"Somewhere, a Clock is Ticking"
By Bleu
I don't own them, I'm just borrowing them. Besides, I'm a poor college student, so unless you would like a mountain of debt, suing me would be a futile exercise.
:It's Beginning to Get to Me:
She walked behind Richard with a hand on his shoulder, supporting him like a good friend would in a time of crisis.
She hoped he didn't notice the extra involuntarily weight pressing on him as she tried to support her numb legs.
When they got to his office and he said he needed to be alone, she nodded understandingly without a word and let him close the door behind him.
She hoped he didn't notice the tears that blurred her vision to near blindness, or that she wasn't speaking because she couldn't breathe.
When she was alone in the hall, she pressed her back against the cold tile wall and let the tears blossom on her lashes. They clang there for a few teetering moments before plunging down her cheeks, taking much of her expensive mascara with them, weaving a black liquid path down to her quivering chin. She gasped one single sorrowful sob, ending it abruptly when she dug her teeth into her bottom lip.
"How could I have been so stupid?" she managed, though the voice did not sound like hers. She brought an ice-cold hand to her mouth, and knew she was going to be sick.
She needed to go somewhere; she had to find a bathroom. Now. This wasn't going to wait. She knew there was one across the walkway that seemed longer now than ever before, but if she took off across it with her hand to her mouth, Richard would see from his office and probably follow her.
Her eyes darted around for some salvation. The last thing she needed was vomit down the front of her three thousand dollar dress, dripping onto her nine hundred dollar shoes. It seemed like a trivial thought at a time like this, but she didn't want to make a bad situation worse by being sick on her favorite couture.
Not to mention how it would look to have the head of Neonatal Surgery throwing up like a drunken teenager in her own surgical wing.
"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?" a voice asked, but it seemed to be far away, almost down a tunnel. Her resolve not to be sick was taking all of her energy and focus, and still failing miserably. She felt herself waver, and put a clammy palm against the tile for support.
"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?" the voice was more insistent now. God, couldn't they just leave her alone? She wasn't on call tonight, and she was obviously not in a state to perform surgery. Hell, she was having trouble staying conscious.
Just then, a bright light pierced her vision. She pulled back suddenly, hitting her head on the wall.
"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, your pupils are dilated and your pulse is racing." The voice, a woman she decided, told her. Funny, she hadn't even felt the woman take her bloodless wrist and check her pulse.
"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, can you hear me? It's Dr. Torres. You need to lay down, now."
Torres. Ah, yes, the orthopedic surgeon. She had assisted her on a surgery the other day. A four-month-old with a fractured femur. Abuse, no doubt. Disgusting. But Torres had performed remarkably.
She opened her mouth to tell Dr. Torres just that, but no words came.
Oh no.
Before she could correct her mistake, she had thrown up everything she had eaten that day down the front of Dr. Torres's silky black gown.
…
"I'll replace the dress." Addison offered weakly, as Callie eased her onto a bed in an empty exam room. She probably should have taken her to the emergency room, but with the off chance being Addison Shepherd had simply had too much to drink, she didn't want to risk embarrassing her.
She regarded the soiled gown still wrapped tightly around her.
"It's okay. It was my sister's, too small on me anyway." Callie remarked as she stepped back. She looked again at the mess Addison Shepherd had made of her dress. Lucie was going to be furious. Ah well. She owed Callie from the time in high school she hit the curb in Callie's car and put a $400 dent in the bumper.
"Let me change, and I'll take your temperature." Callie tossed open the door of a cabinet and pulled out a pair of scrubs.
Without a consideration for modesty, she bunched Lucie's dress into her hand and threw it into a Biohazard can. As she slipped the scrubs—far too big—over her head, she ventured a glance at Addison Shepherd. Despite what she had heard about the woman's past marital infidelity, she admired her enormously. Before assisting her with a surgery a few days prior, Callie had read up on her career, and the woman was literally a medical genius with a diverse and successful career. Upon working with her, Callie also come to find out that she was compassionate and truly cared about her patients, as well. It wasn't just the money or the God-like complex for Addison, Callie could tell.
And, Callie thought, it's not like Derek Shepherd is any marital saint, either.
Her mouth filled with a bitter taste as she looped the drawstring of the pants tight around her. She wondered if Addison had a clue. It would explain why she was drunk, if she was. Callie pulled a thermometer from a nearby rack, and turned to Addison.
"Here, just to check." She offered it, and Addison reluctantly took it. After a moment, a chime signaled the end of the thermometer's activity, and before Callie could reach for it, Addison pulled it from her mouth and examined it.
"98.9. Not high enough for concern." She discarded the cap on the thermometer and tried to stand before Callie could even respond verbally.
