Chapter 23. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall

"Hey, Sav!" Addison yells out as a welcome from the end of the hallway. She has just emerged from a long shower, and can hear her friend – who arrived while she was enjoying said shower – talking with Mark.

Addison walks to the living room as her friend calls back a hello. She tips her head in a mixture of curiosity and vague protectiveness when she finds Mark and Savvy lying on the floor, stretched out on her pregnancy pillows. "What are you two doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like," Savvy blinks up at her. "Trying out your pillows. I love this one."

"I can see that. I'm glad they're big so I don't have to worry about you sneaking out of here with one."

"Can we trade back now?" Mark implores, turning to face the other pillow-borrower. "I like the 'C' shape one better. This one just…I feel like I'm being suffocated."

Savvy smirks, considering this. "Mark, you should really wait until your girlfriend is out of the room if you're going to talk about her like that."

"Shit. That was a good one," Mark laughs while Addison whines hey in protest.

"I know," Savvy says. "I'm pretty proud of it. So I get a few extra minutes with this pillow because of how well that joke landed and because while you were at work I shaved your girlfriend's legs. That's true friendship right there."

Addison pouts at her. "You asked if there was anything you could do to help me around here. That helped. And I only had you shave up to the knees."

"I wasn't planning to go any higher. But hey, I did it for you too," Savvy winks at Mark. "I'm trying to keep the magic going."

"She's almost thirty-six weeks pregnant, Sav. You really think there's any magic still going on?"

"Aren't you both so funny," Addison rolls her eyes. "Of all the roommates I could have had freshman year and of all the guys who could have knocked me up, I get saddled with you losers."

Savvy grins. "You love us."

"I do. Provided I eventually get my pillows back."

-

"You're like on your own little island over there," Mark observes with an amused smile. Addison is on her side of the bed, wrapped up in one of her pregnancy pillows (the one he feels is suffocating). They have started to give each other space at night, both for comfort purposes as well as sanity. She wakes up several times a night now (and is not always successful at not waking him in the process) due to the sheer discomfort of being this pregnant.

Addison beams back at him. "My very comfy, non-magic island."

"Still plenty of magic," he taps her on the nose. "Just not the sexual kind."

"That's true. But can you come over to my island for a little bit anyway?"

"I wish that was a euphemism, but I know you're just angling for a back rub," he lets out a fake dramatic sigh. "Hey, Addison…you doing okay though?" His eyes shift towards the windows lining their bedroom. It is not raining too hard this Saturday night, but still.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbles sleepily. "I am."

"Good. Make sure you wake me though if you need anything."

"I will. It will probably just be for nachos. I feel okay – mentally, at least. Physically it's less than ideal, given the nail gun someone is apparently alternating between driving into my hips and lower back, and also things going on with my boobs that you don't want to know about. All thanks to your pineapple-sized daughter."

"She's always my kid when she's causing trouble, isn't she?"

"Yep."

-

A few hours later, she is not close enough to reach him, to prod her fingers anxiously against his back while he sleeps on his side, turned away from her. Nor is she okay after jolting awake from a nightmare. And the pillow – the magic pillow she loves so much – really does feel suffocating in this moment.

"Mark…Mark…" she attempts, throat tight. "Mark."

"Salsa or queso?" Mark mumbles sleepily, coming to. He reaches a hand out and is able to navigate it to the on/off switch of the table lamp with his eyes closed, getting the button on the first try (he is vaguely proud of this). Mark opens his eyes with some reluctance as he rolls over, but any lingering irritability about just wanting a few hours of uninterrupted sleep flutters away when he sees Addison's quivering lower lip and tears sticking to her cheeks.

He scoots over quickly. "Oh, Addie. Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

"I don't want to be on the island," she whimpers. It takes Mark a moment to understand; the conversation before they went to sleep has not come all the way back. But when Addison wiggles more insistently, trying to swing one of her legs out from under the pillow, it clicks. He nods his understanding and guides the pillow out from under her to push it off the bed.

"There we go," he settles his arm over her waist, and slips the other under the curve of her neck, pulling her close. "I've got you. Addison…you're not in any pain, right? And the baby's okay?"

Her head jerks in a nod, which he takes to mean as a no to the former and a yes to the latter.

"Not – not the…" her sobs pick up a little. "Not the weather."

Mark frowns, trying to understand. "That's not what…what's wrong then? Did you…did you have a bad dream?" He asks. Addison nods again, this time letting out a sad, bleating cry. "Can you tell me about it, Ad?"

"Brownstone. He…the brownstone." And then she shakes her head, followed by a lengthy shudder. Mark fills in the remaining pieces in his head.

