Holding On & Letting Go

Authors Notes: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! It is interesting to me to see Addison be so strong even though she's terribly sad. It's fun to explore different things in writing, so since she is already having such a hard time in a couple of my stories it's great to have a big contrast. Of course, this story will still deal with some difficult topics, but how she reacts / comes back from them is different, so that's nice. Please continue reviewing. I love reading them. : )


Chapter 3:


*TIME JUMP*

1 WEEK AFTER MARK's FUNERAL

Addison 30 Weeks


"You have to get out of bed Addison." Clara demands. She walks over to the queen-sized bed and yanks the quilt off of me. I look up at her numbly. I can't explain what happened. When Mark died it's like my entire world lost it's color. Everything was suddenly black and white, dull, void, numb. I know that if she could see the darkness that's filled my soul since Mark died, she would leave. She'd run and never look back. I hate it. This monster that's taken over me. It scares me. I tried to hide it, I know it scares her too, but I couldn't. So, I stayed away. When we got home from the funeral, I left Benjamin with her. It was wrong, horribly wrong, but I left him where I knew he was safe and came to the bedroom to lay down, certain I would die of a broken heart. I lost track of time. I've been existing in an alternative reality, and as long as I am really still, I can pretend he is here. His pillow still smells like his shampoo. The air is crisp and cool. Light is dancing on across the bed from the window. I yawn. Pretending I was asleep. I wasn't. I never sleep anymore. I shiver, trying and failing to get the quilt back.

"What are you doing here? Clara get out I'm trying to sleep!" I murmur. She narrows her eyes at me. Her eyes go dangerously thin when she's angry. She presses her lips together. I can tell she's choosing her words carefully.

"It's three o clock in the afternoon." She points out.

"I didn't sleep well last night."

"You haven't left this bedroom since the funeral, a week ago, you haven't showered or eaten. You're still wearing your funeral clothes."

"So, you're just here to point out what a slob of a human being I am? Fantastic. You can go now." I say crossly, pulling my pillow over my head, trying to block the light.

"Addison it's not that, and you know it." She says, apologetically.

"What is it then? My husband DIED Clara. We were married for 15 years. It's not really something you just move on from." Growing up we practiced Shiva. We would light a candle for the loved one who passed and invite friends and family into our home to mourn their passing. Seven days of mourning. There were many things that were forbidden during Shiva. I didn't understand it growing up. Why did we practice Shiva when we were not even Jewish and it's not apart of our religious traditions? Bizzy just said it was the proper thing to do. That we had to show our respect for those who have passed so they can move on. I cannot even do Shiva right. I was so afraid of what I was feeling after the funeral I shut myself off from everyone, including my own son. Mark deserved better. He would have expected me to be able to handle it, and I wasn't.

"I know… Addison, and I'm sorry. I truly am. I loved Mark too." She says, laying down on the bed next to me, wrapping me in her warmth. Her hands are so warm. I can feel the heat radiating through my pajama top. "Addison, you're still alive. Your son is still alive…." She moves her hands down, on top of the baby bump. I move uncomfortably. I don't really want to be touched, especially so intimately. I just want to sleep. I want to sleep and wake up to find that this has all just been a terrible nightmare. The baby knows her hands through, just like Benjamin knew Mark's. The warmth wakes the baby, and it moves, pressing up against her hands. "Your baby is still alive Addison. You can't give up." She looks like she wants to say more, but thankfully she doesn't.

"How many times are you going to say my name in one breath?" I snap, annoyed. The baby has moved from a somewhat less annoying position to having a foot jammed under my ribs. I sit up, pushing down on the spot where the baby is with my hands, trying to get it to re-position.

"Benjamin misses you."

"He doesn't need to see me like this Clara."

"He thinks you're dying."

"Well, I'm obviously not that lucky." I say, but instantly regret it at the look of panic on her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that Clara."

"Yes, you did." She says, bitterly.

"What?"

"You meant it; you've never been a very good liar." She says, frowning at me. I am silent for a while. I don't know what to say. It's different for her though, easier. Mark was her friend, but he wasn't her husband. He wasn't the love of her life. That changes things. "I understand you're very sad right now, but you need to get your shit together for your children. You're not the only one who lost someone. Your children lost their father, we all lost Mark, and now Benjie and I are loosing you. What exactly did you expect Benjamin to think?"

