A/N: This show has given me very little work with lately, but I have been smacked over the head with this. So I wrote, because I need to study, and that doesn't happen with little thoughts fluttering around. Also, spoiling for upcoming events, so read if you please. Enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
a Thousand Paper Cranes
- Mono
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison?" Sam questions quietly, poking his head into her office. He finds her face down, the room encased in a golden glow from the lamp in the corner. And despite the fact that she's nestled on a stack of paperwork, she looks rather peaceful comparatively, Sam thinks. He's one step from the door, however, when her clear voice rings out behind him.
"I'm not asleep, you can stay." In fact, she'd prefer the company. Being alone has not been conducive to her sanity.
"Have you been here all night?" He turns around, his coffee in hand, and slouches comfortably onto the couch, patting the cushions invitingly.
"I was behind," Addison answers resolutely, shuffling her feet slowly. "I think I need a vacation."
"You and me both," Sam chuckles. The entire practice has decided to go up in flames. Last year it was money, this year it's personal. Dell hates Pete, Pete and Addison hate Violet, Violet hates Charlotte, Charlotte and Cooper are still mad at Addison. It's a never ending circle of headaches and coworkers dodging around in hallway corners. He's happy to be as uninvolved as possible, which still includes secretly kissing his ex-wife's best friend repeatedly and hovering at an alarming rate. And yet, he finds solace in her bag of crazy.
Because she is a silent angry, a sadness that envelopes them both, and it's a refreshing change from the hectic fury that Naomi brings to the table. "Where would you go?" Sam asks, baiting her, diving into a world of make believe before they have to turn it around and fall off the cliff into tension.
"I don't know. Away," Addison answers dismissively. It was more of a thing you say than an actual plan. She hasn't taken a vacation in years, not unless you count the road trip down here and back to Seattle, and after the disappointing set of circumstances that evolved therein, she doesn't count it.
"Yeah," Sam nods. He can get on board with simply being away. "I should go get ready for the day," he announces, patting her knee without thought, and rising. "You should change, not...not that you don't look...it's...Coop may say something stupid."
"He's not really talking to me, remember?" Addison asks plainly, turning toward the sun peeking in under her blinds. Part of her can't believe she was here all night, another part of her expected her to bring a change of clothes yesterday, to at least be prepared.
"He is-he will," Sam assures her.
"I don't even know why I'm here," Addison says softly, eyes still fixated on the light drenched slats of wood. Her tongue lulls like there is something to follow the statement, but there isn't.
"I'm sure you were catching up on your work," Sam replies. They both know that isn't what she's talking about, but he can't respond to the other statement, he's not sure anyone can but her. When she doesn't reply, or move, he decides it's enough. He still has a job to do, he can't become completely immersed in her spiraling depression too.
"Sam?" Addison calls.
"Yeah?"
"I think-I'm going to take the day off."
"Okay, I'll let everyone know." It's been six days since her family left, seven since that night, and he's been seeing her with decreasing frequency, especially around her own house. "I'll stop by later with dinner, if you want."
"Sounds good." She's turned back to the window, looking for signs of life in between the strips.
She has yet to tell him what happened, and he's getting the feeling that she never will.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison stumbles out of the practice, after clearing her day, just in time to miss everyone else arriving. Thankfully, the elevator remains empty the entire descent and she's at home, a bag full of alcohol in her hand, before she can think about how she got there, and the dangerousness that is involved with navigating through L.A. traffic while not using one's brain. She pours a tall glass of red wine and saunters out to the deck, curling up on a chair, the ocean playing angrily in front of her.
When her glass is empty she jumps up, finds lounging clothes, something not as binding, and pours another round before resuming her spot. These are her only plans for the day- killing her liver, and getting drunk enough so that no brain cell will be able to remember the horrid events that proceeded this morning.
The sheer magnitude of what happened is baffling. It's much too much to get her head around. On one hand it doesn't concern her, on the other it's completely life altering. And no one will ever get to know the truth because that's not what Montgomerys do, and in this case she can't even fathom breaking the tradition. She could call Naomi over and blurt it out, but she's not sure she wants a reaction, or her hand held. She's not sure how she feels about the entire thing.
And she should call Archer, see what his take is, but it's not her place.
So she stays quiet, liquor working painfully slow, the bottle by her feet already empty, another secret added to her responsibilities. The mental shelf that holds these tiny boxes is beginning to bend under the burdensome weight, but she'll die before it gets to break and topple out onto the shiny floor, before anyone gets to actually see the pathetic four stings she's hanging by these days.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I got Chinese, I didn't know what you wanted," Sam says, letting himself in through the back gate, finding Addison facing the ocean. He wonders how long she's been there as he drops the food on the table, rifling through the bags for wooden chopsticks and the soy sauce packets. He pours the two fortune cookies into his fist and hesitantly approaches her. He has no idea what to expect, Naomi is so much better with her, but he gets the feeling that she doesn't want Naomi, that she doesn't want anyone. But he's here anyway.
His hand proffers the cookies without thought and she snags the one on the right, crumbling the grainy texture, and pulling the saying free from the debris. "Your happiness will be infectious to those around you," she recites, laughing at the cookie's audacity. She's about as far removed from happy as possible, the wine having done its job splendidly.
"How was your day?" Sam asks lamely, pulling the other deck chair closer to her, and tossing his cookie in her lap, hoping she'll eat something to absorb what she's taken in over the course of the afternoon.
"Good." Addison purses her lips and takes a triangle sliver of cookie to pop in her mouth. It's sweeter than the wine and mixes horribly but she is hungry. "Anything exciting happen? Anyone punch anyone?"
