AN: One shot, nothing special. This is just me getting all my muse back. I'd written this almost a year ago, but it gathered dust until I rediscovered it yesterday. It made me feel kind of sad because I couldn't believe I could write something this depressing (which actually has double-meaning, btw) So there. Please tell me I'm getting there. Haha.
-I own nothing.
She was sitting on the ledge of the ferry, letting her feet dangle and ignoring the remarks people threw at her, telling her it was dangerous to be in such a position. Nothing in the world could compare to the myriad of emotions coursing through her, the child in her making its presence known to keep her from going completely insane. After all, a double board-certified neonatal surgeon would have to have her fair share of nerve-wracking moments, although sometimes she'd like to argue that this is more unfair than anything.
"Are you trying to jump overboard?"
She didn't move at the sound of Derek's voice from behind her, his tone hard. He clearly didn't appreciate Addison making a spectacle of herself. He wasn't used to seeing her weak, and he clearly wasn't ready to take responsibility for the who his wife had turned into.
"Addison?"
She shook her head, heaving a sigh before acknowledging him.
"Not overboard," she replied, her voice empty, devoid of any emotion, any indication that she was alive inside, as she stared listlessly into the horizon. "I'm not trying to go anywhere."
He quirked his brow and pondered on the strange reply Addison had given him, but he thought nothing more of it as he walked a few steps away from her. He was distancing himself, not daring to be associated with a woman who looked so lonely, so forlorn, her feet dangling dangerously off the ledge as if she could slip away unnoticed.
But as he stood a few meters away from his wife, he stared at her with slightly inquisitive, slightly indifferent eyes, and noticed the way she seemed to think about nothing and everything at the same time. She might as well have been dead because she looked so empty, but conflicted, and that wasn't something he was ready to deal with.
Addison was the epitome of determination, and as he tilted his head to gaze curiously at her, he had to sigh. He didn't want to care, but a primal, innate part of him needed him to look, albeit forcefully, at the woman who had changed so drastically, probably beyond the point of recognition.
"Do you ever think about dying?" he heard her say, and he was startled out of his thoughts by the melancholy but harmonious sound making its way out of her mouth.
She was still sitting there, letting her eyes move passively over the view of the horizon, her defenses down and ready to be taken, swept away by anything stronger than she was. At that point, nothing was weaker; nothing showed purer lack of resistance than she did.
He didn't respond, but thought of the question as entirely strange given Addison's nature. She wasn't the type to think of stopping, of anything related to the end, because she was the kind of woman who kept on going no matter what. But he supposed she'd changed as much as he had, or he'd changed too magnanimously to notice that she'd always been that way.
In a way, the question scared him. His wife was asking about death, about the possibility of dying. Her own stance being prone to that very fate made him shiver slightly, and he had to remind himself to think straight, without biases.
She turned her head to meet his questioning gaze, noting how his brows were knit together in apparent confusion. "Derek?"
He frowned a little, walking over a few steps towards her and sitting down Indian-style, facing the woman he called his wife.
"I try not to," he whispered, trying to read her thoughts, her eyes, her expression, anything that he had once been able to read effortlessly.
She nodded, turning her gaze back to the horizon, letting her arms rest on the railing, and her chin rest on her entwined fingers. She looked like a child, waiting to be told to get up for time-out is over. And in a way, she was like a child waiting for life to give her a break.
"Even after a patient dies?" she continued, her voice small.
"Not a lot," he admitted, his voice catching slightly in his throat. For the first time in a while, he wasn't indifferent to her suffering, and he saw right through her as she fought off the demons plaguing her head.
He had been turned into a machine, dehumanized by his defenses considering his line of work. He never intended for his mechanisms to have such far-reaching effects, for it made him overlook his wife's distress, her anguish, her grief.
"I think about it a lot," she answered, finally admitting it. "Not before. I used to avoid thinking about it then. But now... It's an idea I never thought I'd ever entertain."
Her tone was factual, like she was lecturing a class about the human anatomy.
He caught on well, because he was still her husband and he was still attune to her emotions. Eleven years would do that to a couple, and he felt his heart beat a little faster than usual at Addison's train of thought. What scared him most was that she didn't just think about it now, but that she had been thinking about it countless times in the past.
"You're not thinking about death, you're thinking about dying, aren't you?" There was fear laced with anxiousness in his voice, however subtle it was. There was also subtle accusation, and incredulity, as if he couldn't breathe at the thought of Addison trying to hurt herself. But she didn't catch on. She didn't notice how he was closer to her now than he ever was since she arrived in Seattle, both physically and emotionally.
Addison shrugged, almost indifferently. "Sometimes."
It was a lie, however, and she knew it, in the deepest abysses of her heart. She very often wondered what it would feel like to just let go, to jump off a building and freefall, to cut herself and bleed unceasingly, to close her eyes and never see sunshine again. She supposed, then, it would feel like freedom, like letting go of a heavy burden and being able to skip unashamedly under the moonlight. It would feel like vindication, like the end of a battle, like liberty.
It was a most welcome thought at times she was too inebriated to think clearly, but a most horrid one whenever she felt the urge to voice it out. Letting go meant quitting, and it wasn't an option.
He nodded, needing to pull his gaze away from the woman he knew wholeheartedly, and didn't just the same. He would not stand for the intense loneliness radiating from the once vibrant and spunky woman, knowing he had played an upper hand in her change. His nod, a sense of finality, served to calm his thoughts now running slightly wild. If there was any reason for him to be as damned as the devil, it would be to let this moment slip away without letting her feel like she was worth it, like there's something worth living for still.
"You scare me, Addison," he whispered softly, regret slowly filling his entire body as he ached to go back to that time and place where everything was blissful between the two of them.
She chuckled dryly. "I hardly believe that."
Turning her body to face his, she let her hands slip to her lap and gazed at the profile of the side of his face.
"I'm afraid I'm slipping away, Derek," she said seriously, the mere sentence taking so much of her pride and forcing her to accept that she needed him; that a Forbes-Montgomery unacceptably depended on a man to survive. It wasn't something she was proud of, but it was human instinct to grab a hold on any form of life support.
"I won't let you," he answered firmly, needing her to believe he wouldn't let anything as grave as self-harm happen to her. Acknowledging that his wife was fragile was an almost incredulous thought, but here she was, painting him a clear picture and offering herself to him on a silver platter. It unnerved him.
A small, sad smile graced her dry lips, and she returned her gaze back to the water. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do. Because she was Addison, and she cheated on him, and she deserved this all—the loneliness, and pain, and the minute crumbs of attention she got from her own husband.
Excuse the obvious melancholic tone of the story. I'm trying to find awesomeness. :) R&R por favor?