Post Addek . . . . A Maddison FanFiction
Salvation (1)
She tried to ignore it at first, chalks it down to a stomach bug and being tired (after all, the job is more than demanding.) and being stressed for the downpour that's now become her life (the eleven years of marriage she've just destroyed, the constant thought and worry of who Mark's screwing.). But it got harder - to ignore it that is. Especially when her boobs are this sore and the smell of coffee makes her want to vomit and every fucking second of every fucking hour is making her want to fucking cry.
She has to make it work with Mark, she thinks, because she doesn't want to believe that she had just ruined her marriage with the love of her life for one night of stupidity, a lapse of judgment. She'll tolerate his infidelities since, after all, she deserves to be stomped on with what she'd done to Derek. Embarrassed. She'll tolerate for what it's worth because she has to, because everyone at the hospital knows, because they're all talking - whispering - and they're all laughing at her.
Behind her back, of course.
But then, she can't and so, she permanently ended it with him over a week ago when she grew tired of his treachery. And when she caught him that afternoon in the throes of passion (yes, yes, karma's a fucking bitch! She knows!) with an ER nurse, she snapped. She's had it and she knows she can't pretend that she's okay with whatever he's doing to her and them anymore.
A laughingstock, that's what she's reduced to now. She'll be an even greater mockery when this plausible pregnancy happens to be positive.
And so, when she finally accepted that she's never going to wake to Derek's kisses or the sound of him clattering in the kitchen because he's no longer there in the morning, no longer a constant presence in her life like he has been, day in and day out, she made the trip to the drug store like a shamed teenager, grabbing one test at first, then thinking better of it and adding a couple more to her basket. She made sure she has different brands (covering all bases in a bid to be thorough in this upcoming conclusion.) and then has the good sense to add a few candy bars and a bottle of water to her purchase - if only that could make her feel better about the fact that she's possibly (ok, most likely.) pregnant.
The cashier rang up the tests and treats and water and throughout the whole ordeal, Addison cast her eyes downwards, felt her skin flame up and prick with tiny beads of sweat, even though she's always been the one who doesn't give a shit about what people thinks (ok, maybe she gives the tiniest of shits.). Funny (or not, really.) that she's suddenly developed this worry.
The cashier doesn't seem bothered though, just shoves each item into a bag idly, like she doesn't even recognise the significance of this moment, of someone on the verge of discovering whether or not their life is about to change. Her fingers jabs at the cash register until the sum total of $38.94 is displayed on the screen in red numbers so bright that nobody in their right mind could ever miss them.
Expensive really, to determine whether or not you've accidentally gotten knocked up at the worst possible time.
Still, Addison quickly handed over the two crisp twenty dollar bills, takes the change without really looking at the cashier and gabbles a quick "thanks" before making her exit.
The bag seems to burn her hands on the walk back to the brownstone and yet when she reaches her front door, unlocks it and slips inside, she drops it onto the counter, then turn away without even a second glance.
Finally buying the tests is one thing. Taking them is something else entirely.
She avoids the bag all day. It's her day off (yay her!). Tiptoes around it like if she's too loud, it'll turn into some sort of roaring monster and wake up the neighbours - not that they'd be asleep at this time anyway.
She made her meals, an avocado and eggs bagel that she doesn't eat for lunch; ravioli from the freezer that tastes wrong for dinner. And in all of the time, she carefully avoids eye contact with the bag until finally, around eight in the evening, her legs takes her to it out of their own accord and now, she's staring down the boxes, one pink, one blue, one lilac, like a little pastel palette of truth waiting to be revealed.
All three boxes go with her to the bathroom and she opens the pink one first - no real reason other than it's the one on top. Foregoing the instructions (this is her field, her specialty and besides, it's pretty obvious. Pee. Then, wait.) she rips open the packaging and huffs as she pulls down her jeans and panties, landing on the toilet with a soft thud.
It takes a good few seconds - peeing for a purpose is tougher than it seems - but Addison knows the stick will give her the answer after the designated two minutes is up. She flushes the toilet and sets the stick on the counter while washing her hands. There's no point in setting the timer - she'll get her result when she gets it, simple as that.
That's life.
She can't honestly say she's surprised when there are two clear lines forming.
Still, she opens the blue box next and repeats her actions. This time, it's a plus sign.
She already knows what the next one is going to say - in truth, she'd known well before it was confirmed by these two tests - but she opened the box anyway, peeing then washing then waiting until there's another plus to match the previous one, and then all the bile rises in her throat at once.
