant to stay empty.
"Me too," she replies sincerely. In all of this mess, she does hope it works out for Noah, for Pete.
Because it's easier to care for others than it is to care for herself, and it hurts a whole hell of a lot less too.
~-~-~-~-~-~
She's not really surprised that when she arrives home Noah is slumped against the entryway, a bundle of limp flowers in his grasp. He wouldn't be Noah if he wasn't here, but it still makes her sigh, still makes her heart tingle. "You don't understand English now?"
"I got your message," Noah says, edging back up, spine unaligned and aching. "Addison," he says gently, brushing against her cheek. "I thought...you wanted this, us, together."
"I do, I did," Addison decides in a split second. Because the merry-go-round is never going to stop if she isn't the one to yank to cord.
"Don't worry about Morgan," Noah advises, handing her the flowers, dying though they may be, the intent still clear. "I know what I'm doing."
"But I don't...know what I'm doing," Addison tells him, throat threatening to seal off at any moment and break way to the terrible day that it has really been. His confidence won't be enough in the long run to carry them as far as they need to go.
"I love you," Noah replies, hands on her hips, eyes trying desperately to make a connection, to wipe the fear from her face.
"Please...stop with that."
"It's true," Noah argues.
"You're making it too hard."
"Then let it be easy Addie," Noah advises, mouth closing in at a rapid rate.
She kisses him back because it's what she does, tender, heartfelt, all the things that make her weak in the knees and cloudy in the rationale department. She could spend the rest of her life doing this. They could get a dog, take walks, make dinner together. They could have his and hers towels, and a small private wedding, maybe even adopt a child.
They could be perfectly happy.
Not all love stories start with fate, some are gruesome tales of sorrow and enduring the unendurable.
"I can't." She squeezes her eyes shut and pushes away. "I can't. This...isn't what I want anymore Noah."
"I left Morgan," Noah adds, pleading his case. "I want you."
"I thought...I could get past it, the way we started. I thought...if I gave it time, that it wouldn't matter. But it does, it does matter. I'm...not this woman. And I'm tired of changing for the men in my life."
"I'm not asking you to change," Noah demands, thinking that this conversation should probably be moved inside.
"You didn't have to," Addison replies. Because she does it automatically, conforming. That's how desperate it's gotten, she chides. "It's not your fault," she comforts.
"Addison."
"Goodnight Noah," Addison says, opening her door, and shutting it loudly in his face. Goodbye was wrong, she'll still see him around she's sure, and it's probably going to sting for a long time, but she can get over being without him. She's accomplished much more lofty goals.
~-~-~-~-~-~
The weeks wear down into autumn, California barely cooling, the ocean outside her doors the same blue anger she's used to watching churn night after night.
There's little to repair in the way of her friendship with Naomi. People move on, Sam says, and though they aren't as active as they once were in each other's lives she knows that if push came to shove she has a friend to lean on.
Eventually they all come back. Violet and Pete at the same time, adorable and supportive. Dell gets his life in order enough to pull two thirds, leaving to pick up his daughter every day before school lets out. And even when Cooper is laying low she still knows that he's around, the practice bounding with children ever since their story hit the local news channels and papers. It's not everyday a woman survives a home c-section after all.
Katie is in a psychiatric hospital receiving the help Violet insists she needs, reaching a level of forgiveness that Addison's not sure she could ever piece together if the roles were reversed. And she still sees Noah weekly, but the lingering glances have been replaced with glares, their connection as fiery and bright as it ever was.
"You're here late again," Sam interjects, busting into her thoughts, the recounting that keeps her from the files she completed hours ago but that still sit on her desk so can pretend to have a legitimate reason not to go home yet.
"Busy," Addison replies as he sits down in front of her, placing a hand on one of her thin bunches of paperwork. She's managed extra research in the last few days, submitted two articles for review, done seven intervies with various media outlets, and rearranged her schedule so that she could be at St. Ambrose cutting/healing (elective and emergent situations) once a week. Professionally, she's never been more dedicated, and it's impressive. At the rate she's going she may find the cure to something before she dies. Well, not quite. But she does have a full patient load, and is thinking of volunteering her services at a local women's shelter on her free Sunday afternoons. Her life is full to the brim and utterly unsatisfying.