"If looking after Benjamin is too much for you, I can hire someone more capable." I say, more to be a bitch than anything. She was with me through every bit of my pregnancy with Benjie. I know It's not right to deflect my anger onto her, but it feels so… good? She is studying me, carefully awaiting my next move before she speaks. I don't know what I'm saying. She's more of a mother to Benjie than I am. Mark and I were so busy with our careers, she practically raised him. I know she loves him as if he were her own.

"No."

"No what?" I ask.

"This has nothing to do with my ability to care for Benjamin and you know it. I'm worried about you, I'm worried about the baby you're carrying, and I refuse to be another person that your son loses. I think we can both agree that he deserves more than that."

"I'm fine Clara. I don't need you to mother me." I say. Deciding to let the part about what's best for Benjamin go. She's right, but I don't want to admit it. She's best for Benjamin. He needs her, just as much, maybe even more than he needs me. She is starting at me, maybe she realizes I was lost in my thoughts. She waits until I look at her again before she says:

"Trust me Addison, if you don't get your shit together you won't have to worry about me mothering you. I'll call Bizzy."

"You wouldn't dare." I hiss.

"Try me." She challenges, showing me her phone. Bizzy's phone number is speed dial number 2, second only to mine.

"I'm sure she'd love to hear how you're neglecting her precious grandchildren."

"That isn't fair!" I object.

"And what you're doing to Benjamin and your unborn child is?" She asks.

"I'm sad. Just let me be sad." I demand. "Stop trying to make this something it's not."

"What isn't this?" She asks me. "You left your son with me for a week so you could lock yourself away."

"You're his nanny!" I protest.

"You're not eating, you're not drinking. You're at risk of dehydration and malnutrition. You're not moving around enough which puts you at heightened risks of blood clots and a laundry list of other pregnancy complications. Which is gross neglect at the very least."

"I'm grieving." I try to justify, but once again, she's right. I'm angry though. I would throw something at her, but there is a couple things preventing this. 1) She's too close, and 2) There's not really anything to throw anyway. The thought still gives me momentary satisfaction through. "STOP doctoring me." I demand. "You have no right."

"And you have no right to speak to me as if I'm just the hired help and haven't been your best friend since medical school." She retorts. "Like we haven't spent the last seven and a half years in a committed relationship." My heartbeat increases when she mentions our relationship. It's true. We met in medical school and were inseparable ever since. We were both lucky enough to get positions at Seattle Grace. I am blessed that my best friend is here to walk down this path of my life with me. "I graduated medical school the same as you did Addison. I know the risks of what you are doing to yourself and your baby." If only I had known, then what I know now. I wish I could spare her this. That I could just do the right thing and get up out of this bed, that I could pull it together for my children. I am not the strong person everyone thinks I am. It's a mask I wear, to protect myself, but it isn't truly me. Inside I am gentle, and kind, and sensitive. I am a great listener. I am productive and witty and silly. Nobody knows who I truly am. Did Mark even know? Had I worn my mask for so long that the true me has been lost? Since Mark's death it's like that mask has been lost and I am lost without it. This cant be how things are supposed to be. Things have to get better…. Right?

"Yet here you are, in my bed, talents wasted working as a live in Nanny." I say, amusement in my tone, but I hate myself for that. I shouldn't be such a bitch. There is resentment in her eyes, and she shakes her head in disbelief.

"You know I couldn't continue working there after what happened. I have no clue how you managed to go back." She looks like she might cry, and I feel guilty for reopening those wounds. We were operating together the day of the shooting. We finished the operation, and she scrubbed out, going to grab lunch. I was meant to go with her, but I bailed, I had charts that needed finished and had to round on all of my pre-op patients still, and interns to wrangle. Lunch seemed like such an insignificant thing in the grand scheme of my day. She was shot on her way out of the hospital, and laid in a pool of her own blood, pretending to be dead, until the gunman left the area, and she was able to call for help before she passed out. The moment she was released from the hospital she was in Richard's office, quitting her job. She walked away, that part of her life finished.

"I'm sorry Clara. That was really unkind of me." I admit. For a moment she looks like she is going to have a full-blown mental breakdown, but she takes a deep breath, and the moment passes. She is herself again. She smiles sadly at me.

"I'm fine." She says, clearing her throat. "And anyway, I'm here to talk about you, so stop changing the subject." I want to believe her, really, I do, but I know that darkness. Trauma is great at hiding, but it's not something that ever truly goes away. It's not something that can happen overnight. It has been almost six years since the shooting, and she still does weekly therapy and takes daily medication to manage her symptoms. She will likely have to continue this regimen for the rest of her life.

