A/N: I realized, as I was hammering this out, a few things. Namely that if I was to keep going you all would be forced to read forty pages to get to the point, because things need to happen here first. So, I broke it into two parts. This way you all have something to hold you over and I can be lengthy with the birth scene. Next part, cross my heart, hope this dies. Thanks to escapismrocks for reminding me why I write this thing, and to everyone who indulges me with their patience. I hope you enjoy-
A Delicate Sense of Balance
- Pelican
~-~-~-~-~-~
"This way," Charlotte instructs with a harsh growl and begins to trot off, not caring to see if Mark is actually trailing behind her like a good subordinate. She doesn't wait outside at the entrance of a hospital for sixty plus minutes only to have a conversation with someone who she couldn't care less about, even if he is one of her best employees.
"What happened?" Mark asks, catching up to her quick stride, breathless from swearing at every car in between here and the lazy beach.
"We don't know exactly."
"What do you mean you don't know exactly?" Mark questions, his voice raised as they enter the column of elevators.
"I mean, we don't know exactly. She was in labor, she treated herself, and now she won't let anyone touch her so we," she pauses speaking significantly slower than before, "don't know exactly."
"Oh," Mark sighs, falling back against the metal capsule, fingers immediately latching onto his scalp. "Well, how did she look?"
"She looked like...Addison during a personal crisis. How the hell would I know?"
"Are they all right-"
"You don't seem to be getting this," Charlotte speaks, cutting him short and not giving it second thought. "We don't know anything, only she does, and I'd be willing to wager that she's pulling for the best possible scenario so take whatever she says with a grain of salt until we can convince her to let someone examine her."
"She hasn't been ex-"
"She won't let anyone touch her!" Charlotte yells. "Did you knock your silly little brain onto the pavement on the way?"
"No," he mumbles, mind racing, lips moving of their own accord.
"And why in heaven's name did it take you so damn long to get here?"
"Was she asking for-"
"Don't flatter yourself," Charlotte affirms. "She hasn't asked for anything other than to be left alone."
"We had a fight," Mark surrenders, as the doors announce their arrival and his boss jumps off without having to answer.
He finds himself dragging his feet a little as they march down the pristine hallway. His tennis shoes scuffle along, his fingers toying with one another, eyes trained to the floor so that everyone can't look at him like they know a terrible secret he hasn't been privy to yet. Certainly, he's not the cause here. Not the root of the problem and surveys would probably say it's a miracle she made it as far as she did doing what she's been doing but, as always, Mark feels the tinge of guilt clouding his thoughts. Surely, if she would've stayed home their day wouldn't have progressed into this sort of grim adventure.
"Sloan!" Charlotte barks as he runs into short stature.
Mark jumps back, surprised and scrubs his face with his hands. "Sorry Dr. King."
"I'm counting on you to fix this...and I called you first so you better make it right because if I have to call one of the Bennetts and get yelled at, it will be your ass I put on the line, are we clear?" She watches him nod wordlessly and then slams the nearly empty chart onto his chest before making her way back to the nurse's station, to watch the explosion from a safe distance.
There's a fleeting moment for Mark. He sees a way out, straight down to the stairwell, he could make a run for it. He used to be good in the face of opposition, at least when it was medical, but with the last person he cares about in the greater Los Angeles area lying still in the dim room, skipping off doesn't sound like the worst idea in the history of the world. Instead, he takes a breath and prepares before pushing the door back without so much as a knock. "Addie?"
And in some ways it's different than he would've imagined, her in labor. In other comparisons, he realizes he's never really dreamt of this day at all. Curled onto her left side, eyes securely shut, chest rising in a predictable and obviously controlled manner. She looks peaceful when he was prepared for a hurricane, quiet when he has been dying to hear her scream. "Addison?"
Lacking an appropriate response, or even the acknowledgment of his being, he presses forward. He drags a chair from the corner of the room to her side of the bed and merely takes a seat, pulling her hand out from it's hiding place under the white long sleeves. He patiently strokes her smooth skin for minutes that feel like hours, whisper words that he can't remember as soon as leave his mouth, and gets so sick of staring at her that he finally closes his own eyes and leans back against the chair. Mark doesn't know what to do with this adversity, truth be told he was hoping she'd be loud enough to tell him to just hold her hand or get her ice, so he lounges. Rests with a racing heart and terrified sense of what he could be letting her get away with.
But it's not his place. This isn't his to do, regardless of what either actually desires from the situation.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"You should've called me as soon as it happened!" Naomi argues with the blonde in front of her.
"The patient requested-"
"The patient is out of her mind and you know that! You are supposed to protect her not...not play along!"
"I called Mark," Charlotte glares, honestly trying to win her points back. Not that she cares or anything.
"Oh," Naomi stutters. "Where is he?"
"He's in there with her," she answers easily. It's not the entire problem but just a tiny snippet.
"Well then, why did you call me?" Naomi eases slightly, her body still tensed and worried.
"I called you because they are just...napping."
"Napping?"
