Trigger warnings for suicide.
It was never meant to happen.
Nobody expected it to happen.
Addison had always been independent, self sufficient, strong.
She had always been the girl who picked herself up after a bad cry, bandaged her own cuts and scrapes and wounds, the girl who never was a mess.
You don't remember much since that day, drifting and floating and glimpsing.
You do however, remember how Richard crumbled to the ground, how he held onto the railings as he squatted. An awkward sight for the chief of surgery.
You remember how Mark backed away from you, one steps, two steps. His hands pulled at his hair and his lips trembled before descending into a kneel on the ground.
You remember how Karev throttled you violently against the wall, "This isn't funny Shepherd, what the hell did you just say?"
You remember Miranda's short frame intercepting to stop him, because even after that she still was the calm and composed one.
You remember Callie with water in her eyes as she whispered her name again and again and again under her breath.
None of us saw it coming.
The day you found her in her hotel room charts itself as the worst day of your life.
People used to say that the both of you had a gift of teleconnection, intuition, spiritual connection whatever they called it. That night, there was just this feeling that you had to check on her. Just this feeling. She said she was fine, needed some time alone, and so she left you at Joe's.
She stood and she got her coat, and she walked out of the bar without another word. Her auburn hair slightly swaying left and right.
You drank, and you drank and you drank against the backdrop of christmas music, the alcohol clouding your thoughts. Her half-finished butter rum sat on the tabletop untouched, and there was just something so increasingly unsettling about it.
You had tried to push thoughts of her towards the back of your head because really, you just told her that you were in love with someone else. Why should you care?
But there's that buttered rum.
It took 5 hours worth of convincing for you to check on her. You just knew something was wrong, the bile rising at the back of your throat and the way your heart was beating apprehensively.
You took a cab to her hotel, and found the door to her room.
"Addison?" You knocked. Once, twice… no answer.
She's probably asleep. Except she's not, because you can hear the sound of the shower behind closed doors, the sound of splatters of water hitting the marble floor.
"Addison?"
With your fists, you knocked aggressively against the door.
"Addison? Addison!"
This time, it wasn't your intuition telling you something was wrong. It was Derek Shepherd the husband that knew something wasn't right.
The neighbours must have called hotel personnel to lament about your bombastic manners, because the next thing you knew you were begging security to just check in her room.
"Please! She's my wife!"
You found her in a tub-full of water, well it really wasn't much of water at that point of time.
The bathroom was flooded, and you slipped in the midst of your scramble to her side.
Reaching into the Red Sea, you pulled her close to your chest. She was so pale, oh so blue, and her wrists were so red, and her eyelids were so grey.
You couldn't feel her pulse on her wrist, and really you didn't continue looking because the slightest pressure seemed to introduce a whole new wave of blood from the wound.
She didn't have a pulse on her neck either.
You clutched both her wrists in your hands, and you couldn't let go to perform CPR because gushes of blood didn't seem to stop coming.
And so you set her between your legs and her allowed her unmoving body to lean against your chest. Her head lulled lifelessly, and the tears in your eyes fogged your vision as you struggled to apply pressure on her wrists.
"You're okay Addie, you're okay. I'll make sure you're okay."
From far, you could hear the distant siren of an ambulance that was coming for her.
You're not sure who would be quicker, the vehicle, or her drift to the afterlife.
She hadn't changed out of the top from before, and the white knit has been stained red.
So red it matches her auburn hair. So red it matches the fainting remnants of her lipstick on her pale lips. So red it looked as if it would set itself on fire and burn anytime.
She was Addison. You were Derek. She'll be fine. She will be fine.
Because if she isn't, then it's too cruel of her. Because you can't remember the last time you saw her hair shine under the sun, or the last time her eyes sparkled, or the last time she smiled so wide the corners of her lips reached her cheekbones.
She'll be fine, because you see that she still has the rings you gave her 11 years ago slid onto her fingers, and she still has the Tiffany's necklace you gave her on your third anniversary around her neck. She has to be okay because you can't recall when's the last time you held her hand, or caressed her head in her sleep. The last time you told her goodnight, the last time you kissed her forehead. You can't remember.
If tomorrow starts without me, and the sun shall rise and find your eyes, all filled with tears for me. Please try to understand, that an angel came and called my name. He took my hand, and said my place was ready.
Set after the Christmas confession at Joe's.
Hello! Im back with my second Addek fic just because. Im still debating whether I should kill Addison LOL, brb gonna have an intense thought session.