But the less time she spends alone with herself the better; the less time she spends having to tell herself that she's not alone the better.
"Uh huh," Sam complies, resting his head on his forearm. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Do I ever?" Addison laughs.
"No, but I have to offer," Sam explains. "It's what good friends do."
"I haven't seen you around much," Sam says next, imploring her to speak.
"Busy," Addison repeats with an over exaggerated shrug.
"Well how does your busy self feel about going out and grabbing some dinner, maybe drinks?" Sam asks, already standing, looking like he's not going to take no for an answer.
"I have a lot to catch up on," Addison motions to the desk that's purposefully messy.
"I'm not going to let you dissolve into your desk," Sam asserts, staring her down until she grabs her coat and purse.
~-~-~-~-~-~
It takes three drinks to get her loosened, to get her tongue flopping. Sam dips his tortilla chip into the mouth-scorching salsa on the table as she talks about the concept she has for a new book. She wants his opinion because he's a guru in the field and all.
"Addison stop," Sam instructs, drawing a puzzled look from her. She's talking to talk, attempting conversation when it's wholly unnecessary. "I mean, don't stop writing the book, if you like it, if you want to publish it. It sounds really good actually, refreshing even."
"Okay," Addison frowns, polishing off her margarita. Their food arrives before she can come up with another subject to exhaust. She's forgetting how to interface with someone other than the general public that is her patient roster. "Sorry," she says between bites. "I'm...I haven't been out lately."
"We know," Sam nods, taking a drink of water, designating himself as the person who will pour Addison onto her couch tonight. "Everyone is a bit concerned Addison."
"I'm fine."
"You are practically living in your office."
"I don't want to talk about it," is all she can manage to say, promptly ordering another drink when the waiter checks in with them. If she talks about it, it may become real, it may become something she has to deal with.
"Look, I'm not telling you how to live your life," Sam breathes, reaching for her hand across the table. "I don't even know how to live my own, but I'm saying...if you need to take a break sometime, maybe come down the hall, I'm there."
"I'm alone," Addison corrects, cracking, feeling the plague of depression begin to swarm around her ears. "I'm all alone Sam."
"You-"
"You have Maya," Addison speaks up before he can say something about understanding or about how she isn't alone. "And you still see Naomi, and you have Thurgood Marshall. And I have...a closet full of shoes, a brain that won't turn off at night anymore, and more baggage than any man will ever want to deal with. And all I can keep thinking is...what if this is it? What if I spend the next 20 years collecting shoes and cutting people open...and that's it?" And that inevitably leads her to the life she used to have and how that got screwed up. It's a vicious cycle.
"We don't know what the future holds," Sam advises.
"I know what it doesn't hold- children, men, friends. I'm a cat lady without cats."
"You could get some."
"This is not funny Samuel," Addison warns.
"I don't have the solution you want." He strokes the warm skin he still has a grip on. "No one does. Life did not turn out how we thought it was going to, but we will adapt. We can do this."
"How?" Addison chokes, sipping her water to mask the raw feeling in her chest. Is she always this pathetic, she wonders. She's been worn down, frayed, and torn. It's an excuse, but it's really all she has.
"Slowly?" Sam replies unsure. He drops his hold on her and reaches down, pulling out a small gift bag with crushed tissue paper, and torn sides. It didn't travel well.
Addison's brow creases in confusion and when she finally gets it she buries her palms into her burning eyes. "It's my birthday. I forgot my own birthday," she moans. Just what she needed. Another year.
"That's why I'm here," Sam smiles proudly. "For when you forget."
"Thank you," Addison smiles candidly for the first time in what feels like forever. She howls, however, when something sharp draws blood from her finger and tenderly pulls the present free of its enclosure. "A cactus?"
"A friend," Sam elaborates. "Violet thinks you may do well with a plant and Pete thought you'd like something low maintenance, so I went out at lunch and picked this guy. Cooper named him Hank."
"Ridiculous," Addison accuses, chuckling at her gift.
"For the girl who has everything," Sam emphasizes, "Cactus Hank."
