A/N: On a completely unrelated note, it seems that when midterms and finals roll around I actually write more. Is it any wonder I'm such a crappy student? (If anyone has briefed the major Supreme Court cases of the last few hundred years for fun, let me know, I'll buy them off of you and save myself the trouble). Anyway, my thanks to Hannah for the encouragement, reading and title of this thing, which belongs to Feist. Enjoy-
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The Limit To Your Love
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He watches a small bunch of children burst free from their classrooms. An intimidating blur of blue coats, black shiny shoes and hundreds of sizes of backpacks whizzes by him while his heart tries to seize in his chest. He takes another deep breath and relaxes against the wall that holds mediocre paintings from the tiny hands of many. Soon it will be his turn.
Isadora Emile Montgomery-Sloan is not nearly the handful the name implies that she is. His recollections remind him of exactly what happened last time he had to do this. There were quiet tears, phone calls to Addison (who later yelled at him for not handling the situation and pulling her out of the very important surgery that was already ensuring she would be too late to pick up her daughter), and an incredibly silent, uncomfortable ride back to his messy apartment. He's hoping, as a kid that reaches about mid-thigh runs directly into him, that it doesn't have to be that way again. Sometimes he wishes she were more like the other children he's met. Screaming, obnoxious (though she can be in her own peaceful right), rambunctious and carefree. Then again, for all he knows she could be exactly like every other uniform wearing child storming the halls right now.
He's never really been around to find out much one way or another. His opinions are based on a handful of encounters when she was too young to know who he was and whatever Addison will give him when he pitifully tries to ask over a rushed lunch in the cafeteria. He wants to know her, always has, he's just not ready yet and they both know it.
Five minutes later he realizes he's not going to be lucky enough to get away unscathed this time. Parents - or from what he can tell by the interior of this place – nannies all stare him down trying to remember if he's supposed to be there or if their plentiful money is being compromised by an odd stranger. One by one the all day kindergarten tots trickle out of the room on his right, smiling and squealing over their art projects, and then there is just him. Still pressed against the wall, his fingernails carving into his thighs through the material of his jeans' pockets, jaw damn near shaking in anticipation. A young woman, who he would definitely hit on if it was appropriate (and it's taken the last few years to realize that this is not the time and it never will be with Is around), leads the flame haired four year old to the hall and then gently bends over to eye level whispering something Mark can't hear.
"Hi." The woman stands again. "I'm Ms. Hutchinson, the kids call me Ms. H." She laughs at herself briefly for fumbling in front of such a good looking man. "You are Isadora's father?"
He nods numbly, knowing the small person next to him is deliberately staring at the glowing, polished floor and trying not to scream out for her mommy. A feeling that he is also undoubtedly sharing.
"Dr. Montgomery called earlier and said you would be picking her up but...she doesn't seem to recognize you...and you seem like a very nice man-"
"Mark. Mark Sloan. Dr. Sloan," he mutters softly and then redirects his attention, trying to escape this without the police or another phone call to Addison. "Do you remember me? We watched the baseball game and had pizza and then Mommy came and got you."
She bites her lip nervously, clearly a trait passed down from her mother, and grins rather weakly.
"Mommy is at work helping babies but she will come get you later," he frowns when she still refuses to look at him. "We can have pizza again." Her eyes don't shoot up but she nods, her wavy hair bouncing along her emblemed navy blue sweater. Ms. H hands him her pale lavender backpack, surprisingly label-less and adorned with ponies and gives him a reassuring smile (after checking his driver's license and hospital identification, all of which has Mark wondering how much money Addison is shelling out for this place).
"Ready?" He swallows nervously when she begins to lead them out of the pricey private school toward the sidewalk where her mother always parks.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison holds her palm out for the next instrument and waits impatiently as the slowest nurse in the world responds. She shakes her head in frustration and then calls out to her intern so that he can better learn how to hold a damn retractor because she's sick of having to do everything for his pansy ass.
It's been a long day.
A long day filled with unscheduled babies and screaming mothers and with any luck probably a lawsuit looming overhead. Not that it matters. Not that she hasn't been sued before. No, what really bugs her is that the god damn Chief of Surgery specially requested that she stay later to preform a routine procedure on a normal person who doesn't seem to care if she has a child waiting for her somewhere uptown.
It's happened before and it will happen again but regardless of how many times Mark is with her child, their daughter, alone she just can't get comfortable with the idea. And she hates the way he interacts with Isadora, like she is an adult or worse a mute dwarf.
She wanted a father for her child. She wanted a husband. She wanted a family. What she got was Mark. To say it's been a displeasing set of circumstances would be such a gross understatement that she'd nearly be offended.
