A/N: Added a part to help make sure this chapter isn't mind numbingly long and because planning is probably one of my most underdeveloped skills. I'm sad if you don't see this horrible plot twist coming up on the horizon but Addison so has a crush and Wyatt is damn fun. Enjoy-
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The Harrowing Adventures Of...
- Tokyo Police Club
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It was explained to her more than once. Carefully laid out in selective terminology at the age of six and then again at sixteen. That which giveth also taketh away.
Money breeds opportunity, lifestyles, and achievable dreams. It sours personal relationships and causes controversy amongst the envious. It's not a difficult concept, she just believed for a great deal of time in the human power to overcome. That something that she had so little control over would, in
effect, rule over her life was not something she was comfortable with or willing to concede to.
So she fought. A mighty fight, glamorous and glitzy, cheating her heart, stealing her mind.
Sometimes you aren't meant to win. And it is that simple.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"What are you thinking about?" Kevin asks, picking her least favorite question in the entire universe straight from the salty breeze.
"Nothing," she assures him and rests her head against his cozy shoulder.
He's a mighty, knowledgeable protector. In a class of his own. But he's a civil servant too and she's never been a slave to anyone like that.
He kisses her forehead lightly, almost enjoying her tenseness and how their bodies magnetize against one another, fueling the angry energy. It should be said aloud. The shooting should be talked about, if with anyone, than her. That's what she's there for - support and love. Except she doesn't love him and he's certain she's not strong enough to support anyone but herself right now (for whatever reasons she's not disclosing). "Ok."
Then she falls to the old standby of last week. She kisses a slow trail up his neck, taking her time because it's early and she doesn't want pillow talk while she tries to drift off to a dreamless sleep; the kind where it feels like only ten minutes have elapsed in the last eight hours. Her lips soften with the familiarity and they're good at this, it's easy. But physical connection can only get one so far in a relationship, and if there is anything she has learned from her mucky past, it's that.
He melts into her gentle touch, allowing the charade longer than necessary. "How long are we going to do this Addison?"
"Do what?" she purrs, voice purposefully low and tainted with the air of seduction.
He pulls back sharply, throwing her off balance and left to scurry out a palm for anchoring. "You know what."
"Kevin-"
"I can't keep...on like this. We should talk about it."
"We've talked about it," she argues. "Now we wait for it to pass."
"Wait for it to pass?" he questions more than skeptical. What in heaven's name does that even mean? He likes black and white. Rules, guidelines, procedures with minimal room for discretion. And she is everywhere at once, like a hurricane. It's unnerving and he's never been like this over a woman before. Leave it to him to wait thirty or so years before diving into a serious relationship.
"We're going to argue sometimes Kevin and it may take time to readjust but we will. We will get it back."
"Right," he mocks, scooting even further away from her.
"I want this to work," she objects, reaching a few fingers out to clasp with his. Upon contact she realizes it won't be enough. People resort to desperate measures when backed into a corner, and the idea of losing this wonderful man in front of her is just enough to cause, "I love you," to come roaring out of her red mouth.
"I love you too," he grins weakly, trying not to notice how she seems to grimace. He kisses her palm patiently. "We wait."
"We wait," she affirms, finding her little hiding spot again and settling down to watch the ocean in a forced but agreed upon silence.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"It's not working," Addison admits over a lonely cup of coffee in her friend's office.
"I'm sorry," Naomi sends halfheartedly across the room. She's got enough on Addison and her man debacles to write a New York Times best selling book.
"You're not."
"You knew better," Naomi counters and searches her desk again for the damn file that seems to have sprouted legs and wandered away.
"And yet you said I should try. That I was too picky." Addison rolls her eyes and crosses her legs, plucking the correct papers poking out onto the corner of the surface in front of her.
"I wanted you to be happy. You deserve to be happy."
"That could be said about anyone in the world."
"I think," Naomi pauses reading over a few scribbles, "there are still a few people I wouldn't wish well."
"I said it," Addison laments, steeling herself for the attack.
"Broke it off?"
"No, it it. I said it."