"Or sitting there or whatever! I don't know but I need to check her and I thought Dr. Sloan would pull his head out of his ass long enough to be of some assistance but evidently he cannot. So I called you," she nods toward the room, urging the woman to go in and make this right again before it all blows up.
Naomi opens her mouth to tell Charlotte she owes her but then realizes that in all actuality she owes the Chief of Staff. "Thank you for...calling me Charlotte."
"Doing my job," Charlotte nods and tries to visualize this smoothing over calmly. It's not so much to ask for.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison pulls as much air as she can into her lungs before releasing the breath steadily. She counts them, the breaths per minute, mostly as something to do, to keep her from completely losing her mind because this is not happening. Not today. Not this week. She decided months ago that she was going to make it to term, even if it was a rocky journey, and nothing is going to get in her way. Not even this little snafu. Ten more exhales, doing her best to ignore Mark in his entirety, and she finally comes to terms with how exhausted she is. Smashing down like a pile of red bricks, the tiredness envelops her and before she can fight back she's lifted off into the land of excruciatingly painful dreams.
That one spot in the black where people die over and over, in a variety of ways, often times at her own hand. Two people, their faces, one body under her skilled scalpel, the other twitching under her car tires. One jutting out through a fractured windshield, one bleeding out on the pavement. One beheaded, one tore wide open. Hearts stopping, eyes frozen open. It doesn't matter the ways it's worked because she can never seem to wake up, no matter how loudly she protests.
It carries on persistently, almost predictably. Blood splashed across her body from both, their voices pleading for the insanity to stop, her actions uncontrollable, her smile too bright as they die helplessly inches away.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Mark," Naomi hisses to the figure in the rapidly darkening room.
"Huh," Mark rubs his eyes, coming back around. "Naomi?"
"What are you doing?" She points to Addison, who occasionally squirms from side to side, but it's not anything Mark isn't used to. It's a dance, he just holds on as she steers them.
"She's asleep," he states, pained by remembrance of where they are, and why they are there.
"Has anyone been in to check on her?"
No," Mark shakes his head confidently. They may have fallen asleep, but he knows no one has dared come through those doors. He can only imagine the chaos that was enclosed in this space before.
Naomi reaches out for Mark's shirt, snagging him instantly, and pulls him out into the hallway so she can make her peace. "What the hell are you thinking? Are you thinking Mark!"
"I-I, she's...asleep."
"I can see that. Why aren't you doing your job? Why aren't you taking care of her?" Naomi slams her shoe into the ground, more concerned with the set of facts surrounding this than actually offending Mark. He stares back without an answer. "This is on you. You've been constantly riding her since you came back, every minute of every day and this you can't do? You want to be with Addison, then be with her. Do what's right for her even if she yells. It's not the time to be sitting on your hands!"
"I know," he admits. But she looked so...complacent for the first time in a long time and he didn't want to take that away from her either.
"How long were you in there?"
"I don't know."
"Mark-"
"What time is it?" He asks, looking at his own watch and not making any sense of it.
"Almost six-thirty. How long?"
"About two hours," he guesses, feet beginning to rock from side to side anxiously.
"So for two hours you watched her like that and didn't do anything? Do you understand...she could lose them Mark-"
"No," Mark shakes his head. "She's strong. She was good when I went in there, if there was anything wrong she would've told-"
"It's Addison...I thought you cared-"
"I do care!" he interjects hurriedly.
"Then why aren't you helping her? This is your job Mark, not mine. I should be down the hall waiting to hear about my two new nieces...not chasing you around and...doing what you should've done hours ago." She finishes, distracted by trying to dial numbers on her cell phone.
"We fought," Mark adds when she hits dial.
"People fight. That doesn't give you the right to stand by while she suffers," Naomi spits icily and then responds again only to her phone when the receptionist politely asks how she can help. Naomi has the doctor she referred to Addison paged and shipped on his way before Mark is able to conjure up a decent argument. "She is still with Dr. Everly?"
"Yeah," Mark shrugs. Part of him thought, or maybe rather hoped, that Addison really did have this under control. "Naomi, you think-"
"I'm not entertaining the idea of anything until I have some answers. Go...wait Mark. I'll come get you when I know."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addie..." Naomi mumbles stroking her arm, trying to coax her out of a deep sleep. "Addison wake up."
Addison can feel her tongue trying to peel itself from the roof of her dry mouth, and she can see when her eyes fly open, but the words don't seem to come. They're not as important as just keeping the room tension free.
"Addison, are you in pain? Are you having contractions? What did you do...exactly? I need to know so I can help you, okay?"
Addison furrows her brows in confusion. What did she do? She looks from the left of the room to the right, kicks out of the blankets someone must have put on her, and buries her head back into the warm inviting pillow.
Upon seeing the blood soaking the sheets beneath her friend, Naomi races to the door and screams out that she needs some help. Inundated with nurses and doctors she carefully picks who she wants in the room, nodding to Charlotte who pushes her way through the crowd. "We need to..."