She did respond, however, when Addison nearly toppled over. She eased her back onto the bed, and noticed the woman's face had gone paler. It was then Callie realized it wasn't intoxication; in Addison's face she didn't see the glazed fugue of alcohol but the poignant, horribly alert expression of pain, and fear.
"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd…Are you all right?" she asked, thinking of how stupid that sounded. To her surprise, Addison smiled and expelled a harsh sound that probably was a laugh beneath the self-reproach.
"Oh, Dr. Torres…" she said, averting her gaze, an unusual gesture. Callie had noticed the woman had a way of holding the gaze of whomever she was talking to quite intensely. But then, she wasn't a confident, self-assured surgeon with years of successful work behind her right now. She was a woman who was sick, scared, and…something. Callie didn't say a word.
"Dr. Torres…" Addison said again, a humorless smile on her face. "…I am not sick. I'm simply, terribly stupid." She laughed again, and lay back on the bed with her hand to her forehead.
"Doctor…I don't…" Callie couldn't quite form the words, and Addison started laughing. At first it was abrasive, filled with bitterness and seeming disbelief, and then it rose in pitch, and became desperately hysterical. Then, before Callie knew it, Addison was no longer laughing, but crying so hard her breath became labored gasps.
She knows. Callie decided immediately and sorrowfully. She rushed to grab a box of tissues, sat Addison upright, and made soothing noises until her breathing became controlled and she had calmed. Callie had a feeling of surrealism. This was just bizarre.
First, she had seen Derek and Meredith at the end of what was undoubtedly some kind of sexual encounter. Then, she had watched as a sobbing, devastated Isabel Stevens had to be pulled off of the body of her dead beloved. And now, here she was, trying to keep Dr. Addison Montgomery Shepherd from hyperventilating. Not to mention, she'd been vomited on in between these events and her "I love you" to George was still dangling midair over their relationship.
If it weren't so awfully tragic it would have been hilarious.
"You…know." Was all she managed to say as Addison dabbed helplessly at her puffy eyes. Addison nodded.
"Yes. Yes." She turned with a quizzical look to Callie. "You do, as well? Dear God, did they fuck in the lobby of the hospital? Or just the elevator?"
"I…I was looking for Meredith…" she had been stunned by the sudden obscenity from a woman who didn't seem capable of such a word.
"Dr. Torres, I apologize. Vulgarity, though I've had many experiences with it, never serves me much good." She sighed heavily and dabbed her eyes.
"Well, in a situation like this, you must be shoc—,"
"No." Addison cut her off, though she spoke barely above a whisper.
"Excuse me?" Callie asked.
"No." Addison reiterated at normal volume. "I am not shocked. Shocked is the last thing I am. I've known my husband was in love with Meredith Grey and she with him for months now. Before I even came to Seattle." She took a shaky breath.
"It still can't be easy." Callie countered softly.
"No. No, it's not." Addison looked down at her hands, which were clenched around a damp tissue.
"Can I…can I do something for you? I know you probably don't want to see him right now, but I don't want to risk you fainting or being sick again. Is there someone I should get for you?" Callie inquired.
"All I need," Addison responded, "is a glass of water and a few moments." She carefully eased herself into a sitting position, then standing, and then she edged over to the counter.
"With all due respect, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd—,"
"Addison. Please."
"—Addison, I think you should let someone examine you. You are clearly sick." She emphasized, switching to her sterner voice, reserved for patients who resisted. Doctor or not, this woman wasn't well, and Callie would be damned if she let her crack her head on the hospital floor.
Though, the surgery I'd perform to save her would be pretty fantastic.
Addison drained a plastic cup of water, took a few breaths, and shook her head.
"Dr. Torres, I'm not some arrogant patient. I am not ill. At all."
"Then what is your diagnosis? Periodic loss of consciousness and vomiting?" Callie demanded, as Addison straightened.
"The loss of consciousness was a result of stress and improper diet on my part. Not good, but normal under the circumstances. The vomiting is a common symptom, as is bloating, fatigue, light headedness, heartburn, and over-sensitivity." Addison replied with medical confidence, more akin to the woman Callie was used to seeing on the surgical floor.
Even still…Callie frowned.
"It's not as if you're…" Then, with horrible clarity, she met Addison Shepherd's steady, mournful stare and knew.
"Pregnant?"
A/N: Boredom in Art History class led to some musings about my beloved Grey's Anatomy, premiering this Thursday (YAY!). I'm not necessarily an Addek fan, or particularly a Merder fan either. I like them all equally (though I'm a bit mad at Derek), and this is just a random thought as to what probably won't but could happen. Thoughts?
Ps- I made the comment about Callie's dress being too small because it really annoyed me in the finale. She's beautiful, but the costumer was just not thinking, in my opinion.
-Title of both story and chapter are Snow Patrol songs. Good stuff.