"Well, I'll give it a try," Addison agrees carefully pushing Hank to the center of the table so she can admire the hand painted pot and dry soil. It's unconventional, and possibly the best birthday present she's ever received. The fact that everyone was a part of it only makes it that much more special.
Sometimes when you truly need life will deliver. Suffrage and sacrifice cast away for a brief respite, Addison is momentarily soaring amongst her grief. "We can do this?" she asks of Sam, her friend, her only comrade in the line of fire.
"We already are. Everyday," he assures her. "Something good is going to happen, Addison. And when it does you won't even be thinking to look back at what is happening right now."
She finishes her meal in silence, occasionally glancing up at Sam, a soothing smile always on his lips.
"I'm so tired of going home alone," she mumbles, letting her fork clatter onto the plate, chocolate cake half unfinished. Her beach house is filled with trinkets from another life, meant to be something so much more than it is. It's become almost pathological, her fear of sitting in the dark, watching the outside world. On the especially sinister days she sleeps in her office, or on call rooms to avoid it.
"Naomi insists that your guest bed is better than my lumpy mattress," Sam alludes, hoping she'll draw the right conclusion.
"You'd stay with me?"
"Well, I do have a theory to test." Sam plays along, because neither of them wants to be that weak, that needy. But in truth, they are, and it would be nice to have another person breathing within the immediate vicinity. It'd be nice to look down someone else's hallway when he can't sleep, to peer inside someone else's refrigerator in the middle of the night.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Night Sam!" Addison yells, her door wide open, a pillow in her clutches. Cactus Hank is proudly displayed on her beside table, and for the first time since Pete was here, she doesn't need the television to pacify her restlessness.
"Goodnight Addison," Sam calls back, rolling onto his back. He has to admit, her bed kicks his bed's ass, even with his dog curled up to his neck and refusing to budge. "Happy Birthday."
Addison smiles, warm tears streaming across her face, creating a black mosaic of mascara on her pillowcase. This time the overwhelming urge is brought on by happiness, however fleeting it may turn out to be.
She can't guarantee tomorrow. But she has tonight.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part: 3/3
Pairing(s): Noah/Addison, Pete/Addison, Pete/Violet, and some Sam/Addison friendship. Addison-centric.
Rating: R
Summary: Continuation of 2.22. Everyone struggles to find their footholds while dealing with disasters of their own making. Previous 1 - 2.
A/N: Well, I definitely meant to have this done before the show actually aired, but I got stuck and life got silly, so here we are. Thanks for reading, enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
There Are Some Remedies Worse Than The Disease
~-~-~-~-~-~
Morning finds Addison abruptly, its bright rays pouring into her neighbor's living room, delightedly dancing about. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, to regain memory and focus. Split seconds later she's dashing out the back toward her own home, shoes in hand.
Breathless, and sorely out of shape compared to a few months ago, she winces as the door slams behind her, scanning the couch to reveal an empty space that Pete was occupying just a few hours before. She careens her neck back and forth, trying to work the knots out that have built up overnight, reckless sleeping to cite for the aches.
Deep down she hopes he's come to his senses and gone, but moments later the sweet aroma of coffee fills her nostrils and she open hers eyes to find a large blue cup just under her chin. "Thanks," she mumbles, gulping the scalding liquid to hide the morning breath that has accumulated. She nearly spits it all back up though. "Please tell me you believe in sugar."
Pete smiles, working a few fingers through his hair. "I didn't want to go on a treasure hunt through someone's kitchen-"
"But you already-"
"I needed caffeine. I don't know how you take your coffee."
"With sugar," she fills him in. And creamer some days but that's besides the point. Today is a hot chocolate kind of morning if she's ever experienced one. And while there is no plausible or scientific reason for her to feel like she just spent the night at a frat house drinking until she was puking, she does, and it hurts. Everywhere.
"Now I know," Pete nods, dipping his mouth in to kiss the side of her neck as she moves toward the sugar. "I could work out the kinks for you, if you need. I have magical hands."
"So I've heard," Addison yells back, disappearing into a cupboard and digging through boxes that she never uses. Houses should be stocked with food, just in case.