"Close," Sam chuckles, "but everyone stayed in their offices today. It was weird. Nice though, don't get me wrong. Have you eaten today?"
Addison kicks the bottles by her feet as an answer and then joins him as he heads to the table. Coming down the steps, however, she miscalculates and finds herself sprawled over the deck before he has an opportunity to rush over. "Ouch," she laments, checking her palms for damage.
"You're bleeding," Sam points out, helps her get back up and into a chair so he can make sure that the scratch on her knee really is just a scratch. "Stay, I'll be right back," he orders.
He lets himself into her home, grabbing a washcloth from the third drawer, and wets it with running water. Everything looks exactly the same as the last time he saw it, millions of gin and scotch bottles lining her counter, her dining table, the flowers wilting in their vases. He's not convinced she's been back before today, that anyone has. "Addison, your house-"
"Is a disaster," she finishes for him, gasping as he presses the chilly towel against her bleeding skin, drenching the torn black pants. "Cold," she shivers, lacing her fingers together.
"That's what you get for trying to drown your problems," Sam teases, pulling the garment away, now stained with red. It doesn't look too bad, he decides, pushing against the wound once more.
"I was trying to forget," Addison corrects him, frowning when he pushes up the hem of her pants over her knee to get a better look.
"Where's Milo?" Sam asks, trying to distract her.
"Inside probably, he didn't want me today," she sputters, stopping just short of the hysterics that would normally follow, showing the tiniest ounce of restraint. She needs another drink. "Cats are honest, you know that Sam? They come to you when they want something, and they aren't all coy about it. You pet them, or give them food, or play with them, and it's done. Cats...are...honest."
"Eat," Sam says, pushing a white paper carton toward her, breaking her chopsticks perfectly before handing them over. He knows she has a real set inside, but he also knows that she shouldn't be walking. It's going to be a long night.
"I wish I was a cat," Addison says wistfully. "It'd be so much easier."
"Addison, eat," Sam says sternly, turning back to his own food. After a few minutes of her untouched dinner, and him choking on rice, he finally breaks and asks again, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes and...I can't," she swallows conflicted, looking around for her glass. "I need a drink."
"You've had enough."
"S-am," she whines, pouting at the end table inside that holds the last bottle she cracked open.
"Come on Addison, are you going to do this every night?"
"For as long as it takes," she responds, sobering in the windy evening air. She wants the blanket that's ten feet away, but after her embarrassing stumble earlier she's not sure she can get it.
"You can tell me," he encourages. He thinks she'd be better if she could get it off her chest, share the pain. "You can tell me anything."
"I can't." Addison shakes her head, combing her hair behind her ears, and takes her first bite. "It's not my concern," she parrots and he looks convinced enough to drop it. She needs someone to keep trying though and there is no one in her life that she can't push away if she tries hard enough. Hell, she already managed to drive Naomi away twice in the last year. If that can be accomplished than anything can.
She's the victor, and the prize is absolutely as hollow as it sounds.
Sam escapes his dinner companion to pour two glasses of water, even though he badly wants a cocktail, and then returns to the table. "Naomi tell you about Maya?"
"Yeah," Addison nods.
"She's growing up," Sam breathes. "My baby is all grown up, I could swear she's still four."
"Those were the good old days," Addison agrees.
"Yes," he concedes, clinking his water glass to hers in salute, "those were the good old days."
When they had no idea how complicated life was going to get, not harboring the vaguest clue of how unsure they'd be in the future about everything that the past held.
"I thought I'd be a better parent," Sam laughs to himself reflectively, better than Naomi's freak outs anyway.
"I thought I'd be a parent," Addison looks up suddenly, stopping the words in both their throats.
~-~-~-~-~-~
She's tired of getting up in the morning, tired of being the person who keeps bouncing back. For once, she thinks, it'd be nice to do something stupid like not show up for work without calling, or just take off into the night, running from everything. But instead, she nearly hurtles the alarm clock across the room, takes a deep breath, and jumps in Sam's shower. Because, she supposes, at some point in her doused bliss Sam became worried for her safety and trucked her next door to his own bed.
The gratitude that she owes him grows greater by the day.
Coming out of the steam she neatly folds his pajamas and then tosses them in the hamper. She's in his clothes lately more than her own and that in itself should be disconcerting.
"Made breakfast," Sam says, startling her as she makes her get away, wet hair dripping down the gray sweatshirt that she's taken to living in lately.
"Thanks, I should...go. Thank you for last night, it won't happen again. I'm better now."
"It's nice to wake up to someone," Sam tells her delicately. He means it in a strictly platonic way because after that night, he's not allowing himself to think about how warm her lips are or how her hands feel wound around his neck. It's just not a viable option. She's broken and it's inappropriate and would probably shatter the longest standing friendship he has. So no, except he misses her pink lips and nervous fingers on his skin.
"It is," she concurs, unsure what to make of his statement, stuffing her arms into the pocket of her shirt. God, the mess she's created. They kissed once, it was mutual, and then she thought...what the hell, why break the pattern, and went for it. And it ended badly but he's been merciful. And she needs a little mercy out of the one thing she has left.
"I'll see you later," Sam replies as she drifts off into her own mind, stunted with what will surely be a nasty hangover at some point.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I was wrong," Addison opens, pursing her lips in thought. "I was completely and utterly wrong."
"About-"
"About my mother, and my father, and my...entire life. I was wrong."
"She chose Susan," Sheldon ascertains, taking his spot across from her. He thought they were done, but if she still needs an ear then he's more than willing to lend one.
"He loves her," Addison shakes her head in disbelief. That may be the greatest shock of all, or that they married for nothing. Call her crazy, but she thought people did it for love, because they wanted to watch that love grow and change. Maybe she's too much of a romantic, not something she ever thought she'd associate with herself. "She loves him, but she loves Susan, and he loves his...whores."