"Yes," Charlotte agrees and takes over. "Someone go get Dr. Sloan, if she wakes up, we need him in here."
Naomi would argue that fact, given what happened earlier, but instead she yanks a gown out and with the help of a few they manage to redress the slumbering Addison, and get her hooked up to monitors that beep with their annoyance.
"They're...okay, not great but not in distress...yet," Charlotte puzzles, studying the readout.
"Give me that," Naomi snatches it away from her. "We still need to wait for-"
"I'll admit her," Charlotte agrees easily. "But for now-"
"She sleeps," Naomi gulps and falls back into a chair, anxious and inconsolable. It'll take a while to get over the image of her best friend tangled with red sheets, weak with loss, unable to explain.
"I'll get her a new bag," Charlotte points to the empty stand and then ushers everyone out of the room. "You'll-"
"I'll page you as soon as I know something," Naomi assures her. When the door clicks closed she takes the opportunity to seize the tears that have been quietly building. She brushes the watery substance off her cheeks and relaxes with a sigh. "Damn it Addison."
"Excuse me?" Someone questions from the door, light spilling in over the pair.
"Yes?" Naomi answers hesitantly. She's had enough already. This is not the way children are supposed to be brought into the world. Sure, there is screaming and death threats and it's ugly, but not...this.
"Dr. Sloan is...not here but there is a Dr. Everly who is trying to-"
"Let him in," Naomi demands, already tired from her excursions. "And find Dr. Sloan. Now."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark pads along the hardwood of the place that he calls home fervently searching for stuff to toss in his bag. So far all he has is a pair of pajamas Addison loves, her reading glasses, and her toothbrush because she hates fuzzy teeth at all times of the day. He checks the kitchen again for baby related items before retreating to the yellow nursery upstairs and grabbing provisions that are not meant for the two that are waiting to be born. He shoves in diapers and wipes, hats and socks, onesies and sleepers, pushing and pushing until the small luggage protests loudly about being closed.
On his way out he bypasses the outfits meant for newborns in the office and the pacifiers in the trash.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"This is not the time," Naomi explains to her old friend as her hands shake, "I don't want to know where you went or...what you've been doing. This is not the time-"
"But-" Mark begins as he holds up the tan colored leather.
"I don't want to hear it. Do what you have to do but keep it to yourself and do not under any circumstance force me to walk in on you again, understand?"
"I didn't do anything wrong," Mark explains patiently and then holds out his prize again for her to inspect.
Naomi takes the objects and rifles through it with a small smile. "You're off the hook."
"Is she awake?"
"No," Naomi reveals, eyes slated with depression and hunger. "I was thinking about running down and grabbing some coffee and I need to tell Sam to keep Maya for the night, I want to be here, can you-"
"I can sit with her," Mark nods assuredly. He can do this. He is ready enough for both of them, at least with his baby clothes to shield him. He walks into the room more confidently this time, prepared for what is happening, safely tucking the bag on the floor by his feet and grabs her hand to toy with again.
"Addie," he startles, upon hearing her shuffle around, her eyes watching him intently. "You're awake."
Addison purses her lips and tries to force something out, resigning when nothing seems quite good enough. He's certainly mad, nearly red in the face, and she's disgraced at her bad timing and lack of control.
"You should probably stay on your left side," he notes as she rolls onto her back. "Or not."
She exhales sternly, wanting to be better at all of this, needing to say something.
"Naomi went for coffee, she said she'd be back but...I went home and I got your pajamas if you want to change." He pauses, not helping when she struggles to sit upright amidst a tangle of tubing, cords, and unruly gowns. "I know you didn't want it to be like this but...this is a good hospital and I'm...ready, we're ready to do this Addison."
"No," she recites softly, tone empty, voice an echo of all sentiments before it.
"I need to get Everly back in here. I know he'd want to speak with you when you are awake." He reaches down for the soft bag by his feet and places it on the edge of her bed as a truce. Her hair is absolutely wild, stained with perspiration and exhaustion, little curls forming by her scalp and jutting out without care. And she looks pale, he thinks it could be the lighting, but his mind knows that he's used to hospitals and that she's actually plainly white. If he touched her, leaned out a finger to smooth down the waves or to place a kiss on her listless temple, she may very well shatter into a million pieces. "And don't yell but I think Naomi called...Mom."
She turns her head at that, face still without emotion, but frenzy enough to substitute. She grabs the cup of warm water off the tray with a shaking hand and promptly spills the majority of it on her gown before her muscles warm up to the idea of satisfying her desire. Cotton absorbent and dry as sandpaper, her throat protests the water and she sputters it back up and onto her chin, letting the stream come down her neck and ungracefully pool at the hem of her hospital attire. "Sorry," she apologizes childishly, wiping the moisture from her skin and adverting her eyes from his disapproving stare.
