a/n (p1): mark and addison have never been together, addison and derek were married but aren't anymore, and there will be multiple ships in this but it is primarily mark/addison, some (okay, a lot or even most) of the history is different
a/n (p2): read anything by lynn ( sliceofperfection ) and you won't regret it; my personal fav is sick cycle carousal
Addison Adrienne Forbes Montgomery loves Christmas above all other times of the year. She's always loved Christmas; even as a little girl, she was filled with joy when the snow would fall, when Christmas moves graced her television, when the Christmas hymns echoed throughout her brain. She could barely sit in class without bouncing in her chair, gapped teeth and hair in pigtails while she absently hums along to Jingle Bells.
She had been efficiently distracted during her tests (and usually come the new year, her father would ask her what happened with a slight, teasing grin). She'd run from the bus in the snow, the crunch beneath each step distinctly present with each movement, and burst through the front door. Barely remembering to kick her shoes off at the front door, she was beyond excited to decorate the house with the lights and the decorations.
She's always believed that Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love, and right now she wants nothing more than to spend her holidays with Mark and Amelia and Derek and Meredith and Zachary - her new favorite addition. Although technically Zachary isn't her family, she still loves him with all of her heart, but there's nothing more that she wants than to have a baby of her own. Some days she forgets that she's decided and already told Mark that they should quit trying.
She's trying to remain positive, distracting herself with Christmas and instilling the Christmas spirit into other people so she doesn't find herself saddened. She's been surprised by Mark's efforts and the way he willingly dragged a Christmas tree up 8 flights of stairs since it wouldn't fit in the elevator. She doesn't know why he's being so nice, being so different and doing things without putting up too much of a fight but she isn't going to question it.
Christmas is only 12 days away (and suddenly she's singing on the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me), and the apartment is glowing with lights illuminating the tree. The needles fall from the tree and grapple to the floor, the scent of her perfect Christmas filling the air; the tree is relatively empty beneath it, only scattered with presents for assorted friends, even one for her brother. She takes in a deep breath, letting her senses fill with the array of Christmas.
Mark used to tease her for how much she loved the Christmas season, inhaling hot chocolate and tucking her feet beneath her for warmth. He would tease her, but ultimately sit beside her while Derek was on the other wise. She'd tell him to drink his hot chocolate, kicking him in the thigh, and eventually hiding her feet beneath his leg for warmth. Derek didn't mind, or if he did then he never said anything.
She wants things to not be so different right now, a sense of familiarity.
As It's A Wonderful Lifeplays across the 55" television, and she really doesn't get why Mark insisted on such a large television but she guesses it was probably a guy thing, she briefly begins to wonder when Mark will be home because there's nothing she wants more than to recreate those moments from when they were younger. She drags her fingers through her hair, letting the locks fall back into place as a shiver skates down her spine. It's getting increasingly chillier and she cuddles her cup a little closer to her face for a bit of extra heat.
She outwardly groans when there's a knock on the door, not even sure who it could be. She pushes herself to her feet, unintentionally shivering when the cold air of the room seeps through the threads in her clothes to touch her skin (not that she's bothered to do anything but kick off her heels anyway). Her feet are practically numb after all of the years of wearing less than comfortable high heels but that still doesn't keep her heels from slamming against the wood floor with each step; she's always heavy footed once she abandons her heels.
The door is only a smidge open before she is gasping for air, her chest tightening with surprise when she catches a glimpse at who is behind the door. She can't tell if it's a pleasant surprise or one that she is already dreading, hoping that she can find some way out of it. But before she can muster the courage to shut the door in their faces, Archer is grinning at her with sparkling teeth that prompts her to swallow in defeat.
Her eyes don't quite connect with her father's and she certainly isn't able to flit her eyes in her mother's direction, so instead she steps into Archer's arms and gives him a greeting hug. He smirks, she can feel it against her hairline, but there's a certain comfort in the way he encircles his arms around her and hugs her like he used to. She can almost count away the seconds before her mother's eyebrow is popping up on her forehead in that judgmental way she mastered so long ago.
