A/N: Thanks for sticking with the reunited Seattle crew. Forcing myself to keep up the pace here, because part of me could drag this story out forever. Three more chapters and an epilogue to go! (And now I really need to work on The Climbing Way.)
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
"No."
It's the fourth time she's said it, in response to as many questions. Mark sees Addison draw a deep breath as the four of them – all four of them, together, like it should be – square off in the hotel suite.
It's normal, that's what everyone has been saying, from Derek and Meredith to Nurse Christie and the rest of the peds neuro staff. It's normal for their perfectly ordinary, perfectly imperfect – but still mostly sweet – child to seem flat-out angry that they've brought her home at all.
Mark's not sure what he expected – he's never brought a child home from the hospital before, notwithstanding that first trek a few days after each child's birth. It's the day they've all been waiting for: Max antsy and excited to get his sister back, Addison with tears in her eyes as she wheeled Annabel through the lobby to the waiting car, and Mark feeling the same butterflies he did when he brought baby Annabel home the first time.
The patient herself? Not so thrilled.
If he had to calculate, he might say newborn Annabel was in a better mood.
Current Annabel, turning-seven-in-four-days Annabel, is standing in the middle of the living area of their hotel suite – cleared, finally, of the brain trust's materials, turned back into something more like an actual living space – with her arms folded on her chest, scowling.
And saying no.
No, she's not hungry. No, she doesn't want to nap. No, she doesn't want Addison to read to her. No, she doesn't want a bath.
And now no, she doesn't want to do a puzzle with Max. That's five.
"What would you like to do?"
"I want to watch TV." She rarely asks for that.
"You can't right now, Bel, I'm sorry. No screens for another week."
"Then Max can't either!"
"Annabel." Addison crouches down to her level, taking her hand.
"I don't mind," Max says, smiling at his sister.
Mark ruffles his hair. "That's nice of you, Max."
Annabel pulls her hand out of her mother's and scans the living area of the suite, looking somewhere between confused and unimpressed. "This place is weird."
"I like it here," Max pipes in.
"You're weird, too!"
"No, I'm not!"
"Guys." Mark rests a hand on the top of Max's head, the other hand stretched out, conciliatory, toward Annabel.
His daughter takes a few steps backward, apparently feeling cornered, and Addison takes corresponding steps across the room behind her.
Annabel turns anxiously to her mother. "Why are you following me?"
"I'm not following you, Bel."
"I'm not going to fall down. I know how to walk!"
Mark presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. The three of them circling her like a zoo animal definitely isn't helping. He meets Addison's eyes across the room and she nods.
"Max – " Addison holds out her hand and their son trots over, giving his sister a little wave. "We'll be back." Mark sees Addison snag the soccer ball by the door, clearly heading to the hotel's greenspace, so at least she's wearing flats instead of her typical weekday shoes.
Annabel eyes her father warily. "Do I have to do something?"
"Nope. Not if you don't want to."
Annabel considers this.
Mark points to the captain's chair by the window. "I'm just going to sit over here and not bother you. Okay?"
"Okay," Annabel says slowly.
Mark picks up the paper – it's a day old, and shakes it out with some ceremony. A few inches into the front page, he sees Annabel has advanced a couple of steps toward him.
International section, and she's standing closer now. Finally, one of her little hands comes to rest on the arm of the chair.
"You want to read with me?" He asks it without looking at her but he sees her nod, slowly, out of the corner of his eye.
"Go pick out a book, then, Bel."
She looks puzzled.
"We unpacked them for you. They're in your room." He nods toward the door that leads to the children's room.
She hesitates.
"Want me to come with?"
She nods.
He refolds his paper and stands up, offering Annabel a hand as casually as he can. She takes it, and they walk together into her room to find a book.
..
"Mark…"
He hears his name again, and a cool hand brushing against his arm, and opens his eyes to see Addison leaning over him, smiling.