~-~-~-~-~-~
He doesn't hold her hand when the reach the crosswalk. There's something in the back of his head saying that maybe he should because everyone else seems to be doing it but he can't wrap his mind around voluntarily reaching out and grabbing her. They hug sometimes, when Addison forces Is to see him, and it's as hollow and painful as any embrace he ever shared with her mother all those years ago.
She is merely an extension of coldness. A reminder of all the failure and lingering feelings. The very sentiments that Addison demand no longer exist when she found out she was pregnant; the relationship that stopped immediately but has yet to continue in its momentum and completely topple over. In some ways he despises her mere existence. Without her he maybe could've lived the dream for just a few days longer; had a few more days to cherish what time he had left with Addison before she came to her senses.
He's a good five feet further, cursing the universe for punishing him with this, when he hears, "Hey man! You! Tall guy! Hey, your kid is on the ground back here asshole!"
Before he can answer with I don't have a kid jackass, he snaps to and remembers exactly where he is. He finds her sitting on the ground, clutching her knee, rocking back and forth, tears escaping down her red, cold tinged cheeks. "Lemme see." He tries to lift her hand up but she screams that it hurts and she wants her mommy, so he gives up and scoops her off the ground hoping that she won't care because of the pain.
Convinced that the asphalt couldn't have fucked her up too badly he stays at a medium fast pace and reaches his sports car (that Addison hates/secretly loves, but deems all wrong for her child) after a short while. He swings the passenger side door open and props her up against the leather seat, not caring that people will start bitching sooner or later about him taking up space like an idiot. "Ok, now let me see."
She peels her hand upward, causing the torn skin to shift, and bringing on a whole new slew of tears. "It hurts!"
"So you've said." He grabs a hold of the white tights and yanks until they rip more and he can see her entire knee. He's definitely seen worse but he leaves her and pops the trunk to grab his first aid kit anyway. He cleans the wound as she sniffles and checks for debris while she wipes her own tears away. Deciding that it's as good as it's gonna get and not in need of any major work he simply swipes a band-aid out and hastily covers the drying blood.
"You ruined my tights," she says softly as he closes the lid of the box and stands.
"No, you fell and ruined them," he corrects, immediately regretting it when her eyes well again.
"I didn't mean to!"
Confused Mark watches her grow distraught and then states the obvious, "It's okay. Not a big deal. I bet you even have more at home, right?"
"Yeah," she admits and then tucks her legs into the vehicle, careful to not bend her injured knee, still afraid that her mommy may be mad at her. She pulls her hands back and waits for him to buckle her in because there is no booster seat in this car and she doesn't know where her mother is and why she isn't here to do this herself. She always seems to be confused when this guy is around.
Mark sighs when she scoots in all the way and then gently closes the door, fearing that this evening is going to get so much worse.
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Addison looks to her left and then her right, realizing that there is no one else in the room that can properly close the patient when she is done because of course that's how her day is going and if she left now Hansen would pitch a holy fit complete with the backlash of numerous on call shifts and a few grueling work weeks. She does not need that. She has a schedule, a routine that both her and her daughter are used to. They depend on it. It's their constant.
Her pager trills a few feet away and a sudden glare causes the intern to scuttle away and check. "It just says 9113148."
"Oh, come on," Addison groans and backs away from the table. As she steps she can feel her feet light up and she damns Mark to the fiery pits of hell for breaking her concentration. "You," she points at the young man holding her pager. "Come dial for me." She sure as hell isn't scrubbing out and in again for this, whatever it is.
The phone being held to her head, in the corner of the room, is awkward and misplaced so she can barely hear but she figures it's enough. "She better be coming into the ER downstairs Mark-"
"She fell."
"Ok. Is it...bad?" Addison's heart begins pumping.
"No, no. She's just upset and I thought maybe talking to you would help."
"I'm in the middle of a surgery Mark. This is why I never ask you do anything. You can't just handle one thing with your daughter, your daughter Mark! You are ridiculous."
"Mommy?"
"Oh," Addison squeaks. "Hi baby." She drops her voice and turns her back to her colleagues. The intern wouldn't dare screw with her. He knows better.
"I fell."
"I heard. You are okay though," Addison tells her, encouraging the truth to be confessed.
"It stings."
"That happens sometimes sweetie, you know that," Addison says. "We all fall down but right now Mommy is working. I have to go, okay?"
"I want you here."
Addison can hear the tears and her heart clenches instantly. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you."
"No!"
"Isadora I am hanging up now and I will see you in a few hours. Bye."