"Do...it's okay...you want some more water?" He takes the cup from her easily, and retreats without provocation. He takes time finding ice refilling the plastic pitcher, not wanting to go back just yet, and not able to cut and run. When he returns she's back to her left side, clothes damp, eyes dark, looking very much the Addison of old and not the Addison of last week's happy. He drops the container on the table and sets the cup next to it unsure if she wants to bother with it again. "Addison," he shakes his head befuddled and queasy.
"I'm sorry," she croaks out finally, "I'm so sorry Mark."
"It's okay," he assures her, dragging his chair forward, brave enough to stroke her matted hair.
"I should've stayed home. I should've compromised."
He's not about to disagree with that, pride be damned. "I-"
"It's too soon," Addison whimpers pitifully, curling her hands back into the laundered sheets of the bed.
"Addison, it's...you're not in labor anymore. You...handled it." However much he hates to say it, he's glad she is who she is and was where she was when it all came undone.
"I know," she tells him soundly. "But now I can't work anymore."
"That's what you're upset about?" Mark asks, feeling his tirade begin to build. "You're worried because you may have to take some time off from work?"
"You don't understand."
"Clearly!" Mark stands, pushing the chair back roughly with his calves, letting it jolt into the wall unamused. "Do you...you're the most selfish human on the planet Addison. Do you ever even think about them? Do you?"
Eyes falling wide, Mark pacing the foot of her bed, Addison sets her sights on the stupid picture hanging from the wall. It probably sounds ridiculous out of context but she feels healthier working. She feels like she can focus better and not dwell so much in the sadness of it all. It's better if she's busy and it is, in the utmost, her way of looking out for the twins. That's all she can provide, as far as she can extend. What will happen when she's at home in bed, wrapped up in nothing, that's what scares her for them. However illogical, it's what she believes. She cries because she can and because the person three feet away who is supposed to rubbing her back is screaming in her general direction instead.
No, he has one thing right, she didn't want it to be like this.
"Add-" Naomi stops in the open door listening to Mark gradually lose steam. "Hey! Knock it off." She rushes forward, ditching her coffee immediately and looks over Addison's wobbly stats. Her protective side kicks in full force and she's busy talking herself out of throwing Mark out while reading feverishly.
"She-"
"Save it," Naomi warns, already not in the mood. "Whatever it is, with or without cause...you need to stop. Both of you. This is a...calm environment. We need calm. Understand me?"
"Yes," Mark mutters and leans against the closed blinds.
"Addison?"
Naomi startles her back out of her trance and she whispers her agreement, then closes her eyes. Maybe she can sleep through the next two or so months.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Under the strictest of orders, some bribing, and promises all around Addison is released two days later, much to her dismay. At the hospital there were at least cases she could eavesdrop on, rack her brain for information and offer a helping hand. At home there are books and television and Mark constantly, none of which she can focus on properly.
Mark leads her through the front door of her own house by her arm gently, furthering her frustrated attitude. She doesn't need her hand held and she doesn't need him here every four seconds to fetch endless drinks. What she needs is something to become immersed in, work or otherwise. She has no contingency plan, and in hindsight she really should've seen this coming. Maybe she can take up knitting. Naomi could teach her.
"You want to stay down here or go upstairs to bed?" Mark asks, easing his grip on her light cream colored sweater.
"Doesn't matter," Addison replies with a glare. "Don't you work today?"
"I did earlier. I took the rest of the afternoon off though, to be with you." He pulls her along, slowly taking stairs, not allowing her to merely jog up them like she used to. Everything is precise and deliberate. He has control.
"You didn't have to do that," Addison tells him angrily as they climb. If it wasn't for him she would've been in bed minutes ago. It's agonizing and she'd rather be alone.
"I wanted to."
They find her bed nearly five minutes later, and she could swear they were moving backwards at some point. She sturdies herself against the mattress waiting for the inevitable click of the television and the probably return of Mark. Sure enough, he takes the space next to her and hands over the remote. "What do you want to watch?" she asks, already bored by the screen.
"Whatever," he shrugs. "Are you hungry?"
"No."
"We should eat anyway," he hops off the bed and dashes for the door, needing to escape the mounting strain. "You...rest and I will go make something."
"You can't cook," Addison reminds him but snuggles down into the light, familiar pillows anyway.
'I'll figure something out." Mark races out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet and flying head first down the stairs. Cupboard doors spring open revealing next to nothing and he settles on peanut butter and honey, one of the few things he can do with his eyes closed.
He spreads the creamy substance on the bread, careful not to tear the fragile wheat. He pulls plates from shelves, and glasses from the dishwasher and even finds an unspoiled apple in the refrigerator, deciding to take his chances and cut it. But when it's time to return he hesitates. Stops mid-step, lunch in hand, juice balanced precariously and ready to spill all over the hardwood floor.
Fortunately, the doorbell saves him from having to make a decision, from having to force himself to crawl up the stairs and face her with a smile and comforting shoulder to rest on. He wants to run with every fiber of his being, whether that be hopping a plane or simply fighting with her until she's had enough and kicks him out. The power of fear is severely underrated.