He blinks back to awareness of his surroundings: he's propped up on Annabel's bed, which still sports a multitude of stuffed animals, Annabel curled up sleeping in the crook of his arm with her head on his chest. There's an open paperback face-down on his stomach.
Addison picks it up and smooths the spine. "Don't let her see you didn't use a bookmark."
"How long have we been sleeping?"
"About an hour. You both needed it."
He extracts himself as carefully as he can so as not to wake Annabel, then joins Addison in the living area. "Where's Max?"
"Napping in the other room."
"So they're both asleep…"
She laughs. "Yeah, but don't get any ideas ... they're taking up all the beds."
"That's not very creative of you."
He knows she wouldn't leave Annabel alone, not the day she came home from the hospital, but it still feels good to tease each other this way, like they're back to normal, when weekend naptime can be the highlight of a stressful week. They settle for a kiss that promises a great deal more when things actually do get back to normal again.
Addison retrieves two bottles of water from the refrigerator and hands him one. "You want to hear about my coffee date?"
"Depends. How was it?"
"Well, I have good news and bad news. I'll start with the good," she says hastily. "So, Jasmine-"
"Jasmine. Like Princess Jasmine?"
"Yes, and I love that that's your frame of reference – no, I really do," she says when he mock-glares at her. "But it suits her, actually: she's about the size of a Disney princess, and she teaches yoga so the outfit works and – yeah. I like her."
"Is that the good news?"
"The good news is that they're going to be incredible about this, Mark. They don't want to sue, they don't want to press charges, they won't even let me pay any medical bills. Apparently they have terrific insurance and you didn't do any real damage."
Mark looks down at his hands for a moment. "He wouldn't let anyone examine him."
"Well, I guess Princess Jasmine talked him into it. She seems … persuasive."
"What's the bad news?"
"It's not actually bad, just – well, they're going to be incredible about this on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you see someone."
"I was going to do that anyway."
"They have someone in mind. Someone here."
Addison pulls a business card out of her purse and passes it to him; Mark examines the engraving.
Stuart P. Johnson, Ph.D.
"Johnson? Addison – this is the guy who –"
She nods.
"That can't be legal. Or – ethical."
"Not see you like treat you, not officially, but – he wants to meet with you. Talk to you."
Mark shakes his head. "And if I don't want to…"
"Mark…"
He looks at her.
"Want to. Please."
He sinks into a chair. "It's weird, Addison. It feels like a trap."
"It's not a trap. I talked to her about … why. She understood. They have kids."
"They understand what … you told them?"
"I told Jasmine, with the understanding that she would talk to her husband, yes."
"Addison." His throat feels thick with guilt. "I didn't want you to have to – you shouldn't have done that for me."
"Mark." She's standing over his chair now, and she waits for him to look at her. "You and me, we're a we, an us, so I did it for us. Okay? But kind of also for me. Turns out keeping it to myself wasn't really helping. Not when Annabel's turning seven on Tuesday."
He pauses. "Is that … hard?"
"Everything feels kind of hard right now," she admits.
He pulls her down on his lap and for a moment they just sit like that, drawing strength from each other.
"So you'll … give it a try? Seeing him."
"Yeah." He kisses the side of her head. "I'll give it a try."
"Good." She sits up in his lap, looking much more cheerful, "because he's going to be at Beans in the lobby in … twenty minutes for coffee."
"Addison!"
She grins at him and with a quick kiss she scoots off his lap.
"How did you know I would agree?"
She smiles at him. "I know you."
..
Life hasn't been normal for two weeks now, but coffee-therapy with a man he body-slammed is still pushing it. Stuart Johnson, away from the blurred vision of his worst fears, is a perfectly ordinary-looking, ordinary-seeming man with an exceptionally calm demeanor.
Shrinky, really.
"How's Caitlin?" Mark asks this, warily, when they've sat with their coffee at a little round table in the lobby looking out on a row of spruce trees, and he's finished the third chorus of profuse apologies.