"Addison-"
In some ways it's like nothing changed, in others everything is completely on its head. "My life was based on...a lie. I don't know what to do with that, what do you with that?" Never mind the fact that the whole damn thing exploding like it did can basically be blamed on her existence. And Archer's, but Addison thinks her mother could have left Archer. He was strong, she was the weak one, the younger one.
She feels like a burden, she feels genuinely sorry for being alive, because that effectively ruined someone's life who she cares about very much. Conversely, she feels like the scapegoat for her mother's inaction and that's infuriating. It's confounding, confusing.
"It's traumatic now," Sheldon jokes, and it goes unnoticed.
"Everything is a lie. Why do people do that?"
"People lie for a great many reasons, Addison-"
"I was wrong," she hums, cutting him off again. "He cheats, but she...it's just so...cruel."
"Perhaps, they've come to an agreement that works for them-"
"But it's...depraved. They talk about flowers and drink their weight in gin every night. That's not...right." And oddly she wants something better for them both, and she wants to beat them senseless. "It's not my concern," she tells herself again, burying her hand in the loose red waves that circle her ear, throwing her head back against the couch.
"Addison, if it hurts you," Sheldon says as she marches back to his door abruptly, "no one gets to tell you it's not your problem. Feel free to stop by whenever you want," he tacks on but she's long gone.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Have you seen Addison?" Naomi asks, walking in past Sam's closed door.
"Morning Naomi," he greets, noting how not awkward it is. "I haven't, not yet today." Breakfast talk excluded, the part where he held her until she was able to fall asleep excluded.
"I haven't seen her much since...The Captain and Bizzy."
"She's probably...with a patient," Sam shrugs. Or hiding in her office, because that's what they do now. "How's Dell?" he asks pointedly, his worker now living with Naomi.
"He's still a little shaken up, Betsey too."
"That's understandable," Sam nods, rifling through paperwork, trying to focus on one thing today other than bouncing up to go check on Addison. She needs space, he knows that, logically. As her friend, he wants to fix everything so she'll laugh with him again over lunch in the kitchen, or slump into his chairs and tell him about how dating sucks. He misses that. "Tell him to take as much time as he needs."
"I'll do that," Naomi smiles. "You hated him-"
"I never hated him," Sam refutes. He doesn't hate. He's a lover, not a fighter. He just wasn't okay with Dell's ambitious pursuit of his woman. "We don't always see eye-to-eye."
"Uh huh," Naomi grins, unconvinced. "I need to get back. Tell Addison to call me if you see her."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I'm not mad at Violet," Addison tells him, as they stroll the sidewalk, taking a long lunch. "But she's convinced I am, and that makes it difficult."
"I think she feels a little bad," Sam concludes. Pete said she was not remorseful after his brief encounter with her, but the skittish nature with which she flutters around the office suggests otherwise. That and her meeting of the wife.
"I feel bad for her," Addison exclaims. Her father, ever the pathetic one, is still an ass. The only thing she hates is that his interest in her was manufactured by someone else, that it had to be suggested that he spend time with her if he wanted to get to know her better.
And now he's gone anyway, best intentions tossed out the window, destroyed by the crash and burn of their visit.
"You could talk to her," Sam replies, taking another drink of their late coffee run. It's not like they have been sleeping particularly well lately anyhow.
"It's him," she says disgustedly, "he has this way...with women. Ugh, I need to stop thinking about them." She tosses her arms in the air in resignation, it's all over, but it's all she can think about. "Pete's angry," she says attempting to divert the conversation.
"Pete's always angry," Sam informs her. Pete's had a lot of shit in his life that he hasn't gotten over yet.
"What was he like...before?" Addison pries, happy to be off her own problems.
"I didn't know him that well before, he was a friend, but he joined the practice after...Anna."
"You should advertise for lonely doctors, we could expand and all be miserable together."
"We aren't miserable," Sam argues, looping his arm around her shoulder and bumping hips momentarily. "We're making a new life."
"It sucks," Addison notes.
"It does."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"You haven't bought anything, you haven't looked at anything, and I've already spent my entire paycheck," Naomi interrupts, waving a bag in front of Addison. "You're the one who wanted retail therapy, and I'm the one spending money."
"Sorry," Addison mutters, taking the purse from her friend and studying its stitching.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"There's nothing to tell," Addison smiles. "This is cute." She tosses it over her shoulder. It's not something she can't live without, but Naomi's right, she hasn't bought a single thing in three hours. It may be a record.
"That's how we're going to do this, eh?" Naomi questions, but receives no answer. Instead Addison makes her way to the counter, leaving her stranded in a sea of colors, styles, and sizes.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I...can't talk to her, you know? She's there, she's still...Naomi, but she's...not."
"Yeah," Sam agrees. She's the same person, but she switched floors, and old Naomi never ever would have abandoned them like that. She's in it for herself lately, and while it's admirable, it's also painful as hell.
"I thought we were getting better," Addison sighs, slowly blowing the air out of her lungs, pushing until it stings. "When did this happen?"
"If I knew that, I'd probably still be married."
"Yeah," Addison says, it's her turn, but it doesn't stop her stomach from bottoming out onto the deck. She takes to the stars trying to burn through the clouds. She's so tired of chasing her tail, of dating married men, of falling in love with the wrong guy. "You know Dell is living there?" Addison asks, she just learned this afternoon, completely left out of the loop.
"His house did explode," Sam says, taking her side because he is still trying to make sense of it.
