Chapter 22. Gold Dust

Mark glances over at Addison when they are about a half hour outside their destination. "Think you can make it the rest of the way?"

"I can't make any promises," she smirks back, even though she wants to tell him, Not a chance. While it really isn't going to be much longer until they reach their Cape Cod home (it still gives her a little thrill that it's theirs), she suspects they will need to take another bathroom break first. "Your daughter's head is pressing on my bladder."

"Alright, then just let me know when."

"Hey, Mark?" She says, turning back to him after a few minutes of watching the lush scenery whip by her window. She tucks a loose strand that has escaped her messy bun back behind her ear. "I would marry you, you know." Her voice is soft, a little shy when she shares this.

She thinks about it more now. Marriage isn't everything, and they certainly don't need to walk down an aisle and exchange vows to make this relationship significant, but the love Addison feels for him is all-consuming, something that seems far beyond her control. There is really no reason not to marry Mark one day – and it feels kind of inevitable at this point. She knows she wants something smaller the next time, no more than a handful of guests, but she doesn't allow herself to get too lost in the details yet. She does, however, think she would like a winter wedding.

Mark offers her a reassuring smile to indicate I would marry you too, you know, but can't resist teasing her a bit. "You're really stuck on this whole will-he-won't-he-propose-while-driving thing, aren't you?"

"No," she giggles. "I was remembering the conversation though, because we passed Mattapoisett and I think that's about where it came up last time. I was basically shot gunning a sandwich at the time, if you can recall."

"I can. But now I know without a doubt that you're just having me make all these pit stops so you can thwart my car proposal. Maybe we don't stop the rest of the way there then."

She laughs in response, but is completely serious when she tells him, "Yesterday I sneezed and peed my pants a little bit, but if you want to test that not-stopping-anymore strategy and gamble the contents of your very nice, clean leather seats, that's your call."

"Noted. Don't worry, I promise I'll stop the next time you have to go. So I'm assuming I should propose after Pickle is born? We don't have a lot of time left and I don't think I could secure a flash mob and a marching band in time."

"You wouldn't."

"God no. I promise it will just be the two of us. It will be a complete surprise and I will sweep you off your feet and all that other shit."

"And all that other shit," Addison echoes with a thoughtful smile. "But yes, after the baby comes. Not right away, but…later."

"That's a pretty vague timeframe to work with, Addie."

"I know. You'll figure it out though."

-

"Just so you know…" Addison sighs happily, nearly losing her thought as she stares out at the ocean waves that shimmer in the afternoon sunshine. It is an unseasonably warm day, so eating on the porch swing ended up being a possibility. "I don't think I've ever been so happy before."

Mark smirks. "I want to say 'thank you' and that I'm glad I make you happy, but something tells me this is about Taco Bell."

"Yep. Sorry, Mark, but it's one-hundred percent because of the Chalupas," she nods towards a nearby wicker side table that holds their plates and the crumpled paper bag filled with empty wrappers of the lunch that he ate and the lunch that she positively inhaled.

"It's okay. I kind of figured."

"But now that we're done and my fingers are no longer oozing with sour cream and meat that probably isn't actually meat …" Addison digs through her beach tote, shifting its contents. "I got you something."

"Why? We said just food. You didn't have to get me anything," he shrugs mildly. "I like Taco Bell and chocolate too, you know. And they're weirdly kind of great together."

"You got me roses. That's not 'just food,' Mark."

"Still."

"It's just a little something, two little cheesy somethings," she says, finally pulling out two gift bags. "This is also kind of like a birthday gift in advance, so just think of it as a Valentine's/birthday combo. I am going to be far, far too lazy to go out and get you something in the middle of next month, so I'm fast-forwarding the present part to right now."

Addison watches his face for a moment. Mark's lips have parted in uncertainty. She catches a fleeting glimpse of the tentative, sad little boy who did not want to be alone and went room by room to turn on every light and really could have been loved a whole lot better. She throws him a lifeline, because while it's really not a big deal to her that he doesn't know, his expression is just breaking her heart.

"My birthday is June ninth, if that's what you're wondering," she offers kindly.

"Okay," he nods, glancing at the plank boards beneath him. His cheeks turn a little pinker. "I thought it was in June, but I…I wasn't sure on the date."

"That's okay," she reaches across the table for one of his hands and wraps her fingers through his. "Now you do know."

Mark looks back up. The smile, the hair, the body, the glitzy blue-green eyes, the intelligence, the assertiveness…sometimes none of that is more desirable to him than her softest characteristic: her kindness. Sure, there can be moodiness and the occasional passive-aggressive comment (the pregnancy hormones do not help), but Addison truly is a very kind person who doesn't hold on to resentment or bear grudges for too long. And mostly, she believes in him. Most people do not.

He squeezes her hand back. "I'm not usually good with birthdays, but I won't – I won't forget yours now that I know it. Or Pickle's."

