"Why Not?" Not mine. M/R. One-shot. Alex dreams of having the guts finally to seduce her. Addison wishes that he'd want her not to go. Alex/Addison. Written pre-3x21.
(What do you mean, I need a plot? Pshaw. Courtesy of the Cliché Factory.)
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Alex has three stock scenarios for how he might seduce Dr. Montgomery. He plays them in his head on a daily basis. He never acts on them, of course. But sometimes, when she's standing just a bit too close, he thinks, today's the day. I'll have it out with her or else. He doesn't. He hates that he's so chicken-shit. But there it is. So the three fantasies stay just that—fantasies. He doesn't have the guts to make them real.
In the first picture, they've reached a lull at work. She's standing at the Nurse's station, twiddling her thumbs and pretending to work. He comes up behind her. He puts his lips by her ear and whispers: "On-call room. No clothing. You and me—right now." The rest of it is obvious.
The second one's a little like what he did for Izzie. At Emerald City, still, but more discreet—not dipping at the bar. He'll tell her that he needs a word, in private. He'll lead her to the alley around the corner from Joe's. Then he'll kiss her, and he'll tell her that he feels stuff. Get all gooey. Make her melt.
The third's not really seduction. At least, not on his part. In this one she comes looking for him. Pulls him into the nearest linen closet. Has her wicked way with him. Acts like Satan's whore. He likes this vision best. It's also the least likely one, the way he figures things in this world work. Which sucks. Oh, well. Guess that's what dreams are for.
Today, for some reason, it's different. There's something in the air, a sense of doom. An inner voice has been howling at him since his first glance at her this morning. Last chance, buddy; the time is now. It's bugging him. He thinks for once he might actually have to do something about it. Because not trying, ever? Is going to drive him mad in the end. Oh hell—why not? It's worth a shot. He'll hunt her down a little later.
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Addison has three ways she secretly wishes Karev would stop her from leaving. The only problem with these ways is, well, in all of them he finds out her plans without any help from her. And it's unfair to expect him to be psychic. God knows, she's lucky if the men she meets can figure out her metaphors. Reading her mind? It's a bit too much to ask. But she clutches at the secret hope anyhow.
The first way's something out of a really bad Meg Ryan movie. She's at the airport, about to go through security, when he comes running up. "Don't leave," he says, and takes her in his arms. On-lookers clap, it's Capra-esque, and God this one makes her laugh. It's not him at all. Hell, it's not her either. (She thinks if he tried that for real she'd probably slap him. And move on.)
Her second self-indulgence involves sex. He pulls her into a linen closet just like he did before. Only this time instead of crushing all her hopes, he seduces her right there on the floor. (The janitors are diligent in her dreams; there's no dust or dirt on the linoleum.) And then he tells her that he's heard the news, but he's not about to let it happen. On this one point, she's willing to take orders from her intern.
In the third experiment, he finds her in the elevator with a box of her last things. He takes the box from her and they walk to her car. There, in the romantic atmosphere of the parking lot, they say cheesy and embarrassing things. He confesses that he loves her. He says, "I lied, before." And then he shrugs, because he's Alex, and lets her take it how she will. In her head, she throws all caution to the wind and lets it happen. Then they live happily ever after. This idea might be the most unlikely of them all.
But none of them can happen, because she hasn't told him that she's leaving yet. You know what? I'm going to tell him. He deserves to know. It's true. She can handle it; she can be professional. She won't break down, or beg him to beg her to stay, or do anything that'll harm her dignity in the process. Though all of those are tempting. She'll just state the facts. She has a job offer, her life here sucks, and she's going to take the bait and get the hell out of Dodge. She'll let him know, because hey, he's just an intern, and he can take it how he will. It probably won't change anything, so… why not? It can't hurt to tell. She'll find him before she heads out for the day.
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It's late. Most people have gone home. It's just the night-shift now and a few custodians who wander the hospital floors. A surgeon and her intern, though, have leftover business. So they've stuck around a little past the usual time.
They meet at the door to her office. There he is. And, finally! Found her. Both take breaths for courage. They've been working up to this point all day. It's now or never.
Their voices overlap: "I lied, before. I do want you, okay?" And: "I'm leaving Seattle soon, for good."
They're shocked. He's pissed. She's thrilled.
"You're leaving?"
"You want me?"
"I can't believe this bullshit." He turns to leave. Your timing sucks, Karev. He's not sure which of them he's ticked off at more.
She can't think any longer. Her hand reaches out. "Don't go."
"You're leaving, and you tell me not to go?" Screw her. He plucks her fingers from his shoulder.
"No," she gasps, and then she's got him up against the door. She shoves her tongue down his throat. He's not expecting that; he almost chokes. He pushes her away and holds her at a distance.
"What the hell was that?" He spits out as angrily as he can, but the venom's almost gone. She's got a death grip on his upper arms.
"I was leaving. But I'm not going to anymore." Wait, what? And suddenly he gets it. Then he's pulling her inside; he's checking that the blinds are closed; he's slamming shut and clicking locked the door.
Because he didn't think it was possible that he could want her more. But now he does. And hey, she's the one who kissed him first. So he kisses her back, and it's not because she's his boss. Fine, he admits, she looked at him sideways and he pined for her. But this second, she's facing him dead-on, and he plans to take full advantage of where they're standing now. One hand tangles in her hair and the other goes to work further down. Desk or wall? The edges of the desk look sharp: he decides they'd better be old-fashioned.
It takes her a second to clue in. The line between fact and fiction has never seemed so blurred. But once she figures out she's here—it's really happening, to her—she puts in twice the energy to make up for before. She'll be damned if she gets the chance to put her fantasies into action and then drops the ball. (She reaches down.)
He strips her of her Dior shirt and Prada skirt, drops his scrubs, and takes her up against the office wall. (For a better height match, her heels stay on.) Buttons scatter on the floor; they'll annoy her in the morning. For now, at least, he's lips and fingers and activity. In a way she hadn't dared to hope. She's embarrassed by her body's obvious quivering—it makes her look easy, or maybe just deprived. So what if both are true: no need to advertise. But his teeth scrape a little and there's a pinch and oh, she's given up the fight already.
She's digging her fingers into his arms, and he's lucky surgeons have short fingernails. (Thank God, too, for the white doctor's coat with its magical pocket of condoms.) Tomorrow his back will ache, and he'll decide she weighs too much for walls. At the moment, though, she's squeaks and softness and squirming. A boost to his ego that's just fine with him right now. But the noises are making it hard to keep self-control. She tilts just so, and ah, he's in a little further. Self-control's way overrated, anyhow.
It's all quick and dirty and over shortly. He screws his eyes shut when he lets go. When she comes she doesn't even try to tamp down the moan. They sink into a pile of cloth and shuddering flesh on the floor.
There's no way in hell she's leaving now.
There's no way in hell he's letting her go.
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A/N: Um, this really wasn't supposed to be at all porny. (Blushes.) Oh, well. The promo tells us slow-build's no longer canon. Who am I to go against the flow?
Inspired by the aforementioned promo and by Liz Sherman's "Leaving." Because her Alex has got game and is just so much dreamier than my own. :) Go read it and tell her to hurry up and write some more. (See my profile's favorites.)