Author's Note: I always feel tediously repetitive in my author's notes thanking you all for your reviews (which have been so fabulously complimentary they have been a pleasure to read) but I do mean it. As fellow writers will know, although it is very nice to have one's ego stroked and petted, feedback is invaluable in shaping the story. If there's something you feel that could be worked on, then do tell me.
Disclaimer: As before.
Why, Addison wondered to herself as she struggled with her inside-out umbrella and did her very best not to take someone's eye out as she stepped out of the relative protection of the tube station into the street, do I have to go back to the rain? She'd had enough of that monotonous grey, dull, drizzly wetness in Seattle to last a lifetime, and the ever present sunshine and warmth of California had been a welcome antidote to it, to a lot of things.
But it hadn't solved everything, and it wasn't the problem-free utopia she had hoped for. In so very many ways, it had been a million times better than Seattle. Although there were people there who knew something of her past, well, Naomi knew pretty much all of it, but there were no constant reminders of it to haunt her. No Derek, still, even by the time she left, with that look of contempt and disgust at her dancing behind his eyes, as if he was full of innocence himself. No Mark, and his easy, lazy smile, and the constant uncertainty, does he mean it, can I trust him?
Whenever there was a knock on the door of her office though, and the announcement that there was "a visitor" to see her, it wasn't Derek or Mark she was hoping to see, and she kicked herself for that pathetic girlish part of her.
She had lasted there three years before eventually the lack of work drove her too crazy to stay. Always, when all the other elements of her life were unravelling, there had been her job. It held her together, transported her away from all her convoluted problems and reminded her just how trivial they were compared to the life of a baby. Or the death of a baby. So many times, when she had felt her own life slipping away from her, she could go to work and do something extraordinary that made her feel that there was a point to her being on the earth after all. Her own life might not be all she hoped for sometimes, but she could always console herself with the thought of how many lives existed just because of her.
The clinic, great fun though it was, never gave her that, and in the end, she decided that she prized her work, and her reputation far beyond an easy life. California suited her, and she'd stayed there, transferring to one of the big city hospitals but it still wasn't…
Oh, who was she kidding? She knew exactly what, or who, she was in search of, but if anyone ever questioned her about her unsettled feeling, she always claimed it was something she couldn't put her finger on, absolutely refusing to admit to anyone, even Naomi, that still, after seven years, she couldn't quite get Alex Karev out of her head. So often, she'd been tempted to jump on a plane and go and see him. She was still in vague, sporadic contact with a few people at Seattle Grace, Callie sometimes, Miranda occasionally and an annual Christmas card from Derek and Meredith, and she had heard that Alex was still there, but she refused to ask any more than that. She decided it was better for her peace of mind that she didn't know. He was probably married to Ava or Stevens and barbecued every weekend. Damn it.
Although she didn't consider her life in California to be perfect, it was still pretty darn good, and she had no particular inclination for a change (although she was undeniably so deeply entrenched in a rut that she could barely see daylight), until a couple of weeks ago, she'd been looking up an article in a journal, following up a reference for an paper she was assisting one of her residents on and something in the appointments section had jumped out at her. It was for a Neo-Natal Surgery Consultant post, which was perfect for her, but what really made it stand out was that it was at Great Ormond Street hospital. Anyone who worked in paediatrics, probably anywhere in the world, had heard of Great Ormond Street. It was a byword for excellence, innovation and utter dedication to paediatric care – well, that was her, wasn't it?
The hitch; naturally there had to be a hitch, this was her life after all, was that the closing date for applications had been three months ago, and the starting date already a couple of weeks past. Normally, she would have shrugged, and thought never mind, but this idea of this job really, really appealed to her, so on the off chance, she called the number on the advert.
The initial telephone conversation hadn't been a success, she had been completely fobbed off by a distinctly unhelpful woman who clearly was full of her own self importance and liked to take it out the fact that she was menopausal or sexually frustrated, or both, on unfortunate callers who she could catch unawares. However, less than an hour later, a phone call was put through to her office.
'Doctor Montgomery, a Mr Newton-Jones on line three for you.'
'A Mr Newton-Jones, do you know who he is, or what it's about?' The name didn't ring a bell.
The girl who was trying to put the call through sounded awkward. 'No, sorry, I didn't ask. He said he was from Great Ormond Street. Would you like me to find out?'
Great Ormond Street, huh? she thought. The name Addison Montgomery still means something then. 'No, it's fine Becky. Put him through, I think I know what it's about actually.' She heard the click of the line. 'Addison Montgomery.'
'Doctor Montgomery,' a smooth, perhaps late middle aged English accent said. 'I must apologise that I wasn't available to take your call earlier. I have to say, I was most intrigued to hear that you called.'
'Mr Newton-Jones I understand. I'm sorry, I was told you're from Great Ormond Street, but I'm afraid you have the advantage over me. You appear to know who I am.' Ah, she loved Confident Addison, it was great to be able to pull her out and use her again from time to time, even if she didn't have the energy for it all the time. Plus the stilettos were murder for her back these days.
'Yes. I am Michael Newton-Jones, and I'm the Head of the Surgical Department at Great Ormond Street. I was co-ordinating the search for the new Neo-Natal Surgery Consultant, and I was told by my secretary earlier that you had been enquiring if the position has been filled.'
Addison heard the "was" part of the co-ordinating the search, and her heart sank. She'd missed it. 'Yes, I saw a notice for it in an old journal only this morning. I presumed the position had been filled but it's something I would be extremely interested in, so I thought it might be worth a phone call. I was given slightly short thrift though, so I guess it wasn't worth the call after all.'