"I guess." The cloud cover is at a near standstill, dusk quickly falling upon them. She wonders how many times they've done this in the last few months. She wonders when Sam turned into her best friend. "Should we have done something?"
"We're keeping his position open for him, that's enough."
She took care of what Dell's insurance wouldn't cover as well, when Charlotte said she couldn't just write it off. "I hate funerals," Addison reveals, which is what is next on tomorrow's agenda. She's going to a drug addict's funeral, but they're all going, for the support. "It's like they try and make you cry."
"It'll be fine," Sam calms her, taking her swinging hand from where it's barely scraping over the decking. Their fingers curl together instinctively, eyes meeting quickly, before they sink into a mutual silence.
~-~-~-~-~-~
The men, who don't hate each other (Addison thinks they may be on to something), decide to head out to the bar after Heather's service. Naomi has to take care of Dell and Betsey, Charlotte managed to have to work through this, and she and Violet have never done a thing together in their lives. And even though Pete says it's alright for her to join, she heads home instead. She curls up on the couch, forgoing the wine for a box of tissue and Milo in her lap.
It's not about Heather, about how that poor little girl has no mother now, but it's enough to propel Addison into the fit of tears she suspected would be coming all afternoon. She narrowly evaded having to help Naomi before slithering off to her car, and now, dissolved into an undignified position, she thanks herself for making a quick getaway.
She scratches behind Milo's right ear, the spot he likes, and grabs a book off the coffee table. She wonders how long she can keep doing this, how long she can wait until she makes another mistake out of desperation and resounding loneliness.
She's going to topple off of the pedestal soon, and she can't afford for it to end poorly. It too much to keep being resilient, to remain hopeful that one day something good is going to happen again.
It's hard enough to remember the last time something good did happen.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Why are we doing this again?" Addison moans into her martini, scoping out the room.
"We need to get out. We need fun and we need new men," Naomi declares, bringing her drink to her lips. "What about him? He's cute."
Her friend points across the room and Addison can't help but be disappointed. He is damn good looking, but he's probably the last straw that it would take to blow her over, and she doesn't want to risk it. She can't help but think of the other places she would rather be right now, anything sounds better than picking men out of a line up like they're still twenty and have something to offer the world other than baggage and trust issues. "You go," she encourages, taking Naomi's drink in her left hand and slumping onto a bar stool.
"Married," Naomi announces upon her return. "I wish they'd keep their rings on, save us the trouble."
"Where's the fun in that?" Addison teases. It's the married ones that leave you with a broken heart you don't need.
"Where's your fun, get out there," Naomi smiles, pushing Addison's back out onto the main floor.
"I don't need to sew my wild oats, thank you very much. Actually, I think I'm going to head home now."
"Oh come on Addie, I didn't mean it like that," Naomi apologizes as her friend stands. "We can just sit here and stare at all of the prettiness."
"I have an early day tomorrow," she explains, purse already clutched under her arm, car keys swinging in her hand.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Sam?" Addison squeaks, having let herself into his darkened living room. "Sam you home?"
She checks her cell phone to make sure that it really is two in the morning and he is still gone. The betraying disappointment bubbles in her stomach as she heads home alone, her mind spinning on all the other things he must out be doing, the other women he could (and should) be seeing.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Sam keeps missing her, literally. She's on call, or staying the night in an on call room, or he's busy with a patient and before he knows it she's returned to Los Angeles after disappearing for three days (to Seattle Naomi informs him), with none other than Mark Sloan in tow, looking disheveled and sheepish. Addison on the other hand looks all business over a thin sheet of disorder and melancholy.
She says she doesn't want to talk about it, but he learned from Naomi's gossiping that Addison is working on saving Mark's daughter and grandchild. He gives the obligatory joke about Mark being the manwhore that he is, and claps the man's shoulder in congratulations, but he never can find where Addison has scampered off to.
He finds her in a supply closet the next day after an intense and grueling surgery that has Mark jumping for joy in the hallways. He was getting another blanket for Sloan, because she was whining about being cold, and he can't help but think of how annoying that child is, and how thankful that he is that his own daughter isn't that vapid.
"Addison."
"Not now, please not now Sam," Addison sputters between bursts of wiping her own cheeks and simultaneously trying to hide behind the curtain of red hair that has fallen out of its hold behind her head.
It's one of those days where she hates everything and everyone and she'll inevitably screw it up if he stays and tries to comfort her.
"Okay," he nods, and sees himself out of the room, but then slides down the closed door, protecting her from other intruders.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Sam lets himself into her home, after one beer and some serious contemplation spent while guarding her from the outside world. Anyone who can spend an hour and half (known time) bawling in a supply closet shouldn't be spending the night alone, he reasons. So he makes himself comfortable on her couch and waits for the clinking of keys in the lock, but he doesn't expect a male's voice joining hers.
But he should have. Because he's freaking Mark Sloan, a vulture, and she's vulnerable (and willing).
"Hey Sam," Mark smiles widely, updating him on Sloan's status, but he already knows.
"Mark needed somewhere to stay," Addison explains though no one asks, and she pours them all a large glass of wine, as they settle in for an evening recounting hilarious tales of med school and life's follies.
When she laughs about that time in lab, it's the most wonderful thing Sam has seen in a while, and he hates that Mark Sloan is responsible.
"I'm going to turn in," Mark says, yawning, the twinkle in his eye as he looks at Addison making Sam sick to his stomach.
"Addison," Sam says softly as she clears their glasses, letting them rest in the sink after rinsing them out.
"He needed somewhere to stay, what was I going to say? No, stay in an on call room?"
Fuck yes, Sam thinks. Or let the man get a hotel room somewhere nearby, but instead he pulls her into his arms tightly and just stands there.
