A/N: I do have a story mapped out and planned. This is just like an introduction. Bear with me.
"I like coffee. Coffee is good."
Mark is half asleep but he is sure that statement was directed at him. He squints, and between thin lids he reads the time from his Rolex. "It's four-thirty in the morning," he grunts and returns to his comfortable position on the bed, his head met with the pillow he often refers to as a "giant marshmallow."
"Your son has kept me up all night. And then some." She takes refuge on the bed beside him, curling her cold toes into the warm duvet. She revels in the comfort the hot coffee mug brings to her hands but she can already feel herself crashing. After four cups of coffee she figures she's now immune to the buzz.
"I'm sorry."
She can hear him sigh and she lowers her gaze, allowing a frown to take hold of her lips. "I know. It's okay. Just, get some sleep." She rubs his back until he eases up and by the shallow breathing that follows minutes later, she knows he is asleep. So she sips her coffee and watches crappy TV while every now and again looking at the baby monitor to see the image of the sleeping infant.
They don't talk about it. They don't talk about how Christopher Montgomery Sloan-Shepherd was born four and half weeks early with lungs undeveloped. They don't talk about how Amelia left right after giving birth to go get high. They don't talk about it because it doesn't help. They numb the pain as best they can with passionate kisses and shedded clothes. He pretends he doesn't hear her crying in the bathroom in the mornings while she pretends she doesn't hear his frantic voicemail messages to their pseudo sister.
They try to keep a routine for the sake of Christopher and for the sake of their sanity. Violet tries to shrink them, tells them, "Maybe you should think about moving on," but they ignore her unwanted advice. If it's one thing they agree on it's that Amelia isn't dead, that she will return home. Perhaps they're in denial but it's the only thing keeping them going.
Morning comes quicker than usual, the sun's ray beaming in through the window as loud waves crash at the shore.
Mark awakes with a grumble and finds Addison sitting in the bed beside him with Christopher laying contently against her thighs.
"Morning." She smiles as she greets him, eyes rimmed with red.
He presses a kiss to her cheek to let her know he appreciates her letting him sleep in. But he doesn't bring up her eyes, he doesn't bring up the fact that she's been crying and she's secretly grateful for that.
"Bottle?" He asks gruffly and upon seeing her inclining head, the sign of a nod, he pulls himself from the bed and jogs downstairs to make up the bottle for his son.
She watches on with sad eyes and forces herself not to cry, not again. Instead she puts her focus on Christopher whose tiny limbs move about uncontrollably and lips part to release a cry. She sighs as she cradles him close, calls Mark to tell him hurry up with the bottle, and paces the room.
They don't talk about it, but secretly they both wished they would.