"You aren't even going to say hello, Addison? That's very rude, dear," Bizzy says.
Addison holds a heavy sigh in as she pulls back from Archer's embrace, swallowing in an attempt to make herself find the words to ward off the initial shock; she forces a smile across her face, "I had no idea you were coming."
Her dad smiles, the same smile as Archer's, "we thought we'd surprise you. Well, your mom did."
"Of course," Addison mutters. She moves around her brother to hug The Captain.
"Don't mumble, dear," her mother says as she presses her lips to Addison's cheek in a snooty manner, "it's unattractive."
"Yes, ma'am," Addison replies; she glances over her shoulder and gives her apartment the once over, not quite as clean as she'd like it to be in her mother's presence. She silently hopes that she can sneak in some straightening up during conversation without her mother noticing. She forces a smile on her face, "you could have called."
"Ah, no need," Archer replies as he invites himself in, "my little sister has always been accommodating."
She bites her bottom lip to stifle a huff, moving out of the way so that Bizzy and The Captain can enter - besides, it isn't like she can leave them out in the hall while she straightens up the apartment. It isn't horrible, just Mark's sweater on the back of the couch fresh out of the laundry and a few too many pair of her shoes lining the wall by the front door, not to mention a few books about pregnancy on the shelf. She can't wait to hear Bizzy's opinion on that.
She shuts the front door and follows them into the apartment, nearly halting in her step when her father heads straight for the kitchen. She grumbles a little, hoping that it will be inaudible to Bizzy's ears, slightly annoyed because it's been less than five minutes and her kitchen is already being expectantly raided for alcohol. She swallows to avoid rolling her eyes as Bizzy sits on the couch and she braces herself for the opinion about the blanket not being precisely draped over the back of the couch.
"Addison, dear, is this how you live?"
She sighs; her father stops closing cabinets to give Bizzy a stern look, "Bizzy, don't."
"Come on, Bizzy, lighten up. It's Christmas," Archer adds. He has a glass of ice in hand as he comes to Addison's side, leaning heavily against her as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. He grins as the ice shakes in his glass, cabinets slamming behind her again, "I bet Addie just finished decorating and we caught her at a bad time. Right, Sis?"
"Oh," she mutters, words lost on her because it's all seemingly overwhelming, "yes. What do you think, Archie?"
"It looks wonderful," her father supplies from the kitchen, "Aha! Scotch? Is this all that you have? I didn't know you drank scotch."
"I don't," she counters.
Archer elbows her, "Derek still coming around?"
"Yes, just not like you think," she replies absently, "I don't think I have any vodka. I haven't been drinking much lately so I'm not exactly sure."
"How have you been able to survive? Alcohol is like water. It's in your veins," Archer teases with another nudge; he retreats back to the kitchen and fills his glass with scotch - not exactly what any of them want but they are relieved to have alcohol. He calls out, "I still find it hard to believe that you haven't been drinking. It's the first rule to Montgomery survival."
"Leave her alone," The Captain interjects fleetingly.
Archer drops onto the sofa beside Bizzy and offers her a glass of scotch. She hopes that Bizzy gets alcohol in her soon, not that she probably hasn't already had a few, because she sooner she does then the less likely she is to nitpick. She relaxes a little bit when she feels the Captain squeeze her shoulder on his way to the living room to sit in the chair closest to the television.
She swallows and manages to make her way into the living room, sitting on the loveseat across from the Captain's chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. Her hand is the only one without a drink and she wonders how she's going to survive this interaction without numbing herself a little bit. She tucks her feet up beneath her as Bizzy leans forward, eyebrow quirked like she's finally completed sizing up the apartment and is about to let her judgments fly.
"What does your boyfriend do?" Bizzy inquires as she shakes her glass. The ice rattles around and the scotch sloshes in Bizzy's glass when she leans forward and trains her gaze on her daughter. Archer forgoes any kind of manners he was raised to have and settles his shoes on the edge of the coffee table. Addison silently waits for Bizzy to chastise him but she doesn't; she struggles with how to answer the question because Mark isn't technically her boyfriend. "I'm waiting."