"Oh God...do you?" Naomi finally perks up, beyond interested. Living vicariously through Addison has always been at the very least entertaining although at times redundant and anguishing.
"No...I mean, I don't know. I could. I could. I...need time."
"Maybe you need-"
"Don't say it," Addison warns with her hands poised into a halt sign.
"You know it's true," Naomi teases.
"Maybe," she admits, drifting off to the horrible place in the back of her mind with all the memories of past flames and long lost loves. Dusty roads of backseats and steep slopes muddily laced with adultery and hurt.
"You can't marry the first one out of the gate Addie. It's a search, it's not meant to be effortless."
"I...just," she shakes her head to herself and swallows the tears bubbling up.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing. I need to stop thinking about it. He's great. I'm great. This works."
Naomi nods understandably, "He's out there somewhere."
"Who?" Addison chokes out, clasping her hands tightly together. She doesn't like visiting the bad place, especially at work, where breakdowns are hard to conceal and a source of coffee pot gossip.
"The right one."
"And if he's in Seattle with the intern?" She wonders sometimes. All those years, all of the events, holidays. There was love there, somewhere.
Naomi glances out her glass door, staring at the small pack of doctors down the hall. "I don't know." She considers briefly, "But I can't believe that it's about Derek. If you want this to happen, make it. If not, then let it go, and soon. Don't torture yourself anymore because you're way beyond the just having fun stage."
Addison scratches her short, polished thumbnail into the skin on her forearm. It's difficult to not look at the situation and be angry at herself. Because chances are, even thought the marriage was mostly plain shit and a helluva façade, they'd still be together. And she wouldn't be out here, trying to date. Trying to be unaffected and issue-less. Compatible and ready while she's really terrified and neurotic.
She's a byproduct of many things - loses, failures, and mistakes but Addison believes in the human power to overcome. She has to. "Right."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Oh...Kevin," Violet grins, slapping her next patient's chart down onto the counter top in reception. "You can go back, Addison is in her office. I just passed by there."
"Actually, I'm here to see you," he looks at the ground, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Not...for a session, not right now. I was hoping to maybe set something up. I don't want Addison to know though, so if you-"
"Doctor-patient confidentiality," Violet assures him, slapping his shoulder friendly.
"I heard you were out here," Addison smiles broadly, sweeping toward the pair. "Anything interesting?" she asks pointedly staring at Violet's case.
"No, I was just...following up on the case Violet asked me about a few weeks ago," Kevin reacts quickly, surprising himself. He never thought it would be this easy to lie to someone you care so deeply about. Lesson learned.
Addison nods and he lets her wrap her arms around his neck, doing his part by cordially kissing her cheek. It's a thing, a greeting that he kind of dislikes. It's pompous and restrained, tight hugs and lips brushing lightly over tanned cheeks. Not his deal. "Lunch?"
"Sure," he agrees, "Bye Violet." She awkwardly waves him off, almost dumping her cup of tea down the front of her shirt and Kevin can't help but think he should be dating someone a little more like her. Someone not so sugar refined and precise, but occasionally lumped and worn.
"So...what do you have in mind because I only have about an hour before my next patient."
He winds an arm around her waist, pulling her close when more people join them in the elevator but before he can get a word out the tall, dark haired man next him speaks.
"Hey Monty, who's the guy?" Wyatt asked, blatantly interested.
Kevin watches Addison roll her eyes at the nickname and wonders how they know each other.
"Kevin, this is Wyatt, an arrogant wannabe who works on the floor beneath us and Dr. Lockhart, this is Kevin, my boyfriend." Addison smirks proudly, watching his face drop.
"Harsh," Wyatt contemplates, "But not without some truth. Kevin," he reaches his hand across the elevator, not bothering to notice the poor woman between them, "Nice to meet you. You better hold onto this one tight. She's a precious commodity around these parts."
"Will do," Kevin responds and pulls back before the elevator can kick them all off on the lobby floor.
"You know, I was just headed out to grab a quick bite to eat, would you two care to join me?" Wyatt asks, enjoying watching Kevin squirm in anticipation.