"Where'd you disappear off to last night?" Pete asks wearily, sinking onto the couch and awaiting her return.
"I went to Sam's," Addison says, taking the open spot next to him even though her better judgment tells her to go sit on the opposite side of the room.
"I made you uncomfortable-"
"It...wasn't that." She wraps a hand around her warm cup, Pete peeking over and peering inside. Maybe it's a two cup kind of day.
"What was it then?" Pete pushes, his mug clapping onto the end table as he lowers the volume on the morning news. Forecast outside- sunny. Inside- gloomy and unbearably real. When she shrugs again, he sighs. They were friends, or working on being friends after the disastrous non-sex event, and surprisingly he's enjoyed it. She's a nice rock to lean upon. "Look, about before-"
"Don't," Addison cuts him off. She doesn't want to hear about that night, or the shower, or the lingering glances thereafter. She wants to forget. "It's...been difficult, is all. Nothing big Pete. How are you?"
"Good," Pete murmurs, taking her hand, squeezing gently. As long as they are both lying it's safe. "So married guy last night-"
"Still married, kind of," Addison confirms. He's leaving her, or Morgan's leaving him. She doesn't know. It doesn't really matter all that much. What's done is done, her role already determined. "It's complicated."
"But you're indulging-"
"How's Violet doing lately?"
"Bet the sex is great, all that pent up frustration."
"Naomi said Violet may be coming back to work soon. Maybe I should stop by and check on her."
They dissolve into their land of denial rather quickly, skin upon skin the only solution. He claws at her shirt, hiking her up around his waist and marching off to the kitchen counters. Different treasure hunt, she smiles. His tongue races along her ear, teeth nibble at her neck, biting too hard. He leaves marks on purpose, branding her with their remedy.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Pete loosens the sheet around his hip, flipping onto his stomach, watching Addison. Her arms are stretched above her head, a gentle grin on her mouth. "We going to work today?"
"It's Saturday," Addison replies softly, trying not to break their quiet truce. She needs to stare at the ceiling for a few hours, post-orgasmic bliss. She needs to be still, to analyze what in the world she has managed to get wrapped up into this time.
"True," Pete muses, continuing to watch the slight creases by the corner of her still swollen lips. She tastes good, different. It's refreshing, she isn't expecting anything anymore.
"Pete," Addison sighs, feeling his hand snake under the blanket over her stomach, softly caressing her warm flesh.
"We have all day," Pete mumbles against her chest, dragging the offending material away with his teeth, attempting to find the puckered nipple his free hand has been paying special attention to.
"I can't," Addison decides suddenly, springing up, the blanket falling toward her legs as she exposes herself.
"You have plans?" Pete asks carefully, pulling back reluctantly, enjoying his prize far too much for a man that is thoroughly wiped after the last hour.
"No-I...yes, I have plans. Research, actually."
"I see." Pete's head sinks back down into the fluffy pillow, heart dissolving the opportunity lost. "Tonight, maybe-"
"Pete," Addison swallows deeply, the residual taste of guilt and coffee bubbling upward. She says his name when she's buying time, when she's unsure that pushing forward really is the best option. "You should go back to Violet," she advocates. "She needs you and I think- you're hurting. It's understandable, but it shouldn't continue. We shouldn't...continue."
"You don't enjoy it?" Pete dares, sitting straight up, eyes locked on his target.
Addison reaches around the back of her neck, scraping at the tired muscles. "That's not the issue-"
"Why don't you leave my issues to me-"
"I'm trying to do the right thing here," Addison argues, immediately feeling defensive. "Violet-"
"-is none of your business," Pete finishes harshly, yanking his boxers back up around his waist and lunging under the discarded blankets to discover his jeans. He comes here to escape, he comes here to live in another moment in time. "Look, I'm here because I want to be. Not because I'm hurting, or because...just, I thought we were having fun-"
"Does Violet know you're here?" Addison asks, securing the robe she found on the back of the bathroom door. "Or does she think you're at home?"
