Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter, it was, as always, great to hear your thoughts. Sorry for the bit of a wait for this update – I have no excuse, just simply hadn't gotten round to any writing. But now I have so hope you like it. Please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: As before.

The baby died. He died before they even had a chance to start the surgery, it was an adverse reaction to the anaesthetic, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't stabilise him again. They could all be great, world-leading surgeons, but at the end of the day, if they couldn't save one little boy… God damn it, what was the point? What was the point to any of it?

As always, telling the mother was the hardest part. And in the case of the Timms baby, it was just a mother, a girl herself – she couldn't be a day over twenty – who even before today had touched Addison's heart with her quiet strength. She was sitting in the long, sterile corridor around the corner from the operating room, her head resting on the shoulder of an older woman who could only be her own mother, when Addison went to tell her the news.

The girl raised her head at the sound of the footsteps, and immediately her face changed. She knew, already, that not nearly enough time had passed for the operation to have been successful, that her baby was gone. Mother's instinct. Addison had seen it plenty of times before, and somehow always found it harder to tell the ones that already knew. They were the composed ones, their tears were silent and their grief private, and there was nothing whatsoever you could say to help.

She took a deep breath. 'Miss Timms,' she began formally, then changed it to, 'Hannah.' She'd talked to the girl daily over her son's cot over the last week, Hannah was definitely more appropriate.

'Ms Montgomery.'

Addison saw her grasp her mother's hand so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and her eyes were starting to fill with tears. She didn't prolong the moment for any of them. 'Daniel has died, I'm so, so sorry Hannah. It was an adverse reaction to the anaesthetic; no-one could have predicted it and we did everything we could.'

Hannah's mother reached out to wipe a tear off her daughter's cheek and the simple gesture almost made a sob catch in Addison's own throat. Given how long she had been doing her job, she sometimes thought she was becoming immune to the unbelievable emotions attached to the bond between a mother and her child, but in truth, she never did. Any day of the week, it could spring out and surprise her, and she would find herself moved to tears.

'Thank you for telling me,' Hannah was saying softly. 'Did… did he… would he have known anything?' she stumbled.

'No,' Addison replied, 'he was asleep. He wouldn't have known.'

'Good.'

The conversation seemed to have ended, but Addison felt there should be more somehow, that she should do more. 'Is there anything I can do to help you Hannah, is there anyone I can call? Or…'

Hannah shook her head. 'No thank you Ms Montgomery. It's just me and Mum. Can… can I see him?'

'A nurse will come out and get you shortly.' The girl seemed to want information only, so that's all the Addison offered. Clearly the giving of comfort was the sole preserve of her mother.

She could feel the tears starting, and she couldn't cry in front of the baby's mother. 'I'm sorry for your loss, excuse me,' she said abruptly, and hurried towards the elevator.

The second the doors slid shut, she let the sob escape from her throat, and rested her head back against the wall, tears streaming down her face. That poor girl, that poor, poor girl. She'd been so composed and mature, but at the same time she was clearly utterly heartbroken. The only pain that Addison could imagine being worse than not being able to have a child was losing one.

Although the highs definitely outweighed the lows, sometimes she hated her job. She wished Alex was there.

Suddenly, the elevator slowed and the doors sprang open. Immediately, her hand shot to her pocket to rummage for a tissue. She stopped though, when she saw who it was.

'Oh, Michael, thank God it's only you.'

'Charming,' he retorted, then looked at her closely. 'Addison, what on Earth is the matter? You're absolutely sobbing.'

'Lost a patient. I know I shouldn't be affected like this but every now and again… you know.'

'I do.' The tissue she had found and was using to mop up the streaks of mascara left on her cheeks was a rather shredded and pathetic affair and he held out a hankerchief to her, which she took gratefully. 'And if it helps, which I know it doesn't, but if it helps, I cried last week.'

'You did?' Addison asked, surprised.

'Yes. Gracie Shaw. She was thirteen, and she's been a patient of mine since she was six years old. I've never known a more charming, witty, beautiful, brave young girl. And she died on the transplant list, waiting for a double lung transplant. Cystic Fibrosis,' he explained.

'Oh.' Addison didn't know what else to say. Crap about having done your best and not being able to save them all was just that; trite, clichéd crap. You had to believe you could do more than that in order to be able to do this job, because otherwise you might not do your best.

'We're far too old and jaded to cry over them all, but you're not human if you don't cry over one or two, sometimes. If you can't do that, then you need to stop doing this job.'

She smiled wanly, not expecting to find such a strength of conviction, or such emotion, in a man like Michael, but warmed by it. He was so full of easy charm that it seemed so unlikely, and said so.

He chuckled. 'Ah, we're all idealistic young med students on the inside Addison. Now, why don't you get off home? You've obviously had a tough day.'

'No Michael, thank you, but I couldn't. Besides, I'm fine, and rounds are in half an hour.'

'Nonsense, go home. Your registrar is more than capable of covering for you. Get Alex over and tell him to cook you dinner.'

'Actually,' she admitted, 'Alex is moving in today.'

'Then I'm absolutely not taking no for an answer.' The door opened, and they both stepped out. 'I'll even tell your staff that you've left. Is there any cases that they need debriefing on?'

'No. It was only Daniel Timms, but…' She didn't finish the sentence. 'Thank you Michael.' In all honesty, she didn't want to argue with him. All she could think of was Alex's arms around her, and how things wouldn't seem quite so bad when they were.

'That's okay.' They began to walk away from each other, her to her office to get her coat, and Michael towards her ward.

'And Addison?' She turned around. 'You can keep my hankerchief.'

She looked down at the sodden cotton, covered in black mascara marks, and laughed.