"She's okay. No lasting damage. Apparently what left the biggest impression was hearing me say fuck. She must have repeated that to her mother about ten times – so that was fun. 'Annabel's dad tried to kill my dad' took a definite second row seat."
"I wasn't trying to kill you," Mark assures him hastily, then realizes from his smile that he was joking.
"You certainly have a good attitude about all of this."
"Oh, it's all that therapy they make you do before you can be a therapist."
"You, uh, you still flipped out a little, too," Mark says tentatively. "Not that I didn't deserve it," he adds quickly.
"Well." Stuart sets his cup of coffee down on the table. "You scared my daughter. I'm a therapist, but I'm also a father. And I assume you're not a professional wrestler."
"No." Mark looks down at his hands. "I'm a plastic surgeon."
"Ah. Face lifts and boob jobs?"
"…and reconstructive surgery for burn victims and cancer survivors and …" His voice trails off. "And, you know, face lifts and boob jobs."
"I knew it."
"Why did you want to meet with me?" Mark asks after a brief pause. "I'm grateful – very grateful – that you've been so understanding about all of this, I'm just … curious."
"My subspecialty is men's trauma work."
"Men's trauma." Mark's brow furrows. "Like, Navy SEALS and prisoners of war, that kind of thing?"
"I do work with military veterans, but those aren't the only men who undergo trauma. Trauma takes many forms, including processing another's. Usually a loved one's."
"Oh."
"You know our wives talked."
"Right."
"So I understand. I have two daughters, and I have a wife, and I … understand."
"I'm not usually like that," he feels the need to say it. "It's just…" His voice trails off.
Stuart nods. "It's just that you lost it a little when you thought your kid was being threatened. You're not the only one. Not even close. If it wouldn't break Caitlin's heart, I'd shoot the horse that threw her. I actually considered it. I don't even own a gun! Threats to your children's safety? They can make you crazy."
"You didn't do it, though."
"No. But it helped to have someone talk me out of it. Do you think you would have reacted the same way if you'd been with your wife, or someone else, who was grounding you?"
Mark hadn't considered that. "I don't know."
Stuart sighs. "A year or so ago, Tess, my little one, she was on the jungle gym and this boy who was a couple of years older pushed her off. I don't even know if he meant to, just that Tess was crying, she skinned her knees and I saw red, I was just about to grab this kid. I mean, actually put my hands on him. If my wife hadn't stepped in front of me I probably would have. Not my finest moment, right? But we're animals, really. All of us."
Mark thinks about this, drinking his coffee, keeping his eyes averted because for some reason something is flickering in his throat that makes him feel uneasy.
"How's Annabel? Is she happy to be out of the hospital?"
Mark looks up, grateful for the subject change. "She doesn't seem too thrilled about it, actually."
"That's normal."
"That's what I keep hearing."
"Caitlin should be getting out in a day or two. We've been warned to expect a lot of frustration. You're a doctor, you probably like to talk to doctors, right? I have a friend who's a child therapist, we've been talking a lot. She says it can be especially hard, frustrating, if they're not used to things being hard."
"What do you mean?"
"Cait's the older one, and she's always been coordinated, athletic, the physical stuff has never been a challenge for her. So we're expecting it to be difficult for the next few weeks, months, while she works up to where she was before."
"Ah. That sounds like Annabel."
"Yeah, the little one –" Stuart smiles, his eyes soft – "she's used to having to chase after her sister, being smaller, slower, you know how it is."
Mark sees something familiar in his face and remembers Annabel's words yesterday. She has a little sister that knows Max and they played together.
"Does your younger daughter have red eyeglasses, by any chance?"
"She does." He smiles. "You met her?"
"Not met. Saw." Mark smiles back. "She was playing with my son in the playroom, I said hi, and she wouldn't talk to me since I'm a stranger."
"Good girl."
"My reaction exactly."
..
There's something new brewing in his stomach when he says goodbye to Stuart in the lobby, after they make plans to meet again, and to get their daughters together – something almost peaceful. Calm.
"Mark!"
