A/N: I'm rather partial to this chapter (but no pressure on your end, really!). As always, I'm interested in your thoughts so please keep 'em coming. All reviews are greatly appreciated.

Chapter 8 - In My Dreams You Are Alive (and Breathing)

"I'm coming," Addison says immediately, her heart in her throat. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

She gets the call before dawn on a Tuesday; she's coordinating with the hospital and Med-Jet as the sun rises. By nine she's sitting on the tarmac with nothing in her arms but a quick change of clothes and her lucky scrub cap, a dark empire-waisted shirt concealing the slight bump below.

They chopper her in from Sea-Tac and she presses an instinctive hand across her stomach as she pushes through the forceful propellor gusts, protecting her baby and her secret in equal measure. Her hair whips around her face until she can barely see.

Her former student is waiting for her. "You're here."

"Karev." She tucks wind-whipped hair behind her ears, speaks loudly over the roar of the helicopter. "How are they?"

"No change, but - you know, we've been waiting for you."

She goes to Callie first, makes short work of the shockingly incomptent attending who's in there with her - they've never met, but neglecting to administer steroids in a textbook situation is no way to endear yourself to a neonatal surgeon. Or anyone for that matter. Addison leans in to Callie as soon as they're alone.

"Hey, sweetie. I'm so sorry about this. But you're going to be okay. You're going to be just fine. Both of you. I'm here now, and all the attendings are going to put their heads together and-"

And argue, of course.

Toe to toe with the architects of her miserable year in Seattle, she spouts caveats and ideas with equal measure along with the best of them. She takes some pride in how easy it is to see her ex-husband; he breaks off the point he was making to give her a quick, formal kiss on the cheek and to extend professional appreciation for her rushing to Seattle - she's the best, after all - and then they both immediately begin arguing about treatment plans with the other attendings like no time has passed.

All the other attendings except for Mark.

She finds him in an on-call room, head in his hands, and the sight of his big shoulders shaking brings helpless tears to her own eyes.

"Mark..." she slides next to him and he reaches blindly for her. She watches his large hand swallow hers, and she presses their joined fingers to her cheek, at a loss for how to comfort him.

"Mark, they have a fighting chance, they're getting the best possible care - it's going to be okay."

A sob escapes him and he slumps forward; instinctively, she pulls his head to her chest. His tears dampen the front of her scrub top. There are no words to say, so she just hums indistinct soothing noises, holds on tight.

He clutches her scrub top in one hand, and as he quiets, slowly, he begins to trace the skin just under the hem with one finger.

"Mark..." she tries gently to extricate herself before he notices anything amiss but he is holding her too tightly.

"Mark, don't," she protests weakly. Her eyes flutter half-closed in spite of herself, shoulder and rib cage molded against him. He knows her body too well; she shouldn't have let him get this close.

His hand drifts lower, dipping under the loosely gathered waist of her scrub pants, and stills over the small, but distinct, swell of her belly. She freezes, eyes wide.

So does he.

"Addie..."

She stares at the top of his head.

He looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

She nods.

"How ..."

"Sixteen weeks."

"How, not how long..."

"Mark..." He's still clasping her against him too firmly for her to move, but the hand covering her belly is as light as a butterfly's wing.

"Whose is it, Addison?"

"Mine."

"And...?"

"Just mine, Mark."

"Addison."

"Please, Mark, he doesn't even know."

"Sam?" he asks and despite her better judgment she nods.

"We're over, he doesn't want this, he doesn't know, and I'm not telling him yet."

He releases her then, leaving her scrub top bunched underneath her breasts. She smooths it out, watching him cautiously.

"You'll have his baby..." he growls but even in his pain he lets his voice trail off before he can do more serious harm. Still, the memory sears her and she has to close her eyes for a moment, overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry, Addie, I'm sorry," he's saying then, still a mess, emotions everywhere, afraid for the child whose life hangs in the balance upstairs. She understands so she pulls him back into her arms, reassures him, letting him rest his tearstained face against her breasts. She combs her fingers through the stiff peaks of his hair, doesn't protest when he slips his hand back under her scrubs. He doesn't try anything, just softly rubs the little swell of her abdomen.

"You're beautiful like this, Addie," he says, so quietly she almost misses it, his voice muffled in her flesh. She closes her eyes, lets a tear fall into his hair.

He's clearly exhausted and when he finally gives in to sleep she pulls away gently enough not to wake him, settles him carefully against the pillow and slips out the door.

She folds her arms and sinks down against the wall. She's tired too. Tired, hungry. She rests her own hand on her belly where Mark's was a moment ago. She doesn't recall closing her eyes but she must have because a gentle hand on her shoulder shakes her awake what feels like seconds later.

Mark.

A glance at her blackberry tells her it's less than twenty minutes since she left him in the scrub room.

Wordlessly he holds out a bottle of water and a protein bar. She accepts them, folds her legs under her and tears the wrapper off with naked hunger. Mark slides down the wall beside her, takes a sip of her drink and they sit there together on the floor, like interns.