Addison plows back to the operating table, convinced that Mark is now on the receiving end of one cell phone being thrown on the ground and a very real meltdown, and certain that she just died a little on the inside. Her child shouldn't hate being with her father and Addison knows she's party responsible for it being that way, no matter how much she hates it. She tosses everything into the back of her thoughts, reaches for a ten blade and becomes determined to better her best time on this necessary procedure.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Though obviously curious, as she stares around at the lights and the rush hour foot traffic, Isadora doesn't ask where they are going. But she does reach for his hand, not wanting to repeat her mistake from earlier. Mark feels his stomach jump when skin touches skin and for as much as he is always spouting off about hating kids and how loud they are, he can't help himself. He drags her, briefly considering putting her on his shoulders about two blocks back, to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall pizzeria.
He orders and fishes his wallet out with one hand, determined not to let go for fear that she won't do it again. "Hungry?"
She nods eagerly and then follows him around to a dirty table in the back. She unbuttons her own coat and peels it off, letting it fall to a heap beneath her feet. He doesn't tell her to pick it up, because suddenly he has no idea what to say. Facing her, two feet out of eye level, both of their arms resting on the table. He can't speak to his own kid so instead he clears his throat and unwraps a straw for his soda.
She mimics his motions, nearly toppling out of her chair in a quest to get the perfect straw from the container.
Mark falls to the old standby, drawing on the few conversations he ever had with his own parents. "What did you learn in school today?" She shrugs, something he always used to do, because he knew they didn't care one way or another about what he said. "You make anything cool? Beat up any kids? Steal someone's lunch?"
"No," she replies softly and well below his hearing level among the thriving hoard of patrons.
Then they wait it out, entering a bizarre staring contest, both too nervous and scared to do much else but fiddle with salt shakers and trace patterns in spilled crumbs over the sticky tabletop.
"Cute kid," A woman tells him, after what feels like an eternity, but what his watch deems to only be ten minutes.
"Thanks," Mark nods.
"You and your wife must be very happy." She grins at him, her wavy blonde hair shimmering in the last bit of daylight left.
He understands that he should say thank you and move on but instead he succumbs to his other brain and returns the smile. "Not married."
"Oh...well that's a shame."
She lingers, he notices, just long enough. Clearly, she's a pro. "You want to join us?"
"Oh, no...I couldn't. You're having dinner with your-"
"We don't mind," he cuts her off. "Isadora do you mind if the nice lady joins us for dinner?"
"No." She looks the woman up and down. Just another person to add to her circus-like afternoon.
"That's a pretty name," the woman tells her genuinely.
"Thank you," she whispers quietly but blatantly intrigued.
Luck would have it, for Mark anyway, that this random stranger was better with his kid than he was but he gives up, brushes it off, makes a few sly remarks and enjoys the rest of his meal as Andrea gets Is to open up about what she did at school. Evidently, she just doesn't like talking to her father. Another thing that both she and Addison share.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Dr. Montgomery, I have a 32 year-old car crash victim coming into the-"
"I can't," Addison growls at her long time friend. "You know I can't."
"Hansen said you were on call. That Mark had Isadora for the night."
"I'm not on call and Mark does have her which is why I need to get out of here." She twists her key into her office door, debating on whether or not to just wear dirty scrubs home.
"I'm sure they're fine," the woman tells her mentor, stammering a little when she becomes the target of a stern glare. "You know, I'll just ask Winters, he never goes home anyway. I'm sure he's wandering the halls somewhere."
"Thank you." Addison then promptly clicks the door closed and decides that street clothes would be better for the cool winter evening.
It shouldn't be like this. Any of it. And sometimes, like tonight, exhausted, with the wind ripping through her thick wool coat in the massive parking lot, she acknowledges that it is all her own doing. She drove him away, drove herself to a hotel and checked in, putting down enough money so that he couldn't find her. He offered, he wanted to be there, what with the stupid calendar and the onesie but she just couldn't. It was bad timing. That's what she said and from there on out it's been her and her baby.
When the hospital begins to be too much and when the stress begins to pile on her shoulders heavily she feels guilt. Guilt, for having made her daughter into something a four year-old should never have to be. For placing that much importance on her, for taking away her childhood, for forcing her to be away from a father who may suck, but given the right instruction and training would probably be okay enough to watch her one day a week. Guilt, for telling Mark that he wasn't allowed to be a part of their lives, for pushing him away when all he wanted to do was comfort her, for ruining him and unwittingly breaking his heart all over again.
