Atlas

by darlingwrecks

What if you can build something out of the wreckage that you caused? Mark/Addison (and Derek), pre-Grey's. Includes flashbacks to Addison's childhood, Mark's childhood, and works off the fact that the "he was just here" comment was not accurate. Long-term affair. Mark/Addison and Derek/Meredith endgame.

46. Life Is a Gorgeous, Broken Gift

A/N: Chapter title is a lyric from the song "Emphasis," by Sleeping At Last. Almost all of this chapter occurs in a bed...not like that. Well…a little like that. ;) But there's a baby! And there's fluff and happiness, but also lots of thoughts and feelings, because they are still Them and it is still A Lot. This is one of the chapters I'm proudest of. And my longest one to date, clocking in at ~14.5K. I KNOW.

Oh, and for the flashback: Cosy, one of Addison's nannies, came up a lot in chapter 2. Just pointing that out. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 46. Life Is a Gorgeous, Broken Gift

"I can't tell if this is helping or hurting," Mark admits, trying to read Addison's expression. She is staring out the floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows, where rain is noisily arriving on the glass. At certain points she has seemed relaxed, silky pajama bottoms bunched around her knees as Mark rubs her calves in an attempt to relieve the muscle cramps keeping her awake, but every once in a while her lips roll inward, revealing some discomfort.

"Both." Addison shifts her head on the pillow so she can look at him. "It's all sort of a thin line at this point. No, it's fine," she adds quickly when Mark seems uncertain. "Really. It feels nice. Just...a little harder, maybe."

Mark grins when she draws her hands up to her mouth, trying to suppress a fit of giggles. "You might be dealing with insomnia," he says, "but I know you're tired if you're laughing at stuff like that. Especially when you laugh before I laugh."

"True. Sorry about all the leg hair, by the way."

"You know I don't care about that."

"I guess I don't really either, anymore. Stuff like that mattered so much in the beginning though," Addison reflects. For her, the affair was as much about new lingerie and scrutinizing the flatness of her stomach and regular clean shaves and other aggressive forms of upkeep as it was about mind-blowing sex. "It was cliché, to care that much, but…yeah. It's such a 'thing' with women. And then when I moved in, I guess I was a little more relaxed about the appearance stuff, but living together still brought up new things. We'd known each other for such a long time, so in some ways that helped, but it was all new, you know? Like, I felt ridiculous about just putting a box of tampons under the sink…not that I needed those for long." She smirks. "When it came to being a couple, we skipped a lot of ordinary steps and 'adjustment things.'"

"How we started, and how quickly you got pregnant…is that normally not how a relationship works?" Mark jokes, which makes her laugh through a closed mouth. "Red, I wasn't born yesterday. I know women don't shave as often in the colder months, or only go up to a certain height. Besides, massaging your non-hairless legs is the least I can do when it's your due date and our kid shows zero inclination to leave the mothership." They both smile at this, even though they can acknowledge it is too strong of a statement. Addison's exam this morning showed some signs that labor should (hopefully) not be too far off. From what Mark can gather, at least. Like the thin line between pleasure and pain when it comes to muscle relief, there is a similar one when it comes to being supportive ("I don't want to talk about my cervix with you!" Addison snapped after their appointment). And Addison's doctor is really nice, but it has been Mark's experience that she tends to talk to Addison on a doctors-in-the-same-field level, which prompts another balancing act: ask questions while Addison's feet are in the stirrups, or shut up and hope Addison has a shred of patience left later to answer any remaining questions he has.

"Also, just so you know…" Mark gives one of her legs a short squeeze. "I kind of stepped up my workout game last winter. Especially arms and chest days. At one point, I was benching the most I've benched since high school. So I was definitely trying to impress you, too."

Addison smiles at this confession. He has been incredibly patient with her lately, and she certainly knows how cranky and pouty-lipped she has been. Her coordination feels nonexistent, her lower back and legs are aching (enough to be awake at one in the morning), and she nearly burst into tears when she called Savvy this afternoon to inform her, "You really downplayed how bad 'lightning crotch' is." Everything just plain hurts now.

Physical discomfort aside though, this time with Mark has been good. Taking a month off before their family changes forever has deepened their connection and brought them closer. They have had time to just be, which has been healing in a forward and through way. There is a collection of wounds between them – some shared, some separate – and all are at various stages of repair. And maybe all of winter has promoted this repair, even prior to their joint leaves. Addison thinks that might be the case. His birthday stands out to her in particular. That night, while they were unloading the dishwasher, a plate slipped from Mark's grasp and cracked apart when it hit the floor. Addison went to grab the broom and dustpan, and when she returned, she could see the twitching of Mark's shoulder blades.

"It's just a plate," he mumbled.

"It is," Addison agreed while she draped her arms around him. "But it's not about the plate." She went with Mark to his first session with Olivia after that weekend in Syracuse, and although she has not gone with him since, he still – with some hesitancy, with some trauma-burdened reluctance – will talk about his appointments with her. And Addison has learned, both from personal experiences, and from talking with Marie to determine how she can best support Mark through all of this, that grief can sometimes pour over you when you least expect it. "Come with me," she added when she could feel Mark starting to relax in her embrace. "I want to show you something. We'll clean this up later."

Mark managed to smirk when he realized where she was leading him. "You want to show me something in the bedroom, do you?"

"Not what you're thinking. Well, if you want to do that, too, I'm definitely interested." She brought him over to his side of the bed, where on his nightstand she had left a pint glass for him to discover, the last of his birthday presents. Mark had a tendency to leave empty glasses lying around, a habit she had not been able to break him of, despite ongoing attempts (both direct ones, and more passive-aggressive ones). "This is from Clara," Addison said while he traced a finger almost reverently over Dad printed in black lettering on the glass. "Well, from me, technically. But also from Clara."

"I love it. Thank you." He turned back to face her, smiling broadly as his arms circled her waist. "I'll try not to drop this one."

"If you lie down I'll rub your back for you. Oh…" Addison's eyes drifted closed when his lips connected with the tender skin under her earlobe. "Mm. Or something else."

"Something else sounds good. Something else if you want to, I mean." He was already palming everything within reach though, hands greedily exploring the luscious curves he had not paid as much attention lately. "It's okay if…I know I haven't really been…well." He trailed off, embarrassed. It had not been that long, but it was long for them. Probably their longest stretch of abstinence since early July, when Addison was too nauseous to feel much in the way of desire. And it was not like Mark did not want to. Sex just sort of took a backseat to clinging to Addison at night, as childish as it would have felt to admit it out loud.

"You don't have to explain," she told him. "And I want to." She slid a hand beneath his shirt, rubbing at the tightened muscles of his abdomen. She could tell how much he was relishing the contact, even more so when she worked her hand inside his pants. He continued to touch her back, but she knew just how to move her hand and swipe her thumb to disrupt the rhythm of his reciprocating fingers. When she started to ease herself to the floor though, intent on making sure Mark had a very, very good birthday, he grabbed at her elbow, and took her momentary surprise as the opportune time to get settled on their bed.

"Don't worry about it." He reached for the hem of Addison's sweatshirt after tugging her close. "Not that I don't…" his eyes were smoldering as he peeled off the rest of her clothes. "I just want you right now."

Addison spread her legs and straddled Mark's hips once his clothes joined hers on the floor. She took her time sinking down, humming in fulfillment as she adjusted to the deep feeling of him inside her.

"You just watch then." She guided Mark's hands to her outer thighs for support, and then began to rock forward and backward, sighing with pleasure. "I know you love watching," she added, voice husky-sounding. "God, this feels good, Mark. So good."

He felt almost drunk with love and lust, basking in all the sensations as Addison set a slow but mesmerizing pace. She arched her back, murmured his name, released a symphony of non-performative noises, and touched herself for his benefit. He came first, unable to hold back once she dipped a hand lower and said something uncharacteristically dirty as her other hand scaled up his chest, but her frantic fingers and the way he lifted his hips beneath her ensured her second-place finish was nothing less than explosive.

"My heart's still beating, right?" Mark said later when she was resting her flushed cheek on his chest, both of them tired and sated in the afterglow. Addison laughed and assured him it was – the rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing in her ear. But then she could feel the way his muscles were drawing in, tightening. "I love you so damn much," he said, words heavy with emotion. "And I couldn't…I couldn't get through any of this without you."

"You could though," she replied. "And you would if you had to, Mark, but the good thing is that you don't have to go through this alone. We have each other. And we have our really great therapists and everyone else in our inner circle."