X

Mark won't leave the hospital that night, so she doesn't leave either. She sits on the small, stiff bed while he leans against the wall, as far away as possible without actually leaving the room.

"Would you rather be alone?" she asks tentatively at one point.

"No."

"You need to sleep. I can find another room, and you can-"

"I said no, Addison."

She exhales heavily. Unbidden the image of another blond head rises before her, bowed with the same mix of fear and apprehensive grief. She doesn't know Arizona, not really, but she knows Callie well enough to trust that any woman lucky enough to be with her must be worth knowing. Arizona had looked terribly small in the corner of that room, small and sad and very much alone while activity whirled around her.

She looks at Mark again, realizes with helpless affection that the sandy hair that crowns his head in her memories is nearly more grey than blond now. Slumped against the wall, he looks smaller than she remembers. Thinner. Sinew flexes in his arms as he folds them against himself, close enough to an embrace to make her heart twinge once again.

"You should talk to her."

He ignores her.

"You and Arizona are on the same side, Mark."

"You don't know..."

"I know families come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. And I know we don't always get enough time to say everything we want to our families, before it's too late."

He shakes his head, pacing the room. "We said things. Terrible things."

"You can recover from those things, Mark."

"I'm not so sure."

"You both love Callie. You both love the baby."

"Addison, don't - I'm not talking about this anymore."

"Just please promise you'll think about it. Please, Mark. She's hurting too."

"I'll think about it," he mutters, swiping the back of his hand against his forehead in a poignantly familiar gesture. "Is that enough to get you to leave me alone?"

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

His voice is so quiet she can barely make out the syllable. "No."

She draws her legs up under her on the uncomfortable mattress. "You need to try to sleep."

"I can't. They might -"

"They're in good hands. You'll be more useful to them if you have rest. Even a little."

"You need to sleep," he says with sudden vehemence, as if he's just realized. "You need to be ready to operate tomorrow, if -"

"I'll sleep. Okay? You sleep and so will I."

She's wearing clean scrubs, relieved that she doesn't have to try to hide her changing figure, and she reclines carefully against the stiff pillows.

Mark makes a move toward the top bunk, then pauses. His hesitation is louder than any words could be; tentatively, she extends a hand to him. He lets his fingers lace through hers and arranges his body carefully alongside hers. Somehow it's as cautious and as daring as their first night together.

"The light," she murmurs and he reaches across her to flip the switch. His haunted eyes still shine in the semidarkness. He draws ragged breath so filled with pain that she is not sure she can bear it. Uncertain who moves first, she finds herself curling into him, resting her head over his heart as she has so many times before. His arms close around her, one hand tangling in her hair, one fitting into the curve of her waist.

"Are you okay?"

The answer could have been a long one, but she realizes from the feel of his questing hand that he's asking if her position is acceptable in her pregnant state.

"I'm okay."

"I want this baby." His voice is low, husky. "But Callie - I need her to be okay. I need her, and -"

"She's going to be okay." Addison pushes aside her professional judgment, presses her body closer to his in as much comfort as she can offer. "They'll be okay. We'll make them okay."

He swallows hard; she feels the movement of his throat against the top of her head. Her eyes are closed against the warm fabric of his scrub top; under her own scrub top, his hand lightly traces the distance between waist and hip. The slightly larger distance, now. Protectively, she covers his hand with her own.

"Look, Mark, no one knows about my - I'm not ready - so if you could -"

"I'm not going to say anything."

"Thank you." She exhales with relief and worry and too many things to name. "Sleep," she says softly. "You need to sleep."

A knock on the door awakens her.

"Dr. Montgomery?" A nurse opens the door a crack. "They're asking for you."

When the door closes again to give her a moment of privacy, she is alone. Mark is gone, the slight indentation in the pillow beside her the only indication he was ever there.

X

He catches her before she scrubs in. "Addison, please -"

"I'm going to do everything I can." She looks him straight in the eye. "You have to let us do this, Mark. You can't be in the room. You know that."

"I know."

"Okay." She draws a deep breath. "Go, Mark. Go sit with Arizona. Let us work so you can meet your daughter."

And when she wraps her gloved hands around the impossibly small infant, pulls her from her mother's damaged body, she doesn't have to look up to see Mark's eyes on her in the gallery above.

They work on the infant, the neonatal team precise and efficient, and when she's stable enough to be rushed to the NICU Addison lets out the breath she's been holding, it seems, since the plane touched down in Seattle.

She tugs off her scrub cap, sweaty hair limp and loose around her face, and Mark grabs her in a hug. "Thank you. Thank you." He squeezes her tightly. "Addie, thank you."

She pats his back, feeling awkward with an audience. "She's going to be okay, Mark."

He leans in close, murmurs against her ear: "You didn't want anyone to know you were pregnant yet, but you came here anyway - even though people might figure it out?"

She pulls back just enough so she can see his eyes. "You called me," she says simply.