She recounts the tale, pinches her eyes shut as she slithers into the driver's seat, and reminds herself that it was all for a reason. That it may be hard and not exactly what she pictured but it works. This is all she has.
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It was most definitely not his best idea but Is seems to be getting along moderately well and he's convinced he's at least getting to third base by the time she goes home. They all finished their slices, Mark asking her to come back and watch a movie with them, and his daughter shrugging once again when he asked if she had any feelings on the subject.
Now, they are here, Isadora pouring over the brightly colored pages of a hardback book that was in her backpack, rubbing her eyes sleepily. When Andrea offered to read it she shook her head no and said that Mommy was the only one that was allowed to because this was a big girl book and they were learning new words and she didn't know how to do it right. So Mark did what he did best and put on a movie, not realizing how inappropriate it was for a small child and curled up under a blanket on the couch ten feet away from the redhead.
Halfway in, he can feel Andrea's hand creeping up his thigh and this woman has got to be some kind of freak for coming home with him and his kid anyway so he lets it slide for awhile before standing and asking if anyone wants dessert. Isadora asks what time it is and informs him it is too late for her, which saves him from having to announce that his version of dessert would probably have been stale cheddar crackers or cheap rum.
"When is Mommy coming?"
"I don't know," Mark sighs and rolls his eyes. Every ten minutes for the last hour it's been the same question.
"Can you call her?" Isadora asks worriedly. She doesn't really know where she is and it's dark and there's this guy who is supposed to be like everyone else's daddy but isn't and his tall friend that she doesn't like anymore.
"No, she doesn't like when we do that. She has to save babies and mommies. She needs to not be interrupted."
"Can I call her?" she asks four minutes later.
"How about you can pick a movie?" Mark resorts to pointing at his collection and apologizing to Andrea for having to stop theirs in the middle.
"Do you have Curious George?" She ambles over to the leaning rack, trying to discern if she knows any of the fancy covers.
"No."
"This one." She approaches Mark apprehensively, staring away from the scary lady.
"Ok." He's pretty sure that Addison would throw something at his head if she found out about this but really, it's not like she gave him a lot to work with. She never does.
She takes more than she ever gives, refuses more than she acknowledges, and uses more than she should be allowed. But for better, for worse, no matter the woman on his side, he would dump everything and go running back. She made him want to be a better person and he's never had that before.
He watches his daughter scurry back up into the chair and hug her sacred book close to her chest. He sees nothing about himself in her. Her smile isn't familiar and her face is something new to study. She doesn't possess any of his habits or quirks and though her genetic material is half his he just can't see it.
There are no traces of him. It's like he was never really there at all, like he's watching someone else's kid – like some idiot was dumb enough to leave him with a young child unsupervised. On second thought, someone else's kid would be easier than this.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison dries her tears and dives into the closest parking spot available to Mark's apartment building. She tells herself that it's just been a long day and that tomorrow when they wake up to do it all over again things will be better. She has her own key, never having given it back, Mark never brave enough to ask and lets herself into the elevator.
She doesn't knock. Maybe that's a mistake but she misses her daughter and could use a serious hug, even if has to come from someone who can be lifted off the ground with ease. "Mark? You awake?"
A flash of platinum bounces off the couch and wraps herself in a blanket and frankly Addison can't figure out why she should've been expecting anything different from today.
"You said you weren't married!" she shrieks.
"Oh," Addison snorts. "He's not. I'm...you know what...Mark can I talk to you in private?"
"Sure." He'd almost look embarrassed but he sees that Andrea is doing a good enough job for them both by trying to put her clothes back on under the blanket. "I'll be right back."
"I'm going to go," she announces and he groans and follows Addison down the hall. He shuts the door for the sake of it and leans against the wall for support.
"What- I can't...why would you-where is Isadora?"
"She's asleep, in my room. I put her to bed Addison. Christ you think I'd-"
"Well what am I supposed to think?" she challenges and her hands find her hips easily. "I should've just called Savvy, I knew better. Damn it. I knew better."
"I don't know." Mark mumbles half-heartedly answering the question. Deep down he knew it was wrong but maybe, in another part of the scary place he doesn't talk about he was hoping she'd be jealous.
"Do you even think?" she shouts. "All you had to do was watch her for a few hours! I don't ask you for anything Mark, anything! Ever!"
"I know!" he shouts back angrily. "You don't want a thing from me, I know that, don't think I don't fucking know that. You've made yourself perfectly clear on what I can do for you."
She steps forward and for half a second he's convinced he has slap coming but instead she pushes him aside and reaches for the door handle. Mark grabs her waist and drives her backwards. "Addison, let me explain."