"Mark and I live together," she clarifies.
"I wasn't aware that you had even begun dating your ex-husband's best friend," Bizzy says, voice lining with disapproval, "kind of tacky, dear, don't you think?"
"We aren't dating," Addison replies sternly.
She can typically only last 5 minutes before her family starts to push her to her limit. She has to take them in stride and this time they are very much in her face. She nervously rubs at her leg, the short hairs standing on their ends from the cold chill her mother is giving her.
"I find that hard to believe," Bizzy says.
"Come on, Bizzy, give her a break. She's having her own version of Sex and the City," Archer adds with a small laugh. The Captain doesn't even grin, just perches the edge of the glass between his slightly parted lips and takes a mouthful. Her eyes flit from her father to the television to check for what she's watching. "Getting laid?"
"Archer," the Captain interrupts firmly; he's always the peace keeper but he's probably hurt them all the most, "let's be appropriate, shall we?"
"It's fine," Addison says, forcing a smile.
Just then the door opens and Mark walks through, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders without even glancing in her direction - :honey, I'm home." She stills, unable to gauge what her family's reaction to his familiar joke will be. His smile slowly fades at the sight of them and he swallows. "Well, hello, Montgomerys."
"Marky Mark," Archer greets; the soles of his shoes colliding with the floor as he leans forward and turns slightly to glance over his shoulder, "I think Bizzy was just inquiring about your sweater here."
"Cashmere," Mark replies with a smirk, "I think Addison got it for me for my birthday."
"Of course she did," Archer agrees, "she couldn't have any man of hers being less than stylish."
Mark lightly tilts his head, unsure as to what Addison has said and if he should be able to take comfort that maybe she's telling her family about them. He shrugs absently and advances into the living room, taking a seat in the open spot on the couch. His body is sluggish from the trip to the mall; it took everything out of him to be surrounded by that many people, but at least he got what he went for.
"With the exception of Derek," The Captain says.
"Derek never could get himself together," Bizzy agrees; the one thing that Bizzy and The Captain agree on is Derek. Her lips part as she takes a drink from her glass and Addison sees the muscles twitch in her face like Bizzy is trying to mask the bite. She swallows, "this scotch is horrid."
"Bizzy," Addison says. She closes her mouth as quickly as the words fall out deciding that maybe it's better she doesn't say anything. She can already tell by the bite in her tone and the way that her mouth is curved that she knows about whatever is going on between her and Mark, without the details. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's Mark's. He's had it for a long time."
"I usually save it for special occasions but," he trails off, letting the implications settle between them.
Archer lifts his glass, "I think it's fantastic scotch."
"Bizzy just isn't much of a scotch drinker," The Captain supplies, "she prefers martini's, manhattans."
"Of course," Mark agrees, "that's where Addison gets it."
He pretends not to see the scowl on her face at the comparison and he swallows, drapes his arm over the arm of the couch and heavily leans against it. He thinks that he's stuck in a lose-lose situation right now and there's no one he can pleases. He sighs and scratches the back of his head, deciding not participating is probably better off.
"I never saw you two as compatible," Bizzy says.
"What's that?" He asks. He sees Addison swallow at of the corner of his eye and he thinks that she's not pleased with where this conversation is going. He lifts his eyebrows on his forehead in an inquisitive manner, encouraging Bizzy to elaborate.
"It's just that you're both so different. You've never been in a long-term relationship and she was married to Derek for a long time despite our disapproval. You're a plastic surgeon. You materialize woman and you don't settle down. You're a womanizer. All you want from someone is what they can do for you," Bizzy ticks off, waving her glass around, "you have horrible taste in scotch, and from what I recall, horrible taste in women. I recall you being insensitive enough to ruin my daughter's wedding by philandering around with that whore of yours and held everyone up when it came time to give your speech."
