Make My Heart Smile
Let's get one thing straight – Addison Montgomery rarely cries. Sure, she's cried more in the past four months than she thinks she ever has, but she's normally pretty good at keeping it together. Naomi Bennett always admired this about Addison, because Naomi herself melts at the drop of a hat. It's normally Addison who has to wipe up the puddle. Addison holds her close, letting Naomi rest her head on her shoulder; Addison rubs her back and Addison murmurs endearments until Naomi stops crying.
So it's a bit of a reversal tonight when Naomi descends the stairs and sees very long legs crossed elegantly, protruding into the kitchen hallway. She can feel Addison's mood before she ever gets to her – she's only seen her friend this distraught a few times. Addison's head is bowed, her ponytail resting smoothly on her neck; her forehead is leaning on her hand and there's an untouched glass of wine before her. Sam is rubbing her shoulders, and he looks up when he sees Naomi. They exchange a smile; the sort of tender smile they used to exchange when Maya was throwing a tantrum because she was really tired and cranky. When he slips by her, he twines his arm slightly around her waist and she kisses his cheek as he goes by.
Naomi puts her hands on Addison's shoulders and feels the woman move under her touch. Addison's face turns up to meet Naomi's gaze and her lips tremble a little as she tries to smile but can't quite make it. Her eyes say much more than her words ever could.
"Hey," says Naomi, her voice compassionate. "Hey," Addison begins, and then leans her head against Naomi's stomach as the tears hunch her shoulders up and cough out in sobs. Naomi strokes her ponytail and lets her cry for a moment before coming around and kneeling before her.
It's a moment that doesn't need words. Addison's face is crumpled in pain, the type of pain that you get when you're really done; when life has kicked you in the ass too many times today (and who puts SHOES up their anus? Seriously!) and you can still remember how that warm, pink little bundle felt in your arms. Addison can still remember her little squeaky cries that reminded her of a bat but really were more suited to a kitten.
Naomi takes Addison into her arms and feels the normally set shoulders relax; she feels Addison rest her head on her shoulder and the tears soak into her shirt. She rubs her back and feels warm at the way that Addison just fits into her arms; the way that any best friend feels like the only person you'll ever hold.
"I really wanted her," Addie chokes out, and Naomi nods against the red hair. "You really deserved her. But there was no way, sweetie."
"Why?"
They both know the rules, but it's true. Why? Why can't Addison be happy? Why can't she be allowed to have and hold a child who depends completely on her? Addison could tell Naomi about how when she fell asleep with the little one in her arms, it felt like the most right thing she'd ever done. She could tell her that each cry tugged at her heartstrings and each time the baby closed her eyes, she felt a sense of accomplishment better than the best surgery. She could tell her that it was like love, except a whole lot better.
But she doesn't need to tell her that, because Naomi knows and Naomi can't stop a few tears from falling herself.
They go over to Addison's house; Naomi wraps a coat around Addison's shoulders and steers her back across the sand. They get into Addison's bed, sandy feet and all, and Addie tucks her head into the hollow between Naomi's shoulder and neck. Her arms are like a vice – she's afraid to let go.
"I think you should know," whispers Naomi, "that you are beautiful. And that you are someone. And that you would be a loving, excellent, compassionate mother."
Addison sniffles and says nothing. Then,
"I love you."
"I love you, too."