They returned to the kitchen and swept up the broken pieces. And then Mark swept her up in his arms and they went back to bed, where they indulged in one another once more.

"Thank you for doing this," Addison says now, overflowing with gratefulness as she focuses on Mark again. His hands feel soothing as they knead the slopes of her legs. "It's helping. And I know I've been super emotional the past few days, so thanks for being…tolerant of that." She sees Mark ready to protest, which is his obligation as the boyfriend and dad-to-be, but she waves him off. "You know it's true." She raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Remember Weiss sent me that video of Phoebe and Sav sitting together and Phoebe said 'mama,' and I cried so hard I almost threw up? She's so smart." Addison beams proudly, in the way she knows she will do with her own daughter. "I bet it won't take that little lady many more months to get your name down. She seems to make 'm' sounds the most when she babbles."

Mark starts to laugh at the very thought. "What makes you think Savvy is telling her my name is Mark? She's probably teaching Phoebe it's 'Jackwagon' or 'Loser Who Knocked Up My Best Friend' or something."

"She is not. When Savvy stopped by last week – when you were at the gym, remember? – she got some sort of alert on her phone about an outfielder the Yankees signed…or something like that…" Addison lifts a shoulder off the mattress, not interested in the specifics. "And she told Phoebe, 'Uncle Mark will be happy about this.'" She watches as Mark slowly smiles, clearly surprised and touched by the addition of uncle.

"Um, so…" Addison falters as she attempts to transition to a new subject. "Can I talk to you about something? Something…well. It's sort of weird. And maybe we can just…" she makes a gesture with her hand, and Mark crawls back up the bed, which gives her time to shift onto her side. He settles down next to her, lining his pillow against hers.

"It's okay," he says when she appears tentative. His fingertips brush lightly along her jawbone, offering reassurance. "Whatever it is, it's okay."

She exhales with a small smile. "Yeah, it is. It's just weird, that's all. So I wrote…I wrote Derek a letter. I haven't mailed it yet." Addison lifts her thumb over her shoulder in a way that makes Mark think the letter must be in the drawer of her nightstand, or stored somewhere else in their bedroom. "Typed, technically. And I know I could email it, but I printed it this afternoon and I think I'm just going to do regular mail. It feels more poignant or something that way. So…Marie suggested I write a letter. I know realistically…I know realistically Derek probably won't read it, once he opens it and realizes it has nothing to do with, I don't know, like some sort of outstanding legal thing or whatever…but the point was sort of to write it for myself, but…also for him, in a way."

It was in early January when Marie made the suggestion. It was the result of Addison talking about the birthday card Carolyn sent Mark. Characteristic nice penmanship (something none of the Shepherd children other than Liz inherited) was stretched across the inside of the card: Happy birthday, Mark. I hope you have a good day. Thank you for my birthday card, and for the nice tea box you got me for Christmas. That was very thoughtful of you. I hope you and Addison are both doing well.

Addison studied the words carefully when Mark showed her the card. She could not decide what to think of the message, if the add-on of her name was something like a challenge, or if it was genuine. Or maybe it was both. It's not like she's rooting for me to fall off a cliff, Addison told Marie, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's a sincere gesture. I'm trying to just tell myself it was a nice thing to do though, and that Carolyn really does wish the both of us well, not just Mark. She would never be mad at Mark for any of this. Just me. But, still…even if it was her just acknowledging to Mark that she knows what's going on…she still didn't have to wish me well. And she did. So, regardless of the intention, I'm trying to remember what you said to me once: I deserve to be happy, and loved, and safe.

"So…" Addison continues, her fingertips pinching at the sheets. "I've been working on the letter for a while, just doing little bits here and there while you were at the gym, and pretty much anytime insomnia kicked in and had me up later than you. Like, there was that one night where I had really bad heartburn so I stayed up and opened my laptop and got really deep into reading about the most popular conspiracy theories…and like, I was reading about them, but I was also somewhere around page three in the letter…and I sort of wanted to finish it before Clara…" she quiets when Mark's fingers surround her wrist.

"You don't have to talk to me about your writing process – like when you started and when you found time to write – if you don't want to." He gets the sense that Addison's rambling stems from feeling guilty for only just now mentioning the letter. "And you also…not that I'm not curious, but if you don't want to talk about what you wrote, that's fine, too."

"I want to talk about it, but…" Addison starts to scoot closer, feeling ungainly as she does, which has been the norm for the past few weeks. "I need to do the bunny thing while I talk about it." Mark waits patiently while she adjusts herself, her body now positioned at a bit of an angle as she buries her head beneath his chin. He rests a hand on her waist once she has stopped wiggling around. "The letter was more about – well, I mean, I did apologize again. And I also gave him more of a timeline. Like when the affair started, because I tried to explain it to him over the phone last summer, but obviously he really didn't want to hear it, so as soon as I dubbed it an affair and not a one-night stand and said we were living together…and then the pregnancy part…Derek shut down…just in a name-calling, I-never-want-to-see-you-again way. Whether he believes me or not though, I just wanted to put in writing that it wasn't like the affair was happening our entire marriage, you know? But mostly I talked about my relationship with him. Because even though…even though the last few years were bad, I still…" Addison breathes in when her voice catches, and she feels Mark's hand start caressing the dip of her side. "All of it mattered to me. I loved him every minute I was married to him. And what you and I have, it's different and it's more, but with Derek…I was in love with him. We fell in love and we grew up together and we pushed each other in good ways and we built a life together. A really happy, great life, for a long time. We were each other's family. And even if he never reads the letter, I wanted to be able to say it. That it mattered. Even though I blew it up, it still mattered. He mattered to me, and the marriage itself mattered. And I also talked about…I know he was absent, and indifferent, but there were…there were ways in which I probably gave up – gave up too easily – when I felt like he was pulling away. And I acknowledged some of those things. I've been talking with Marie about that a bit more lately. Mostly the letter was about the mattering part though. So that's…that's sort of what I wanted to tell you about the letter."

It continues to be an adjustment for her, and Mark understands that. Nothing is historical if you still carry it with you. You cannot just close the door on your former life and part with all those memories in the process. And the wistfulness and remorse – and everything else, honestly – associated with that former life can rise without preamble. He remembers when they toured the labor and delivery floor on the Mount Sinai campus, and got to peek in one of the private rooms that could be utilized for their hospital stay after Clara arrived. Mark noticed that Addison nodded and said the right things while their tour guide discussed some of the features of the postpartum room, but for the majority of their time in the room, Addison stood near the Central Park-facing window, looking out over the swath of land comprising East Meadow.

"Did you like it?" Mark asked hesitantly during their cab ride back to the apartment. "The room Vickie showed us? It seemed like maybe -"

"I did," she interrupted. "I loved it. And that one – or one of its equivalents – will be perfect. I was just thinking, when I was looking out the window, my entire life used to be on the other side of the park. I'm okay." She gave him a slight smile, and then tipped her head to rest it against his shoulder. "But just…that was just something that occurred to me."

"Hasn't Bergdorf's always been on this side?" Mark framed her cheek with his palm. "I'm kidding. I know what you mean." His lips were soft when they touched her hairline. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Exactly what you're doing. I just need a minute to feel, and then I'll be okay." She brought his hand to her stomach. "I'm going to close my eyes and feel, and then I'm going to think about that quilted outfit Lynette made for Clara with the matching hat. You know, the pale green one? That's going to be her 'coming home outfit,' by the way. I think I get to pull rank on that one, since pushing her out of a very small hole is what guarantees she gets to wear anything in the first place. The Yankees onesie can be the first thing to make an appearance after that though."

Mark gently strokes her hair after she has finished talking about the letter to Derek. He can tell she is waiting for him to say something. And, truthfully, it is hard to know what to say.

"Did it…feel good to write it out?"

Addison considers this before answering. "No. Not really," she decides. "It felt good to finish writing it."

The use of "weird" earlier was probably an appropriate word for this conversation, Mark thinks, but it is just an observation; there is no negativity attached to the thought. Some of the everything of them being a couple just is weird to navigate, and they can acknowledge that, thankfully, both together, as well as separately in therapy. He has talked about it with Olivia before, his head swayed to the side in contemplation when he once informed her, "Addison's wedding album is in the back of our coat closet. We have vases that were hers before she was married, but have followed her everywhere, including the house she shared with her ex-husband and before that the apartment she shared with him. She was teary-eyed when the Hamptons home went on the market, and again when an offer was made, and again when she donated her wedding dress and Derek's tux. It's just a lot to work through, sometimes. But we manage. Her thing is that she just needs to 'feel her feelings' for a bit, and then everything's okay again. So I'm just…sort of there, when she feels her feelings, which is what she wants. I can tell that's what she wants."