"That was a long time ago," Mark starts, "I'm a little-"
"That's what they all say. You have no morals. I heard of you sleeping with many married women when you lived in New York, breaking up so many marriages - the women in my circle of friends, their daughters were left with nothing because of you. You aren't good enough for my daughter and no matter what you do, you never will be. She's a successful doctor and al you would do is hold her back. I swear to God if you get her pregnant you will regret it."
"Excuse me, but maybe I want a family with your daughter, not that you've ever had much of the decency to be there for her when she needed you. You treat her like no matter what she does it will not be good enough and that just isn't fair to her," Mark challenges, "she has worked her ass off to get where she is and I've been there to see it, every single day. You don't get her, Bizzy, and you never will."
"You just want her money," Bizzy discerns.
He leans forward and locks eyes with hers, "I can make my own money."
He pushes himself to his feet and he glances at Addison, pretending that he doesn't see her jaw tensed and her lips tightened. He releases a slightly exasperated breath and lets his eyes drift closed. He wants to apologize for his outburst but he doesn't even know what he'd be sorry for. Instead, he forces a smile across his lips.
"I hope you enjoy the bottle of scotch my father gave me when I graduated from med school. I am going to bed," he says. He turns on his heel and leans down to press his lips against Addison's cheek. He lingers for maybe a moment longer than he would on normal occasions maybe just for the sake of driving Bizzy crazy. "Good night."
Mark retreats to her bedroom and the room stays quiet before Archer bursts into laughter; Addison can't get her thoughts in order, can't figure out what the hell she just witnessed.
Addison is less than thrilled when she finally makes it to bed. After having to put up with Bizzy's ranting and complaining and nitpicking for the last two hours, which seemed like a lifetime, she's finally getting the opportunity to crawl into bed after an already long day. Her family, her mother in particular, is already pushing her last nerve and Mark certainly hadn't helped right before he ditched her for bed. Granted, they aren't his family so he doesn't have to put up with them, but he didn't have to make it any worse.
And that's what has really been grating on her nerves for the last few hours. Even though Bizzy and Mark had been essentially defending her honor, she can defend herself when it comes to Mark. She still can't manage to find the courage to blow her top on Bizzy like she can Mark.
The motivation behind going into her bedroom a little bit more heated than normal with a bit more of an incentive to be louder than usual. She sighs a little heavier, shuts her door harder and he doesn't stir; she wonders if he'd decided to go to bed in her room just to really piss Bizzy off. On one hand she applauds it, on the other it just makes things worse for her.
"Mark," she says gently. He doesn't stir so she reaches across the bed and jabs him in the shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. She hears him groan in the darkness as he rolls over a little, muscles in his broad shoulders flexing. "Wake up."
"What?" He asks.
"I just wanted to let you know that they left, went to the hotel."
"Okay," he replies. His tone is kind of annoyed when he says it but his eyes aren't even open yet; he scratches at his eyes, squinting so that he can see her a bit better. He reaches out, touches her fingertips before his hand drop to the mattress. "Everything okay?"
"No, it isn't," she replies with a heavy hearted sigh. She drags her hands through her long, auburn hair as he sits upright; it takes everything in her to just not explode on him. She's on the brink, and she knows that she's going to end up unleashing everything from the night on him. "They've only been here for three hours and they're already driving me crazy."
"You could have told me that they were coming," he adds somewhat gently; his voice is strangled with sleep so it's a little hard to tell how he means it.
"I didn't know," she snaps, "they just showed up unannounced. You certainly didn't help."
"I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate being told that I'm basically a piece of shit," he retorts.
"Oh, please, you know that isn't how she meant it," she growls.
He scoffs, "I've known your mother long enough to know when she's insulting me. It may go over the commoner'shead, but I'm not an idiot - contrary to popular belief."
"She just knows your type, honey, from being married to someone just like to for so fucking long. My father can't keep it in his pants, why would you?" She laughs.