It's lucky she's so close to the toilet already. Any further away and she'd be cleaning the floor.
Once her heaves have subsided and she's feeling a little woozy, Addison rises to a stand slowly - careful not to jolt her stomach which, now that three little plastic sticks have confirmed, it seems set on shouting out to the world that she's pregnant.
Said sticks goes in the bin - she's not sentimental like that and it seems kind of repulsive that she'd keep them as proof that there's a child growing inside of her. It's going to be pretty obvious in a few months anyway.
She pauses for a moment on her way out of the bathroom, trying to determine exactly how she feels about it - about being pregnant. She's pretty sure there should be an overriding emotion one way or the other but there isn't. It's just...is. She's pregnant and it's a fact. Not an emotion. Not good, not bad.
There would be an emotion if Derek was here, she thinks suddenly, abruptly, the thought catching her off guard. If he were here and they were them (without the fucking with a particular someone on said favourite sheets; the space that he needs, space away from her - so much fucking space in this goddamn house that she aches sometimes.) she'd be scared and he'd be so overwhelmingly happy that she'd be happy too. Really happy. The kind of happy that makes you smile for no reason.
But Derek's not here. He's not here, sharing this experience with her and maybe she should have called him, but she knows he's not going to answer, she knows she's not going to be that girl who makes the father of her child come home because he has some responsibility to her.
Well, he doesn't.
He has a responsibility to the child that's growing inside of her, yes, a child who's just starting its life in a world without images, and she knows he'll be here if it comes to it, if he'd just tell her where he is, if he'd answer her calls, messages, emails, if he's ever coming back to New York at all. If whatever higher power there is decides not to take it from her before it even arrives in the world - because Addison knows that's a possibility too.
And at that, she made her way to the living room, turning off the lights in succession because tiredness has suddenly hit her like a freight train and all she wants to do is crawl under the covers and sleep.
Well, that's a black and white version of what she wants to do. The technicolour version - the one in high definition - wants Derek's arms and Derek's smell and Derek's lips against her temple.
But her life is only playing the black and white one tonight though, and she made her peace with that, undressing quickly before pulling on one of his old t-shirts with a pair of lace panties - not because it was his favourite thing for her to sleep in (she's not a masochist.) - but because the feel of the cotton against her breasts is more comfortable than anything else.
Once she's settled under the covers, she reached for her phone, unlocked the screen and typed out six different messages. None of which she sends him.
It isn't fair to do that, to catch him off guard when he's needing his space from her, trying to forget her, trying to figure them out (she'd really like to believe that.). But she ought to tell Mark too because it could very well be his baby (she now feels like those desperate women on Maury, dreading to hear the words "You are not the father.").
No, she decides. She's not going to tell Derek. Because he has no concern in all this. Because she knows it's not his. Because the timing's all wrong for it to be his.
Because life's just not that generous.
She'll tell Mark when it's the right time.
Not surprisingly, the right time doesn't come.
She thinks it does, almost three weeks later when she's in the staff lounge, just kind of, sort of standing there for no apparent reason, even when the smell of coffee is making her want to vomit. There wasn't really any excuse for her to be in there.
Mark joins her, clutching a box of something somewhat sheepishly with a gruff. "Hey."
"Hey." she smiles, moving out of the way so he can grab a mug, even though she could've easily passed one to him from where she was standing.
They're civil and mature with one another because that's what grownups do. They can be friends without dwelling in the past.
"Thought you might like this." He hands her a box of chamomile tea and she looks up at him, her eyes asking the questions that her lips don't. "You said you're trying not to drink as much coffee." he adds, by way of explanation for the box of Harney and Sons seated in her grasp. "And chamomile helps with the stomach flu."
Ah, the lie she'd told him when he found her vomiting in the bathroom the other day.
Everything about him in that moment made her want to tell him. But then, she looked at him, really looked closely, studying him, she thinks about how he'd tell their Chief because he'd want her to take things lightly, and so decides against it.
By the time she's done with her four o'clock scheduled hysterectomy with bilateral oophorectomy, she's so tired she can barely stand, let alone summon the energy to tell him everything she probably should if they're going to hash all of this out. Instead, he left the hospital with some nurse from paediatrics and she goes home to the brownstone she shared with her husband.
Past tense.
She's too tired even to dwell on that now.
The next day is Friday, and Addison decides the right time almost definitely isn't going to come. All she knows is she doesn't want to tell him in the locker room or at the hospital where she could risk chatty nurses overhearing them, and so she waits until their shifts are over to ask if he's doing anything tomorrow.