"I know. Now, open," she pushes both bags towards him. "Oh, and by the way – I ordered a more masculine baby-wearing carrier for you as well as a diaper bag. I wasn't really thinking about the fact that you probably don't want to wear Solly wraps or cart around a diaper bag that is essentially a very fashionable purse."

"Correct on both counts. Thank you."

"And one of these is for you, and the other is actually for Pickle. Open the Pickle one first," she points to the bag on his left.

Mark shifts the tissue paper aside to pull out a onesie. This one appears to be for the three-month age range, but the size of it still nearly takes his breath away. Even the clothes Addison has purchased that the baby won't be able to wear until next winter just seem impossibly tiny. Mark flips the onesie around to see "My Heart Belongs to My Dad and the Yankees" in navy blue writing. He likes it immediately and thanks Addison, not just because he can appreciate how cute it is, but because for reasons that aren't entirely clear to him, his girlfriend really, really doesn't like to buy baby clothes that have text on them. It must have taken a lot for her to select the place order button on this one.

His second gift is a simple white mug with black block letters that spell out, "My Favorite Daughter Gave Me This Mug."

"I love it, Addie. Thank you. But I thought you knew…" Mark says with a straight face. "Tate – CPR kid – is a boy."

Addison rolls her eyes at him, having expected him to get in another remark about the doll. "Well, the 'my favorite son' mug was already taken by Tate's actual father, the CPR instructor, so you'll have to settle for this one. It felt like a good purchase though because it's right up the 'dad jokes' alley. Just trying to help you out."

"I appreciate that."

"And by the way," she adds, "since you seem insistent on that doll having a name, his name is now Jerry. I got it from Cardiopulmonary. Kate is still our top-choice for our kid. Did you think about that when naming the damn doll? Kate and Tate are basically the same. I don't like that. And when I'm a sleep-deprived, emotional zombie with a newborn, I don't want to call her 'Tate' by mistake. Because I might."

"Alright. Fair enough."

"But for as much as I've given you a hard time about naming a non-human, I guess I should admit that when I was doing some organizing in Kate's – I mean Pickle's – nursery, I thought Ellie would be kind of a cute name for the stuffed animal you got her."

"Oh, the elephant? That's Maggie."

Addison briefly closes her eyes, and tries not to groan. "You already named it…of course you did. Why are you like this, Mark?"

"Hey, I named it after the doctor who's going to deliver our kid. It's a nice touch. And if said kid wants to change its name one day to Ellie the Elephant or whatever, that's her choice."

"You know, I've never heard you call Maggie by her first name. Always 'Doctor Connelly' this and 'Doctor Connelly' that. Why?"

Mark shrugs. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. Other than the fact that she's a doctor, I guess just because she's your friend. I don't really know her outside of the exam room."

"But we're together, so by proxy, you guys are friends."

"Okay. I'll try to remember that."

"I mean, she's way friendlier and less condescending towards you at prenatal appointments than I am."

"This is true."

-

The rain is relatively delicate on Wednesday night, barely louder than breathing as it falls in sideways brushstrokes, and although there is no thunder or lightning putting on a performance in the night sky, Mark had still expected some sort of a reaction, even if minor, from Addison. Instead, she is nestled in his arms, body seeming soft and loose as she faces away from him. She watches the ocean waves rolling in the distance.

Mark rubs a hand lightly over her forearm to get her attention. "You seem so relaxed right now."

"I am," she glances over her shoulder at him. "I feel safe with you. And I feel safe, just like, with myself too, right now."

"That's great," he kisses her on the temple. "I'm proud of you, Addison."

"Thanks. I'm…I'm proud of me too," Addison admits with a small smile. She wants to shrug the praise and self-praise off. She wants to say it's not a big deal, but realistically, she knows it is; for her to not feel anxiety due to the battles raging in her head and to not get stuck in that place every time a storm brews or something else amplifies her emotions is important. It is a step towards healing, no matter how messy the act of healing usually is.

"Do you think it's us?" Mark asks. "Do we just bring rain with us or something when we come here?"

"Ha. Who knows. I'd actually like to be very cliché and have you kiss me in the rain, right by the water, but I'm too lazy and warm to move…" she frowns after a moment when silence lodges between them. "Hey, you're not asleep, right? I was expecting at least some sort of agreement, or perhaps for you to express an interest in more than kissing. Not even a courtesy chuckle?"

"Sorry. My interests, and the visual of you soaked through your clothes, definitely do go beyond just kissing. I was just thinking, that's all."

"About what?"

"Addison," he lets out a low sigh. "I'm nervous. About being a dad, I mean. About not being a good dad."

"You're really great with diapers now though. And you brought the CPR doll back to the hospital, which shows good judgment. Tell me what scares you. But just…help me turn over first so I can face you."

"All of it scares me," Mark says once he has helped her roll to her other side.

"Okay," she begins. There is so much drama behind his statement and it is just so not him that Addison has to fight back a smile. She strokes a hand to the side of his head, traveling down to his jawbone. "Try to give me an example though, honey."

"I don't think I'll know how to swaddle her."