"She- I don't know...what she thinks-"
"If you need to talk, I'm here," Addison offers weakly as he covers his amazingly comfortable chest, buttons coming to a quick shut. "I'm not the fun time girl, Pete. I'm not..." she flails unconvincingly, trying to pull words from the thick air around them, "This," she gestures between them, "This isn't about us...and you know that. But I'm still your friend, if you need anything. This can't be easy-"
"Not my kid," Pete grunts, shuffling to the door, and disappearing before his "friend" can take any more pity on him. He doesn't need help. He needs understanding, and he's not going to find it in her.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Montgomery?" Morgan tries to rouse the redheaded woman from the seeming coma-like state she appears to be in behind her desk.
"Morgan," Addison smiles nervously. "Is there something wrong?"
"No," Morgan shakes her head, giving herself permission to take a seat on the couch, fingers linking unceremoniously.
"Do you feel okay? Is the baby ok?"
"Yeah, fine," Morgan replies. "It's...Noah, and I know I shouldn't be here, and I know this isn't your problem...but I kind of thought we were friends, and maybe I'm just a hormonal crazy woman but...I thought maybe you'd have the answer. You always have the answers."
"Morgan," Addison begins patiently, telling herself that this is just another emotional first time mother. This is just another patient. She can be kind, she can be exceptional, professionally. Personally, she slept with the woman's husband a few feet from where she is sitting presently. But that's neither here nor there. "I really don't think this is any of my business," she spews out suddenly, cursing Pete for infecting her mind earlier in the week, and then not bothering to show up at work and help her detox.
"I think there's another woman," Morgan whispers softly, seeing how the weight of it carries across the room. They've been married for so long, unhappily or not, it's a shock to hear aloud. "Maybe I'm overreacting, right? Maybe I'm sleep deprived and crazy and imagining things...but he's never home, and he said he wants a divorce. I'm...I just want to go to bed one night and wake up and realize it was all a bad dream. And I know life doesn't work like that, but I think...if there's someone else...I deserve to know that, right? I deserve something in this."
"Morgan, I think you should talk to Noah. It's the only way you're going to get your answers," Addison says reasonably. God, does she always sound this calm and in control around people? And why in heaven's name can't it transfer outside the walls of her medical skills and years and years of training.
"Yeah," Morgan gulps, prying her hands apart, wiping them nervously on her pants. "Tell me something. Distract me...from this before I go completely insane."
"Ummm," Addison bites down on her lip. She hates this game, oh how she hates it. Improvisation is one thing, sharing something real and personal is another. She reaches for the journal on her desk and plops it down on Morgan's legs, tapping the cover. "That's my brother," she points to the headline. She leaves Derek out of the equation, she likes to leave him in his box whenever possible.
"Parasites in his brain?" Morgan gapes, disgusted.
"Indeed," Addison smiles.
"He's okay now?" Morgan asks, skimming through the article.
"He is," Addison confirms, though she hasn't heard from Archer since he ran away. There was a two line Um mm a few months ago, something about going off to Europe for another book tour, but it was a mass letter sent to at least 50 people, replying felt unimportant at the time.
"Thank you," Morgan grins guiltily, sliding the glossy pages down onto the coffee table in front of her. "For everything."
Addison returns the sentiment along the lines of 'no problem' or 'don't worry about it' but she can't actually remember what she says as her mind drifts off to a place where she stores her memories of Noah.
She's the other woman. She's what's got Morgan going in circles. And here she is trying to sedate her, to ease the storm she is causing. It's backhanded and sneaky, unforgivable and yet in every scenario that comes to mind she'd do it again. Because she likes Morgan, she may love Noah, and she's even okay with seeing them together, and nothing about that adds up correctly.
As Addison watches the younger woman make her apologetic and equally thankful exit she knows that she doesn't want to be a part of the catastrophe that is about to blow wide opened. She doesn't want to be standing in the wreckage, flaming debris swirling around her.
She's not sure she'd survive the explosion anymore.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison fiddles with the numbers on her cell phone trying to work up the courage to dial, trying to maintain the savage ability to keep her lunch down at the same time. It takes almost 20 minutes, a few pep talks, and more than one near breakdown, but she eventually manages.