"Hi..." Mark grins bashfully and pulls the door open wider revealing the woman who spent most of his days yelling at him for pulling Kathleen's hair and instructing him how to properly take out the garbage.
"Mark," Susan croons, "Are you going to let me in?"
"Yeah," Mark grunts and swings the door back with his foot, arms still laden with food.
"Naomi called." Susan drops her suitcase by the door and promptly surveys the house, eyes tracing trinkets and art that was once displayed somewhere else, a somewhere else she used to visit more frequently when her son was alive. Dinners, Christmas Eve, random birthdays.
"She told me," Mark replies weakly, suddenly overcome with a bout of self-consciousness.
"Where's Addie?" Susan asks, spinning on her heels, looking over the empty living room.
"Upstairs, I...was making lunch."
"You're going to feed her that?"
"I...yeah," he sputters, feigning an odd need to go hide under the couch.
"Come with me Mark," she instructs and starts wandering through the house until she stumbles upon the kitchen. She pulls open refrigerator doors unannounced and rifles through drawers trying to find the means to make a decent meal. Setting up shop, she fires up the stove and begins slicing through brilliant green vegetables. "How is she?"
"Addison?" Mark questions, surprised out of his self-imposed silence.
"Are you living with any other women I should know about?" Susan asks pointedly, completely aware of who Mark is and how he spends his days and nights, mostly nights. You want to believe in the best for your children but sometimes it pays off to just be realistic about the state of affairs they find themselves in. She smirks when Mark shakes his head, reminding her of that very same ten year-old who denied ripping apart Nancy's Barbie.
"She's okay, I guess," Mark answers finally, quietly. Hell if he knows how she is. He's busy being scared out of his mind and trying not to show it. He figures if push comes to shove, literally, and all else fails he could, maybe, possibly deliver some babies...provided everything went well, which it is sure not to. He makes a mental note to plead with her on going to the hospital before it's too late, because she's going to think she knows better, but he doesn't want to get jumbled into the mess of a home delivery.
"Okay, you guess?"
"Yes, that's what I said."
"Lose the attitude," Susan warns, knowing exactly how to handle him.
Mark scrubs his face, fingers running over stubble that hasn't been trimmed in too long. "Sorry, she's...so infuriating."
"Women," Susan shakes her head with a small laugh, drawing Mark's attention. "You need to take it easy on her Mark Sloan. This is not fun for her either, trust me. I would know."
"This bed rest, she's going to either drive us crazy or we'll kill each other."
"Or both," Susan adds knowledgeably.
"She's mad she can't work," Mark relents, wanting someone to just take his side in all of this. Why is he the only one looking out for her unborn children? Not his kids, hers. And for as much as he wants to be a part of it, and get over that, it's always there. Lingering behind on a short leash of ghosts, ready to nag him at a moment's notice.
"Have you asked her why?"
"What?"
"Have you asked her why she is upset about not working?"
"No," Mark admits. "We got into a fight before...she..."
"You didn't do this Mark." Susan takes a slight break from flipping and pats his arm. "These things, they happen, it's not your fault."
"I kept pushing," he argues, shirking away from her touch, not wanting the pity. He hasn't taken any form well since Derek's passing. He just wants an understanding, not commiserating. "I should've stopped when she said. I...if she was here we would've been relaxed."
"She made a choice to go to work. That's on her, not you, regardless."
Mark sighs and then gives up on the charade. There's no point with this woman, she sees right through him. "She has nieces-"
"I know, I saw them once in Seattle. You had run off."
"I...I'm sorry about that," he says lowly, "I couldn't."
"I know," Susan nods, searching for real plates. He ran away the other time too, only to return again up in Derek's room, comforting her son while he grieved the loss of his father, of their father. "What about her nieces?"
"They're moving," he sees her head bob as she follows along, " and I was...hoping that maybe Addison would take custody of them."
"They have a father," Susan states plainly.
"He's-He doesn't want them," Mark elaborates, carefully choosing his words. "We could do it. I know Addison doesn't think it's a good idea, but we could."
"Mark, you're about to have two very needy, demanding mouths screaming through the house. And on top of that you want to throw more children into the mix? Children who aren't yours, who aren't hers, simply because someone made some unwanted decisions in their life?"
Mark frowns at himself. This always seems to come out so wrong when he explains it to people and yet in his mind it's crystal clear. "They...shouldn't be with him."
"And they should be with you?"
"Addison-"
"Sweetheart," Susan begins, attempting not to patronize him, "you know as well as I do that Addison is hardly capable of looking after herself right now."
"Yes, but-"
"No buts Mark Sloan. If she says no then the answer is no. For now. Revisit it when you get settled in, once things begin to feel normal but don't you dare keep pushing her when she's already given you an answer."
"She won't even think about it!" Mark whines pathetically. Being around this woman does not do good things to him. "And she won't talk about it. She shuts down. You don't know what living with her is like. If I don't push we don't get anything done. You think there's a nursery in this house for those kids? You think she cares on way or another-"
"I'm sure she cares," Susan assures him, trying to calm the tirade that certainly looks like it has been looming in the dust for a while.