He looks up, surprised to see Derek standing at the elevator bank.
"House call." He smiles. "I'm a full service doctor."
"And you're not allowed back in the hospital yet."
"Well, that too. And I still have a suspended license, so technically I can't examine Annabel as a doctor, but I can as a friend."
"As a friend."
"Sure. We're friends. Aren't we friends?"
Mark nods, swallowing hard. Whatever Stuart did to him is making him go soft, apparently, because there's no reason for him to feel choked up. He gets control quickly, then glances at Derek, who's grinning.
"You're very chipper."
"I'm on vacation," Derek says. "This is me on vacation. I haven't had this much vacation in years. I spent the morning stomping in mud puddles with my son, which was very satisfying. And I was refreshed enough to make my wife breakfast in bed before she left for the hospital, which was also very satisfying … in a very different way. So yes. I'm chipper."
Mark shakes his head as they cross the hallway to the hotel suite. "I'm glad to hear it – because we could use some chipper in this place."
Derek pauses outside the door. "How's she doing?"
"She hates us – is that a side effect of the surgery?"
"It's perfectly normal. You know how adult patients get depressed after surgery? So do kids. They just display it differently. Acting out."
"Right."
"They don't feel up to saying no in the hospital, you know: they're tired, they're half-sedated, so they get out and they're home and they get a little empowerment back."
"What do you suggest?"
"You wait for it to pass. You cut her a lot of slack, and you wait for it to pass."
Mark opens the door. "We can do that."
Annabel is awake when they get back to the suite, but barely, rubbing her eyes and looking decidedly cranky.
"Look who's here, Bel. Dr. Shepherd drove out here to see you."
Annabel shrinks back behind Addison. "No, I don't want to see him."
"It's okay, sweetheart. He's just going to do a really quick exam, like in the hospital…"
"No!"
"Give us a minute," Addison sighs, and Mark watches them disappear into the other room.
Max passes by serenely at that moment in perfect contrast to his stormy sister and waves his dinosaur cheerfully at both men in greeting.
"So that one's okay, then," Derek murmurs.
"Yeah, for now. He tends to feed off of her, though. Little sibling-itis."
"Yeah?" Derek is looking at him with interest. "But they get along…?"
"Sure, a lot of the time. They play. They gang up on us. Sometimes they fight – I don't have to tell you that, you're the one with the siblings."
"Right. How far apart are they? Two years?"
"Two and a half."
"So she was an only child for a little while." Derek pauses, leaning against the kitchen counter. "How was it, for her? Getting a little brother, I mean."
"I don't know, we didn't sleep much that first year," Mark grins. "It was a little challenging. They, you know, they regress a little, she was always so independent and then I think she was a little jealous when he was so tiny and always in our arms. But we tried to give her extra attention alone too, and her nanny spoiled her to death, and it works itself out. And now she has a little partner in crime." Mark stops. "How did we get on this?"
"I was asking about how Max is handling Annabel's release."
"Right." Mark nods. "So far, so … decent."
"You want us to take him tomorrow? Thomas would love it."
"It's … too much to ask."
"It's not. I think he'd love it. And it's good for him; I swear, he comes back with a bigger vocabulary every time they play. And the two of you can focus on Annabel, and not have to worry – we can come by in the morning; Meredith has a few patients she wants to check on anyway. And I can examine Annabel then, if she'll let me."
"If you're sure it's not too much trouble."
"It's not."
"She's a great kid," Mark says abruptly, feeling protective. "She's usually a great kid. I mean, she has her moments, but…."
"Mark. Relax. I can tell she's a great kid. She wouldn't be normal if she didn't react this way. Brain surgery sucks. Brain surgery when you're a kid – is a special kind of sucking. She's going to be fine – she just needs some time. And I can be patient."
"You drove all the way out here."
"But not for naught. I'm going to go meet Meredith for … coffee."
Mark shakes his head. "No wonder you're so chipper."
Derek pauses halfway to the door and turns back to Mark. "I ... heard about what happened."