"I'm sorry," he sighs in sympathy. "I know it felt real, but you're safe now. Everything is going to be okay. Addison, try to name five -"

"No! I don't want to play," she shrieks, loud enough to make Mark wince. The crying and wheezing gasps are becoming harsher, more frenzied. "Mark, I – I don't want to play."

"Okay. I'm just gonna hold you then. Let's sit up though and get you a bit more space," he suggests, though it is really more of a decision. Addison's feet are scraping wildly against the sheets as she tries to scoot closer, and Mark feels bad not just for her pain, but because it is not as easy to hold her close while facing each other, given the expansive bump between them. He sits up and helps her do the same, steering her into his lap.

"I can't breathe. Mark, I can't breathe."

"You can. I've got you. Each time I squeeze your hand, inhale, hold the breath until I stop squeezing, and then exhale. Inhale, exhale. We're just going to keep doing that, okay?"

Addison drags in a heavy gulp of air. "I'm so s-sorry."

"Don't be. It's okay, Red. You're okay." She is clearly not though. There are more peaks and valleys than usual to her crying, to her anxiousness. Mark holds her tighter, coaching her through a few slow, measured breaths.

"I'm – I'm scaring her," her gaze shifts to her stomach. "You need to talk to her."

Mark glances down sharply. "Addie, do you think…do you think you're going into labor?" His chest tightens at the possibility. He thinks of the early-but-just-in-case hospital bag of hers by the front door. He thinks of how he can possibly manage to get her to the door when she's this upset.

"N-no. And she's not in distress." Addison states, and he feels his heart resettle at this. Mid-panic attack or no, he trusts her and her judgment unreservedly. "She just – she just doesn't like this. I know she doesn't. You h-have to talk to her. Just talk to her. Help her so she…so she knows she's okay."

Mark presses a hand to her lower abdomen. "Is this where she is right now?"

"H-here," she moves his hand down a little, fingers tangling together. Mark tightens his other arm around Addison's waist, and she buries her head under his chin, still hiccuping. Mark is thankful for her guidance; because of Pickle-Kate's size now – Alice after she eats the cake, according to his girlfriend – she does not kick as much. Now it is mostly small wiggles and roly-poly moves.

"Hi, Pickle-Kate," he says, voice directed to Addison's stomach. "It's Dad. You're okay, baby. You and Mommy are both okay. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay," he says it for them both, repeating it until his voice is in danger of becoming hoarse.

It is hard to tell how much time has slipped by. Even if Mark was at an angle where he could grab his watch or phone off his nightstand or turn enough to see the compact alarm clock on hers (she has always refused to use the alarm on her phone to wake up), he is not sure he would believe whatever numbers blink back at him anyway. He assumes no more than a half hour has passed, but it is all too frenzied; perception and reality just repelling against one another while he cares for them both. Eventually, Addison's sobs transition to toned-down whimpers, and then to weary, sniffling puffs of air.

"Hey there," Mark gently strokes her cheek to get her attention. "You starting to feel a little better?"

Addison meets his gaze. "Yeah, just…tingly still." And everything else, she thinks, feeling exhausted and discouraged. Head hurts. Brain hurts. Stomach hurts. Pride hurts. Self-worth hurts. Lack of control hurts. Being trapped in this fucking mess, this fucking circle, with no end in sight hurts. "I'm just…I'm so sorry, Mark."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I think I scared Pickle-Kate. The baby's not even here yet, and I'm already being…I'm already such an awful mother. He was right. He was right."

"No, he wasn't," Mark shakes his head. "Ad –"

"I can't comfort…" she hiccups sadly. "I can't even take care of myself. So how can I possibly take care of her?"

"You just…will. You already do take care of her, both when you're upset and when you're not. This portion of the night was just a bit harder to care for yourself, but that's why we're going to do this together. There's going to be times where you'll need a little extra help and support, but there will also be times where I'll be the one who needs it. You'll always be able to take care of her though, Addison. And you're going to be a great mom – you already are a great mom. You know how I know?"

"H-how?"

"Because there's usually a point when you get that worked up that it's hard for you to hear me or make sense of things – you get trapped in your head. But tonight all you wanted to do was make sure your daughter was okay and that she wasn't scared. You fought like hell when you were struggling to breathe to tell me to focus on her. You wanted me to help her, not you. That's what taking care of her was for you in that moment. And that's just…one of the bravest things ever. That's badass. You're going to be such an amazing mom, Addie. And I know this will sound over-the-top, but it's just…it's an honor to get to parent alongside you."

She sniffles lightly. "Thank you, Mark. God, I hate that this is the segue I'm going to use after you said something so sweet, but I have to pee really badly and I don't think I can hold it anymore. But I…I don't think…" she begins, and Mark understands. He ushers her to her feet and helps her to the bathroom.

