Post 9x24 from a third-party's POV

Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy

ONE-SHOT

She stares at the framed black and white photo of her and her bestfriend hanging on her living room.

She blinks, unconsciously circling the mouth of her wine glass with her fingers. The framed picture itself was a gift from her. Taken about seven years ago, it has served as a constant reminder of her previous life; of a time in her life when things were a little less complicated than they are now. Or not. Whatever.

She downs her glass of wine, trying to give herself a minute to collect her thoughts.

She blinks.

She sighs. She refills her glass and continues drinking. A silent calm should spread through her body because she's by herself and because, yeah, alcohol normally does it for her. For a second, it works. She manages to avoid the trepidation warring her mind since she got that phone call.

It works.

Until she hears her voice again. Her bestfriend's broken sobs echoes in her head once again and all she wants to do is fly to Seattle and push that perky woman in front of moving traffic. Only, she thinks it might not be enough. She's worried she may go out there and still wrap her hands around her hypocritical fucking neck. With shaking hands, she brusquely grabs the bottle of wine and unceremoniously drinks directly from it.

The thing is— she's a little bitter. Okay, scratch that. She is bitter. And if she's being completely honest, she has been for a while now.

Sure, her reputation precedes her. She is a world-renowned scholar in failed relationships. And yeah, she may be a little shallow and fickle, but for the past couple of years now, she managed to get her shit together. She's in a much better place in her life. She may be single, but she's happy and content. Looking back, she knows in her heart that moving here was right, not just for her, but more so for her.

She lets out a deep breath, her mind once again on her bestfriend. Just the thought of her makes the gynecologist smile. It's familiar and beautiful, thinking of her that is. It's beautiful and it hurts painfully so. She thinks back to that day she confronted the orthopedic doctor about Erica Hahn; baiting her with her nonchalant, 'Are you speaking in the vagina monologues now' and 'I'm all for it! I think it's fantastic' lines. She remembers that night at Joe's, when she discretely questioned Hahn about her bestfriend. She recalls how she felt a tiny bit of hatred for the cardiologist when she admitted her feelings. Oh how she secretly despised Hahn that time. But deep down she knew that that anger wasn't completely directed to the older woman. She was angry at herself for not having that same courage. It was an uncharted territory for Hahn but she faced her fears and went for her. She hated herself more for it because come to think of it, she actually pushed the two together, didn't she?

And since she's being relatively frank here, she will admit now that she was jealous. And bitter.

So when she learned about how the 'Wicked Witch' (she knows there's a reason why she had always liked Cristina Yang) disappeared without a trace, she remembers how she did an internal happy dance before chastising herself for being such a bad friend. She shouldn't have felt so relieved, should she? But she was, and she berated herself for it. It was in that moment that she recognized that she was indeed in trouble. For so long, she never acknowledged those feelings. If you don't talk about it, it's not real, she thought to herself. Besides, she wasn't even sure about her feelings for her bestfriend then. She never made sound judgement about love before, so she thought that surely she had just mistaken her 'bestfriend-ly feelings' to something else because she was lonely that time. Their friendship had been legendary. They clicked (and it wasn't just because they were both men crazy and neither was it because of their million-dollar trust funds). It was the only relationship that she had been too careful not to mess up. It was the one relationship that she worked hard to keep. Besides, who would believe her? Certainly no one. Definitely not her. It would be a complete train wreck waiting to happen and the whole hospital will have front row seats to watch it all unfold.

And that's something that she will not subject her bestfriend to. No, not after everything she went through with.

So yes, she thought it was only logical that she kept those feelings to herself because she didn't want to be that woman who fucks up everything she's ever worked for because she doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut. She kept a safe distance from her and Los Angeles proved to be a brilliant distraction. For a while, she didn't have to deal with the confusing feelings and all she had to do was be her awesome self. She had a couple of wonderful, loving relationships - a far cry from all the messy ones she has been so accustomed to. Yet the feelings were somewhat still there, no matter how hard she tried to suppress them.

It dawned on her that she never really had gotten over it when she chose not to go to her bestfriend's wedding.

She lets out a dry chuckle at the words. Bestfriend's wedding.

My Bestfriend's Wedding.

What a fucking cliche.

She didn't go. She wanted to be happy for her bestfriend. God knows her bestfriend deserved it. And she tried really hard to. But she couldn't find it in her to be ecstatic. She couldn't be all Julia Roberts-like and sit through the wedding with resigned acceptance and silent what if's. No, it wasn't Arizona. It was never about her. She had met the perky PEDs surgeon a few times and she liked her. She was nice and yeah, kind. But they never really clicked. For obvious reasons now. She knew then that Arizona knew. It was a thought that became a fact when Arizona playfully, albeit firmly, confronted her. The PEDs surgeon told her she can't compete with their history and special connection. She knew that Arizona had watched them closely whenever she was with her bestfriend during her visits to Seattle. Of course, she did what she did best. She laughed it off with an eye roll and a witty comment about her loving the joystick. If Arizona didn't believe her, she'll never know. The woman herself is a master of disguise.

But still, it killed her when Callie didn't call to vent her anger and frustration when she was MIA during the wedding.

She waited for the call and when it never came, she cried herself to sleep that night.

It's been an hour since the phone call.

She counts the seconds, and the minutes and she realizes that the time that passes doesn't take away the buzzing in her brain and that ache that tremors her body because it's Callie.

It's Callie.

It's Callie and no matter what she does, she can't forget that damn voice.

Whimpering, she staggers to her bathroom, wanting - no, needing - to feel something other than pain. Still fully clothed, she turns the shower knob and allows the cold water to permeate her trembling core.

She's mad. And she's so elated, and she's not sure if she should climb her rooftop with happiness or cry herself to sleep.

She doesn't love her. Not anymore.

Right?

No. Because if she's being honest with herself, she knows that she will always love her. She will always be in love with her Callie. She doesn't want to love her anymore. She doesn't want to feel this again. And it kills her. She doesn't know if she can handle the emotional turmoil again. She has fought with these feelings for so long and she succeeded. She won. Maybe.

But she's finally okay and she's right where she should be, and she can't fight another battle but...

It's her.

It's Callie.

"Fuck." She punches the shower wall lightly, willing the feelings to go away. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

It's just not fair.

She, Addison freaking Montgomery, worked so hard to get to where she is now. She worked hard to get over that part of her life. She did so well.

She moved on from the pain and the hurt. It's unfair that she already lost once and that she succeeded once and she stopped loving her - and now this?

She hates herself because everything she has ever worked for just crumbled with that one broken whimper of her name. She wants to hate Callie. How dare she shake everything? How dare she call her after after all this time with that broken voice? How dare she make her question everything she has made herself believe all these years?

"Fuck you Callie." She shakes as she plants her face on her pillow.

She hasn't gotten enough time to vent out her frustrations when her phone rings again. She tenses, not sure if she should answer it again. Her throat feels clammy, her hands trembling. But it's her. It's her and when it comes to Callie, Addison will forever be that moon-eyed, adoring friend.

"Hey sweetie!" She mumbles with fake cheerfulness. "Yeah. Of course, I'll be there. Uh-uh. I've already booked my flight. Hmm. Yeah, I should be there before lunch. You're fine. You'll be fine, honey. I promise." She stops to listen to Callie trying to talk without breaking down again. "Just hang on, sweetheart. I'll be there. I'll see you real soon. I - I love you, Callie. Take care."

An ex-addict who's been sober for years about to slip back to her old ways.

That's exactly how she sees herself right now.