Author's Note: I'm going to take this opportunity to do a little bit of shameless plugging. I've recently posted the first chapter of a little two parter set after the season three finale (yes, us Brits are somewhat out of date I'm afraid) and if you're enjoying this story, I think you'll like it. It's called Whiskey and Fear and you can find it in my profile. But anyway, back to this one. Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter, and hope you like this one. By the way, I apologise for the estate agent in me coming out - you'll see where – I've tried to rein it in as best I can, but at the end of the day, it's my job to say nice things about houses, it's completely engrained. I could have launched into an entire chapter's description, but I didn't think you'd appreciate it.
Disclaimer: As before.
Addison flopped onto her new sofa (a rich mocha colour and covered in the softest suede she'd ever felt – the minute her hand brushed against it in the furniture store, she had to have it) and surveyed her surroundings. When she'd been in Seattle, she had to admit, she kind of liked living in a hotel; everything was so easy, so there, but she'd bought a house when she moved to California and loved having this space all of her own. She could do what she liked with it, in it, and that beautiful house on the beach, where she could watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean as she sat on the deck sipping a glass of chilled pinot grigio, had been where she had healed herself.
So she'd decided that she was going to buy something here in London as well. She'd had three days before she started work at the hospital, and she used every second of those to trawl around estate agents, looking at house after apartment after house. Plus it had the added advantage of keeping her extremely busy, which meant that she didn't have a spare second to reflect (obsess) that Alex hadn't called. On the third day, quite late in the afternoon and just as she was giving up hope, one of the estate agents (she was beginning to get quite familiar with some of them) thought of something that "might be suitable".
The minute she'd stepped inside the door, she knew it was perfect. It was a penthouse apartment, the entire top floor of a converted Victorian warehouse, and she'd never been so in love with anything in her life. As it was the only property on the top floor, the elevator opened straight into the main room, which was an enormous open plan kitchen, sitting room and dining room, with views for miles right out over London. Everything was painted in soft creams with some rustic wooden beams and some fireplaces that she was sure were far too ornate to be original – this was a warehouse, after all – but they were beautiful and the agent told her they'd been salvaged from an old Victorian house around the corner before it was demolished so they were completely the right era. The bedrooms (there were four of them, which was far more than she needed, but one was already earmarked as a walk in wardrobe) were at the far end, and there were oak floorboards all the way through, polished and oiled to a soft matt finish.
She'd put in an offer on the spot, and after a little bit of negotiation, the vendor was persuaded to accept a figure a little below the asking price, and 1, The Old Malthouse was hers. The deal had completed this morning and she had spent her precious day off moving in. It had been a long, exhausting day, but it was worth it now, looking around her. The place looked beautiful. And she really, really wanted to show it off to someone.
She glanced at the clock, wondering if Alex might have finished his shift yet. After all the unspoken passion of that first evening, things had becalmed into friendship, just as he had asked. They still laughed and joked, occasionally laced with a touch of flirtation, and sometimes she caught him staring at her with such an intensity in his eyes that it took her breath away (it was in a surgery and she'd had to tell him to stop else she'd have jumped him there and then), but apart from that, there hadn't been a hint of taking a step forward. But more than friends or not, there was still no-one she'd met in London that she'd rather celebrate her new home with than him. It was eight o'clock, so his shift would have finished an hour ago, but he rarely left the hospital before ten. He was bound to still be there, overseeing charts or maybe having a debrief of the day with Michael.
She dialled hers and Alex's direct line at the hospital, but was surprised at the answer she received.
'Look Izzie, I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures tonight. Can we not talk about Addison, just for once? Tell me about you or something. Who've you met recently, since you're so interested in my sex life?'
Addison was utterly floored. What did he just say? Not only was she shocked that Alex had so naturally assumed the call was going to be from Izzie (how often must she call for him to think that?) but also what he'd said. In spite of herself, her heart was already beating wildly out of control. She tried to think up some sort of suitable response, but there wasn't one, of that she was sure.
'Hello? Iz? That better be you or I've just made an absolute prat of myself, probably to someone really important.' He sounded half amused, half horrified at the prospect the caller might not be Izzie, but she knew that if he realised it was her, his humour would swiftly dissipate.
She was a little tempted to hang up and spare them both the awkwardness, but against her better judgement, Addison sort of saw the funny side. Phone calls like this happened in high school, not when you were an adult and a doctor and supposedly mature.
'Uh, Alex, I'm not Izzie.'
She heard a choking noise down the phone, and possibly the sound of a coffee cup being knocked over as well. 'Addison? Shit.'
'Yeah. To both.' Then she laughed. He sounded acutely embarrassed and there was no way she wasn't going to exploit every last second of this. When had she ever had the chance to enjoy upper hand over him before? God, this was going to be good. 'I'm presuming that you weren't expecting me to call.'
'Um, no. I, uhh…' he stuttered uncertainly. He was racking his brains for something to say that could somehow erase the horror of what he'd just said. That wasn't putting your foot in it; that was… Not good. Not good at all.
'So, you talk about me then?' she asked coyly.
'Don't, Addison,' he said warningly.
'Why not? This is fun.' And then something occurred to her. 'What made you think I was Izzie?'
'She always calls around eight.'
'And does she call a lot?' Addison meant her tone to be teasing but she heard the note of jealousy ringing through it, grating like a note of music out of tune. Izzie had a hell of a lot more history with Alex than she did, and she couldn't help but be threatened by that. Even if, apparently, all they talked about was her.
'A fair bit,' he replied honestly, and she could almost hear him squirming in his oversized leather chair. 'Could we change the subject please?'
She was tempted to push things further, but she wanted him to come over tonight and hopefully there would be plenty of opportunity to wind him up then. 'Fine. I've just finished moving in. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and celebrate with me. I want to show the place off.'
'And you want me to come over? Is that a good idea?'
She groaned. Why did everything have to be so hard with him? 'Yes, Alex. I have a beautiful new home and you're my friend, the only real friend I have over here yet, and I would like you to come over and drink a bottle of wine with me, and tell me that you think it's lovely. Or that you hate it. Whichever.'
Alex felt guilty. She was just trying to be friendly, and she sounded excited about her new apartment, yet he'd just squashed her flat. Though it was more out of embarrassment than anything else. He couldn't believe she had heard him say that. He wanted to wither up, in a way he didn't think he had since he was in eighth grade and Kristy Henderson refused to go to the movies with him in the lunch queue right in front of everyone. How could he have been so stupid? And he could hear the annoyance in her voice. After all, they had agreed to be friends. Which had been his idea. Damn it.
'Sorry. I'm sorry. I'd love to come over. I've got about another half hour of charting left to do, then I'll be over. I'll bring a bottle,' he offered. 'Red or white?'
'Red. As long as you promise faithfully not to spill any on my new couch.'
'I promise,' he smiled. Typical Addison. 'I'll see you in about an hour.'