"Even Mark has a life now," Addison whispers sadly.
"Addison-"
"Everyone moved on and I'm...stuck," she continues, dispelling all of the week's pent up stress onto Sam's shoulder. Mark has a girlfriend still, one he hasn't cheated on, and he has a daughter, and Derek married Meredith and they're happy. And Callie has Arizona and they love each other, even Cristina Yang has managed to pull it together. Everyone is happy. Everyone but her.
She needs to stop going to Seattle every year. It's heartbreaking.
~-~-~-~-~-~
He winds up in her bed that night against his better judgment, but if he's in it, Mark won't be, and that will save everyone a ton of trouble, so it's better than the alternative. He flips onto his back, straightening his rumpled blue shirt, staring at her ceiling. He's been in here before, seen it more than once, but he's never been in her bed.
He's Sam. He doesn't sleep in other women's beds. The only comforting thing, he reckons, is that she isn't settled enough to sleep either, because he now knows what she's like when she's asleep. Her parents are ruining his life like that.
Things used to be clean, simple. Not their tangled in a mess of longing he doesn't want to feel for her because it complicates things exponentially.
"Mark's going to blabber about this," Sam mumbles, slipping onto his side, staring at her gray silk pajamas. He wants to reach out and stroke her back, to see what it would feel like, but he stops himself.
"Mark's a gossip," Addison confirms, turning herself so she can see him, the moon paving light into her room that even the curtains can't block out.
"I can't believe he has a kid-"
"You can't?" Addison giggles. "I'm surprised he only has one-" she stops there and gulps down the nausea. Oh, he'd have more than one, but no one needs to know about that.
"It's weird, how protective he is. I always thought he'd be womanizing into his sixties."
"Me too," Addison frowns. It's why she couldn't trust him, didn't trust herself with him, why they aren't still together.
Sam can't keep his hand from brushing back the red hair that is trying to cover her cheeks. "You want to talk about it?"
"Nope," she shakes her head, catching his hand on the way down, securing it against her chest. She wants to pretend that the Derek versus Mark saga never existed, that she wasn't involved in that debauchery. "Want to talk about what happened with Naomi?" Addison counters bravely. She still has no details about how their marriage ended, why it did, or how their retry ended in Naomi moving floors.
"I married the wrong person," Sam says softly, feeling her heart quicken under his palm, "I love that woman, I will always love her...but I think...I married the wrong person. We suffocate each other. Love...shouldn't be stifling."
"You regret it?" Addison asks him, eyes still on where his hand rests.
"You regret Derek?" Sam questions.
"We're a mess," Addison huffs, a smile gracing her face, this time courtesy of their mutual dysfunction.
"Yes," Sam agrees. His hand falls when she turns over, resting in the curve of her waist and he takes the opportunity to push forward, kissing her until he remembers that they need air. But as soon as he can take a breath in, she's pulling away from his neck and pressing him into her soft pillows.
"What are we doing?" Addison asks in between breathy moans, trying to ignore her body's immediate response to Sam's lingering touches, his sweet kisses.
"I don't know," Sam murmurs, pulling her on top of him, hands snaking under her shirt, exploring her delicate back as she gasps next to his ear.
The sound of the bathroom door down the hall freezes them both, Addison's fingers clutching the neckline of his pajamas, his daring to dip past the waistband of her pants. They need this. He wants to lose control so badly; ever since their first kiss he's been dreaming about this.
"Naomi," Addison exhales, sitting up, straddling him unwittingly. She runs a hand through her own hair, massaging her scalp as Sam pulls his hands away from her hips. "This is bad, right?"
"It does not feel bad," Sam grins, sliding up her side before pulling away again when she looks mortified.
"Nothing feels bad in the desert, Sam," Addison chimes in, still seated on him, mind weaving over how they can possibly get away with this. "Just this once?" she asks hopefully, her legs aching as they split over him. If their damn clothes weren't in the way there wouldn't even be a discussion happening right now, she notes, rolling her hips.
"Once," Sam repeats, already reaching for the buttons on her shirt.
"It won't get weird," Addison stipulates, helping him with her clothes.
"Wait," Sam says, pressing his hand flat against the last button, just below her breastbone.
"Please?" Addison moans, rolling them over so he can be the one trying to overcome the idea of the position they are it. Her left foot automatically winds itself around his right thigh, her hips pressing up into his, back arched painfully. She relaxes when she can feel his lips on her neck, her hands trying to get his shirt off so she can caress the muscles she daydreams about. It's his fault that they go jogging on the beach and he goes topless. She's only a woman, after all. "Stop." Addison whimpers inadvertently when he does as she says. "Mark-"
"What about Mark?" Sam whispers, finally able to get the last button of her shirt open, trying to pull the fabric away without looking too damn desperate.
"I'm not...quiet," Addison groans, straining to sit up cooperatively when he wants her bra unclasped. "He'll hear. He'll know...he'll tell."
"I don't care," Sam decides, brain shut down in place of instinct.
"I...care, I care Sam," Addison says, pushing on his shoulders, shimming out from under him and pulling the sheet over her bare chest. Jesus, the things she does when she falls off the wagon. "Not like this, remember?"
"Right," Sam sighs, trying to think of the most unpleasant things he's ever experienced, because he could overpower her, he could get her to give in again rather quickly. But he's Sam and he's respectful so he backs off, wishing for once he was dominant like Mark. Instead he pulls her shirt out from under one of the pillows and offers it to her. When she's dressed and presumably having a heart attack on the other side of the bed, he scoots over and throws an arm over her waist. "We should figure this out before we keep sleeping in each other's beds."