There will never be enough words for how grateful she is to receive his voicemail instead of him. There will never be enough ways for her to express the magnitude of sadness that keeps rolling through her.
"Hi Noah, it's me, Addison. I know we haven't spoken in a few days...and the thing with Pete...was, awkward. But I wanted to call to say that if you were going to call, or meant to call just...don't. Morgan is a good person, and she loves you, and every time I try and wrap my head around what we are doing...I can't. So, don't call. And don't show up. Just...be with her, for me. And I know that's selfish and stupid and very...womanly of me to do, but it's the right thing, I hope. Be with your wife."
When she reaches the end there are tears welling in her eyes, a heaviness in her chest, and the last bit is forced, "Goodbye."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison," Pete scowls, opening his door wider, soaking in her disheveled appearance in the dim light of his porch.
"Good, you're alive," she snarls, digging the point of her heel into the concrete below her. "Look, I need to know when you are coming back to work, if you are coming back."
"Monday," Pete answers honestly, watching the crinkle of her eyes begin to brighten. "I was an ass," Pete says after a few moments of self imposed silence.
"No-" Addison holds up a hand. She's had the better half of a week to come to terms with this, and since she managed to call Noah today she figured why stop the roll. "It's...it was a mistake, we don't have to talk about it."
"Right," Pete agrees.
"Is Violet okay?" Addison asks seriously, not meaning to torture him for the first time since they began their dizzying dance.
"She's doing a little better. It takes time, right?"
"She's worth it," Addison observes, Pete's face bouncing joyously.
"Yeah, she is."
"Good," she breathes. "Well, good. I'm glad...for you."
"Addison," Pete interrupts what is certain to be a long-winded rambling speech, a collected hand on her slumping shoulder. "Addison," he repeats, biding his time. What he really wants to say is thanks, but it seems inappropriate given all the sex and lies and delusion they were drowning themselves in.
"It's okay," she assures him before he can come up with anything, even sliding his hand down off of her.
"I hope things work out, with Noah," Pete says wistfully, filling in a blank that's meant to stay empty.
"Me too," she replies sincerely. In all of this mess, she does hope it works out for Noah, for Pete.
Because it's easier to care for others than it is to care for herself, and it hurts a whole hell of a lot less too.
~-~-~-~-~-~
She's not really surprised that when she arrives home Noah is slumped against the entryway, a bundle of limp flowers in his grasp. He wouldn't be Noah if he wasn't here, but it still makes her sigh, still makes her heart tingle. "You don't understand English now?"
"I got your message," Noah says, edging back up, spine unaligned and aching. "Addison," he says gently, brushing against her cheek. "I thought...you wanted this, us, together."
"I do, I did," Addison decides in a split second. Because the merry-go-round is never going to stop if she isn't the one to yank to cord.
"Don't worry about Morgan," Noah advises, handing her the flowers, dying though they may be, the intent still clear. "I know what I'm doing."
"But I don't...know what I'm doing," Addison tells him, throat threatening to seal off at any moment and break way to the terrible day that it has really been. His confidence won't be enough in the long run to carry them as far as they need to go.
"I love you," Noah replies, hands on her hips, eyes trying desperately to make a connection, to wipe the fear from her face.
"Please...stop with that."
"It's true," Noah argues.
"You're making it too hard."
"Then let it be easy Addie," Noah advises, mouth closing in at a rapid rate.
She kisses him back because it's what she does, tender, heartfelt, all the things that make her weak in the knees and cloudy in the rationale department. She could spend the rest of her life doing this. They could get a dog, take walks, make dinner together. They could have his and hers towels, and a small private wedding, maybe even adopt a child.
They could be perfectly happy.
Not all love stories start with fate, some are gruesome tales of sorrow and enduring the unendurable.
"I can't." She squeezes her eyes shut and pushes away. "I can't. This...isn't what I want anymore Noah."
"I left Morgan," Noah adds, pleading his case. "I want you."
"I thought...I could get past it, the way we started. I thought...if I gave it time, that it wouldn't matter. But it does, it does matter. I'm...not this woman. And I'm tired of changing for the men in my life."
"I'm not asking you to change," Noah demands, thinking that this conversation should probably be moved inside.