"Yeah." Mark looks down; it's obvious what he means. "Not my proudest moment."
"What happened?"
"I thought you just said you heard."
"I heard you threw some guy against a wall, and I heard you trust-funded your way out of it – and that's not a criticism, peds is thrilled about the donation, and part of it is dedicated neuro so if I get my job back I'll be thrilled too. But that doesn't mean I know what happened."
"I can't really explain it."
Derek is studying him. "Does it have anything to do with why you tried to induce muscle fatigue and a barbell concussion in the gym yesterday?"
"It's not … unrelated."
"Fair enough." Derek considers this. "How about if I tell you something, instead?"
"Okay."
"Meredith's pregnant." Derek can't seem to do anything but grin broadly once he says it.
"Really?" Suddenly it all makes sense, Derek's mood change before he testified at the hearing, his high spirits when he arrived at the hotel today, his interest in Annabel's reaction to her baby brother. "That's fantastic! That's great news. Congratulations."
Addison closes the door to the children's bedroom, seemingly surprised to see Derek still there.
"Does Addison know?" Mark asks quietly.
"Addison knew before I did."
"And you didn't tell me!" Mark turns on his wife with mock outrage.
"Doctor-patient privilege." She joins them in the kitchen, having realized what they're discussing, and holds both hands up innocently. "I'm glad you know now. And we're so happy for both of you," she tells Derek.
"A new baby." Mark can't help grinning. "Hey, Addie…"
"Stop right there." She laughs. "You do know how old I am, right? Derek married a younger woman, with a younger woman's ovaries. You're stuck with me, and the two kids we have."
"Save it for our second wedding toast."
"Are you actually having a second wedding?" Derek looks intrigued.
"No." Mark laughs. "We didn't have a first wedding, we can't exactly have a second one."
"When I get married, I'm not making anyone wear these monkey suits." Mark scowls into the wall of mirrors, adjusting the bow-tie currently choking him. "And it won't be somewhere stuffy like this, either."
"When Mark Sloan gets married … it will be on a pig farm," Derek counters. "So we can watch them fly."
"I might get married. Some day."
"Please." Derek is looking into the mirror too, watching his brother-in-law Stephen fussing with his tie. Mark tends to keep his distance from Stephen, never quite sure if he knows the story – the one Derek doesn't know – about Mark sleeping with Nancy when she was home on break from med school.
And a few times after that. Including while he was dating – what was her name, Ginger? Jenna? Something like that. Wait, no – Jessie.
"Mark, you do realize marriage means you can only sleep with one woman, right?"
That came from Stephen. Maybe he does know the story.
Derek rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Mark's silence. "Just enjoy your bachelorhood, Mark. Make the most of it … for all of us. Especially Sam, here."
"Hey." Sam scowls, but his tone is playful. "I am perfectly satisfied with my one woman … and honestly, I don't know that I could handle any more woman than I already have."
"Sam and Naomi saved themselves for each other," Derek explains to his brother-in-law.
"You don't have to tell everyone," Sam protests.
"I think it's sweet." Derek smiles at him. "Romantic."
Archer mimes vomiting behind them. "You do know Addison's not a virgin, right?" He smirks at Derek, and Mark socks him on the shoulder.
"What?" Archer holds up his hands innocently. Naturally, his tie is tied perfectly and the tuxedo somehow looks completely natural on him. "I just don't want him to be surprised on his wedding night. Not like I was when I caught her crawling out of my fraternity brother's room at dawn – she didn't even tell me she was on campus, you know. Her own brother," he shakes his head mock-mournfully.
"I really don't need to hear this," Sam intercedes.
"Neither do I." Derek frowns at Archer. "Have a little respect."
"I have plenty of respect." Archer reaches out to adjust Derek's bow tie. It's a power move, clearly, but Mark has to admit the tie looks much better when Archer's done. "My sister likes you, Shepherd, for some reason I can't figure out, so until she figures out how wrong she is … I like you, too."