"I'm just so damn sad." I say quietly.

"It's OK to be sad." She reminds me. "It's OK to mourn the part of your life that's unexpectedly ended, but Addison, it's not OK to romanticize what ya'll had to the point of hurting yourself or your family."

"He was my husband, my children's father."

"I'm aware." She says, in a painful way. "But…" She looks down at her hands, away from me.

"But what?"

"Do you know what Mark said that night? Before he got on the plane?" She asks.

"You saw him that night?" I ask, this peaks my interest. He left me days before he got on that airplane. He refused to answer any of my calls or texts. He had taken leave from work.

"He came by to say goodbye to Benjamin." She clarified. "Did you know that Mark had a fear of flying?" She asks me.

"Well yes, why do you think we drive everywhere?" I ask her. Catching myself. I said drive, not drove. My heart lurches. How strange it is that everything with Mark is now past tense. I miss him. Our marriage wasn't perfect. Neither of us were perfect, but we were a family. She looks at me, conflicted. "Tell me Clara. What did he say?" I demand.

"Never mind. I really shouldn't have brought it up." She says, and I look at her expectantly. I guess the look on my face gives her the strength needed to continue. "He went through all of the normal things, where he keeps his will, where the emergency credit cards and cash is stored, all of that sort of thing…." She said.

"And…" I ask. None of this is unusual. He does the same thing with me. Every-single-time he has to fly for any occasion. I guess he chose her since I wasn't home.

"Well, that's when things got strange. "She says.

"Oh?" I ask her. Wanting her to just get to the point.

"As he was going out the door, he pulled me close and said, 'I know you've been fucking my wife for the last seven and a half years of our marriage.' And he made me promise if anything were to happen to him I would 'make it right' by looking after you and the kids. He warned me that you don't handle grief well, and I guess he got that one right."

I cringe when she says the word 'fucking'. She says it with such harshness, and I can hear Mark saying those exact words, even though they came from her lips. I hate the use of the word 'fucking' when it comes to sex. It makes it sound so dirty, so impersonal, like something between a prostitute and their client. Not an intimate moment between lovers.

"He knew? All this time?" I whisper, feeling dirty, but also like my heart is being ripped open all over again. "What exactly did he say? How long had he known for?" I want to vomit. I take several deep breaths, trying to hold it down.

"I don't know do I?" She asks, putting her hands up in the air in surrender. "His choice of words were just as shocking to me as they are to you. I thought he only knew about the night he walked in on us."

"That makes this so much worse." My bottom lip is trembling. I bite down on it hard, but the tears spill over anyway. "He must have felt so betrayed."

"I mean if he knew all along then…. Maybe it makes this better?" She offers, gently wiping the tears from my eyes with her thumbs.

"No. This can't get better. It's tragic. He left because he was angry. He wouldn't have volunteered to go on that plane if he wasn't angry with me, with us. How could that possibly make things better?" I ask her.

"I'm not trying to be mean, but your marriage was long over, way before you and I started sleeping together. This isn't your fault Addison." She says, too directly. I consider this. I don't want it to be true. I love what we have, what we share, but Mark was my everything, even if he didn't feel the same way about me.

"We were working things out… we were keeping it together for our son… and … I …. I just…"I am breathing too hard as the tears flow faster, not stopping.

"Addison you have to breathe."

"I can't do this Clara." The guilt and the sadness is overwhelming.

"Baby, you can, and you will. You will because this isn't how your story ends. What happened to Mark was a tragic accident, but this isn't how our story ends. Here, how about you eat a little soup? Maybe just drink a little broth." She offers, and I notice for the first time a tray of simple food sitting on the dresser. Homemade soup and crackers. I ignore the soup and get up slowly. It feels strange. To stand after spending the majority of the last week laying down. I gather a clean pair of pajamas, bra, underwear from the dresser and go to the bathroom. Clara is hovering. I guess she is expecting me to pass out. I don't blame her.

"Are you really going to baby-sit me in the shower too?" I ask her, and she shrugs.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." She says and I highly doubt that's true. I feel shy, but it's more than that. I feel ashamed.