"You'll see," Mark shakes his head, "You'll see."
~-~-~-~-~-~
After an incredibly stressed and uncomfortable lunch Addison shooed her guest and housemate away so she could shower, bathe at Mark's insistence, and look presentable for whatever they were dreaming up downstairs. So far, on day one, she has found that television is just as boring as she thought it would be and managed to grab three extra hours of sleep so that no one would try and talk to her. She lathers, rinses, repeats, and takes her time wallowing in the warm water. She's allowed a day or so to feel sorry for herself. Most people would be excited to have months off from work, no consequences attached, but Addison will more than likely start sewing up fruit and read through every medical related thing in the house at least once. Maybe she'll even scream diagnosis' at the TV when it starts to act like everything is a ticking time bomb mystery. Anything to keep her on her toes, anything to keep her occupied.
She dries quickly, noting that it's well past five and that Susan should be departing shortly for wherever she is staying. A small part of her is angry, but the larger part is grateful no matter how awkward it is.
"You know, I looked like that at 20 weeks with Maggie alone."
Addison jumps, clenches her towel around herself more securely and lets out a shaky breath. "You scared me."
"Well, I didn't intend to. Come," Susan insists, patting the bed invitingly.
"I'm...I need clothes," Addison replies headed straight for her closet. She returns proper, a lazy blue dress falling just above her knees. Reluctantly, she complies and takes a seat on the edge of her bed, her territory invaded thoroughly.
"How are you?"
"I'm good," Addison nods, attempting to convince both herself and the other party. She hasn't been this rested in months and that has to count for something.
"Please," Susan admonishes. "You can talk to me. I'm still your mother. I know a thing or two about housing humans."
"I know." Addison pushes back on the heels of her hands and scoots further toward the headboard, feet dangling over the edge. She doesn't feel related, that's for certain. She feels like a stranger, just flown in to stir things, willing to leave only when the dust really kicks up.
"Mark told me you were angry about not working-"
"I wish he would stop-"
"Addie, let me finish." Susan halts herself for a second and then progresses. "Mark tells me a lot of things, he's concerned." She lifts up a hand when Addison tries to interrupt again, both knowing she has better manners than this. "You shouldn't be upset with him for being concerned and I know you're a big girl, very capable, but he needs to help. He needs to feel like he is helping."
"I-"
"I haven't known you as long as I've known my boys," she pauses, her throat constricting abruptly. "And I don't know you as well as I know my boys but...between the two of us, Mark has been concerned with your well being. From day one. Through the teasing and snide comments, that's how he communicates and you were...good with that. You understand him, so stop pretending you don't because you aren't fooling me."
"Yes," Addison agrees easily.
"When Derek brought you home...I thought..." she stops, not able to continue on. "If he was alive, we both know you wouldn't be here with Mark. You have an opportunity, and I'm aware that it's been outright awful lately, but ease up because...he hurts too, whether or not he shows it to anyone."
"I know," Addison nods, flashing back to sleeping bag memories on dusty hardwood floors down the street. "I want to be better-"
"It's not always about being better," Susan smiles. "Sometimes it's about allowing the bad and surviving the help that comes with it." She clears her throat and stands, having her fill. "We'll talk more tomorrow when I come back. Mark was insistent that he wasn't going to go back to work but I informed him that I'd keep an eye on you while I was in town this week, not that you need to be watched. Just to give him peace of mind, and to give you a break."
She leaves Addison alone, with her jumbled thoughts, dreading the next seven or so days to come. Of course when Mark proposed taking time off in the car on the way home she kept her mouth in a pencil straight angry line of hate, but somehow this seems so much worse.
~-~-~-~-~-~
By day four Addison wants to scream and cry and beg for mercy, and it's only the half way point. So far she had been forced into lying on her couch while her once mother in-law meticulously cleaned and baby proofed electrical outlets, dangerous toxins and the stairs, though neither twin would be mobile for quite some time. Addison found it all completely unnecessary but today was the topper. Spread across her lap dejectedly was a magazine because Susan said if she couldn't go shopping then the shopping would come to her.
Wasn't it just a few days before that she was throwing this sort of stuff in the garbage?
"Addison, you don't have to pick a scheme but you could at least pick a color," Susan barges through her thoughts of suicide. "Pink? Or perhaps something less girlish, green? A light green would be lovely in this house."
She looks through the pages again. Bugs, flowers, English Tea Party, sea creatures. This is torture. "I don't know."
"How can I decorate if you don't know?"
"I'm tired," Addison forces a yawn, for the hundredth time. "I'm just going to go lie down for a few minutes."
"Addie, we are doing this. You don't want to, I understand, but pick just one and I'll do the rest." She thrusts the magazine forward once more, daring Addison's temper to stay cool.
She takes the sad pages uninterested, and flips open to a random number, points, and throws it back down on the couch. She doesn't know what she picked, what it will look like when it's done, or how much her girls will appreciate or hate it. "Happy?"