"Does it bother you," Olivia asked, "that she still has attachments to her previous life?"

"Surprisingly, no," he replied. "Not really, at least. I'm sure she still loves him in some way. And I get that, because so do I – platonically-speaking, I mean."

"Do you think she's still in love with him?"

"I don't." Mark shook his head initially, but then he gave it a bit more thought when Olivia remained quiet. "Well, I'm leaning more towards 'no' than 'yes.' Like, if you quantify love by percentages, then the percentage for which Addison is in love with him is continuing to drop. I haven't asked her that though. Not since July. And it's not because I'm scared of the answer. It's because I don't care about the answer. It doesn't matter. I know she loves me, and it doesn't bother me if she still loves him, too. Just as long as she loves me, and that I make her happy, and that she wants to be with me. That's enough for me."

It is enough. More than enough.

"I'm glad it felt good to finish it then," Mark shares when Addison moves back, resettling on her pillow. "If you want, I can bring it down to the lobby tomorrow and put it in the mail slot for you."

"It's okay. I can do it. I know my walk is more of a waddle now, but it's still technically a walk. We can go together if you want though, since you've become sort of paranoid about leaving me by myself…as though I wouldn't call you if I thought I was in labor. Thanks for listening to all this." She grins weakly. "I know it's kind of a weird thing to have to hear your girlfriend talk about."

"It's okay. And you're welcome. But, Red…you haven't been putting off telling me about it because of…because of the Jenny stuff, right?" Mark pauses, feeling both regretful if it is true, and regretful for his wording, because it always sounds dismissive when he describes it this way. Olivia says it isn't though, because he does not mean it dismissively. She says he is doing his best. And so does Addison. "Because I don't want you to ever feel like you can't -"

"No," she interrupts. "It's not that at all. Taking the time to write it…I wasn't trying to be secretive, and I certainly won't make a habit of doing secret-y things…I felt bad about that part…but it was like everything was in separate boxes in my head, and now that the letter is done, everything is in one box again and I'm ready to talk about what's inside my box." She shakes her head when she catches Mark's lips tweak in the beginning of a smile. "Okay, fine. You get that one because I laughed at 'harder,' earlier."

Mark's smile lengthens. "It's actually not about the unintentional euphemism, though I do love that. I was thinking, and I know this is weird, but -"

"Weirder than this?"

"Well, maybe not. But still weird. I sort of like to imagine that Olivia and Marie are friends, and every once in a while they meet for drinks, and they bring a checklist of analogies with them, and they go through the list to make sure they never use the same one for both of us." He feels warmth spread through him when Addison giggles at this. "You look more tired now," he says, and she nods sleepily and confirms as much. He is feeling tired himself, and is grateful the bedroom lights are dimmed low enough that he does not need to make any adjustments. All they need to do is squirm their way under the comforter, and then find each other again, bodies as close as they can manage with Addison's protruding stomach lodged between them. His gaze briefly darts over her shoulder – rain continues to clatter against the windows – before he focuses on her again. A grumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

"I'm fine," Addison states. Her eyes are a softer blue in the muted light. "You don't have to…I know this is what you do when it rains at night." She does not really need to say more, because Mark knows, and probably on some level knows that she knows. On storm-filled nights, there is increased watchfulness on his part, and he holds her a little tighter. Addison is also convinced that he fights off slumber no matter how tired he is so that she can fall asleep first.

"Maybe I just like spending as much time as I can with you and Little Miss Squatters Rights." Mark runs a hand over her stomach, and while this isn't not true, that is not why he does it. She seems okay right now, and she has always technically been okay for as long as they have lived together – no nightmares or signs of suffering – but there is no denying that she is a little more rigid in his arms when it storms.

"I did actually…" Addison begins slowly. "I did talk about that in the letter, actually. About that night, I mean. He was right to be upset and angry, and to feel betrayed, but he wasn't…it frightened me, what he did." She almost cringes at the use of frightened. It sounds so affected, so Bizzy-like. "I know when people experience trauma, or see something they never wanted or shouldn't have had to see, they don't always know how they'll respond, but…he shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have grabbed me and pushed me out the door. I didn't deserve that, and I wish…I wish he hadn't done that. So it felt…it felt kind of good to say that."

"Addison." Mark touches his knuckles to her cheek. "What can I do right now?"

"I'm okay. Really. Can you just help me roll over? It's the left leg that's bugging me more – and hip – so I'd rather lie on my other side."

"I want you to feel safe though."

"I do," she replies. "I'm with you, which means I feel safe. And…you can tell, right? I'm not as tense as I used to be when it rained at night. Or as jumpy." Mark thinks she is still a little tense, but she looks so damn proud of herself, so he does not say anything else on the subject while he helps her get comfortable. He draws the comforter up to her shoulders, and then places a hand on her stomach. "Clara will be so lucky one day," Addison tells him. "I hate to think about her being scared of anything, but lots of toddlers and little ones are scared of storms. But she'll come running into our room and her dad will keep her safe. And her mom, too, but I bet she'll want you more during those times. Luckily, I'll be a good sippy-cup and stuffed animal fetcher and I can read aloud if we need to distract her while we cuddle. I'm really good at character voices. If Phoebe could speak in full sentences, she would tell her Uncle Jackwagon that Aunt Addie does the best voices for board books." She pauses, uncertain when Mark does not respond. She cannot feel any movement behind her revealing that he has smiled into her shoulder, either. "Still awake?" She whispers.

"Yeah, sorry. Uncle Jackwagon is still awake. I was just thinking…I know we have that motion sensor in the hallway, but I think…I think we should always leave the hallway light on. Her door is like ten feet from ours, but -"

"Hallway light on for sure," Addison quickly replies. She reaches down to cover Mark's hand with hers. It is things like this – even if much of it comes from his own upsetting childhood experiences – that show her what a good father he will be, and how deeply he will love their daughter. "And Clara can sleep with us anytime she wants…I mean, not anytime, but lots of times, and definitely if it's stormy and she's scared. Anytime she's scared. About the squatter thing…I guess I can't blame her. Our kid learned from the best, didn't she?"

Mark chuckles. "We really should add you to the lease…one of these days I'll remember to do that." They bring it up from time to time, but get distracted with other things. The reality is that Addison lives here and belongs here every bit as much as he does, even if the rental agreement does not quite reflect that. "You know," he adds, "I'm glad we took this extra time off before she's born. Its just been…ideal. This is ideal. And, Addie, thanks for…for being a family with me. And thanks for Clara. For growing her, I mean." He leans forward to stamp the corner of Addison's mouth with a kiss when she smiles. Growing. Not keeping. There is a distinction, and Mark is glad that she looks peaceful when he shares this with her.

Addison brought it up last month when they were cuddling on the couch and Mark was enjoying each of Clara's movements that looked like ripples across the stretched skin of Addison's stomach. She was real to me, from the beginning. I was scared, and I didn't know what I wanted to do, but she was still real to me. Mark tried to cut her off, to tell her she did not owe him an explanation for those first few weeks. It's okay, she insisted. I want to tell you this. And this isn't me feeling guilty or bad for considering all the options available to me. I'm just trying to tell you that even though I was scared, and the pregnancy itself didn't feel real at first, and I wasn't sure the timing was right, she still felt real. I don't know if that makes sense, or if 'pregnancy brain' really is making me dumber or making me rewrite history in my head to make things more sentimental…but that's what I feel. Clara was always real, even though I know it's a lot easier to say that now, than it would have been in early summer. But I just wanted you to know that, sense-making or not.

"I'm glad we're a family, too," Addison says. "I'm very glad, even though it appears I've grown Clara so well that she doesn't want to join our family in the real world just yet."

They have made something together, and that is never lost on either of them, even during – and maybe especially during – the times it is not easy. They caused a lot of wreckage in the past year, and with it came unfortunate and regrettable casualties, but they picked themselves up in the aftermath and were able to build something new. Together.

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Thirty-Two Years Earlier

"Night night, Madeline." Addison presses her lips to her baby doll's nose, in the space right between her eyebrows. It is only sort of a kiss between her eyebrows though. Madeline does not really have eyebrows, which Addison thinks was a little silly of whoever made the doll. She is only six, and even she would have remembered to make eyebrows. It is her favorite spot to give Madeline a kiss though. And Anne, too. She does not usually notice the eyebrows thing because Madeline and Anne both wear baby hats, but she can tell now because it is bedtime, and Cosy says that when babies sleep they should not wear hats, because they can get too hot. Addison just learned this. Cosy has also taught her how to burp the babies, change them without their heads bobbling around, and how to swaddle them. And even though it is all pretend, because Madeline and Anne are not real babies, Addison likes that Cosy teaches her real things. That is one of the reasons why Cosy is Addison's most favorite nanny ever.