"Maybe because you're not your mother, you can be a fucking bitch sometimes but you aren't anything near as evil as your mother," he says. He wonders how he's still defending her and she's just blowing him off, trying to rack his brain to recall if that's something she's always done after she encounters her mother or if it's just him. He can't remember, but he thinks it's mostly because she hasn't seen Bizzy since before she wasn't married to Derek. Derek doesn't take care of her anymore, he does. He watches her cross her arms over her chest and he knows the ice queen is showing now. He mutters, "I'm sorry."
He rubs at his eyes again, silence settling over the room as his labored breathing echoes throughout and bounces off of the walls; she huffs, "your apology doesn't make up for the way she's just so...infuriating."
"Like mother, like daughter," he mumbles. He's pretty sure that she hears him when jaw tightens and her eyes narrow at him. He makes his way a little closer to her, fingers pressing hard into the mattress as he moves. "She's gone now, Red, it's okay."
"Don't," she starts, moving her hands as his fingertips brush over the tops of them, "don't act like everything just goes away now. She makes me feel so small, Mark, and you sure as hell didn't help. You managed to escalate things in five minutes that usually takes a few hours."
"I didn't mean to," he counters, eyebrows now furrowing in annoyance, "did you not hear the things that she was saying to me? About me? What was I supposed to do, just sit back and take it? I'm not Derek and I don't aim to please. You must not care about me like I thought."
"Wow, that's low even for you, Mark."
"Forgive me for not wanting to listen to your mother boast about a woman that I have actually been proud of through the good times and the bad. It isn't my fault that she only ever brags when it is convenient for her or when it makes her look good. I don't have to sit there and listen to her point out all of the amazing things about you to me that she used to berate you for and I'm not going to argue with you about it anymore," he says with finality.
"You know what? You're an asshole," she spats.
He chuckles, "yeah, I am and I've never been anything different, but for once I didn't do anything that makes me an asshole."
"You started shit with my mother and then left me to fend for myself," she accuses.
"And yet you survived so just calm the fuck down."
"No thanks to you," she spits out. He reaches out and grabs her wrist, tugging her onto the bed in such a quick movement that she doesn't have time to protest. He smirks when her fingers wrap around his wrist and squeeze, nails digging into his skin until he almost feels it break. She growls deep into the bellows of her throat, low and guttural, "I can't stand you."
"You'll get over it," he says, snapping his teeth together; he wraps an arm around her waist as he unbuttons the top button on her blouse and lowers his mouth to the freshly exposed skin. He trails wet kisses across her skin; she pushes on his chest, not like she's actually protesting but gently like she's doing it for the sake of doing it. His teeth nip at her skin and she finally bothers to push him away from her. "You think just because you're attractive it means you're entitled to hold anything that I say or do over me."
"I think just because you pissed me off that I am entitled to hold it over your head," she corrects angrily.
He smirks as she pulls herself away from him, his fingers threading with hers easily despite her attempt to separate them; "so you're mad because I left you alone with mommy after I stuck up for you? Derek never-"
"Derek never had the opportunity. Bizzy wasn't threatened by him one bit. She wasn't afraid of the way he looked at me or the way I felt about him. She's scared shitless of you," she admits.
Although her voice is still firm and dripping with annoyance, he grins. He doesn't know where this is going or what it's leading to, but he hopes it's the conversation they haven't had but probably should. He wraps his hands around her waist and tugs her back towards him; her legs rest on either side of his as she straddles him, her body pulling towards his as she tries to maintain her anger.
"And how do you feel about me?" He baits.
"I feel nothing for you," she says (it sounds like she's trying to convince them both), "and it scares her that for once I can do something that she doesn't approve of just for the sake of doing it."
"Who knew you'd become such a rebel in your forties?"
"Don't be a dick," she snaps.
He smirks as his fingertips move to the front of her shirt, gliding from the first button that he'd already unbuttoned and on to the next one. Her fingers tap against his hipbones momentarily before she drags her nails up his chest. He shivers a little, the tips of his fingers grazing over her cleavage as he unbuttons the next button.