"I don't have any plans." he tells her, and by the way he's pulling her hips closer to his, he's reading her invitation all wrong.
She smacked his hands away, "Stop it, Mark. Be serious for once."
"Ok. Ok. Sorry. Why? You want to do something?"
"We could...catch up," she suggests stupidly, like the term is enough to describe what she's going to tell him. As though being pregnant with his child might just require a casual mention of...nonchalance (you know, no biggie.).
"Catch up." he raised a brow cockily like he always does. "We could catch up right now." he swept her long red hair aside so he could feast on the exposed soft skin of her neck.
And she allowed herself to get lost in a haze of regret but thought better of it because that's how this all started.
"Mark," she pulls back, "Seven. Tomorrow. I'll cook."
"You can't cook." he grins knowingly. Except, he doesn't know her. Not properly, not anymore. Doesn't know about this new development that's wreaking havoc with her body at all times of the day.
"I can cook." she reaffirms, like the slight suggestion she's going to fuck up the food is an insult intended to break her. And she knows it isn't but for some stupid reason, it stings. Like, if she can't even get the food right, how can she be someone's mother?
"Sounds great." he replies, reminding her that this is that conversation which includes that half-grin of his that simultaneously melts and turns her on at the same time.
"Seven."
"Seven."
Dr. Shapiro from Ortho asks if she'd like to go get a drink with him and Dr. Sutorius from Oncology and she makes an excuse about not wanting to ruin her good work on the coffee-front with booze.
Nobody suspects anything.
She figures she must be a better liar than she gives herself credit for.
His arrival at the brownstone (it's still too hard to think of it as hers now. Derek had contacted her yesterday, said that he's filing for divorce. She nodded. She figured. She accepted. He can't see her but she still nodded.) is signalled by three clear raps at the door and she calls out that it's open because she's got a dish of enchiladas in her hands that she's busy sliding onto the shelf in the oven.
He takes his shoes off by the door like he always used to, lines them up and straightens hers while he's at it before removing his jacket to hang on the set of hooks.
"Smells good." he tells her. Impressed. "Mexican?"
"Enchiladas."
He doesn't reply to that with a word, but makes some sort of appreciative noise as he reaches for one of the tortilla chips in a bowl on the counter - the same counter he'd fucked her senseless before she concluded to herself that they're just not compatible for one another.
"You'll spoil your dinner." she says with a small semblance of a grin.
Mark pops a final chip into his mouth, heads for the cupboard with the glasses and brushes past her on his way to the sink. It's all too familiar - him helping himself to the things he needs, the three of them here, in this damn brownstone, happy and young - that suddenly, Addison has an internal freak-out and has to remind herself to keep calm.
She does, eventually, and he doesn't seem to have noticed. He takes the dish out of the oven when the timer sounds because she's busy breathing through a period of nausea in the bathroom and hoping he won't notice that either - not when she's gotten this close to telling him on her own. By the time she returns to the living room, he's dished out two very generous portions and Addison's busy regretting her choice of dish because a rich tomato dish is almost definitely not going to sit well for her.
They eat - or, more accurately, Mark eats and Addison pushes the food around with her fork until he sets his down, clears his throat and asks her what's wrong with a simple, "Addie?"
That breaks her. That simple use of her nickname and she thinks for so long that she hasn't known what to feel, that the overwhelming sadness at the fact that none of this is how it should be is simply too much. She cries for the timing of it. She cries for being embarassed to buy the tests - appropriately embarrassed for creating a life with a man that's not her husband, with a man she doesn't truly loves (she loves him but she's not in love with him.). She cries because he missed the part of taking the tests with her and they can't get that back, even though she knows that it wouldn't change anything. There are tears too, for the realisation of how badly she wants this baby, even if the timing isn't right, even if it's not with the right person.
"Hey." he soothes, running his hand over hers even though he has no clue why she's crying. He probably concludes it's because of the mess they've created together, she thinks, and it is, yes, but it's so much more than that and she'll never be able to tell him because it's not fair.
She quickly gathers herself, wiping at her tears with her free hand and tugs free of her other hand from under his. The skin feeling cold without his palm warming it.
"You okay?" he asks, and they both know he means right now. Is she okay right now? Because neither of them are okay in the grand scheme of things.
"I'm pregnant." is her answer.
Addison doesn't think she's ever heard a silence so deafening.
My first Maddison story. Please let me know what you think! I love your reviews!! And I hope you enjoyed.