"No, thank you," Addison decides for them instantly. No one voluntarily signs up for that kind of torture except...Kevin, who answered at the same time as her with the opposite. She grimaces as she's whisked out the doors and toward a café down the street.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Your friend is-"
"An manipulative son of a bitch," Addison finishes for him, as she walks him back to his squad car. He's on road patrol for the week (while he gets back into tip-top shape) and detesting every second of it.
"Well, I wouldn't have put it that way," Kevin laughs, stomach full from an overpriced meal that he picked up the entire tab on. He felt the need to step up, he feels it constantly around her people. One day it'll catch up with him.
"Thank you for...dealing with that." She leans up to peck his lips. "I promise we won't do it again."
"It wasn't that bad. He's...decent."
"He's really not, anyway I need to...go," she points up the street before falling into another lip-lock, this time incessantly dueling her tongue with his right out on the open street. Something about Wyatt makes her want to disprove anything he could possibly be thinking. "Bye."
"See you tonight, 8 o'clock. Look sharp," he warns jokingly.
"I always look sharp," Addison laughs and saunters back toward the building with a ten gallon bucket of cement sitting in her stomach. He'll run out of ways to outdo himself sooner or later and she's genuinely afraid of what happens when he realizes that. For now, all she can do is ride the choppy waves.
"Monty, pleasure," Wyatt remarks as she joins him in the elevator again. If she didn't know better, she'd say he waited for her on purpose. "Nice guy."
"He really is," she asserts pouting.
"Shame he's a cop," he shakes his head. "How do you deal with not knowing whether or not he'll wind up in the hospital potentially half dead every night?"
"None of your business," she points out as the machinery finally grinds to a halt but the doors don't fly open so she can shove him out on his face. She looks from right to left, curses the elevator gods and then finally breaks down, "We're stuck. Great."
"I can think of worse people to be stuck with," Wyatt admits.
"Funny, I can't."
"Oh, you're a barrel of tacks today Monty. Feisty, I like that." Wyatt chuckles under his breath and undoes the center button of his jacket, letting his body sink to the ground.
Addison groans something nonverbal and claws her scalp furiously, trying by sheer force of will to get the damn thing started again.
"You shouldn't do that, you have nice hair," Wyatt says softly, not quite willing to surrender the calm, vulnerable air they have amassed.
"I'm not complimenting you back. Your ego may very well explode," Addison gives up, dropping her purse and finds the most proper route to the ground, choosing the same wall so he can't even begin to daydream about what's up her tight gray skirt.
"You don't know me at all, and yet you feel the need to make that call. What is that? Do you always assume the worst in someone as competent as you? Is that what the cop thing is about?" he grins, knowingly striking a cord she doesn't want to deal with. "Silent treatment won't work on me."
"Shut up." Addison throws her head back against the wood panel and stares at the ceiling.
"Claustrophobic?"
"Not at all. This isn't exactly an ideal situation-"
"I think it is. It's like an unexpected break in the day."
"I have patients," Addison snaps back, folding her hands into her lap and trying not to fidget.
"I have more," Wyatt smiles cheekily. "You know Monty, we'd be a helluva team. My know how, you're alleged skills."
"Alleged?" Addison thinks that is the one thing in the whole world that should be proven fact.
"I've never seen you in action but I'm willing to take Naomi's word for it. She thinks very highly of you."
"As I do of her," Addison comments, fighting an urge to begin ripping her cuticles.
"Must be nice," Wyatt laments.
"What?"
"To not have everyone hate you because you're better than them," he clarifies and sighs when the elevator groans and a fuzzy voice comes over the intercom informing them that it'll only be a few more minutes, and then apologizes.
"That's not why I hate you," Addison replies, taking the hint.
"Do tell," Wyatt pushes.
"You're smug and conceited. You don't accept anyone else's truths as relevant and you act without common regard for the others around you. That's why I hate you, but that's just me."
"I don't sound all that horrible if you really think about it."