"You have such a dirty mouth on you tonight, sugar," he points out.
She feels his erection on her thigh and she half grins, "you don't seem to mind."
"No," he admits.
He tugs at the opening in her shirt to expose more skin, the swells of her breasts nearly glowing in the darkness. He lowers his mouth to her skin, swirls his tongue there as he bites and then sucks. She inhales deep instead of being able to tell him not to leave a mark. He suddenly tugs on the front of her shirt and the remaining buttons fly off.
"I hate you," she growls.
His mouth nips at her throat as he laughs; "you love me."
Her fingers thread in his hair and tug, his mouth ripping from her skin. His mouth is wet from planting wet kisses against her skin and she parts her mouth in desire because she wants to kiss him. She can't even count how long it's been since he's kissed her on the mouth, the way her lips seemingly ache for more afterward.
"I never said that," she mutters.
He snorts and closes the space between them, covering her mouth with his own and his tongue immediately delving into her slightly parted lips. He leans forward, pushing her onto her back as he finds the zipper on her skirt; finding the hem, he pulls them over her waist as his teeth collide with hers. She lifts her hips off of the bed and he tugs her skirt and her panties off in one motion.
The moment he has her clothes off and tossed somewhere onto the floor, she rolls over so she's on top but they find an area that is no longer bed until his back collides with floor. He laughs a little as the wind is knocked out of him from being squished between the floor and her at such an impact. She pulls his boxers over his hips and passed his dick and his fingers find her waist again.
She quietly moans as she sinks onto him, stilling her hips as she leans down to meet him with her mouth half way. Her tongue slides against his, battling him for control like she doesn't already have it; he trails his hand down between them, fingertip sliding against her clit until his breasts heave against his chest. Their lips part and he smirks, her mouth hanging open when she tightens her grasp on his shoulders and he continues to make small circles.
"Are you still mad at me?" He inquires with a smirk.
She's too preoccupied to answer, intent on rolling her hips until his mouth closes over her nipple. Her breath hitches in her throat as he continues to make both movements simultaneously at the same time and she's in awe of him - the way that she always is. He bites down lightly, tongue sliding up to her throat immediately after.
He buries his hand into her hair, fingers pressing into her neck until their mouths meet. She moans into his mouth as he begins to thrust upward, and it doesn't take very many thrusts until they are both climaxing at the same time. His tongue keeps circling hers for a few moments as he cups her face in his hands.
When she pulls away, he grins because she doesn't have to answer for him to know that she isn't mad at him anymore. She smirks back and once they've both captured their breath, she crawls off of him and they both get back into the bed. She feels him press a lazy kiss against her neck as she slides her arms into his shirt to pull it on over her head.
"By the way, Archer is sleeping in your bed," she informs him.
He huffs, "there's just no winning with you, is there?"
The Montgomery's don't reminisce. Maybe it's because they don't have very many memories worth reminiscing, or maybe it's just because they merely tolerate each other with the exception of Addison and Archer. Even then, she finds overbearing, overprotective, zealous, narcissistic, and a bit rebelous. She's always admired him in the way he is so carefree, does things for the sake of doing it rather than it being part of a plan. She's kind of admired them all from afar - admires them in ways that means she doesn't have to deal with them.
She toys with the idea of despising Bizzy and The Captain on a somewhat regular basis, vows that if she ever has children she will be a completely different kind of parent than either one of them (or even the both of them together, if she's being honest) ever were. Overall, she tries not to hold a grudge and just accepts that this is her life and they are her parents so there's no way to escape it. Somedays she holds more resentment towards them than others; all she knows is that she hopes to someday have new, noteworthy traditions with her own famiily - silently hoping that Archer would willingly be part of that.
She stirs awake to a cold bed, sheets rumpled, and the sound of dreadfully familiar voices coming from the living room. She struggles to peel her eyes open, her red hair spread over her pillow and blending with golden colored sheets. She stretches, her knuckles colliding with the wall behind her as she groans at the voice echoing throughout the living room.