"Addison," Susan begins but then retreats as the redhead makes her way upstairs. This was harder than she thought it would be. She reminds herself to give Mark a little more credit and stares down at the jungle animals crawling over the opened pages. No, that's not Addison-y enough.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark happens upon the house lifeless three days later, after being paged in for a burn victim who refused the service of any other "quack" in the building. He was reluctant but roused Addison enough from her constant state of sleep to tell her he would be back later. She didn't reply but he's positive she heard him. Now he hesitates calling out her name, concerned she is still asleep though the orange sun rose hours ago, he climbs the stairs.
Their room is empty. The hallway without shuffling socked feet. Guest rooms vacant. Kitchen undisturbed. His heart quickens each time another location turns up blanks. Five minutes and his search has revealed that she is definitely not inside. He jogs back down the stairs once again and fumbles onto the untouched deck.
His eyes connect with the tossing waves instantly but there's no body washed ashore, no limbs fighting the currents. He fishes his cell out, holding down the 2 key, and listens to her phone buzz inside on the coffee table. The garage looks exactly the same, her car where it is supposed to be. He gets Naomi's voicemail and then hangs up only to bolt into Sam's house without knocking. It's seven in the morning but he's pretty sure Sam would still be around at this time. Apparently, he is wrong.
The last option is to start searching the city, his fingers still working their way through his newly shortened contacts list. She's not at the practice, not secretly giving birth without him, not inhaling cheesecake with Naomi, not shoe gazing at her favorite store. Addison has vanished. Done exactly what he feared she would do left on her own. That or cause serious permanent damage but at her rate she could be doing both at once. He tears back up the driveway, and nearly hits another car as he reverses hastily into the street.
Then he sees her. Red hair pulled back, shoulders kept level by the seatbelt of Sam's vehicle. His brakes grab violently but it's enough to keep them from colliding. Changing tactics, he parks again and storms his way next door, catching her as she walks calmly to the door with a smile on her face. She waves at Sam as he leaves again, presumably for work this time, and then settles herself on the couch, Mark hot on her trail.
"What-where-Addison!"
"Morning," she greets and reaches for the blanket by her feet.
"Morning? You almost gave me a heart attack!"
"Sorry," she shrugs disingenuously.
His eyes zone in and beat red as she relaxes even more, cuddling into the cushions. "Are you kidding me? What the hell were you doing because last time I checked you were supposed to be here, sitting or sleeping. Not running around town!" He paces because he can, because he's been awake for over twenty-four hours and because if his hair wasn't already graying it sure as sin would be now.
"I wasn't running around town Mark," Addison scoffs, eyelids already drooping, very used to her mid-morning nap routine. She narrowly escaped the end of the week without killing Mrs. Shepherd, very narrowly and what she doesn't need is a fight. So she keeps it stilted and quiet.
"Can you explain what you were doing or is it a secret?"
"I was looking at your house," she replies, fingers beginning to flip through the article she wrote nearly five years ago on the parallels between premature labor and certain genetic disorders. She was as bored writing it as she is now reading it. Definitely not one of her best efforts.
"Did we find a buyer?" Mark slips onto the end of the couch, taking her feet in his lap against her askance, thumbs digging gently into her smooth skin. Clearly she doesn't care if he's angry and wants to flip out, and without her temper and insistence to egg him on he fizzles quickly. He's not one to get mad and stay mad for long. It rises slowly, explodes, and disperses faster than the initial disaster. He's a forgiving individual at the bottom of it all, and he'd rather love than argue.
"No," she shakes her head and then wriggles down further, letting his magical hands work their way up her calves.
"Then-"
"Sam drove me, I wasn't walking for more than ten minutes tops and I'm sorry that you were worried. I wasn't planning on being gone long and...I wasn't, you just got home at the wrong time," she expels all in one breath. Whatever it takes to end the conversation.
"Ok," he gives in, trying not to respond physically when she moans suddenly. The build up is agonizing and there's going to be many more months before release. He sees a lot of cold showers in the future. Cold showers to wash off baby puke. If it was three years earlier he would've been disgraced at the set of circumstances he's in, but now he understands the difference. What it is without her. What it would be like without that family, and the wish that there could've always been more. He has lived with the nagging for long enough, even if the reality isn't as pretty as he pictured it would be.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Four days later, what feels like nine hundred calls home to her, and one ill-planned evening later Mark returns with a nearly ruined bouquet of mixed flowers and a grocery bag full of food that has been spoiling in the backseat of his car for the last five hours. Initially, he thought he should buy jewelry. They tell you that you can't go wrong with that but when he was perusing windows he discovered a hefty engagement ring and hastily bought it. It's currently hiding in his glove box and from that exact moment on he's been having heart palpitations trying to think of ways to either ditch it in the ocean without it washing ashore again or getting it on her finger without freaking her out. The damn thing has caused so much anxiety he can't help but think it was a mistake.
