A/N: This has just been sitting around collecting dust so I figured why not...
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This Shameless Moment
Saxon Shore
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She wasn't going to come. Twelve hours ago, after dealing with all of her own nonsense (and literally jumping off a man to answer the phone), she had decided Seattle didn't need her. But Callie called after Mark, Miranda, of all people, was crying, and then Richard told her that he thought she deserved to know, even though she lost that claim longer ago than she'd like to admit.
On the plane, thousands of feet into the cloudy air, she decided she wasn't going to march through the yellow wavering police tape and proclaim her arrival, or tromp through the halls and demand to know where the Chief was resting. She would wait, like a good "family" member until word was passed down from the lips of his real unit.
Forty seconds, three unanswered calls, and nine minutes after arriving at Seattle Grace matters had to be taken into her own hands, but then, waiting around was never her strong suit.
Addison snuck past cautions and warnings, and tiptoed up to the recovery unit. She floated, like a ghost, and the second she saw her ex-husband, tubes that her brain understood were there for good reasons (but her heart begged to differ) lying every direction, and too many beeping monitors for her ears to differentiate between, she knew this wasn't the right thing.
It's not her place to be by his side, she should have called someone, Meredith of all people. And she shouldn't gently brush back the rogue waves on his head and press her lips to his skin. And she definitely shouldn't settle back into one of the hard chairs with his hand fastened to hers, but those things don't much matter since she already took the dive and landed roughly into a patch of rain and swarming thunder.
And for the moment, she allows herself to grieve silently, lamenting over all of the bad things in California, for the turmoil that was happening up here when she left them all so they could be healed and happy. Her (ex-)husband is ashen, clammy, and falsely warm so it doesn't matter that there are rings in the bay or divorce papers forever filed away in a cabinet on the other side of town.
He's hurt. The invincible Derek Shepherd, has fallen.
"Add-ie?" Derek whispers, squinting at the image in front of him.
"You're awake," Addison gulps, using her spare hand to wipe away the embarrassing tears littering her cheeks. She has, estimating, approximately two-to-five minutes before nurses and doctors, and God, his real wife, come rushing back into the room, and she can't waste this with vacuous banter.
"What happened?" Derek asks quietly, fumbling with the bedding and his hospital gown.
"You- you were shot Derek," Addison explains deftly, positive that someone has already had this conversation with him once today. "Yang repaired the damage-"
Derek laughs softly, nearly choking, and Addison waits until the second he remembers, for the split instant that the corners of his mouth fall and his eyes lose their joy. "I-could've- Yang?"
"You're better than new," Addison assures him, squeezing the fingers in her grasp tightly. This is not the time for him to finally realize his own mortality.
"You're here."
"I'm here," Addison affirms, ducking her head, itching to kiss him once more, properly. Unfortunately, she makes contact with his cheek directly before the room is flooded with concerned, distraught nurses and doctors who were left to take care of him.
However fleeting, she's here, and when he glances up mid-exam to where she's been shoved against a wall, she knows that while it may have been a mistake to fly all the way here on a whim, it will never be unappreciated.