With hesitation, she forces herself out of bed and goes into the living room clad in only underwear and Mark's sweater from before. She already knows that there isn't any way to avoid it since Archer was bound to hear what happened the night before. She just hopes that she can mask her disappointment in waking up alone, silently begging Mark to have a good excuse to be out of bed before 9am on a Saturday morning that he doesn't work.
She covers her mouth as she yawns, slipping out of her bedroom and hearing something in the kitchen. She gets her hopes up a little bit thinking that Mark is in the kitchen making breakfast, but she is surprised by Archer in her kitchen in only his boxers and a white t-shirt. She crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around her brother from behind, much like she would Mark.
"Good morning, Brother," she says sleepily.
"Lazy bones decided to get up," Archer muses teasingly. Turning on his heel, he smirks, her fingers dragging across his abdomen at his sudden movement. She lifts her hands and drags her fingers through his graying hair even though it's mostly unnoticable through the blonde locks. "I'm still on New York time. And you're wearing your boyfriend's clothes from last night."
"Oh my god," she grumbles with a sigh, "shut up, Archer. My house, I can wear whatever I want."
"And I appreciate you putting on some clothes," he grins. He tucks her hair behind her ear and presses his lips to her forehead, a small chuckle eliciting against her skin. He turns back to the bacon on the stove when it pops. "Speaking of, where is your boyfriend?"
She sighs and leans back against the sink, "I don't know. And he's not my boyfriend. Stop saying that."
"Seems like your boyfriend." Archer smirks and lifts an eyebrow inquisitively. She reaches up into the cabinet beside him for some glasses and sets them on the counter. She can't wait to hear what he says next. "I'm just saying, Addie. He gets you and he really knows how to rile Bizzy up. He's almost perfect for you."
"Almost?"
"He's dad. He's me," Archer says, "he doesn't know how to settle down. You don't want to be with guys like us. You want guys like Derek. A guy who wants kids and a family and really knows how to charm you. Don't get me wrong, Mark's a pretty charming guy - no where near as charming as I am - but he has his moments. I know guys like him; he only wants what he can't have and once he has you, he'll leave you."
"Archer," she says breathlessly.
"I know you don't want to hear it, Addie, but someone has to give it to you straight," Archer informs.
"Maybe he isn't like you or dad," she challenges. She reaches into the fridge and grabs the orange juice, pouring two glasses three-quarter of the way full. Pushing one across the counter her brother's way, she lifts the other to her lips. "Did you ever think of that?"
"We're all the same, Sis. We don't ever get any better. We just get worse."
"Speak for yourself," she counters.
"You're my little sister and I love you, but it's my job as you big brother to tell you things that you don't want to hear," he cracks an egg and it sizzles in the pan, "I'm only trying to protect you because I don't want to see you hurt."
"With all due respect, Archie, you haven't had to see me hurt in a very long time and the only person who has day in and day out is Mark," she points out. Her toes glide over the cold tile of the kitchen as she searches for some kind of warmth but is unsuccessful. She lifts a hand, lets her fingertips linger around her lips as the tips feel how dry and cracked they are; the room is too bright, the reminder of Christmas ever present. "I love you, honey, but it isn't really any of your business."
"Whatever you say," he replies absently with a smirk, "but if he walks out on you, don't come crying to me."
Her face falls and she stares at him hard, "you don't mean that."
"You're right, I don't mean that," Archer laughs, reaching behind him and tapping her shoulder. The front door opens as she shoves him back and Archer laughs at her. They both crane their necks to double check that it's Mark letting himself in and watch him brush the snow off of his shoulders. Archer winks at her real quick, "speak of the devil."
"Heh," Mark feigns laughter, "only good things I hope."
Mark smiles tightly as the wet soles of his shoes squeak against the tile and he crosses the room. He gives Archer a head nod and presses his lips against hers as he takes her glass of orange juice out of her hand. Her eyes briefly narrow in his direction, a grin sliding across his mouth.