"Explain what? You think I don't know the finer points of a Mark Sloan conquest? What do you think got us here in the first place?" She falls back further in the dim room, city light providing only a path with which to see his features.
"That was different-"
"Oh, was it-"
"You were not a game!" Mark yells over her voice. "That was not..." his voice trails off, dropping in loudness, softening in tone. "I don't want to do this again. You made your choice and mine."
"I did not take anything-"
"Mommy? Mommy!"
"Move," Addison orders and waits for him to step back. She tears the door open, not noticing when it hits his lingering leg. "In here."
"Mommy, why is it so loud?" Isadora brushes at her eyes again and waits to be held safely in the arms she has been missing all afternoon.
"Don't worry about it sweetie. We're going home now, okay? You can sleep in your own bed with Mr. Bear." Addison relishes in the warmth as her daughter tucks her head into the small spot between her neck and shoulder. "Goodnight Mark...thanks for all your...help."
He rushes forward, hell bent on this not being over. "Addison it's late. Why don't you two just take my bed and I'll sleep on the couch or something?" Jesus, he just wants to hold her right now. Hurting her never came easy to him and he doesn't take her watery eyes lightly.
He wants to be a part of their family more than anything in the world. He wants in the circle and it can't happen if she leaves. He can't even pretend that he got kicked out of his and Addison's bed by their daughter, he can't imagine that he's been banished to the couch after forgetting to take out the trash. It will all vanish when the elevator rumbles to life.
"Thanks but no thanks. Isadora tell Daddy goodnight please so we can go."
He's positive that his heart is going to jump into his throat. It kills him every time she says that and considering the frequency with which it doesn't leave her mouth, it's likely to be leaving him dead for a long time to come. Isadora, on the other hand, has never called him Daddy. By his count she's never called him by any name. Now all he gets is a wave and, "'night."
"Addison, no. You aren't leaving like this in the middle of the night. You can't-" He flies past them to the door and barricades it.
"I'm not going to argue with you. Please move." Her tempo is even, her words unhurried as her daughter slips back to sleep in her embrace.
"Please stay." He hasn't been this desperate since the last time. It's not even a choice anymore. It's pathetic and unbecoming and he can never stop himself.
"Mark, I won't do this in front of her. Move and we'll talk about it tomorrow after we've both gotten some sleep." She taps her black flat into the ground impatiently.
"You always say that! We never talk!" He watches his daughter awaken with a jolt but he's too far gone now. "We never talked about anything! You think I wanted this! You think I asked to be a dead beat dad who never sees his kid? You did that. You stole her away from me without-"
"Stop it," Addison warns, running a few fingers through Isadora's silky hair.
"I never had a chance! You just...used me as a sperm donor when your husband wouldn't bother-"
"Shut up."
From what he can judge the youngest in the room is about four seconds away from crying but it doesn't matter anymore. "No wonder Derek always chose to stay at the hospital, dealing with you is more-"
"I asked you nicely and I'm going to disregard the last few minutes as you being an idiot who just got shut down on his couch but you have no right to do this in front of her. I'm done," she seethes, words she's been waiting to scream for years. "No more. This? This is why we aren't together. This is why we don't work Mark. So if you want visitation rights you better find a lawyer who doesn't mind going to bat for scum. I'm over this."
"Fine." He kicks the wall in rage, causing the only picture in his blank apartment to tumble to ground loudly.
"And not that you asked or care but it's a boy this time. I'm due in March." She thinks that should be sufficient enough to keep him away for months. They haven't discussed the implications of the tryst but she's on a roll and she's tired of being the only guilty one.
His eyes drift to her stomach. She hadn't, until now, even announced to him that she was pregnant (though he certainly had his suspicions). He wasn't there for Isadora's birth. He wasn't there for parenting classes and he didn't help decorate her nursery in Addison's new home miles away. This...boy was another accident in a supply closet after a heated debate about him being more involved. He said please, she essentially said over my dead body and they tore each other apart the only way they know how. "Addie..." He notes how the room has quieted except the sniffles leaving both of the women in front of him and matches his voice with it perfectly. "I'm sorry."
"Save it. I'm sick of your apologies. Now will you get out of the way?"
He jives to left hesitantly and brushes a quick kiss to her cheek on her way out. He pretends not to notice how she leans into it, she pretends it doesn't feel nearly as electric as it does. Slowly, one incident after another he's giving her the family she always dreamed of. The only problem is there is no one to share it with.
He hears the silver metal click into place as he slides down the wall for the last time, hands once again jammed into his pockets, jaw quivering for an entirely different reason.
~-~-~-~-~-~