"Yeah," Addison whines to herself. She could have ended the dry spell, quenched her thirst from here until sun up, but she's trying to mold a new person, trying to find happiness and a quick (or slow, or both) roll through the sheets with Sam won't fix her.
~-~-~-~-~-~
She finds it surprising that he doesn't back off of her the entire night. When she wants to roll over, he scoots a fraction of an inch and directs her head to the spot by his shoulder that she's growing to love. And he kisses her good morning because he, "wanted to see what it would be like."
She pours him coffee, and they take Mark to breakfast, and no one says anything about what happened a few hours before. He joins her, Naomi, and Mark for lunch in the hospital cafeteria and even when their eyes keep meeting over the trays scattering the table, no one notices. She drops Mark and Sloan off at the airport days later and Sam greets her with a strong drink and take out when she returns home.
In some ways they've gone back to normal, but every now and again he'll stare for too long, or she'll blush at his attention, and she knows that they have to discuss it, even if it may ruin everything.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"You seem...giddy," Naomi remarks the following Saturday, as they study new shoes carefully, trying to select only the ones they really "need".
"I...I'm better...shoes," Addison smiles, holding a black pair together, the heels clicking.
The truth is her tedious situation with Sam-making out in each other's offices after hours, and his general company-is helping ease her discomfort with the whole family explosion, with the idea that she is all alone in the world. He's always there when she needs him, and he listens.
She even skipped her informal weekly therapy session with Sheldon yesterday. Things are looking up, even when she gets wound in a bout of depression ever so often. She feels like she can make a come back now, with him by her side. And rather than note how pathetic she is for wanting and needing a man, she takes it in stride, takes each day as its own.
It's all she's got.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"You found a woman," Cooper guesses, sipping a bottle of beer, feet propped up on Sam's coffee table.
"No," Sam shakes his head, knife in hand, as he debones their lunch.
"We won't tell Naomi," Pete chimes in, flicking the television back to the game.
"There's nothing to tell," Sam asserts, carrying his plate of meat outside. He can see Addison out on the beach, kicking up sand and he waves.
He likes that she's satisfied with simply raising her hand and giving a little acknowledgment instead of skipping over and seeing what he's up to. She's perfectly fine with taking her own time when he's busy, she doesn't ask where he goes when he goes or why. But she's there if he wants to spend the evening talking, or go out to grab a bite to eat and share the table with someone.
They're finding refuge from the ongoing Cooper/Charlotte saga, and helping one another avoid Violet as she stamps around after every fight with Pete. They have each other's backs. And she's a pretty fantastic kisser to boot. "Nothing to tell," he mumbles again to himself.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Three days later Addison's pressed against the wall by Sam's front door, his tongue just about to slide into her mouth when she hears Maya scream, "Daddy!"
"Oh my God," Addison gulps when he pulls away, but doesn't step back. "Oh my God, Maya is here!" she yells slapping his shoulder.
"She's not supposed to be here," Sam explains, kissing her cheek perfunctorily. "I'll go find out what's going on," he soothes her, eyes still wide in horror, mouth parted.
"We haven't told Naomi," Addison squeaks.
"It'll be okay," he assures her, as the world comes crashing to a mad halt, momentum overthrowing their temporary elation.
It's all about to go up in flames, and he's not sure they're steady enough to withstand the heat.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Mom's going to bury you when she finds out," Maya shouts at him. "Aunt Addie! Dad! Seriously."
"Maya, what are you doing here?" Sam groans, shutting her bedroom door, so Addison can't hear Maya lose her cool. Regardless of whether or not she approves, Addison shouldn't have to hear.
"Mom was yelling at me about Dink, so I left," she explain matter-of-factly, hands on her hips. "Now you tell me what you were doing with Aunt Addie."
"My personal life is none of your business," Sam parents. He isn't sure what they're doing yet. They just keep kissing and living in this parallel universe where their actions have no consequences. It's been lovely. "Now you get your behind downstairs and call your mother and tell her that you're safe, and that you're sorry. Right now. Move it," he says forcefully, swinging the door open and ushering her out.
"Dad," Maya grins when she's done being a sullen teenager with her mother, "Is Aunt Addie going to be my step-mom?"
"You need to cool your jets," Sam warns. They are nowhere near that.
"I think it'd be cool," Maya shrugs. "She's like rich, and she'd take me shopping. I bet she'd let me wear whatever I want. That is, if Mom doesn't kill both of you first."
"I'll handle your mother," Sam says, pulling his daughter close, kissing the top of her head.
"Or she'll handle you," Maya laughs.
"I need to go apologize to your Aunt Addison," Sam tells her, rising from the couch, and brushing his nervous hands on his jeans. She's probably already worked herself up into a disaster, and after Maya, he's not sure he has the strength the tackle Addison and her worries.
He has no answers. And she'll have questions. She always does.
"You're really alright with this?" Sam asks, sliding the glass door back, headed toward the ocean.
"I love Aunt Addison," Maya replies with the edge of sarcasm that only a teenager can carry. "You should get a chance, just like Dink-"
"Ah-ah-a," Sam stops her. "Don't liken this to your Dinkus."
Maya rolls her eyes as he pokes fun at her boyfriend again. "Dad?"
"Yeah baby?"
She'd stop him from calling her baby, but it's a waste of breath. "You seem happy now."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison!" Sam calls out, searching through her house, not finding her downstairs. He climbs upwards, poking his head into bedrooms, and finally knocks on the bathroom door hesitantly. "Addison?"
"Come in," she mutters, using a bubble covered hand to push back her half wet hair.