"I just need a few minutes Clara." My hands are shaking as I think of the razorblades under the bathroom sink, and the cuts that litter my arms. She hasn't seen them. She hasn't seen me naked since that night that Mark walked in on us in this very bathroom. It 's been cold. I've been wearing long sleeves. What would she think? Would she be afraid? Would she think I'm crazy?

"What's going on?" She asks gently. "I don't believe that you're suddenly shy."

"I need help Clara." I whisper." I sit down on the bathroom floor, and she sits next to me. I lean against the cold porcelain of the shower. It feels nice against my warm skin. My bones hurt.

"Anything." She says, and I look at her for along minute. I don't want to show her. I'm scared. I don't want to hurt her like I did all those years ago when I drove my car off that bridge. I wonder if that was really me. I guess she wouldn't have a reason to lie, but I still haven't recovered those memories. I may never recover them.

"I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"What if I'm really dead."

"What?" She asks, confused.

"What if I'm really dead, and this is some sort of purgatory?"

"Addison…."

"What if I drowned after the car accident and this is my purgatory, slowly watching everyone I love die because I was selfish enough to take my own life." She is watching me strangely .She looks concerned, like she doesn't know if she should laugh, or cry.

"Addison, I don't think …." She starts but I slowly pull the sleeves of my black funeral dress, the dried blood sticking, and unsticking some of the scabs free from where it had stuck to the fabric as they dried, causing them to bleed again.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. "I'm sorry…I… I don't know what I was thinking." I push up the sleeves the rest of the way up. She looks befuddled for a minute until her eyes register the deep red gashes going up the insides of my wrists. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, she takes my arms in her hands, turning them over, gently examining each of the cuts.

"Thank you." She says, letting my arms go, and taking my face in her hands, gently forcing me to look at her, like a parent would a small child. "For trusting me with this." She finally says.

"I was just trying to feel something. I can't feel anything anymore." I try to justify my actions. "Are you mad?" I sniffle.

"Concerned." She corrects me. "We'll figure this out though. One step at a time." She kisses me gently, but on the forehead, not the lips. She has been very cautious about giving me my space to grieve. It doesn't matter that we were in a relationship at the time of Marks death. She said she doesn't want to push me to pursue that aspect of our relationship until I am ready, she has honored that. "I promise, things will get better. You're not dead Addison."

"I don't think it will be OK this time."

"It will be, it has to be, there are no other options."


"Mommy I don't want to school today!" Benjamin protests as soon as I come down the stairs. No good morning mom, no I've missed you. Just indifference and complaints. I don't know what I expected. I need to spend more time with him. I need to be the mother he deserves. I need to be the mother they both deserve. "I'm sick Momma!" He proceeds to fake cough all over the kitchen counter. He looks at his breakfast cereal distastefully. I feel his head, no fever.

"No fever, eat your breakfast. Food will help you feel better." I say.

"It's contaminated." He says, coughing on it again, and pushing his bowl of uneaten food away.

"Is today a school day?" I ask him.

"It's Tuesday." He mumbles.

"Ok then, so what is it? Do you have a test today you haven't studied for?"

"Geography." He murmurs, and then starts crying real tears. "Daddy wouldn't make me go to school!" He whines pathetically.

"You are free to choose not to study. You are not however free from the consequences of those choices, go get your backpack. I'll take you to school today. "

"But Mommy, Daddy never-"

"No." I say harshly. "Do not bring your Daddy into this. Daddy isn't here to make choices on what's best for you, is he?" He's crying harder now, but I don't move to soothe him. What the hell is wrong with me? I still feel so numb. I don't want to be dealing with this right now. I think longingly of the warm abandoned bed upstairs. Wondering why Clara bothered to roust me out in the first place. She had to have known that I wasn't ready.

"Addison-" Clara cuts in warningly. "He's only five." She reminds me. "His father just died. It's OK to cut him a little bit of slack."

"No." I say. "You've cut him enough slack to be getting on with for a while." I say, frowning down at the crying child. Clara tries to scoop him up into her arms, but he fights against her.

"You're way too hard on him."

"How do you expect him to get into college or even trade school if he is taught as a child that studying and hard work is not important? How do you expect him to move on if you keep blaming all of his poor behavioral choices on Mark's death? That's what you want right? For us to get over it? To move on?" I demand.

"I never said that Addison."

"Mommy!" Benjamin cries, breaking free from Clara's embrace and throwing himself on me. "HELP. I think I am going to…" I look up just intime to see his face go green, and vomit projectile from his mouth and nose, all over him, all over me, all over the floor. He coughs again, crying if possible, even harder now.