"Is it okay if I wait here with you, Ad?"

"Yeah, it's okay," she mumbles. It is not really okay, but she knows it is for the best. Mark had to support her on the way to the bathroom, and she suspects she will need him to do the same on the way back; she still feels a little lightheaded and unsteady. Addison appreciates though that he does not look at her while she is on the toilet, that she is at least afforded that small dignity. "It's just really fucking humiliating," she adds.

"It's only pee," Mark shrugs. "Everyone pees. Especially pregnant women."

"Usually not with their partner right next to them and not after they've spent a significant amount of time hyperventilating."

"I'll see way more graphic things than this when you're giving birth to our kid, from what I've been told."

"True," she murmurs, getting back to her feet and flushing. Mark waits patiently while she washes her hands, and then her face, scrubbing hard with a towel against her reddened cheeks and heavy-looking eyes.

"Do you want to lie down? Try to get some sleep?" Mark asks when she sits down on her side of the bed.

"Not yet. I just don't…" Addison shakes her head, embarrassed as she tries to explain, and hoping he understands. "I want to lie down, but I don't want…I'm sorry…I know it's really late. Or early, actually."

"It's okay. We'll lie down, but we won't sleep yet," he assures, getting them situated under the comforter. Mark does not think he has ever seen her this exhausted before, this broken down, but he recognizes that she is prepared to fight off sleep as long as she can. "How are you feeling though? Still dizzy?"

"No. Better. Calmer. Like my heart isn't going to explode. I'm just…now I'm just kind of sad," her voice cracks on the last word as her eyes water. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. We're gonna work on this whole not-apologizing-for-stuff-that-isn't-your-fault thing later. Tell me why you're sad though."

"Because I thought I was doing better. I want my old brain back. I want this life, with you and Pickle, but I want my old brain," she rubs at her eyes. "And I know I can't have that, or at least not now…I know it takes work. And I know progress is progress, even when there's setbacks, but I'm still really sad. At least if it was the rain or I was just thinking a lot about that night, I could feel that; I could feel what I was feeling. Then tonight happened, and now it's like I'm not even safe from myself when I'm asleep. I'm just stuck with this version of me. I've had dreams about that night before, but -"

"You have? Addie, I didn't -"

"Just a handful," she says quickly. "They weren't ones like tonight. Not so much upsetting to experience as they were…unpleasant, I guess. More like just a scene in a dream marathon. But, tonight was different. Mark, I couldn't…I was just so scared. I woke up and it was just so -"

"I know. I know you were scared. But you got through it. And you'll keep getting through it, even though it's hard and it's scary and it's really unfair. You're sad and you're probably feeling discouraged, yeah, but it's not going to be a linear path to getting this all addressed, you know? Trauma edits your brain and not every day can be the same. But you're strong, Addison. And you're resilient. You're going to keep getting through this, even if there are hiccups along the way. Like you said: progress is progress. It's okay to feel sad, but I hope at the same time you're still able to feel good about how far you've come. And I…." Mark clenches his jaw for a moment when he feels his throat constrict. "I'll do whatever I can to help you and be your personal cheerleader-guy. I'd do anything to take this all away from you."

"I know you would," she musters up the remaining energy she has to lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "And I love you for that. You do so many thoughtful things for me, Mark, but unless you have special Inception powers, I don't think you can help while I'm sleeping."

"No, but we'll spoon the crap out of each other, and if you have a dream like that again you'll wake me up and we'll get through it together. But, Addison…do you think maybe you should talk to someone? I'll be here for you no matter what, but maybe it would be helpful to see a therapist? Someone who for ethical reasons won't spoon with you, but will have more expertise about this. Tonight was a bad one. The worst it's ever been."

"I know. I didn't mean…" she lets out a fresh whimper. "I'm really sorry…"

"Don't be. It's okay. Hey, Addie – look at me," he cups a hand beneath her chin, lightly tilting her head up. "It's okay. It's not your fault and you don't have to feel guilty about this. I just mean it was bad because it was bad. But talking to a professional…maybe we keep in mind that that's an option. For right now though, just remember that you're safe."

"I'm safe," Addison repeats, saying it slowly, testing its worth on her tongue.

"You are," he confirms. "You're safe. And you're strong."

"I'm safe. And I'm strong. And…" she manages a small, teasing grin as she looks up at him. "I'm magic."

Mark laughs and kisses her cheek. "Yes, you are. You're the magic and I'm just along for the ride."

-

"Hey," Derek says when he answers the phone. Mark and Derek have texted every now and then since they spoke in January – mostly about their teams – but phone calls have never been their thing. "Is everything okay?"