~-~-~-~-~-~
He takes her go-kart racing again after dinner. They take a whirl on the Ferris Wheel, childishly sneaking kisses from high vantage points and he even buys a stick of pink spun sugar, watching as she hums when it hits her tongue. They peruse the boardwalk, taking in the occasion passerby, and finally settle on a grungy, germ covered bench to take respite from all the adventure. It was fun the first time, to watch her squeal with delight and astonishment, to tease her about where she's from and why she hadn't really lived yet. To see the sparkle in her eye as she first learned the magic of cotton candy and how sick it can make you feel after eating an entire bag, to hold her hand as she watched the pier lights in amazement from scary heights.
It's different now. She hasn't done these things because she's above them and no one ever gave her silly carnival food because no one ever took her to a silly carnival and part of him wonders just how much of this is candid and how much is for show. "Addison?"
"Yes," she giggles into his shoulder, breeze catching her short hair and blowing it into her eyes.
He brushes it back, kisses the bridge of her nose and retreats. "Nothing."
"No, what?" she asks, concerned by how he's been holding out all evening. First, during appetizers, then the car ride here and now.
"It's taking a long time to pass is all," he frowns and then strokes her thigh, glancing out beyond the hurried nature and into the dark.
"It's gotten better," she argues, alarmed and afraid.
"It's never going to be the same."
"What are you saying?" she dares, voice higher than it should be, heart picking up intensity, prepared for battle.
"I'm not saying anything." He throws his hands into the air and stands up.
"Kevin," she states, voice betraying her more with each syllable that leaves her mouth.
"God, this was so much better when I thought...when I didn't...know...anything," about you, he adds silently.
She tugs on his hand, pulling him down to the bench, doing the only thing she can. "I have a trust fund-"
"I know," he moans pathetically into his hands, the cool hands he stole back and covered his miserable face with.
"I don't use it," she informs him, relieved when he looks up. "I didn't pay for college or med school and I've never had a job outside of my chosen career but...I work hard Kevin, and I've done well for myself. And, maybe yes, I did start out with an unfair advantage but I don't use that anymore. I like go-karts and cotton candy and I also enjoy overpriced Italian shoes and expensive wine. I know they don't go together but I can't help that." She bites her bottom lip harshly, creating a divot that will last the night, when the tears threaten to leak out. "My world isn't dinner parties and exotic travels for fun. I work because I want to, because I want to help people, and I want to be with you."
He wipes the trail of water off her cheek with his palm before skimming the surface with his lips. Every time she talks about it, grudgingly he can sense, he feels like an absolute jerk. Because she cries and because it's not her fault he feels inadequate. It's his. "I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is. Come 'ere." He pats his lap and she organizes herself on top of him, still aware they are in public and merely finds the special spot his body seemed to have carved out for her head.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she whispers. "I didn't think we were in that place yet frankly...and it's rather irrelevant to me."
"We did kind of get shoved into this serious...ness," he grins, rubbing her back lightly. "I blame Archer."
"Works for me," she chuckles and then scurries off of him once she's stable. "I have an idea."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Addison." Kevin stands, blocking his locked door. "I don't think this is such a good idea."
"It's fine. You'd be surprised what squalor I've seen."
He turns, placing the key in the slot and holds his breath. She'll be nice no matter what, that's just a given but it's the judging he's afraid of. The wordless thoughts that weigh out unevenly against him. He holds the wooden door open for her and flicks on the entry light switch.
Addison smiles reassuringly and adjust her purse against her shoulder as he gives permission to observe. She tours the living room, small but tidy kitchen, the backyard (beautifully fenced and landscaped by the man behind her), and then wanders down the short hallway to the bedroom. She kicks out of her heels and is out of her dress by the time Kevin catches up.
"You think you can just get naked in my room?"
"Do you propose another location?" she questions, padding across the hardwood floor to the mostly devoid bathroom. She pushes the shower door open, noting how it kind of reminds her of the wretched trailer in the woods, and flips on the water. "Joining me?" she calls out cautiously.
He falters for only a moment, staring at the soft pooling material of her bright blue outfit, before casually walking into his own bathroom and trying not to think how out of place the woman in his shower presently looks. "Absolutely."