And this weekend, she feels so lucky, because it is just her and Cosy here right now. Archer is sleeping over at Patch's tonight, and the Captain and Bizzy are at the country house.

"Good night, Madeline," Cosy echoes. "Addie, I forgot to ask…did you come up with a name for your new baby?" She points to the other doll. Addison has had Anne for three days now. Madeline was a birthday present from Cosy, but Anne was a "just because present," and Addison knows this because she asked Cosy why she got her another doll. She is very, very happy about Anne, but she was surprised when Cosy handed her the box, since it was not Christmas or her birthday. It was nice though, and she likes that she has two baby dolls, because that means they have each other – they are sisters. She thinks for Christmas she will ask for a cradle. For now, the babies sleep in an unused flower basket. And her other dolls – even though they do not have the kind of eyes that close – sleep on a shelf. Those dolls are "only for looking" though; that's what Bizzy says.

"Yeah," Addison tells Cosy. She was worried at first, because she could not figure out what to call the new doll, and she wanted to pick a perfect name. Cosy said whatever name she decided on would be great though, and it was okay to take her time. "Her name is Anne." She grins proudly, her tongue pushing forward into the space where one of her bottom teeth used to be. She is still getting used to the space, to the little cave entrance now inside her mouth. She remembers Archer crying when he had his first wiggly tooth. But she didn't cry. She thought it was kind of neat when she nudged at it enough with her tongue that it got looser and looser, and then she used her thumb and index finger to pluck it out. The Captain watched her do it, and he said her hand was as steady as if she was using forceps to hold tissue.

"I like that. And it's Anne with an 'e,' right?" Cosy asks, and Addison nods. She knew her nanny would get it. Cosy gave her a boxed set with all the Anne of Green Gables books. She said Addison was "a bit too young to enjoy them," but she would like them when she was older. And Cosy was right. Cosy read some of the first book to her (because Addison still wanted to see if maybe she would like it anyway), and a lot of the words were just too big and funny-sounding. Addison likes when Cosy tells her about Anne's adventures though, because Anne is funny and she has red hair just like Addison and Addison thinks that if Anne was real and they knew each other, that Anne would maybe want to be her friend. "Good night, Anne," Cosy adds, voice soft like a lullaby, and Addison says goodnight, too. She does not really want to put the babies to bed, because that means it is almost time for bed herself, but at least she and Cosy will get to read together first.

Addison picks The House at Pooh Corner off her bookcase, and waits until Cosy has flipped the eyelet blanket down so it is easier for them to both crawl into the bed. She is happy about her book choice, even though she knows Archer would be mean about it. He says that Winnie-the-Pooh is for babies. Cosy told Addison that's not true though. Cosy said adventures in the Hundred Acre Wood are for everyone.

She watches as Cosy slips the purple bookmark out of the book. They are at chapter seven now. Cosy does not live with the Montgomerys, so they do not get to read together every night, because sometimes Cosy goes home before it's bedtime. Addison saves The House at Pooh Corner for Cosy though, and picks something else for nights when Bizzy reads to her (or if Bizzy says, "No, not tonight, dear," then Addison will read by herself until it is "lights out"). Cosy is the most fun to read with. Bizzy has a nice voice for reading, but she doesn't do silly voices. All of Cosy's characters sound different from each other. And Bizzy never laughs at funny parts, like Cosy does. Cosy laughs whenever Addison laughs.

"Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind," Cosy reads while Addison snuggles into her shoulder, enjoying the picture of Pooh, Piglet, and Rabbit on the page. "'Pooh!' he whispered. 'Yes, Piglet?' 'Nothing,' said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. 'I just wanted to be sure of you.' Hey…Addie?" Addison startles at the sound of her name. "Your thumb," Cosy reminds her.

Addison quickly pulls her thumb out of her mouth. "Sorry," she whispers, cheeks feeling warm. She knows she is not supposed to suck her thumb. Bizzy says that "young ladies" do not put their thumbs in their mouths, and that it is also bad for her teeth. Bizzy also said a few weeks ago that if Addison does not stop sucking her thumb, she is going to put hot sauce on her fingernail. Addison started to cry when she heard that, even though they were out at a restaurant and she is too big to cry in public. Maybe thumb sucking is bad and will do something bad to her teeth, but she thinks that putting hot sauce on her nail is also bad because it seems mean. Cosy would never do that to her, but she still feels a little sad because she does not want to do anything disappointing.

"It's okay," Cosy tells her. "I know you don't mean to do it. And I know it's easy to forget when you're sleepy and you're as snug as a bug -"

"- in a rug," she finishes with enthusiasm, even though Bizzy and the Captain have told her it is rude to interrupt someone when they are talking. Especially a grownup. "But I'm not sleepy yet." This is sort of a lie though. Addison is a littlesleepy, but it is raining really hard outside – there is also thunder and lightning and big, loud wind that makes it sound like a wolf is howling. Addison does not want Cosy to leave her yet. And when Cosy goes back to reading about Pooh and his friends going to collect fir-cones, she tries not to think that the longer Cosy reads, the closer that means to bedtime.

"Maybe…maybe you could sleep in my room tonight," Addison volunteers when Cosy starts to tuck the bookmark back inside the book. The longer hand on the wall clock is on the twelve now, which means it is time to go to sleep.

Cosy presses her lips together. "Is the storm making you feel a little worried?"

"No. I just want comp'ny."

"You want company," Cosy says. Addison likes this about Cosy, too. When she says a word wrong, her nanny will repeat the word, but say it slowly, like as slow as honey moves when the bottle is flipped over. Cosy doesn't say she is wrong though. Addison knows she is wrong when Cosy does this, but she does it really nice, so Addison's feelings never feel hurt.

"Comp-o-ny." Addison sounds it out. She wonders how –

"Tomorrow I'll write it out for you so you can see how it's spelled," Cosy tells her, which makes Addison almost giggle because that is exactly what she wanted to ask. "It's a big word. And I guess since your parents aren't here, it's okay for me to stay with you in here instead of in one of the guestrooms. And we'll keep reading until you feel sleepier."

Addison gasps when lightning makes her room grow brighter, and then right after that she hears the thunder go boom. She knows thunder and lightning happen at the same time, but you see lightning before you hear thunder, because light is faster than sound. Archer told her that. He learned it in school, and since they both go to Carrington, that means next year when Addison is in first grade, she will learn this, too. The thunder scares her more though, because it is just so loud.

"Cosy…"

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe. And the storm will be over in the morning."

Addison takes a deep breath. She is trying very hard to be brave. "I'm just being sure of you," she says softly. "Like Piglet."

"Well, I'm still right here, just like Pooh."

Addison pops her thumb back into her mouth. Cosy does not say anything about it this time.

. .
. .

Mark blinks tiredly when the bed shifts next to him. The movement continues, and he can tell that Addison is scooching backward in his direction. His gravelly-feeling eyes adjust to the clock on his nightstand, honing in on the red numbers, a contrast to the blue and green waves from the projector nightlight continuing to undulate on the ceiling. 12:08. Not bad, given that the majority of Addison's wake-up times are happening between the hours of one and four lately. He is used to this now, her nocturnal comings and goings, a combination of insomnia and bodily aches and something known as nesting, which Mark's book informed him was common towards the end of pregnancy. Addison has encouraged him to sleep, to not bother getting out of bed in the middle of the night when she is in the living room watching TV, pawing through the fridge in search of grapes, or wandering in their daughter's room, where she cycles through the same tasks: tightening the crib sheets, checking the framed watercolor, friendly-looking sea animal art prints (a whale, a turtle, an octopus, and a jellyfish) for any smudges on the glass, straightening the cast iron sand dollar wall hooks purchased in Rockport (one of them has Clara's stocking dangling from it, and although Addison knows it's silly, she can't bring herself to put it away yet), and folding and refolding the newborn-sized clothes. Mark has listened to her suggestion (well, demand) to just leave her be, since she has snarled at him more than once for hovering, but there is a juvenile part of him that wonders if he can frustrate or annoy her into labor. He is not dumb enough to attempt this though.

They are three days – well, no. Four now. They are four days past her due date.

He rolls over so that he can wrap his arm over her middle. "Hi…" he murmurs.