He tosses the bags of fresh vegetables on the counter and toes out of his shoes, grabbing a glass of water on his quest upward to find her. He holds the flowers upside down in front of his legs defeated, knowing that not only will there be no proposal now (or really in the near future) but that there will also not be a Valentine's evening because it's nearing eleven at night and he'd lay good money on her already being asleep. To his surprise, she's awake. Lying there, staring at the ceiling in an eggplant purple tee shirt and shorts so tiny he has to take a breath to make it all the way down her legs to her scrunched up toes. "Evening."
"You missed it," Addison pouts feeling rather childish for a. not realizing how much she actually wanted to spend the lover's holiday with him and b. whining about something that couldn't have been avoided because work is work.
"Most of it," he sighs and climbs onto the bed, sheets rumpled and twisted, dumping the flowers in the space between them. "For you. I got them before...I was on my way home."
"It's okay," Addison grins sleepily.
"Yeah," Mark nods and stands back up to shed his clothes. He's hungry but he can't resist a moment of simply being able to touch her, if she's receptive. "I wanted to be here earlier."
"Ok," she gets out of bed, rolling to her side and shuffles over to the dresser to retrieve his present. She laughs when she hands it to him because it's basically useless at this point but it's all she has. The bag falls into his lap and he touches the red paper apprehensively. His present is in the car and she won't be receiving it.
"The Angels?" Mark questions, holding the tickets up in the air.
"Well, we can't fly to New York every time the Yankees are playing...and I thought. I don't know. You haven't done anything...for you lately. You used to go all the time...before." And in some realm, the ever-pleasing girlfriend side perhaps, Addison cares. And wishes simultaneously that she had the ability to be more free with that. "Do you-"
"It's a good gift," he finishes for her. "I was going to...cook something. But the food sat in my car all night-"
"I already ate," Addison tells him even though she hasn't. It's one step forward and two back. If she was starving she would have ambled to a lower level and foraged. As it was sleep was a more pressing issue. She flops onto the bed again, back protesting from all the lazy positions she's been in lately. "Mark," she begins softly. "I need to apologize about the hospital. I shut down and I'm sorry. I should have called you and I didn't because I was scared."
"It's not a big deal," he flips nonchalantly. It's really over in his mind. He's too concerned with the here and now to worry about anything that happened nearly two weeks ago.
"It is. To me."
"I'm not who you wanted, I get it Addison," Mark replies, still not fazed. There are no chinks in his armor from this.
"That's not what-"
"I'm not always going to be the person you want-"
"I should want you-" she interrupts again, not liking the turns this is taking. All she desired was to clear the conscious that she has had too much time with lately. The damn thing is killing her day in and day out.
"They aren't mine. I understand." He rolls onto his side, facing away from her, eyes pressing closed.
"Mark," Addison stresses, feeling the anxiety begin to creep back in, the tension claw it's way in through the window panes. She reaches out and places a warm hand on his bare shoulder, trying to coax the wayward four year old of the corner. "I didn't want anyone. It wasn't about me...wanting anything. I wasn't...thinking."
"Yeah," he grunts.
"I was focused on...an outcome. It had nothing to do with you," she finishes realizing how awful that sounds, no matter how truthful. "I was thinking like a doctor."
"You handled it," he replies harshly, words betraying his unspoken vow to not give two licks about what occurred that day.
"As a doctor, yes I handled it. As your...whatever we are, I was wrong. And I'm sorry I made that mistake. I'm more sorry than you can possibly imagine Mark. Can you at least roll over and look at me?" He shifts onto his back, reaching a semi-agreement. As a last resort she grabs his fingers and scoots closer, placing his palm against her stomach. "They're awake," she informs him softly. "They wake each other up which means we are definitely not going to be sleeping after they are born."
He can't stop the smile that awakens in the dim light of the yellow room. It's uncontrollable really. He finds it amazing that she always, though she may not admit it or follow through, knows what he needs. His other hand finds the too small curve and rubs circles over the last place he felt a kick. Taking his time, he draws patterns and shapes, not pulling back until she looks like she wants to run away and cry in the bathroom. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she replies, snuggling into his chest.
"Can I..." his hands drift back to where they were before, pulling her back against his chest, his head pressing a kiss to the delicate skin just below her jaw. "Just for tonight?"
"Okay," she agrees, sleep clouding her judgment.
Mark grins against her hair, taking in its light scent. "Light is still on."
"I don't want to move," Addison replies, her legs beginning to work their way towards his, to tangle their bodies.
"Me either." Mark's too afraid to back away and hit the light switch. For now he is content, lively twins settled under his hands, feeling them for the first time longer than it takes her to get him away. It's a golden opportunity and not one he is willing to sacrifice.
"Mom is good for us," Addison concedes, eyes closed, fists tightened around her pillow, leaving him be no matter how much it drives her crazy.
"I'm glad you feel that way," Mark mumbles, patiently bending up to watch her face. "Because she wants to come back to help when they are born."
Her sigh doesn't go unnoticed. Neither does the fraction of an inch that she purposefully puts between them ten seconds later.
~-~-~-~-~-~