"You like me," Derek says suspiciously. "Since when?"
"Fine, I don't like you. But I'm not stopping the wedding, am I?"
Derek turns to Mark with a helpless look. Time for Best Man duties.
"Archie, how about we ditch the old married guys and you help me open that bottle of champagne?"
Archer follows him across the room willingly at the mention of alcohol.
"You really hate Derek?" Mark pours each of them a glass and raises the fizzy liquid to his mouth.
"Nah." Archer shrugs. "I just love Addison."
"Well, so does Derek."
"Like I said … that's why I'm not stopping the wedding." Archer raises his glass of champagne. "A toast. To young love! May we know it, may we mock it … may all the single bridesmaids be depressed enough by it to give it up at the after-party."
..
Annabel just picks at her dinner for the most part – brought in from a place that mimics as much as you can in Seattle her favorite spot at home – taking long enough that Max scoots down from his own chair to go play.
"Try to have a few more bites, Bel."
"I'm not hungry."
"You want something else?"
"No!" She glances sideways at Addison. "No, thank you," she concedes, rather grudgingly but Mark still appreciates the effort.
He reaches out to stroke her hair, but she leans away from him. "Can I go play?"
"Sure."
Honestly, he'd be thrilled if she wanted to play, but …
"I don't know where any of my stuff is," she moans after Addison and Mark trail her into the children's bedroom.
"We can show you." Addison reaches for her hand.
"No!"
Max, who has been playing with his trains by the window, wanders over, hands over his ears. "Why are you so loud?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
"Go away, Max!"
"Hey," Mark intercedes.
"I want him to go away."
"It's my room, too!" Max protests.
"Then I want my own room!"
"Bel," Mark says gently.
"No, I want my own room! I want my room at home," she sobs. "I want to go home."
And there it is.
She has no more words after that; Mark settles on the floor with her, absorbing her tears, while Addison leads a wary-looking Max out of the room. They sit that way for a long time, in the dim light of the bedroom that's starting to feel familiar now, after two weeks: it smells of baby shampoo and the fresh scent of whatever the housekeeper uses on the kids' laundry. Annabel cries for a while, and then she's quiet, slumped against him while he strokes her hair. Mark's not sure if she's fallen asleep. It's silent enough that he can hear the familiar sounds of Addison moving Max through his bedtime routine in the other room.
Finally, she speaks, her voice hoarse and partly muffled by his shirt.
"It's my birthday."
"On Tuesday." Mark smiles down at her, wiping some remnants of tears off her cheeks. "I know."
"What about my party?"
Ah. "Bel … we talked about this, remember. We'll have your party when we get back to New York, in a couple of weeks, so you can have all your friends there, and-"
"But it was supposed to be on Sunday."
"I know, babe, but we're not going to be there on Sunday, so we need to do it in a couple of weeks instead." They've had this conversation, but he shouldn't be surprised it's come up again. The ice-skating party they planned for her, at her request, at a rink 2,500 miles away for a girl who's not allowed on the ice for six more weeks. Off-handedly, Mark wonders if Addison canceled the venue – knowing Ida, who seems to have magical powers to do anything and everything at once, she took care of it. He sends up a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever's listening for all the help given to their family in the last couple of weeks.
If life is cyclical, maybe they'll get a chance to return some of it.
"But won't be my birthday anymore in a couple of weeks."
"That's true, but you can still have a party."
"But it won't be my birthday," she repeats. "So I want to go back tomorrow."
"We can't go back tomorrow, Bel, I'm sorry."
"But I want to!" She raises her voice.
"But we can't." He lowers his own voice, just as much. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. If I could take you back to New York right now, I would. But I can't. We have to stay here a little while longer, but we're all gonna be here together."
This seems to calm her, and she's quiet for a while.
"It's not fair, though."
"You're right, it's not."
..
"Trade you," Addison smiles at him when she rejoins them in the children's room. A sleepy-looking Max is settled in her arms, in his turtle-printed pajamas. The hand dangling over his mother's shoulder is wrapped around one of his smaller dinosaurs.