"Hi. So." Addison peeks at him over her shoulder, and there is enough artificial light blanketing the room that he can see the curve of her smile and the shine in her eyes. "Labor started. About two hours ago."

"And…were you just going to let me sleep through it?" To his credit, Mark stays calm regarding this pronouncement, or at least calm enough to make a joke. He has done enough reading that he understands this particular stage is the longest one. Plus, Addison seems calm, which always goes a long way in helping him stay calm.

"No. I would have woken you up when I needed you. It's better for you – for both of us – to get as much sleep as we can. And I wanted to be sure the contractions were regular first, because you know I wouldn't be able to handle waking you up only to discover I was wrong. I have my pride, you know. They're fifteen minutes apart. I'm just going to keep resting for a bit." Addison sees the question floating on his lips. "You don't need to do anything right now," she says while pressing her cheek into her pillow. "You can just cuddle with me. I'll tell you when I need something."

"Okay." He pulls her a little closer, lips centimeters from her shoulder. "Okay." He knows there is not much in the way of needing, since the hospital bags (her, his, Clara's) are packed, the car seat is already installed, they have pre-registered, and he can say with absolute certainty how long the drive will be to the hospital at various hours throughout the day. Everything now is more about making sure Addison is as comfortable as possible until her contractions are close enough together to warrant going to the hospital.

"Mark?" She says after a few minutes have passed. "I thought of something you can do, actually…breathe." She grins when he exhales properly, instead of the shallow breaths she has been feeling against her back. "Yeah. Just keep breathing. Like a normal human being." Addison starts to giggle, and he laughs, too, but she reaches for one of his hands to give it an encouraging squeeze. "You know everything's going to be okay, right? That I'll be okay?" She feels him nod into her shoulder. "Okay, good."

She brought it up in early February. She did not want to, but she felt that she had to, because there was absolutely no way Mark was going to address the fact that his maternal grandmother died during childbirth. She could sense his anxiety though, the closer her due date came. It temporarily robbed him of air when they were in bed one night and she attempted to begin the conversation with, "Mark, when I'm giving birth, if something were to go wrong -"

"Don't." He shuddered, instantly understanding what she was trying to talk about with him. "Please don't. I can't -"

"Just for a second." Addison grabbed at his hands beneath the covers, trapping them in a way that prevented him from raising them to his face to try to mask his distress. "Please listen for just a second, because I need you to hear this, okay? You brought it up in Syracuse – about Jenny's mom – but then we never talked about it again and I think we have to, Mark. So, I need you to know that if something were to go wrong, I would fight like hell to stay here with you. That's it. That's all I want to tell you. I'm healthy and Clara is healthy. There's no reason to believe I won't have a safe childbirth experience. But I want you to know I'd fight, if I needed to. Okay?"

She stroked his face until he settled down, and then they drew closer and kissed, the contact between them quickly catapulting to the point where they were aching for each other. Mark helped her slide to the edge of the bed and he dropped between her legs, loving her with his tongue first, a praxis to make her feel as good as she deserved to feel, and an expression of gratitude for her being strong and resilient in the spaces where he was struggling. And then he rose over her, taking his time as he moved inside her. She arched beneath him, savoring how he touched her and how he looked at her. It was not over though, not when she expected it to be. He was still everywhere when they were lying next to each other afterwards. His lips were on her neck, and his hands were moving everywhere else. Palming the weight of her breasts. Circling her nipples. Scaling down her ribs. Stroking her legs and journeying closer to the soft skin of her inner thighs. His touch soothed her as much as it worked her up.

"I need to taste you again," he whispered in her ear, and although her flesh still felt sensitive, was practically humming from their previous activity, Addison felt a flood of warmth between her thighs when she saw his expression. Her legs opened for him. She clawed at the sheets, breathing in staggered gasps as he explored her with his lips and tongue and fingers, varying the speed and pressure. He was quicker towards the end, and her final noise when he pressed his tongue flat against her and she clenched around his twisting fingers fell just short of a scream. She reached for him when he clambered back to her, wanting anything else he could offer with his body.

They were loud and wild while wrapped around each other that night, so much heat trapped between them, and Addison could not figure it out, because neither was ever particularly restrained when they were having sex. That night was more though, so explosive that she was not sure her breathing would ever return to normal, even long after Mark had emptied himself inside her following a series of thrusts that produced sounds from her that she had never heard before, sounds she had absolutely no control over and in no way could muffle. Maybe it was the humanity of it all. Forever is forever but it isn't really forever. They were both at peace when they drifted to sleep though, weakened limbs vined together.

They are quiet again while they wait for the next contraction, save for the occasional burst of short laughter carved out of giddiness and disbelief. It is finally happening.

Mark sweeps his lips against Addison's shoulder. "I just realized something," he tells her. "Since it's past midnight…it's the eleventh."

"Oh. That's right." She thinks of the calendar squares. She guessed that Clara would arrive on the twelfth, and Mark guessed the day before. She plans to eventually cut out that row and save it. Maybe put it in a photo album or something. "Good thing I didn't bet money."

"Right. But I was gonna say, if she's born today -"

"She freaking better be," Addison says under her breath, trying to smile through her discomfort. Either the pain has wrapped its way around her again, front to back, or she is starting to tense in anticipation; she knows the next contraction will not be far off. She thinks of all the things she has told patients, of all the things she has observed, of all the things she has read, of all the rising and falling lines she has interpreted on a graph. The words and experiences are subjective, because how could you actually know the pain if you haven't experienced it? Right now the cramping waves and pelvic pressure are tolerable, at least. Painful and uncomfortable, to be sure, but not yet blindingly so. That part is coming though.

"- it would have been…today is actually my mom's birthday," Mark finishes.

Addison feels herself soften at this admission. "I didn't know that," she says, realizing she has never thought to ask before. "We should add it to the calendar…not that I'll forget, of course. And we should add your dad's birthday, too. And…and a lot of people." Her smile widens. They actually do have people whose birthdays they can write down. "I think we found something you can work on while you're keeping me company during middle-of-the-night feedings. And the Hamptons calendar only goes until June of this year, so we'll need to get a new one." She squeezes his hand again. "I'm glad today's the eleventh. It's sort of a perfect day for her to be born, crummy weather aside." She tips her chin towards the windows, where rain droplets are continuing to relentlessly gather. "I think it's supposed to clear up by mid-morning though."

"Yeah, but…it doesn't matter." Mark's lips are on her shoulder again, a longer kiss this time. "The weather, I mean. It's raining and it doesn't matter, because we're together. We're together and we're a family, and soon she'll officially be part of the family." He pushes his nose into the side of her neck, a little embarrassed. "I know it's cheesy," he adds.

"We're allowed to be cheesy today. It's raining and we're together and we're a family. And…oh. Okay." She lets out a faint groan and her fingers tighten around his hand. "Next one."

Mark uses his free arm to push up on his elbow. He knew it would be different than Braxton Hicks, but he didn't really know what different would look like for her. With the Braxton Hicks, Addison could almost roll her way out of them, just adjust her position until she was more comfortable again. And she said for those ones, it felt weird and unpleasant, but nothing beyond that. It was more just like her belly tightened and became hard to the touch. She equated it to flexing a bicep, and she giggled when Mark flexed his, as though to summon the feeling. This is different though. She seems tense everywhere, but then she shudders like a gust of wind is pushing against her. Her eyes are scrunched shut. Mark forgets to count how long it lasts – he should be doing that, right? – and promises himself he will be better about doing it for the next one. Addison has a timer on her nightstand for this very reason. The contraction is likely no more than thirty seconds, but it felt like so much longer, watching her in discomfort. And then it is over. She sighs, her limbs loosen, and she releases his hand.

"You still don't need to do anything," she says, anticipating the question. Her voice is a notch lower than it was before. Mark can tell the contractions are taking something out of her, even though she has more fight in her than anyone he knows.

"Other than breathe like a normal human being, you mean." He touches his thumb to her cheek. Her skin feels warmer. "Just…remember to make noise if you need to, during them." Addison has a high tolerance for pain, and she is just so damn stubborn, so it would not surprise him if she was trying to clench her teeth and just tough it out in the quietest and most dignified way she can manage.

"Oh, I absolutely will. I'm not quite there yet in terms of moaning and screaming and crying and not being able to form words, but I will be. And between the stronger contractions I'm probably going to call you all sorts of awful things, and there may be threats of castration. So…you've been warned."