"That's okay. I'll show you, and if it's not working out for you, it's not the end of the world. She doesn't have to be swaddled in order to sleep."

"How do I – how do we get her in and out of the car seat without bumping her head on the handle or the canopy part?"

Addison does not hide her grin this time. This thought has actually crossed her mind before. "Hell if I know. We'll just do it as slowly as we can each time. We won't break her."

"Okay. And what if I don't know what she wants…like if I can't tell the difference in her cries?"

"You'll check to see if she has a clean diaper and think about when she last ate. If she's clean and has a full belly and she's already been burped, and it seems like everything is fine, then you're just going to hold her close and love on her until she settles. Babies do cry for what seems like no reason sometimes," Addison gives his hand a light squeeze. "You're really spiraling right now, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Feel free to join me. Aren't you nervous?"

"Of course, but we've apparently landed on the one day in the calendar year where your anxiety is higher than mine. And in all honesty, some of the things you're worried about – not that they aren't valid – just aren't pinging as high for me at the moment because of other things I'm going to face. Google 'ring of fire' and 'episiotomy,' for example. Those are things I'm almost too embarrassed to discuss, and there's no reason to be since, as you once mentioned, my profession means I'm in the vaginal trenches day in and day out. Oh, and 'cracked nipples' is another special kind of hell, though I'm assuming that doesn't require an explanation."

Mark offers a weak grin. "Not that one, no. Sounds horrible though. And when it comes to caring for our kid, I'm sorry my nipples are essentially useless in comparison."

She laughs in response. "Anyway, sorry. I know this isn't about me. What else are you nervous about?"

"What if…what if she doesn't like me? I just mean that, well, she'll prefer you. And that's fine, I get that, you're the mom and you have the useful nipples and frankly, who wouldn't like you more than me, but as far as…being able to comfort her. What if you're in the shower and she's with me and she's just, like, miserable because she'd rather have you? And what if I can't get her to stop crying?"

"The fact that you're so worried about that just shows me how good of a dad you're going to be. How great of a dad, actually. When she won't stop crying and seems like she's miserable, just stay calm – it's going to happen, and it's going to happen to me too, because babies are just incredibly rude like that. But they don't cry forever. Mark, you're going to be a total champ at comforting her though; I know that because of how you are with me. It'll be the same for…" she stumbles, feeling Kate accidentally form in her mouth. Mark seems too lost in his head though to give her a hard time about the near slip-up. "For the baby," she continues. "For Pickle."

"Sometimes it feels like I can barely keep myself alive. When I go to heat up something frozen in the microwave, I always have to fish the box it came in out of the garbage because I forgot to read the instructions. How am I going to keep a kid alive?"

"Everyone does that, and you're not going to put your kid in the microwave, so I wouldn't use that example as a way to measure whether or not you'll be a good dad," Addison giggles. "We'll keep her alive, I promise. You really are going to be good at this, Mark. And if it makes you feel any better, it's not like I'm going into this with unshakable confidence. The babies I operate on and monitor don't come home with me. The thing is though, what makes me less nervous about being a parent is knowing I'll get to do it with you. Sure, we're going to make a lot of mistakes, but none of them will likely result in lasting trauma during her infancy, and we'll definitely do a lot of good, too. Any other worries?"

"A million, probably, but that's all I can think of off the top of my head. I…I feel a little better though."

"Good." Addison adjusts herself a little in order to rest her head on his chest. "And for the record? I'm really, really glad you're going to be this kid's dad."

-

"Hey, Addison," Mark smirks over at her as they begin the long drive back to Manhattan. "I have to ask you something important. It's the most important question I've ever asked someone. Addison Forbes Montgomery, will you…will you…?" He laughs when she throws him a dirty look, but then bursts into a round of laughter herself.

"Oh my God. I hate you, Mark Sloan."

"You love me. Though you might love me a little less tomorrow if I accidentally wake you up while I'm getting ready for work. By the way, what are you going to do with your first week off?"

"I'm doing a triathlon."

"Yes, obviously."

"I'm going to sleep a lot. Eat. Bitch aloud to no one about Braxton Hicks contractions. Talk Savvy into blowing off work for a day to come hang out with me. Do some nesting. Avoid getting in cars with you. Oh, and maybe learn to knit. I've always wanted to learn, and I feel like that's something a surgeon should take to pretty naturally."

"Isn't that kind of like…a celibate person activity?"

"Not entirely sure what you mean by that, but it's probably about to be like that for me. The sex window is getting dangerously close to closing, and once it does, it is going to stay closed until June, probably. Get ready."

"I'll survive. Plus we'll be pretty busy with Pickle-Kate," Mark says. They have messed up so many times over the past few days that they have transitioned to calling her this. Kate just feels like her name now, and even if it is not, they feel confident she will at least look more like a Kate than she will a Pickle when she is born. "I'm going to be a master 'swaddler' by the time she gets here, you know. I'm determined to learn."

"I swear to God, if you even think about bringing that CPR doll home to practice on..."

-