With the Nerve To Adore You
Presenting her with breakfast in bed after being the first awake, something he's certain has only happened once before in their long and complicated history, he watches the grimace that crosses her face when presented with the plate of French toast. In a matter of seconds, blankets are flung off and she's gone in a flash of red hair. Left standing, confused, Mark places the tray on the nightstand and follows the sound of heaving. Pulling the tresses from her face as her pale body writhes over the porcelain bowl, Mark offers soothing words and when he's sure she's finished, he wets a cloth to place over her face.
An hour later, Mark has insisted that she take the day off and called in for her through her adamant protests that she isn't sick and needs to be with a patient. It isn't until she finds herself over the toilet for the third time that she sighs.
"I think I'm sick, Mark." She pouts as she proceeds to brush her teeth again and feels his arms wrap around her and a kiss press against her hair.
He's noticed her rushes to the bathroom become a sort of routine over the next week and has completely given up on handing her anything but crackers and juice in the morning in the hopes that the queasiness would subside and throughout her "I hate the flu" protests, from the bathroom floor, Mark can't help but consider a different possibility.
"Maybe you should talk to Naomi, have her run a few tests," he suggests later that day when her bouts of sickness have all but disappeared and they're laughing over the unrealistic surgeries on the television.
"I'm feeling better. I think I'm almost over it," she assures him. "I don't need to be poked and prodded with a needle."
Mark knows just how bad a patient she is, never wanting to slow down, always happier to be the one administering the tests.
"Yeah, but you haven't shown other symptoms, no coughing, no fever. Food poisoning would be cleared up by now. I just think you should see Naomi."
"It's been a week, Mark. I'm feeling better." She smiles to emphasize this.
"Until I put a plate of spaghetti in front of you," he argues. "I just think you should consider another possibility."
"Stop making it bigger than it is."
Suspicicion sweeps through Mark's thoughts and all he can picture in his mind is a baby with her eyes. "If a woman came to you with what you've been experiencing, what would you suggest they do?" He wants more than anything to be right because if he brings this point up only to find out that she does in fact have the flu, it will cause more damage.
He sees the spark in her eyes as she thinks of his question.
"It's not possible." She whispers before standing up, carrying plates into the kitchen.
He follows her. "It is." he informs her. "Just because she said it was improbable doesn't mean it can't happen."
"No, Mark. She said NO fertility potential. None." She's frantically scrubbing at the plate in her hand. "So, no Mark, it can't happen."
"Come on, Addi. You of all people know that those tests aren't completely reliable. You know that stress effects the results."
"Not that much, Mark." Placing dishes in the dishwasher, she blinks rapidly in an attempt to stop tears.
"But, just think about…"
"No!" She interrupts abruptly. "I don't want to think about it, okay. Just drop it, please."
Hoping leads to disappointment, Addison decides as she leans against the wall, bare legs resting on the cold bathroom floor. If she considers the possibility, that will inevitably lead to hope that she's sure will be crushed by a simple test, and the mocking that her own mind will do when this occurs is just too much to take. She tries to stand, but feels the nausea threaten her okay, so finds sliding back to the sterile floor her only option.
When Mark comes home later in the day with a grocery bag and a smile, Addison knows he's up to something.
"Just for my own peace of mind, please," Mark holds the bag out to her.
"You said you'd drop it," She declares, pushing the test back into arms.
"I have a feeling."
"A feeling doesn't override an inability to bear children, Mark."
She wants so much to give in, to consider the possibility, but everything in her life points to yet another disappointment.
"If I'm wrong, I'll never bring it up again, ever." He pleads and when he fins she hasn't cracked yet, he continues, "and I won't watch a single Yankees game this season."
Her eyebrows raise at this. "That must be some feeling you have."
"I told you. Completely serious. What can it hurt? If I'm wrong, you won't have to suffer through the announcers you hate and the replays you find unnecessary and if I'm right, we'll have something to celebrate."
She grumbles and grabs the bag, and throwing a glare his way, stalks toward the bathroom.
They're sitting with fingers interlocked, staring at a clock that Mark swears is broken because it's been 9:38 for at least ten minutes he feels like. When it's finally time, Addison tells Mark to look and when she sees his face, she's really not sure what's going through his mind.
"I don't know what that means," he finally explains. "Does it have to be a plus sign or are two lines good?"
Her heart skips a beat. "There are two lines."
"Yeah," he answers fumbling to find the box and compare.
"Two lines are good, Mark." She's smiling and grabs his hand to stop his frantic search. She looks to make sure and sees that there are two distinctly clear lines on the test.
When he picks her up and places kisses all over her face, Addison tries to calm down and rationalize because she's only taken one test and false positives are always a possibility.
"Tests can lie," she whispers when he places her back on her feet.
"Well, this one didn't," he simply replies, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes.
"It could be wrong."
-----------------------------
"It wasn't wrong," Naomi states, walking into the room. "You are in fact pregnant, Addi."
"But you said…" Addison starts.
"And I was wrong," she cuts in, "because this test doesn't lie."
A hand squeeze and a kiss to her temple forces all of Addison's resolve to crumple and she finds that the tears won't stop falling and the smile now present on her face refuses to leave.
"We're having a baby," she hears whispered into her ear and then feels his hand graze over her still flat abdomen.
"Yeah," she finds herself saying, as her hand covers his. "we are."