"Is Max going to bed?" Annabel asks, eyeing him.
Addison nods. "How about a bath, Bel?"
She hesitates, but doesn't say no.
"You can have your bath in our room if you want. The tub is really big."
"Bigger than at home?"
"Bigger than yours at home." Addison holds out her hand. "Come look."
Annabel climbs out of her father's lap, giving him one last glance over her shoulder.
"Bel-"
She turns back around.
"How about a party here?"
Her eyes widen. "An ice skating party?"
Mark and Addison exchange a glance. What was it Derek said about temperature extremes – six weeks? Six weeks isn't that bad.
But it's not enough when your birthday's in four days.
"Not ice skating, Bel, but-" He stops himself when he sees her face start to fall, and regrets bringing it up. Way to open another can of worms, Sloan.
"-but we have another idea," Addison cuts in smoothly, in a tone that makes it clear she's improvising. They exchange another look: they can figure it out later.
"What is it?"
"It's a surprise." Mark kicks himself inwardly; what happened to not lying to his children? Maybe that rule went out the window along with not having his children undergo brain surgery.
Apparently Seattle isn't done handing them miracles yet, because Annabel actually accepts this.
..
Addison's skills at, well, everything never cease to amaze him. This time, she seems to have figured out some way to wash their daughter's hair without affecting the surgical site. And the bath seems to have worked wonders – either that or Annabel's just plain exhausted, too limp and sleepy to scowl. She's wearing pajamas imprinted with seashells – her favorites, and with a little pang Mark notices they're riding higher on her ankles than they used to. She's still growing …and she'll keep growing. Thanks to three surgeons in Seattle.
They tuck her in to the bed that's been awaiting her arrival, Addison chanting her nightly anthem with both kids. Annabel's eyelids are already fluttering shut.
"I'll sleep in here with her tonight," Addison confirms quietly. "But I want her to have space … so why don't I sleep in Max's bed, and you take him with you in the other room."
"I want to sleep here too," Max protests sleepily, apparently awake, tugging on Mark's hand.
"We'll figure it out." Mark lifts Max onto his lap.
"No, I want Maxy to stay in here," Annabel pipes in, also apparently awake.
"Okay," Addison concedes. "Max can stay. But I'm staying too."
"Yay!" Max is unabashedly thrilled. He turns to his father. "You too?"
Mark laughs. "We can't all fit in this bed, buddy."
"Yeah, we can."
"Yeah, you can," Annabel backs her brother up, but what's more surprising is that she's actually smiling. "You can totally fit, and then we can all have a sleepover."
"It's going to be a tight squeeze…" Mark can tell from Addison's tone that she's relenting.
Annabel, who seems to notice too, props herself up on an elbow and smiles even more. "You can do it, Mommy! Just … squish."
So squish they do, with Max – who seems to be all angles and kicking feet tonight, elated by their new sleeping arrangements - between them.
"You think any of us will actually sleep tonight?" He whispers to Addison across Max's sandy head, as a surprisingly pointy little elbow catches him in the ribs.
"Hopefully she will," Addison whispers back, and with a flick of her wrist the room plunges into darkness.
For a few moments it's just the hum of the air purifier, and the quiet sounds of four people breathing.
Then Max's little voice calls out, breaking the silence.
"Night, Bel."
"Night, Maxy."
"Good night, Dad," Annabel adds.
"Good night, Annabel."
"G'night, Mommy."
"Good night, Max."
"Good night, John Boy," Mark adds, and Addison laughs.
"Who's John Boy?"
"Someone you're too young to know. Go to sleep, buddy."
He does. And then – somehow – they all do.
Reviews make the finger cramps from typing this much feel a lot better! Please let me know what you think. Poor Archer - I kind of wish I didn't have to kill him off, so he likes to come up in flashbacks, and this won't be the last one.
Title Lyric from Leonard Cohen's Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye.