a/n: soo... was listening to this song and got totally inspired. addex fluff, because that's the way fluff was meant to be.

disclaimer: not mine. the song or the people.

KEY:

the boldface is from third person

the plain type is addison writing

the italics that aren't the song are fantasies

"In My Head"

Anna Nalick

Under the weight of your wings

You are a god and whatever I want you to be

And I wonder if truly you are

Nearly as beautiful as I believe

In my head, your voice

You've got all that I need

And this make believe will get me through another lonely night

Under the weight of your wings

Should ever we meet on your side of the stereo

I will pretend I know not of your thoughts

And even the way that they mirror my own

I'll take you away in the way that you take me and go where I go…

In my head, your voice

You've got all that I need

And this make believe will get me through another lonely night

I fall awake to the sound of my heart to your beat

Melancholy and cool kind of bittersweet

Love on repeat

I'm echoing all your philosophies

And as I…

I don't wanna be fool hearted

Baby, I'm outnumbered in my head

In my head, your voice

You've got all that I need

And this make believe will get me through another lonely night

Under the weight of your wings

I make believe you are all that I'll ever need,

In My Head

Addison returns to her hotel room after a particularly exhausting day. She walks in the door and immediately heads for the bottom drawer of the nightstand that holds all her socks. She digs to the bottom of the drawer and pulls out a small book. Then she grabs a pen, flops down on her bed and begins to write…

STAY OUT!! PRIVATE!! CONFIDENTIAL!!

There, I've done my whole teenager writing a diary bit. Not that those words will have any effect. In fact, they'll probably make anyone who reads this even more curious, so they really negate the whole idea of putting the words there. But this rambling will probably deter whoever decides to read my diary. Or they'll just skip ahead a paragraph. Hopefully the first, but probably the latter. Anyways, I'm done rambling. At least about this…

He's not interested. That's what he said. He doesn't want to be another intern sleeping with an attending. Yeah, okay, I get that. If we were reversed, if Alex were the attending, then I would say the same thing. But still. It hurts to hear. I haven't been shot down since high school. That kind of success will do things to your ego. I suppose you could say I was shot down by Derek. But I don't count him. Because I saw that one coming. And it was a little ego shattering, losing to that little twig of a girl, Meredith. But I saw it coming, and that helped a little. Not much, but a little.

I have never been yelled at like that. Ever. Not by my parents, not by Derek, not by my boss, and most definitely not by an intern. He just pulled me into a closet and started screaming at me. And all I could come up with was "But you kissed me back"?! Come on, Addison, you can do better than that. I know I can, I give as good as I get. I give better than I get, but it's just that I can barely breathe when he's around me, let alone actually think. I know, I'm brilliant, right? Managing to fall for a freaking intern. One of Bailey's freaking interns, as if falling for a normal one wasn't enough. Kissing said intern. Oh God, Bailey's going to kill me when she finds out. Hopefully she likes me enough that she doesn't totally destroy my body, or at least leaves my face recognizable. Something for the funeral. Not that anyone would come. But whatever. I'd still want anyone bored enough to come to be able to recognize me.

The thing is I actually thought that he liked me, just maybe. I never would have done something so stupid otherwise. Well, maybe if I was really drunk, but I wasn't that drunk when I did it. I knew what I was doing. I rationally decided that I was going to lean in and kiss him. Life would have been so much easier if I had been drunk off my a$s. But life hates me and so I remember.

I really did think he liked me. He thoroughly shattered that hope, but for just a second I thought that maybe life would go my way for once. I don't think I imagined all the tension. I mean, it wasn't just me imagining it, pretending, wanting it there. I was so sure that I wasn't. Now, not so much. In fact, it was probably wishful thinking. I've been known to do that, wanting something so bad that I imagine it's there. It sucks. There, proof that I have been spending far too much time around Alex. Before him, I never would have said something sucks. I would have said it was horrible or terrible or some other word that was at least two syllables. Something more expressive than "it sucks". Great, he's rubbing off on me and there's not a thing I can do about it.

I should just sleep with him and get it over with. Except that would entail him wanting to. Which he most certainly does not. Maybe if I got him really, really drunk… if I was the female equivalent of Mark Sloan, and had the emotional range of, well, him (I was going to say teaspoon, but I really think that a teaspoon has a larger range of emotions than Mark Sloan), that is what I'd do. But I'm not and I don't, so I won't. Besides, it wouldn't help. Because no matter what I tell myself, no matter what I say out loud, I don't want to just sleep with him. For the first time since the divorce, I feel ready for an actual relationship. And I can tell from the way Alex is around patients, the way he treats his friends, that he's the guy I'm looking for. I can almost see him as a boyfriend. God knows I've fantasized about it enough. But you can't tell anyone that. In fact, you can't tell anyone any of this.

He's not like other guys, you know? He acts like he's the mini-Mark Sloan and to some degree I think he is. He's cocky and stubborn. But I refuse to believe that he's such a manwhore. Because, yeah he cheated on Izzie, I know that, the whole hospital knows that, but we all make mistakes. I should know that more than anyone else. Because Mark was a mistake, and I will admit to that any day of the week and twice on Sunday (where did that saying come from anyways?). Alex, though, Alex is different. He's actually decent. He's sweet. And he doesn't let enough people see that. And like I told him, I would hate to see Mark Sloan beat it out of him.

Sometimes, you tell anyone this and I will kill you, but sometimes, I'll be sitting doing nothing, because -hello?- single, divorced, and next to no friends, there's not much to do, and I'll just let myself imagine what life would be like with him. I've gotten so far ahead of myself it's embarrassing. Because a kid would require sex and sex would require willingness, so I'm kind of screwed and not in a good way. Anyways, where was I? Right, my crazy imagination. Not that it goes all that crazy, it's incredibly clichéd and boring. Just for proof of my rather unimaginative imagination, and so I can embarrass myself thoroughly if anyone ever find this (which you can be most sure will happen, so I don't really know why I'm doing this), I'll describe some of my rather teenager-like fantasies. The ones that I can write without blushing. The others aren't so teenager-like and are ones where my imagination does go crazy, and make me blush just thinking about writing them down. So I'm not going to write those, because with my luck Bailey or Richard would find this and then I would be an incredibly embarrassed and dead woman. Anyways… don't say I didn't warn you that these are embarrassing and rather cheesy.

Embarrassing Fantasy Number One-

In this one, I've been having a really bad day (I don't know why, I didn't imagine those kinds of details okay? Just live with the fact that I'm having an inexplicably bad day.) and I'm ready to rip anyone's throat out. Alex is my intern. He says something mildly insensitive to a patient and I jump at the chance to yell at someone. So I drag him outside and I start screaming. And he just sits there and looks at me. And then he leans in and kisses me or I lean in and kiss him and then we're backing into an on-call room and I have my naughty way with him or he has his naughty way with me. One of them. And I'm not going into details, but we'll leave it at the details are juicy enough to make me blush and leave me hot and bothered after thinking about it, and then let the screen tastefully fade to black. (So maybe this one wasn't so teenager-ish.)

Embarrassing Fantasy Number Two-

(Now this one is most definitely left over from my high school years. Because what normal functioning teenager doesn't imagine how her boyfriend will say "I love you"?) So now we've been dating for maybe two and a half months and we are officially out of the closet, so to speak. We're sitting in the cafeteria, eating lunch and counting how many people we can catch trying to eavesdrop in on our conversation. I say something about someone and we laugh. And then he just looks over and casually says it. "I love you."

And I just look at him, because I'm not sure I heard him right. "What?" I blink.

And he looks back at me, looking like he just told me the weather forecast. "I love you," he says. He might as well be saying "It's cloudy outside." Like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

All I can think is how he can be so calm in telling me this. Because when Derek told me the same thing for the first time he was a blustering, stuttering mess. And Mark, well, Mark never really meant it. Maybe he thought he did, but he doesn't. Anyways, I stare at him, wondering how someone so incredible could be saying something like that to someone so messed up. And then I say "I love you too" and I mean it. And then he leans in and kisses me, but remember, we're in the cafeteria, so we can't really do anything. (Even in my dreams, I refuse to have sex in a room full of people. Although, since it is my fantasy, I suppose I could make everyone mysteriously vanish. But my fantasies are too realistic for that. Except for the part about the guy telling me he loves me, but I don't count that.)

Embarrassing Fantasy Number Three-

This one takes place maybe a month or two after the last one. Alex and I have moved in together, a little two bedroom house with an actual backyard (I do miss having a backyard). I come home one night and I think he's still at the hospital. Not bothering to change out of my work clothes, I go to the freezer to pull out a carton of ice cream, which is what I always do when he's not home (It's what I used to do when Derek was at the hospital.) Forgo dinner and go straight to dessert (There's only one difference, Alex knows this is my routine, whereas Derek was too clueless and conceited to even wonder about what I do when he wasn't there.). There's a note on the carton, which I read. It's from Alex, obviously, and it directs me to go into the bathroom. I'm curious, so I follow my directions. There's another note, this one with a rose, on the mirror, telling me to go into our bedroom. On the door of the bedroom, there's yet another note, telling me to look under my pillow, which I do. And there's another note, but this one is attached to a little box. This note instructs me to bring the box out to the patio and it also warns me that if I open the box I will be a dead woman. In my dreams, I can actually contain my curiosity, and I keep the lid on the box and walk into our backyard. It's a beautifully clear night for once, and I can even see some stars. I look around and there's no one out there. I wait for a couple minutes and nothing happens so I turn around to go back inside, but am shocked to find Alex standing there. "Jesus Christ!" I yelp, because I didn't hear him come up.

"Um, no, actually my name's Alex and, contrary to popular belief, I am not the Messiah," he replies, because even my mind can't get rid of his annoying sarcasm. "And can I have that?" He gestures to the box.

"Oh, yeah, sure, here," I reply and hand him the little box. And then he gets down on one knee and opens the box to show me a gorgeous ring. "What are you- Alex, what are you doing?" I stutter.

"Well, if you would be quiet for two seconds, you would find that out, wouldn't you?" he snaps, but he grins up at me.

"Fine, I'm quiet, not saying anything. My lips are sealed. No more words." I even do that corny locking my mouth and throwing away the key thing.

"Good. Look, Addison, I love you. And I'm not going to stop. I can't imagine anyone I would want to spend the rest of my life with more. So what I'm trying to ask is if maybe, if you want obviously, would you be my wife?" I don't say anything. "Are you going to say something, maybe answer the question?" he asks nervously.

I stay quiet, because I'm kind of enjoying the look on his face. Then I tilt my head and grin at him, "Oh, am I allowed to talk now?" I ask, because I can't pass up the opportunity to be annoying and sarcastic.

"Feel free," he says and I freeze up, because now I have to answer and because that's the kind of chick (see? Too much Alex! I never would have said "chick" before!) I am. I try to reason through all the fuzz and uncertainty and my feelings and everything. Because I don't want to get him any more mixed up in the mess that is me than he already is. And I don't want to hurt him. Which I know I would end up doing, it does seem to be my specialty, hurting people I love. And God knows how much I love him (Tell anyone that I said that and I will personally see to it that your body won't be found for your funeral.) and I really don't want to hurt him. So I open my mouth to try to explain all this and guess what comes out of my mouth? One word. One little life-altering word. "Yes." Well, that wasn't in the plan. Oh well.

(I'm just going to skip over my wedding fantasies. They are far too cheesy and childlike or NC-17 to put in here.)

Embarrassing Fantasy Number Four-

We're not a perfect couple, a seamless unit.(Lord knows that we fight like cats and dogs, because honestly? He and I don't get along that well. That's why we work well together, because we don't work well together. Does that make any sense at allI think it's the opposites attract thing. Except he and I are far too similar to be opposites. So I really don't have any idea as to why I'm attracted to him. He's like a freaking mix of me and Mark Sloan. Oh, now that's just a disgusting and scary thought.)

Anyways, we've been married for six months. This one doesn't have a lot of substance to it. It's basically me just imagining what it would be like to be married to him. It's just little flashes of sweet things. Like him running and getting me coffee. Me and him eating lunch together, me stealing things off his plate. All that generally sickening newly-wed crap. Me getting semi-accepted by his friends. Me being friends by proxy with Meredith. Me and Izzie actually getting along. Her not hating me for the quints thing anymore. That would be nice, I don't think I can stand anymore glares from her direction. Our one year anniversary. All these things are included in this one. I told you it didn't have much substance.

Embarrassing Fantasy Number Five-

We've been married for maybe a year or so and I seem to be coming down with the flu, throwing up and stuff (I'm stupid enough that I know I wouldn't realize I was pregnant. I've accepted it.). Finally, I realize that my period's late, and maybe, just maybe, I might be pregnant. So I buy a home pregnancy test secretly, because I don't want to get Alex's hopes up in case it ends up that what I've got is a virus, not a fetus. And when that comes back positive, I pee on about another five million sticks with the same results. One test might lie to me, but five million? It would seem like I'm actually getting the results that I want, unless there is something seriously wrong with me. I opt for option one, it seems nicer. Besides, it's my fantasy and I'm going to make myself pregnant, not hospitalized. Anyways, I figure that I should probably tell Alex that he's going to be a dad. Makes sense, no? Seems like it would be the right thing to do. It'd be too mean to wait until I was fat enough for him to notice and then make him ask about it, right? Right. So one night we're sitting at the bar in Joe's and Joe looks at me and asks what I'll have and I say just water. And then he says something about drinking and being in a bar, and I say that that's all well and good, but honestly, it wouldn't be smart for me to have a drink right now. In fact it would be downright dangerous. And Joe smiles at me, "Driving tonight?" he asks. And I say sure, because it would be nice if the father was the first one to know, you know? And then I mutter something about how I'm really going to miss my alcoholic beverages for the next nine months. That gets my husband's attention. "What did you just say?" he asks as he turns to look at me.

"I said that I'm going to miss my alcoholic beverages for the next nine months, weren't you listening?"

"Nine months?"

I nod. "Nine months."

"Are you…?"

"I am."

"Seriously?"

"Actually, I just thought it would be a fun practical joke to play. Did I get you? Of course I'm serious! Do you think I'd joke about something like this?"

"Noo… maybe… I never know with you. So you're serious?"

"Corpselike."

"What?"

"You know, dead serious, dead equals corpse equals corpselike?"

"I will never understand you," he tells me. "So I'm going to be a dad?" he asks calmly.

"Uh-huh," I reply, but I'm a little disappointed at the less than enthusiastic response.

"I'm going to be a dad," he says again.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm going to be a dad!" he nearly yells. There's the response I was looking for. He jumps up and pulls me up too. And then he picks me up and spins me around in true romantic comedy fashion and now everyone's staring at us, because in case you hadn't noticed, he's seemingly randomly spinning me around and we probably look more than a little strange. "I'm going to be a dad!" he tells everyone. And then he kisses me and that's as far as I got.

Embarrassing Fantasy Number Six (and the last one I'm writing down)-

This is the one I've been talking about. It's a couple of years later, and me, Alex, and our little girl Lila (I don't know where I got this name, but it came to me and it stuck) are at the park and I'm watching Alex push her on the swings. "Higher, Daddy, higher!" she giggle-shrieks. Alex obliges, but I can tell he's even more cautious now.

"Hey, Ly, why don't we go talk to Mommy?" he asks the mass of giggles that is our kid.

"But Daddy!" she whines, dragging out the word "daddy". "I'm not done swinging yet. Please, Daddy, please?" Lila's already a master manipulator, and she manipulates my husband into another five minutes of forced labor.

"Okay, Ly, I'm done," he tells her, refusing to push her anymore and pulling her off of the swing. "Why don't you go and play with Macy?" he says, referring to the Stevens-Sloan child, (This detail is probably more likely than any other part of any of my fantasies. I've seen those two sharing looks and Mark's actually let her scrub in on surgeries. All I can say is that I hope they'll be happy and maybe remember their old spinster friend since I will clearly be an old spinster, the way things are going.) and off she runs. Alex comes over to me, kisses me, and sits down. "That kid is going to kill me one day," he informs me.

"You didn't give birth to her," I retort. "That didn't kill me and pushing her on the swings won't kill you."

"You're right, of course." (See, by now Alex has realized the first rule of being married, in things that don't matter, the wife is always right. It worked for Derek and me for eleven years.)

"Of course," I repeat. We sit in silence, watching Lila and Macy run around.

"She looks exactly like you," Alex says.

"She's got brown hair," I point out.

"And your eyes and your nose. Seriously, it looks like someone made a little clone of you and dyed her hair."

"She looks more like you."

"She's your mini-me."

"She is not my mini-me."

"Ask anyone, she looks exactly like you. She's going to break some hearts. Following in her mommy's footsteps," he teases me.

"God, I hope not."

"Well, we certainly don't have to worry about her following you into scrubs." This is a very true statement, because even at the tender age of five the little girl who lives in my head has yawned at surgeries, whined whenever her father and I have tried to discuss anything medical, and declared her love of reading and her abhorrence of science. Why, I don't know, but she has.

"Let's just hope she doesn't follow me into her husband's best friend's bed," I reply.

"Stop beating yourself up over that. It's been, what? Eight almost nine years now? And think about it this way, if you hadn't cheated on Derek then you never would have come to Seattle in the first place, or you would have been married if you did and then we never would have met and that would be a travesty." (I doubt that real-Alex would say travesty, but the one in my head would.)

"So you're thanking me for sleeping with Mark?"

"Right, just don't do it again," he tells me. And I have no intention to. (Ever again. In fiction or real life.)

"I love you," I say.

"I love you too," he responds and kisses me. We're interrupted by a sobbing Lila running up.

"M-mommy, d-daddy! I gots a splinter in my finger and it HURTS!" she wails.

"Come here, Ly," Alex commands gently. I watch as he tenderly picks her up and inspects her finger. I hand him a pair of tweezers that I have learned to carry around with me, considering our very accident prone daughter (There have been many stories of my imaginary child getting hurt, not badly of course, what kind of person do you think I am?! Just little cuts and things, and we are always prepared for them. Basically I know that any child of mine is going to be disaster prone. I'm kind of hoping that it's physically, because if she inherits my inclination towards mental disasters, I'm going to have a very broken child by the time she's three.). He gets her to stop crying and pulls out the splinter carefully. "There you go, Ly, as good as new."

"B-but Daddy," she sniffles. "It still hurts a little bit."

He leans down and kisses her finger (I know this might seem a little out of character for Alex, but after working with him in the maternity ward, I know this is just the kind of thing he would do.). "There you go. All better?"

"I think I need a kiss from Mommy too," Lila says. Like I said, master manipulator.

I oblige. "All good, Ly?" (In one of my dreams, and this one was actually a real dream, I was asleep and everything, Alex called her Ly and it stuck even in my daydreams. See he's on my subconscious mind too! I can't get rid of this guy, and Lord knows that's what I need to do.)

"All good, Mommy. I'm gonna go play with Macy now," she says and skips off. Alex and I sit and wait, because with Lila, accidents always come in pairs. And sure enough, she falls and scrapes her hand. It only requires Neosporin and a Band-Aid (a Disney princess one) and she's up and running again.

"She's a miniature disaster," I say.

"She's cute. And she still looks more like you," he replies and kisses me.

(I'm going to end here. This one goes on forever and ever, and my hand's cramping up.)

And there you have it. I told you they were cheesy and embarrassing. And completely impossible as well. They'll never happen. I get that. They're fantasies, dreams. And they won't come true. I get that, I really do. But still, it helps when I'm really lonely and feeling sorry for myself to imagine them.

Cheesy, Embarrassed, and A Not So Miniature Disaster,

Addison

Addison puts her pen down, wondering why she just spent an hour of her life documenting embarrassing fantasies that she doesn't want people to read anyways, when there's a knock at her door. Curious as to who would be calling on her at ten o'clock at night, she gets up and opens the door to find an unkempt looking Alex standing there. "What do you want?" she spits, because she's still hurting from their encounter in the closet this afternoon.

"To apologize," he answers. That's not the answer she's expecting and her brow furrows as she tries to figure everything out.

"Well…?" she says, since he's being quiet. "Are you going to say something? Or am I supposed to magically read your mind?"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he blurts out. "I was way out of line today, not to mention lying. After I yelled at you I felt so bad that I nearly screwed up in the O.R. and I was distracted all day. I went home to try to sleep but I couldn't because all I could hear were the words that I said to you. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get them out of my head. And your face, God, you have no idea how much it hurt me to see your face in the closet. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut or something. I don't know exactly what I want, but I know I never want to put that look on your face again.

"Addison, Dr. Montgomery, whatever you want me to call you now," he continues, "I'm not good at the whole share your feelings thing. And I really suck at the boyfriend thing. But I think that I could get better. I want to try, if you'll let me."

Addison stares at him, because that was incredibly unexpected. "What?"

"Well, I was trying to avoid the whole 'I can't sleep, I can't eat' thing, but it's not working for me. Because it's true. I'm not going to say that food is tasteless or whatever, but I don't feel like eating. And every time I try to close my eyes and go to sleep, I see your face when I was yelling at you. And it sucks. Because I'm tired and I need sleep. And I'm not doing this so that I can clear my conscience and get some sleep, so don't think that. Well, I do want to clear my conscience, but it's because I hate the fact that I lied to you and I hurt you. I know that I said that I'm not interested and that I don't want to be another intern sleeping with an attending. I'm so interested it scares me. And I don't just want to sleep with you."

Addison can't seem to talk or even think. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

"Addison?" Alex whispers and steps closer to her.

"You- you're not supposed to be interested," she says, almost to herself. "You're supposed to go off and live your life happily without me. I resigned myself to that, I understood. And now you just come here and think that saying all these words is going to change everything? I've got news for you, Alex, anyone can say words! Words mean next to nothing to me now! Why should I let you back in if you might hurt me again? Because you hurt me more than nearly anyone ever has. More than Derek, because at least I saw the hurt coming, more than Sloan, because I was expecting it, more than nearly anyone. And if you're going to do it again, then I can't- I just can't," she yells and breaks off sobbing.

Alex looks pained. All he wants to do is wipe the tears off her face. But he holds back because he's pretty sure she doesn't want him touching her now. "I don't want to," he says, eyes downcast. "I really don't want to hurt you again. I wish there was just some way I could show you that."

"I hate you," she informs him, but there's obviously more to the statement. "You stand there and you look all sad and I kind of melt. And then you pair the puppy dog thing with the saying perfect things thing and then I really melt. Which makes me hate you more. And I hate that I melt but I do and did I mention that I hate you?"

"Once or twice. Addie," Alex says and Addison starts, because it's the first time he's ever called her by her nickname, and she thinks about the way he says it, like it's something to be cherished and coveted, and about how no one's said it like that in years. "If I could take it all back, I would. I wish that I hadn't freaked out. I wish that I didn't say all those things. I was annoyed at you for avoiding me. And I'm not trying to turn this around so that it's your fault, so please, please don't take it that way, but if you hadn't avoided me, I probably never would have said anything until you did. But avoidance annoys me and it's something you're really good at, so I was really annoyed by the time I got you to talk to me and I just kind of blew up. And I wish that I could have controlled my temper, because you did nothing to deserve being yelled at. And I hope you'll forgive me. You don't have to give me a chance, I did nothing to deserve it, but I really hope you'll forgive me."

Addison thinks for a moment. She has body parts that she could possibly listen to. She could listen to her brain which is telling her that he'll only hurt her, they'll never work, and he's her intern. Or she could listen to her heart which is screaming that they might work, he doesn't want to hurt her, and that if she doesn't listen to it, she is a complete idiot. She decides that her brain is annoying and she listens to it far too often so she throws caution to the wind and listens to the thing in her chest. "You're forgiven," she says sincerely. "Do you- do you want to come in?" she asks. He nods. "Okay, but after that stunt you pulled today, don't think you're getting any," she laughs. And then she goes quiet and looks at him. And leans in and kisses him. Ah, screw it,

want to tell me that i didn't totally waste my time writing this?

-Lauren