"You didn't have to," Addison replies. Because she does it automatically, conforming. That's how desperate it's gotten, she chides. "It's not your fault," she comforts.
"Addison."
"Goodnight Noah," Addison says, opening her door, and shutting it loudly in his face. Goodbye was wrong, she'll still see him around she's sure, and it's probably going to sting for a long time, but she can get over being without him. She's accomplished much more lofty goals.
~-~-~-~-~-~
The weeks wear down into autumn, California barely cooling, the ocean outside her doors the same blue anger she's used to watching churn night after night.
There's little to repair in the way of her friendship with Naomi. People move on, Sam says, and though they aren't as active as they once were in each other's lives she knows that if push came to shove she has a friend to lean on.
Eventually they all come back. Violet and Pete at the same time, adorable and supportive. Dell gets his life in order enough to pull two thirds, leaving to pick up his daughter every day before school lets out. And even when Cooper is laying low she still knows that he's around, the practice bounding with children ever since their story hit the local news channels and papers. It's not everyday a woman survives a home c-section after all.
Katie is in a psychiatric hospital receiving the help Violet insists she needs, reaching a level of forgiveness that Addison's not sure she could ever piece together if the roles were reversed. And she still sees Noah weekly, but the lingering glances have been replaced with glares, their connection as fiery and bright as it ever was.
"You're here late again," Sam interjects, busting into her thoughts, the recounting that keeps her from the files she completed hours ago but that still sit on her desk so can pretend to have a legitimate reason not to go home yet.
"Busy," Addison replies as he sits down in front of her, placing a hand on one of her thin bunches of paperwork. She's managed extra research in the last few days, submitted two articles for review, done seven intervies with various media outlets, and rearranged her schedule so that she could be at St. Ambrose cutting/healing (elective and emergent situations) once a week. Professionally, she's never been more dedicated, and it's impressive. At the rate she's going she may find the cure to something before she dies. Well, not quite. But she does have a full patient load, and is thinking of volunteering her services at a local women's shelter on her free Sunday afternoons. Her life is full to the brim and utterly unsatisfying.
But the less time she spends alone with herself the better; the less time she spends having to tell herself that she's not alone the better.
"Uh huh," Sam complies, resting his head on his forearm. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Do I ever?" Addison laughs.
"No, but I have to offer," Sam explains. "It's what good friends do."
"I haven't seen you around much," Sam says next, imploring her to speak.
"Busy," Addison repeats with an over exaggerated shrug.
"Well how does your busy self feel about going out and grabbing some dinner, maybe drinks?" Sam asks, already standing, looking like he's not going to take no for an answer.
"I have a lot to catch up on," Addison motions to the desk that's purposefully messy.
"I'm not going to let you dissolve into your desk," Sam asserts, staring her down until she grabs her coat and purse.
~-~-~-~-~-~
It takes three drinks to get her loosened, to get her tongue flopping. Sam dips his tortilla chip into the mouth-scorching salsa on the table as she talks about the concept she has for a new book. She wants his opinion because he's a guru in the field and all.
"Addison stop," Sam instructs, drawing a puzzled look from her. She's talking to talk, attempting conversation when it's wholly unnecessary. "I mean, don't stop writing the book, if you like it, if you want to publish it. It sounds really good actually, refreshing even."
"Okay," Addison frowns, polishing off her margarita. Their food arrives before she can come up with another subject to exhaust. She's forgetting how to interface with someone other than the general public that is her patient roster. "Sorry," she says between bites. "I'm...I haven't been out lately."
"We know," Sam nods, taking a drink of water, designating himself as the person who will pour Addison onto her couch tonight. "Everyone is a bit concerned Addison."
"I'm fine."
"You are practically living in your office."
"I don't want to talk about it," is all she can manage to say, promptly ordering another drink when the waiter checks in with them. If she talks about it, it may become real, it may become something she has to deal with.
"Look, I'm not telling you how to live your life," Sam breathes, reaching for her hand across the table. "I don't even know how to live my own, but I'm saying...if you need to take a break sometime, maybe come down the hall, I'm there."