~-~-~-~-~-~
All in all it really wasn't that bad, Addison knows this. It was small but clean. Simple and classic. Matching furniture and kitchen plates, much unlike the bachelor pad she inhabited all those years ago. She's lived in worse but she'd still rather wake up in her own bed, way across town, and enjoy a specially brewed cup of coffee instead of the Folgers in her plain white mug. She'd prefer not to smell of normal bar soap and to not be forced to do the walk of shame this morning with last night's date clothes on. She supposes she should be thankful for the small things, like carrying makeup backup in her car, and at least having the presence of mind to not go out in her work clothes with Kevin.
It's about the little things today.
"Headed somewhere Monty?" Wyatt asks, waiting in line for his routine Cafe Breva, eyes wandering all over her tight form.
"Coffee," Addison mumbles, still half awake from the crap job the other caffeine managed to do.
"My treat," Wyatt demands and orders for her before she can respond. He directs her two feet to the left to pick up their order. "Late night with the cop?"
"Don't you ever get tired of this?" she asks crankily.
"Nope," he grins and taps the polished floor impatiently. "Your floor doesn't make coffee?"
"Wasn't in the mood. Why aren't you at that...coffee bar?" She scrubs her eyes, bleary and angry at her for spending so much time in the valley smog.
"Not my thing," Wyatt reveals and swipes her iced Americano off the counter when it comes, thoughtfully slipping on a cardboard sleeve before realizing that it won't burn her precious hands.
She sips it blindly expecting scorching liquid and contorts her face in dismay when she comes up with coolness. "Do I strike you as the type of individual who likes cold coffee?"
"You strike me as the type of individual who needs a change," he recovers smartly and grabs his to-go cup, steering her out of the store.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"How has it been going?" Violet asks, perched in her chair, blinds drawn against the surely dark office.
"Okay," Kevin nods. "What's wrong with me?"
"What's wrong with you?" Violet asks back.
"Why can't I just get over this. It's not her fault. None of it...and yet...I hate her a little."
"What's not her fault Kevin?" Violet questions, trying to get him to come back from his trance.
"She said she loves me, she was lying, but she said it," he wobbles his head from side to side trying to figure out what it means. "I could see myself with her in a way. Down the road. The kids, the dog, and the vacations and whatever. But then...I don't sometimes and I blame her...it's easy."
"Blame her for what?" Violet repeats like a broken record. Some days she is nothing more than a brick wall people talk at.
"She's hot. When I saw her, I mean there is no denying that...but there was something else. She was so good about the whole thing and the way she laughed. I don't know. After I lost my partner...it was nice. It's nice."
"You lost your partner?"
"Been little over a year," he replies for the first time. "We were together for a while...now I'm S.W.A.T."
"You switched because-"
"No," Kevin laughs in earnest. "I switched because it was offered. Pay is better, hours are much worse but it's different. It's good. I like it for the most part, I mean as much as one can like that sort of thing."
"Oh, good," Violet remarks and scribbles a little flower out on her paper, wanting to pay attention but almost not caring. She's merely a fixture in this setting anyway.
Kevin falls quiet. It's really quite ridiculous that he's here but the guys would all tell him to leave her or to keep her around for sex and it's not what he wants to hear. "How long do you wait for it to pass before you give up?"
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison swirls the red fluid around her clear glass contemplatively. There's really no one to go to. Naomi has said her peace, Sam shouldn't be involved and that's kind of her short list of friends. She dials the numbers again, wanting him to pick up but mostly wishing for voicemail, and then hangs up before either opportunity has a chance. She sips again, and wanders off her deck into the sand.
On one hand she can't really understand why she'd be fighting so hard if this wasn't worth it, but conversely, she also realizes that her dwindling personal resources are probably the reason for clinging. Kevin, with all of their new dysfunctional issues, is still better than being alone. But that doesn't make it right; doesn't mean he's anymore the one for her than stupid Wyatt Lockhart downstairs.
So Addison buries her feet in the tiny granules she'll despise in a short moment's time and falls back on the one thing she still sort of believes in - the ability to overcome.
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