'Well, the position has been filled now. The successful candidate has been with us for about a fortnight now, and even in such early days, is proving himself excellent.'
'Oh, in that case, I'm sorry to have troubled you.'
'Not at all. Please don't be so hasty Doctor Montgomery. As soon as I heard that you had been sniffing around so to speak, I went straight to the Board and their response was unequivocal – we would be delighted to meet with you about a possible position for you here.'
'Oh, I…' Addison was too surprised to be able to do much more than splutter a little. She hadn't expected to actually get anywhere with her enquiry, which in a small way, was one of the reasons she made it. That way she could tell herself that she had tried to drag herself out of her rut; it wasn't her fault that nothing had come of it.
'Of course,' he went on. 'We're not made of money, and those in control of the pursestrings will need a little persuading that we can justify another Neo-Natal Consultant post so soon after already hiring one, but us surgeons are very good at getting what we want. How soon would you be able to get over to London?'
'Uh…' Come on, Addison, pull yourself together. You wanted this job. Go to London, and they might just consider giving it to you. 'To be honest, my schedule is punishing at the moment, particularly if I suddenly announce I am leaving. I may be able to get over next week.'
'Excellent. Shall we say Tuesday? You could get a red eye, have a morning meeting with us, then be back on a plane again in the afternoon. That would give the accountants time to confirm the funding for you is available, after which meeting the board would be a formality as much as anything I suspect. Your reputation precedes you.'
Tuesday. Then a month's notice here, she supposed. She could be there, working, living in London in as little as five weeks. Christ, talk about taking drastic action. But, she thought to herself, why the Hell not? 'Tuesday would be fine. Let me know a time and I'll be there.'
That was indeed five weeks ago, and the intervening period of time had been utterly crazy. Naomi thought she had lost her mind, and the hospital went mad when she handed in her notice, but she'd ploughed on regardless, completely refusing to listen to the many pleas for her to stay. In fact, she'd had no idea there were so many people who didn't want her to go, but she had been implacable.
One set of people she hadn't told were those in Seattle. To be fair, she hadn't lied to them, but it would only have been a phone call, but she couldn't bring herself to make it. She knew that Callie and Miranda would insist she visited before she left, and she just couldn't face it. London was going to be a new start. She wasn't running from anyone, or to anyone, she was simply starting over. Somewhere new. Coming face to face with Alex before she went was not what she needed. She could tell them once she was there.
She reached the hospital, and darted inside quickly out of the rain. The reception was going to be on the third floor, but before she made her way up there (or attempted to, given that she had no idea where she was going), she stopped and delved into her handbag. Already she was falling in love with London, she had been living here just two days, but one thing she had already discovered about it was that it was not designed for high heels. They were something she couldn't live without though, like a child and its comfort blanket, and Confident Addison certainly needed the stilettos to pull off the act.
She pulled a pair of high, high black leather shoes out of her oversized bag and slipped them on in place of the soggy pumps she had worn to walk in, wrapping them in a plastic bag she had bright especially and hid them back in her bag. There, that was better. She stood tall and made her way towards the elevator.
Despite getting there in plenty of time, it was ten past three before she finally managed to find herself in front of a heavy wooden door with a notice that read "Surgical Drinks Reception" pinned to it. She'd wandered through so many corridors that her feet were aching and eventually she'd had to concede defeat and ask for directions, but here she was. Her new colleagues, her new life, stood on the other side of this door. A little tentatively, she pushed it open.
Immediately, Michael Newton-Jones was there, shaking her hand enthusiastically. 'Ms Montgomery, at last, we were beginning to wonder where you had got to.'
'I'm sorry,' she apologised, 'I got a little lost.'
'No problem at all. Now, come with me, let me get you sorted out with a drink. As you're lucky enough not to be on shift, how does a glass of wine sound?'
'Uh, thank you.'
It was a while before she got her wine though. Michael, who she'd already decided she'd liked and would get on well with – he reminded her a little of Richard, just more enthusiastic about things, and very English – had lined up what seemed like dozens and dozens of people for her to meet, and she was absolutely bombarded by names, faces and handshakes. She didn't stand a chance of remembering them all, but she kept a smile on her face and sort of edited the information he gave her.
She decided she had the capacity to remember maybe ten names, five full names, and five first names only, so she concentrated on those that he named as being members of her team. She was sure she really ought to be more concerned with the board members and Important People, but at the end of the day, it was the people on the ground who really mattered.
She was talking with one of the Senior House Officers, Kevin Thompson (she thought an SHO was roughly equivalent to a resident, so she was definitely going to need to know his last name so she could bark orders at him) when Michael returned to her side and touched her lightly on the arm.
'Addison?' She'd already berated him for calling her Ms Montgomery, saying she didn't want to stand on ceremony. 'There's someone else I want you to meet.'
'Oh, excellent. Is it a last name person, because I've almost filled up my quota for the day?' She'd felt easy enough with him to confide her little plan, and he'd thought it was hilarious.
'Actually, I am reliably informed that you already know this person so you can save your last name spot for someone else.' What does he mean, someone I know? Who do I know in London? 'This is our other Neo-Natal Surgery Consultant, Addison.'
She caught sight of someone weaving his way towards her through the crowd, and she didn't even need to see his face to know it was him. She'd have known, instinctively, anywhere. Oh God, she thought. Oh no. This cannot be possible.
'This is Alex Karev.'