"I'm alone," Addison corrects, cracking, feeling the plague of depression begin to swarm around her ears. "I'm all alone Sam."
"You-"
"You have Maya," Addison speaks up before he can say something about understanding or about how she isn't alone. "And you still see Naomi, and you have Thurgood Marshall. And I have...a closet full of shoes, a brain that won't turn off at night anymore, and more baggage than any man will ever want to deal with. And all I can keep thinking is...what if this is it? What if I spend the next 20 years collecting shoes and cutting people open...and that's it?" And that inevitably leads her to the life she used to have and how that got screwed up. It's a vicious cycle.
"We don't know what the future holds," Sam advises.
"I know what it doesn't hold- children, men, friends. I'm a cat lady without cats."
"You could get some."
"This is not funny Samuel," Addison warns.
"I don't have the solution you want." He strokes the warm skin he still has a grip on. "No one does. Life did not turn out how we thought it was going to, but we will adapt. We can do this."
"How?" Addison chokes, sipping her water to mask the raw feeling in her chest. Is she always this pathetic, she wonders. She's been worn down, frayed, and torn. It's an excuse, but it's really all she has.
"Slowly?" Sam replies unsure. He drops his hold on her and reaches down, pulling out a small gift bag with crushed tissue paper, and torn sides. It didn't travel well.
Addison's brow creases in confusion and when she finally gets it she buries her palms into her burning eyes. "It's my birthday. I forgot my own birthday," she moans. Just what she needed. Another year.
"That's why I'm here," Sam smiles proudly. "For when you forget."
"Thank you," Addison smiles candidly for the first time in what feels like forever. She howls, however, when something sharp draws blood from her finger and tenderly pulls the present free of its enclosure. "A cactus?"
"A friend," Sam elaborates. "Violet thinks you may do well with a plant and Pete thought you'd like something low maintenance, so I went out at lunch and picked this guy. Cooper named him Hank."
"Ridiculous," Addison accuses, chuckling at her gift.
"For the girl who has everything," Sam emphasizes, "Cactus Hank."
"Well, I'll give it a try," Addison agrees carefully pushing Hank to the center of the table so she can admire the hand painted pot and dry soil. It's unconventional, and possibly the best birthday present she's ever received. The fact that everyone was a part of it only makes it that much more special.
Sometimes when you truly need life will deliver. Suffrage and sacrifice cast away for a brief respite, Addison is momentarily soaring amongst her grief. "We can do this?" she asks of Sam, her friend, her only comrade in the line of fire.
"We already are. Everyday," he assures her. "Something good is going to happen, Addison. And when it does you won't even be thinking to look back at what is happening right now."
She finishes her meal in silence, occasionally glancing up at Sam, a soothing smile always on his lips.
"I'm so tired of going home alone," she mumbles, letting her fork clatter onto the plate, chocolate cake half unfinished. Her beach house is filled with trinkets from another life, meant to be something so much more than it is. It's become almost pathological, her fear of sitting in the dark, watching the outside world. On the especially sinister days she sleeps in her office, or on call rooms to avoid it.
"Naomi insists that your guest bed is better than my lumpy mattress," Sam alludes, hoping she'll draw the right conclusion.
"You'd stay with me?"
"Well, I do have a theory to test." Sam plays along, because neither of them wants to be that weak, that needy. But in truth, they are, and it would be nice to have another person breathing within the immediate vicinity. It'd be nice to look down someone else's hallway when he can't sleep, to peer inside someone else's refrigerator in the middle of the night.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Night Sam!" Addison yells, her door wide open, a pillow in her clutches. Cactus Hank is proudly displayed on her beside table, and for the first time since Pete was here, she doesn't need the television to pacify her restlessness.
"Goodnight Addison," Sam calls back, rolling onto his back. He has to admit, her bed kicks his bed's ass, even with his dog curled up to his neck and refusing to budge. "Happy Birthday."
Addison smiles, warm tears streaming across her face, creating a black mosaic of mascara on her pillowcase. This time the overwhelming urge is brought on by happiness, however fleeting it may turn out to be.
She can't guarantee tomorrow. But she has tonight.
~-~-~-~-~-~