"A bath-"
"It calms me down," Addison explains. "That or a drink-"
"You don't need a drink," Sam interrupts. He's never seen anyone with as high of a tolerance as she has. It takes more and it takes longer, and that will eventually grow life-threatening. And he kind of likes her alive. "Maya...-"
"I'm sorry Sam," Addison cuts him off. "I forgot about Maya, I mean I didn't forget about Maya but I wasn't...thinking, and I'm sorry-"
"She's fine with it," Sam says proudly. He's raised a child that can bounce back, he's raised a child who is understanding and patient. He likes to think she gets it from him.
"Really?" Addison asks skeptically. She sits up before realizing that she is indeed immersed in a bubble bath and that may compromise their strict plan of second base only.
"She thinks Naomi is going to kill us," Sam laughs jokingly as Addison's face drops. For some reason he's feeling more confident than she is, then again she stands more to lose. Naomi can't walk away from him forever. They have a child together. So she can yell, and throw things, and stomp around for a few months, but she can't escape him. Addison, however.
"I don't want her to hate me Sam," Addison mourns, pulling her wet hands up to cover her face. She hasn't cried in weeks, but it's going to happen whether she wants it to or not. "We are just...getting back to a good place-"
Everything was finally clicking, and now that's been destroyed. It never lasts for long in her world.
"She won't hate you," Sam assures her, but she raises an eyebrow, and he rethinks. "She won't hate you forever, assuming she has a problem with it."
"You really want to do this?" Addison exhales, giving up on stopping the tears. They're going to take a substantial step forward if they tell her. It won't be all fun in the back of her car, and seemingly platonic lunch dates.
"I do," Sam nods. He wants an opportunity, like his daughter said, they deserve the right to fuck it all up on their own.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"She's freaking out," Maya observes from the back seat of Addison's car, who argued with Sam until she was the one allowed to drive. She needs to focus on the road, be engrossed with something other than the fact that she's about to storm her best friend's house and tell her that she'd like to have her blessing to have a relationship with her ex-husband. Something, Addison thinks, she should be beyond having to do, but it's the right thing.
"She's not...freaking out," Sam argues, facing his daughter and warning her not to continue any further.
"It's going to be fine Aunt Addison," Maya supports. "She'll calm down eventually."
"Not. Helping," Sam tells her sternly.
"How long have you and Dad been having sex?"
Addison spins around, breath caught in her throat, hands dropping from the steering wheel.
"Hey! Whoa," Sam says loudly, turning Addison's chin back toward the windshield, directing her to please not slam the car into the vehicle in front of them. "None of your business Maya-"
"You always tell me to be honest-"
"Don't," Sam stops her. He's positive she's doing this to get under their skin, but he's not amused. Children are nosy, and loud, neither of which this car ride needs.
"Fine," Maya huffs, folding her arms over her chest. She just wanted to know how serious this thing is, how attached she should get.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Upstairs," Sam says authoritatively when they enter Naomi's house. "Now!"
"That child," Naomi moans, flopping down on the couch, coming down from the panic and fear of her only kid running across town when things got rough. "What's Addison doing in the car?" Naomi asks, squinting out at the street. "Why didn't she come in?"
"We need to talk," he says firmly. One of them is going to have to be the referee.
"Maya got upset Sam, that's what teenagers do," Naomi argues, turning back around to see him heading for the door.
"Not about Maya," Sam replies, "And you need to be nice."
"Nice about what?" Naomi asks, receiving silence as her answer. "What's going on Sam?" She watches with morbid curiosity as her ex leads Addison in, his hand rooted on her back, dropping only to tangle with hers as she fidgets with the white bracelet on her arm. "Someone needs to explain."
"Nao-mi-" Addison squirms as the pressure builds. She really wishes Sam would let go of her hand, that he never would have held it all. Their words should have spoken, not their actions.
"Not you," Naomi decides. "Samuel. Kitchen."
"Nae!" Addison yells as he follows behind her diligently.
"You come into my house to announce that your screwing my best friend Sam!" Naomi yells, rapidly losing the little composure she had.
"It's not like that," Sam refutes calmly. He hates confrontation, he wishes he had Addison's hand to squeeze again.
"Then what's it like? Better yet, how long has this been going on behind my back?"
"We haven't," Addison pipes up, joining them. This is her relationship too, she won't be led around like the third party. "Slept together."
"Addison," Sam gripes. That information is definitely on a need-to-know basis, and Naomi has no right to even ask.
"We came here to...ask you..." Addison stops as Naomi's streaming rage becomes frighteningly palpable, afraid she's going to throw the plate in her hand.
"Look," Sam steps in. "Addison and I," he takes a deep breath. "We want to try, and we don't want to do anything behind your back. But we're not asking your permission, we're telling you. We wanted you to know."
"You're together?" Naomi attacks incredulously. How the hell did this happen?
"We are," Sam replies, standing his ground. It may depend upon Naomi's reaction for Addison, but not for him. He's done seeking her approval in life.
"What about Maya?"
"What about Maya?" Sam repeats.
"She...you can't just do this to her-" Naomi sputters, more sure that they can't possibly be doing this to her. Because this is the real deal. Addison's not just some hooker from a bar, or another coworker. They've known her forever, it can't not be serious with them.
"Maya knows, she understands, and if she has any concerns I will be more than happy to address them," Sam says intently.
"Naomi," Addison cries, "Please," she begs. She needs this bit of goodness in her life unspoiled. She needs her best friend on board with it.
"Get out of my house."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"It's early," Cooper whines into his coffee mug, getting slapped on the back of his head by his other half, Charlotte.
"Shut up Coop, we all know what time it is."
"Why am I here?" Pete asks, sitting uncomfortably in Oceanside's conference room.