"Yeah, I've heard that before. Weiss told me, and I can only imagine the stuff that was hurled at him. It's fine." Mark swallows a tight breath. Watching her suffer is going to be a struggle. "I'm sorry for how painful this is though…and how painful it's going to be. I wish I could -"

"I know," she interrupts. "And I love you for how much you care, but please don't give me the Ross and Rachel 'I wish I were a seahorse' speech."

"Deal. But right now…I still…I still shouldn't do anything? Or get you anything?"

"No. I'll tell you when. I'll probably shower in a bit, and yes, you can shower with me, because I know there's basically no escaping your sight now." Addison lets out a quiet laugh. "And I'll have you make me something to eat at a more reasonable hour, but not yet. This is good for now." She closes her eyes, even though she suspects she will be too restless to sleep, and she knows Mark will be the same. They listen to the rain brushing over the windows, soothing and musical-sounding. "Our last night like this," she says. "Just the two of us." It makes her emotional in a way she was not expecting, and Mark's mouth is quick, catching a tear that skates down her cheek. She will miss this. What lies ahead will be even better, but this part – especially the past few months – have been more incredible than she could have ever thought possible. "I can't wait for you to hold her, Mark," she adds. "Obviously I'm excited to finally have Clara in my arms, too, but mostly…mostly I can't wait for you to get to hold her."

Mark smiles at this. "Me too," he whispers.

. .
. .

It does continue to rain, but when they officially become a family of three that afternoon, sunlight is peeking through the clouds again.

"She's beautiful." Addison has lost track of how many times she has said it. She intends to be the sort of mother who finds other things, of course, and verbalizes those things often. Clara is kind to others, and to herself. Clara always tries her best. Clara is smart. Clara is a good friend. And there will never be a just or an only when it comes to raising her, because whatever their daughter does or does not do while on this earth will be enough. But right now, their daughter is simply beautiful. Because love is beautiful.

And there is so much love. And astonishment. It was like that the moment Clara was placed on Addison's bare chest, at first squalling, but then quiet and still as soon as she could feel the thrumming rhythm of her mother's heartbeat. A warm blanket descended like a parachute over them both. The Sacred Hour. So appropriately named, but so very different to be the one actively, profoundly wrapped in it. Clara eventually became more alert, making sweet little noises and contently suckling at Addison's breast, fingers spread over her mother's skin during the first feeding. She looked at Addison, and later looked at Mark, with eyes a shade of blue that reminded Addison of how the ocean looks at night when it is bathed in light from the stars. And Mark was right there, his face close to Addison's, a hand on her shoulder and two fingers coasting along Clara's forearm. His touch during that first hour was too light to have much of an effect, but Addison could understand its purpose. Much in the way he has always been patient with her, he was the same with their daughter, giving her the space to adjust to the world around her as she cycled through the initial stages of newborn behavior. He whispered things that were too quiet for Addison to really hear, or maybe she was just too exhausted after the day's events to appropriately process them, but whatever the words were, she knew they were loving ones. It reminded her of a lullaby.

Dreaming-but-not-dreaming. The sweetest dream-but-not-a-dream imaginable. That is what that time was like the most.

"You're both beautiful," Mark says. Several hours have passed. They have both had the chance to hold Clara properly, to marvel over her delicate features. It is an endless atlas of tenderness. They draw their thumbs over her still-puffy-from-birth cheeks and barely-there eyebrows. They follow the path of her downy hair, the tops of her ears, the impossibly tiny nose with its button-sized tip, the point of her chin, and touch fingers that are constantly curled into fists. She is fairer in coloring than Mark initially thought she would be. She's a strawberry blonde, Addison determined, but before they pulled a hat over her head, Mark mostly saw wisps of blonde.

The first time he held Clara, he could not understand how her weight, how she felt in his arms as he drew her closer, could already be so familiar to him. She is familiar. Her arrival has come with a sense of inevitability, a sense of rightness, as though how she came to be was the plan all along. How could life be anything but this? His daughter looked up at him with sleep-clouded eyes, and her rosebud lips slid opened and closed, as though she wanted to tell him something. It felt like he had already known her forever.

"Yes, I'm beautiful too and definitely runway-ready right now," Addison jokes. She saw her reflection when she used the bathroom earlier, and she almost laughed at how matted and sweat-slicked her ponytail had become and how exhausted she looked in every sense of the word, but it does not matter. She looks like a new mother and it thrills her. And now Clara is in her arms again, and Mark is beside her, seated on the side of the bed with one arm looped around her middle, and the other bracketed next to one of hers as she supports their sleeping daughter. It is like Mark is holding both of them, and if Addison could freeze this scene, she would. But only for a little bit, she decides as she adjusts the floral-printed blanket Clara is swaddled in. There is still so much to look forward to. The blush pink flowers on the blanket inevitably make her think of the next season, even though the outside world is still cloaked in winter. But the sun was out today, if only briefly, and now Clara is here.

Something from one of Addison's favorite books that has stuck with her since childhood comes to mind: One good thing about this world...there are always sure to be more springs.

. .
. .

"You know what I just noticed?" Mark says, his lips lifting into a smile.

Addison dabs at the corner of her mouth, thumbing away a fleck of mustard. "What?" She asks, eyes shifting towards Clara, who is sleeping a few feet away from them in her hospital bassinet. It had been a challenge to want to put her down, but hunger for something of more substance than the snacks they have been having eventually won out.

"Your 'this is a really good sandwich' face and 'I love holding my daughter' face kind of look the same," Mark reports, which makes Addison laugh. There is no way that is entirely true, because Clara is the most beautiful and wondrous thing she has ever seen…but the sandwich was nice, too. She holds it out now, asking Mark if he wants the rest. He declines, but rolls the overbed table out of her way to give her more room again, and Addison smiles in appreciation. The sandwich was delicious, and she thought she was famished, but she still filled up rather quickly. "For tomorrow's food though," Mark adds, "if you want something that isn't hospital or cafeteria-issued, we can always order…hang on." He glances towards his phone when the screen lights up and draws the device closer so that he can answer it. He stands up, moving away from Addison.

"Now?" She hears him question in a low voice after a few words are exchanged, which raises her interest. They have limited their communication with the outside world for the most part, opting for text messages and a few pictures of Clara with promises to call tomorrow and provide a more thorough update. Mark's dad, Savvy and Weiss, and Lynette were all notified early this evening. Addison is still working her way up to contacting Archer and her parents. She plans to do it tomorrow. The Archer part is easy, but she still feels a pull to just…wait a little longer, to remain in this love-soaked bubble with only Mark and Clara. And as for the Bizzy call, well. She definitely needs to be in the right head space for that.

"So. Um." Mark tucks his phone in his back pocket. "That was Lynette. She wanted to know if she could bring something by…like before visiting hours are over." They both glance at the clock over the doorway, and Mark is certain they are thinking the same thing: visiting hours might be over in an hour, but it is not like that would truly stop Lynette. "She didn't say what it was. But she said to tell you that she just wants to drop it off – she doesn't even need to come in the room if you'd like to just keep having 'family time.' So she was…thinking of swinging by, like, if you're -"

"She's already here, isn't she?" Addison interrupts, one of her eyebrows raising. Mark's sheepish expression is enough to confirm this. "It's a bold move...but Lynette's kind of a bold person."

"Yeah. She really did say though that she could just wait outside and hand over…whatever it is. It sounds like it's not entirely about seeing the baby."

"The gift is just her way in. Well, bonus points for creativity. It's fine; I don't mind. It would be nice to see her, actually. Just bring the hand sanitizer with you. Have her use it before she comes in."

Mark goes out in the hallway to track down their very bold visitor, and it does not take long for the pair of them to come back. Lynette has a crocheted blanket tucked in her arms. She gives Addison a wide smile in greeting as Mark takes her over to Clara's bassinet. Lynette coos over their daughter, and says how beautiful she is, but she does not linger as long as Addison thought she would. She makes her way over to Addison's bed, which just…the lack of fawning does something to her as a mother. You can see how perfect my daughter is, right? She's the most beautiful baby there ever was.

Addison is surprised when Lynette sets a hand on her shoulder and kisses the crown of her head. "I'm so proud of you," she says softly. And this also doessomething. As a mother, as a person, as someone experiencing a significant drop in estrogen and progesterone. Addison can feel the tingling flare of her nose and the tremble of her lips. Proud of you. Not something you really hear often as an adult, no matter what your personal and professional accomplishments are.