Mark glances nervously down the hallway. Addison is in the shower right now – they slept in late, and she convinced him she felt well enough to shower on her own. He knows he does not have a lot of time though to make this call, so he is grateful Derek answered.

"Uh. No, not really."

"Is Addison…?"

"She's okay. And the baby's okay. No early arrival or anything," Mark inhales deeply. "But Derek, I'm calling because Addison isn't really okay. Not all the time, at least. She had a panic attack last night. She's had several this past year. They're all related to the night that you, uh, caught us. About the immediate aftermath. And just…" he raises his voice a little when Derek attempts to cut in. "The last time we talked and you told me you'd kill me if I hurt her…I swear to God I could do the same to you at the moment."

Derek lets out a loud sigh. "It was so – you have no idea, Mark. I walked in on my wife and my best friend screwing…and just, the cruelty of it -"

"You're right," Mark interjects. "It was cruel, what we did…to cheat, to be that selfish, to hurt like you like that. You were right to be angry and upset. But you yanked her off the staircase and threw her outside in a storm half-dressed and slammed the door on her. No matter what she did, that's also cruel."

"I didn't -"

"Wait, just listen. Please. You have to know what it's been like, because she doesn't deserve to be going through this. Not ever, but especially not right now. You just…you can't even imagine how awful it's been for her. You can't imagine how hard she cries when it's happening. How sometimes she can't hear me because she's so paralyzed and lost in the fear. I have to help her breathe because she reaches a point where she can barely do that. And then when it's over, when she's weak and exhausted and can barely walk and is a shell of her former self, she feels so embarrassed, even though it's not her fault it's happening. She's hurting, Derek. She's in pain."

"God. I didn't…I didn't know," Derek responds, words piping through slowly. "I'm so sorry. Do you think if I talked to her and apologized…do you think that would help?"

"I think you owe it to her to try. Regardless of what she did to you that night…you did something to her too. And I know you don't owe me anything, but it would mean a lot to me, if you'd try. She's in the shower right now and she's still pretty wiped out from last night, but maybe you could call tonight?"

"Yeah, I will. I promise."

-

"It's Derek," Addison murmurs, glancing down at her phone as it vibrates on the counter. She reaches for the phone instead of the bag of chips, and gives Mark a quizzical look. He offers to leave the kitchen to give her some privacy, but she shakes her head; it does not really matter to her.

"Hi, Derek," she answers. "You're interrupting my nachos. I hope this is good."

"Addison…" his voice is faint in response.

"That was just a joke," she adds. "Nachos Time is important to me, but…are you okay? You sound weird. Is something wrong?"

"I'm okay and family is okay and all that," he assures quickly. "I'm calling because, well. I know there are times when you aren't one-hundred percent okay."

"Oh. He, uh…" she glances briefly at Mark. "He told you."

"Yeah, he did. Addie…I'm very sorry for what I did that tonight, and for how much pain it's caused. I was upset, but I shouldn't have reacted that way. You didn't deserve to be locked out of your own house. I just…I'm sorry. That was wrong of me. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Derek. For saying that," she replies. Derek cannot help but smile into his phone. He has always appreciated that about her. Some things about Addison are distinctly girly – she says sorry more than she should, for example – but she has always been able to graciously accept an apology without automatically uttering it's okay in response.

"Will you be alright, Addie?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll get there. You know what brains can be like – and how they can recover – after certain experiences."

"I have a vague idea," he laughs softly. "I should let you get back to Nachos Time, but Addie…I hope this doesn't happen to you again. I care about you and I want you to be well. Same goes for that idiot I call my best friend. And you'll, um…you or Mark will let me know when she's born, right?"

"We will. I promise."

-

"Are you upset I told him?" Mark asks nervously when she ends the call.

"Not upset," Addison offers a mild shrug. "Just a little embarrassed. But I…I understand why you told him."

"Okay. And I know you can fight your own battles, Addie, but this is one where I just…I felt like I had to say something. So this week…I have a few things I need to wrap up surgery-wise – you have Nachos Time, I have Nose Job Time – but I'll talk to the chief and plan to start my paternity leave the following week. Or more towards the end of this one, if I can swing it."

"You don't have to do that before she gets here. I promise…" Addison trails off, realizing that is not realistic. "I'll do my best not to freak out again."

"I want to be here. Come on, it's our last window of time together before the third wheel joins us."

"Okay. Well, then…I'm glad you'll be here with me," she walks into his arms for a hug. "You'll basically be my nacho fetcher though. And I'll probably be bossy. More bossy than usual."

Mark drops a kiss on the top of her head. "I told you: I like the bossing."