"Addison said you had to come," Violet reiterates for the tenth time. She doesn't know where Sam is, or why they would have a meeting at six in the morning if the person who called the damn meeting isn't going to bother to show up on time.
"Then why doesn't Naomi have to be-" Cooper throws in and as the clicking of heels approaches the room the fall silent and expectant. "This had better be good."
"What?" Charlotte asks, as Sam and Addison both filter in somberly. "We being sued or something?"
"Addison and I," Sam reaches into his pocket for a hit of his inhaler. "Addison and I," he wheezes.
"Oh for God's sake," Charlotte grumbles.
"Charlotte!" Violet exclaims, motioning to Sam who has turned away and is trying in earnest to simply breathe. "Can't you be a little more sensitive?"
"What? Like you?" Charlotte attacks.
"Ok!" Addison yells, patting Sam's back. "Enough. Sam and I are together."
"Together?" Pete questions, his face displaying the level of flurry the room is bathed in.
"Yes," Addison asserts smoothly, in charge. They told Naomi, they can do this, that is if Sam doesn't keel over and die on her.
"Way to go," Coop laughs, earning another smack and a mild confrontation with the blonde next to him.
"What about Naomi?" Violet asks suddenly. "She's not-"
"She knows," Sam answers. Addison is still tender with the Naomi thing. He's spent the better part of the weekend trying to de-frazzle her. "That's it," Sam issues, dropping the box of pastries on the table that Addison insisted they get to help the ruffled feathers. They exit together, Addison standing her ground alone, not alright with work displays of affection.
"Weirder things have happened," Pete surmises, cracking open the box and selecting a cherry danish before scurrying off to his own floor.
"This place is incestuous," Charlotte remarks, slipping out of the room to leave Cooper and Violet to their gossiping.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"To being free," Sam declares, raising his glass in the air, clinking it with Addison's.
"It wasn't that bad," she smiles, taking a long sip of the wine Sam selected to go with the dinner he was cooking to celebrate their milestone. She's going to resolve another milestone tonight too, and her legs are already antsy with anticipation, her stomach wound into a tight knot. Because they waited so long to do this she's afraid that it will go badly, and it cannot go badly, not after all of the effort they've put in.
She answers the doorbell because Sam is busy outside, checking the vegetables on the bbq. "Naomi," Addison stammers, stepping back, allowing her into a home she has full access to anyway.
"Get Sam," Naomi orders, pacing the living room, trying not to lose her nerve. Pete told her that they made their coming out proclamation this morning.
"Hey Nae," Sam greets, trying to act as normal as possible while she burns a hole in his hardwood floors.
"I..." Naomi begins. "I said I'd be okay with it Sam, but I'm not okay with it."
"Naomi-"
"I didn't expect you to move on...with her-"
"Hello," Addison waves her arms, trying to get someone to notice that she is very much in the room.
"But," Naomi continues, nodding to herself. "I told you to pick...someone smart and funny...to replace me-"
"I'm not replacing you," Addison interjects but Sam places a warm hand on her shoulder stopping her from proceeding.
"Don't you dare hurt her Samuel," Naomi finishes. "Because I will kick your ass, no matter what. I'm always on her side, understand?"
Addison, fearing her presence is still not recognized, rushes forward, embracing her friend. "Thank you."
"You deserve some magic," Naomi laughs, "Just...don't tell me about it...that part."
"Deal," Addison agrees. "Do you- you want to stay for dinner?"
"No," Naomi shakes her head. That's going to be the hard part, hanging out just the three of them, without feeling like an imposition, but she'll work it out. She's working it out. It's better today than it was the day before and so on. "I have plans."
"Call me later," Addison says, walking her friend to the door.
"You'll be busy," Naomi smiles knowingly.
"I'm never too busy for you," Addison replies warmly.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison feels Sam nuzzle her neck, pulling the blanket away again, and sliding his hand over her bare hip. "I'm glad...we waited," he says playfully, stroking her sweat soaked skin.
"I'm glad we don't have to wait anymore," Addison giggles, breathing deeply. It was good. Toe curling, lung shredding goodness. All the worry was for naught. For once, something turned out the way she hoped it would.
"That too," Sam concedes, his lips making their way down her neck again, trying to map out every curve, every new scar he discovers. He hears her shriek when he reaches her collarbone, and he laughs. She definitely is far from quiet.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I was thinking," Sam begins softly, tugging on the edges of her book as they lie in her bed reading, domestic bliss having settled on them two months weeks later. "About taking a long weekend and going up to San Francisco, there's a great little place up there. We could ride the trolleys around, get lost in China Town."
"A vacation," Addison murmurs, pulling back on her book, dropping it onto her chest when he relents.
"Get away from the beach," Sam imparts, setting his magazine on the end table and flipping over to face her. He finds her snuggled up to his chest a few moments later, her book discarded for another time. Without wriggling around too much he gets the lamp turned off, more than ready for sleep after the exhausting day. "What do you think?"
"Susan," Addison says, clearing her throat from its emotional fog, "Susan is my mother's mistress, not my father's."
"What?" Sam asks, tearing away from her, wishing he had left the light on so he could see her better. Her voice implies that there are the beginnings of sparkling tears, but she's curled against him so he can't tell for sure. Her parents left months ago, and she doesn't talk about them ever, so he assumes they haven't called recently.
He's giving her a vacation, Addison reasons, this is what she can give him. "That's...what happened."
"Addison," Sam sighs, trying to pry her fingers off his shirt unsuccessfully.
When she kisses him this time, he lets her drown her sorrow, lets her reopen a wound he's not sure the best doctors could heal. It's all he can offer, an ear, a shoulder, a hug.
And he hopes it will be enough, that they can be enough.
~-~-~-~-~-~