"Thank you." She is able to keep her voice steady. "Lynette, you didn't have to bring – or make – anything else for Clara." She studies the blanket closer, noticing the pretty wave-like pattern that divides each color: mint, gray, and white. She reaches out and fingers the soft material. "You've already given her so much. When we go home on Sunday, she's going to be wearing one of the outfits you made her. The green one with -"

"Actually…" Lynette interjects, and she looks uncertain, which is the first time Addison has ever seen her look uncertain…or shy. Maybe that is the right word. She watches as Lynette starts to unfold the blanket. "This is for you."

"It's for me?"

"Yeah." Lynette moves quickly, shaking the blanket out and then carefully draping it over Addison's legs. "I'm sure it's different now with how hospitals do things, and I bet in this sort of private room – I think this is the one that actress who named her kid after a vegetable stayed in – you can get whatever you want, but I just remember how cold I was when I stayed overnight after having my boys. So. Anyway. I just wanted to sneak this in before visiting hours are over. It's light, but warm, and stains will come out of it really easily, too."

"It's…" Addison's voice rises, quivering, and then a choked-out sob follows. This is why Lynette wanted to come then. "It's for me?" She repeats. Tears fall swiftly, too swift to wipe all of them away. She shields her face from view as embarrassment rocks through her. She can hear them both say her name, and she can hear Mark's pacing footsteps until he is standing next to Lynette. And Lynette's hand is on her back now, tracing circles.

"Addison…" Mark attempts again.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." She drops her hands into her lap, and tries to smile to alleviate their concerned expressions. "It's the stupid hormones. And this just…making me a blanket…it's such a mom thing to do." She cannot stop a fresh whimper from escaping. "A mom thing…"

"I've got this, Mark," Lynette says quietly. She juts her chin in the direction of the door, a signal for him to give them some privacy. He shakes his head. "It's okay," Lynette insists. "I've got it. And I'll handle Clara, if she wakes up. I promise. I'll bring her right over to Addison if it's milk time." He sees her mouthing what he thinks is she needs a mom. Not her mom. A mom. "Why don't you go…get a candy bar or something?"

Addison gives Mark a small nod. She knew he would not go anywhere without checking with her first. And although she feels humiliated for such an emotional and unexpected outburst, and would probably prefer if Mark gave her a hug and stroked her hair, she is sort of intrigued by what Lynette's definition of "I've got this" will apparently be.

"I knew I should have gone with a different color scheme for the blanket. I was worried the mint might upset you," Lynette jokes once Mark has left the room. This makes Addison bark out a short laugh.

"I love the blanket." She curls her fingers into fists and rubs at her eyes. "It's beautiful. I'm just a little emotional."

"Of course you are. You pushed a baby out of your body this afternoon…you know it's normal. You mentioned 'a mom thing' though. Have you called your mom? Your mom and dad?"

"Not yet." She knows Lynette knows a little about her upbringing from dinner conversations, and more from the fact that Addison has realized that in the past year, she tends to wear a lot of things about her childhood. It's your heart shows on your face combined with your parents' inability to respond adequately to your emotional needs shows on your face. "I will…just. I'm going to wait until tomorrow morning. Mark and I talked about it, and he gets it, why I need a little more time before…" she shakes her head. "I think the blanket…I just wasn't expecting it, and it's so kind of you, and it made me…it apparently brought up 'mommy issues' or something. Which isn't your fault, of course."

Archer will be easy to talk to, but even with her brother, Addison still feels an advanced sense of disappointment. She is ashamed for having that thought, but knows it is not without merit. It's Archer. And any prior words he has shared are different than present and future actions. He will love Clara, just like he loves Addison, and he will certainly be happy for Addison, but realistically, he will not be actively involved in Clara's life. He will never be the kind of uncle who gets down on the floor to help build the train set or takes his niece out for ice cream without wondering if his charming, single uncle vibe is working. He will send toys that are not age appropriate and dresses from London and Paris when he's vacationing in Europe that are too big for her. And none of that is wholly his fault; he's a product of his childhood, and operates within the precincts of self-interest and overindulgence. He ended up going to Zihuatanejo after all – he got there last Thursday – but he told Addison to let him know when Clara arrives and to FaceTime him so he can meet her virtually. And Addison will, of course she will. Just…tomorrow. Not today.

"Charlie, my older one, well…you know him," Lynette says, spiriting Addison out of her thoughts. "You met him and Nick at Rowan's party. Charlie was born three weeks early. He was perfectly healthy, just tiny. It threw a wrench in things though. My mom was going to come out and visit after he was born, but since he came early, she couldn't come right away. Charlie's due date was around the time school let out…she was a teacher and needed to finish out the year, so obviously she couldn't bump her flight up. I was okay when I got home with Charlie. Definitely emotional, but okay. Except…my mom wasn't there, and even though Larry was incredible and did everything he could to care for us both – I know Mark will do the same – in some ways it didn't make a difference, as bad as that sounds, because so much of what I remember from that time was…" Lynette pauses, and Addison can see the bobbing movement of her throat when she swallows tightly. "How much I wanted my mom," she finishes, voice a little softer.

Addison nods. She can certainly sympathize, even though her experience is not and would never be like that. "My mom isn't…she isn't like most moms," she tells Lynette. "Definitely not like how you are as a mom, and how you are as a grandma. I think right now I'm sort of stuck on the idea of a mom. And the blanket just…or Cosy," she adds, surprising herself when a vision of her nanny suddenly leaps into her head. "The idea of Cosy. I had this nanny when I was little – Constance. She went by 'Cosy.' I really wish…I wish I could tell her about Clara, and that she could meet her. She was the one who taught me how to swaddle a baby, and she would have loved that I picked a literary, play-like name for my kid. The last time I saw Cosy, I was seven."

"Have you tried to contact her? Or…find her? I have nieces who are 'on the gram' or whatever, so if you need anyone to do some internet sleuthing -"

"She died," Addison interrupts. "It would have been…eleven or twelve years ago. Ovarian cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that. And what about your brother? We haven't talked much about your family, but I remember you mentioning you have an older brother. And Mark's mentioned him before, too."

This makes her smile. "Did he say he's an 'ass?'" Addison does not know how much Mark has talked with Lynette about Archer, but that is usually his starting point. It was Derek's, too.

"Yes, he said that. But, I did take the source into consideration."

"Archer is sort of an ass. A nice ass though – nice to me, at least," she explains. "He's a good brother, in his own way. And he and Mark…Mark was always iffy about him because Derek and Archer didn't like each other. Mark and Archer are similar though, in some ways. Just not as much anymore. Archer isn't the kind of guy who wants a family, or would unknowingly search for one in the way Mark did."

"You should tell your parents tomorrow. If you're not comfortable doing it over the phone, just text or email, and send some pictures. Even if their response isn't the best, they'll still want to know that you've had the baby and you're both doing well. Wait until Mark is with you though. And let your brother know, too. If I've learned anything in the past year, it's that sometimes men who seem chronically immature are in fact capable of growing up. Now…" Lynette flips her palm in Addison's direction, gesturing below her stomach. "Are you able to scoot over a bit or will it be like a thousand tiny needles down there?"

"A thousand tiny needles." Addison shifts to her left though, almost unthinkingly. "Why? Oh." The reason is suddenly clear when Lynette eases herself onto the hospital bed, being mindful not to bump Addison or disturb any body parts still in the stages of healing. Lynette wraps an arm around her, and guides her head to her shoulder.

"Because I'm going to be a stand-in mom for you right now. And I'm going to hold you, and you're going to cry and feel whatever you need to feel, and then you're going to close your eyes and try to sleep for a bit. And hopefully Clara keeps sleeping, too, but I'll get her and bring her over if she starts to fuss."

"You don't have to do this." Addison can already feel herself melting into Lynette though. It feels so nice to be held.

"I know. I want to though. It's fine," Lynette says when Addison holds her arm out, and then hesitates. The angle is a little funny, and the solution that makes the most sense is to rest her arm on Lynette, sort of hugging her back. Lynette brings her arm the remainder of the way towards her. "Whatever feels comfiest. You know…nothing really prepares you for how round-the-clock grueling the newborn stage is. I'm sure you'll adjust better than most given the on-call hours you keep as a surgeon, but…still. So, if you and Mark ever need a break – even if it's just to have someone else hold her for a bit – you can call me and I'll come over. Doesn't matter what time. Okay?" She waits until Addison's head wobbles in agreement. "And same thing for when Mark is back at work. If you need a breather, just text or call."

"If Mark is back at work though…wouldn't you be back at work, too?"

"Yeah, but he can survive without me for a bit if you need a break. I don't think he realizes…" Lynette starts to laugh. "How little I actually do for him, some days."