She isn't sure what's changed between them since last night because the last she remembers he was less than pleased with her. She cross her arms in front of her chest, quirking an eyebrow. She absently licks her lips, "oh, you have no idea."
"My sister here was just telling me how big of a prick I am for not coming to see her sooner," Archer fibs.
Mark laughs and lightly shakes his head, setting the glass on the counter. He bounces his shoulder against Addison's, his fingertips brushing against hers for just a moment. He lightly shakes his head and disappears down the hallway towards the bathroom. He hears her feet echo down the hallway as she follows him.
"Where'd you go?" She asks innocently.
"I went out to get everything needed to make your mother those martini's she loves so much," he replies with a grin, turning smoothly so he can tap his finger against the tip of her nose, "I take it that you aren't mad at me anymore."
"I was just wondering where you were," she admits.
"Now you know," he replies with a smirk; "look, I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm just trying to make things a little bit easier for you."
"It's okay," she says.
She pushes herself on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his, caught a little off guard when his hands slide around her and he kisses her back. He smiles against her mouth, pleasantly surprised by her sudden actions like maybe they're moving passed whatever might have happened. He's pretty sure that the fight escalated from hours of her holding back and him just being awake; she stills when she hears Bizzy's voice in the kitchen and the sudden slam of the front door.
Addison's half asleep when she feels his fingertips slip beneath the hem of her shirt and smooth over her back. A shiver skates down her spine and when she finally peels her eye open she can't stop the corner of her mouth tugging upward into a sleepy smile. Even though it's dark, she can still see the outline of his face, the curves of his cheekbones and jaw, the way his teeth peek from between his slightly parted lips when he smiles.
His face looks tired but he's wide awake, his fingers bouncing against her flesh, but the way his soft fingertips drag over the expansion of her back makes her think he's trying to draw her to sleep. Her mother's presence has been looming over her all day, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of Addison's stomach because she knew every move she made was being watched. Although her mother had made an effort to stick upfor her the day before, Addison didn't believe that Bizzy was being genuine as much as she was being degrading.
Looking at Mark, she considers the fact that he's almost the only one who has always been genuine with her despite all of his flaws. Mark's moral compass isn't the same as Derek's and she's always been painfully aware of that; she remember back when they were in med school or even as interns how Mark's attention would be directed towards her or Derek all night and girls would still go home with him.
She briefly wonders if they didn't live together if he would be sleeping with other women; her thoughts are interrupted when she hears his voice echo, "sleepy?"
"I'm fine. You've been up longer than I have," she reasons.
"So," he replies with a grin, "I'm not that tired."
"But you are tired," she observes.
He lightly shakes his head, hair standing up from the static electricity, "nah, I could lay here forever."
"This is my favorite part of the day," she admits, attempting to stifle a yawn. Her eyes drift closed again as his bare chest rubs against her arm when he scoots closer; she's always in awe of the amount of heat that he exerts even when he has less clothes on. "Being all cozy and relaxed, no interruptions. There's just silence because everything and everyone else has gone to sleep."
"The world outside doesn't seem so busy when the sun goes down, does it?" He asks with a grin.
She smiles, "something like that."
"Today went a little better, right?"
"Are you kidding me?" She asks with a laugh, "she may not have jumped down your throat today, but she was asking me question after question, implying that whatever I am doing with my life isn't right."
"Nobody ever said that the Montgomery's were easy to please," he teases.
"Mark!" She screeches softly, her hand finds his cheek and rests there as her thumb feels for his smirk, "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," he absently agrees, "even if your feet are like popsicles at night. Have you ever thought of wearing socks to bed?"
"Shut up," she says with a laugh.
He laughs, and then: "I love you."
She stops moving because he's said it a thousand times but she just doesn't know how to take it this time. She swallows, struggles to get herself together so she can say something in return. Words don't form so instead she says nothing. She tucks her head beneath his chin and snuggles into him, hoping that she hasn't completely scared him away.