"Oh Benjamin." I whisper. "I'm sorry." Clara hands me a wet warm rag and I wipe his face and hands off. "I'm so sorry baby. I thought you were just faking to get out of the test."

"Am I in trouble?" He asks.

"No. No. Benjie you're not in trouble."

"Has he been sick this week?" I ask Clara.

"It's probably just the stomach virus that's going around the school." She says carefully. She looks like she wants to laugh at the site of me covered in vomit, sitting super still. Taking slow deliberate breaths so I don't freak out at the clingy feeling of my wet pajama top. I feel disgusting, I must look shocked because she continues "They sent home a letter a few days ago."

"And you sent him to school anyway?" I ask.

"It's just a stomach virus, and we've sent him every other year." She says, shrugging. "He'll be fine in a couple of days.

"I want Clara now." Benjamin announces. Clara takes him from me, "Lets get you cleaned up Buddy." She says, he rests his head on her shoulder.

"I don't care what she says, you're my really Mommy Clara." I hear him whisper as they walk away up the stairs. I hear the water running, and sit down on the ground, resting my back against the kitchen wall, trying not to breathe in the stench of vomit or feel it's sticky wetness. It is of course, too overwhelming though. I take off my dirty shirt and throw it in the washing machine, grabbing a clean one from the laundry basket near the dryer and slipping it on. I get a wet rag and mop bucket. Filling it with soap and hot water, I scrub the floor until no trace of the vomit remains.

"Addison?" Clara calls.

"Yes?"

"Can you come up here a minute?"

"Ok." I call, I start to walk up the stairs, noticing just how weak I am. It is an exhausting effort just to reach the top. Benjamin is still crying when I enter the bathroom and lean heavily against the doorway. Out of breath, breathing slowly, and deliberately, trying to calm my pounding heart. Benjamin is laying on Clara. His cheeks flushed and his eyes red from crying.

"He threw up three more times. I haven't had a chance to bathe him yet." She explains. I look to the bathtub. It is filled with warm water; a bit of steam is coming off the surface. The best part though is the rainbow bubbles. She must have used several of the Crayola bath bombs we got while out baby shopping last week. I cringe thinking of everything that I still have to do to prepare the nursery, and now Benjamin is sick. How is it even possible to get anything accomplished in such a short 10 weeks? Life does have to go on.

"It's ok." I say, trying to be agreeable. "What do you want me to do?" I ask her. "You're right, I should be the one doing this now that I'm home."

"I'm not faking it Mommy. I really don't feel well." He whimpers and looks at me pathetically before moving closer to Clara. She's like his security blanket. I hate myself for doing this to him. Raising him exactly like I was raised, at an arm's length, by nannies and governesses. That would have to change now. There is no option but for it to change.

"It looks like a movie day is in order." Clara says. "If he doesn't improve of course you'll have to make an appointment, but children are resilient. Viruses do not usually last too long." She opens her mouth to say something else, but then closes again, looks at me oddly and says. "On second thought I will get him set up in his bedroom once the vomiting subsides. I want you to eat something and rest, you don't look so good yourself. Catching this virus wouldn't be best for you or baby right now."

"I'm his mom… I should stay with him." I say, but something isn't right. There are flashing sparkling puffs of light in front of my eyes. I blink hard, and rub them, trying to clear the lights away.

"You can play the hero another day. I've got this for now. Right now, you need to rest." Clara says. My vision is tunneling. I try to speak, to tell Clara that something is wrong, but I can't. I blink hard again, but my vision doesn't clear. Clara is speaking, but I can't make out what she is saying. It just sounds like a jumble of random words, picked up over a bad radio reception. My body looses all sensation, and I feel myself falling, as everything goes dark, and I collapse onto the ground.


Authors Note: Thank you for reading chapter 3 of Holding on & Letting Go! Please review and let me know what you're thinking so far. I LOVE Addison and Clara. Seriously I wish she would have had a similar relationship on Grey's Anatomy. Everyone knows how much I love Addison and Mark, but seriously this pairing of Addison and Clara is quickly becoming a tie for favorite. Addison has a lot of work to do in the parenting field to repair her relationship with her son. That should be interesting to see play out. I love kids in stories that act like real children and not little perfect rays of sunshine gifts sent from the Heavens.