"You're a wonderful receptionist, but that's not the only reason he wants you around. You're like a mom to him. He loves you. You were the first person he texted, after Clara was born." Addison smiles at the memory, and she can feel the way Lynette draws in a breath, clearly touched by this admission. "He texted you as soon as we were settled in this room."

"I love him, too," Lynette says. "He's like a third son to me. My very gruff, very lovable and sometimes dumb third son who is probably standing out there holding like five Snickers bars because he doesn't know what to do with himself right now. My non-Mark boys…they're two years apart, and when Nicky turned two, that was when some people started asking if I was going to…not just try for another one, but 'try for a girl,' which is just -"

"Incredibly fucking rude," Addison says, unable to restrain herself.

"Exactly." Lynette nods approvingly. "We talked about having a third kid, but we loved living in the city, and the closer you get to having a starting basketball team, the harder it is to stay here. Plus, our family just sort of…felt complete. I would have loved to have had a little girl, but the thing is, if you have all boys or all girls, you sort of find the opposite sex in other ways. For me, at first it was my nieces and my friends' daughters, and then eventually my daughters-in-law. You just…collect people over time, and your family keeps evolving. So I did end up with girls too, just in a different way. And then last year…" Addison can feel Lynette kiss the top of her head. "Last year a pretty redhead started consistently coming by the office to see my third son, and even though I wasn't sure what to make of all of it …by the time fall came around, it felt like I had gained another daughter. And now there's Clara, too."

Another tear slips out. "This isn't going to help me stop crying, Lynette," Addison says. A pleased smile is gracing her lips though and she finds herself cuddling closer.

"I know, but I just wanted you to know that I adore you. Now…why don't you try to sleep for a bit? You'll feel a little better after you get some rest."

"But you'll…when Mark comes back in, you'll tell him I'm okay, right? I don't want him to be worried."

Lynette nods. "Yep. I'll tell him you're okay. I promise."

Addison closes her eyes. She knows slumber will not be too far off. She is so tired and sore after everything she went through today, and Lynette's weight is loving and comforting against her side. Her eyes flutter open once more though when something else occurs to her. "Wait…Lynette? I just realized…we never asked you what you'd like for Clara to call you."

"Oh. That's up to you. But Mrs. Zapata is my mother-in-law, so if you want to just have her call me by my first name, that's fine. Way less stuffy."

"Maybe…" Addison begins, a little nervous. "Maybe she can call you 'Aunt Lynette?'" She can hear the way Lynette's breath sucks in, touched once more.

"I would love that. Now you go ahead and get some rest, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

. .
. .

"She's sleeping," Lynette says when she toes back into the hallway and finds Mark waiting, back pressed to the wall. She shuts the door quietly behind her.

"Should I be worried about her? Or…or do something?" He has read about all the hormone changes that occur after birth, and knows the emotions can be rollercoaster-like. He has read more worrisome things than that, too.

"No. I promise: no. Sometimes new mommies just need a mommy of their own for a bit. She'll tell you about it when she wakes up. All you need to do is keep being there. Did you at least get yourself a candy bar?"

"No, Lynette," Mark says, sounding a bit childish even as he grins. "I didn't actually, because I left my stupid wallet in there." He points towards the room. "Do you want to come look at Clara again before you leave? If only to see if you can manage to make the other love of my life burst into tears today, too?" He is joking though, which Lynette knows, and he is still smiling. It is hard to imagine ever not smiling now. And Mark trusts Lynette when she tells him he does not need to be concerned about Addison's mental and emotional health based on tonight.

"Ha-ha. Yeah, I do. And, Mark?" Lynette sets her hand on his elbow before he can open the door. "I'm proud of you as well, just so you know."

"Addie did all the work. I mostly just rubbed her shoulders and fetched ice chips and nodded in agreement when she yelled mean-but-also-hilarious things at me."

"You know what I'm trying to say though."

He nods as he opens the door, gesturing for Lynette to go in first. "I know."

. .
. .

Mark has realized as he carefully supports the back of Clara's neck – it has only been two days, but all of this really is just trial-and-error – that his daughter likes the shoulder hold best so far. And he does, too. It means she is nestled as close as possible. He grazes his lips against her temple and inhales her sweet scent. Fatigue and the disbelief of being a new parent is making his thoughts a little disjointed and a lot sensitive, but everything is just perfect right now, and he knows Addison believes this, too. Clara is easily the best thing to come out of the worst and most destructive thing they have ever done.

"You were just waiting for me to find this, weren't you?" Addison returns from the kitchen with a large gift box cradled in her hands. They have been home for a few hours now, but have pretty much exclusively been on the living room couch.

"Yep. From Savvy and Weiss." Mark grins as she sits down beside him and sets the box on the coffee table. "They brought it by yesterday. It's a care package – mostly stuff for you," he says while Addison starts to explore its contents. "I'm surprised she hasn't texted asking where the hell her 'thanks' is. And I'm not sure how I feel about her having a key, by the way." Mark smirks and shakes his head, being careful not to jostle Clara. Addison has assured him he can move and make noise, because Clara really will sleep through it, but he is still getting used to the idea. "Savvy wrote 'LOL loser' next to my team name on that printout with my fantasy football league results." He keeps forgetting to take it off the fridge. A win would have been better, but he is still proud of his second place finish, given that it was a lot harder to focus on moving players around after everything that happened in December. "She went with her real name on the card though, not the job-name." He inclines his head towards the card tucked in the box. "That was kind of a shock, since I was included on the 'to' line."

"Well. I imagine there's no 'ADA' because some of these things…" Addison grins feebly as she holds up a tube of nipple cream. "Are most definitely not for you."

"Good point." He glances down when Clara shifts a little in his embrace, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder as she breathes softly into his neck. "Welcome home, Clara," he says. "Glad you're comfortable."

"And welcome home, Montgomery-Sloan family." Addison leans towards him. "I'm just going to rest on your other shoulder for a sec."

"Rest as long as you want. I knew there was a reason I have two," he teases. "And one day when she's a little bigger and I'm less freaked about not having two hands on her at all times, I'll be able to have one arm around her and one around you."

"This is nice too though."

"Yeah, it is."

Addison reaches out and strokes her daughter's peachy-soft cheek with a knuckle. She murmurs a quiet I love you both. Something beautiful has truly emerged from all the broken. And although hers and Mark's relationship and how they came to be a couple is complex, and maybe it always will be in varying degrees, their daughter has further solidified something for them: all their roads and seasons lead to each other.

. .
. .

---

References/Notes/Nods to Various Episodes

So, I've sort of come to dread having to share quotes/episode nods, because it's time-consuming…even though I have this information permanently lodged in my head, it still takes time to type out, so unless there's something I think I really, really need to explain as far as why I've used it, references are going to be more in this style going forward:

"This is ideal." – PP, 3x11. Mark/Addison.

The thing about rain and family was inspired from Mark/Addison in Grey's 3x12.

Private Practice 2x16 (crossover). Mark mentions to Naomi that he dislikes Archer. And Derek describes Archer as an "ass."

Zihuatanejo is where Archer got parasites (PP season 2). That's not going to happen this time, but I dropped that reference in chapter 39, so I circled back to it. Also, I expect a 5-point essay with compelling, thought-provoking evidence if you're going to attempt to convince me Archer Montgomery would have been a good uncle in canon (or here). Would he care about his sister becoming a mother and does he love his sister and would he love Henry (or Clara)? Yep and yep and yep. Would he be involved? No, not so much. More like indirectly involved.

Books referenced: The House at Pooh Corner (A. A. Milne), and Anne of Avonlea (Lucy Maud Montgomery)

I know I always say this – though it has proven more true with the last few chapters – but it will take some time for the next chapter to surface. I have all these scenes in my head, but it's figuring out a way to make them work together that will be the challenge…a challenge I am up for, but I'm not going to stress about trying to do it in a timely manner. It's specifically determining when to incorporate the time jump, and the only way I'm going to figure it out is to just to start writing and keep writing multiple chapters until it all makes sense…I just can't promise when that will be (ideally before September, but I'm not holding myself to anything). I thought in the beginning about ending the fic here, but I've DONE the end-with-a-baby thing so many times, and I don't think the story for these two is quite over yet. There won't be too many more chapters, but I have some things up my sleeve still: Closure with Bizzy! A second daughter! More sexy times! More flashbacks! A very cute proposal! Derek and Meredith needing some help and everyone getting to reconnect and experience some healing!

I'm also hoping to work on some new things, and publish updated versions of older things…my inbox is always open if you have requests. Thanks for reading! I appreciate you sticking with me and these characters.