Then Arizona is hugging her too; Addison isn't big on hugs from people she barely knows, but makes exceptions for worried parents. "You two should go see your daughter," she says gently, feeling gratified when she sees they way they walk together toward the NICU, Arizona slipping a hand around Mark's arm.

She bends down to Callie, whispering. "The baby's doing well, Callie. Your daughter - she's strong, like you, and she's beautiful and she's going to be fine. You need to wake up so you can be with her, okay?" Addison takes a deep breath, tears in her eyes. "I'm - I'm pregnant, Callie. I need you to get better so you can make a judge-y face at me, and so we can introduce our babies to each other, and you can sing some lullabies over the phone because you know I can't carry a tune and - mostly I need you to wake up because your daughter needs you to wake up." She drags the back of her hand across her eyes.

"Wake up soon, Callie."

X

She's exhausted, nearly faint with hunger, but it's a Shepherd circus outside Callie's room. Derek, leaning against the wall and flipping through a file of notes, motions her toward him just as her blackberry buzzes with a call from Nancy. Gesturing to Derek that she'll be a moment, she turns away for some semblance of privacy before accepting the call. Nancy starts talking before she can, and doesn't sound pleased.

"Imagine my surprise when I hear Mark had a baby in Seattle and you're the one who delivered it."

She ducks around the corner, her voice low. "Nancy, I am trying to keep a low profile here-"

"All-night flights, helicopters, who knows the last time you actually slept in a real bed or ate a decent meal - if one of my patients flies across the country, I like to be kept informed."

"Nance-"

"Screw like, I expect to be kept informed, Addison."

She leans against the wall, running a hand frustratedly through her hair. "Look, I'm sorry. It was kind of a last minute emergency-type thing. I had to come. I should have told you, but there wasn't really any time, and I had to be here."

"Are you all right?"

"I"m fine." Automatically she swings her head left to right to see if anyone she knows is listening. Derek is re-absorbed in his file around the corner. "Callie's my friend, Nancy. She was the closest thing to a real friend I had here, and..."

"I'm sorry," Nancy says quietly. "How is she doing?"

"No change. Not yet."

"I just don't want to see you overtaxed, Addie."

"I know."

"How are you really?"

"Overtaxed," she admits and with a half-laugh, her voice catching a bit.

"I want to see you when you get back, Addie. I'll come to the Manhattan office."

"Okay."

"Be careful."

"Yeah. I will." She peers around the corner again. Derek looks somewhere between distracted and impatient. "Sorry I worried you, Nance - I'll call you when I get back."

"Sorry about that," she approaches Derek, who closes the file and gives her a cool nod of acknowledgement. "Work," she says, indicating her blackberry, even though it's not true and he didn't ask.

She updates him on Callie and the baby and they stand in semi-awkward silence for a few seconds.

"How's, uh, how've you been?" he asks finally.

"Fine."

"I heard you moved back to New York."

She nods. "About a month ago now."

"How is it?"

She considers the question. "There's TV in cabs now," she offers at last.

"TV in cabs?"

"It's informative."

"It's Orwellian," he says, smiling.

She breaks eye contact first. "I should get going."

"Right. Thank you for flying out here, Addison." A Chief's thank you.

"Of course," she says quickly - a top surgeon's acknowledgment that she was the only choice.

He nods, turns to leave and she puts a hand on his arm to stop him, her fingers recognizing the warm shape of it under the cool fabric of his lab coat. "Derek-"

He gazes at her expectantly.

"Look out for him," she says quietly, not even caring if it's out of place.

"Yeah." His mouth curves downward in that terribly familiar expression, his eyes pale and very soft. "I will."

X

Her work done, she flies back to New York, so tired she can barely keep her eyes open in the car from JFK.

When Savvy asks her how Seattle was, she says "exhausting." She has her assistant reschedule the day's patients and then she turns her blackberry to silent and sleeps for eleven hours straight.

When she's conscious again, she flips through her emails with slightly shaky hands, sipping ginger ale and silently coaxing the growing life within her to settle down.

Call me ASAP - from Amelia. She flips to the phone and sees three missed calls. Her little (former) sister-in-law can be a bit dramatic, and she knows from two more recent Seattle emails that Callie and the baby are progressing well, so she procrastinates returning Amelia's calls. It's several hours, a check-in-call to work, a scheduling call to Nancy, and a belated breakfast of toast and blueberries later that she finally dials Amelia and learns that this time, Amelia was actually not being dramatic.


Lots of people knew it was Mark calling. Clearly my cliffhangers need some work... or I need less savvy readers. Next time: a conversation with Amelia, more capital-s Savvy, a doctor's visit, and a big turning point for the secret.

Lyric in the title from Youth Group, "In My Dreams." Such a gorgeous song and I highly recommend it. It was played on Private Practice at the end of Season 3 during the Maya/Dell car accident, but I challenge anyone to listen to it and tell me it doesn't make you think, now, of Ella. (At least it does for me.) Thanks for reading!